r/GuroErotica

Jackie stared at her handiwork and sighed - not a sigh of relief or regret, but a deep, regulating sigh to reset her brain. A sigh to make peace with herself, with the scene before her and the implications and consequences and-

She sucked in air and sighed again, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. She shook the jitters out of her sore fingers, almost raw from all the rope-handling she’d done. Karl would be home any second-

The 4th of July wreath clattered against the door as it swung open and Karl called out, keys jangling as he hung them on the hook. Jackie bounded up the stairs and beelined for him.

Karl watched her approach and knew - just knew - the woman had big plans for him. He’d poured himself into his work all week and was mentally exhausted. The idea that she would take control, take the reins, allow him to unwind and untwist with her hands and her mouth and that tight little cunt of hers-

Intoxicating.

She was in one of those slouchy house rompers, the linen ones with spaghetti straps and deep open backs, the kind she knew drove Karl absolutely feral. No bra, no panties, just summer-tan skin and her favorite cocoa butter body crème. She had a fresh chopped, ash-blonde bob that tickled her collarbones. He ran his hands up and down her sides and over the bumps in her spine, slipping them under the fabric and palming her ass, digging his fingers deep into her cheeks and pushing his blooming erection into her pelvis.

He flashed her a quick smile, face shifting quickly to surprise when she lifted to her tippy-toes and pressed her lips to his, hands roughly working at his belt buckle and slipping into his briefs and gently dragging her nails across his soft skin. He laughed into her mouth, his breath faintly smoky, and she caught a whiff of cool water from his cologne. She tilted his head to the side to bury her face in his freshly-trimmed beard and sink her teeth into the muscle at his nape.

He jumped, grip tightening, and rumbled his response from low in his chest. “What’s all this about?”

“I have a surprise for you,” she purred against his neck. “A new game for us to play.”

“Do you?”

Jackie and Karl were no strangers to risk - they’d always pursued danger and adventure and general mayhem. Skydiving, bungee jumping, cave diving, rock climbing, the list went on and on. Photos lined their hallway of them in helmets and scuba suits and plummeting downwards at dizzying speeds. Chasing the next high, the bigger buzz, the sharp, exhilarating twinge of adrenaline through the gut. Their thrill-seeking behavior was mirrored in the bedroom - Shibari, impact play, knife play, CNC, limits tested until both of them collapsed into sweaty, somewhat embarrassed heaps.

One night, mid-cowgirl, Karl pulled Jackie’s hands to his throat and asked her to ride him and squeeze until he passed out and, well …

That had been one hell of an orgasm, and the slope had been notoriously slippery ever since.

Now, his spontaneous wife pulled him down the stairs, step by step, reminding him to keep his hand plastered over his eyes and not to peek. “Ta da!” Her voice was sing-song and cheerful despite …

Karl … didn’t really know … what to think. Jackie babbled excitedly, showing him how she’d picked a stud and drilled the hole and hung the eye bolt and-

“We’ll barter. For example, I’ll hang for you for five seconds if you’ll do the same for me.”

“Hang?” The words didn’t sound like they came from him - his ears were buzzing. Logically, obviously, the noose hanging front and center in their semi-finished basement would suggest as such.

She rolled her hazel eyes at him. “Yes, Karl, hang. By the neck.” She jabbed her thumb at the dollar-store clock on the wall. “You’ll have to keep an eye on that for me.”

He was - Jackie thought - adorably dumb-struck. Resisting her, denying her, bucking against her direction, and not doing so maliciously by any means. He was apprehensive and she would guide him through it, she would, because he deserved every ounce of devotion in her body.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Jackie practically pranced to the noose and stepped onto an overturned milk crate beneath it, tossing the loop over her head and taking a moment tighten it and position the knot at her temple. Without a second thought, she flashed him a quick smile, told him to count to five, and stepped off.

Her face grew hot and her lips tingled. She’d told herself to count to five, to hold her breath, but the drag of cord across the delicate skin of her neck immediately robbed her of rational thought. The next thing she knew, she could feel something sturdy beneath her toes and her husband’s forearms wrapped tight around her middle.

“Fuck, Jackie, that was-“ He was shaking. Trembling with adrenaline. “Could’ve fuckin’ warned me.”

Jackie caught her breath and huffed a dry, raspy laugh. “You didn’t think I was serious.”

No, no he hadn’t. He hadn’t really had a minute to even think, to process, but that was Jackie. She got something in her head and you’d better get on board fast or get out the way.

“Was it hot?” Her eyes flicked to his, trying to hide a touch of insecurity. Her fingers shook as she loosened the rope just slightly, regretting the loss of pressure almost immediately.

“You were stunning.” He fingered the thin straps that had fallen to her elbows when she’d jerked to a short stop. He’d barely been able to appreciate the swells of her breasts as they bounced when she fell.

“If- if I went up for ten seconds, what would you do?”

“Whoa, let’s - let’s just take a minute,” he stalled. He had to think. “It’s my turn, remember?”

—

Being in the noose was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Disorienting, painful, overwhelming, and honestly, terrifying. His vision tunneled almost immediately, head spinning, hands fumbling. Totally and completely out of control, Jackie replacing the milk crate his only mercy.

He almost refused to give his wife another turn.

Instead, they lay naked side by side after a few rounds- nose to nose - on the cool basement floor, admiring the fresh ligature burns and lazily stroking and flicking and teasing one another. Jackie moved like smoke, settling her thighs along his hip bones and draping herself over him, licking the raw skin and blowing to cool it, her sex stroking against his in glorious, rolling waves. She planted her hands on his pecks and raked her polished, almond nails down and across his nipples, she worked him higher and higher and-

“I have a new barter.” A noise came out of Karl that he wasn’t proud of - a high, keening sound, a needy whimper - that Jackie chuckled at before continuing.

“I’ll hang for you for one minute. If you can get me off, you can leave me in the noose.” Karl’s eyes grew wide. “But if you don’t … you hang for me … and if I make you cum,” she whispered into the shell of his ear, “you’ll die with your cock down my throat.”

He shuddered, hard, arousal clouding his thoughts and muddying the seriousness of death, the severity of the risks they were taking. She was talking about choking to death for Christ sakes, hanging from a rope and never coming down-

“Yes. I’ll take that bet.”

—

“I’ll step off. You have one minute.”

Karl wanted to ask if she was sure about this, if she meant it, if she truly understood what she was offering - but he didn’t. He took her hands and offered his grounding touch as Jackie lifted a foot and slid it slowly off the crate, swallowing as the rope whined and flexed, allowing the tension to build slowly until her delicate feet slipped free and she swayed, weightless.

Karl allowed himself three precious seconds to admire his dancing, dangling wife, his rough hands moving reverently on her hips, thumbs drifting over her hip bones, her skin warm and velvet soft. Her breasts bounced, supple nipples puckering and hardening to points, hands twitching and falling to her sides, grasping and clawing into her own skin.

He carefully spun her, his fingers finding the perfect notch of her waist and pulling her towards him, plush cheeks flush against his lap. He pressed against her first, savoring the sensation of her glistening flesh against his and forcing his throbbing dick in the exquisite cleft of her ass. Her pussy was weeping down her thighs in thick, drippy rivers, perfectly swollen and slick. He slid into her, eyes rolling back in his head at the ecstasy of each vise-tight inch, at the way her body undulated. Her thighs sat against his, ankles knocking his shins, a trickle of sweat working down her spine and landing on his chest.

Karl fucked Jackie thoroughly, his hips pistoning into her, juices bursting out of her and dripping down his balls, sloshing obscenely with every brutal, wild thrust.

The time ran out and he groaned, his balls high and tight to his body, aching to fill her with cum. He wanted to watch his seed dribble out of her, out of her perfect pussy and down her tan thighs. He wanted to spin her round and drink in the agony on her face. He wanted to watch her go completely, utterly silent and still. He wanted-

Karl yanked out of her body and wrapped Jackie in his arms, tugging the rope until it loosened enough for her to drag in a ragged breath.

He knew … he knew exactly what he wanted.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmured into her collarbone, holding her tight as she fought for air and came to her senses.

“K-Karl,” she choked. “I thought-“

“Thought you’d get away without having to suck me off, didn’t you?”

—

Jackie gazed up at the rugged body of her husband. She loved him - fucking hell - she’d loved him so much, so incredibly deeply and fiercely. She loved how big he was - how he could lay across her prone body and hold her down almost effortlessly. He wasn’t that much taller but goddamn was he thick. She loved how hard he worked and how he melted at her touch, how willingly he submitted and did his best to meet every new challenge she set.

“You let me go.” She whispered it, almost to herself, as she tickled the coarse black hairs around his chest, between his nipples and down his stomach, stopping to twist a curl just below his belly button. He’d stepped up on the stool and was waiting there for her, hands at his sides, simply … waiting. Calm, relaxed.

“I did.”

I don’t know that I’ll let you go, K.

She didn’t dare say it. She didn’t understand it herself. How could she possibly imagine his death with anything but sorrow? She loved him. She craved him.

But she also craved the desperate noises he would make for her, the way his lips would swell and shine with saliva, the flutter of his long lashes as his body gave its final tremors. His throbbing, painfully-erect cock bobbing between his thighs with every kick.

She grabbed her makeshift step stool and climbed up behind him, tracing his powerful biceps and running her fingertips over his shoulder blades, across to sweep along his collarbones, gathering the thick loop and smoothing it along the line of his jaw. He felt so incredibly powerful, muscles firm beneath his flushed skin. He could wrestle her off him in an instant. He could overpower her, wrap a fist around her throat, and have her airborne in less than ten seconds. Instead, he leaned into every touch - he let her take care of him, he trusted her to lead.

She slid the coil down, gently but firmly, until it closed the loop around the muscular column.

Jackie purposefully avoided touching him where he wanted, needed, and instead retrieved two sturdy strands of soft, cornflower blue rope. She’d had them for years - too short to fashion respectable nooses or coils, the ends slightly frayed, the fibers soft instead of abrasive. They’d played with them in the past, shoved into her bedside table between session, tucked away for year after year, always saved just in case, Jackie never really knowing why, but as it turned out-

They’d been waiting all this time, just for this.

“Hands behind your back, my love.”

He obeyed. It broke her, just a little, to hold his calloused, masculine palms between her fingers. She laid one over the other and lashed his wrists together, winding tight circles around each one before joining them with a bowline knot at the small of his back.

Jackie raked her nails down his thighs and brought the other to the dip of his knees - she couldn’t have him wrapping his legs around her and getting too much leverage, wrangling himself more oxygen than he was allowed.

His wife went to her knees in front of him, admiring the puff of his chest with his elbows pulled back. Holding the backs of his thighs so he didn’t lose his balance, she nuzzled her nose against the trimmed black pubic hair covering his mound. She’d always loved how it thinned at the tops of his muscular legs, that flesh pale and smooth, then got thicker as it grew above his kneecaps and over his shins. She licked a stripe up one side, then the other, nipping at the thin skin of each inner leg, his dick weeping precum down her neck and shoulders and across her cheeks when she teasingly brushed against him.

“Tell me you want it,” she breathed against the blunt head of him, her plush lips brushing his tip and sending Karl’s hips jolting.

“I want it.” He felt mindless with need, a puppet on a string, a raw nerve being stroked relentlessly, mercilessly. She licked his frenulum and rolled the taste of him across her top lip, lapping at that bundle of nerves again and again as he whimpered and groaned.

“You’ll do your best for me?”

Yes, yes. He might’ve wept it, begged her, maybe he just nodded in a blind haze for all he knew.

She cooed, “You’ll kick for me? Last for me?”

God, yes. His toes curled as he felt her lips closed around the tip of his cock, wet heat enveloping him as she swallowed him inch by inch. Her ministrations found his sack and she rolled the pillowy globes in her palm.

“Fucking my throat will be the last thing you ever do,” she told him, rising to tongue one nipple and roll the other between her teeth. His breath came in quick pants as she brushed the pad of her thumb along his lips and fanned her fingertips across his cheekbone. She had to see him say it. “Tell me you want to hang for me.”

“I want- I want to, please, please- Jackie,” he begged, rutting against her belly. She watched his pulse hammer beneath the skin, visible just below the edge of the rope. “I need to.”

She kissed Karl, drinking him down ravenously before peppering wet kisses down his chest. Jackie’s hands roved across his skin, adoring every inch, gazing up to find his dreamy eyes and swallowing around the tip of his cock, drawing it deeper down her throat. She felt his thighs tighten and flex beneath her fingertips, the cadence of his thrusts between her lips growing more frantic, more erratic. Soon. It all would be over soon.

He felt her withdraw, allowing his cock to nearly slip out of her mouth, forcing him to pop his pelvis forward. He felt her talons grind hard into his ass cheeks, dragging him towards her, and Karl instinctively chased the heaven of her throat, pushing his hips out, leaning forward, stepping-

He jolted downwards sharply.

Jackie yanked the stool over and beneath her knees, then swallowed him to the hilt as quickly as she could, gagging hard as his jerking length bashed the back of her throat, matching the wet *guck* that was forced out of Karl. She ran her tongue over the veins and ridges of his cock, pulling back to lap quickly at the bundle of nerves beneath the head, lips sealed tight around his crown. Her tongue, her lips, the feverish pace, the blood pooling to his hyper-aroused dick and balls, it was-it was-

Cum erupted from his body in musky, bitter bursts, coating her tongue and spurting in heavy pulses. She swallowed what she could and let the rest seep out of the corners of her lips and down her chin, dribbling between her breasts and speckling across her thighs. She savored the fullness and feeling of his flesh on her tongue until the pulses stilled.

Jackie tumbled backwards, exhausted and sticky and sore, sitting on her ass on the ground while Karl dripped saliva and semen.

The heels of his feet stomped downwards sharply in violent thrusts, toes spread wide and legs straight and rigid. His neck was flushed pink and mottled red in splotches, the fibers of the rope burnt into his skin in white, raised slashes. He croaked in a long, wet gurgle, followed quickly by another. She’d done it too - it was the awkward noise your throat made when your reflexes forced you to swallow against whatever was choking you.

Karl’s elbows slid back and forth, sawing across his back as he fought the restraints, bound hands shaking as his fingers clamped down tight on each other.

Jackie’s hand slid down into her sopping folds as he dangled - his head was thrown back and to the side, the coil upright, the loop wrenched deep into the line of his jaw, head whipping as hard as it could against the agonizing bite. She was mesmerized by the flurry of emotions that crossed his flushed face - the dazed ecstasy the end of his orgasm, then pain and panic, shock flitting through his wide coppery eyes as he failed over and over to draw in breath.

Her eyes rolled skyward when he finally managed to gasp for air - his chest convulsed in laborious, painful spasms, drawing only the slightest whisper of oxygen through his crushed trachea. He wheezed and thrashed and pulled his knees halfway up, feet overlapping and one foot pushing against the other as if it could create solid ground.

Every movement, every excruciating moment was a gift, freely given.

Her own orgasm tore through her and she moaned through every thunderous wave, fingers working her clit in a punishing pace, cunt throbbing and dripping on the basement floor. She circled the sensitive, swollen bud as tremors wracked across Karl’s chest and ribs. He was drooping - he had to be utterly spent.

It wouldn’t be long now. Jackie got to her knees, swayed, and somehow found her balance enough to stand in front of him. His blurry eyes swept to her so, so slowly, half-closed and exhausted.

“I’m here,” she assured him softly, “I’ve got you. I’m so proud of you, my love.” She swept the tips of her nails across his chest and felt the muscles slowly, slowly relax.

She ghosted her fingertips over his limp, slumped shoulders, down the expanse of his ribs, down to the hollow between his stomach and his hipbones, holding on loosely as dying nerves fired and sent twitches skittering through her husband. She held him long after he went still, her cheek resting against his eerily-still sternum. This hadn’t been the plan - had it? She loved him, truly and dearly and desperately, and she’d - and yet she’d-

Jackie eyed a beam two spots over, glanced at the clock, gave Karl a quick peck on his swollen, cooling lips and pulled on her romper.

She had to run to the hardware store and if she hurried she would make it there before closing. Jackie could’ve kicked herself - she should’ve bought the second eye bolt the first time around, and she’d need more rope. Rookie mistake.

This is a reupload of my first and only story, I had issues with the old mail account so I prefered to delete everything tied to it, hope you'll enjoy it (again)

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Ding

Ding

Ding

Three notifications in less than 10 minutes, this is unusual to say the least but not unexpected. I have been waiting for these for a long time, the warning arrived a while ago, I’m surprised it took so long to be honest. The first message, the one I dreaded to receive came on my 20th birthday, 3 months ago, it was an official governmental communication: “Warning, you have not yet declared an owner, according to the Anti-Freeloader laws you have to find a man to take over your ownership or the proper governmental facilities will have to auction you to a disposal contractor or to a private bidder. You have until the next auction to rectify the situation.” This god damn Anti-Freeloader policy… the crash of the regular economy and the numerous epidemies coursing through the various food sources created an impossible situation in an all too numerous human population. Something had to be done to rectify the issues, the first thing to go was the already weak recent women’s right. It wasn’t a simple regression to dependency to a paternal figure, weather it be father or husband, but it was full-fledged subjugation, the men now owned the women in their lives as they became propriety. The only way for a woman to be truly free was like in the days of old: be a widow, and even then, she wasn’t really safe, she’d be under extremely dire economic stress as we are forbidden to work at all, free or owned. Orphaned girls such as myself are governmental property until ownership is transferred. There are various ways to become an owner: the most obvious ones are of course marriage and becoming a parent, but it was also legal to buy a woman without marrying her, she became an investment, inheritance was a common way to claim women. Richer lobbyist also campaigned on the parliament to allow duels for the ownership of women, with the hiring of champions obviously allowed.

It became worse when the first famines hit the western world, everything went down south so fast, rich men (the only ones with the right to vote now as householder election were put into place) did not hesitate long to elect a former meat processing industry magnate who campaigned on reducing women bellow humans, this has the advantage of allowing us to become like cattle as it technically wouldn’t be cannibalism. Owners began selling their women for a profit to restaurants and to the food industry, this included the government, one of its biggest source of revenue became the auctioning of female criminals and orphans who failed to enter the service of a man by age 20. I became an orphan when my father’s boss challenged him for the ownership of my sister, in the ensuing knife fight my owner got stabbed in the neck and my sister subsequently entered the service of a steel mill owner. My mother, by being a widow was technically free, but she had to provide for her and me. She knew she was done for, it was either her life or hers and mine as we would starve to death, so she did the only sensible thing to do: she sold herself to a snuff film director who disposed of her himself during the night and made a small profit with a . The money went to me as a dowry so my adult life would be better. I grew up protected by the government until I turned 18, I was supposed to get married soon thanks to the money I inherited. However time went on, and as I failed to seduce, or even meet an interested man, money ran dry and I lost my only appeal: my dowry.

I received the warning on my birthday but couldn’t do anything, since then I have lived with the fear I know what the text I just received says… I slowly take the phone out of my pocket and look at the screen. “You are summoned to your nearest auctioning office, please bring your ID. Your bidding session will begin at 20:30, arrive half an hour before.” My heart’s pounding, I’m not ready to be sold, to lose the few ounces of freedom I have left, and worst of all I do not want to be sold for meat, I really hope I’ll be bought for something else than food… but it’s unlikely. It all goes so fast, my mind’s so worried by what will happen next that my walk to the office goes in an instant. I present my ID to the officiant, am ordered to tie my hair behind my head and to strip. I have my height and weight measured, get rinsed quickly and am thrown on a stage. To my surprise the bidding is silent, this is probably to avoid the prize panicking if she finds out she’s been sold to be killed. After five silent minutes I am led away to a backroom to wait with other women aged from their early 20s to their late 50s, it is rare for one to live more than that these days. We don’t know if we’ve all been bought by the same buyer, which would be a bad sign, or if we’re just kept away waiting for the auction to end. Our worst fear is confirmed when we ear an agent say: “Alright group, the auction is over, please form two lines and follow me to the loading bay.”

A few of us break down in tears, others stay impassible, one even smiles, for my part I am petrified, I have to fight with all my will not to fall down, scream and cry, I do my best to walk to the truck waiting for us. As we get at the back, we all get our hands tied and get helped up inside. There again: silence, no one talks, we don’t care about each other, we only worry for ourselves. We drive for what feels like an eternity, the cold metal floor biting at our feet, the bench irritating out cheeks. Finally, we feel the truck come to a complete stop and the rolling door opens, I’m the third to get out, I’m greeted by a pure white tiled room and hit by an iron-like smell, still no one speaks, the only sounds we hear being our own breath and the mechanical clang and whistle of the machines. We are all lined up against a wall, I am put first on the left. A man clad in white, face covered by a surgical mask advances and speaks up: “Ladies hello, to make the process the least stressful and painful as possible we expect your entire cooperation, we will insert a vibrating device in your vaginas, this will provide you with sexual pleasure, helping you relax, if we see you are getting close to your climax we will lead you individually to a room where we will start the process when you reach your orgasm as it is at this moment your brain releases the most endorphins and relaxes your muscles, making the elimination and treatment of your meat easy. If you do not want to suffer, we advise you follow through our instructions.”

They gently insert a vibrating toy and make us sit in comfortable reclined chair; I think this is the best time I’ve had in a few years. Not even thirty seconds have passed that one of the most junior girls of the group begins to shake heavily and is made to stand up, she’s led by two guards but halfway towards a hallway her legs give in as she shakes more and more, a small puddle forming at her feet. The men carry her out of sight, after 10 seconds we hear wo faint thump sound. Soon the rhythm of women being led away increases, some fighting back, some eagerly compliant. One fights so much we hear her screams even as she is being chopped, her gurgled voice echoing through the whole factory. The same man in white as earlier says “And now you understand why we need your full cooperation; her meat will be subpar and will likely end up as dogfood.”

I feel my time coming as the pleasure rises, a moan escaping my lips takes the attention of a guard who comes up to me and gestures me to get up, I comply and follow him to the hallway, I see a series of openings, each leading to a room in which a girl is being processed, the sound of cutting, blood dripping and hoses cleaning tables and floor overwhelming my mind. I am taken to a room on the left, as I enter, I see an employee dressed as a butcher, protected by a plastic apron, glasses and the same mask as the man earlier. At the back of the room, I see two headless bodies hanging from a chain tied at their ankles being drained of their blood on a metal grid. At the middle of the room is a metal table, it is tilted head down, two leather hoops at the high point to hold my ankles and two to hold my wrists mid-height.

As my first orgasm crashes my legs arch and I begin to fall, the butcher helps the guard to put me on the table and to tie me secure so I don’t fight back, unfortunately the wave of pleasure has already subsided, waiting for the second one to come. I see him standing over me, he puts his left hand on my forehead, gently pressing on it to tilt my head so my throat is exposed, with his right arm he grabs a cleaver which he holds at about the height of his hips. The sight of the cold blade combined with the intense vibration in my pussy make me leak, my legs shake and as the biggest orgasm of my life arrives I scream a powerful “OH YEEE-” I am cut, surprised, by the fall of the cleaver on my throat. It cuts about a third of the way, sectioning my artery, sending blood everywhere over my face, my trachea is crushed and open, the air escaping from my lungs in my scream of joy not a second before now only pushing out buckets of blood. Before the red liquid reaches my eyes, I see him raise the blade a second time, it comes crashing down on me again but it gets caught in my spine, I feel him struggle to free the blade and as my consciousness begins to fade, drowned by pain, blood and an immense wave of pleasure, I feel my head fall with his last strike.

Hi all! I remember a story about the slaughter of military girls. Almost like a futuristic D-day, girls getting disemboweled by lasers on the beach and getting torn to shreds by artillery and suppressive fire. Anyone able to help me find it?

This is my first attempt at writing a dolcett story. I wanted to play with a few of my favorite themes and ideas in the genre. I borrowed heavily from some of my favorite stories, adapting them to the sort of scenario that really gets my gears turning. I love a certain amount of reluctance in a victim without things getting too realistic. I tried to strike a balance of a victim who was more nervous and unhappy than existentially terrified, like a shy valedictorian who has to give a speech in front of her graduating class.

I hope it goes without saying that this story is pure fantasy. Readers should NOT construe the author as supporting or endorsing ANY of the acts, themes, or plot elements of this story in real life. In reality, the author abhors violence of any kind, especially against the most vulnerable. If you are having thoughts of perpetrating any form of violence in real life, I implore you to seek professional help.

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Monica bit her index finger as she considered where the string quartet should be set up. It was about 10:30 AM, about an hour and a half before guests were supposed to begin arriving. She looked around the grassy terrace as servants and hired hands bustled around, making last minute preparations. Moving her eyes from left to right, she considered possible places for the musicians, looking first at the guest house-turned-kitchen for the day, then at the cocktail tables, each arrayed with a maroon tablecloth and a tasteful white candle. She then turned her eyes to the pair of banquet tables across the terrace, each sporting matching maroon tablecloths and candles. Monica nodded subtly to herself as her eyes moved across the charger plates, silverware, and wine glasses, each perfectly in its place. But where for the damn quartet? Monica kicked herself for leaving this small detail to the last minute as she looked beyond the tables to the small wooden stage. The large cloth banner hanging between the trees flanking the stage read, "Congratulations, CW Corp!" Monica wandered across the lawn towards the stage, her finger still between her lips, making her way beneath the unilluminated string lights, considering whether to just go with the obvious choice--beneath the banner on the stage. Her 19 year old daughter, Rosemary, followed close behind in a smart looking navy blue pantsuit, notepad and pen in hand.

"Do you think the noise from the roast would drown out the strings if we put them on the stage?" Monica asked her daughter-secretary, "I'm worried that people won't be able to hear them over the screams."

"Hard to say! Maybe people will want to hear the screams more than the strings."

Monica thought hard as she looked at the large roasting pit dug just to the right of the stage. The banquet tables were arranged to give as many guests as possible a clear view of both the stage and the live roast, with the head of each table afforded an unobstructed view of the spitted meal.

"There's one person whose preference matters: Gail Thornton." Monica stated matter-of-factly.

The name of the founder, president, and CEO of CW Corp always came out as "Gail Thornton," never just Gail or even Mrs. Thornton. Such was the respect she commanded even from the upper echelon of the company's management like Monica. Would Gail Thornton prefer to hear the string quartet or the sumptuous groans of agony coming from the live spit roast?

"We'll have them set up by the cocktail tables. Close enough to be heard at the banquet tables but far enough to not be drowned out. If Gail Thornton prefers the music, she can sit by the musicians, if she prefers the roast, as I'm willing to bet she will, she can sit by the roast."

Rosemary jotted her mother's words down onto the notepad.

"They should be arriving in a little more than an hour."

"Perfect. Rosemary, why don't you go check on the entree? Make sure she's prepping properly."

Rosemary paused for a moment. Even after a month, it was still odd hearing her referred to as "the entree" rather than by her name. It took Rosemary a split second to register what Monica was asking her to do.

"Of course, mother. I'll be right back."

Rosemary turned and hurried past the banquet and cocktail tables, passing the guest house and the reception table. She saw two servants she recognized erecting a St. Andrew's Cross next to the table and a third carefully checking the guestlist one last time. She made her way up the stone steps to the ground floor of the house, threw open the French doors leading from the veranda to the sitting room, and hurried up the stairs. Knowing her time was short, she took the steps leading upstairs two at a time. Turning down the hall, Rosemary half-jogged towards a door at its terminus. Even though she knew she really didn't have to, she stopped and knocked on the door before entering.

"What do you want?"

"It's me, Rosemary."

"Yeah, okay."

The voice on the other side of the door sounded utterly fed up and clearly resented the disturbance. Regardless, Rosemary slowly opened the door and walked into the room. It was a brightly lit space with an enormous canopy bed and floor to ceiling windows. The curtains were cast open wide, letting the morning sunlight in. Rosemary's eyes immediately fell upon the object of her search: her older sister, nude save for a golden eternity collar, sitting at a vanity against wall, doing her makeup.

Rosemary was fairly used to her sister's nudity by now. Her mother had insisted upon it a little more than a month prior and Saffron's body hadn't known a stitch of clothing since. Ever since Saffron's twentieth birthday, she had remained completely naked. This was to give her time to grow accustomed to her new station, Monica had said.

It was on that birthday that Monica had sat waiting for Saffron in the entry way of the family's palatial estate. Saffron had gone out in the morning with her friends to ride horses then enjoy a luncheon to celebrate her big day: the end of her teenage years. Arriving home in the family car driven by her parents' valet, Saffron was a jumping ball of excitement in anticipation of the gifts that would surely be waiting for her at home. Opening the front door, however, she only found her mother in the entry way, dimly lit by the afternoon sun shining through the family's stained glass windows.

"Why don't you sit down, sweetie?"

Saying nothing but knowing something wasn't right, Saffron joined her mother in one of the two armchairs against the wall of the entry way. Monica was silent for a moment, clearly not sure where to begin.

"I... You know... Your father and I have decided it was best to not get you any birthday gifts this year, Saffron. It didn't seem right to..."

"Didn't seem right? Why, mommy? What's going on?" Tears began to well up in Saffron's eyes.

"You see, sweetie, I've made a decision... I..."

There was another moment of silence as Monica contemplated her words and Saffron stared at her, confused and hurt.

"Saffron, dearest, you know that a business woman of my stature has to make sacrifices."

Saffron's tears now began streaming down her cheek as her frustration with her mother grew.

"You know how much I've sacrificed for you and your father and your sister. The late nights, the weekends..." Monica trailed off. This wasn't coming out right. Better to just come out and say it.

"I've decided to throw a banquet for the CW Corp executives and a few select clients to celebrate the growth and success of the fiscal year. If everything goes absolutely perfectly, I might be offered a position as Regional Executive."

Monica took a deep breath.

"But I have to show the executives that I would give absolutely anything for CW Corp. Absolutely anything, up to and including my first born. I've decided that you will be the main course at the banquet."

Saffron's eyes grew wide as tears began streaming down her face.

"You're... You're going to sacrifice me for... for a promotion?" Saffron's voice began to grow in anger, hurt, and volume.

"Sweetie, please don't be like that. It's not just some promotion. I'd be in charge of all the offices in the entire province. My pay would nearly triple. It's for a better life for the entire family: for your father and your sister." Monica reached over to the table beside the arm chair and handed Saffron a stack of legal documents.

"This a meatgirl contract and an accompanying slave contract. The banquet isn't for another month but I want you to sign today so we can get you ready and you can have some time to get used to the idea of being a meatgirl."

Stunned, Saffron flipped through the pages, reading but not really comprehending.

"Well what if I say no, huh? What if I say fuck your stupid contract?"

Saffron let out a sob of frustration and indignation. Monica sighed.

"Honey, I'm sorry but you don't have a choice. I don't want to do this but, if you refuse, you'll be cut off. You can say no but you can kiss your allowance, your car, your horses, and your inheritance goodbye."

Saffron was again stunned into silence.

"Please, Saffron, remember it's for your family. Please don't make me get your father involved."

Saffron gritted her teeth.

"Fuck you," she sniffled, "I hate you."

"Oh, baby, please don't be like that. This happens to lots of girls your age. You remember your friend, Brenda. Did she carry on like this?"

Saffron did remember Brenda. They had been close right up until Brenda was oven-roasted for her older brother's wedding. Saffron even attended the wedding and, though sad and conflicted, enjoyed her friend's meat immensely. Brenda had accepted her fate without any fuss, happily going to her death to celebrate the union of her brother and his new wife. She had even admitted to Saffron that the prospect of being roasted and eaten turned her on.

Saffron knew there was no way out of this. She let out a frustrated sob before grudgingly mumbling, "I'll sign."

And sign Saffron did. Her mother had her shed all of her garments but at least allowed her to keep her other possessions, including her bedroom. Saffron was glad that it was late Summer, making going naked in the heat and humidity all the easier.

The day after her birthday, the entire family took Saffron to a Department of Human Livestock office for registration. Still not used to her nudity, Saffron tried vainly to cover her nipples and her sex as she walked into the office. This attempt was short-lived, however. After the clerk behind the desk recorded the details of the contract, an attendant in a white lab coat emerged from a door behind the desk. Saffron was inspected thoroughly, her arms, breasts, rump, and thighs pinched tightly to check for fat content. She was made to pose in various ways, lifting her arms behind her head, squatting near the ground, and other humiliating rituals. Worst of all, the entire process took place in the waiting room in front of the other patrons of the DHLS. Masters stared at her hungrily and other slaves and meatgirls looked on with sympathy and dread over the paces they too would be put through. Finally, the attendant had Saffron bend at the waist and spread her ass cheeks. Saffron began to cry from the humiliation but her mother tried to comfort her.

"There there, sweetie, it will all be over soon."

Saffron glared at her mother as tears streamed down her face and she did as instructed. The attendant applied latex gloves and stuck probing fingers inside Saffron's vagina and sphincter. Saffron let out another humiliated wail as the waiting room looked on at her abject humiliation.

Finally, the attendant removed the gloves and noted something down on his clipboard.

"So my preliminary assessment is an A- grade but that could still change."

Monica was clearly annoyed. "A-? Really?"

"That's what I said. You should be very proud to own such a highly graded meatgirl! I really only see A-'s once or twice daily. It's extremely rare to get higher than that."

Saffron wanted to disappear as the attendant and her own parents talked about her like she was little more than a piece of meat. But, in reality, that was what she was: meat.

After the DHLS appointment, Saffron's human rights were terminated and she was officially the property of her mother. She was no longer a daughter but merely a piece of livestock. As required by law, Monica attached a metal slave collar around Saffron's neck. However, as a sign of wealth and influence, Monica opted for a solid gold collar for the meatgirl who used to be her daughter.

That collar had not been removed since being affixed to her on the date of her registration and Rosemary found her sister still wearing it as she entered her room.

"Mom wanted me to check on you."

"Why?" Saffron sneered. Her attitude about the whole situation had improved little in the preceding month and, despite her mother's efforts to get her accustomed to the idea that she would be sacrificed, Saffron remained defiant.

"She just wants me to make sure you're getting ready, sis. That's all."

"Well I am! Now get out."

Rosemary walked over and put her arm around her sister.

"I know it's hard, Saffron. Believe me, I know."

"You know? How can you possibly know? You get to be mom's assistant and all I am is meat."

"You always wanted to help her with the business, right?"

Saffron looked away from her sister and continued applying eyeliner.

"You wanted to make a difference in the family business, right? Well that's just what you're doing today! Your sacrifice is doing more to help mom than I ever could as her assistant. Think of the look on Gail Thornton's face when she sees the lengths that mom is willing to go--the lengths you're willing to go--for CW Corp. Think of how happy mom will be when Gail Thornton takes that first bite of you and realizes there's no other woman for the job of Regional Executive than mom."

Saffron stopped putting on the eyeliner for a moment then continued.

"Just think of everything mom has done for you. I wish I had an opportunity to repay her and the rest of the family as completely as you will have tonight. I know you wish you were in my shoes and I in yours but you're the first born. That's what makes it a sacrifice. You're mom's pride and joy and she's giving you to CW Corp. That shows just how passionate she is about CW Corp's mission. I think that's pretty special, sis. You were chosen for this because you mean the most to mom. She's not throwing you away. She's raising you up to the most important position in her life."

Saffron stopped and looked at Rosemary in the mirror. For the first time in a month, Rosemary saw her sister just barely smile.

"Listen, I promise I'll be there for the whole thing. While you're on display, when you're spitted, when you're over the pit, the whole time."

Saffron, although reassured, gulped at the lurid description of her forthcoming demise. She smiled at her sister once again but still felt apprehensive about the ordeal she was about to go through.

Just then, the door opened. It was Monica.

"Saffron, aren't you ready yet? The caterers are here."

Saffron grinned at Rosemary, gave her a big hug, leapt up from her seat before the vanity, and ran to hug her mother as well. After a month of fighting with Saffron, Monica was shocked.

"Oh! What's gotten into you then?"

Saffron beamed at her mother. "A business woman has to make sacrifices, right mom?"

Monica, still surprised but with a growing sense of relief replied, "Why yes, yes she does. Why..."

"I love you, mom." Saffron then started to head downstairs to meet the caterers.

Saffron left the family home through the French doors and walked barefoot towards the guest house. As she passed the reception area and the St. Andrew's Cross, she couldn't help but shudder as she imagined herself on display there in just a matter of minutes. Despite her change of heart, Saffron was still apprehensive. She feared the pain she was about to endure and the humiliation of being cooked alive, stark naked, in front of a crowd of her mother's work colleagues and clients. There might even be guests that she knew personally. She didn't relish the thought but tried to remember the words of her sister. She was doing this for her family, for her mother.

The temporary kitchen set up in the guest house was a bustle of activity. As Saffron entered the cramped space, she saw a man in a chef's coat putting the finishing touches on a platter of hors d'oeuvres. She saw chefs rushing to and fro and assembling salads and soups for each course of the banquet. Then it caught her eye: a gleaming stainless steel spit leaning against the wall in a corner. She knew that this was her spit, the implement that would end her life.

As she stared at the spit wide-eyed and began to feel faint, a young woman, just a little older than Saffron walked up to her.

"There you are! You must be my main, am I right?"

"Your... your..."

"My main, the main dish. My roast! Follow me."

Saffron still felt woozy as she felt her feet moving to follow the young woman out the back door of the guest house to a small patio area away from the terrace.

"My name is Jessie by the way!"

"Oh, I'm... uh... Saffron."

The warmth of the sun on her face and bare chest helped calm Saffron's nerves a bit.

"Got it! I'll try to remember but it might just be 'sow' if I forget." Jessie giggled and Saffron suddenly felt faint again.

"My... uh...my mother..."

"What about your mom? We don't really have time for this. Your mom is probably a long ways away, sow. She's not coming to save you and you better get used to that real fast." Jessie clearly took some pleasure in toying with the meatgirls before ending their lives.

"No she's upstairs, my mother is the hostess." Saffron didn't know why she was saying this. Maybe she thought it would buy her some mercy or better treatment. Jessie grinned.

"You mean your mom's the one that ordered you up? Tough break, kid. I'd hate that bitch if she did that to me."

"She's not a bitch!" Saffron didn't know why she was defending her. Just this morning, she had screamed as much to her mother's face. Throughout the last month, she knew she loved her mother deep down and knew why she was doing what she was doing. If she had to die, at least she would die on her mom's team.

"Sure, sure. Sorry! Listen, we're running short on time. We need to get mommy's little roaster cleaned inside and out."

Only then did Saffron notice the chains hanging from a hook drilled into a support column for the roof of the patio. The hook was about 8 feet off the ground and the chains ended in identical handcuffs. Jessie led Saffron by the hand over to the chains just as a tall, muscular man emerged from the guest house.

"Nickie, can you get this sow locked up for me? I can't reach." Jessie giggled again as Saffron's knees got weak and she stumbled.

"You're not going to give me trouble, right, sow? Otherwise Nickie here has ways of keeping you still while we wash you."

"I showered this morning, isn't that enough?" Saffron's voice quavered as she asked, desperately hoping for one last shred of human dignity before being roasted alive and eaten. But that ship had long sailed.

"Sorry, policy. We don't know that you didn't fuck it up. Food safety and everything. It's good you're already shaved, we won't have to do that."

Saffron had shaved in the shower that morning, thoroughly removing her pubic and armpit hair. She had scoffed and laughed at herself. Why bother with routine? Let her mom get one of her pubes stuck between her teeth.

Nickie silently and forcefully pulled Saffron's arms above her head and snapped one handcuff around her wrist and then the other. Saffron shivered, although it was a warm morning (around 11 AM at this point). She was totally exposed in front of these two strangers. Totally unable to hide her body from them. Although she was somewhat used to going out and about in the nude, she felt especially naked now that she was powerless to cover herself even if she wanted to. She tried hard not to cry but could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"You might have to redo your makeup after this," Jessie laughed as she untangled a nearby hose. Jessie cared little about keeping the nude, restrained twenty year old waiting as she bustled around completing tasks. Nickie stayed in front of her, staring directly at her chest, saying nothing.

Finally Jessie took aim with the hose and began spraying Saffron with ice cold water. Saffron screamed out of surprise and discomfort as Jessie sprayed her from head to toe. Saffron thrashed against her restraints and tried to move out of the way of the frigid stream of water but to no avail. Jessie laughed sadistically at her captive as she went back over her a second time with the hose.

"Turn around!" yelled Jessie.

Saffron could barely comprehend what she was being told to do.

"I... what?"

Jessie sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Dumb bitch. Nickie!"

Saffron felt Nickie's iron grip on her shoulders as he spun her around, twisting the chain above her head. This time she couldn't see the hose before it sprayed her. She had to wait, shivering and dripping with cold water, for Jessie to spray her again. Once again, the icy stream pummeled her vulnerable body and once again Saffron screamed. The makeup she had so carefully applied streamed down her face as she cried.

"Nickie!" hollered Jessie as she went up and down her back again.

Once again, Saffron felt Nickie's hands but, this time, not on her shoulders. She saw him approach her and reach around the column restraining her to grab each one of her ass cheeks in his massive hands. Spreading her cheeks, he pushed her forward, exposing her asshole and hairless pussy to Jessie's relentless stream of cold water. Again, Saffron screamed as Jessie sprayed the most intimate parts of her body.

"Oh shut up, will you? This isn't even the worst part!"

The water finally stopped and Nickie finally let her go. Saffron slumped against her chains, desperate to be released from their bondage. But her release didn't come. She looked around in vain for Jessie but all she saw was Nickie. He was grinning at her now, still silent.

Jessie returned with what looked to be a red hot water bottle, filled to bursting. She also carried a length of tubing that made Saffron shiver with anticipation. She didn't know what was coming next but expected it to be unpleasant.

Once again: "Nickie!"

Nickie obediently spread Saffron's ass cheeks again. This time Saffron could not bring herself to resist. That is, until she felt one end of the rubber tubing being pressed into her sphincter. Saffron began to thrash against the intrusion but was held tight by Nickie's large hands. She could feel the plastic tube emerging from her ass as she once again lost the will to resist. Whatever was happening had been approved of by her mother. Saffron tried hard to think about her mother, her sister, and her father and what her sacrifice would mean for the family. She pushed the thought of how the long, silver spike would be pushed into her anus in just a few hours out of her head and braced herself for what was to come.

Jessie hung the red bag from the hook connecting her chains and opened a valve in the tubing. Ice cold water filled Saffron's body as the enema bag emptied into her. She groaned as the water caused her insides to cramp. In preparation for her sacrifice, Saffron had only consumed clear liquids for three days and was, consequently, very hungry. The fullness even felt a little good for a moment as she took the water into herself. Jessie then positioned a bucket behind Saffron and Nickie painfully lifted her thighs, causing her to hang from her wrists. The metal handcuffs dug deep into her skin as Jessie pulled the tubing from her anus. Saffron blushed as she emptied her bowels into the bucket. Jessie took the bucket inside and brought it back. Her tormenters repeated this process four more times, until the water in the bucket ran completely clear.

Another man then exited the guest house and released her handcuffs. Saffron was already exhausted and aching from the ordeal but, before she could collapse to the ground, Nickie and the new man caught her by upper arms, preventing her feet from touching the ground. They carried her in this way into the guest house and placed her on one of the metal counters on her back. She thought this must have been where the man had been finishing the hors d'oeuvres.

"Hands and knees!" commanded Jessie.

Saffron obeyed. Two women then approached her and redid her makeup and put her hair up into a fashionable updo similar to the one she had sported to prom just a few years prior. Saffron was dazed by the whirlwind of activity as the women worked but her attention was immediately drawn to the front door of the guest house as her mother entered.

"Guests are due to arrive any minute! Is she ready?" her mother asked Jessie.

"Just a few finishing touches, ma'am, and she'll be ready for roasting!"

"Mother..." Saffron squeaked as a woman sprayed her hair with a ceramic compound to prevent it from burning.

"Yes, one minute." her mother talked past her, "Just bring her out and set her up on the St. Andrew's cross once she's all ready."

Then her mother looked at Saffron, put her hand on her chest and smiled. The two women pulled away as they completed their work.

"Saffron, you look simply gorgeous. You'll be absolutely delectable, I'm certain of it."

Her mother had changed into a grey pinstriped pantsuit and looked every bit the Regional Executive she hoped to soon be. Saffron smiled weakly at her mother, remembering the part she had to play in helping her achieve that goal. Her mother then reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a ring gag. She walked up to her daughter, nude, washed inside and out, and looking like she had just finished a day at the salon. She touched Saffron's cheek gently.

"Thank you, Saffron. Your sacrifice means the world to me. Remember you're doing this for your family to secure our prosperity for generations to come."

Saffron, still kneeling on her hands and knees, smiled at her mother and pushed away the feelings of resentment she could feel welling up in her.

"Do you have any final words, Saffron? Once the gag goes in, it doesn't come out."

This was it. Her last chance to say anything as a human being. Once the gag went into her mouth, she would truly be nothing more than meat.

"I realize this is my true purpose, mom. Thank you for fulfilling my destiny. I love you."

"I love you, Saffron." Her mother smiled at her. "Now open."

Saffron dutifully opened her mouth and her mother placed the gag between her teeth. She then reached backed behind Saffron's head and secured the leather strap tightly. Finally, she took out a tiny padlock from her jacket pocket and locked the ring gag in place, turning a tiny key.

"Now it's time to greet the guests," her mother smiled broadly. Saffron could tell she was excited and that made her happy. She couldn't help but shiver at the finality of it all, however, as she saw her mother throw the key in a kitchen trash can as she walked back out of the guest house.

Once again, Saffron felt herself being lifted up by the strong hands of Nickie and the other man. She was carried briskly outside to the St. Andrew's cross, where she was tightly secured by wrist and ankle, suspended with her feet off the ground. Saffron felt more exposed than she ever had in her life. She had walked around in public completely nude for more than a month but never did she feel more naked than she did right at that moment. Her mother and her sister stood by her side, their conservative pantsuits contrasting with her lascivious nudity and making her feel all the more exposed. There she hung, ring gag in place, an object of display for any and all comers. Saffron heard the sounds of a string quartet playing.

It wasn't long before guests started to arrive and Saffron began to turn red with embarrassment and utter humiliation. Her mother greeted each guest and directed them to admire the main course hanging for their pleasure on a cross.

"Oh she does look just delicious! How will she be cooked?"

"A traditional live spit roast!"

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous. We look forward to seeing her spitted over the coals."

Saffron had never felt less like a person. There she was, for all to see and comment on as they passed. She was the only nude one. The only one who could not speak because of a ring gag. She was the only one who would soon be killed and devoured for the pleasure of the guests.

"And, may I ask, what grade did she receive?"

"At first, an A- but, upon reconsideration, an A"

"She truly does look like an A indeed! Quite the sow, if I do say so myself."

"She's my first born, you know!"

"Is she really? A truly rare pleasure then!"

Her mother had placed a small paper sign in front of Saffron's cross reading, "Please Do Not Touch the Sow for Sanitary Reasons" but that didn't stop many of the guests from inquiring whether they could feel the firmness and quality of the meat. A few young men even asked if there would be an opportunity to "tenderize the meat." Monica, though visibly insulted by the insinuation that her party was some sort of bacchanal in which the meat would be raped by all comers, politely informed them that, no, there would not be such an opportunity.

"Rosemary, my god, here comes Gail Thornton!" whispered Monica.

An older woman in a floor-length red gown approached down the stone steps from the house. She was accompanied by a balding man in a black suit with a matching red tie. They sauntered up to Monica and Gail Thornton extended a long, bony hand for Monica to shake.

"Mrs. Gail Thornton! What an honor to have you join us. Please let me introduce my youngest: this is Rosemary. She's also my personal assistant and a rising star here at CW Corp."

"Simply a pleasure, darling."

Gail Thornton and her husband both shook Rosemary's hand. Monica then gestured to her nude daughter hanging decadently from the St. Andrew's cross. Unable to close her mouth for almost an hour at this point, Saffron had begun to drool all over her breasts. A thin string of drool was just escaping her mouth as Monica said:

"And this is my eldest and tonight's main course, Saffron. I do hope you'll find her to your liking."

"Oh I'm certain I will, darling."

This was all too much for Saffron as she let out a furtive whimper, eliciting a haughty chuckle from Gail Thornton.

"Now, darling, I see it says here that I'm to look and not touch but surely an exception can be made."

Monica paused for a moment.

"By all means! Please, feel free."

Saffron looked on with horror, a fresh sense of betrayal by her mother building within her. How could she let this stranger fondle her? Wasn't it bad enough that she was going to be spit roasted? Again, she remembered it was all for the future. For her mother and her sister, who stood right next to her.

Gail Thornton glided over to Saffron's cross as Saffron's breath came in ragged spurts. She extended a bony hand and pinched Saffron's left nipple before slowly circling her areola with a finger. She then moved her hand slowly down Saffron's body and Saffron's body responded. By the time that Gail Thornton's hand arrived at Saffron's pussy, it was dripping wet. She slowly began massaging Saffron's clit as she hung on her cross, totally unable to control her body as it betrayed her. Gail Thornton slid a finger into Saffron's pussy as she shuddered and moaned through her ring gag. Another thick rope of drool dropped from her mouth as Gail Thornton began fucking Saffron's wet cunt with her fingers.

"Good good, nice and wet. Just like a good roasting sow ought to be." Gail Thornton wiped her fingers on Saffron's belly as she walked away.

"I truly can't wait to see her squirm on the spit, darling."

Saffron was beyond humiliated and let out a sob as her body shuddered after being left wet and frustrated by the old woman's hands.

"I told you she would want to be closer to the roast than the string quartet," Monica whispered to Rosemary.

Just then Jessie appeared, barely hiding a grin.

"Madam, I'm so sorry to say we'll have to wash and sanitize the sow again since she's been touched. It's a matter of food safety, you see."

Monica looked frustrated but understanding.

"Very well, in that case we won't be needing this anymore."

Monica picked up the paper sign, ripped it in half, and placed the scraps in her coat pocket. Saffron let out a pained groan as she realized that her torment was only about to increase. She tried to make her objection known but she could only vainly groan something that sounded only vaguely like, "Please no, mother." Her plea went either unheard or, more likely, ignored.

From that moment on, it was open season on Saffron's body for the guests. Even more guests politely asked Monica if they could touch the meatgirl on display as they entered the party.

"Monica, dear, may I?"

"But of course!"

The torment to Saffron was nigh unbearable as her breasts were groped, her nipples pinched, her pussy explored, and her body invaded in every conceivable way. Several guests even reached into her gagged mouth, toying with her tongue and inner cheek. The main aim of these invasions seemed to Saffron to be her abject humiliation and nothing more. As more and more guests entered, her arousal only built, the perversity of the situation and her sheer embarrassment only adding to the growing heat in her loins and belly. She was soon becoming desperate for release. Even the guests who had already entered returned to make sure they had a turn toying with the captive meatslave. The string quartet played on (Vivaldi's Four Seasons) as Saffron's body was exposed to more and more hungry and prying hands. The hors d'oeuvres were served, drinks from the open bar were flowing, and more and more guests extracted their perverse pleasure from Saffron's body, hanging helplessly on her cross.

As the afternoon wore on, the guests entering began to slow. Saffron was a sweaty, panting mess, moaning for someone to take pity on her and either make the torment stop or to finally let her cum. She was in this state of abject humiliation when one of her greatest fears was realized: the Katzenbaums arrived. Saffron had graduated in the same grade as Violet Katzenbaum and had always had a crush on her older brother, Cecil. Saffron knew that the Katzenbaum's father, Leopold, was the CEO of one of the corporate clients of CW Corp but had prayed that the family wouldn't be in attendance to see her roasted. Violet was never exactly cruel to Saffron but seemed to delight in lording her truly obscene wealth over her. The two families were close and would often move in the same social circles, meaning Violet and Saffron knew each other well.

"Monica, my dear!" shouted Leopold Katzenbaum, "how lovely of you to invite us."

"Oh don't be silly, Leopold, of course your family is always welcome in our humble home."

"When we got the invitation, we knew we couldn't miss Saffron's big day! Truly lovely of you to make such a meaningful sacrifice of your first born. I could never bear to part with my Violet, you know." Violet looked pointedly up at Saffron and grinned.

"Was it very hard to convince her to give herself up?"

"Why, not at all," Monica lied, "she was positively eager to offer her body up as the main course of tonight's banquet."

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous! And what, if I may ask, have you done to prepare dear Saffron?"

"But of course! When she signed her meatgirl contract on her twentieth birthday, she insisted on forfeiting her human rights and being kept as a slave in the interim before today's banquet. This allowed us to carefully monitor her diet to ensure the richest flavors for our guests. She has also been strictly forbidden from strenuous exercise for the past month to ensure that her meat is tender. We've also kept her strictly locked away unless accompanied lest she try to give in to her more carnal desires. We would be so embarrassed if her body was sullied by the advances of a young man. I can assure you that her cunt steak is pristine, having been untouched for more than a month"

Saffron's entire body was turning a shade of pink in embarrassment. Her mother was casually sharing the most intimate details of her captivity with some of her closest acquaintances. She was being spoken of like she was a common possession, as if Monica was simply sharing the ways in which the house was cleaned in anticipation of the banquet.

"What excellent work you've done, Monica. Oh! There's Gail Thornton, I had best go pay my respects. Come along, Charlotte. Children, feel free to stay and reacquaint yourselves with your former classmate. Simply charmed, Monica. Simply charmed."

With that, Leopold Katzenbaum and his wife headed towards the cocktail tables, leaving their two children, grinning sadistically with their former classmate-turned-meal.

Saffron again plaintively groaned a plea for mercy as Violet and Cecil descended on her.

The two immediately began manhandling Saffron's body, painfully grabbing her breasts. Cecil, pinching her clit, said, "I always knew you were a slut. Good for nothing but a cheap fuck or a good meal. It must have been torture for you not to fuck for a whole month."

Saffron moaned into her gag. She couldn't take it anymore; the combination of her humiliation and the probing hands of the guests made her utterly famished for the release of an orgasm. She pushed her crotch forward off of the cross to lean harder into Cecil's hand as Violet roughly fondled her breasts, eliciting a laugh from them both.

"You're right, Cecil, she really is a slut. How does it feel, slut? Knowing that I'll be feasting on your flesh tonight? You love the idea of being ass fucked by the spit, don't you?"

"An eager volunteer indeed!"

Both the Katzenbaum children laughed. Saffron moaned. Her head was swimming and she was desperately, hungrily building towards orgasm.

"Now, now. Cecil, Violet. You must not damage the meat! You'll have plenty of opportunities to play with your food once she's roasted." said Monica.

The Katzenbaums, chastened but delighting no less in Saffron's torment, both withdrew their hands immediately, leaving Saffron on the verge of orgasm and thrashing against her cross.

"Haha, I guess you'll just have to cum when you're impaled. Sorry, slut."

Saffron screamed in frustration, causing the conversation on the terrace to briefly stop and all heads to turn towards the reception table. Saffron felt all eyes on her as she moaned and thrashed against her cross, desperate for release. She turned her head towards Rosemary, trying in vain to communicate her desperate need to cum.

"Now, Saffron, that's enough. You're causing a scene." her mother chastised her. "Besides, it's nearly time for you to be cleaned again."

Barely listening, Saffron screamed through her gag again, overwhelmed by the burning desire in her loins and the humiliation of being treated like an object. A few more guests came into the banquet but, to Saffron's dismay and no matter how much she groaned at them, none so much as touched her, let alone gave her the release she craved.

Before long, Nickie and the other man had returned. The other man held Saffron tightly around the waist as Nickie unfastened her from the cross. The other man threw Saffron's body over his right shoulder and began heading towards the guest house. Saffron could once again feel the eyes of the entire assembly locked on her as she was carried like a sack of potatoes to be washed, her asshole and pussy clearly visible over the man's shoulder.

Saffron again found herself on her back on a metal table inside the guest house. Her lust was still burning inside her and, finally, with her arms free, she was able to furiously masturbate her clit. Thinking that she had a moment to herself, she arched her back in ecstasy as she finally built towards the release she so craved. She didn't care about the chefs and staff still bustling around the kitchen preparing the luncheon courses of the afternoon. Moaning with abandon, she built towards orgasm. She then noticed a flash of light coming from outside of the guest house. She looked up with horror as she saw a small crowd had gathered at the window of the guest house, filming and shooting pictures of her lurid display on their phones, pointing and laughing at her desperation. It was too late now, she couldn't stop. In utter depraved humiliation, she came. Perhaps harder than she ever had in her life, her hips bucking beneath her and the metal table becoming slick with her juices.

Monica burst through the door. "What the hell is going on in here?"

Saffron curled herself into a ball.

"Saffron, you're risking everything with your little display! Can't you control yourself? I need this banquet to be remembered as the event of the year, not as some sex show put on by the hostess's whore of a slave-daughter! Do you need to be restrained again?"

Monica sighed and closed the curtains to the guest house.

"I suppose I shouldn't have let the guests touch you if I didn't want this to happen. I'm sorry, Saffron. This just means so much to me and I need everything to be perfect."

Monica went to hug her daughter but she was too distraught. Monica sighed again.

"Let's get her cleaned up, it's almost time."

Saffron sobbed in her little ball as the kitchen burst into activity again after the brief distraction caused by Saffron's masturbation and Monica's outburst.

Nickie went to pick her up, almost tenderly, and bring her back to the patio around behind the guest house. Jessie followed close behind, carrying a bucket. This time, however, several of the male chefs also followed along, eager to see an encore of the Saffron's performance.

Monica left the guest house, returning to her hostess duties and apologizing profusely for the interruption caused by her daughter. Only a few of the guests seemed to be the least bit disturbed, suggesting that Monica really should consider keeping the meatslave restrained to prevent such unsavory performances in the future. Monica politely thanked them and assured them it would not happen again. She glared at the Katzenbaum siblings as they compared videos of Saffron's ordeal on their phones. Monica was then unexpectedly approached by Gail Thornton.

"You really mustn't fret, darling. In the old days, they used to say that an orgasm enhances the flavor of a meatgirl! Nonsense in reality, but, all the same, these things are common amongst human livestock. I do say, it seems to have elevated the party rather than detracting from it!"

Monica looked around and saw several groups of guests huddled around phones, laughing and sipping cocktails. Still, Monica couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Gail Thornton could see it on Monica's face.

"If anyone makes any fuss about this minor breach of etiquette, you direct them to me, darling. They wouldn't dare go against my word. Besides, they should be embarrassed for filming your daughter through the kitchen windows like common rabble. This is no frat party where anything goes! I guarantee no one will remember this minor transgression once they see your meatslave writhing deliciously on a spit and try a mouthful of her succulent body."

Gail Thornton squeezed Monica's hand and winked at her. Monica could have fainted from relief.

"Only one person's preference matters, right mom?" said Rosemary, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder and smiling.

Back behind the guest house, Jessie put the bucket on the ground.

"Now's your last chance to pee, sow. You don't want to piss yourself in front of mommy and all her guests, do you?"

The half-dozen or so chefs that followed Jessie, Nickie, and Saffron outside chuckled. Smart phones started coming out, pointed at the naked, gagged girl.

Saffron tried to protest but was unintelligible because of the gag. She could only sob. Shaking, she lowered herself over the bucket and covered her face. The caterers watching with their smart phones began to whistle and cheer, relishing Saffron's humiliation. She covered her face and tried to drown out the sounds around her. A few drops of urine hit the bottom of the bucket and then stopped. Saffron was too embarrassed to be doing this in front of the men.

"C'mon! Or I'll make you piss on the grass like a dog!" Jessie shouted. The men laughed again.

Finally, a stream of piss began filling the bucket as Saffron sobbed into her hands. She wondered why she couldn't just use the toilet, away from her tormenters. As if reading her mind, Jessie retorted, "Meatslaves don't have any right to privacy! You're nothing but meat now, slut."

Saffron finished relieving herself as the men chuckled and dispersed, satisfied with the humiliation wrought upon the twenty year old. Saffron was given nothing to wipe herself with, the bucket was just snatched away by Jessie who instructed Nickie to handcuff her again to the column.

"Make sure this one doesn't touch herself anymore!" Nickie let out a low, rumbling laugh as he dragged Saffron over to the column and locked her tight again.

This time, she wasn't cleaned by the hose but rather with sponges. The caterers weren't shy about using the rough side of the sponge on Saffron's delicate skin, causing it to turn a bright pinkish red. Once they were done scrubbing every part of Saffron's body, she was again carried into the guest house and placed on the metal table. Her arms were pulled sharply behind her back and she was bound at the wrists and elbows.

"It's time, sow."

Saffron was again lifted and carried by two men out of the guest house towards the waiting crowd. The servers walked among the tables ringing small bells to signal the crowd to take their seats. Many ignored this at first, opting instead to get a better view of the succulent meatslave being carried to her doom.

"This is it," thought Saffron as she was carried through the crowd towards the banquet tables and the small stage. She remembered the words of her mother about having to make sacrifices and the words of her sister about doing the most she could for the family business. She saw the Katzenbaums, whose children were filming her with their phones and grinning broadly. She recognized many of the guests who had fondled and abused her. This was the moment they had all been waiting for. She looked onto the stage and saw the fierce, long spit that would soon impale her ass to mouth. She shuddered and tried again to think of her family and why she was doing this. She saw her sister smiling sadly at her near the stage, her notepad and pen still in hand. Saffron fought the urge to scream and the thought that she wished it was Rosemary instead of her. She remembered how she was the first born and how that meant she had a special duty to the family. In this case, the duty to roast alive, spitted like a pig. She thought of the future she was securing for her mother. She saw Gail Thornton, staring deep into her eyes. She had taken the position nearest the roasting pit, eagerly awaiting its occupant. Then she saw her mother. Monica was not looking at Saffron but rather speaking quietly to Rosemary, having her jot down last minute notes. Her mother had chosen this fate for her. Her mother had removed her humanity from her, systematically breaking her down over the course of a month. Her mother did not even care to look at her now. Saffron tried as best as she could to push away one thought: she didn't have a mother anymore, simply an owner. No. It was just as Rosemary said. Her mother loved her, that's what made it a sacrifice. A business woman must make sacrifices, after all. Saffron could not stop shaking as the men carrying her placed her on her feet on the small wooden stage. Her chest was outstretched due to her tightly bound restraints. The entire crowd was looking at her in anticipation. Many had their phones out and Saffron noticed a professional photographer and videographer capturing the event for posterity.

Her mother finally looked up at her and smiled. She mouthed, "thank you" one last time before mounting the stage and standing next to her nude, bound, and gagged daughter.

She was handed a microphone by a servant and lightly tapped on it. The crowd took their seats and quieted, waiting for what Monica had to say.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for attending this celebration of another successful year for CW Corp!"

The crowd politely applauded.

"I know that I can speak for everyone in the upper management team when I say how grateful we are for all your hard work. Without you, this company would be nothing, but thanks to your dedication, grit, and creativity, we can celebrate a fiscal year of growth and expansion. Please, give yourselves a round of applause."

Again, the crowd applauded.

"Tonight is for you! Tonight is to celebrate that CW spirit that guides everything you do. Tonight is a night to honor the incredible progress that we've made over this fiscal year. As an expression of my immense gratitude for everything you've done in the past year, I wanted to give back to our CW family. That's why, tonight, I am offering you all a gift of my own flesh and blood. I am offering you a sacrifice of my first born child to nourish your bodies and feed your spirits. While I will miss my beloved Saffron, I gladly make this sacrifice to you as a gesture of appreciation and love for the mission of CW Corp."

The crowd applauded again, this time louder and more drawn out. Saffron was visibly shaking next to her mother, doing everything she could to hold back her tears.

"But I know I speak for everyone when I say there's one person who made all the difference this past fiscal year. There's one person who ensured the success of CW Corp above everyone else. Our President and CEO, our fearless leader: Gail Thornton."

The crowd applauded again as Gail Thornton humbly rested a hand on her breast and nodded, smiling.

"Mrs. Gail Thornton has done more for CW Corp. than any of us. That is why I think it only appropriate that Gail Thornton be afforded the honor of impaling the meat for tonight's roast!"

Gail Thornton looked surprised but immensely grateful as she rose to her feet amongst much louder applause and raucous cheers. Saffron's eyes grew wide as she saw the older woman glide towards the stage. She saw Jessie greasing the spit out of the corner of her eye and shuddered, her breasts visibly shaking for all to see. Gail Thornton hugged Monica.

"Honored, darling, simply honored."

Then Saffron felt Nickie and the other man grab her by her bound arms and lower her to her knees, facing away from the crowd, pushing her torso down so that the entire assembly could see her ass and pussy clearly.

"Please," Saffron tried to moan through her gag but it was too late. Jessie handed Gail Thornton the long, greased spit as Saffron trembled on the stage.

"I'm going to enjoy this, darling." Saffron heard Gail Thornton whisper. The men held Saffron down and spread her ass cheeks, giving the crowd an even better view of Saffron's anus, puckering in anticipation of the massive spit. Jessie held Saffron's head as Gail Thornton lined up the spit against Saffron's asshole.

With a quick, sharp push, Saffron was being impaled. She screamed as she felt the spit fill her up. Gail Thornton had clearly impaled a meatgirl before, her steady hand pushing the implement deeper into Saffron's captive flesh. The crowd applauded, cheered, and laughed at Saffron's agony as the sharp tip of the spit slid through her body. The spit made a precipitous crunching sound as Gail Thornton slid the spit deeper and deeper, through Saffron's torso. She screamed and sobbed as the spit made its way through her body, her body thrashing involuntarily against the intruder. The strong hands of the men and of Jessie kept her from moving too much, however, as Saffron began to gag as the spit made its way up her throat. The bloodied tip then emerged from behind her tongue, pushing through her lips, cruelly held open by the ring gag her mother had placed in her mouth.

And, with that, Saffron was fully impaled, ass to mouth. Amazed she was still conscious, Saffron vainly tried to scream against the spit as the two men secured her feet to the implement with roasting twine before lifting her and carrying her off the stage to the roasting pit.

Tears streamed from Saffron's eyes out of immense pain and utter humiliation as the photographer knelt next to the roasting pit, capturing her agony on film. The two men lifted her impaled body onto two uprights next to the pit and attached the belt of a motor to the spit. Slowly, Saffron began to turn as she felt the heat of the coals against her skin.

The crowd was absolutely enraptured, cheering, laughing and taking photos with their smartphones as Saffron turned helplessly over the firepit. This was the end. Saffron could no longer think of her mother or her family as she turned, only of the incredible pain she was enduring. She felt herself beginning to cook as the crowd looked on, entranced by the decadent sight of her young body writhing over the coals.

Jessie returned with a bowl and a basting brush, daubing a sweet sauce all over the meatgirl's body. Appropriately, the mixture was a glaze based in saffron, chosen to compliment the flavor of the long pig as well as to go well with Saffron's given name. Rosemary shuddered as she watched her sister being basted, imagining the rosemary sauce her mother would have no doubt chosen for her had she been in her sister's place.

The party continued with a new atmosphere of jubilation. Guests came and went, enjoying snacks as they watched Saffron's agony as she turned. Luncheon was served, a glazed ham, no doubt meant to call into contrast the long pig which would be the night's main course.

Saffron began feeling her body fat begin to bubble and cook as she spun, the motorized rotisserie not allowing relief for any part of her body. The fat of her breasts was beginning to drip onto the hot coals, causing them to sizzle and spit. The string quartet played on as Saffron's groaning screams began to lessen.

Gail Thornton was absolutely captivated, turning her chair fully around to get the best view of the meatgirl's agony. She simply adored fresh-roasted meatgirl and took particular pleasure in watching a meatgirl's last dance on the spit.

Before long, Saffron began slipping in and out of consciousness. Her skin had begun to turn a deep, orange-brown and her scent began to make mouths water all across the party. Jessie basted the girl once again as she started to slip away. Her mother and sister stood by her side, Rosemary holding back tears and Monica smiling proudly at her daughter's ordeal.

Saffron's last thoughts were of her family. The pain began to melt away as she slipped into unconsciousness for the last time. She remembered what her sacrifice was for. Saffron thought of the sacrifices her mother had made and reflected on this last, ultimate sacrifice. With all her heart, she hoped that all her suffering would be worth it and that she would be remembered as having opened the door to generations of prosperity for her family.

Saffron slipped away as her naked body continued spinning over the hot coals.

The meatgirl had to cook for several more hours before she was served. The sun began to set as guests continued enjoying the festivities, getting hungrier and hungrier as Saffron's body was closer and closer to being done.

Finally, Jessie's timer went off and the two strong men lifted Saffron's lifeless body off of the uprights. They carried the perfectly roasted girl over to the stage, which had been prepared with a plastic tarp for sanitary reasons. Jessie produced a large carving knife and began to get to work on the girl, still impaled ass-to-mouth. The party guests looked on in anticipation from their seats as Jessie began carving large cuts from Saffron's rump, thighs, and breasts and plating the meat. Servants began bustling around, placing juicy cuts of girlmeat in front of expectant diners. The Katzenbaums got some of the choicest cuts: pieces of Saffron's breasts. Saffron's cunt steak was, of course, reserved for Gail Thornton, who beamed as the meat was placed in front of her.

Last, once all the diners had been served, Jessie began cutting through Saffron's neck to remove her head from her body. The girl's eyes were still open and the ring gag was still firmly in place in her mouth as Jessie slid her head off of the spit, placed it on a silver serving dish, and presented it at the head of the table. With her hair and makeup done up to perfection, Saffron's head made an excellent centerpiece, turned to face Gail Thornton as she dined on the girl's tender folds.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous, darling," Gail Thornton exclaimed, causing another spontaneous burst of applause from the guests.

As the sun set, the party grew quiet as the guests feasted on the golden brown, slightly sweet flesh of the meatgirl. The silence was only punctuated with the moans of pleasure from the diners, the soft music from the string quartet, and the chirping of crickets.

Monica finally felt at ease as she looked over her guests. It was obvious that the night had been a roaring success as she heard the diners quietly commenting to one another how delicious the meat was. Her sacrifice had paid off perfectly. The night went on with many guests demanding seconds as Saffron's body slowly turned into picked over bones on the stage. Saffron's head gazed on as the diners consumed more and more of the girl, filling their bellies to bursting with her delicious meat.

It was true that Monica's sacrifice paid off. Soon after the banquet, she was offered the position of Regional Executive. Monica proudly moved into her new corner office, remembering her daughter's sacrifice and beaming with pride. She adorned the office with a large, oak desk and art from around the world. The finishing touch, however, stood watch up on a wall above Monica's stately desk. Saffron's head, still golden brown and bearing the ring gag, mounted on a stately oak board to match the desk, stood as a reminder of everything Monica was willing to do and everything she was willing to give to CW Corp.

I've spent ages choosing my outfit. Eventually, I settle on a black tank top, jeans shorts and high heeled flipflops. I want to show off my long legs and cute feet. I take my bag and go out. It's my first date as a transwoman. I'm nervous but really excited. I feel so sexy as my heels clack in the street. I take the bus to the centre and dangle my shoes off my scarlet toes through the ride.

I enter the coffee shop and my date is already there. He rises to greet me and we hug. He buys coffee and a slice of Pride cake. It's just a regular sponge cake but they've coloured it to make a rainbow to celebrate Pride month. I like it. As he tells me about his DJ aspirations his phone vibrates. His face is ashen. "Are you ok?" I ask. He shows me his screen.

Happy Pride Month! You have been selected for fuckstop duty. Report to your nearest fuckstop within an hour. Failure to comply will result in the erasure of your family. Enjoy your death.

He seems dazed. I let him process that he is now a toy for someone's pleasure. I slip my sandal off my right foot and run my toes up his leg to his groin. "Babe, you need to go". "What do I do?" He's scared. I run my toes over his crotch. "You go to the fuckstop, you take your clothes off, you put your neck in the guillotine and get your sweet ass fucked babe". It's not a difficult concept. "I don't want to die," he whimpers. I put my foot back in my sandal. I stand up and take his hand. "Come on," I say brightly. He stands and we walk out together holding hands. We walk to the fuckstop in silence. When we arrive he stops, he's shaking. "Be brave. It will all be over soon." I tell him. Honestly, how many women receive the notification every day and just accept it? I kiss him. Our tongues dance together. I pull away. He trudges in the Toys entrance.

I vape for a minute or two outside. I go in the customer entrance. I see 10 guillotines. Two are filled by cis women a blonde with big tits and an older black woman. My date occupies the one furthest away. I'm glad that he has found the courage to put his neck in the lunnette. I help myself to lube and walk to him. My heels clack on the floor. I take my shorts off. I masturbate with one hand and apply lube to his hole with the other. He tenses as I slide a finger up him. When I'm sufficiently erect I line my girly cock up against his hole and push. He moans and whimpers. I pound him with all my might. As I cum I press the button. The blade falls and severs his head from his body. His head falls into the basket. I pull out of him. I dress and leave.

On the bus home I think of my friends who have lost their heads and wonder when my turn will come. My phone vibrates.

As per your request, this is all the collected internet evidence on case 000120000100085M to this day.

On the website:

https://REDACTED/personalad/06072019/SNUFF\_SLUT\_wanted\_

SNUFF SLUT wanted (read carefully)

White male, 60, single here. I’m looking for a snuff partner to fulfill her (and mine) dream. Must be no older than 45, with a tonic body and willing to go all the way by hanging. NO mercenaries, suicidal or emo, NO married and with family strings. If you are unsure and or think you will start crying or beg for your life, just move on. I’m looking for determined women who know what they sign up for. If you fit the description, hit me up. It’s ok if you want to know each other a bit first, I realize this has to feel right.

The following is a conversation with the suspect (S) accused of posting the above personal ad and the victim (V) that responded.

1 reply to your announce “SNUFF SLUT wanted (read carefully)”

V wrote:

Hi. I can’t believe I’m writing this, but bear with me. I fit the description, I’m 38, recently single. Always had this fantasy and I’m flirting with the idea. It feels good to write this but no promises. I really can’t believe I’m even responding to this… I always look through the personal ad to get a kick but this looks like it was written for me.

S wrote:

Hi. You sound a bit unsure, the kind of woman that disappears after a few mails. But you look sensible and you can write a few lines with no mistakes, which is more than what I usually get. So I will give you a chance even if it goes nowhere. How long have you been fantasizing? Out of curiosity, what area do you live in?

V wrote:

I live in the south area of the city, but work on the opposite side, so I drive all the way everyday. So I wouldn’t mind if I had to take a detour one day.

As for my fantasy… I always had it. Since I was a teenager I suppose. I often dream of finding myself on the edge of doing it and then losing control and actually going all the way. What about you?

S wrote:

I am recently divorced. I had many women in my life but in recent years I started fantasizing about watching a woman hang all the way in front of me. To be responsible for her demise and to end her with my actions. I would like to jerk off and cum on her legs and feet as she dies. I hope you don’t mind me using these terms, but you asked about my fantasy…

V wrote:

The words are ok. I actually like that you are so openly talking about this with me. I also enjoy some verbal humiliation, always had. My arousal always floated around being unsure, and being talked into going further and further by a strong man who can overpower me with his mind more than with his hands. I don’t really care about sex, for me it is about giving up control to someone better.

S wrote:

You are what I’m looking for. You have the right mentality for it; I want you to know I have a nice cock, but it’s not porn-size. Not that it will matter too much, sex is not that important for me as well. Think about coming into my apartment, and me putting the rope around your neck and making you go up a chair. Then you step off and you are finally submitting yourself to a stronger man - for real. Your life ends for a good purpose: giving a stronger man a good orgasm. All you ever was and all your life coming to an end just to empty my balls. That’s true submission for you.

At this point in the conversation, 24 hours go by with no interaction. Then:

S wrote:

Did I go too far? I thought we were having fun…

V wrote:

No you did not. I just took a moment to take this in, we are going fast. It felt… real. You never told me where you live in the city.

S wrote:

I live in REDACTED. It’s ok to be nervous, it would be weird not to be. But you know you want it.

V wrote:

We are very close to each other.

S wrote:

It’s that easy then… you leave your house, cross the street, and come to me. Then you can live your fantasy and be snuffed. You will finally be the object for someone else’ pleasure. I will get everything ready and have you in the noose as soon as you want. From there you don’t have to worry about anything, just enjoy your final moments knowing you are giving up your life for a good cause. My cum! I will take care of everything, you don’t even have to worry about your own death… the nose will take care of taking you out.

V wrote:

I wish that did not make me wet but it did.

S wrote:

I consider you already my snuff slut, dear. If you’d like, we can meet under my home for a quick look at each other, then we go upstairs and in the elevator I will start groping you and feeling your neck in my hands. As soon as you step in my apartment you will climb the chair and put the noose around you neck and when I tell you you go and kill yourself for my enjoyment. When are you available?

V wrote:

Monday I’m working till very late…

S wrote:

Monday I can't, sorry. I’m working too and all of my mornings are taken. In every other time slot I’m available… I think it will need to be a day you are really feeling it. Everyone has their good and bad moments. The only issue is that my phone doesn’t have this email on so I have to check my mail from my PC. So if you try and ask me to be ready at short notice I might not see that in time. Can you be here in the next half an hour? I’m free this afternoon…

V wrote:

No, I really can’t today… I have some stuff to do first. Sorry…

S wrote:

I’m so hard right now. And you know you want to please my cock and die for my pleasure, whore.

V wrote:

I don’t really have the time today… Maybe we can just meet under your apartment for that quick look and then plan for another day.

S wrote:

Come here and die for me. Give me 15 minutes and I will put the A/C on. You have to die by hanging, not from extreme heat! Come on. Time to die.

V wrote:

I didn’t shave properly because I wasn’t planning on getting naked today. I didn’t even get a shower. I don’t like being intimate with someone with no preparation…

S wrote:

I don’t want to meet you just for a chat. I want you to die today. Now!

V wrote:

Why don’t you just want to meet me first? Are you afraid I won’t do it in the future?

S wrote:

Come on, it’s a step you know you want to take. Live your big fantasy. It’s time.

V wrote:

I will come to your apartment to see the noose, but I’m leaving in 5 minutes. I just want to see it.

S wrote:

Ok, come to REDACTED we will get right inside.

Text me when you are here and I will come downstairs.

V wrote:

There’s so many people in the street right now. I’m so scared of meeting someone I know.

S wrote:

What’s the big deal? You are just meeting someone

V wrote:

Ok if you are at building 336 open the door and I will consider coming in

S wrote:

I’m coming down, my buzzer doesn’t work.

The conversation ends here. The following are dialogues that are transcribed from a video the suspect has recorded with a hidden camera. We are unable to confirm the victim knows about the recording.

S:

Come in, fast.

(closes door)

V:

Oh wow… you are not messing around with the A/C. This is freezing!

S:

Don’t worry, you won’t get sick. I like it this way.

V:

(touching the noose)

You really did put the noose up…

S:

It’s for you. Climb here.

(suspects places a chair under the noose)

V:

Just 5 minutes, I want to feel what it’s like to stand on the chair with the noose up.

S:

Sure, just try it on

At this point, the victim is climbing the chair helped by the suspect. She places the noose around her neck voluntarily.

S:

(unintelligible)

V:

No, I just want to stand here for a second

S:

(pulling his cock out and starting to masturbate)

You are beautiful like this. It’s perfect for you. It feels right, doesn’t it?

V:

It does feel appropriate for me, it’s weird.

S:

Do you want me to take off the chair?

V:

(gasps)

S:

If you want it, I’ll do it

V:

If you do it…

S:

When you ask for it I’ll do it.

V:

If you do it I will die, right?

S:

If I do it you hang and die.

V:

(pauses for a long time, it appears as she is touching herself inside her yoga pants)

Ok let’s try this.

S:

Ok, let’s go.

V:

Thank you.

The suspect proceeds to take off the chair under the suspect feets. The victim falls into the noose.

The victim appears to freeze for a couple of seconds, then starts to struggle to get free. Both her hands reach the rope but soon she loses control of her body and starts “ghosting” with her arms.

At this point the suspect is very close to the victim. Due to the low resolution of the video, it’s unclear whether he’s still masturbating. After a couple of minutes the victim stops struggling and, after a couple of violent shakes, gets still at the end of the noose. The suspect turns around and switches off the camera.

Spots of cum have been found on the victim's legs and feet.

The suspect is yet to be found for interrogation.

--

This story is heavily based on a real life experience. You can read all my stories and the backstories on what they are based on by going on my website danyhwrites.wordpress.com

The story i in a park or public place where a mother and daughter meets a woman friend/colleague of the mom and her dog.

The daughter likes the dog, and he likes her. She is then attached to some contraption where she is eaten by the dog and more.

Not sure where I found it, or what it is called.

Any help would be appreciated:) thanks

DISCLAIMER: The following story is a work of fiction. All characters are at least 18 years of age.

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It was a Tuesday night. I was on the couch, beer bottle open, popcorn bowl full, and wishing I could be him.

The man in question was Richard Armstrong: male model, former college track star, and most importantly for my purposes, the stud fucking a nameless broad on a restored video of a fuckstop. He was somewhat of a celebrity way back when, recording and posting his romantic escapades for the world to see, trying to warm up society to the idea of snuff.

Like Richard was in his day, fuckstops were something of legend among twenty-something men like myself. They started purely as population control centers during the Crunch, a period of near apocalypse as Glacial Blight devoured the world’s food supply while the global population soared, but as time went on and the world started slipping into despair, the world’s governments began opening these execution centers up to the general public so the survivors could get one last gift from the snufflets before they unceremoniously lost their heads. No one knows exactly how many were culled in those facilities, but ask any history teacher and they’ll say that fuckstops killed more women than any other cause in human history.

I watched Richard as he plowed the pussy of the anonymous woman in the guillotine. She was about my age by the looks of it, tall, and fit. There was no ways she was single before she died, and with a sleek muscular body like that, I can see why the government chose her; I would’ve put a baby in her in a heartbeat.

And I guess Richard did too, because with a heaving grunt, he buried himself as far into this woman’s snatch as he could, tilting his head back a bit as he did so. He stood there moaning, taking in the moment before raising his his arm slapping the red "Kill" button to his right. In an instant, the guillotine’s blade started to fall, racing down its track as it barreled towards its target. It connected with the brunette’s neck with a thluk, separating her head from the rest of her body. I stared mesmerized as she fell into the basket, landing face down before rolling to the side. The camera then panned down to her slit. Richard withdrew himself from her pussy, a stream of cum following his prick. He pointed at the creampie and triumphantly boasted to the man behind the camera, “Dude, I think I knocked her up!”

The video ended with the influencer thanking all of his supporters and encouraging them to both not exceed their rations and to give their local fuckstop a try. The recording then faded to black and I went to sleep.

I woke up feeling jealous. As you might have guessed from the fact that I had popcorn last night, Glacial Blight is a thing of the past, and with it, the Federal Fuckstop Program was wound down. And while privately-owned ones initially carried on, almost all of them have closed in the 30 years since the Right to Snuff Act outlawed all forms of for-profit homicide. I felt robbed. Sure, I was thankful for living in an age where people can put food on their plate and meaningfully connect with women without the fear that they’ll be ripped away, but I couldn’t deny my belief that we let a good thing go to waste by shuttering the fuckstops.

And that jealousy pretty well set the sour tone for the day. After getting ready, I stepped outside, nearly lost some papers I was carrying to a gust of wind, rode to work in a robo-taxi, and upon walking into my office immediately saw my coworker Molly Cutter working her charms on our boss Mike. If you asked her to describe herself, Molly was the poster child of Post-Crunch Feminism, exuding confidence, showing nothing but care, and always trying to empower others. That sounds great until you work with her and realize that in actuality, Molly is a total bitch who is emotionally manipulative and constantly makes reckless impulsive decisions out of spite. I swear the only reason she’s at my level in the office is because she wears these tight-fitting pants that leave very little about her shape to the imagination. I wonder if she has daddy issues.

When I got closer, I realized Molly was trying to get my boss to reassign the review of the latest round of bridge project bids from her to me. For once, Mike didn’t instantly cave in to her demands, but as he pushed back, Molly began making a scene. To avoid a complete shitshow, Mike called her into his office to continue their discussion. I swear I saw him reach under under her blazer as they went in and locked the door.

Thirty minutes later, the sweaty disheveled couple came out of my boss’s office and walked to my desk. My boss then explained to me that he wanted me to review the project bids, citing my “recent uptick in performance that made me the right man for the job”. Bullshit, I thought, watching a shit-eating grin flash across Molly’s rose-red lips. I tried to think of a way to flip the situation back on her without calling her out for how she likely convinced Mike during their time alone, but nothing came to mind. Defeated, I took over the brunette’s review duty.

In all honesty, reviewing the project bids wasn’t that bad. I like large-scale region-altering projects like bridge-building. It’s why I got into the construction industry instead of taking my accounting skills to somewhere like a bank. The problem is I do appreciate other things in life too, so having to work until 6:30 PM peeved me off.

After finally getting out of the office, I felt... empty. I was doing well in life, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was all for and whether my genuine efforts would even get me that reward when someone like Molly could swoop in and schmooze her way up the ladder. I decided to clear my head with a walk, and I knew just the place to go.

Hazelwood isn’t that big of a town, but its proximity to I-95 meant it was heavily traversed. Thus, in the heyday of the practice, Hazelwood had its own fuckstop. Nowadays, it’s long-abandoned, the floor stripped of its tile down to the concrete, the brick walls cracked, and the roof mostly gone after having blown apart in a freak windstorm. The contents weren’t in great shape either. Originally, this building must have had at least a dozen guillotines, but now, they were in varying states of decay. Only one slaughter station had so much as a complete bascule and lunette left.

It was there I undid my pants, sat down, took in the cool evening breeze, and fantasized about this place’s glory days. The idea of beautiful women being in the middle of their lives only to receive the call, dolling themselves up, and dutifully settling themselves in as they awaited their release excited me. I imagined walking in and seeing women of various walks of life all united by their impending demise. Some probably chatted with each other while under the blade, others probably focused on making their last moments of sexual pleasure count, and still others probably lied prone on the bascule in silence, scared out of their pretty little minds. I imagined approaching one of those women, slipping my cock out, and inspecting her holes. In this particular fantasy, I decided her ass would deliver maximum pleasure, so I used the complimentary lube and starting making love to it. The woman in my waking dream was tight, squeezing down on my cock like an imploding star, trying to make diamonds out of my dick. As the fantasy went, I got more and more aroused, and just as I was about to climax...

In the corner of my eye, I the shadow of a person cross the door separating the killing floor from the fuckstop’s waiting room. I instantly zipped my pants and got to my feet as quietly as I could in my flustered state. Given the silhouette's position and angle, I didn’t think that they saw me, but with no other easy way out, I wanted to make sure. Thus, I tip-toed over, looking around the doorframe to see who it was, and my jaw dropped.

It was Molly.

My surprise was audible. Molly was also caught off guard and turned around.

“Oh, Jeremy!” she said, looking visibly upset but trying her best to fake a smile, “Crazy to see you here. Are you also an urban explorer?”

To Molly’s credit, she had mentioned an interest in urban exploration before, but she was still in her work clothes, and so was I. Still, her attempt at forced cheerfulness caught me off guard.

“Uh, no, I was just taking a walk,” I lied.

“Uh-huh,” Molly enunciated while making a show of nodding her head, “Do you usually moan that much on your walks?”

I double-took as my mind blanked in a panic. This was bad, really bad! I played the only card I could think of.

“As much as you did in Mike’s office today,” I retorted.

Now it was Molly’s turn to be on the defensive. She blushed as her heart rate picked up, her breasts starting to move a bit with her breathing.

She spoke frantically, “I-I’m not sure what you mean! I went to bat for you today! M-Mike said he wasn’t sure about you after you filed that report late! I highlighted all the g-great stuff you’ve done! I’m sorry I can’t live up to you!”

Then a paper fell from her hands and a gust of wind blew it towards me. I picked it up. It was a Snuff Contract: a legal document signed by a snufflet and their desired killer to certify to authorities that the act was done consensually. It contains details like the time, place, and method, and as long as the killer(s) abide by those parameters, they are legally protected from being charged for the deed. I read it.

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Time: Between 5:15 PM and 7:15 PM, June 21st, 21XX

Place: Hazelwood Fuckstop - 323 Green Mile Ln, Hazelwood, NJ, 55555

Method: Decapitation with sharp instrument

Extra Details: None

Snuffee: Molly Cutter

Snuffer: Michael Dugaravich

Notarized by: Harold Johnson

Note: All acts of snuff must be reported within 2 hours of death as not to waste police resources on frivolous missing person searches. Failure to report will waive all legal protections granted by this form.

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Michael Dugaravich. Our boss. What. The. Fuck.

I looked Molly in the eyes. She was covering her face in utter embarrassment, trying to shrink into nothing so she could hide from me. I asked her what the meaning of this paper was.

She broke down in tears, nearly collapsing to the ground blurting “Fine! I’ve been sleeping with Mike! It’s been a really hard year and I let my work suffer! I needed something to make up for my loss of performance and I offered him my body!”

I knelt down and looked at her with concern, “But why this?”

She sobbed even more, “Because I want a break and no one will give me one! I just want out! I’ve already spent all my money living up my last days! And he didn’t even show up!”

I checked my smartwatch. 7:20 PM. Damn, I thought, Mike stood her up.

I reached out to her shoulder to calm her. Even a brat like Molly didn’t deserve this. I asked her, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She shook her head, despondently muttering, “No, I’m screwed either way. Like I said, I’ve spent all my money, told all my friends I was going to die, and my one true love left me behind. The only thing left for me to look forward to is...” Molly trailed off as something across the street caught her eye. It was the flickering sign of a building labelled “Johnson Notary”. She smiled and purred, “...payback.”.

It dawned on me what her plan was. I sputtered, “You really want me to-” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. I threw my arms in the air and shouted, “I thought you hated me!”

Molly got up a bit to so we could be face-to-face, grabbing my inner thigh for leverage as she did. She looked at me with a new calm demeanor and spoke softly, “Hate and jealousy are two very different things, Jeremy. Besides, I know you’re not a fan of Mike. Wouldn’t it feel great to snuff his girl?”

I reflexively started to say something rather rude but paused to contemplate the offer. She must have seen me weighing the decision, so she put her hands on my shoulders, leaned in until our noses were practically touching, and seductively whispered, “Besides, I have a feeling you have some fantasies you want to live out.”

In a moment, I made my decision and sealed it with a kiss. Our lips rubbed smoothly across each other, her makeup making the perfect lubrication. Then, we opened our mouths and started invading each other, our tongues dancing and mingling in passion, both of us desperate for something to complete us. As we made out, our hands also explored each other. For my part, I found that Molly had a semi-athletic body with smooth curves, a flat stomach, and defined hips. Molly meanwhile went straight for my ass, squeezing it in her hands. I returned the favor. Her cheeks moved like putty in my hands.

After about 30 seconds, we pulled back, silently nodded to each other, and walked to the notary. We had to wait a few minutes there for another couple, but then it was our turn. As is required by law, the snuffee, Molly, was the only one allowed to edit the contract. She started by updating the time and crossing out Mike’s name. Then, she looked at me, flicked her tongue, and wrote mine in instead. The notary then spoke to me for about ten minutes to get some basic information and my fingerprints in case I decided to violate the agreement. Molly watched us intently at first, but evidently she lost interest in the process because after a few minutes I looked over to see her scrolling on her phone. Fair enough, I thought, She’s obviously been through this process once before. For my part, I complied with all legal requirement and we were set with a newly-notarized document within half-an-hour.

Molly and I practically galloped to the fuckstop, giddy with anticipation for what we just agreed to. Once inside, we got to as private of an area as the dilapidated building allowed, which ended up being near the center of the facility where two interior walls met. The roof there was tattered, barely hanging on, but it was in the best shape of anywhere on the premises. Thanks to its protection, the guillotine station underneath it was still in a recognizable state. Sure, the risers and blade making up the execution mechanism were long gone, but the snuflett-restraining bascule and lunette were mostly in place. And, with it being the Summer Solstice, we still had a good amount of time before the natural light faded from the open sky. I looked at Molly, examining her for inspiration, and asked her, “So, how were you and Mike planning to do this?”

Molly’s eyes flashed with lust as she cutely replied, “Well, Mikey was going to tie me up and hack my head off, but seeing as he was going to bring the rope, I guess we can’t do that.” She then looked at the installation beside her with a nearly-complete set of restraints and in a teasing voice said, “I guess that’ll do. Why don’t we get ready, babe?”

I enthusiastically answered her request by getting to work on my dress shirt, unbuttoning it before setting it aside. As I did this, I saw Molly started to put on a show, first grabbing her dark-grey blazer by the right, then by the left, loosening it. She then angled her arms down backwards, letting gravity slide the expensive piece of work apparel onto the rough dusty floor. With that out of the way, Molly slowly undid her white button-up shirt, going button-by-button from top to bottom. When she reached her stomach she paused. Taking her tits into her hands, she massaged herself and started moaning. As she did this, her nipples hardened, each one pushing against her skimpy pink bra, begging to be let free. She then kicked off her shoes, pulled off her socks, and removed her belt. Her suit-pants fell a bit before resting on the widest point of her hips. My eyes were drawn to the sight, and seeing my face as well as the tent in my pants, Molly stopped to confidently smirk, pleased with the reception she was getting.

Seeing her pause, I stepped in to help, undoing her pants' button and zipper with one hand while my other reached below her. I took a moment to feel her heat through her pants then stooped low to slide them down so she could step out of them with her dainty feet. I reached out and kissed one of them on the top.

“Ooooh!” Molly bubbled, “I didn’t know you were that kind of guy!”

“Not really”, I lied, “Just got caught up in the moment.” Even though I was going to kill her, I still wasn't quite comfortable enough around Molly to let her know about that.

“Sure, sure,” she chuckled, her diva side flashing in her eyes. “Now, let me get my goods out.”

Molly reached behind her and undid her bra. She held still for a second, taking pleasure in my desperation to see her tits. She then brought her hands forward and finally let the bra fall to the ground, the breeze carrying it ever so slightly. She followed up by wiggling her hips, and after some teasing, her panties were also on the floor. While she did this, I finished disrobing myself. My routine wasn’t as sexy as Molly’s, but then again, I’ve never had my job depend on a striptease. Finally, everything was ready. The only thing missing was...

“The axe!” Molly gasped before running naked over to where I first found her. I heard her reach for something, and then she came back in carrying a backpack. As she did so, she pulled out a hatchet.

She handed it to me and purred, “You’ll need this.” The tool felt solid in my hands, obviously of high quality, with a polished rubber-lined wooden handle and a hefty metal blade. I took a few practice swings in the air to get an idea of how it handled. After that, Molly then motioned to the remains of the guillotine station and invitingly giggled, “Shall we?”

I held her hand and we walked together. The bascule and lunnete were still in good shape for their age, protected by the two walls and the gently swaying section of roof. When this place was in operation, there would’ve been a disposable blanket for the snufflet to lie on, but with none on hand, we used Molly’s clothes instead. As Molly sat down, we kissed again, tasting each other in the cooling breezy dusk as I groped her right breast, feeling her warm udder wobble in my grasp. She reached for my dick and started stroking it while I felt her, her fingers wrapped around my throbbing cock and massaging it until it was slicked with precum and fully erect.

After a minute of this, I laid Molly prone on her stomach and began engaging the restraints. They weren’t in good shape. Actually, they were in terrible shape, but after putting in some effort, I managed to her get her wrists and neck neatly locked in, having to slightly adjust the latter to ensure I would have enough room for the hatchet to connect when the time came. As for the leg restraints they used to keep the snufflets from kicking? They were a lost cause, so I didn’t even bother and just let her settle into a kneeling position. Her pussy was splayed open by her legs straddling the bascule.

“Now,” I stated with excitement, “How do you want to do this?”

Molly pondered for a second, considering her desires. I guess Mike was a much more dominant type. I decided to play into that by suggesting, “How about I lick your slit?”

Molly squealed with a mix of surprise and delight, “Yes, please! I love a man who knows how to eat a girl’s pussy!” And so I went to the end of the bascule between her legs, knelt on the ground, used my tongue to moisten my lips, and began making out with her clitoris. Molly gasped and started moaning, softly at first, and then slowly picking up intensity. I got into a rhythm, picking up the pace just a little and widening my motions to incorporate her rough, sensitive folds, enjoying every texture she had to offer. Soon, she was melting in my grasp, moaning like a drugged-up whore while her body bucked under the heavy restraints.

I kept up my oral pampering of Molly’s snatch for what felt like a laborous eternity. Finally, she managed to stammer out the words while moaning, “I-I’m-ohmygodohmygod-CUMMING!” and I felt a warm liquid leak from her pussy. I lapped up some of her juices. They were sweet and salty, as if you combined Molly’s glowing persona with her acidic personality. I slowly wound down my tonguework.

After pulling back, I noticed that I was so concentrated on the task at hand that my dick had partially softened. So I got up, walked up to her head, and motioned her to open her mouth.

She laughed, “I thought you were a foot guy.”

I played it off, “Even if I was, your feet aren’t in a good position for any fun. No way to make that work.”

She sighed and playfully replied, “Al-right. Come to mama!”

She opened her mouth and I placed my dick inside. With seconds, her tongue met my cock and started the same routine as when we kissed. As I slowly thrusted, my cock sprang back to life as her swirling tongue did wonders on my tip and worked on coating the part of my shaft in her mouth with saliva. After a few of these thrusts, I picked up the pace and started going deeper, causing Molly eye’s to focus on the appendage invading her. She reacting by making a thumbs up with her right hand as I pushed her boundaries, giving me the okay to explore further into her warm delectable mouth. As I did, Molly’s tongue became exponentially more pleasure-inducing, using more and more of it’s length to service my cock, moistening, lubricating it, and applying whatever pressure it could in all of the right areas. Once I reached a depth of 5 inches and a fast but not overwhelming facefucking speed, Molly flicked her thumb sideways, telling me to go no further. Part of me wanted to contnue deeper anyway as payback for her years of egotism and selfishness, but I know Molly is a fighter, and even in this captive state, I was scared of what she would do to me. I held my pace. With my excursions into Molly’s throat having reached a steady pattern, I saw hey eyes shift from the cock sliding in and out of her lips to the man she entrusted with ending her pathetic life. I caught her gaze, her pretty blue eyes watching with lust and hunger for more as my own face melted with contentment from her throat’s entryway tickling the sensitive bottom of my tip every time I pushed forward. She complemented this by repeatedly stretching her neck, doing all she could to please her soon-to-be killer. She looked so pretty with my dick in her mouth. If I wasn’t about to end her, I’d suggest to her that she try this look more often. Lessons learned for the next girl, I guess.

After a few minutes of this, I reached the point where I either had to pull out or ejaculate down my coworker’s throat. I chose the former and carefully withdrew my cock from Molly’s jaw, trying not to make any sudden movements that would push me over the edge. After I successfully did so, I stood there for a second both to catch my breath and let Molly get one last look at the rod that was about to snuff her. Molly smiled at my throbbing erection, evidently proud of her ability to please a man, something very unlike the Molly I’ve known. She then looked to the side, staring intently at the hatchet laying on her backpack. She started putting some sort of idea together in hear head, but at this point, I decided it was time to cement my authority over her, stating, “Okay, here’s the plan: I’m going to fuck your pussy until you cum. Then, once you start reach the peak of your orgasm, I’ll pull out, grab the hatchet, and cut your head off. Got it?”"

She enthusiastically replied, “Yes, do it to me!”

And so I moved back to her pelvic region and positioned myself for insertion. I rubbed my cock up and down my colleague's lips, feeling her moisture and teasing her as she squealed. Then, I grabbed her by the hips, lined up dead-center with her enchanting hole, and pushed forward, entering her vagina as she gasped in pleasure, a soft “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh” emanating from her.

It took a few minutes, but soon I was in a rhythm, firmly grasping Molly’s hips and tickling her insides with every ridge and vein my cock had to offer. As I did this, Molly’s ass vibrated, each impact of my hips against her rear sending a wave towards her waist with an accompanying slapping noise that joined with the creaking roof swaying in the strengthening wind to form a passionate ambience. Molly added to the auditory experience, delivering a series of carnal moans as my shaft rubbed against her g-spot, exclaiming “Fuck! Fuck! Oh your cock feels so gooooood!” Her pussy rewarded me nicely, lightly clenching every few seconds as my cock pushed in and out of her tunnel. As we progressed, Molly began wiggling her ass to enhance my experience, adding a new dimension to each plunge of my cock as it struggled mightily in a desperate attempt to reach her cervix. I slapped her ass, creating a shockwave of flesh, and instantly started to panic thinking that I ruined this special moment. To my surprise though, slapping Molly only seemed to turn her on more, as I heard her groan, “Yeah daddy, punish me harder.” I slapped her again, this time with more force on the other cheek, leaving a momentary red mark. She moaned even louder “Dadddddyyyy!!!”

As we continued, Molly and I both sank deeper and deeper into the throes of bliss. Soon, the movements of my pelvis became muscle memory. In this flow state, my senses started to feel funny. My ears seemed to recalibrate themselves, shutting out all noise but Molly’s expressions of pleasure and the constant drones of plap plap plap as our bodies kept bouncing off each other. My eyes meanwhile, did the opposite, becoming unfocused and starting to wander. First, they went to Molly’s ass cheeks, which were jiggling with the motion of her body. Then I saw the lunette and imagined what standing here must have felt like in the Crunch. My mind went back to those videos. I’d seen dozens of them, all like this, with a handsome man trying to make it through a rough time as he buried himself in some unlucky snufflet’s holes. I remembered my day, with the late work, horrible boss, and that uncomfortable feeling of unfulfillment. As I did, the nymphomaniac who caused it all was desperately squeezing my cock, pleading with me between moans, “C’mon Daddy! Molly’s been a good girl! Give me your warm sticky love and chop my head off!” As she begged, I felt a connection to those days, when food was scarce but girls were free. The guillotine materialized in my mind, its rope taut, its risers sturdy, and its blade slicked in snufflets’ blood. It was ready to slice Molly’s head off. As I beheld it, I hastened my pace, Molly’s pussy started quivering erratically, and I felt a pressure in my balls telling me I was about to go over the edge. I heard Molly shout, “YES, YES, YES, GIVE IT TO ME DADDY!!! OH MY GOD I’M GONNA CUM RIGHT ON YOUR COCK!!! QUICKLY, CUT YOUR LITTLE GIRL’S HEAD OFF!!! FILL ME WITH YOUR CUM AND TAKE WHAT’S YOURS!!!” It was time. All I had to do was reach out, press the imaginary button, and-

As I reached out, a large gust of wind hit the building. The walls next to us creaked, the remainder of the roof heaved, and a loud SNAP occurred just above where we were making love. A large thin piece of fiberglass fell, turned edge-down, and landed directly on Molly’s neck. It connected with a wet squelch followed by a loud CRUNCH as it cut just over halfway through her before falling to the side. Her blood and tissue splattered along with fragments of the fallen ceiling material and chips of wood from the lunette*.* Without the muscles in the back of her neck, Molly’s head slumped forward, hanging only by a collection of crushed tissues and hemorrhaging blood vessels. In any other scenario, this would’ve immediately ruined the mood, but in the intoxicating depths of such passionate snuff, all this did was push us over the edge. We came at basically the same time, her pussy clamping down hard on my cock as her entire body convulsed, coating my throbbing erection in warm, slippery girl-cum as I painted the interior of her vaginal canal with cum. Her dying spasms felt so good, and judging by Molly’s babbling about her dad through the blood in her mouth, I guess they felt just as heavenly to her too. So I continued thrusting as I injected my seed as far into the dying girl as I could, vainly attempting to impregnate my expiring coworker. Once I was done, I withdrew my enraptured juice-slicked cock from Molly, backed up to avoid her now-flailing legs, and ran around them to her wounded head. As quickly as I could, I, grabbed the hatchet with both hands, lifted it above my head, and with all the might I could muster, slammed the blade down on her neck to finish the job and send her head to the floor.

The hatchet tore clean-through the rest of Molly’s neck, fully separating her head from her shoulders and sending it straight to the ground. It hit the concrete with a thud, blood splashing out of her neck hole on impact. Meanwhile, her body continued writhing like crazy, sending spurts of blood flying everywhere as it slowly lost its energy. I dropped the blade and immediately squatted down to take hold of Molly’s head. I gazed into her eyes, which were now pointed forward, likely having reached that position as the carpentry tool tore through what little remained of her flesh. She was alive, but fading fast. I had an instant to decide what to do, so to finish our passion in the way it started, I held her to my face, closed my eyes, and kissed her. She died on my lips.

After the rigorous activity I had just put myself through, I decided to take a breather. I grabbed Molly’s backpack and opened it, finding a protein bar and a small bottle of water. How nice of her, I thought as I ate the snack and gulped the liquid down. I sat down and surveyed my handiwork. Molly’s body was still on the bascule, her pussy leaking cum and her neck still oozing blood. The fuckstop floor beneath her was red; probably for the first time in a while. I watched the puddle expand before finally putting my clothes back on.

At this point, I was rather tired, but I needed to handle a couple of things. I started by grabbing the contract, wiping off the blood that had splashed on it so it could be read, and calling 555: the police’s snuff reporting hotline. I waited in the corner nervously, looking at the leading edge of the fiberglass that had fallen into Molly’s neck and wondering if the cops would believe me. The department sent two officers who read over the snuff contract and did a quick check of the premises for anything suspicious. They asked me about the bloody fiberglass and I sheepishly explained what had happened with the roof. The officers recreated the moment by holding Molly’s head up to the neck hole on her body and matching a portion of the fiberglass to the large gash that ran through the back half of my colleague’s neck. Then, after doing the same with the hatchet and conversing with someone at the station, the pair let me know that I had fulfilled the conditions of the agreement, granting me full legal immunity. I was then asked if I wanted to take anything from my victim. At first I double-took, but after considering the offer, I decided that I was really only interested in her shoes. Finally, I chatted with the officers while we waited for the coroner to come recover the cooling body. Tax dollars at work.

I went to bed that night feeling much more fulfilled, having finally achieved one of my wildest dreams. I woke up feeling great, like everything was going to be alright. I ate my breakfast, called my friend Tony to tell him what had happened, and went off to work. For the first time in years, I entered that building with a smile, greeting everyone on my way to my desk.

There I saw Mike. He had his phone in his hand. On it was a series of text messages.

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Mike: “Sorry to have to do this at the last minute, but my brother was injured in a serious car crash. I need to go take care of my nephew tonight. We’ll have to reschedule your death to some other day.”

Molls <3: “Oh no! I hope your brother’s okay! I just got here, so I’ll just head home and maybe binge-watch some cooking shows!”

Molls <3: An image. It was a picture of me at the notary, talking to the notary as we made preparations for the night ahead. It was captioned, “Guess who won my heart (and head) tonight!”

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That utter bitch!

The night after the royal ball was marked by the sound of horses, as the charming prince searched the land for the woman who could fit the glass slipper. He approached one of the last stops on his journey- the Tremaine house (home to Cinderella, her two stepsisters Drisella and Anastasia, and the stepmother, Lady Tremaine).

The prince's attendant knocked on the door, and Lady Tremaine answered. "Are there any young women in this house? By order of the prince, I ask that they try on this glass slipper. It may sound bizarre, but it will confirm who is his true love" the attendant explained.

Lady Tremaine's face curled into a wicked smile. "Why of course! My two daughters are as young and beautiful as can be, I am certain that one of them will fit this slipper. May I have them try it on?"

The attendant nodded, handing Lady Tremaine the glass shoe.

Ms. Tremaine entered the house, shutting the door, and rushing over to her two daughters. "My girls, this slipper is our ticket out of a life of poverty and failure. If one of you can fit into it, you will become the princess, and have all your heart's desires. Anastasia, since your feet are smaller, surely you will be able to make the fit."

Anastasia nodded, wanting to please her mother. Her long, red curls framed her now red face, as she struggled to shove her foot into the slipper. "I- I can't! My big toe is too large, it keeps jamming into the front of the shoe..."

Ms. Tremaine paused, quietly assessing the situation. The attendant knocked on the door, but did not open it. "Everything alright in there?"

"Quite alright, attendant! My daughter's foot has a cramp. Give us a moment to resolve it." Ms. Tremaine grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter, and returned to Anastasia. "My girl, when you are royalty, you will have a toe made of gold... this pain will be but a moment." Anastasia's eyes grew wide, as she realized what her mother was doing.

"Stop! I- AAAAAAAGHHH-" Anastasia let out a scream, and was quickly silenced by her mother forcing a rag down her throat. Ms. Tremaine chopped off Anastasia's big toe swiftly, sawing through the bone, and setting it aside on the counter. After sewing the wound shut, Ms. Tremaine gave Anastasia a gentle kiss on the wound, and another kiss on her plump, severed toe.

"There. All better, my dear. You will now become a princess, and this wound will be a distant memory." she said, trying to keep her daughter calm.

Anastasia removed the rag from her mouth, and nodded at her mother. "I- I won't let you down" she said, wincing in pain but doing her best to smile.

Anastasia slipped on the glass shoe, which fit perfectly now, and made her way outside to meet the prince. Though the prince did not recognize her as his true love, he saw the shoe was fitting, and took her arm to lead her to his carriage.

The attendant clapped his hands with glee, and then asked, "show us the slipper! I'm excited to see it returned to its rightful owner."

Anastasia gulped, and shakily showed off the slipper, trying to keep it out of the reflective moonlight. Unfortunately, an entire missing big toe is easily spotted when examining a transparent slipper, and the attendant gasped in horror. "What! How dare you try and deceive us!"

Anastasia knew her mother would hurt her further if she didn't make this work. She quickly blurted out, "It is an old injury! Those cramps my mother mentioned, they are from my lost toe... it was bitten by a stray dog many years ago and we haven't had the funds to properly fix it."

The attendant seemed to settle down at this response. "Ah... how tragic. Well, dear prince, do you remember how many toes your true love had?"

"I am fairly certain she had all ten... though I am sorry for the loss of your toe, miss, I am afraid you are not my love." the prince said, apologetically.

Anastasia's face sank in sadness and defeat. "I- understand... um... shall I get my sister?"

"Yes! please. We haven't many more houses to go, if there is any chance your sister could be the one, we should not miss this opportunity." the attendant said.

Anastasia hobbled back inside, where Ms. Tremaine attempted to hide her burning anger. "You WHAT?" she said, trying to whisper and yell all at once. "No matter, if the prince cares about ten toes, surely we'll find a way to make Drisella fit the shoe."

Drisella's face went pale, worried that she'd have to chop a piece of her foot off, too. She played with her long, black hair, nervously. "But mother-" she attempted. 

"No! You will fit into the shoe, or I will never love you again." Ms. Tremaine replied.

Drisella pushed with all her might, trying to shove on the glass slipper, but it just wouldn't fit. Her large, round heel was too big to fit inside the back of the shoe. "Surely the prince won't notice a missing heel, so long as all the toes are intact..." Ms. Tremaine got that bloodlust in her eye, and Drisella, having watched her sister's pain, preemptively shoved the rag into her own mouth to drown her screams.

Ms. Tremaine hacked away at Drisella's beautiful round heel, severing it like a large, peachy cookie, and setting it on the counter next to Anastasia's large, plump, severed big toe. Drisella screamed into the rag, and after some stitches from Ms. Tremaine, finally fit her foot into the shoe.

Drisella walked out to meet the prince, and, though in pain, did her best to show off all her toes intact. The attendant and the prince seemed convinced enough, and helped Drisella up into the carriage. However, the stitching on her heel eventually came loose, allowing blood to slowly seep in and fill the slipper.

Before the carriage driver could take off, the attendant noticed the pooling blood, and exclaimed, "Blood! Oh my! Surely you did not intend to deceive our prince?"

Drisella attempted to save the situation. "I am your true love, dear prince! I have all ten of my toes... I simply scraped my heel on a very sharp rock not too long ago... I like to play barefoot down by the river... I am sorry..."

The prince was not convinced this time. "My true love does not like water, she prefers to sew... and if you were good at sewing, this stitch would not have come undone. I believe we have wasted enough of our time... get off my carriage and leave."

The attendant grabbed Drisella and pulled her off the carriage. She returned the slipper, and hobbled back inside. Just then, Cinderella managed to escape the attic where she was being trapped. She hurried downstairs, hoping to catch the prince. Ms. Tremaine tripped her just before the door, and Cinderella fell onto the ground.

"If my real daughters cannot have the prince, we certainly won't let you have him." Ms. Tremaine said, holding the knife above Cinderella. "But I am merciful, so I will let you live." Ms. Tremaine slammed the knife down into Cinderella's ankle, as Anastasia and Drisella held her down. Once Cinderella's entire small, pale, pointed foot was cut off, Ms. Tremaine placed it on the counter next to the other spoils of her knife.

"Open her mouth, girls." Ms. Tremaine commanded. The girls did as her mother told them, and Ms. Tremaine cut off Cinderella's tongue. Finally, to ensure she could not even write to explain herself, Ms. Tremaine chopped off Cinderella's hands, one after the other.

By this point, the prince and his attendant had turned their carriage around, after checking their records and realizing another young woman was supposed to be at this residence. As they arrived, Ms. Tremaine helped a stitched-up Cinderella out the door.

"I assume you are here for my maid, sir prince?" she asked.

"If your maid is the last young lady in the house, then yes." he responded, wanting to get this over with.

"Well, as you can see, like my other girls, this one has also had several unfortunate accidents. Wolf attack, I'm afraid." Ms. Tremaine gestured to the missing foot, hands, and tongue.

The prince hesitated for a second, nearly recognizing Cinderella, but was too disgusted by her wounds, and the previous wounds, to fully trust. "I think we are done here. Thank you for your time, and I hope your girls do not get into any other accidents."

The prince and the attendant left, as Cinderella sobbed, unable to do anything.

Ms. Tremaine led Cinderella back inside, and met with her daughters. "None of you were able to win us royalty, and therefore you deserve to be punished. I wanted to have a royal feast tonight, and so I shall have the next best thing. All of you, line up your feet (or what is left of them) and I shall chop them all off for our feast."

The girls exchanged glances, all shaking and hurting, not really willing to commit. Ms. Tremaine placed her knife at Anastasia's throat. "I do not want to kill you... but I do want a feast. Place your feet in a line, so that I may cut them off, or I shall cut off your heads instead. You cannot outrun me with your mangled soles, so you might as well submit." Ms. Tremaine smiled wickedly, knowing she had won.

The girls all lined up their feet (and Cinderella's single remaining foot), and Ms. Tremaine went down the line, chopping off each foot as the girls took turns screaming into a rag.

Ms. Tremaine then scraped the feet, along with the other severed bits (Cinderella's hands and tongue) into a large pot, and began to prepare the most delicious dish.

The girls nursed their wounds as Ms. Tremaine cooked, even helping each other sew up the stumps. Though Anastasia and Drisella had assisted in Cinderella's fate, they finally took pity on her, seeing that they were all victims of Tremaine's cruelty.

Once the feet and other bits had finished cooking, Ms. Tremaine removed the whole feet from the soup, and left the smaller bits inside. She poured bowls of soup for each girl, and placed a foot on each of their plates with a garnish of greens and seasoning.

The aroma that filled the house was surprisingly delicious, smelling like each girl's unique sweaty scent. The girls found themselves growing aroused at the smell and sight of this meal, something they didn't want to admit.

Ms. Tremaine kept the remaining three feet (one from each girl) for herself, feasting like a glutton on the meaty foot of Drisella, the long, slender foot of Anastasia, and the small, pointed foot of Cinderella.

The other girls took turns trying each others' feet, and did their best to not moan as they delighted in the experience. Drisella took Anastasia's severed toe and rubbed it between her legs, while Anastasia took Drisella's heel and did the same. Ms. Tremaine pretended not to notice this, content with her daughters sharing the love for feet that she secretly also had.

Once the meal was finished, Ms. Tremaine looked at her girls, and made an offer to them. "Now that you have tasted the deliciousness of feet, I offer you a choice. Accept your fate as food, and be cooked entirely by me, or join me in the pursuit of claiming the feet of other villagers in their sleep... if we cannot be rich, we can at least feast on the best part of the body each night."

The girls exchanged glances again, unsure if they wanted to agree, but also wanting to keep themselves alive. Anastasia spoke first, hesitant but aroused at the thought- "When do we start?"

------

This was a wild idea I had after reading up on the original fairytale of Cinderella, which, for the record, does include a severed toe and severed heel very similar to the first half of this story. I decided to let it go off the rails, and made it all footsy and cannibal-y 😂 I hope this was enjoyable!

Hi, my name is Sofia, I am 25 years old, 1.75 meters tall, 60.5 kg in weight, breast size 2. [My stories are set in a realistic world where cannibalism is prohibited]

I've been asking you to roast me for a long time. At some point, I started talking about it more persistently every day. And so you finally agreed. We have planned a day in a month. And the closer that day got, the more often you disappeared in the evenings.

The long-awaited day came, and we got up early, before dawn, at 3:30 a.m. You told me to strip down to my bare feet, leaving only my hiking boots, since now I'm just a piece of meat. We got in the car and immediately set off. We drove for 4 hours and drove almost 400 km. I slept most of the way. We drove deep into the woods so that the car could not be seen from the road. Then we got out of the car. You told me to take a backpack with water and a 15-liter gasoline canister. And you went light, taking nothing but the car keys. We went deep into the forest. It was very hard for me. I asked you: why don't you help me? You grinned, "so unlike you, I still have to go back." We walked another 5 km and came to a small clearing. Coals for the bonfire had already been prepared there, the bonfire was fenced off with bricks and there were two racks on the edges, on which a spit lay. That's where you've been in the evenings. You were preparing a place to roast me.

I breathed a sigh of relief that we had finally reached it. But you made me dig a hole while you were preparing a bonfire. You responded to my outrage. "Dig! You lazy bitch! All you need is to be fried! And then I'll roast you! And then I have to put out the fire, butcher you and bury your remains because I'm not going to drag your carcass back! So shut up and dig!" It wasn't until later that I realized I was digging my own grave. "Stupid pussy!" I thought to myself.

It was 11 a.m. By this time, I had dug a hole 1.5 meters by 0.5 meters and 0.5 meters deep. You came up to me, looked contemptuously at the result of my hard work, and said, "Let's go. We'll roast you since you're no longer capable of anything." I felt so ashamed. I even wet myself a little because of it.

I took off my shoes and walked barefoot over the coals to the spit. On my third attempt, I clumsily climbed from above onto the platform welded to the spit, lay down on it and turned over to face up. You tied me tightly to a spit with a metal rope. You skipped the first turn below my boobs, so it rested on the 5th rib, then wound it back onto the spit. You made another turn at the level of my pelvis. And finally he tied my feet with the third one. You tightened the cables with clamps so tightly that they dug deep into the skin. You've secured my wrists tightly with plastic clamps. 3 on each wrist. After that, you put a noose of strong rope around my throat, but you didn't tighten it. Now I was ready to roast.

The Frying Has Begun. 11:45 a.m.

You sprayed the ignition mixture on the coals and set them on fire. While the coals were burning, the temperature was kept at a mild 100°F (38°C), like in a warm sauna. At this stage, I felt a gentle, enveloping heat that can even relax. My skin started to sweat, and my muscles relaxed as the warmth began to seep into my body. This gradual start gave me the opportunity to comfortably acclimatize before starting real cooking. It lasted 15 minutes. You managed to turn me on a spit once. After that, the temperature gradually increased to 150°F (65°C). At that moment, the heat increased significantly, and I began to feel as if I had a severe sunburn. My skin turned red, and I felt a tingling, burning sensation as the outer layers began to dry out. The air around me became thick and oppressive, making deep breaths look like inhaling hot steam. It went on like this for 20 minutes and I started to panic. I begged you to stop frying, that I no longer want to be meat, untie me! I cried and moaned, trying to break the clamps, but my attempts were in vain. I screamed at the top of my voice, "Save me! Help! Help!" But it was useless, there was no one for tens of kilometers around. And I just lost my voice.

Meanwhile, the temperature will rise to 93°C (200°F), and the real cooking process will begin. The subcutaneous fat will begin to liquefy and caramelize, releasing a rich, savory flavor. I could smell my roasting meat, similar to the smell of pork or beef slowly browning in a pan. The pain increased as the nerve endings began to react to the heat, but the strong scent caused a strange, almost hypnotic withdrawal. Duration: ~1 hour. My sensations were: A sharp, burning pain when fat bubbles under the skin; A deep, meaty smell began to fill the area.

The temperature reached 121°C (250°F), and my skin began to brown and become crispy, similar to how a perfect crust forms on a roast. At first, the pain was unbearable, but as the flesh prepared, the nerve endings began to collapse, leading to gradual numbness. My vision blurred, and my eyes looked like glass. Eventually, the fever caused unconsciousness due to a combination of severe pain, dehydration, and systemic shock. It lasted like this: ~30-45 minutes (until loss of consciousness and death, respectively). You held me over the fire for another 15 minutes and then filled the fire with three buckets of water. At 2:20 p.m. (2:20 p.m.), I had the meat ready.

While my meat was cooling on the spit, you started digging my hole. You expanded it to 2 meters in length, 1 meter in width and went deeper by another 0.35 meters so that the depth became 0.85 meters.

After that, you went to the spit and cut off a few pieces from my ribs. You leisurely ate 1.1 kg of me. It was already approaching 5 p.m. (5 p.m.). You started packing back up. You bit the plastic clamps with wire cutters, removed the noose from my neck and unfastened the clamps. After that, you spun the spit, which caused my body to fall face down on the coals and sizzle. You turned me face up, took out your knife and cut off my left boob. Next, you spread my legs with a crunch and cut out my pussy, along with most of my pubis on one side and my anus on the other. You cut off my uterus and urethra from my cunt, leaving them inside me and my rectum from my anus. Then you took an axe and chopped off my left arm in the middle of the humerus with 3 blows. In the same way, you cut off your left leg in the middle of the thigh. You put the cut-off pieces of me in a backpack. After that, you poured the entire can of gasoline on my body and set it on fire. At the same time, you burned all the trash and my shoes in this fire.

By 7:20 p.m. (7:20 p.m.), my body was almost completely burned out. The fat melted, the hair on the head was burned, only small short, up to 2 centimeters wisps of hair remained, the skin stretched and tore, exposing the bones, the eyes flowed out of the sockets, the lips burned completely, exposing the teeth, some teeth cracked from the heat, the cheeks tore, causing the lower jaw to drop, the tongue burned, and the brain it flowed out through his mouth. Below, the flames completely charred the body, the skin stretched over the chest, the right tit was greatly reduced in size, and in place of the left tit there was a hole through which the ribs could be seen. My stomach tore from the strain. The liquid mass that became the internal organs flowed out through the hole where the pussy used to be. You put out the fire. The stench of fried meat, leather, gasoline, and plastic was unbearable. Because of that, you had to go get the hook. You tied him to a rope and secured him by the rib cage, near the xiphoid process, and dragged my body to the pit. You dragged him for 5 meters, after which the cartilage between the 12th thoracic vertebra and the 1st lumbar vertebra cracked and the body fell apart in half. Some of the liquid from the internal organs spilled onto the ground. "Fuck! She's a whore, and she gets me in trouble after she dies!" you swore. You dragged the top of me and threw me into the pit. Then you hooked a hook on my pelvis and dragged it into the pit the same way. After that, you collected some of the internal organs with a shovel and threw them into the pit. You dug a hole in a hurry. It was already 8:30 p.m. (8:30 p.m.). You packed up quickly and went home. You arrived home only the next day at 00:30 a.m. and immediately went to bed.

At 9:00 a.m. this morning, you threw my pussy in the microwave for 7 minutes. And while she was warming up, you threw my left boob and the stumps of my arms and legs into the freezer. You took my pussy out of the microwave and threw it into Charlie's bowl. [Charlie is my 5-year-old Chihuahua dog. He is 20 cm tall and weighs 2 kg]. Then you sat down at your laptop and put my stuff on Ebay. You took money from my cards. And by lunchtime, you went back to the frying place to clean it up.

A week later, when Charlie finally finished my pussy and anus, you declared me missing. You took Charlie to my mom, saying that you couldn't take care of him while you was "looking for" me. Two weeks later, after not finding my body, the police declared me dead. The memorial dinner was scheduled in a week to gather all the people close to me. You took my left arm and leg stumps out of the freezer, removed the meat from the bones (slightly less than 9 kg), marinated it and went to my mom with your new girlfriend. At the memorial dinner, you grilled my meat on the grill and served it to the table. My mom and her guests appreciated it and praised you for taking care of me so much, looking for me until the last moment and supporting my mom. My mom, a 46-year-old MILF with 3.5 breast size, wished you happiness with a new girlfriend.

Meanwhile, the wolves in the forest dug up my shallow grave, took out what was left of me and began to gnaw. My lower jaw completely fell off, my right collarbone was torn out, my rib cage was completely driven from the inside, the cervical vertebrae were also bitten off, the skull was torn off, the little finger on my right hand was immediately chewed off, and then the finger for the ring… I became pet food.

P.S. write in the comments did you go back there afterwards? Were you looking for my bones? What did you do to my left boob? Did you feed it to the dogs or just throw it in the trash? Have you thought about roasting your new girlfriend or my mom?

(TW - infertility)

Cheyanne stared at the three plastic sticks before her, three negative results, three final failures. They were right there on the kitchen table, sitting pretty in a neat line on a piece of paper towel. Her husband chewed his nail beds to angry ribbons on her left while the woman across from her tried to catch her eye, her ebony gaze gentle and tender. Mrs. Deshpande had dusty cocoa skin and inky, shiny hair that curled elegantly at her shoulders. Her beige pants suit was tailored perfectly, paired with creamy velvet flats and a smattering of classy jewelry.

To top it all off, she sported a prominent baby bump. That made Cheyanne blindingly furious.

She’d come with an armed, unnamed guard. He stood in the doorway, some sort of lethal, intimidating assault rifle slung over his shoulder, a pistol at his hip, encased in bulletproof gear and dark camo. He’d not offered to take his boots off when they entered.

Mrs. Deshpande - or Anagha, she’d insisted warmly when they’d let her into their home, but Cheyanne wasn’t going to call her by name, ever - typed rapidly on her laptop before setting it to the side and straightened her spine, fingers laced over her swollen belly.

“Mrs. Hock, as you’re aware, we’ve reached the fertility deadline and you’ve been unable to conceive. You can request a blood test - at your expensive, just be aware - if you think there’s any chance-“

“There’s not,” she interjected firmly, ignoring David’s wince. “I’m not pregnant.”

“In that case, we must continue as mandated by federal law with euthanization under the Fertility First act. Do you understand?”

Chey did, in fact, *understand*. She’d been throughly educated in school - produce a minimum of one living male or female via natural birth or C-section prior to age 36 to avoid termination. Those unable to reproduce were considered frivolous and unnecessary - why steal resources from the fertile and their precious offspring?

She’d known it was coming. She’d known for six years. Brent was tested and found to be perfectly able, full of energetic and robust swimmers. Cheyanne, on the other hand …

She pushed those thoughts aside. Didn’t do much good now. She was his second wife, he’d already sired children, he was safe. And soon, single.

“I understand.”

“We can arrange for you to be transported and processed in a facility today, or you can choose to pass at home. Either way, death must occur before midnight tonight. Have you given it any thought?”

They’d discussed it. Federal termination facilities were supposedly efficient and practical - that’s what the ads said, anyway. They alluded to swift and ‘nearly painless’ dispatches. No one ever came back out to tell the truth. The surviving spouse should keep an eye out for a plastic bag of ashes in the mail, give it two weeks to a month, they said.

“I want to do it here.”

“Passing at home can be a comfort, I think,” mused Mrs. Deshpande, clicking away with manicured French tips. She dug in her work bag and pulled out a little e-signer and scribe. “Please sign when I say. This is the official acknowledgement of notification of termination under the Fertility First Act.” Cheyanne scribbled haphazardly, causing the rep to purse her lips, but she continued. “Sign agreeing to expedient and willing termination in your home today.” Scribble, scribble, smiley face. “Sign if you’d like to be cremated, free of charge. If you waive that service, your surviving spouse will need to make arrangements.” Again, scribbles. Little heart. “Finally, would you like to leave a tip?”

Cheyanne froze and felt her husband do the same beside her. “Fuck. No.” She bit out, canines flashing, rage boiling over. Mrs. Deshpande remained impassive - Chey thought it was total bullshit.

“I’ll select decline. Please sign and date, and Brent, we need your signature as well.”

Cheyanne tossed the plastic pencil down on the table and stared daggers at the federal staff as Brent signed. She knew she was dying, but no law mandated that she had to be happy about it.

“Now, we have only a few options for home dispatches, we do restrict blood-loss terminations to facility processing only. The most common method in-home is suffocation, you can use an air-tight hood or we’ve got industrial rope. I’ve had a few attempt carbon monoxide poisoning in the garage space, but it’s time-consuming and dangerous for the rest of the household. Drowning isn’t popular, but I’ve seen it done. Electrocution is not advised, neither is-“

“Jesus,” Cheyanne muttered, rolling her eyes, Brent luckily stepping in to mediate and end the macabre parade of options.

“Hanging - er - suffocation or whatever will be, uh, fine.”

Mrs. Deshpande tried so desperately to appear morose when she asked, “And where would you like this to take place?” Cheyanne fought the urge to gag.

“There’s a decorative truss in the sunroom, and it’s load bearing. We thought … you know, we hoped that would work.” He tried to join hands with Cheyanne but she pulled away. It wasn’t personal, it just … she just couldn’t take his pity right now. Anagha continued on - Chey supposed shed witnessed all of this before, the bitter moments between lovers before the end. Nothing special.

“Good. We don’t recommend ceiling fans, never seems to go well,” she said, a shade too brightly as she repacked her briefcase. “We should proceed immediately but we will gladly give you a moment of privacy, if you’d like,” Deshpande offered. “Before we begin.”

Cheyanne looked over at Brent, thinking of the past six months or so, meeting his watery gaze with one of her own. They’d discussed her options, fought over it, fucked over it. Laughed and cried and fucked some more. He’d been a good husband, a fine man - saddled with her by force to attempt procreation, but he took that in stride and did his best. They’d said their goodbyes, over and over. He’d baked her a birthday cake and she ate it for breakfast earlier this morning, both of them bawling. She offered him a bittersweet smile and shook her head.

“Let’s continue.”

Anagha produced a large bubble-mailer and handed it across the table to Chey. “Please take a moment to disrobe, remove all jewelry, no bra or panties. I’ve got a set of clothes for you to wear for the procedure. Please use the facilities when you change.”

The stupid little linen shirt and pants felt itchy and scratchy and thin. Industrial. Impersonal. Faded mint, what an odd color to kill someone in, but it did compliment the copper hair that hung down to her shoulders. Chey tossed everything she’d worn that day into the tiny bathroom garbage can. She overheard Anagha say softly, “A chair, Brent?”

She was waiting for her just outside the door, tablet in hand, a stethoscope draped over her shoulders. She scanned the QR code printed on the back of the shirt with her phone and recorded the serial number. Cheyanne padded barefoot behind her like a condemned duckling to the sunroom.

Brent produced a wooden chair from their kitchen with a high, decorative back and thin spindles, one of six she inherited from her grandmother. It groaned under the weight of the silent, stoic guard, wondering if it would make that noise when-

She tried not to think about it, honestly, everything suddenly feeling incredibly overwhelming.

Anagha’s lap dog had busied himself with a section of thick rope with a loop at each end, shorter than Chey had envisioned. He’d tossed it over the beam, set one eye through the other first to secure it and then pulling the other through to create-

Fuck. That - that thing’s going to kill me.

He gave it a yank and opened the loop wide, the rough movement sending goosebumps skittering across her skin. It wasn’t like she’d imagined - no thick coil, just two eyelets, so plain and yet so sinister.

Cheyanne’s heart pounded, spurred to a sudden gallop at the horrific simplicity of her death, at the sight of a looped coiled rope slung just below her vaulted ceiling - swaying in the brilliant sunlight that streamed in through tall windows. It was bright white, ivory really - was that normal? Brass eyelets glimmered on the ends, ensuring a smooth slide and cinch.

She endeavored to be positive. She was going to die surrounded by her aloe and spider vines and string of pearls and that pesky little cobweb in the far corner. Bathed in sunshine in her favorite room in the house. There were worse ways to go. She wasn’t crammed in a van headed to a mysterious destination where someone would kill her in ways she probably wouldn’t enjoy-

Anagha broke her spiraling thoughts.

“Would you like your hands cuffed behind your back or in front?” Cheyanne’s eyes tracked the long tendrils of the tactical ziptie cuffs held loosely in the man’s fingers, pulled from a pocket in his vest. It looked uncomfortable. Sharp. Everything was moving so fast, faster than she’d imagined, so out of control-

She heard herself speak, somehow, “I would really prefer not to … be restrained.”

“Unfortunately, for our safety, that’s not possible. You may choose how you’ll be restrained but we cannot have your arms free during the procedure.” Ugh. Again with that fake fucking face, that practiced tranquility and calmness. Yuck. Hearing Deshpande lecture her was almost as bad as swinging from the ceiling. “I’ll be checking your vitals periodically and-“

Cheyanne’s lip curled as morbid confusion twisted her face. “What? Why?”

“I need to record your official time of death, and I’ll be checking to see if your heart is still beating as the termination progresses to its final stages. Front or back, Mrs. Hock?”

She wanted to bolt. She wanted to run to the door and let him shoot her in the street instead. She wanted less decisions and more more options and-

But it didn’t matter what she wanted, not really. Cheyanne tamped down those frenzied thoughts and attempted instead to negotiate.

“Fine, I guess … it just freaks me out, the idea that … I mean …” Cheyanne struggled to describe her blooming anxiety, the fear of … immobile balled fists. Complete constriction. Powerlessness. “Can you, like, tie my elbows to my ribs or something?”

Anagha looked doubtful, maybe a tad exasperated and annoyed, a reaction that poured gasoline Chey’s flaming temper.

“I’m being executed, I think the least you can do is have a little patience and wait until I’m done flailing to check if I’m dead.”

The armed guard uncrossed his arms, Brent took a protective step towards his wife, and Anagha drew in a calming breath, releasing it slowly with several thoughtful nods. “We can … make that work. Please keep in mind, I’m not here to fight you, Cheyanne, I’m here in compliance with federal law and I would appreciate it if-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s keep this moving.” Cheyanne waved a hand dismissively at the pair, wishing she could share a different thought instead.

Suck a fat cock, you arrogant twats.

“A belt, Brent.” Off he went again, at the representative’s overly-demure request.

The chair wasn’t tall enough - she could barely get her chin through the noose, so Brent ran once again through the house, bringing back a few books and adding a handful of inches to her position. The guard gave her a few simple pointers - the brass eyelet should settle beneath her left earlobe, and she should tighten it to almost uncomfortable snugness so it didn’t slip. It had a silicone ring that could be adjusted and placed against the loop to keep it tight to her skin. Cheyanne carefully pulled her hair out of the way and swept it off to the opposite side. She stared down at them, palms laid across her thighs, vision hazy as she grew lightheaded.

Ironically, in that moment, she reminded herself to take deep breaths, to try to relax. Chill out, babe, it’s not a big deal, just die already.

Chey let her husband reach up and place the belt, his belt, around her waist and in the crooks of her elbows, pulling it snug, the metal bits cool and clicking into place at her spine. The guard inspected, roughly working a finger between her skin and the leather.

“One notch tighter, please.” Cheyanne didn’t feel that was entirely necessary - sure felt secure to her - but he complied, giving a few sharp tugs to adjust it.

Mrs. Deshpande set her feet wide and put her hands below her bump now, swaying slightly. “This is it, Cheyanne. You can step off or the chair can be pulled, which do you prefer?”

Fuck, her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would explode. Adrenaline coursed through her, stabbing into her stomach and making her lips tingle. “I’ll step off.”

“Take your time.”

“I love you, Chey,” Brent blurted out, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He opened his mouth again, hesitated, then shut it. Cheyanne blew him a kiss, not trusting herself with words. She had no parting thoughts, nothing to offer them - certainly nothing the agents wanted to hear, anyway.

Her first steps took her off the books and to the tips of her toes. She leaned into the bite of the rope, allowing it to tighten, trying to adjust slowly and ease into it. Her eyes darted to the three witnesses below as she inhaled raggedly, allowing her knees weaken and the loop to grind mercilessly into her throat. Be strong, Chey, she pleaded with herself. Be brave.

Her second steps kissed only air.

Cheyanne was instantly struck by the impossible tightness of the noose, the sharp cinch as her full weight pulled the rope so tight it crackled like simmering bacon. Her hands balled into fists at the pain at her sides, every muscle flexed stiff, rigid and trembling. She swallowed against it on instinct, again and again, knowing she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t, knowing- logically understanding-

Logic failed. Her frantic brain sent distress signals, blaring, screaming, demanding pleas for air, for breath, outraged and confused and ravenous for oxygen. The urge to breathe, breathe, breathe, BREATHE had her jaw working, her throat, her chest, her shoulders, her diaphragm flexing uselessly in her ribcage. She gasped, again and again, the noise barely escaping her crushed larynx, a string of pathetic mewls of agony and desperation and the chirping clicks of a closed throat. Her hands rammed upwards, fingers flexing and tightening to balled fists, biceps straining against the belt. Her nails clutched at the fabric of her shirt, clawing into her own skin, one digging deep into the meat of her breast, the other fumbling for purchase and finding none.

cant breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe

Her legs swung in tense, chaotic arcs, knocking the chair sideways and sending her whole body twirling, bare toes curling and soles arched, frantically searching for solid ground. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her throat, the tips of her fingers, her heart valiantly fighting and pumping despite the impossible odds. Her vision spiraled, bursts of blinding light and color and fractals and shapes.

let me die please please let me die please let me die

Mostly ignorant of the extent of her suffering, Brent shuffled his feet and sighed. The whole ordeal should’ve felt chaotic and violent, but it really didn’t. The rest of the house was tranquil, the plants around them not even fluttering, a clock ticking annoyingly somewhere down the hall. Cheyanne had forced out a handful of terrible sounds that made his stomach churn, and the chair clattered a bit, but aside from that the only noise was the whine of tightened rope and rustling fabric. He watched intently, morbidly fascinated by the dying process, the way his wife’s body convulsed, her movements jerky and stilted. Her cheeks were puffy and mottled a deep shade of pink, lips nearly violet, the thinness of her neck surreal and unnatural and so incredibly captivating. Red striations bloomed along the edge of the white rope as it cinched deeper. The shirt pale rode up along her belly but the pants slid down, settling low on her hips, the little swaying drawstring tied in a delicate bow.

“The first minute or so is very intense, she should calm down shortly,” Mrs. Deshpande assured him quietly, though the words came from underwater. They were even muddier to Cheyanne, like her ears were stuffed with cotton.

Cheyanne didn’t know how long her body fought - in the moment it was endless, the demand for air so deafening she lost herself to the chase, the struggle. She was hyper-conscious of the rhythmic thud of trapped blood in her veins, the intense torment of her crushed throat, but slowly - mercifully - it all softened. It dulled. It quieted to a thrum, a suggestion, and she felt herself slip into something calmer, something fuzzy and heavy and warm. Cozy, almost. Her muscles still jerked, legs and arms wracked with spasms, but she didn’t mind it. Her consciousness was no longer a prisoner to her death throes - her focus shifted in slow-motion. The roughness of the dry fabric tickled her nipples in a way that drove her wild, she realized, with each involuntary flex of her ribcage. Blood pooled and swelled, especially between her legs, her cunt nearly bursting with need. She chased the growing, building sensation low in her gut. The spasms rocked through her stomach and down, thighs clenching tight instead of kicking, hips thrusting and back arching and-

She wanted to cum. God, she wanted to get off.

A quickly-numbing hand brushed against the crotch of her pants, bumping her clit for a single, blissful, excruciating moment. She tried with the other, willing it to fall and relax, to dive into her slippery cleft. She rocked her pussy back and forth and ground hard against the fabric, against her wooden hands, thighs pushed so tightly together, and she-

The orgasm crested, exploding spectacularly, her near-corpse jerking with every slick pulse of her dying pussy as it jutted forward in obscene little thrusts. Cheyanne rode those waves to oblivion, ecstasy mixing with agony, every sensation so blurry between the two that she couldn’t really feel the difference. Over and over until it ebbed and smoothed to tremors, to finger twitches, her eyes unfocused and dreamy and hooded. Brent watched her long legs relax, then her shoulders, then the crinkled pinch of her eyes, lips engorged and slightly parted, every inch going blessedly slack and calm.

He felt warm fingers on his arm and jumped, Anagha still smiling in that syrupy way she must’ve felt was soothing - had she been trained to pour it on so thick? He would’ve preferred cold ambivalence to whatever brand of counterfeit comfort she was offering.

“I’m going to check her heart rate, she might react physically but I’m confident she’s unconscious at this point. Total brain death should occur after about four minutes, it can take a while for them to fully settle, but we leave them up for an hour to so, to be safe.”

He watched the pregnant woman place the instrument against his wife’s left breast, listening intently and adjusting her position, Cheyanne’s body occasionally shuddering, nerves flicking and firing just beneath the skin. Brent zoned out with his gaze plastered to the outlines of her erect nipples almost poking through the fabric. At some point Mrs. Deshpande declared a time of death with little emotion or ceremony. She whined to her guard about swollen ankles or heartburn or something, and luckily stepped directly into his space and breaking his trance before speaking.

“We’ve got a service coming for the body in an hour or so, we’re departing as I’ve got another appointment today. Please leave it where it is. It can be difficult for some, which is understandable, but-“ he yanked his arm away as she attempted to touch him again, sick and tired of the whole song and dance.

“My wife was a person,” Brent snapped, suddenly aware of how callous the whole process had been, how cruel it was to send a woman with child to murder one who couldn’t conceive. “And now she’s hanging from a rafter in our home. I get it. I won’t take her down. You can go.”

Brent stared at the limp woman before him for a long time. He didn’t take her down, that wouldn’t do any good at all, but he did touch her. Brent knew what he’d seen, even if the other two chose to ignore it or play dumb. He palmed her cooling breasts and marveled at the still-puckered skin of her nipples. He slid the cloth pants down and ran a finger through her bubbly, sticky folds, sticking them between his lips without a second thought and growing hard at the taste of her arousal. She’d milked one last moment of pleasure from herself at the end of that horrid noose and he couldn’t be more proud.

About ten days after the termination, Cheyanne’s cremains arrived as promised, shoved in the mailbox with a set of coupons and the light and power bill. Brent scattered them in the backyard along her hydrangeas and coneflowers and clusters of stone crop - hopefully his next wife would enjoy gardening as well.

The theater had been closed for nearly an hour, but the back hallways were still dimly lit by emergency lights. Kat strutted confidently as if the two of them weren't breaking and entering, while Milo crept behind her, paranoid about getting caught.

Kat and Milo were like two opposite poles of a magnet; despite being wildly different, the two attracted each other.

Kat was a dark and imposing gothic woman; she wore black makeup and had tons of black tattoos all over her pale skin. Her face was covered in piercings. She had long black hair styled in two thick braids and was currently wearing a tight black off-shoulder top, Striped black, gray thigh-high stockings and black combat boots. Milo was a rather soft and cute man, being relatively short and slim having long messy dark hair that covered his face. Currently wearing an oversized black T-shirt and baggy gray pants.

“Kat… are you sure we’re allowed to be back here?” Milo asked quietly.

Kat glanced over her shoulder with a slow, sardonic smile. Her black lipstick made the expression look even more dangerous.

“Relax, pretty boy. The show’s over. Everyone’s gone. We’re just… exploring.”

Milo swallowed. He knew that tone. Kat didn’t really ask for permission for anything. She just decided what she wanted and dragged him along with her. He was used to it by now. Being her friend (with benefits) meant going along with her weird, morbid little adventures.

They eventually found a heavy metal door labeled “STORAGE PROPS & EQUIPMENT”. Kat tried the handle. It was unlocked.

She pushed it open.

The room was large, dimly lit, and smelled like old wood, dust, and metal. Racks of costumes, fake swords, and stage furniture filled the space. In the center of the room, under a single hanging bulb, stood something that made Milo’s stomach drop.

A real looking guillotine.

It was tall, made of dark wood and iron, with a heavy, angled blade suspended at the top. The lunette was open; thick rope ran from the blade mechanism up to a hook on the ceiling.

Kat’s eyes lit up.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, walking straight toward it. “This is the one from the magic show earlier. The ‘execution’ trick.”

Milo stayed near the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Kat… that thing looks real.”

“It’s a prop,” she said dismissively, running her pale fingers along the wooden frame. “They use it for the act where the magician ‘cuts’ someone’s head off. It’s all fake. Look.”

She grabbed the rope and gave it a light tug. The blade didn’t move.

“See? Completely safe.”

Milo didn’t look convinced.

Kat turned to him, her dark eyes gleaming with that familiar dangerous excitement. She tilted her head, braids swinging.

“Get in.”

Milo’s eyes widened. “What? No. No way.”

“Come on,” Kat said, stepping closer to him. Her voice dropped into that low, commanding tone she used when she wanted something. “It’ll be fun. I’ll lock you in, put the rope in your mouth, and then… I’ll make you feel really good.”

Milo’s face turned red. He looked at the guillotine, then back at her.

“Kat, that’s… that’s insane. What if it’s actually real?”

Kat rolled her eyes, but there was a small, amused smile on her lips.

“It’s not real, Milo. It’s theater. They wouldn’t have an actual working guillotine on stage.” She stepped even closer and gently grabbed the front of his oversized t-shirt, pulling him toward her. “Trust me. I just want to play with you a little. Edge you while you’re stuck. Make you beg.”

Milo’s breath hitched. He was already getting hard just from her words.

Kat leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to the side of his neck, right below his ear.

“I’ll take care of you,” she murmured. “I always do.”

Milo hesitated for a long moment, his face burning. Finally, he gave a small, nervous nod.

“…Okay.”

Kat’s smile widened. She took his hand and led him to the guillotine.

Milo laid down on the narrow bench, his heart pounding. Kat carefully lowered the top half of the lunette over his neck, then locked it in place with a heavy wooden pin. The collar wasn’t tight, but it was secure. He couldn’t lift his head.

Then Kat took the rope that held the blade and gently placed it between Milo’s lips.

“Bite down,” she instructed softly. “Don’t let go, no matter what.”

Milo obeyed, teeth clamping around the thick rope. His greenish eyes looked up at her nervously.

Kat stood over him, looking down at his trapped body with obvious satisfaction.

“Good boy,” she said, her voice low and pleased. “Now… let’s have some fun.”

Kat knelt between Milo’s spread legs, her black combat boots planted firmly on the dusty floor. The guillotine’s wooden frame creaked softly as Milo shifted nervously beneath the locked collar. The thick rope was still clenched between his teeth, his greenish eyes wide and anxious as he looked down at her.

Kat’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her black-painted lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. “All locked up and helpless. You’re shaking already, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

She reached out and ran a single pale finger slowly up the length of his cock through his open pants. Milo’s hips twitched.

“Kat…” he mumbled around the rope, voice small and nervous.

“Shhh.” She gave him a sharp look. “You’re not allowed to talk unless I say so. Just hold onto that rope like a good boy.”

Milo whimpered softly but obeyed, biting down harder on the thick cord.

Kat took her time.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his baggy pants and slowly pulled them down along with his underwear, freeing his long, thin cock. It stood up stiffly, already leaking at the tip. Ten inches of pale, sensitive flesh twitched in the cool air of the storage room.

Kat tilted her head, studying it like she was admiring a piece of art.

“Such a pretty cock for such a shy little thing,” she said, almost mockingly sweet. “It’s already so hard. Were you thinking about this while we were watching the show? Imagining me doing filthy things to you?”

Milo’s face burned. He couldn’t answer properly with the rope in his mouth, so he just made a small, embarrassed sound.

Kat chuckled darkly.

She leaned in and dragged the flat of her tongue slowly from the base of his cock all the way up to the sensitive head. Milo’s entire body jerked against the guillotine.

“Mmmph!”

“Sensitive already?” Kat teased, her warm breath ghosting over his wet tip. “We’re going to be here for a while, Milo. I’m not letting you cum until I’m ready.”

She started slow.

Kat wrapped her black painted fingers around the base of his cock and gave him one long, deliberate stroke from root to tip. Her tongue followed right after, circling the swollen head before flicking lightly over the slit. Milo’s thighs trembled.

Every movement was deliberate. She would stroke him a few times, then stop completely, letting his cock throb in her hand while she watched his face. Whenever he started to get too close, she would squeeze the base tightly and press her thumb against the underside of his tip, denying him.

“You’re not allowed to cum yet,” she said calmly, like she was giving simple instructions. “If you let go of that rope, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Milo was already struggling. His breathing was quick and shaky through his nose. Every time Kat’s tongue dragged over the sensitive ridge beneath his cockhead, his hips bucked involuntarily.

Kat took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked gently, her tongue swirling slowly around it. Milo let out a high, muffled whine around the rope.

She pulled off with a wet sound and looked up at him.

“Does that feel good?” she asked, stroking him slowly with her hand. “Tell me how it feels.”

Milo tried to speak around the rope. “Mmmph… g-good… t-too good…”

Kat smiled, pleased.

She went back to work.

For what felt like a very long time, she edged him mercilessly. She would suck and stroke him until his cock was twitching violently in her mouth and his hips were lifting off the bench, then she would stop completely. Sometimes she would just lick slow, teasing stripes along his shaft while her fingers gently massaged his balls.

“You’re leaking so much,” she observed, rubbing her thumb over his slick tip. “Poor thing. You must be so desperate.”

Milo was whimpering constantly now, his eyes glassy. His hands were gripping the sides of the guillotine bench so tightly his knuckles were white.

Kat leaned in close again, her lips brushing against the head of his cock as she spoke.

“I’m going to make you cum soon,” she said softly. “But when you do, you have to keep holding the rope. Understand?”

Milo nodded frantically.

Kat took him back into her mouth, this time sucking deeper and faster. Her hand stroked the lower half of his cock in time with her mouth. She focused especially on the sensitive tip, swirling her tongue around it and sucking firmly every time she pulled up.

Milo’s muffled moans grew louder and more desperate.

Kat could feel him getting close. His cock was throbbing hard against her tongue, and his hips were jerking in small, helpless movements.

She pulled off just long enough to speak.

“That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice low and commanding. “Cum for me, Milo. Let it all out.”

She took him back into her mouth and sucked hard, her tongue pressing firmly against the underside of his sensitive tip.

Milo’s entire body went rigid.

His eyes rolled back as he came. Thick ropes of cum shot into Kat’s mouth as his cock pulsed violently. The pleasure was overwhelming; his sensitive tip felt like it was burning with bliss as wave after wave of intense sensation crashed through his shaft. Kat kept sucking even as he came; it was too much; he couldn't take it anymore.

"GAH!!.. haaaahhnngh!!" Milo screamed aloud, opening his mouth, letting the rope slip from between his teeth.

The heavy blade dropped.

A loud metallic *SHHHK* could be heard as the sharp blade cut through the air.

Milo’s eyes went wide for a single second.

With a heavy *THUNK!!* the blade came down.

Kat felt Milo jolt before she even fully processed what had happened. Milo suddenly tensed, thrusting deep into her throat. His already ejaculating cock started to throb more violently, his cum shot out so powerfully it actually hurt.

She pulled back, coughing and spitting, her eyes wide with shock.

Milo was now headless, his body twitching violently beneath the guillotine. His cock continued to spurt thick ropes of cum even as blood poured from the clean cut where his head had been. The spasms were violent, his arms and legs jerked uncontrollably, and his hips bucked hard, his still-hard cock slapping against his stomach as it kept cumming.

Kat stared, stunned.

She genuinely hadn’t thought the guillotine was real... Why would it be real!?

"GLLLRRRGGHH—ACK—SPPHT!"

Milo's severed throat made blood bubbly gurgles as blood jetted out his severed neck. Milo's head had fallen into the basket beneath the blade, his expression frozen in a mix of shock and lingering pleasure.

But his body…

His headless corpse was still moving. Still cumming. Still humping the air like it didn’t realize its head was gone.

Kat’s heart was pounding. Her breathing had gone shallow.

She should have been screaming. She should have been running. Instead, she felt something dark and molten pooling between her legs. Her pussy got wet as she watched his cock continue to throb and jerk, her clit and labia beginning to swell.

“…Fuck,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

The sight was grotesque. It was horrifying.

It was also the hottest thing she had ever seen in her life.

Kat slowly stood up, her black off-shoulder top stained with blood. She looked down at Milo’s violently convulsing corpse, her dark eyes wide and glassy with a sick kind of arousal.

“You’re still hard,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Even without a head… you’re still fucking hard.”

She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his cock. It was hot and slick with cum. The moment she touched it, Milo’s hips jerked harder, his corpse humping upward into her hand.

Kat let out a shaky, breathless laugh.

“You greedy little thing,” she muttered. “Even dead, you still obey me.”

She stared at his twitching body for a few more seconds, and felt something inside her snap.

She wanted it.

She wanted to fuck it.

Kat reached under her short black skirt and hooked her fingers into her panties, yanking them down her thighs and stepping out of them. Her pale thighs were already slick. She climbed up onto the narrow bench, straddling Milo’s violently jerking corpse.

His cock stood straight up between them, still hard and leaking.

Kat reached down and lined herself up. She didn’t hesitate.

She sank down onto him in one smooth motion.

The moment his cock pushed inside her, Kat let out a long, low moan. He was still so warm. So hard. Her pussy stretched around his length as she took him all the way to the base.

“Oh my god…” she breathed.

Milo’s corpse immediately reacted.

The moment Kat’s weight settled on him, his body started convulsing even harder. His hips bucked upward violently, nearly throwing her off. His arms twitched and jerked at his sides. His thighs trembled beneath her.

Kat had to grab onto the wooden sides of the guillotine just to stay upright.

“Woah!” she gasped, laughing breathlessly. “You’re really going crazy down there, huh?”

She started moving.

At first, she tried to ride him slowly, rolling her hips in small circles, but Milo’s corpse wasn’t having it. Every few seconds his body would seize up and thrust upward hard, forcing his cock deeper into her. The violent, unpredictable movements made it almost impossible to control the pace.

Kat’s head fell back as she moaned.

Every time his cock drove up into her, she could feel it dragging against her sensitive walls. The constant, erratic thrusting was rubbing against her clit with every movement. It was chaotic. It was overwhelming.

And she fucking loved it.

She started riding him harder, bouncing on his cock despite the violent spasms beneath her. Every time she dropped down, Milo’s corpse would buck up to meet her, the impact making her ass slap against his thighs.

“Shit, you dig in me so deep like this,” Kat groaned, her voice already getting breathy. “Even without a brain, your cock still knows exactly where to hit.”

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest as she rode him. Blood from the stump of his neck had soaked into his shirt. Kat didn’t care. She ground down hard, rolling her hips so that her clit dragged against the base of his cock with every movement. Milo’s body kept twitching beneath her. His hips would suddenly jerk upward without warning, forcing a sharp moan out of Kat’s throat. Sometimes the spasms were so violent she had to hold on tight just to keep from being thrown off.

She was getting wetter by the second.

Kat started laughing, a breathless, slightly unhinged sound.

“This is so fucked up,” she panted, still bouncing on his cock. “You’re dead… and I’m riding your corpse like a fucking dildo.”

She reached down with one hand and started rubbing her clit in fast circles while she rode him. The combination of his cock pounding into her and her fingers on her sensitive bud was quickly pushing her toward the edge.

But she wasn’t ready to cum yet.

Not even close.

Kat leaned down closer to what remained of Milo’s neck, her lips brushing against the bloody stump as she spoke.

“You feel so good,” she whispered, voice low and filthy. “Even like this… your cock is still making me feel so fucking good.”

Milo’s corpse suddenly gave an especially violent spasm beneath her. His hips snapped upward hard, burying his cock as deep as it could go. At the same time, Kat felt his cock throb inside her... hard.

He was cumming again.

Thick, hot pulses of cum flooded into Kat’s pussy as Milo’s headless body continued to jerk and buck beneath her. The sensation of being filled while his corpse convulsed wildly under her made Kat’s eyes roll back.

“Mmmphhh fuck yes,” she moaned, grinding down harder. “Good boy Milo, keep cumming… fill me up baby.”

The moment he started cumming inside her, Milo’s spasms became even more violent. His entire body was thrashing now, his hips bucking so hard and so fast that Kat could barely stay on top of him. She was being thrown around like she was trying to ride a mechanical bull.

And she was laughing.

Kat threw her head back and let out a wild, manic laugh as she kept bouncing on his cock, even as his corpse continued to cum inside her and thrash beneath her.

“This is the best dick I’ve ever had,” she gasped between moans and laughter.

Kat was losing control.

Milo’s headless corpse was still cumming inside her, thick pulses of hot cum flooding her pussy while his body thrashed violently beneath her. Every time another spurt left his cock, his hips would snap upward hard, nearly throwing her off. His legs kicked. His arms twitched and jerked. The entire bench beneath them creaked and shook from the force of his convulsions.

Kat had both hands braced against his chest, using all of her weight to stay on top of him. Her thick thighs trembled as she tried to keep riding through the chaos.

“Fuck! fuck! Nnnngh!!!, He's going crazy,” she gasped, laughing breathlessly.

Every violent thrust forced his cock deeper into her. She could feel every inch of him dragging against her sensitive walls, the head of his cock rubbing right against that spot inside her that made her vision blur. Her clit was swollen and throbbing, grinding against the base of his cock every time she dropped down.

The constant, erratic movement was driving her insane.

Kat started riding him harder, bouncing on his cock with messy, desperate movements. She didn’t care about rhythm anymore she just needed more. Every time Milo’s corpse bucked up into her, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through her clit and deep into her pussy.

“Yes!, just like that,” she moaned, her voice getting higher. “Keep fucking me Milo!."

Kat’s head fell forward, her braids swinging as she moaned loudly.

Milo’s body gave another violent spasm beneath her. His hips snapped up hard, burying his cock to the hilt as another thick load of cum flooded into her. The force of it made Kat cry out, her free hand gripping his blood-soaked shirt.

She was getting close.

Really close.

Kat started grinding down harder, rolling her hips in tight circles so that her swollen clit dragged against him with every movement. The combination of his cock stretching her open and the constant, unpredictable thrusting from his convulsing corpse was pushing her toward the edge faster than she expected.

“I’m gonna cum,” she moaned, voice breaking. “I’m gonna cum all over your fucking corpse…”

She leaned forward, bracing both hands on his chest again as she rode him with everything she had. Her ass slapped against his thighs with every bounce. Her pussy clenched tightly around his cock every time he thrust up into her.

Kat’s breathing turned ragged.

Her clit was burning with pleasure. Every grind of her hips sent sharp, electric sparks shooting through her. Her inner walls fluttered and squeezed around Milo’s cock as the pressure inside her built higher and higher.

“Come on,” she gasped, almost begging now. “Make me cum… make me cum on your dead cock”

Milo’s corpse suddenly seized up beneath her.

His back arched hard off the bench. His hips bucked upward with brutal force, slamming his cock as deep as it could go. At the same time, Kat felt his cock throb violently inside her as he came again another thick, hot flood of cum pouring into her already overflowing pussy.

That was what finally pushed her over.

Kat’s entire body went rigid.

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream before a loud, broken moan tore from her throat. Her pussy clamped down hard around Milo’s cock as her orgasm crashed through her. Wave after wave of intense pleasure rolled through her body, her clit pulsing, her walls fluttering and squeezing, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

She kept grinding through it, unable to stop moving even as the pleasure became almost too much.

“I'M CUMMING!!!.. Eugh!-Aughhhhhhhh!!” she cried out, her voice hoarse and desperate.

Her orgasm seemed to go on forever.

Every time Milo’s corpse gave another violent jerk beneath her, it sent another sharp pulse of pleasure through her oversensitive clit and pussy. She could feel his cock throbbing and pulsing inside her, still cumming even as she came all over him. Her juices mixed with his cum, leaking out around his cock and dripping down his thighs.

Kat stayed on top of him through the entire thing, her body trembling as the aftershocks rolled through her. She kept rolling her hips in small, shaky movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

Eventually, the intensity started to fade.

Kat slumped forward, breathing hard. Her forehead rested against Milo’s bloodstained chest as she tried to catch her breath. Her pussy was still clenching weakly around his cock with every aftershock.

Milo’s corpse was still twitching beneath her, but the movements were slowly starting to weaken. The violent, full-body spasms were becoming smaller, more sporadic jerks.

Kat let out a low, shaky laugh.

“Holy shit…” she whispered, voice hoarse. “That was… that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

She slowly sat up, wincing slightly as she felt Milo’s cock shift inside her oversensitive pussy. Cum immediately started leaking out around him, thick and warm, running down her thighs and soaking into what remained of his clothes. She stayed on top of him for a little while longer, gently rolling her hips as she enjoyed the last few aftershocks.

Then, with a soft sigh, she finally lifted herself off of him.

Milo’s cock slipped out of her with a wet sound. A thick flood of cum poured out of her pussy the moment he was gone, running down her thighs in messy rivulets.

Kat stood over Milo’s body, her legs still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She watched as the last few weak twitches ran through his corpse. His arms gave one final, sluggish jerk before falling still. His hips, which had been bucking and thrusting violently only minutes ago, slowly settled. The long, hard cock that had been buried inside her was now softening against his stomach, still shiny with a mixture of their fluids.

The violent convulsions had finally stopped.

Milo’s headless body lay limp on the bench of the guillotine, completely motionless for the first time since the blade had dropped.

Kat let out a slow breath.

“Well…” she murmured, voice still a little hoarse. “That was something.”

She reached down and ran two fingers along her swollen pussy, feeling the thick cum still leaking out of her. It ran down her inner thighs in warm rivulets, mixing with her own wetness. She didn’t bother cleaning it up. Instead, she simply pulled her panties and skirt back into place, letting the mess stay where it was.

She liked the feeling of it.

Kat turned her attention to the basket beneath the guillotine.

Milo’s head rested inside it, tilted slightly to the side. His face was frozen in that final expression, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, caught somewhere between overwhelming pleasure and sudden shock. There was something strangely peaceful about it. Almost blissful.

Kat crouched down and carefully lifted his head out of the basket. It was heavier than she expected. She held it in both hands for a moment, studying his face under the dim light of the storage room.

“You really did cum your brains out, huh?” she said quietly, a small, dark smile tugging at her black-painted lips. “Literally.”

She ran her thumb gently across his cheek, wiping away a smear of blood.

“I didn’t think it was real either,” she admitted, almost conversationally. “I thought you were just being dramatic when you got scared. Turns out you were right to be nervous.”

Kat tilted her head, still looking at his face.

“But… you didn’t seem to mind in the end.” Her smile widened slightly.

She stood up, still holding Milo’s head under one arm like it was nothing more than a strange souvenir. With her free hand, she reached into her bag and pulled out a dark cloth, wrapping it around his head before tucking it inside.

Kat took one last look at Milo’s limp, headless corpse lying on the guillotine.

Blood had pooled beneath the bench. His clothes were soaked. The entire storage room smelled like metal, sweat, and sex.

She didn’t feel guilty.

She felt… satisfied.

“See you around, pretty boy,” she said softly, almost fondly. “Thanks for the ride.”

Kat turned and walked toward the door without looking back.

The next morning, two theater staff members entered the storage room to begin packing up the props from the previous night’s show.

They found the guillotine first.

Then they found what was left of Milo.

One of them screamed.

The other immediately ran to call the police.

By the time the authorities arrived, Milo’s headless corpse was already cold. The only signs that anything unusual had happened were the dried cum on his stomach and thighs, the blood-soaked bench, and the fact that his head was nowhere to be found. The police would later determine that his death was an accident, most likely a kinky role play gone wrong.

However, where Milo's head had gone was a mystery that was never solved

Dark Explorations is back. It is a harem romance story with heavy elements from Women's Dark Romance and Ero Guro. It's the story of Alan Anthony, a college dropout and true crime influencer who releases a theory stating that Sofia Bercowisz, a spree killer who terrorized I-55, is still alive after supposedly dying in a car crash. His theory becomes his nightmare as she kidnaps him and forces him into a world of sadistic violence, occult powers, and rival supernatural factions of evil.

I'm hoping y'all enjoy this next installment of Alan's adventures and can help me become a better writer by providing advice and reviews. The full series can be found in the embedded link. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 5

Driving for two hours is not an enjoyable process for most. I am one of those people who usually enjoys it though. My home state of West Virginia always made the views scenic and far more pleasurable than driving through the middle-of-nowhere like Kansas. Driving on a motorcycle is a far different experience though. In a car you have music to help distract you. On a motorcycle, the wind is so loud that you can’t even hold a conversation. To clarify, I was not driving. I was holding onto the frame of Sofia as we swerved through the county roads in Virginia. We crossed the state border an hour back, Lynchburg was now only a few minutes away. 

Now then, it was not a boring ride. Sofia ensured that. Sofia was not going to enjoy the Appalachian mountains as she tracked down Roxane. Sofia was not overtly sexual but when two people ride a motorcycle together, there's a certain level of contact necessary for everyone’s safety. I tried not to hold her side tightly and keep some distance, but she wouldn’t allow it. Having me fall off while she turned a corner was not something she felt like dealing with. I found myself holding onto her sides with my legs curled behind hers in permanent contact. If it were not for the nerves of the ride, I would’ve surely developed undesired growth. The ordeal of the ride did make me wonder how she got me from Morgantown to here. She refused to answer that question. 

The second reason I could not be reduced to boredom or at least comfortability was the speed at which Sofia rode. She would drive double the speed limits on straightaways and every turns felt like we would lose all friction and slide off the road. It was a miracle we survived in all honesty. Or at least never attracted a state trooper’s attention. 

I saw as a ‘Lynchburg City Limits’ sign passed by us. Sofia ducked and weaved between the light midnight traffic. The density of vehicles and people was reaching its highest this entire journey. The rugged mountains transitioned to flatter hills with dense forests turning into powerlines, churches, and conveniences of modern urban life. It was approaching two in the morning and we needed to now find where Roxane was, or worse case left to. 

Sofia slowed down for the first time in ages as she pulled into a small gas station off of U.S. Route 501. The lights from the gas station’s overhead roof flicked with moths flying above. The old building was uninhabited with the sole exception of a cashier inside. Sofia set down her bike stand and hopped off to head inside without a word or removing her bike helmet. I was left alone with the bike and took the chance to hop off and thank the world that I survived the journey. My nerves had been spiking all night and this was the very first time I could catch my breath since I fell asleep. 

Not a minute later, Sofia walked back outside. She didn’t address me as I slowly caught my breath with my hands on my knees. She coldly removed her helmet and began to pump gas into her bike. I looked up to her in the light. Her hair was a raven mess from the helmet that matched the rough beauty in her heavily pierced face. I spoke up to break the silence. 

“So what’s the next step? Start searching where Roxane might be?”

She looked towards me with the chocolate eyes and smirked. 

“You think we’re gonna search for her ourselves?”

I raised an eyebrow as I adjusted my posture. Something about her gaze made me feel like I wasn’t good enough, or didn’t seem worthy of living. I nodded in response.

“Um… kind of. You made it sound like we were.”

She chuckled as the pump clicked to mark that it was finished. She took it out of her bike and placed it gently back into the place.

“No, we have someone else doing the searching.”

This was the first time I have heard her mention someone else. She had mentioned this mysterious benefactor of hers she called ‘Boss.’ But she hasn’t bothered to mention any other ‘employees.’ I’m getting tired of not having explanations. 

“Who? And better yet, how?”

Sofia pointed above and behind her. The gas station had a singular camera near its roof’s corner. It moved every few seconds, scanning for any signs of trouble. I raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Cameras?”

She nodded in response and gave a playful smile that showed her white teeth and pierced tongue.

“Bingo! Once you found out where she was heading. Our friend started looking through every camera in Lynchburg to find where she went.”

Now she was ‘our’ friend? Her explanation only led to more questions.

“How can she access every camera in Lynchburg?” 

Before Sofia could respond, a faint ringing sound began. Sofia reached into her pants pocket and a simple flip phone appeared. She hadn’t used it in front of me until now so I was a little shocked that she had one. She flipped it open and began to talk to whoever was on the other side. Sofia was smiling as she spoke.

“Got any good news for me, shut-in?... You did!?”

She pumped her fist celebratorily. Then something said seemed to annoy her.

“Yeah fine, he was useful like you said… What should I do with him now though?... Yeah, obviously… Shit, fine, I’m on the way.”

She closed the flip phone then looked up and down at me. She didn’t speak for a moment but seemed to just think. I was about to ask what she was talking about when she spoke.

“How are you in a fight?”

Chapter 6

We only had to ride for another thirty minutes. I was thankful that Roxane decided to stay in Lynchburg for whatever reason. Sofia pulled up on a large two-story concrete building. A large chainlink fence around it cut it off from the rest of the surrounding neighborhoods. This was an abandoned elementary school that was set to be demolished in the near future. For now though, it was where ‘our friend’ claimed that Roxane was.

The only evidence of possible habitation when we arrived was a single old red 2009 Toyota Camry parked on the side of the road outside of the fence. Sofia hopped off the bike and put her helmet on its handle without wasting time. I was placing my own helmet on the seat as she was digging through the small items compartment in the back of it. I watched as she pulled out a bowie knife and a Glock 19. She put the Glock 19 in her back waistband and carried the knife over to the car. She quickly popped its four tires. I only watched as she neutralized the vehicle. 

“So we’re killing her?”

I asked what seemed to have an obvious answer. But I was hesitant to join her if that was her plan. I wasn’t a fighter, at least compared to a professional like Sofia. I had been in fights but it was always in school with a bunch of angry teenagers. Sofia was currently holding a 12-inch blade and had in her waistband a firearm, I had never used either in combat. She didn’t even bother offering me a weapon. 

She turned towards me when she finished. In the dark night, her silhouette made me realize how scary she was. A passing car’s lights highlighted for only a second her dark stare. Sofia wasn’t friendly but after a few hours, she seemed to be nice enough. This look of her definitely forced me to reconsider that thought and remember that I was being escorted by a murderer to help her hunt down a rival. 

She looked towards the abandoned building. It had no power but a few cameras across the street saw Roxane enter and she had yet to leave. Sofia moved her head in a hypnotic circle, the bones in her neck cracked loudly. Facing the school, she spoke.

“The boss wants her alive to be questioned. But, that’s not going to be easy. So if I kill her, it will be more fun.”

She turned to face me again. I could barely make her face out in the dark but I could tell she was speaking with force and a serious expression.

“Your job is to be the lookout. If someone shows up, say something while I bring her down. If you get in my way or help her, I’ll be happy to leave you on the side of the road without any skin on your bald fucking skull.”

I could only nod in response. My throat was becoming dry and I didn’t speak or fear failing to get it out. That was enough for Sofia though. She turned towards the fence and began to climb. It was an easy task for her as she easily threw herself over its zenith and landed on the other side. She looked back towards me, her look giving the wordless command, ‘follow’.

I did my best and managed to enter as well. Sofia wasn’t waiting on me though and I had to run to keep up. The entrance was a simple pair of double doors. The glass on the front doors would likely be bulletproof if it weren’t already shattered. Sofia’s heavy boots easily crunched the glass while I had to walk carefully because of my bare feet. I was still in my sleeping outfit. Good thing I don’t sleep naked. 

I was falling behind as Sofia moved into the building. To watch her back, I was constantly looking behind us, into empty rooms, and out the window. She would stop every few halls and check to see if I was able to keep up. She never yelled at me to move forward, but she was clearly pissed at my slow pace. I couldn’t help but feel more nervous as we moved through the place.

It still held many of its elementary school charms. There were tiny desks which only children could sit in. There were some cute decorations in the classrooms. But it was first and foremost abandoned. Graffiti marked a large section of the hallways. It made me feel at ease to see the signs of recent human activity, as if this place was somewhat safe without the apex predator inside of it. 

We found our way to a large gymnasium after a little bit. It was a simple cube room with windows on one end and a stage on the other. Sofia immediately moved towards the stage and began to investigate for signs of Roxane while I looked out the windows to see what could be happening outside. It was another stretch of fence at the edge of the property but there was a large playground between. When I looked back at the stage, Sofia was walking back towards me. I decided to ask a question.

“What are the odds she’s not here?”

We had been quiet so far. Sofia never bothered to explain why, but when she stopped talking and focused on searching, I did the same. I suppose if we did have the jump on her, being quiet would be the best strategy. Sofia didn’t respond immediately and took a moment to look through the window at the overgrown and neglected playground. She signed before speaking wistfully.

“I guess she could have. It would be hard to avoid the cameras, but it could be done.”

I nodded along as she spoke. 

“We know she was here, but it's clear she didn’t plan on staying long. She’s left no mark of ever being here. Either she’s trying to make it seem like she’s not here, or she already left. 

Sofia turned around and began to scan the large gym once again. She looked up towards the roof. It was far too dark for me to tell if any panels in the roof were unusual but Sofia looked regardless. An idea crossed my mind.

“If she is here, why hasn’t she shown herself? By now, she is long past the point where a sneak attack is most effective.” 

Sofia turned back towards me, a little curious in her expression. I continued.

“Think about it. She would’ve had the best chance when we were in small classrooms or isolated hallways. If she’s here and knows we’re here, then that would’ve been the best chance.”

Sofia shifted her position to a lean on one half, giving her body a nice curve to it. Her bowie knife remained in her hand as she put her hands on her waist. She was putting her guard down as I spoke. She wondered.

“So what? You think she’s not here?”

I shook my head. With all the information I had, something felt missing. Missing person cases always were the most frustrating as well as most satisfying. The clues were imperfect or incomplete. A feeling of deception existed as all suspects testified. I always knew I could feel that missing aspect of a case. I felt an identical feeling here. As if there were a missing page in a book. I postulated.

“What if she’s not waiting on us? She’s waiting for something or someone?”

Sofia shifted immediately and her guard rose. Her grip on the knife tightened. I finished my thought out loud.

“She’s waiting for backup.”

Sofia’s eyes went wide. But not at me, behind me. I turned around. I forgot to watch outside. While I was busy thinking, someone parked across the road from the school in an old jeep. This person had just landed on the grass inside the fence. In the darkness, I didn’t know if she could see us. In the moonlight though, I could see her silhouette. 

She was skinny. Her waist seemed unnaturally tight and her chest, hips, and thighs held no genetic power to offset this unnatural weight. Her hair was long and possibly auburn but the dim light made it impossible to say for certain. With certainty though, was her pale complexion that shone in the moonlight like that of a vampire or other pale beast of the night. Her arms and legs felt unnaturally long and the way she walked seemed to hint of an uncomfortability. As she approached the large children’s playground, she stopped for a moment. 

Sofia reached into her pocket and pulled out the flip phone. She tossed it to me without breaking eye contact with the figure. I tried to ask why, but I was cut off.

“If it rings, pick it up and listen to whatever she says.”

Before I knew it, Sofia was off. A one way door that exited to the playground at the side of the gym flew open as Sofia began to charge at the figure. She held the handgun in one hand and fired shots at the figure. The figure jumped, it was an inhuman vertical she reached, perfectly landing on top of the jungle gym portion. She flexed her hands and I saw knife-like shapes appear. They resembled Freddy Krueger's weapons but seemed far more animalistic. The woman’s animalistic appearance matured as she sliced the air in front of her and landed on all fours on top of the climbing structure. I didn’t realize why immediately until I saw a bullet hit the glass. That woman just sliced them out of the air and sent them flying. 

The phone rang in my hand. I fumbled with it for a moment then opened it. The voice I heard was shrill and high-pitched. It was almost like a cartoonish anime girl the way it sounded on the flip phone’s lesser quality. It only spoke one word.

“Run!”

Chapter 7

(Sofia POV)

I felt the unsatisfying click of my handgun refusing to fire any more. In retrospect, her arrival should have been obvious and I should have brought an extra magazine or three in preparation. Every incursion eventually has her showing up to protect any gains. As an artist of the same medium, I admired her and her work. I was not above rubbing one out to the sight of her finished scenes. My admiration for her came even more so in her combat abilities. She was good and scrappy. Always great at scratching an itch. 

“Vikky! You Bitch!”

Victoria was her real name and the name she preferred. As such, I made sure to never use it. Her face was now visible in the moonlight atop the jungle gym. She was crouched with her arms raised in a defensive posture. I hoped to catch her off guard and get a lucky shot. She obviously had not lost her sharp edge and easily swatted the tiny caliber. I dropped the handgun on the ground, placing it in my waistband would only slow me down. I readjusted my footing and held out the large bowie knife towards her. She spoke first.

“Well Sofia, I see you're still as persistent as ever. And here I heard Roxane lost your sorry ass somewhere in the mountains.” 

Victoria stood from her lowered position and folded her arms, careful to not cut herself on the long steel claws that she wore, and shrugged. Her face read with annoyance and disgust. I honestly thought it was a little rude. I’m not that ugly am I? There were far worse people that could have come to ruin her night. I at least had fun. Victoria shook her head and sighed. I guess Vikky disagrees. I responded to her displeasure.

“You’re always so judgy for a girl who’ll fuck or eat just about anything.”

She raised an eyebrow and unfolded her arms. Oh yeah, that one annoyed her. I braced a foot backwards as she jumped from the heightened structure. In a long swing motion she came down on me with her right claws. Those were easy to dodge as I leaned backwards with the support of my footing. She followed swiftly with a swing from her left at a vertical angle. I held the bowie knife up and caught all the claws easily. Her right hand landed on the ground and used it to push backwards and gain some distance as I went for a kick towards her face. She managed to dodge the kick and land on all fours a meter in front of me. 

She was like an animal. She crawled on all fours with knife-like extensions to her fingers from the gloves she wore. Her eyes held the same intensity of a starving wolf. It was always fascinating to watch as she would go from wild-eyed looks on all fours with drool leaking from the corners of her mouth to a bourgeois personality whenever she stood on her two legs. It would be incorrect to call it two different personalities, but the switch was so quick depending on how she stood that we often just referred to it as such. A wolf-mode and a civilized-mode, always the same bitch though. 

But like a hungry wolf, she wasn’t patient and didn’t even try to let me attack first. She charged on all fours. For most people, this would be a disadvantage. For Victoria, this was when she was at her best. She launched herself upwards and swung in an uppercut with her right claw which forced me to jump backwards. I took the opening as her right hand swung by to reverse my retreat and push forward. My knife would easily push forward into a vulnerable chest cavity. But instead, her left hand caught the blade and stopped it from taking a wound. Her fingers were wrapped around its sharpened edge and drew blood. 

I was vulnerable in this state though and she quickly attempted to use the chance to land a fatal scratch on my neck. Allowing that to strike was a bad idea. I spun the edge of the blade in her hands forcing her to recoil. Her grip loosened but I couldn’t use it to attack. I jumped backwards and dodged her attack. She stayed on two legs as I kept the distance between us. She looked down at the cuts on the middle knuckle of her fingers. Her gloves were leather and sharp steel at the ends, but the insides were only leather. A fact that allowed for greater movement for attacking but a small vulnerability if cut. It wouldn’t harm her ability to attack me but it would normally be an annoying cut that would limit her movement.

That is if Victoria was normal. She licked the blood leaking from her fingers. This wasn’t just licking to stop the bleeding, she was lapping up all the blood that had rolled down her hand. She wanted to get every bit of red liquid she could. I should’ve used the opportunity to attack. But seeing a freak in action was just so entertaining I didn’t want to stop her. There was a slight flush to her face as she drank her own blood. After a few seconds of this though, the bleeding had stopped and Victoria’s wounds closed as if they never happened. She moved her appendages freely to make sure of it. Once her display was over, she looked back towards me. She gave a little smirk with her newly rosy cheeks.

“Pervert.”

“Kinky bitch.” 

After the quick exchange of insults, we both charged. She threw a large sweep as she lunged on all fours that I parried before slicing at her lowered position. She was easily able to side step it and could acrobatically dodge as I pursued with a kick. She was annoying to fight and frankly I was losing my patience with a game of dodging and parrying. Her lowered position made it difficult to find an opening while also avoiding any low swipes at my legs. Any injury to my ankles wouldn’t be fun and importantly hamper my movement. I still needed to find Roxane and the longer I mess around with Vikky the better chance that Alan will find her first. I’m not worried that he’ll win any race to find her. I’m worried she’s gonna paint a wall with his innards. 

I ran a mental calculation. Risks were necessary to gain an opening in this situation. Neither of us could land a fatal or critical blow. We were evenly matched physically. I jumped backwards as she performed a large sweep with her right claw at my feet. She looked up at me with her wild chaotic eyes which flickered like a starving flame. I didn’t give her a chance to charge and instead leaped at her, but this time at an angle. She was forced to quickly readjust to prevent me from gaining an advantage by flanking her. She leaned back on her hind legs and held up her left hand to defend against any strikes. Instead of attacking, I feinted and forced her to use her right hand to block the knife heading straight for her stomach. 

She managed to avoid catching the blade and instead caught my hand. Her right hand was now holding my knife by the hilt. What she did not seem to notice was that my left hand was pushing it into her. I switched my grip while jumping backwards. But now, my weapon was held by her and her left hand was free but at an odd angle. She couldn’t strike my neck or any vital organs, but my side was free. 

I watched as she sunk her left claw into my side. Blood shot out before falling to the mulch ground. Victoria’s face twisted into a wide smile at the direct strike. Her eyes held that same feral nature that shook them violently within their sockets. I saw a line of drool roll down her chin as she saw my blood coat her hand. I felt my body shake at the attack. I couldn’t help but smile.

Chapter 8

(Alan POV)

I smashed into the gymnasium’s double doors and they luckily flung open. I held the phone as close as I could to my ear to hear my guardian’s instructions. Her first shot missed only by a millimeter as dropped to the floor. I thanked whatever luck I had that my attacker was not using an automatic weapon. By the sound, I assumed it was a handgun. Probably a Glock 19 like that which Sofia was using. When I managed to get back up, I didn’t even bother trying to identify where it came from. The voice on the flip phone spoke with easy enough instructions to follow. Her voice was meek but clear. Once through the double doors she spoke again.

“This h-hallway has many connecting halls with g-groups of classrooms. Turn to your next r-right.”

“Who are you!? And how do you know!?”

I know it's not the best etiquette to be asking questions to the person who is saving your life from a gun-wielding maniac, who is also an associate with a dangerous serial killer. But the panic of running for your life from a dangerous individual leads one to forget basic etiquette and fall back on natural instincts. The same natural instincts which made me question everything. Luckily, those natural instincts did not interrupt any trust I had in this individual on the phone. She was my only chance at survival. 

I turned the corner as I heard the doors behind me swing open violently. I managed to create some distance and moved right as a few more shots were fired. The gun’s shots did not echo but instead formed a muffled clap. It was the sound of a silencer on the usual weapon. When I turned the corner, I saw a U-shaped hallway with the other end circling back into the same larger hallway. The voice on the phone spoke again.

“The s-second classroom on the left. H-hurry!”

There was urgency in her instructions and I didn’t hesitate to follow. Admittedly, I had never been shot at. I held no great desire to find out what a hole through my body would feel like. The classroom door was partly ajar and I quickly grabbed onto it and slammed it behind me. These schools had thick doors and walls which were perfect for preventing bullets from piercing them. I mentally thanked all the children whose lives were sacrificed for this addition to school building codes. In the moment, it was quite helpful. The door automatically locked as I closed it. The classroom was a complete mess with a large pile of tiny desks piled in the corner and the whiteboard marked with numerous crude and graphic drawings. The voice spoke again on the flip phone.

“There is a l-large vent entrance in the corner of the room. Enter it and go left back t-towards the cafeteria. It’ll lead to the outside and you can grab the spare p-pistol on Sofia’s b-bike.”

I saw what she was talking about. Clearly someone had the same idea and piled the desks to reach it. I held the phone to my ear as I tried my best to climb the unstable structure. 

“H-how did you know about the vent?”

I wanted some answers and the brief moment of not running for life seemed an ample opportunity. The stuttering voice spoke quickly in the same raspy shrill octave. 

“I have a b-blueprint of the school on my end. Nothing has been d-demolished so I can get you out of here.”

I guess that made sense. If this is the same person who somehow controls all the cameras in Lynchburg, then why can’t she have the blueprints as well. If it weren’t for the adrenaline, I would have more questions. I finally reached the top of the structure and could see the vent. For a vent, it was large. I could just barely crawl on my hands and knees in the tiny space. I heard a bang against the door. Roxane was shooting at it. I hoisted myself upwards and managed to fit myself inside. The force of my jump though caused a cascade of noise beneath me. 

I looked down and saw the pile of desks collapsed with each section falling down one after the other. They traveled across the whole room like a wave. At the same time, I saw the door handle fly off the door. A bullet flung across the room and hit the whiteboard with it. The door was kicked open and for the first time I saw my pursuer and the woman I had been tracking all night.

The first thing that drew my attention was the black hoodie she wore. The front of it had a large hot topic-esque design of Ghostface from the Scream movies. It was baggy and probably a size too large for the small young woman who wore it. She was definitely shorter than me, around 5’2, and was noticeably skinny with thin legs and a pencil neck. Her pale Caucasian appearance had this youthful glow that made you assume that she was younger than she was, even at the age of twenty-one. Her hair was a raven black but with a few strands of bleached white that created an asymmetrical pattern as it was pulled into a loose pony tail. She wore an expression of frustration and seemed to have been chewing a piece of gum as she scanned the room. 

As she looked up towards the open vent, I had already started moving. I wasn’t going to let her notice me and get an easy shot. The roof panels were not bulletproof and if I stopped moving she could easily land a shot on me. Three shots went through the floorboards behind me as if to clarify my own reasoning. As I rushed through, the sound of her pistol grew more distant and Roxane seemed to be unable to pursue me and where the vent went. The falling desk pile saved me from letting her continue the chase. I heard her scream out in this uncharacteristic harsh and deep voice for someone of her appearance.

“Fuck! Stop running! Son of a bitch!” 

I followed no such command. I was sprinting on my hands and knees as I crawled my way through the metal space. It hurt my knees as they loudly rang out through the tunnel. The flip phone was still hanging between my ear and shoulder as I made my way through. It was dark but a faint moonlight could be seen straight ahead. It split into many directions at many locations but I ignored any other path for the freedom promised to me by my mysterious benefactor. After I was far enough and I was confident I could no longer be shot by Roxane, I spoke into the phone.

“What’s happening? And who are you?”

Sofia’s lack of answers was reaching the limits of my patience. I had now been nearly shot on top of destroying a crime scene, disrespecting a corpse, and being kidnapped. I found myself all but screaming into the phone, hoping that this new figure would be willing to give me a few nuggets of context. The voice spoke once again in its static-filled connection producing a weak sound.

“My name is A-Alice. I’m Sofia’s… c-colleague.”

One of my questions was answered. I wanted to scream at Alice to now answer the other part. I held my tongue though, I needed to not yell at the few kindnesses the night gave me. Maybe Alice will turn out to be a rational individual who is closer to a utilitarian than a sadistic egoist like every person I have met tonight. As Sofia’s ‘colleague’, maybe she has some sway over Sofia to ensure my safety and possibly remove me from this dangerous situation. 

“Thanks for saving me, Alice.”

I tried my best to sound calm but luckily did not need fake being appreciative, probably the most difficult emotion to fake. Alice responded quickly as well. The static gave the same weak and shrill voice but there was a kick in it which suggested enthusiasm. 

“N-no problem! Just doing my job.”

I was now approaching the end of the tunnel. The end was likely previously closed with a grate before. But whether intruders or the elements, it was now an open entrance/exit to the natural world. I saw the chainlink fence which marked safety roughly twenty meters away from the seven foot drop out of this hole in the wall. To further emphasize my luck, or rather the exquisite guidance of Alice, I could see Sofia’s motorcycle on the other side. As I was about to stick my head out to get a look around.

“B-before you go! There’s uh… a second g-gun with spare magazines! Grab it and help Sofia!”

I slowed my crawl forward. I may need to reconsider my positive opinions toward Alice. While yes, she is telling me where to find a weapon for self-defense. She is also telling me to run back into danger and assist Sofia in fighting both the unknown individual who seemed to be thinking on the same wavelength as movie star and notorious child predator Freddie Kreuger and the gun-wielding Roxane who I just escaped. I suppose any colleague of Sofia Bercowisz must be similarly in need of their screws being tightened. She continued speaking as I finally reached the exit. 

“T-to your right, is the playground. Sofia should be fighting t-there.”

Hi, my name is Sofia, I am 25 years old, 1.75 meters tall, 60.5 kg in weight, breast size is 2.

I used to always think that girls who became meat were just too dumb to be girls. It doesn't matter if they wanted to become meat themselves or if they became meat without their consent. In any case, it's their own fault. Therefore, I did not consider it shameful to masturbate my clitoris to stories about such girls or to squirt on the image of the resulting meat.

But after a series of recent events in my life, I realized that becoming meat is a quick way to take my place.

[I prefer realism, events should take place in the real world and a place where cannibalism is prohibited. It could be your house in a sparsely populated area or your farm. You can also go roast me in the forest. In general, to a place where no one but you and your cannibal friends will find out about what happened] [also, no sex with me except for a few things that I will describe below. When we contact you, I become your meat, losing all human rights. And I really hope you don't fuck your food.]

I'm coming to your house, in my best dress, in heels, in red lace underwear and with my suitcase on wheels. My dog Charlie, a Chihuahua breed, is also with me. He is 20 cm tall, weighs 2 kg, he is 5 years old and I love him very much [any aggression towards Charlie is absolutely unacceptable! If you don't want to take care of him, then just take him to my mom, I'll give you her address.] You take me to a room or basement where I will wait for about 3 days while you prepare everything for slaughter and cooking. You tell me to undress and wait. You're taking all my things because meat can't have property. [You can sell them on eBay, have a home sale, give them to your girlfriends, and just throw them away] [You can also spend all my money, including my credit card]. During these 3 days, you don't feed me, but only give me water. At this time, I will begin to doubt my choice to become meat [but this should not affect you and your determination to make me meat]. In the end, when it's time to be slaughtered, I finally decide that I don't want to be meat. I cry, I snot, I resist, I scream, I hit, I bite. But nothing helps. [Actually, I'm a clean girl, and when I come to you, I'll have a smooth pubis and armpits. But by the third day, there will already be quite a stiff stubble].

You're chaining me by the arms and hanging me up. Then you open me up, starting from my stomach and up to the handle of my sternum. You break my rib cage and throw out the rib cartilage, the xiphoid process, the body of the sternum. My internal organs are visible inside. After working so hard, you go out for a few hours, leaving me to die in agony. When you come back, you find that I died almost immediately after you left, and my eyes are glazed. You're washing my body of blood. Then you saw off my head and put it in the fridge. Next, you take out all my internal organs, putting them in a bucket. After that, when there are no more organs in my body, you wash my body of blood. [Here you can write "whore" on my body for fun, or anything else that will cheer you and your friends up] [Next, you can pickle me, stuff me, and sew me up, or tie me to a spit right away.] [During frying, you can insert charcoal into my pussy so that I am fried from the inside or stick a stick in there to laugh with your friends at my new improvised "dick", if you don't want to, you don't have to do that].

After you and your friends roast me. But before you serve me to the table. I would like you to sew my head [from the refrigerator] to my body with threads.

And now I'm served on the table. The first thing you do is cut off my pussy, with most of my pubis and anal opening, in one piece. And you give it to my Charlie. [I am totally against eating human genitals. Not only is it not hygienic due to the specifics of using holes, but it's also solid muscles - literally impossible to chew! But it will even be useful for my Charlie.] Next, you cut off my boobs and give them to the other dogs. [The thing is, it's all fat and literally not tasty. The main thing is not to give Charlie my boobs. It's bad for him]. Well, then have fun as you want. Eat whatever you want and in whatever order you want.

After you have eaten enough, cut the threads that tied my head to my body and throw what remains of my 60 kg to the dogs. I don't want to be frozen for months! [You can use my head as a sex toy here, since it has become nothing more than an ornament. I'd rather you fucked me in the eye socket] [If you don't want to play with my head, then give it to Charlie and the other dogs too. He will sniff her and then fuck her in the eye socket to the boisterous laughter of your friends. Then he bites off part of my cheek, trying to eat my tongue. It will look like I'm saying something. Because of his muzzle in my mouth, my mouth will open and close. Finally, he will bite off part of my lip and, having had enough, will go to sleep on his favorite ottoman.]

In a week, when my meat and head are already rotten and will stink all over the yard, so that even dogs won't touch the remains. You will collect all the remains, including the head and bones in a 50-liter bag, pour out the internal organs that are rotten in the bucket and take them to the trash cans without tying them up.

The garbage truck that picks up the package will be one of the last to visit your house, so it will not press the garbage in its container, but will immediately go to the city dump where it will dump it. After dumping the collected garbage, most of the remains will fall out of the bag: an almost gnawed right arm without a hand, which is held by the shoulder blade due to the joint, and that through the muscles by part of the spine (4 vertebrae, to 3 of which the gnawed ribs are attached); part of the left foot with 3 of the 5 fingers and a gnawed heel; there is no thumb or little finger on the right hand, which ends in a core of radius, but there is quite a lot by the standards of the rest of the meat; a cleanly gnawed pelvis holds the cartilage of the stump of the right thigh, on which rotten meat weighs in pieces. The highlight is the head with a depressed right eye, which has already spread out. And the pecked-out left one. The lips and the left cheek are completely eaten away, exposing the teeth, some of which are also missing. There is no language. And there are only small pieces of rotting skin from the right cheek. And it's all filled with rotten insides.

That's how I'll take my place of trash, where I belong - in a garbage dump. Of course, rotting bones will quickly be dragged all over the landfill by scavengers. A month later, a seagull will fly up to the almost bare skull, the lower jaw, which has long since fallen off and on which there will be only a few separate piles of hair. Which first eats part of the skin from the top of the head, pierces the skull with a few blows and eats the remains of the skull. Later, on rainy days, the skull will be filled with water and serve as a drinking trough for animals and birds.

Unfortunately, even though this is my place, it might not end like this. And five years later, someone will stumble upon my bones, start collecting them, and conduct a DNA test. They will find my mother and declare the missing Sofia found. My mom, who will be 51 by this time, will want to bury me. She will order a large coffin and put 10% of me in it. There will be my empty skull without the lower jaw and most of the upper teeth, my right arm with a stub of radius from the shoulder, the left half of the pelvis, the right part of the thigh, parts of the spine scattered, several pieces of ribs. And in this form, I will be buried in the city cemetery among the graves of my family. And no one will ever know that I wanted a different ending. Therefore, I ask you, if you hear about this, then write on my grave "Whore, Meat, Garbage."

P.S. Thank you to everyone who read my story to the end. If someone decides to masturbate or cum on how I become meat, just like I did with the stories and images of other girls, I will be all for it. Please write about it in the comments.

[Trans:MtF] [Consentual] [Skinning]

Mary opens the door, and a bell that had webs cradling it rang for the first time in years. The doll maker’s shop. Said dolls line the walls, sitting on their too tall shelves. There are a few displays scattered along the room, with more pristine dolls. One at the far end looks almost like a grandfather clock, with its doll sitting on a short stool, although it was still taller than Mary. They all wear hand-stitched dresses, with faces carefully painted. All with the same smile, with cheeks reddened just enough to see. It’s almost more boring than creepy, having so many copies of the exact same eyes watching her. 

The only light in the room came drifting in from the door. Mary can see cobwebs cling to the dolls along the walls. The ones in cases lack their sisters’ dust, but it hangs in the air, desperate to break through their protective glass. There’s a register sitting on a short counter, divvying off a small corner of the room. Behind it, sits a door left half open.

Mary picks up one of the dolls. Under its dress is a cloth body, likely stuffed with cotton. But the face and hands are exposed wood, with the hand having intricate joints, fingers that move. The hair is odd, she can’t tell exactly what it is. Maybe yarn? Mary doesn’t contemplate this too deeply, instead putting the doll back where it was.

Mary takes a moment to inspect the life-sized doll. Her display has her sitting patiently, as if awaiting a prince to come and collect her. If the rumors about the old man using corpses were true, this would be the most likely subject. But its ‘skin’ is porcelain, not the expected ‘mysterious leather’. It has the same makeup painted on, but with an added tiny mole on its lower left cheek.

Mary glances at her reflection in the glass, doing a quick curtsy to herself, and by extension the doll. She’s wearing a pink floral skirt, and a white blouse with a ruffled collar. Her blouse is trying its best to accentuate her minimal breasts. She looks almost as old-timey as the dolls. Nothing else here interests her, after all, she didn’t stop into this dusty old shop for a doll.

Mary wanders to the ajar door. 

‘It’s technically public, right? After all, there’s no sign telling me not to enter, and it’s connected to the shop.’ The girl thinks.

But, if she were someone who thought things through, she wouldn’t be here. Looking through a creepy old man’s creepy old store. She stopped in because she passed it while out, and decided to see if the old rumors were true. She didn’t expect to be skulking into the private part of the building, but she came this far, didn't she?

The next room is somehow, somehow worse. Dolls, or their pieces, lay in piles in boxes, each with some defect. A too thin arm, a head with a mispainted smile, a body with a short hairline-fracture. There are more, incomplete, life-sized dolls back here. These ones are different, they have wooden faces, much like the smaller dolls. In fact, the porcelain one seemed kinda out of place thinking back on it.

At the other end of this room, hunched over a table covered in paintbrushes, doll bits, and several odd tools, is the doll maker himself. Josef.

The old man has a gaunt, thin body. His fingers are long, and delicate, with no tremble as they work. He’s taller than most, and therefore exceptionally taller than Mary. It takes until Mary is only a handful of paces away for him to notice that there’s someone else in the room. When he does, he nearly jumps out of his chair. 

“Who in the hell?” Josef barks, more out of sheer instinct than anything. He spins around in the chair, facing the woman.

“Hey, name’s Mary. You the old guy who makes all those dolls?” She points vaguely back to the shop.

“Huh?” The old man cocks his eyebrow. “Yes?” Josef sputters out. He regains his composure, sitting up in the chair with an audible crack. “I suppose I am the ‘old guy’ in question. But my *name’s* Josef. Why are you back here?” 

“I wanted to ask you about the rumors. Y’know, whether you stalk and murder cute ladies.”

“Were you raised by wolves, girl?” He flips up his hands. “No, obviously I don’t. Do you see a bunch of corpses sitting around my workplace?” He motions out to his shop, which, while covered in dismembered parts, they’re all wooden.

“For real? Ugh! Lame!” Mary droops her shoulders dramatically. “This would’ve been super cool if the rumors were true.”

“Lame?” The old man smooths out his short grey beard. “What, were you excited to meet a likely-necrophelic serial killer?”

“I mean, it comes with the territory, right? Who sane devotes their life to making dolls?”

“I devoted my life to perfection. I’m an artist, and these dolls are my canvases. To capture the beauty of a woman, the perfection of the feminine form. That is my life’s calling.”

Mary looks at him with something akin to pity. “And you wonder why people think you’re a serial killer? But, seriously, though, why do you use wood? The porcelain doll in the other room was clearly the best of them.”

“Wood is cheap. And ultimately this is all still practice. As for the porcelain doll.. she was an attempt at my magnum opus. A prototype. But she has flaws, she is just another failed work.”

“So you’re practicing with wood, but you intend to make your final work with porcelain?”

“The porcelain will be used as an outer shell. The skeleton and the joints will be wooden.” Josef holds up the arm of a nearby half-finished doll. It’s only a skeletal mesh.

“Hm. So could you use another material? I noticed you use cloth for the skin of most of your mini-dolls.”

“Well, yes, but what material could be higher quality than porcelain? Nothing else captures the smoothness and beauty of a woman’s skin.” Josef taps his chin, as if a mock philosopher.

“Well… There is one material that pretty clearly matches a woman’s skin.” Mary taps her chin, imitating Josef.

“Well, yes, technically skin itself would fit the bill, but there’s a pretty simple problem with that. People don’t generally let you use their skin for things like that.”

Mark clears off a small spot on one of his tables, and hops onto it. “Well what if you had some crazy masochist that offered herself to you, could you do it then?”

“Well, yes. It’d be rather easy. As a taxidermist would, I’d just need to skin her body in such a way that the scar can be hidden under the doll’s clothes. Then, like I did with the porcelain doll, I’d design her internal skeleton, then cover it in the skin, and fill it with cotton. Once complete, it’s a simple matter of sewing her up and dressing her.”

Mary swings her feet back and forth. “Wow, the rumors might be true after all.”

Josef snaps out of his tangent. “Why are you even asking me this, kid?” 

“Hey! I’m no kid, just because I’m not ancient doesn’t make me a child.” Mary sighs to end her outburst, then leans back, getting her cocky smile back. “Just pickin your brain, old man. Why? Were you hoping I was secretly that hypothetical masochist?”

Josef chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be convenient. The same brat that gives me the idea is also a prime candidate. If only the stars favored me so.”

Mary taps his leg with her foot. “Sorry, old man, but I’m not certain you’d really want me as your model.” She spreads her legs and lifts her skirt, revealing a small bulge inside her panties.

Josef slams his fist on the desk. “A *boy*? What the fuck? I was picturing making you my masterpiece, and you were a *boy*?”

“Now hold on, I’d still be a masterpiece! My skin’s softer than most women, and I’m prettier too. Plus, a cute lady hiding a cute dick is like a beauty mark. The imperfection makes the whole thing better!”

“Hell no!” He points angrily. “A brat like you having soft skin doesn’t make up for having a… I work in perfections! Symmetry, beauty, elegance. You’re something imperfect from the start.”

Mary’s face burns red. “Perfection? Your greatest work yet has a mole, doesn’t she? Imperfect and asymmetrical, but she’s still the best you’ve ever made!”

“That’s different.” He snaps back. “Moles add character, they’re cute.”

“My dick adds character too! A secret only me and you’d know, a scandal in flesh. It takes bland ‘perfection’, and adds a deviant element!”

Silence hangs between them, save for their shuddering breath.

Josef looks over Mary, this time as a canvas. She’s cute, stylish, with an already pale complexion. And her cock was small enough to be unnoticeable without looking up her skirt. *‘A secret’, eh?* 

“How.. big.. are you?” Josef asks. Finally calm.

“Oh. Um, only about three inches full mast. But to be honest, I haven’t been full mast in years. I doubt I'll ever get longer than two again.

“Two?” The old man’s eyes widen. “My god, you were never a man at all. It wouldn’t be hard to hide such a thing. Hell, even your relatively thin skirt gives no hint to it.”

”Well, yeah, wouldn't be much of a secret if everyone could see it.” Mary crosses her legs, suddenly feeling slightly self conscious.

“A secret known only to the maker, eh? The idea has some weight to it.”

“The maker and the model, in our case.” She points from him, back to herself. “A scandalous bond.”

“You know, you’re oddly insightful into this idea, for a deviant brat.”

“This is the kinda thing you gotta be a deviant to understand, taboo and such. Plus, isn’t there a certain contrast with me being a brat? I mean, the difference between the ‘living me’, and the doll. That’s what makes me a truly high caliber candidate.” She relaxes to her loose pose.

“No. I’d do much better with a good, obedient girl. You being a brat tarnishes you, as opposed to any of the other young ladies in town. They wouldn’t debate me on my craft, or try to tease me, or call me old man. They’d just be perfect, silent dolls.”

“Exactly! They’re too perfect already! It’s boring! There’s no depth, no taboo!”

“Taboo is taboo for a reason. It doesn’t enhance a piece, but rather shifts its perspective. The other girls would have grace and poise as dolls.”

Mary tosses her hands up. “Every doll is graceful. Every doll is poised. Part of the beauty of art is the transformation, the metamorphosis! I’m the only one among them who truly changes through the process, and thus I’m the one who would become a true masterpiece!”

Josef slumps forward, concentrating. “Metamorphosis.” His eyes look over Mary again, measuring her against his dolls. “Something defiant made docile. Obedient. You’re right. The changes are important.” His eyes widen slightly as he sees the potential of the canvas.

Mary leans in, gleefully kicking her feet. “So, do you admit it? That I’m the highest quality ‘corpse’ in this town. That above all those simple girls; I, the sinful, impure, brat, am the best candidate.”

“Yes. Despite… No. Due to your flaws. You are the greatest piece I could work on. A brat who can be made quiet…”

She taps her thighs happily. “And don’t forget the value of our shared ‘secret’. Honestly, I bet it’s eating you up that I’m not the masochist you wanted.”

Josef freezes. He leans back, and lets out a long sigh. He’d forgotten all about this being a ‘hypothetical’. His eyes jump between the girl and the ceiling. For some reason he can’t stand to look at her.

“Aww, trying to think of some way to make me your doll? Oh, maybe you’ll kidnap me, or give me some poisoned tea, or—”

Her voice cuts off as Josef grabs her by the neck, lifting her off the table, slowly squeezing. “Shut. up! You just had to tempt me. You little witch! This, this is your fault. I bet you wanted it!”

Mary’s legs kick back and forth. “Stop… You’ll.. bruise.. my.. neck..!” She chokes out words while clawing at his hand. Realizing she’s right, he drops her back onto the table. A small ring of purple has already formed.

“Damn it… I bruised your skin. Now what? Maybe I wait until it heals? But if I keep you locked up it’ll damage you further…”

Mary gasps for air, feeling her neck. There’s a distinct area where she can feel the tender bruises. “No. Use a choker. White ribbon with lace on the outside. This’ll be.. a second secret flaw, this time yours instead of mine.”

Josef pauses. She’s right. It would work. But why is she telling him? Unless… “Mary. You were the masochist all along, weren’t you? Ha.” His laugh is several short gasps, like he’s trying to suppress it.

Mary pulls herself up, sitting with her legs over the edge of the table again. “You got me… Yeah. Now, take those scissors, and stab my navel. Cut up until you reach my lowest rib, and stop. Then follow along the seam of the rib, cutting each side to open up my skin.” She recites the instructions, line by line from a class on dissecting pigs.

“No, that’s not right. It’d leave too much meat on the flesh. I need to separate the skin. Strip. 

Mary takes off her clothes. Soon she’s standing in front of the old prude with her dick bare. Her skin’s entirely shaven, every single inch. Her tiny cock looks even more pathetic in the cold. 

“Lay down.”

Mary does as told, laying on the table. She feels an odd excitement. Like the tingling potential that’s been tormenting her is finally going to be realized.

Josef begins drawing cut lines, using a sharpie. “I’ll make circular separation cuts along your major joints. Shoulders, elbows, knees, and upper thighs. I’ll make similar cuts for your hands and feet, though they, like your head, will need much more careful work. Then I’ll make lengthwise cuts across each section of your limbs, and slowly work the skin off the flesh. As for your torso, I’ll disconnect the neck, then run across your chest. Once it’s all separated, I’ll get to work applying it to one of my dolls. I have a skeleton that’s already nearly perfect. But you don’t have to worry about any of that, do you? For now, stay there. I need to grab tools and that skeleton. And some cotton… And formaldehyde.”

Mary sits on the table, her girl dick standing excitedly. Josef vanishes, grabbing a toolbox and scuttling about the workshop to find everything needed. Mary starts slowly stroking her ‘clit’, hoping to get one last bust before her death.

By the time Josef has collected everything, Mary has become a sweaty mess. She grunts and moans while her fingers do their best, but nothing. She can barely feel it. 

“Stop that. You’re ruining my cut lines.” She sits up, her hips bouncing up and down still. 

Josef lays her down, and pulls his knife. As he explained, he goes about, cutting open her skin, and using the knife to slowly loosen it. Mary survives longer than she thought she would. In fact, it isn’t until he moves to the torso and begins the biggest cuts that she drifts away. The old doll maker works as he does best, deft fingers delicately working on the girl’s corpse. No tears or imperfection, as he spent decades making certain of.

He takes very delicate care of her face and hands, working slow enough it isn’t finished until the next day’s sun rises. After he’s done with the skinning, he goes out and buys a set of jars, deciding to preserve as much of his magnum opus’s body as he can. Her heart, eyes, liver, lunges, brain. Every piece he can get is collected, squirreled away in the depths of his home. But the doll herself? She sits in the window, behind a special window. And now, for once, the rumors ring true. Of the old doll maker’s smiling doll.

  Samantha readjusted her brown, square-framed glasses as she fumbled with her keys. She was already a clumsy girl in general, but she was in a rush. All day, Samantha had been antsy. Her college classes had bored her half to death and she wanted nothing more than to blow off some steam. Once Samantha managed to get into her dorm, she haphazardly tossed her keys onto her kitchen table.

  It was a small dorm. Single dorms were like that, it seemed. A table, a desk, and a bed were enough for Samantha, which as fitting as that was all she had. Samantha plunked down into her chair. It was a nice, plush gaming chair that her sister had bought for her a while back. Though it was quite comfortable, it was yet another sign of Samantha’s virgin lifestyle. Never once had Samantha brought a boy back to her dorm. Hell, she hardly brought another woman there. That would require Samantha to have more than one friend.

  Any thoughts of loneliness were pushed out of Samantha’s mind as she set her laptop on her desk. She did not need those people when she had porn to take care of herself with. Samantha flung open her computer and rushed to type in the name of her favorite website: Gore-porn.thisisnotarealwebsite.com. Even as the site was loading, Samantha was already getting excited. She fondled her fat tits with her free left hand, while her right hand worked to pull up a video. While the ones on the front page looked promising, none fit her exact desire. Perhaps it was time for ole’ faithful.

  Had Samantha already seen Doll Maker Three six times in the last few months? Sure. She had also binged the rest of the series on multiple occasions. It was still easily her favorite piece on the site and she was more than happy to watch it again. Samantha managed to pull her hand away from her tits long enough to type in the name in the search bar. Once the video was loading, she was back to playing with herself. She slid her fingers under her frilly white shirt, pulling it of and tossing it in a heap beside her desk. Samantha had not worn a bra that day, which was part of why she was so entirely worked up. As the video finished loading, she rolled her nipples between her fingers.

  “Stop! Please! I– I’m begging you!” That familiar, panicked voice played from Samantha’s computer.

  Begging would do the woman on the screen no good. She was standing as straight and as still as she could, terrified for her life. It was a reasonable fear, given her situation. Samantha had internally dubbed this woman “Mindy”, and often she envied Mindy for the same situation she feared. Mindy was strung up on razor wire.

  The wire was wrapped around Mindy’s limbs at every joint, as well as around her neck. It glittered beautifully in the lighting as if it were made of stars. Already, it had sliced small nicks into the girl’s soft, pale skin. Little rivulets of blood dribbled down Mindy’s legs and dribbled down her bare chest. Just the sight of that gore caused Samantha’s breath to hitch. While her left hand continued to play with her chest, her right hand hiked up her short, black skirt. It slipped underneath her panties and worked small circles over her clit.

  “I’m sorry! I can still get you the money! Please!”

  “This isn’t about money anymore.” There he was. That dark, gritty voice was that of the Doll Maker himself. “You’re a pretty girl. You’ll make a great toy for the highest bidder.”

  “But–” Mindy whined.

  Every little squirm from Mindy meant more slicing. More gore. Samantha let out a small whimper to match Mindy’s whine. If she were there, she would submit. She would do whatever the Doll Maker said. It would mean fulfilling the purpose Samantha always dreamed of. Small waves of pleasure made Samantha move faster. She rubbed harder, getting desperate for a release she knew would come soon. The Doll Maker spoke again. “For all those watching at home, this is an act for trained professionals only. Don’t try it yourself, or you’ll waste perfectly good fuck toys for the rest of us.”

  “Wait! No! Please–”

  Samantha knew what was coming. She was already speeding up her masturbation. With a sudden snap, the razor wire was pulled taught. There was a wet ripping sound, followed by the crunch of bones. A spray of gore gushed from Mindy’s limbs and throat. Mindy screamed at first, but it was quickly cut short. As the corpse that was once a girl thudded to the ground, Samantha’s eyes rolled backward. She came hard, imagining she was in Mindy’s shoes. Wave after wave of orgasm rolled over the trembling college student. Mindy, someone who once had a life. A job. Friends. She was nothing now. Nothing more than a sack of meat. Mindy would be turned into the perfect sex doll and that had brought Samantha over the edge.

  By the time her orgasm was over, Samantha was a panting mess. Her panties were a similar mess, sticky from her finish. She relaxed back into her chair and slowly slid off her underwear. Samantha tossed it onto her shirt, more focused on the video. It was not over. She knew it was not. There was still quite a few minutes left. Samantha ran her fingers over her cunt, slick with her desire. Then she slowly pushed her fingers inside. Her pussy pulsed, accepting her fingers with ease.

  The Doll Maker stepped onto the screen, scooping up the littered pieces. Arms and legs and hands and feet were all tossed into a plastic bin. He treated Mindy’s body parts as if they were nothing more than loose scraps. Then he set the plastic bin near the front of the torso. He grabbed Mindy’s head and positioned it up against the bin so that the audience could see that forever terrified look on her face. Samantha let out a moan as she looked into those empty eyes. The Doll Maker scooped up Mindy’s torso. “Should have known you were nothing but a cum sock, bitch.”

  Those words made Samantha’s hips twitch on instinct. She thrust her fingers into herself, whimpering out a soft, “Yes…”

  The Doll Maker pulled out his cock. It was quite large, especially against the corpse’s torso. With all of the gore, his dick was quickly coated with blood. That seemed to be lube enough for him. He rubbed against Mindy’s belly for a minute before he repositioned and buried himself deep into her snatch. The Doll Maker pounded Mindy’s corpse with reckless abandon. The sheer force of his pounding caused her tits to rock and jiggle. Samantha did her best to match his pace as she thrust her fingers into herself. Each thrust shot sparks of pleasure up her spine. Flecks of drool splattered from her as she desperately moaned. What she would give to be fucked like that…

  This went on for several minutes. All the while, the Doll Maker smacked and squeezed the corpse’s tits. His blows were strong enough to make a living woman scream and his nails dug into her chest deep enough to draw blood. Welts quickly formed around where his fingers landed. Samantha copied the smacking too, battering her tits with violent hands. While she could not emulate his cruelty entirely, she was able to create welts of her own. Cruel bruises turned her boobs a sickening shade of purple and yellow. Each time the Doll Maker landed a blow on his fuck doll, Samantha did the same on her own chest. She wanted to be broken like that. Samantha wanted to be nothing more than a toy. Her nails dug into her supple flesh and she let out a howl of delight. Pain and pleasure mixed in a strange soup within her brain. Each blow was a reminder of her place. Samantha was meant to be a fuck doll. It was all she would ever be good for.

  The Doll Maker pulled out of Mindy’s abused cunt and let out a groan of his own. His hips twitched as he came. Sticky, red-stained cum sprayed all over Mindy’s tits. She was painted with shame. Painted with the sperm of the man who had murdered her. Samantha had timed her orgasm with the Doll Maker’s. Waves of pleasure overwhelmed her as she threw her head back and howled with pleasure. Her cunt squeezed around her fingers, desperate to milk them for anything resembling cum. Samantha’s juices squirted all over her hand and chair, drenching the room in a heady smell that would have overwhelmed anyone not used to it.

  With that, the video was over. Samantha took a moment to stare at the corpse on the screen and ride out her orgasm. She had goosebumps and her legs shook. The college student knew damn well that if she tried to stand immediately, she would fall on her ass. As the orgasm came to a finish, Samantha let out a breath. She shut her laptop screen and stared at the wall for a moment. Then Samantha stood and moved to her bathroom.

  The room had a full-length mirror, something that Samantha was rather grateful for. Once at the mirror, Samantha stared at herself. She slid out of her skirt and set it on the nearby sink. For a moment, she just stared at her naked form. Part of why she loved that video so much was because of how similar she and Mindy looked. They were both plush, though not too much so. Samantha’s dark, auburn hair even matched Mindy’s, though her hair was much more tangled from her masturbation than the much better taken care of locks of Mindy. The biggest difference between the two was that Samantha had significantly bigger tits. Those tits were what she flaunted in the mirror. Bruises and welts decorated her boobs, little trophies for her imaginary brutality.

  Samantha leaned over, pushing her ass out and her tits forward. She imagined herself posing for the Doll Maker. The girl showed off her body to the mirror, whispering to herself, “See? I would make the perfect doll. The perfect toy to be used. Put me in my place…”

  With a small giggle, Samantha shook her tits. They jiggled pleasingly in the mirror and showed off more of her brutalization. She even caught a glimpse of where her fingernails had dug too deep and nicked her flesh. Samantha started taking different poses, each one more suggestive than the last. All she could imagine was the Doll Maker wrapping that razor wire around her limbs. The sting of that imaginary wire made her shudder and let out a soft gasp. Then he would tighten the wire until it sliced clean through her body. Samantha would be little more than a pile of meat on the floor. Her head would be sent tumbling, with a look of ecstasy on her face. It would be permanently etched there for any would-be pervert to see. Samantha would orgasm as all of her limbs were removed from her useless body. Then the Doll Maker would pound her torso and rip apart her tits as he had done to Mindy. He would treat her as nothing more than a sex doll. That’s what Samantha was. A sex doll. She was worth nothing but what her body could do to pleasure others. Samantha wished desperately that she could find a man who would rip her apart like that.

  Alas, no such man existed that she had ever met. Samantha sighed and straightened. She ran her fingers along the bruises and smiled. One day, she would find the man who treated her the way she wanted to be treated: Like a piece of meat that deserved nothing more than to be torn apart and used to please.

If you haven't read the previous chapters, they can be found here:

Chapter 1 https://www.reddit.com/r/GuroErotica/comments/1tvthl4/cassandra_carrie_part_1_of_7_like_mother_like/

Chapter 2 https://www.reddit.com/r/GuroErotica/comments/1u1zuu8/cassandra_carrie_part_2_of_7_carrie_takes_her/

Chapter 3 https://www.reddit.com/r/GuroErotica/comments/1u8849h/cassandra_carrie_part_3_of_7_a_day_in_the_life_of/

Chapter 4 https://www.reddit.com/r/GuroErotica/comments/1ueag3q/cassandra_carrie_part_4_of_7_carrie_reaches_the/

Cassandra & Carrie
Part V: Carrie's Last Wish

by Slab (September 19th, 2020)

Carrie sat in her office the next day absentmindedly caressing her bruised throat. Samantha had let her down after she'd passed out, then she'd been leashed to the foot of the bed until the morning.

Carrie knew she had only one more night to live and she didn't want to spend it under Samantha's boot... a literal possibility.

She kept an eye on her office door as she went about her morning's work - namely jerking one of the partner's until a thick load of goo landed on her face. Carrie's first act upon arriving at the office was to go to the bathroom and wash her face and hair in the sink (she'd long ago started keeping shampoo and face wash at work). Her face had been clean for less than twenty minutes.

The partner lifted her chin to admire her cream covered beauty. He noticed the marks on her neck. "Samantha really did a number on you, didn't she?"

"Yes, sir," Carrie responded.

"Well, don't worry too much about it. You'll be dead tomorrow anyway," he said, walking out and leaving her with the chilling thought.

Just then, Carrie saw the person she'd been watching for walk by. "Lauren!" she called out urgently. Her friend, who usually walked past Carrie's office quickly and with her head down so as not to be reminded of Carrie's humiliation, reluctantly looked up. Carrie could see that even after all this time, the sight of her as a sex object still unnerved Lauren. "Come here, please. I have to talk to you."

Lauren crossed to her. "Hi, Carrie. What do you need to talk about?" The girl's gaze kept shifting, unsure whether she should look at her friend's face and try not to see the sperm splattered it or look down and end up seeing her fully nude form.

"Lauren, I need you to take me home tonight."

"What?! Carrie, you know I don't think of you like that," Lauren objected.

"Look what Samantha did to me last night," Carrie said as she gestured to her injured neck. "I don't want to spend my last night at her mercy." 'No matter how arousing it was,' she didn't add. "Look, you can just say you're going to use me tonight and then drop me off at home and I can spend my last night with Hilary."

"Ok," Lauren said, finally.

At that moment a couple of male interns approached. "Thank you, so much," Carrie said, giving Lauren a quick hug that obviously made her friend uncomfortable. "It's going to be a long day. I'm sure everyone will come through my door at some point."

"Alright Carrie," one of the young men said, "lean over the desk so we can cuff you. We don't want to wait until tomorrow to spit you. Ha, ha." As one of them shackled her to the desk, the other addressed Lauren. "There's room on the desk for you, if you want to have some fun too."

Lauren looked taken aback. She left without a word. Carrie was a little disappointed, though she would have expected nothing else. Her gazed followed Lauren as she left. 'She has such a cute ass,' she thought as a stiff cock invaded her own.

* * *

It was late, by the time the last of her coworkers had finished with Carrie. Samantha had not been pleased that she wouldn't have one more night to play with her, but she'd made up for it by spending almost the entire day in Carrie's office. She never let Carrie have a moment's peace. At every opportunity, she'd demanded to be satisfied. When someone else was taking their turn with Carrie's holes, she'd usually watch from the corner and masturbate. Carrie had no idea how many orgasms the cruel redhead had enjoyed at her expense. Even now, Samantha had yet to leave, watching bitterly as Carrie left with her friend.

As they left the office and walked through the cold wind of the Chicago December to Lauren's car, Carrie was grateful to be fully dressed. Samantha's habit of walking her out of the building completely naked had gone from embarrassing to painfully cold these last few weeks. To add insult to injury, the last walk she'd taken with the woman yesterday had been through a virtual blizzard. "Thank you from letting me wear clothes."

"You're welcome, I guess," Lauren replied uncertainly.

The two rode mostly in silence until they reached Carrie's home. "Why don't you come in for a drink with me and Hilary? One last drink?" she said, shamelessly playing the 'last night alive' card.

"Sure," Lauren replied.

As the two made their way to Carrie's door, she purposefully steered the conversation to all of the fun times the friends had together.

Carrie opened the door and heard a familiar voice call out, "You're late." The girls were not prepared for the sight that awaited them.

"Aunt Linda? What are you doing here?" Carrie asked confused.

Carrie's mother's sister sat on the living room sofa while Hilary knelt on the floor beside her. Hilary wore a French maid uniform, her hands were cuffed behind her back, a ball gag was in her mouth, and a collar around her neck... Carrie's aunt held the attached leash. "I'm just claiming what's mine, Carrie."

"But... but..." Carrie stammered.

"Well, you are being terminated tomorrow. Your mother arranged it so that when that happened everything you have goes to me. It turns out that your girlfriend here isn't actually named on the lease, so I figure she's mine along with the sofa and lamps." She held up a piece of paper. "Hilary's already signed the consent form. After all, it was that or being homeless. Don't worry about her. I'm sure she'll serve me well. But whether she does or not, she'll probably end up roasting sooner rather than later." Carrie's aunt stood and Hilary followed her lead.

Carrie crossed to the young woman who now found herself in the same position she'd held Carrie in for most of the last year. She kissed Hilary on the cheek. "Bye, Hilary," she said, calling the girl by name for the first time in months.

"Don't worry, she'll be there to see you off tomorrow," Linda said as she opened the door. "Everyone will. My dearly departed sister made sure I got an invitation to see my sweet niece meet her end." She led Hilary from the apartment.

Carrie turned to Lauren after a moment's silence. "Can I crash at your place tonight?"

* * *

Carrie stepped out of the shower. From the time that she'd been enslaved, a shower had always managed to make her feel like herself again, if only for a few minutes. She ran a brush through her hair, then stood back to inspect herself in the mirror.

Her naked body bore a few scars from her months as an sex object (most notably the bruising around her throat), but these were small flaws that did little to mar her otherwise gorgeous figure. She couldn't help but consider the fact that tomorrow her head would be cut off and her beautifully proportioned carcass would be turning golden brown on a steel spit, glistening with cooking oil rather than water.

Carrie placed the collar around her neck once again. Though the woman who had made her wear it as a sign of her enslavement was now a slave herself, it didn't seem right to be without it. Had she just grown accustomed to the feel, or was she subconsciously reminding herself that just because her mistress was now leashed and collared didn't mean she was any freer?

Carrie slipped into a robe that hung by the door, then joined Lauren on the couch in the living room. Her friend had changed into pajamas while she showered and now sat sipping wine. Lauren offered her a glass, which she gratefully accepted. "Do you want anything to eat?" Lauren asked.

"Absolutely. I'm famished."

"What would you like? I haven't got much in the house, but we can have something delivered."

'What do I want for my last meal?' Carrie asked herself. It's true she'd have the opportunity for breakfast, but she knew she'd be too nervous to eat anything. She also knew she could easily waste an hour on this one decision as soon as she started thinking of it as her 'last meal'. "How about Chinese? I haven't had that in forever," Carrie said, quickly deciding that tonight would be just another girls' night with her friend.

Lauren ordered the food, but hung up with a frown. "It could be an hour. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve and they are super busy."

"That's okay," Carrie handed her friend another glass of wine. "We can just hang out and talk."

The two of them sat and drank their wine as they tried to make small talk, but the next day's impending events loomed large and would not be ignored. The conversation was not nearly as easy as it used to be and the silences dragged on. It was not long before they had drained a second bottle of wine trying to fill the silence with the sweet red liquid.

Carrie didn't mind the silence as much as Lauren seemed to, she got to spend it gazing at this beautiful girl. The pleasant buzz that filled Carrie's brain seemed to bring with it a simple but profound realization - there was no point in denying herself any longer. She was out of time. This was the last chance she would ever have and she was going to take it.

Carrie leaned over and kissed Lauren. Lauren quickly pulled away, startled by the impulsive display. "What the hell was that?"

"Something I have wanted to do for years." Carrie had past the point of no return, not that there would have been any point in backing down now anyway. Having nothing left to lose, she pushed ahead. "You are so cute and so sweet and I've always been attracted to you. I never made a move, because I didn't want to damage our friendship, but this time tomorrow, I'll be on your plate instead of on your couch." Carrie moved her had to Lauren's knee. "I've always wanted you... wanted to be with you." Carrie slowly slid her hand up her friend's thigh in a manner both cautious and sensual.

Lauren was visibly uncomfortable with the intimate contact, but made no move to stop her. Carrie scooted closer on the sofa. Lauren took a long drink, draining the rest of her glass.

Carrie gently stroked her face, eager to put her at ease. "It's alright, Lauren. It's not as scary as you think." Carrie leaned close and whispered, "I promise it will be worth it."

Carrie closed her eyes as she moved to kiss her friend again, but this time she paused just a few inches from Lauren's face. The seconds seemed to drag on to hours, as she waited, hoping desperately that the wonderful girl before her would meet her lips.

Just as Carrie was about to surrender herself to rejection, she felt a pair of soft lips pressed against her own. It was one of the most wonderful feelings in her life, better even than the majority of orgasms she had experienced. The kiss lingered for a long moment before both women broke off.

Carrie finally opened her eyes. Lauren was staring at her, her face a mixture of desire and fear. The kiss had excited her, but she was afraid to give in to her newfound urges. Carrie brushed her cheek gently and put a reassuring hand on her arm. "I really want this to happen, but only if you want it too. Just remember that this is our only chance. If there was ever any part of you that was even curious, now is the time. I'm being executed tomorrow so there will never be another chance... If it helps, think of it as my last wish."

Carrie felt she may have laid it on a bit too thickly with the last statement, but it seemed to strike a cord with Lauren. Lauren leaned in to initiate another kiss. Then she opened her mouth and probed Carrie's mouth with her tongue. She seemed to have made her decision, abandoning any hesitation so that she wouldn't give in to her doubts.

Carrie began to move her hands over Lauren's body. After several minutes of exploring Lauren's soft form, her fingers found the drawstring to her pajama pants. The knot easily slipped out and then Carrie slid her hand in. Lauren moaned quietly as practiced fingers rubbed her clit. Carrie knew exactly how to play the delicate instrument and closed her eyes to enjoy the rhythmic noises the other girl made. The sensuous gasps and squeaks of her friend's voice were almost musical.

It took only a couple of minutes for Lauren to reach her climax. She clung to Carrie as the powerful orgasm welled up inside her. Carrie smiled at the look of closed eyed, open mouthed pleasure on her friend's face.

Lauren opened her eyes. Without a word or any hesitation, she kissed her friend long and hard. Then she stood, took Carrie by the hand, and led her to the bedroom.

Carrie's heart pounded so hard as she followed Lauren to the place she most wanted to be on her last night, the beautiful girl's bed. At the foot of the bed, Lauren twirled around and locked lips with her again. As they kissed, Carrie's hand explored the young woman's slim waist and found the bottom hem of her t-shirt. When they broke away from the kiss, Lauren raised her hands over her head and allowed her shirt to be pulled off by the tall blonde who promised so show her new pleasures.

Carrie coaxed her friend onto the edge of the bed, and pulled off her pajama pants and panties. She leaned over the girl and kissed her again, supporting herself with one hand, as the other massaged the girl's breasts. After a couple of minutes, Carrie moved her mouth down to the perky tits and slid her hand over her flat abdomen to the shaved mound once again.

Lauren began building to another orgasm as she felt the gentle pressure on her clit and the flicking of a warm tongue across her nipple. Carrie knew first hand how this must feel and allowed her new lover a few minutes to enjoy the pleasant sensation.

When Carrie felt Lauren was ready, she took her finger from the moist pink hole and brought it to her mouth. She sucked juice from her finger and smiled down at the euphoric young woman. "Now the real fun begins."

Carrie slowly traced a trail of soft kisses from the girl's nipple, across her flat belly, to her bald snatch. She pushed Lauren's knees apart as she dropped to her own knees.

Carrie spread the girl's pussy lips, exposing the warm, wet hole beyond. She grazed the small bulb of Lauren's clit before slipping a couple of fingers into her pink flesh. She leaned forward and flicked her tongue across the girl's clit, finally living out a fantasy she'd played out in her mind for years. Lauren instantly stiffened under the electric ecstasy that filled her body.

Carrie expertly played her tongue over her lover's clitoris. She had serviced so many women in this way over the past months and now she put all her earned skills to work pleasing Lauren. It was not long at all before Lauren gasped and Carrie was rewarded with the sweet taste of sexual fluid.

But Carrie did not stop there. Lauren began to squirm as she built to a third powerful orgasm. Carrie wrapped her arms around the girl's thighs to keep her pelvis still.

This time Lauren screamed.

Carrie wanted to keep going. She wanted to make this lovely lady cum over and over again all night long. She wanted to lick this cunt right up until they pulled her away to slice her head off. Better yet, just slide the pole right through both of them, so she could continue to lick it even as they turned on the spit. But Lauren could take no more and pushed her away.

Carrie stood and leaned over the smaller woman to kiss her once again. She knew Lauren could taste herself on her lips. Lauren smiled, then swept Carrie's arm out from under her and rolled her onto her back. Carrie was surprised, but could have stopped the move if she wanted... she didn't. Lauren brought her mouth to Carrie's breast. She gently nibbled the nipple, then flicked her tongue across it rapidly.

Carrie moaned and her pussy went from wet to soaking as the woman she had so long desired began playing with her naked body. She closed her eyes and let the joy of this moment wash over her. She felt a soft hand caress her skin as it found its way to her slit. Fingers invaded her womanhood, as a nimble thumb traced circles around clitoris.

Carrie gasped as the first orgasm hit her. Lauren kept stimulating her as though she didn't even notice that her friend was cumming. A moment later Carrie had a second orgasm. She cried out.

Lauren looked up at her. "How was that?" she asked, earnestly looking for feedback on her first time fingering another woman.

"That was great," Carrie smiled as she exaggerated her pleasure a little. The orgasm had been good, but having Lauren be the one to give them had been the great part.

Lauren climbed off the bed to the floor. She opened Carrie's snatch with her fingers and stared at the gaping cunt for a moment with a look of trepidation.

"You don't have to do that. You've already done plenty," Carrie assured her truthfully as she sat up. "You are the first person to care about my pleasure at all for a very long time. Samantha prefers it if I don't cum. I mean, I can only expect so much from your first time with another woman."

"No, I have to do this. Like you said before, this is our only time together and I won't stop half way." Lauren opened her mouth and plunged her face into Carrie's open cunt. Again Lauren seemed to cast aside any hesitation once she set her mind to giving her friend oral pleasure. Carrie had tried to gently introduce her friend to the new experience of being serviced by a woman, but when it came her turn to reciprocate, Lauren practically attacked Carrie's pussy. Carrie very quickly came.

As with her hands, Lauren didn't slow when Carrie climaxed. Carrie knew that in the grip of orgasm she tended to release quite a flow of fluid and it was impossible that Lauren was unaware she'd already cum. If anything, having brought Carrie to climax seemed to spur her on.

While Carrie had used only her tongue, Lauren used her whole mouth. It felt to Carrie as though the girl were already trying to eat her steak. She writhed on the bed, as the impending wave of a powerful orgasm mounted inside her. She could hardly breathe as the sensation welled within her. She was so close, and tottered on the brink for what seemed eternity. Carrie screamed as she finally peaked. She clutched the pillow tightly as ecstasy seized her body and overwhelmed her mind. This time her pussy squirted a stream of juice, which flooded Lauren's mouth.

Lauren climbed into the bed beside Carrie. She smiled broadly, her face glistening and her chin literally dripping sexual fluid. "I take it I did good?"

Carrie kissed her passionately, savoring her own taste. "That was the best orgasm ever," she answered honestly. She pulled Lauren close and wrapped her arms around the soft, feminine figure. "I've been hoping all this time that one day you would come to my office to be serviced by me. Now I'm glad you never did. It has made this night so special. I love Hilary, but tonight there is nowhere I'd rather be than in your arms."

"Thank you for sharing this with me. I'm sorry it took so long," Lauren said with regret in her voice.

Carrie caressed her reassuringly. "Don't be. It was well worth my last wish. Tomorrow I can lose my head happily. I'll be thinking of you as the blade cuts my neck in two. Hell, thinking of this will make me so wet that my cunt steak is guaranteed to be juicy and succulent. I hope you get a taste."

"How can you be so calm about being killed tomorrow?"

Carrie looked her friend and lover in the eye, "I'm actually kind of excited. The look on my mom's face as her head was sliced off - it looked like the ultimate orgasm. Being a slave is humiliating, but also really hot. You've no idea how often and how hard I've cum. But now the only thing left for me is to die knowing even as I'm beheaded that I'll soon be nothing but meat. Just the thought has me so wet."

"But aren't you scared?"

"Of course I'm scared, but it's a good scared. It's that same sweet terror of being a virgin as you watch a hard cock come out and knowing you're about to be penetrated for the first time."

The girls were interrupted by the doorbell.

"Damn that Chinese took a long time. I'm starving." Carrie kissed Lauren as she got up. "Sorry, babe, but as much as I love the taste of your pussy, eating a girl out is only filling when you get to swallow her meat."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Under a fat old oak tree surrounded by thick prickly bushes, a young woman was sitting in the lap of a young man. They had found this little hidden gem as teenagers in high school, and now in their college years they loved coming back here after school and on weekends for a quick naughty thrill. Sex, outside, in the park where anyone could find them!

He'd popped his cock through his fly and pulled her thong aside to sink his fingers in. She rode him, seated deep inside, it was their game to keep her quiet. The spaghetti straps of her sundress had been slid down and his hands were hot on her bare breasts. The sun splashed across her tilted face through the leaves above, his teeth nibbled her throat.

He twisted a nipple as he lifted a knee under her, and she gasped into her hand. A lick along her pulse point.

“Don't let anyone know we're here, angel.” He crooned, a hand snaked from its hold to push on her lower back, an audible squelch from her drenched pussy as she moaned into her palm. Only for her to jolt and suddenly recoil!

“Ow! Shit!” She slapped the back of her neck, and came back around with a small fuzzy yellow body. He felt her go tense around him.

“Fuck. We gotta go home. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“I got stung by a bee! I'm allergic to bees!”

“Can you just take some histamine stuff later?”

“No! I need my epi-pen, I wasn't thinking, I left it at home! We have to hurry!”

Epi-pen? Oh! She was THAT kind of allergic!

“How long? Should we just go to the hospital?” He asked, not really hurrying. She was already wheezing. Hands clumsily trying to pull her clothing back into place and stand. His hands on her thighs kept her from rising.

“Yes! Even better! It hits me fast, we gotta go come on!” She tugged at his wrist.

He didn't let go.

Instead, he rolled forward, still rock hard inside her, and pinned her to the dry packed dirt. He didn't say anything, but held her down and continued to thrust into her as he stared down at her panicking, pale face. Then he pulled out of her, and she would have sighed in relief of she could breathe.

Until she noticed he had moved to kneel by her head. His hands hooked behind her neck, and tilted her head back. Was he going to rescue breathe her? That wouldn't work, her throat was closing, she-

The head of his dick pressed to her tongue through her open gasping mouth. And then pushed with some force to the back of her throat!

She gagged, but it didn't stop him. Deeper, using his grip on her head as leverage, into the quickly swelling passage. There was a bulge near her voice box. He pressed a thumb against the tip of his own penis through her skin.

“Fuck, and it's just gonna get tighter too.” He sighed. And began to roll his hips. She squirmed and beat against his knees, thrashed and kicked the tree! No! Get out! Call for help, get the pen, something! This wasn't helpful!!

He had sunken himself so deep into her throat his balls blocked her nostrils. Her tongue was swollen outside her mouth, and her throat itself was painfully tight and getting tighter around the solid dick inside it.

He ignored the rake of her nails on his arms to wedge her head in place with his knees. He grabbed one fistful of breast, bodily lay on her to pin her thrashing to the earth, and sank his middle and ring finger into her spasming plush cunt. Like a babe at a tit, he latched his lips and tongue around her clit, and began to suckle like it would give him milk if he tried hard enough.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-

Her eyes were rolled to the back of her head, gagging and choking on her boyfriend's cock, her own bile and spit, and the hot rush of blood to her face and throat from the bee's toxin in her skin. She couldn't see anything, eyes swollen shut even as they bulged and shot through with blood. Her face puffed and colored to red before it dipped into a bruised purple the more she suffocated.

Her body slowed its fight. Her brain flooded itself with euphoria to hide the pain of her lungs burning and her heart pounding.

The fingers in her pussy were stroking and spreading her open. Wet and sticky. A mouth sucked her clit like a god. And her throat was so so full. He was so hard. His musk sat heavy in her nose and salty goo coated the back of her fat black tongue. Fingers pinched a nipple and pulled her heaving chest like it would somehow put air back in her lungs.

She was dying, she realized faintly. Detached.

He released her clit with a slurp, a string of spit from his lip to her swollen button hung like a spiderweb in their public park fuckspot.

“Good girl, goooooood girl. Just like that.” He coaxed her through her orgasm, fingers still stroking that quivering spot inside her even as deep within her swollen throat, he felt when her heart came to a stop.

He had to silence his groan by replacing his fingers with his tongue. He drank her juices that flooded his willing mouth as he filled her with his cum. His cock throbbed in the tight prison of flesh, spreading back around him from the force and lubing him so wonderfully he couldn't stop his oversensitive cock from thrusting inside her throat again anyway. Not until he was able to shoot another two gulps of seed down her gullet.

Chin and nose glistening with evidence of her pleasure, it took him several minutes to wiggle his way out of her throat. As he went soft her swollen flesh gripped him tighter and by being so hypersensitive already, it was a painful amount of time before he was free. He sat back against the tree to catch his breath, and looked at his girlfriend.

Well. Ex. Late? Ex. Ex was fine.

Her sundress was bunched around her middle, having been off both her shoulders by the time he was done. Her breasts spread awkwardly to the sides of her chest without a bra to contain them. Her chest that no longer moved. Her knees were bent and spread, pussy wide open and glistening in the sun.

Her face, though, was a bit like a cheeseball. Puffed up so bad her eyes were hidden and her lips and tongue sealed her mouth shut. Even her ears were swollen!

He couldn't help the twitch his dick gave at the memory of being between those lips.

He redressed her, put his coat around her to hide the worst of it. Then carried her home like she'd fallen asleep at the park.

The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the abandoned penthouse on the 47th floor, a glass-and-steel relic from a failed luxury development. City lights bled through the streaks like smeared neon blood, turning the empty space into a cold aquarium of reflected wealth. John stood near the kitchen island, the chef’s knife balanced loosely in his right hand—long, sharp, the kind of blade that had probably prepped thousand-dollar tasting menus before this place went dark. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the hard lines of a body that still carried the discipline of someone who had once been paid to look invincible.

Emily knelt on the marble floor a few feet away, naked except for the thin silver chain around her throat. Eighteen. Pale skin already prickling with gooseflesh in the chilled air. Her small, firm breasts rose and fell quickly, nipples tight. Brown hair clung to her damp cheeks. She had begged him to bring her here after the underground club, after too many drinks and the kind of conversation that should have stayed fantasy.

“You still sure?” John’s voice was low, almost gentle, but the knife caught the light as he turned it. “Once I start, we don’t stop. You said you wanted to feel it for real.”

Emily’s eyes—wide, glassy, pupils blown—lifted to his face. Her voice came out hoarse, trembling with equal parts terror and hunger. “I’m sure. I’ve thought about nothing else for months. Being used… opened… emptied. I want you to fuck my ass while you do it. I want to come while you gut me, John. Please.”

She crawled forward on her knees, pressing her cheek against his thigh, nuzzling the hard outline of his cock through his trousers like a supplicant. Her breath was hot against the fabric.

John’s free hand slid into her hair, gripping tight enough to make her gasp. “You’re a sick little girl, you know that? Most girls your age want love, or money, or attention. You want a knife in your belly while I’m balls-deep in your ass.”

“Yes,” she whispered, the word cracking. Shame and pride warred in her expression—shame that she needed this, pride that she was brave enough to admit it. “I’m tired of pretending I’m normal. I want to be your snuff slut. I want you to own me completely. Ruin me.”

He pulled her up by the hair until she stood on shaky legs, then spun her around and bent her over the cold marble island. Her breasts flattened against the stone, nipples aching from the contrast of heat and chill. John kicked her feet apart, exposing her. She was already wet—shamefully, embarrassingly soaked—her arousal tracing down her inner thighs.

He freed his cock, thick and heavy, and rubbed the head along her slick folds before pressing against the tighter ring of her ass. “Tell me again what you are.”

“Your snuff slut,” she moaned, pushing back against him. “Use me. Destroy me.”

John entered her ass in one slow, relentless thrust. Emily cried out, the stretch burning, her body fighting then yielding. He held the knife against the soft skin of her lower back, the flat of the blade cool and threatening. With every deep stroke he dragged the tip lightly along her spine, never cutting, just reminding her what was coming.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he growled, voice roughening. “Clenching around me like you never want me to leave. But you do, don’t you? You want me to leave you bleeding out on this floor.”

Emily’s fingers scrabbled against the marble, tears mixing with the rain-streaked reflections. “Yes—god, yes. Harder. Make it hurt.”

He fucked her harder, hips slapping against her ass, the wet sounds obscene in the empty penthouse. One hand reached around to rub her clit in tight, merciless circles while the other kept the knife pressed to her side now, the edge just beginning to kiss skin. She came first—shuddering, sobbing, her ass spasming around his cock as the orgasm tore through her like electricity.

John didn’t stop. He pulled her upright against his chest, still buried deep inside her, and brought the knife around to her flat stomach. “Look at the city,” he whispered against her ear, voice dark velvet. “All those people down there living boring, safe lives. And here you are, about to be gutted like a pretty little animal while my cock is still in your ass.”

Emily’s head fell back against his shoulder, breath ragged. “Do it. Please, John. I need it. I need to feel you come while I’m dying.”

The blade pressed in.

She gasped sharply as the steel pierced just below her navel—shallow at first, then deeper as he dragged it slowly upward in a deliberate line. Blood welled hot and immediate, running down her pale skin in thick rivulets, dripping onto the marble. Her body jerked violently around him, the pain mixing with the fullness in her ass in a way that made her come again almost instantly, harder, a broken wail tearing from her throat.

John groaned, thrusting deep through her clenching spasms, the knife moving with terrible intimacy. “That’s it… feel it. Feel me owning every part of you.” His voice cracked with something like awe and horror at what she was giving him. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you break.”

Emily’s hands clutched at his forearm, not pushing the knife away but guiding it, her blood slicking both their skin. Tears streamed down her face. “I’m yours… completely yours… thank you—”

Her voice faltered as the cut deepened. The pain was enormous, consuming, yet she kept rocking back onto his cock, chasing the brutal pleasure even as her strength ebbed. John’s thrusts grew erratic, savage, his own climax building as her body began to tremble uncontrollably.

He came with a guttural sound, flooding her ass while the knife finished its work, her blood pouring freely now. Emily’s final orgasm ripped through her in violent waves, her vision whiting out, a strange, transcendent smile on her lips as the world narrowed to the heat inside her, the burn across her belly, and the man holding her through the end.

They stayed like that for a long moment—his cock still buried in her, blood and cum mixing, her body growing heavier against him. John pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to her temple, breathing hard, the knife still in his hand.

The city lights kept glittering outside, indifferent.

In the silence that followed, only the rain and their slowing heartbeats remained.

The knife slipped from John’s fingers and clattered onto the marble. Emily’s legs gave out instantly.

She crumpled forward, sliding off his cock with a wet, obscene sound. Her body hit the cold floor hard—knees, then hip, then shoulder—rolling slightly onto her back. The long, ugly wound across her abdomen gaped open, dark blood pulsing in weakening surges with every fading heartbeat. Her right hand stayed trapped between her thighs, fingers still frantically rubbing her swollen clit in desperate, dying little circles. Even as her vision blurred and the world tilted, she couldn’t stop chasing it.

John stood over her, chest heaving, cock still hard and glistening with their mixed fluids. He looked down at the beautiful, broken girl at his feet—the one who had begged for this exact ending. Her pale skin was already losing its glow, streaked with crimson that pooled beneath her. Her eyes, half-lidded and glassy, locked onto his face with something like gratitude and final, shattering need.

“John…” she whispered, voice thin and wet. “Don’t… don’t leave me like this. Finish it. Please.”

He stepped closer, boots crunching in the spreading blood. Without a word he aimed his cock at her face. A hot, golden stream of piss arced down, splashing across her parted lips, her cheeks, her closed eyes. It ran into her hair, mixed with the blood on her neck and chest, the sharp scent cutting through the metallic tang of slaughter.

Emily moaned brokenly. Her fingers moved faster on her clit, slick with her own juices and the blood that had dripped down her body. The humiliation—being pissed on like a used rag while she lay gutted—ignited the last spark inside her. Her back arched off the floor in a final, violent spasm.

“That’s right,” John said quietly, voice rough with spent lust and something darker, almost reverent. “Come for me one last time, you perfect little snuff slut. Let it take you.”

Her whole body seized. A strangled, gurgling cry tore from her throat as the final orgasm crashed through her dying nerves—harder and deeper than any before. Her legs kicked weakly, heels scraping bloody trails across the marble. Her hand kept working her clit through the convulsions, even as her eyes rolled back and her mouth fell open, piss and spit and a thin line of blood trickling from the corner.

For a few long, cinematic seconds she was beautiful in her ruin: trembling, soaking wet, utterly surrendered. Then the tension broke. Her hand slipped away from her pussy. Her chest rose once… twice… and stilled.

Silence swallowed the penthouse except for the relentless rain against the glass.

John stared down at her for a long time, the city lights painting her corpse in cold blues and golds. The contrast was grotesque and perfect—expensive marble, designer ruin, a young woman who had traded her life for the ultimate surrender. He felt the weight of it settle in his chest: the power, the horror, the strange hollow tenderness for the girl who had trusted him with her darkest, final desire.

He crouched, brushing a soaked strand of hair from her slack face. “You got what you wanted, Emily.”

Then he stood, zipped up, and walked toward the elevator, leaving her sprawled there—hand still curled near her clit, body cooling in the spreading pool of blood and piss—another secret the city would never know.