Cow

By DX

Copyrighted 12/06, 10/2024, all rights reserved.

 

 And that was it.

 My personal files were deleted. My clothes, what I couldn't sell and what I wasn't wearing, was dumped into the Degrader, to be broken down into molecular dust and re-fabricated into something new for someone else's use.

 Much like I was soon to be. I would not be broken down into dust, however. I would be hacked up into steaks for someone's consumption. 

 Waste not, want not.

 I repressed a shudder at the thought .  I took a moment and glanced out the window. The sun was rising, and lit up the white cliffs of Dover as the waves crashed endlessly against its craggy shore. 

 I turned off the window, and the room plunged into darkness like a felling blade.

 A fake view for an apartment that didn't have a view, or a window for that matter.  I could never have afforded a real view and now I couldn't even afford a fake one.

 My couch folded up into the wall as I rose.  This left a clear three meter by four meter space which was my apartment, my life. It was now empty.  Clean and clear, ready for the next guy. 

 I grabbed my jacket and headed out, shrugging the memories like cob webs. I always hated that apartment, never realizing it was my anchor in this world until I was cast adrift. It would be sanitized, reprogrammed and re-issued to someone else within the hour. All traces of my existence, memory, scents, bills, signatures, every bit of my history would be gone. 

 I was less than homeless.

 I was nothing.

 I made my way to the street and ducked under an awning to escape the freezing rain. As I waited for the bus, I watched people brush by, their faces down, lost in their own world. I was one of them just yesterday. A real person. It was time for the mid morning snack and I would be taking orders for a run to the cafeteria. 

 My stomach growled in the memory. 

 In my jacket pocket I found a snack bar, Soy Blue. I put it back for later. I had a long day ahead of me.

 On the bus, I watched the Ad-vid screen with a professional interest.  A woman just won the grand prize lottery, fifteen minutes of pure, filtered sun light.  Terrorists blew something up, the government knocked something down, and a very pretty woman suggested I could look very pretty too with a new face graft.

 Usually I looked at them with a blank, disinterested stare, just to have something else to look at than the blank, grey buildings that passed by. It was stuff I could never afford anyway. Today, a charming young woman was demonstrating the Jessica 3000.  I had seen her advertise things before.  She had a slim body, slinky and svelte.  She caressed the machine like a lover as she talked about its features. Then with her smiling dimples, stretched herself across it, and wriggled like an imp to take her place. With a smile she signals her partner who steps forward and straps her down.  As she is secured, she bids us farewell.  

 “A great end to a great ride!”  She said, but her smile doesn’t completely hide her nervousness.

 She winked, and blew us a kiss, then set her head in the cradle. Her partner secures her, puts a rubber ball in her teeth to stifle her screams, then throws the switch on the Jessica 3000. 

 We don’t see it, but we all know she is eviscerated, cleaned, stuffed and stitched back up in seconds. She's good at controlling her agony, focusing beyond the pain. I imagine for the commercial she was hopped up on stimulants. Nothing to ebb the pain, but she'll stay conscious.

 She regains enough composure and her gag is removed.  She gives a play by play and describes what it feels like as the motorized spit is slowly inserted into her, through her cervix. She gasps as it punches through her diaphragm, then gives some quick cooking techniques and how she would like to be served. She finally shuts up as the spit worms its way through her esophagus; but not without a final plug: "See ya at the barbecue!" She blows another kiss just moments before the spit slowly appears, rising up out of her mouth.

 Fully spitted, she gave a thumbs up as they lifted her off the machine and carried her away to be cooked.

 Now I'm hungry.

 I fish my lunch bar out of my pocket. Soy Blue, now made with 20% more people.  Mmmm.

 When I arrived at the center, I was surprised to see a line that snaked its way out the front door. I'd forgotten it was graduation day and all the women who didn't make the mark were here for processing. They were still, and somber. Most of them would soon be meat. A few might go as cattle or breeders, and a very select few would go to the brothels. I've heard of some going as living dolls and furniture, a horrible existence. 

 It was all a horrible existence: A non-future for young women.

 I joined the end of the line.

 Someone came by and checked my ID-chip to confirm I was in the right place and that I was on time.  Gosh forbid I would be late.

 But I wasn’t.  I was where I was supposed to be, standing tall at the end of the line to be processed.

 The line moved steadily, but turned even longer once inside. As we passed a bin, each girl stripped and dumped her clothes into it, then donned paper slippers. There was no talking now, enforced by a massive brute of a woman wielding a shock stick. Eyes front, keep moving. A woman with a scanner module walked the line, stopping at each girl and reading the chip embedded under the skin on the inside of the wrist. Then with an extractor the chip was removed and the girl was given a new ID which was written in big blue numbers on her right butt cheek. Her final task is to take a digital image of our faces to go with the new file.

 She looked up at me when it was my turn. She checked her scanner. "You're not a student?"

 "No, ma'am." I whispered.

 "No talking." She said, looking at her machine. "Tax deferment." She looked at me. "Couldn't pay your taxes?"

 “I was laid off." I answered.

 "Stop talking." She hissed, then glanced at where the guard was.

 "Stop asking me questions." I mumbled.

 "I'm talking to myself." She said tartly. "They've been a lot of you lately. You held out." She murmured, slightly impressed.

 I had savings. I also did some odd jobs when I could, but as the economy got worse, the jobs got fewer. Most of my former coworkers had already gone to the slaughter house.  I fell back on my savings, before sliding into the red. 

 I still had to pay rent and taxes.  Never ending, rent and taxes.

 In my darkest, bleakest moment, scored a new job, a decent job.  My first check went entirely to put minimum payments on each of my debts.  I had breathing room!  The incessant calls and texts and messages stopped and I finally had a good night’s sleep.

 Precious.

 I worked my ass off.  I made bonuses.  I lived entirely on tasteless soy, wore the same dress every day because I had nothing else.  Zero entertainment, zero frills, zero life, just work, pay, work, pay, work, pay, and I paid and paid and paid.  

 I was going to claw my way out of debt. 

 Then, just as a tiny, faint, happy light appeared on my horizon, some bureaucratic wage slave with a hornet lodged in their asshole, pushed a button to make a very expensive super-computer do some big brain-brain think math and calculated my wage earning potential, and tabulated that even with wage raises, promotions, and sucking my boss’s dick, I would never be able to pay off the accumulating interest on my debt. 

 That was when I got the message to report.

 When my chip was removed I felt truly naked standing there in the buff with only paper slippers on my feet. It was a bit of a comfort when my new number was printed on my butt. I strained to look back at it. My new name was 8659.

 We shuffled forward to another girl with electric clippers. She grabbed a fist full of my hair, bent me over a bin and shaved my head quickly and efficiently. My scalp tingled from the peach fuzz that was left behind.

 Another girl walked by with a box of gags. It had an inner ball that sat deep in my mouth. It's face shield wrapped tightly across my lips, hiding my face in a swath of black rubber. To further hide my identity, a black hood was draped over my head. I could look down and follow a line on the floor. It was important to hide us now, so that begging, pleading and tears would not influence the Magistrate. The woman who would decide our fate.

 She didn’t actually decide anything.  She had a monitor in front of her which told her what to say.  It was based on the needs of society: if they were low on protein, we went to slaughter, low on baby production, to breeding, low on entertainment, the brothels.

 I plodded along, listening to one woman reading out a number, and a second saying where she was going. The first would then instruct the girl to follow a different color line on the floor. Any girl that freaked and didn't do as told was shocked repeatedly and dragged off, being shocked all the way. Her screams made a very chilling deterrent to resistance.

 They called out my number. 

 "Last one your honor." The first said. Rough hands gripped my breasts, hefting their weight. "She's a nice one."

 "Prime cut." The magistrate said quickly. "Meat line. Next!"

 Although it was no surprise, her voice stings and I tremble at the thought, but I can only think of the chirpy girl in the ad selling automatic spitting machines; her smile, and “See y’all at the barbeque!”  I almost shout it out, but I have no voice, that and my mouth is packed full of the gag.  As I bit of self inspiration, I congratulate myself for being prime cut.  I would not be ground up and mixed with soy to make tasteless nutrition bars, but cut up, grilled up, and served with a side of soy potatoes and soy cauliflower.

 See y’all at the barbecue.

 I find the strength to move my feet, but the first woman is still holding my breasts.

 "She the last." The first complained. "Your honor, look at these!" She hefted my boobs again, presenting them, then patted my ass. “Mmmm, this is nice. And look at her picture. I think she'd do well in the brothels."

 The idea used to revolt me; to be a on call whore to munch bush for fat elderly magistrates and politicians, I would rather die. Now faced with death, I'd kill for the chance.

 "She's too old." Magistrate said sharply.   "Meat line.  Prime cut.”

 "She's quite a fine little thing." The first said, still holding my breast.

 "She's twenty-three and too old.  They'd only send her right back here and our quota for whole roasts are full.  She's steaks.  Green line, please."

 The last was directed at me because she was too tired to argue with her subordinate any further and hoped I could do what her lackey couldn’t, follow orders.  I looked to my feet and found the green line and shuffled along it.  I was to be loaded on a truck and driven to a slaughter house where an air hammer would knock me senseless and a laser would slice me into neat cuts before I was dead.

 Despite my best efforts, I sank into despair.

 Then, unexpectedly, my luck had changed.  

 It did not improve, it just changed.

 My knees buckled, but I walked.  I moved along, head down, until I bumped into the girl at the end of the green line. We shuffled forward into the truck, but when I went to step up, a hand stopped me. "We're loaded." The voice said.

 "She's the last." Another said.

 "I'm loaded and I can't risk another fine for over-loading."

 "Well, you'll have to come back."

 "Do you know what time it is? I'm not coming back here for one cow." Again a hand cupped my breast. "Look at these, she should be a milker. Fuck, with these she should be in the brothels."

 "I think she's too old."

 Light flared as someone peeked under my hood to see my face. "Oh, she's not old at all. I'd like that face between my legs."

 "She's too old."

 That line was getting old.

 "Well, with these udders, she'll pump milk like a champ." She then spoke to me. "You're a milker now. Follow the blue line." She took my arm and turned me around, then pushed me forward. "Follow the green back to where is branches off to blue and follow the blue line."

 I hesitated.  Under what authority would a truck driver, with demerits on their record I might mention, have the ability to over turn a Magistrate’s decision?

 “Go wan!  Git!”  A hand slapped my ass.

 Here’s something really funny: I was mortified.  Who the heck do you think you are, slapping my ass?

 Naked, ordered to be cold cuts, gagged and wearing a hood and how dare someone slap my ass as if I was a piece of meat?  

 Oh, wait.  I was a piece of meat.

 I turned and started walking.

 I found the blue line. There where other colors, and I wondered where they went.  I couldn't tell if anyone cared, but I trembled at the thought of shock sticks if I was found in the wrong line, so I followed the blue line. 

 I would live, sort of.  A Rad Gun would fire a pulse of radiation into my frontal lobe. It would pass harmlessly through skin and bone, but in the center of my brain the beam would focus and my brain would be cooked. I'd be alive, but higher brain functions, thought, creativity, speech, would all be gone. I'd have the I.Q. of a real cow, as if there were any real cows left on the planet.

 I would then be chemically altered to produce milk.  My breasts would swell to the size of zeppelins!  My arms and legs would be harvested, chopped off.  I wouldn't need them.  Not like I'd know or care with my deep fried brain.  I'd know nothing of what was happening.  I would be put in a stall.  Pumps would be attached to my teats and a food tube shoved down my throat.  I would then spend my days being milked.  In time, seven years if I was lucky, my production would dry up and I’d be sent to slaughter.

 I wasn’t quite sure about this new luck of mine.

 I found myself in a room and I waited where the line ended for further instructions. 

 "Where have you been?"  Someone shouted.  "I was told sixteen milkers, not seventeen!  I was only given enough battery charge for sixteen!  And look at the time!  I can't apply for another battery."  A heavy sigh.  "Alright.  We'll have to make do.  I'll just have to red line the battery.  I'll have to re-do all my paper work!  Thanks a lot!"  She grabbed my arm and pulled me along.  "Sit!"

 I felt guilty as I sat there on the bench. 

 The stench of piss and shit was overwhelming and I gagged.  I tried to maintain some decorum as I consoled myself that it would painless, and I would be blissfully unaware of my fate.

 It would all be over in just a few minutes.

 As I peered down, I could see the feet of a woman making her way along the benches, locking leg shackles to some of the women.  The shackles were neo-ceramic, indestructible. They were connected by a short, flexible cable which would allow the cow to hobble along, but running or kicking was impossible.  I flinched as she locked them around my legs.  There was no key. Once locked on, they were on for life.

 This made no sense.  Our legs would be harvested.  Why waste prime meat?

 We shifted nervously when the harsh grinding buzz of the Rad Gun sounded as a girl had her brain burned.  It was common for a girl to loose all bowel control after the radioactive lobotomy, and as the stench refreshed, burning my nostrils, I hoped I wouldn't be one of them. I didn't want to start my first day as a cow covered in my own manure.

 More zaps. I shivered as the gun came down the line, closer.  I wanted them to hurry.  To walk over and stir fry my brain and get it over with and end this miserable day, my miserable existence.  I didn't deserve this indignity!

 I started to cry.  I didn’t want to be ‘that girl’, bawling like a child, but I wasn't the only one.  We all were that girl.

 Thrashing. 

 Arms and legs flailing.  A girl went into seizure as the Rad Gun burned her brain. From beneath my hood I could see her spazing on the floor as piss spewed like a sprinkler. The attendant stepped over the girl, put the gun to her forehead, and pulled the trigger to fry her a second time.

 The girl moaned and fell silent and calm.  She panted as if she'd just run a hundred meter dash.  The attendant only shook her head and cursed and muttered to herself that she used another precious charge.  She then stepped over to the next woman in line.

 I closed my eyes and waited.  Soon.

 The woman beside me slumped and fell against me as if she'd just nodded off on the bus and not had her brain destroyed.  I cradled her, happy for something to hold onto.  I tried not to whimper as the gun rested against my temple. 

 I tried to be brave.

 And the sun exploded in my head.

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The Queen’s Helmet

By DX

Art by Doktork

Copyrighted 9/2024, all rights reserved.

The towering stained glass windows of the throne room depicted a heroic man clad in shabby, broken armor battling a fierce dragon.  As the beast’s claws raked the hero’s breast plate leaving long bloody scars, the hero plunged his sword, dulled and chipped, into the beast’s heart.

Along the walls, other windows depicted the hero’s rise to accept the crown as king.  Then, by his hand, aquifers and dams and canals were built and the farms were irrigated and protected from flood and drought.  Other windows showed farmers and bountiful harvests, schools and cathedrals being built, and a kingdom flourishing.

In the hall, drenched in the multi-colored light from the windows, the administrators, priests, and nobles sat in tall backed chairs.  They spoke casually in hushed tones.  Pages scurried about to light lanterns as the light from the stained glass windows slowly faded to sun set.  Everyone looked up expectedly as Lord Dorland came from the king’s chambers.

“All hail, King Garland!”  Someone shouted.

“All hail, King Garland…”  Echoed throughout the hall.

Dorland nodded, and waved for quiet.  “The king yet lives.”  

“All hail, King Garland.”  The hall murmured.

Dorland nodded, then turned and shuffled back towards the king’s chamber.  As he neared the door, a skeletal hand plucked at his arm.  “How much longer, Lord Dorland?”

Dorland shrugged off the clutching hand.  “Patience, Lord Baylen.”  He whispered.

“We wish the king eternal life,”  Baylen pressed.  “not eternal suffering.”  Baylen’s face darkened.  “Nor is our patience eternal.”

Dorland pulled away and pushed through the door of the king’s chamber.

The aged King, emaciated, grey and slacken, lay still on his bed.  Earlier he had pulled open his nightshirt and exposed the horrible, never healing scars the dragon had left him all those decades ago.  Princess Galen pulled her veil off and covered his scars to keep the flies at bay.

In the King’s right hand was his crown.  On his left was Princess Galen.

Princess Galen was kneeling at his bed side.  Her hand intwined with his.

King Garland’s eyes flashed open.  “Dorland?”

“I’m here, your Majesty.”  Dorland stepped forward, but one of the doctors interceded.

“You must rest, your Majesty.”

The King shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Dorland, your quill, your parchment.”  The King took a few moments to catch his breath from his exertion.  “Mark the time and date.”  He began, straining to be heard.  “I, King Garland, Dragonslayer, bequeath my crown…”  He paused, then let out a terrible cough as his face contorted with pain.

Quickly, Princess Galen rose up and with a damp towel, wiped the blood from the King’s lips.

He nodded his thanks to her.  The turned his head toward Dorland.  “I give my crown, my kingdom, to Princess Galen.  He shifted the crown, and dragged it towards her.  “Take it, Galen.”  He looked over to her, and despite his tremendous pain, smiled proudly.  “Queen Galen.”

Dorland’s quill scratched feverishly.  

“Your Majesty, please!”  The doctor pressed.  “You must rest.”

The King only looked to his daughter.  “Beware your sister’s treachery.  Even though I’ve sent her off to marry Prince Verius, given the slightest inkling, she will ruin you.”  He coughed again.  “Remember, love your people.  Guide them, nurture them.  Build them roads and schools and they will take care of the rest.”  He paused to catch his breath.  “Show kindness and mercy when you can, but remember justice is a hammer.  Strike true!  Keep Duke Wilhelm close.  Trust no one else.”  He smiled weakly.  “And let me be the first to say to you, your majesty, Queen Galen.”

With a gentle smile on his face, King Garland, Dragonslayer, passed to the next world on a river of his beloved daughter’s tears.

“The King is dead.”  The doctor murmured.  “Long live the Queen.”

Dorland nodded.  “Long live the Queen.”  He shuffled to the door.  “I’ll inform the court.”  He, with the doctors close behind, slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

And Queen Galen openly wept.

Moments later there was a knock on the door, and Dorland peered in.  “Your highness, you’re needed in court.”

Whether or not she took offense to his wrong use of title, she didn’t show it.  She lay the King’s crown on his chest, then placed his hands upon it.  She then washed her face.

Bareheaded, she stood regally, and walked into court.

The lords and nobles were all on one knee, their heads bowed.  Queen Galen stepped to the center dais, and raised her hands.  “Rise gentlemen, and be seated.”

No one moved.

Curious, Queen Galen looked around and noticed a cold shadow on the floor.  She turned towards the throne.

Princess Cassandra sat curled up on the throne, her legs over the arm rest.  “Sister.”  She cooed.

Her eyes filled with daggers, Queen Galen nodded curiously to her sister.  “What of your marriage to Prince Verius?”

Cassandra scoffed.  “Why would I marry a seventh prince when I can have a kingdom?”

Queen Galen drew a sharp breath.  “Guards, remove Princess Cassandra from the court.”

No one moved.

Cassandra turned and slumped on the throne.  “There’s been a change, sister.”

From the back of the hall, a guard ran in.  “Your Majesty!  Duke Wilhelm has been arrested!”

Cassandra clapped her hands.  “Call the headsman!  Bring his block and axe and put it right there!”  She pointed to the middle of the room.  “I want Wilhelm on his knees.  As the crown is placed on my head, I want the axe to fall on his neck!”  She squealed in delight.

“How dare you!”  Queen Galen roared.

Lord Baylen stepped forward and slapped Galen, then cried in pain, clutching his hand.  “Bow down to your Queen!”  He shouted, then turned and held out his hand to the doctor.  “I think I broke it.”  He whimpered.

Queen Galen scanned the men kneeling before the throne.  “His body still warm and you betray him?”

“We’re just following his last command.”  Cassandra answered, then clicked her fingers.  “Dorland?  Read our good King’s last words.”

As Dorland held up his parchment, his squire held up a candle to shed light.  “Hear the final words of King…”

“Speed this up!”  Cassandra said, tiredly.

Dorland cleared his throat.  “Ah, yes.”  He looked to his document, reading quickly.  “Herby bequeath my crown to Princess Cassandra…”

“Liar!”  Queen Galen screamed.

“Quiet!”  Cassandra roared, then looked to Dorland.  “Read the good part.”

Dorland looked sheepishly, and mumbled.  “Queen, I mean, Princess Galen is to be sent to the brothels, which are to be reopened in according to the old customs.  Queen… uh, Princess Galen will serve her kingdom as a cum swallowing slut for the rest of her days.  Her arms shall be removed, her sex sewn shut, and her identity locked away in the Queen’s Helmet!”

Cassandra clapped her hands and two pages wheeled out a cart.  On the cart was a helmet, polished to a mirror shine.  The helmet was perfectly sculpted to fit the wearer skin tight, and would cover from the crown of the skull and drape over the shoulders.  It was smooth and featureless, save two lucite shielded eye ports and a gaping hole for a mouth.

Cassandra fanned her hands at it to show it off.  “Crotainum alloy, virtually indestructible.  The locks are on the inside”  She pointed.  “So once it is on, it is on for life.”  She giggled.  “And would you look at that?  It’s just your size!”  She chirped in delight as she pointed to a small valve at the throat.  “You’ll breathe through here, so you’ll be able to service the nobles without interruption, and of course, make you silent.”  She snorked a laugh as she pointed to the eye shields.  “You’ll be able to see somewhat, but on the outside, it fits seamlessly, and looks opaque.  So no one will be able to tell you from one service slut to another, but you will know who’s cock you are sucking.”

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Psycho

By DX

Copyright 8/2024, all rights reserved.

 “Just one more stitch Russell, and we’re done.  That should seal your mouth up nicely.”

 Her voice poured like warm honey.  As he felt the tiny pinch at the corner of his lip, he tried to remember what she looked like.  Gold, cascading, shimmering, her hair lit up the dark bar like a miner’s torch, her toothy white smile was a beacon, her blue eyes like a Sultan’s sapphire, and her red lips shinned like candy.  

 She wore a long dress the color of a midsummer sky that gently hugged her slim, super-model frame.  He could see her lithe muscles, well earned from hours on the treadmill.  

 Her appearance was a little unexpected, but not completely surprising.  Beauties like her didn’t venture to skeevy dives like his too often.  When they did, it was because they had gotten bad directions, or someone was playing a joke on them.  Rarely they came because they were looking for something a little naughty.

 She was all three.

 Russell signaled the barman and ordered her a drink, but the bartender was already a step ahead and slid it before her so it greeted her as she approached the bar.  The barman pointed out her benefactor with a tilt of his chin.

 Russell casually flashed his wristwatch worth more than most people’s houses to almost down play his strong looks and perfect hair.  He let his tailored suit, designed to accentuate his muscles and hide his gut, do his talking.  

 He let his strong air of confidence reel her in.

 The sway of her hips as she walked over delighted him.

 The click of scissors brought him back to reality.  He opened his eyes to a world of blur.  He was lying on his back.  Above him, bright as the sun, was the blonde bombshell from the bar.  She wore surgical gloves, and was holding a pair of silver scissors.

 Her smile, white and perfect, cut him open.  “Hey, Russ.”  She called to him.  “You awake bud?”

 Fear crept up the back of his neck.  How did she know his name?

 “Come on, big guy.”  She said, insouciantly placing her shears on a tray by his head.  “Time to wake up.”  She glanced at her tiny, delicate watch, squinting.  “I can’t see shit without my glasses.”  She walked away into the gloom.

 Russell shook the cobwebs from his head.  He tried to sit up, but something held him down.  With a tug, he discovered he had been strapped down to a gurney, his arms straight out from his sides.  He craned his neck as far as he could and could just about see a thick leather strap across his chest.

 “Mmm!  Mmmm?”  He tried to speak, but it was as if his lips had been glued together.  He struggled, giving into panic.  He trashed violently trying to break free.

 Nothing budged.

 He looked around.  Transparent plastic sheets hung from the ceiling formed ghostly walls.  Another sheet was strung flat overhead, and a fluorescent light shone through.  Beyond that was darkness.

 She moved through the fog of plastic.  “Is that it?”  She challenged him.  “Are you already giving up?”  She laughed breathlessly.  “Most guys would be giving it a real go.  Seriously, you’re going to want to get out of this mess, because I promise you are not going to like what I’m going to do to you.”

 Russell gave an involuntary pull at his restraints.  There were straps over his wrists and ankles, chest and hips.  He tried to pry his lips apart but pain flared hot and quick.  His breath hissed hard in his nose as he glared hate at her.  He had to get out.  He had to get out and break her neck with his bare hands.

 “All done?”  She cooed and stepped out from the plastic curtain.  She was wearing horned rimmed glasses, and her eyes were no longer blue.  “Oooh, you’re trying to think your way out.”  She grinned.  “Thinking… not your best trait.  You’re a bully who got ahead in life with daddy's money, and now’s not the time to switch tactics.”  She picked up a set of large shears, and her white teeth were blinding as she smiled.  “Now is the time for action!”  She clacked the scissors at him and caused him to flinch.  

 She looked him over causally.  “Let’s get this off you and see what we have to work with.”  

 He struggled as she brought the scissors close, and disbelievingly watched as she began to cut his clothes away.  “Mmmm!  MMM!”  She was destroying a suit costing more than most people’s car.  “Mmmm!”  He screamed, but his mouth blazed in retaliation.

 She violently ripped his clothes away.  “This is the least of your worries.”  She said as her breathing deepened from the exertion as she dragged his shredded clothes out from under him.  “All of this will go to the burn pile.  We take in old flags and twice a year we ceremoniously dispose of them by burning.”  She paused, and took stock of his nakedness.  “While that’s going on, we toss in other things that need burning.”  She picked up his ruined clothes and dropped them in a bin.  She picked up something hairy and tossed that in.  “Things like your toupee.”

 Russell raged!  That was a custom made hair piece!  “MMMM!”

 She only smiled pleasantly.  “I love it when their mouths are sewn shut.  That way I don’t have to listen to their bravado of, ‘I’m gonna kill you, bitch!’”  She scoffed.  “All while still not seeing the real danger they’re in.”

 Sewn shut?

 Russell tried to pull his lips apart.  “Mmmm?”  He tried harder.  Then ignoring sense, tried to tear his lips open.

 It hurt, but nothing happened.

 She leaned over him, smiling.  “How’s that working for ya?”

 He rewarded her with a murderous look.  She had crossed the line.  Whatever kink she had going would be her end.  She damaged his face!

 She shrugged.  “Yeah, you still don’t get it.”  She shifted slightly as her eyes roved over his body before finally coming to rest at his nether.  “Let’s get this over with.”  She said with a tired sigh.  

 Her smooth, gloved fingers brushed his cock like feathers.  Gently she played and stroked and slowly, he began to stir.  “I want you to come for me.”  She whispered, and his cock twitched in response.  “I want you to come big, like the man you are.”

 He felt his cock swell, like water rushing through a fireman’s hose.  She was beautiful, with come-hither eyes.  Her touch was delicate and lingering.  She knew the points of a man, and how to make her touch all good.  She knew the lighting played in her hair, and she made sure to position herself so he could admire her sultry cheeks.

 She whispered to him, encouraged his flow.  She moaned with pleasure and admiration.  She thanked him for letting her service him, and begged him for a big come.  She cooed and ah’d as her fingers brushed him ever so lightly.

 He was angry, and didn’t want to give in, but slowly, slowly, his will ebbed away as he grew harder and harder in her tiny hands.  He wanted to take her and jack her over the gurney and plunge his stiff rod deep into her ass as he strangled her from behind.  He tested his restraints again.  

 She only smiled and whispered to his cock.

 He had figured her out.  She was a dom and had to be in control.  Once she finished, she would release him, thinking him to be her new bitch, but she didn’t know he knew how to dispose of a body.  This would be her last game.

 He would murder her.

 A lot.

 He would be on top of her, his dick buried to the hilt, his hands around her neck.  She was going to die wondering how it had all gone so horribly wrong.

 He felt his cock grow harder than it ever had been.

 “Yes!”  She exclaimed.  “I want your big load!  I want you to enjoy this!  I want you to enjoy the last time you will ever come!”

 What?

 She stopped.  

 She panted and picked up a small glass cup from her tray.  Her eyes were locked on his cock.  “Yes!”  She screamed as if she had orgasmed, then she leaned back and laughed like a mad scientist.  “Yes!  Let it all out!  Give it all to me!”

 Why did she stop?  He wondered.  He was so close!  “Mmm!”  He ordered her to continue.  If she wants his big load so badly, why did she stop?

 She lifted her little glass and admired the white, grey ooze within as it if were a fine wine.  She then looked at him, smiling.  “Thank you, darling!  I hope you enjoyed your last time.”  She looked at his dick still rock hard and throbbing.  “No?”  She tsked.  “Too bad.”  

 As she walked away, could only grunt, finish me!  But she ignored his mummers.  Eyeing where she had gone, he could only wonder if he had ejaculated.  He didn’t feel it, and certainly didn’t orgasm.

 And what did she mean by, your last?

 He thrashed his head back as he tested his restraints again.  He peered around, but there wasn’t much to see.  He could do nothing but wait.

 “Hello?”  A woman called.  “Is there anyone down here?”

 “MMM!”  He called out.  “MMM!  MMMM!”  He screamed into his sealed lips.

 He watched the blurry form of a woman make her way through the plastic curtains.  She was petite, and curvy, and her silhouette somewhat familiar.

 “Hello?”  She called again and stepped beyond the curtain.  

 It was her cute button nose that made him recognize her.  “Mmm!”  He grunted.  It was Brenda, or Barbra, or whats-her-name, from work!  She was one of the girls from the secretary staff.  She was a delectable pixie of cheeks and smiles and a perfect cleavage that begged for a pearl necklace.  She had brown, curly hair with frosted accents that he thought was over done, as he preferred blondes.  They had dated once, but she was talkative and unimpressed with his savoir-faire.  On a second occasion he had kissed her, but they were interrupted, and by then he had lost interest and didn’t see her again.

 He watched her approach, her face filled with surprise and horror.

 “Russell?”  She exclaimed.  “What is going on?”  She looked at him.  “Is, is your mouth sewn shut?”  She then looked around.  “What is this place?”

 Russell moaned and pointed with his head.

 She looked where he pointed.  “Free you?  You want me to free you?”

 “MMMMM!”  He screamed as he wondered how stupid women were.

 She nodded.  “Yes, I should free you.”  Her hands went to the strap across his chest.  “There’s a woman here…  she’s crazy!  She’s going to kill you.”  Her hands moved around the buckle.  “How does this work?”

 Russell threw his head back, mentally calling her a dumb bitch.  

 Glancing at the tray beside him, she picked up a scalpel and looked at it.  “Maybe I should cut your mouth open and you can tell me.”  Her hazel green eyes hungrily locked with his.  “Should I cut your mouth open?”

 Fear flashed through him as he watched her lean towards him.  

 A smile crept across her face as she snorked a laugh.  “I can’t keep this up.”  She laughed.  “You should see your face!”

 “He is pathetic, that’s for sure.”  The woman in blue walked out from behind the curtain.  She was no longer blonde.  She now had short, black spiky hair.  Her face was freshly scrubbed of make up.  

 He didn’t recognize her until she smiled, and flashed her teeth.

 She had the hunger of a vampire.

 The shorter girl looked over.  “Do we kill him now, Lynette?”

 Lynette scoffed at the idea.  “What’s the rush, Annie?”  She painted her finger along his shoulder.  “First, we cut off his left arm.”  She smiled deliciously.  “See, right now he’s not grasping anything.  He still thinks this is just kinky sex and we’re going to let him go.”  Her dark eyes took him in.  “Once we cut off his arm he’ll understand, and then he will know fear.”  She held out her hand.  “Tourniquet.” 

 Russell watched in amazement as she wrapped a nylon belt around the top of his bicep, then began to crank it tighter with a lever stick.  In seconds, Russell could feel his arm pulse with the beat of his quickening heart as pain began to alight, then slowly fade as the blood was cut off.

 He looked at Lynette curiously.  She was right.  He wasn’t conceiving what she was doing.  He watched as the two girls slipped on bright yellow rubber boots and donned clear plastic rain coats.  Then, giggling, they put on plastic face shields, then pulled up the hoods of their coats, drawing them closed to fit tight against their faces.

 Russell twitched as he realized his arm was numb and paralyzed.  

 As Lynette pulled on yellow rubber gloves, she regarded him.  “Do you even know who I am, Russ?  Do you remember what you did?”  She searched his eyes.  “Think back, that day in the store room, when you assaulted Annie?  When you jacked me up against the wall and threatened to kill me if I told anyone what I saw?”  She shook her head.  “That’s why I’m cutting off your arm.”  She pointed to his numb, cooling left arm.  “This is the arm you hit me with.”

 The memory began to flow back into Russell’s mind.  He was in the store room with Annie.  He used a little force, because girls liked it when a man was assertive, but Lynette saw it all wrong.  He told her to keep it to herself or he would make things difficult for her.  Kill?  No, he didn’t quite say, kill.  Maybe inferred, to show his seriousness, but…

 Lynette tilted her head and held up a small, electric chainsaw.  “This will cut through a two inch oak branch in less than three-seconds.”  She squeezed the trigger and it buzzed angrily.  “Let’s see what it will do to your arm!”


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Simone was a volunteer

By DX

Copyrighted 4/2001, 7/2024 all rights reserved.

Simone's whole body quaked as she again tested the chains that held her; arms up, legs spread, exposed to the audience that surrounded her. She could feel the heat of the lights aimed at her, yet she shivered nonetheless as she looked down at the tray of diabolical instruments laid out before her. Tools that were to flay her alive.

Dr Zim stepped forward like a circus ring master, her red, latex lab coat gleaming, her black gloved hands upraised for silence. "Masters and Mistresses, let me introduce our main event! Her name was Simone, a most special prize. Not only is she beautiful, but a woman who knows what she wants. And what she wants is to entertain you with a demonstration, never seen by any audience. Tonight, Simone will be skinned alive! Her hide will be tanned to make a new catsuit for me." Dr Zim swayed her hips demonstrating how sexy she would look with the form fitting leather suit, swatting her shapely derriere. "She's been injected with stimulants to insure that she stays conscious throughout the ordeal, but nothing to dim the pain. Then afterwards, her raw flesh will be whipped for your sadistic pleasures!" Dr Zim smiled as she donned her surgical mask and protective goggles. "Isn't this what you volunteered for Simone?" 

Simone shook her head frantically and screamed incoherently into her jaw breaking gag.

Dr Zim pouted a frown. "Aw, poor Simone," She smiled as she held up her scalpel. Its keen edge reflected the light and blinded Simone, filling her vision with grey. "but you did volunteer, didn't you?"

——

The sky was grey and angry, threatening to rain as she made her way quickly through the dilapidated buildings— the blank stare of the blackened windows were the only witness to her passing. Following the directions, she found the rusted warehouse door open, almost welcoming. The heels of her pumps clicked ominously on the greasy metal floor. Above her, steel hooks glinted dully in the dim light. It had been more than a hundred years since anyone had used this meat packing plant and it was the most unlikely place to find executive offices for an international corporation.

But it was the perfect place for white slavers.

After a harrowing ride on the barely functional freight elevator, Simone, following the shaft of fluorescent light that filled the hall, found the office of Dr. Zim. Simone knocked timidly on the doorframe and peeked in. The secretary looked up, her sapphire eyes sparkled, but held a distant, thousand-mile stare. Her face was as smooth and fair as porcelain, framed by a cascade of spun gold hair.  Her lips curled in a gentle, bemused smile were full, and oh, so kissable… the color of blood. 

Simone found her breath still in her lungs as she beheld the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Simone's voice trembled. "Um, I'm here to meet with Dr. Zim.  I have an appointment."

The secretary nodded knowingly and rose from her desk, motioning with her hand for Simone to have a seat. As Simone did, the secretary stepped over to a door and with a soft knock, stepped in. Simone watched the secretary's deliberate motions, her distant stare, her too perfect eyes, and realized she was blind.   She functioned with the parameters of the office memorized. Her face was probably a mask, the girl underneath gagged. Her hands were only fingerless mittens.

Simone shuddered. She had searched the wildest clubs, the exclusive Internet chat rooms, and followed the stories that everyone said were nothing more than an urban legend, fantasy too the extreme. Some had lied to her, others told her to seek psychiatric help, and some, a select few, had clues for her to follow, clues that led here, to the fulfillment of her fantasy.

She waited.

Fifteen minutes later the secretary returned, motioning to Simone to enter the inner office. Simone smoothed out her tight skirt, squared her shoulders and walked in. Chin up, eyes ahead she marched directly in and stopped before the desk of Dr Zim. 

The oriental woman looked up from her lap top, her green eyes taking in the woman before her. She smiled, almost mockingly. "You are more beautiful in person." Her voice was smooth as cough syrup. "A nice body,” She turned and tapped on her keyboard, nodding to herself. "Sit down." She said as she rose and came out from behind her desk, leaning on it. "Most of our clients are, uh, appointed to the position: a sibling in the way of an inheritance, a troublesome wife. Most are criminals, others are parasites on society. People who no one would notice gone. We don't get volunteers here." She lowered her gaze. "So tell me, Simone, why are you here? "

"To be a slave." Her voice was tiny. "A real slave, a total slave."

Dr Zim scoffed. "There are countless of masters who would love to make you a slave, why did you seek me out?"

"I don't want fur lined cuffs." Simone answered. "Or safe words. I don't want limits to be respected, I don't want limits. I want the real thing. Every master I have ever met is afraid to test the range of their imagination. I want no limits."

Dr Zim laughed breathlessly. "Do you now?" She smiled, her eyes sparkling slits. "But do you know what a slave is?"

Simone searched for an answer. "A person who wants to give another person pleasure."

Dr Zim shook her head. “A person who wants?  No, no, no…  A slave has no wants.  A slave is meat. Nothing more." She motioned with a tilt of her head. "Do you see my secretary? She's useless. I keep her around because it pleases me to watch her suffering. She's blind, sexless, horny and helpless to do a thing about it. Do you know what she looks like under that mask? Nothing, nothing at all. Her head is only a blank, smooth orb. In fact, her whole body is an androgynous form. I operated on her and sculpted her in the image that amused me. Taking that beautiful body and face away pleased me. I took away her eyes last so she could watch the transformation. Her pleading eyes crying as her beautiful body and face fell beneath my scalpel is what pleased me. 

“The face she wears is her face. After I removed it from her, I had it treated in a Bio-lex chemical which turns skin into a supple, latex form. I did that to her whole body giving her a latex body. Smooth, featureless. Her wastes are stored in the empty space where her sex organs used to be. I can let her go for weeks, watching her swell up like a pregnant mother until I am ready to empty her." Dr Zim smiled proudly. "I mock her with her own face. She does not want to be a slave, but she obeys because she knows that what I've done to her is nothing compared to what I could do to her."

Dr Zim lifted a heavy Lucite block and dropped it into Simone's lap. Simone looked at the block, shivering at what was frozen inside. A breast. A perfect breast in shape and size with a pronounced, suckable nipple. "That is a real breast. I think the mark of a woman, how she is viewed and judged, is what her breasts look like. We can fool ourselves to think it’s her hair, or dress or how she walks, or how smart she is, but I know it’s her breasts. I see her will and resistance flitter away as I cut off her breasts." Suddenly Dr Zim leaned forward and slipped a hand down Simone's neckline and grabbed a firm hold on Simone's breast. "Mmmmm, you have lovely breasts. I will enjoy adding them to my collection." She gave Simone’s breast a small pinch. "I can feel your heart beating, pounding." 

She let her go.  She rose and stepped behind her desk. "I can see that you've liquidated all of your possessions and transferred them to my account." She said looking at her computer. "You can follow instructions, that is good." She looked up at Simone, her eyebrow arched skeptically. "But do you still want to be a slave? My slave?" She held up a finger to stop her answer. "Since it is so rare that we get a volunteer, that I will give you a choice, possibly the last choice you ever make." Dr Zim reached into her drawer and took out a pair of handcuffs, ankle cuffs and a red ball gag. "I am going to leave the room. You can get up, walk out of here and resume your life as a real person. The money that you put is my account will be your punishment for being a fool." She looked at Simone, her green eyes penetrating. "Or, you can strip naked, put the ankle cuffs on, then the gag, and then the hand cuffs on in front of you." Dr Zim stepped from behind her desk. "I give you five minutes to decide your destiny. Choose wisely."

Simone watched as Dr Zim left the room with her secretary in tow. 

Simone looked at the breast paperweight and imagined if it was her own.  She shuddered at the thought. She rose and set it on the desk.

With trembling hands she slipped out of her dress.

She gasped as she felt the cold metal circle her ankles and ratchet closed. With shaking hands she opened her mouth and felt the gag against her teeth. She pushed harder, and stretched her jaw painfully to force the ball over her teeth to settle into her mouth. She buckled the gag tightly even though she realized the gag was so huge she couldn't spit it out anyway. The handcuff, glistening polished steel, well oiled, well used, encircled her wrist and tightened one click at a time.  With each click, her heart skipped.  She clicked them closed until they fit snugly against the bone.

It was done.

Simone waited. She stood at attention, eyes straight, chin up.

She had no way to track the time, but she knew five minutes had surely past.

Then ten, twenty. Finally Simone sat in the chair. She sat at attention, back straight, hands in her lap.

An hour passed before she heard Zim's soft laughter come from the hall and the voice of another woman. Simone sat up, alert, surprised she had slouched. ‘Bad slave’ she scolded herself. Simone felt goose flesh on her naked skin as she heard the doctor's voice behind her.

"She's still here? I thought for sure I'd spooked her off. This is that volunteer I told you about, your grace."

The Duchess stepped in front of Simone, taking a look at her. "She is quite beautiful." She mused. "I just love her eyes." She cupped Simone's chin and lifted it up for a better look. Simone looked up into eyes, green like a jungle leaf.

"Do you like them?" The doctor asked. "I'll have them mailed to you." She touched the intercom. "Alice, bring in the box."

Simone was still lost in the expansive, expressive eyes of the Duchess, unable to look away from the woman's beauty. "What would I do with just her eyes?" The Duchess let Simone go. 

"That's your business." The doctor said stepping over. She waved at Simone. "Slave, stand up." Simone snapped to her feet as Alice wheeled in a trunk. She positioned it in front of Simone and undid the clasps. The top and front came away.

The Duchess leaned on the desk, out of the way. "Listen, I've been approached by the CIA."

"Going back into the spy business?" Zim turned Simone around, her back to the trunk. "Sit your ass in the back of the trunk, pull your knees to your chest and drape your wrists about your ankles." She ordered.

Simone was a slight girl but she had to squeeze her way into the box, settling all the way in. Zim then took a rod and passed it through one side of the box, under Simone's knees but over her arms, to the other side of the box where it screwed in securely.

"The CIA wants to build a bordello." The Duchess went on. "They want a total house of debauchery to entertain foreign diplomats. They will provide Madams who will wheedle secrets, and I will provide girls as the entertainment." The Duchess looked down at Simone. "I think with a few of your magical modifications, she would make a great little sex toy for some ambassador."

Dr Zim strapped a cannula into Simone's nostrils. "I promised the Baron  my very next slave and this little girl is it."

The Duchess scoffed. "Didn't you already give him the perfect oral toy?"

Dr Zim, her eyes sparkling, looked up. "Beautiful, isn't she? Well, like all my sex toys, all facial features are removed, leaving her head a smooth orb, but in this case, I saved the mouth. After pulling all her teeth, I gave her the most luscious, fat, suction lips and gums with the mouth and throat reconstructed to the ultimate love sheath. I then grafted the perfect latex face, I think I used a copy of Alice's face, onto the head. Beautiful work. The Baron can take his doll out into public. People just pity the beautiful blind, deaf, and mute girl and have no idea she's one of my masterful creations." The doctor bragged. "Well, as I usually do with my dolls, I remove the sex organs and any possibility for her to have any gratification. I find my dolls are more attentive to the needs of others when there is no possible way for them to obtain any gratification for themselves. I implant a chip to stimulate hormone production so dolly is internally and eternally driven mad with insatiable sex drives. This gives them plenty of energy to perform. Then, to make her the perfect oral dolly, I injected genetically altered parasites into her intestines that feed on the Baron's DNA coded sperm. It prevents her from digesting anything else. She digests the parasites when they're big enough. So ultimately, she needs the Baron's sperm to live and soon she is conditioned to crave it.

"Well, the Baron said he was looking at his little asexual doll, the smooth featureless crotch, and decided he wants that space for another oral cavity." Dr Zim glared at Simone. "So, I'm going to be taking Simone's pretty mouth, throat, and most of her brain, invert it, and transplant it into The Baron’s slave to create the world's first oral pussy." She smiled as she watched the horror creep onto Simone's face. "That's all that will be left of you my pretty. Blind, deaf, your sense of smell and touch, all gone.  Your brain will be kept alive by your new host’s blood supply.  You’ll just be new tissue.  You’ll be alert and aware and after conditioning, you'll be dedicated to sucking the Baron's fat cock as he fucks you and gets oral pleasure." She looked up at the Duchess. "Isn't that a brilliant idea? Simone has the perfect lips for sucking, don't you agree?"

"Don't you think that's a little wasteful?"

Zim laughed. "I'm going to skin her alive and tan her hide for a new catsuit for me to wear. The rest of her organs will be auctioned on the black market, no waste at all."

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Copyrighted 4/2001, 7/2024 all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced in any format without explicit, previous permission from the author.