I have the greatest job in the world. I know a lot of people say that, but really, it has to be me.
Just take this morning. First thing, I have two dozen little six- and seven-year-old girls to handle, standing there whispering and giggling with the usual mixture of nerves and eagerness. I pull the first two honeys out of line, and walk them over to where the action takes place. I start by getting one of them situated with the padded velvet rope around her neck, all nice and comfy, with just the slightest bit of pull when she’s flat-footed on the stage. I get the other one to stand on her mark and rock up on the balls of her feet, while I extend the spit from its port. I spread her cheeks, and her little bud is glistening from the attentions of the prep crew and her friends, but I give it a swipe with the flat of my tongue, the way I always do. Must be ten times a day, four days a week, over the past decade I’ve done that, and it never gets old, nor does the delicious shiver she gives, which brings the other girls out in sympathy the way it always does.
Once the tip is properly centered, she rocks back down, and I raise it some more, so that it’s nicely seated inside her rectum. The pleasant, familiar intrusion makes her grin. When both girls let me know they’re ready, I hit the control, and the noose pulls up just far enough that the hanging girl can merely brush the floor with her pretty little tippietoes, while the spit starts its inexorable advance into her friend’s insides. The girl in the noose can be left to dance, but the one on the spit needs my hands-on attention to make sure that it goes through right, and comes out her mouth. The squirming of her soft, smooth flesh is amazing against my bare skin, as it is every single time.
I can see that the boys and men in the viewing galleries are already starting to stroke and fondle themselves and each other. And I get to do this eleven more times!
This is a full day, so after an excellent lunch, I make my way to the guillotine to meet a gaggle of thirteen- and fourteen-year olds. The first time I ever killed a girl, I was their age, on a school work-experience, and I knew right away that this was what I wanted to do with my life. They’re giggling and gossipping about all the things important to girls that age, and making a very blatant show for the galleries and each other, strutting about the stage, bending over and spreading, licking and fingering puckers, kissing and petting. One of them is even taking fists. They give all the signs of having everything worked out, so instead of picking, I just call for the first two, who come prancing over. Once they’re kneeling on the cushions, I get them locked into the facing lunettes, while they make kissy-faces at each other, and I hand each one the other’s release cord. “Pull down until you hear the click, then when you let go, the blade will fall. All right?” Two quick assents, two clicks, and after a couple of minutes, two loud thumps in quick succession.
I give each of the heads a deep French kiss before setting them on the display rack, where they’ll wait until the whole group is ready to be processed, and wonder for a moment whether some of the spectators will be taking them home, at the end of the day, as masturbation toys. Even lightened by a head, the bodies are much more work to handle than the little ones from this morning, but I have two eager helpers in the girls who are obviously planning to be next, and have spent the last little bit practically buried up the backsides of the two who just got released. I could use the mechanical hoist, of course, but this makes for a much better show!
The slit between my legs makes me meat, but when and how are my free choice, and until that day, I find great satisfaction in helping others to make that transition in comfort, with all the pleasure and joy it should bring.
For my last engagement, there’s a special treat : a pair of beautiful, elegant older women, in their forties, who have come to use the drowning pool. I feel very privileged to assist them in arranging themselves, lying on their backs, head to foot and each with the other’s hand clasped comfortably within her channel. Then I watch them undulate, working each other’s insides, as I slowly fill the pool with body-temperature water. When it reaches their faces, there is no undignified spluttering or choking. They simply give themselves up to the water, in what has to be among the closest things to true sexual ecstacy that those of us who were born without penises can ever experience.
I'm a Senior Attendant at the Femmabattoir, and I have the best job anywhere.
Any more incoming? With more details about the girls who have chosen to do this early, perhaps?
Great story!!! I absolutely love it. It just needs more detail. It needs all the convulsions, kicks and death rattles...
Agreed, more details would be nice
I don't want to sound like a feminist whistle-blower but what's going on in the second to last paragraph with that reference to penises? Is it just that the narrator has been given a misogynistic view on the female orgasm or does it reflect your real opinion?
Not necessarily. I don't know the motives of the author, but one could argue that for males, that impressive but short last squirt you see during hanging and other snuff experiences is simply not worth the trouble of dieing for it.
The female orgasm is a lot more - let's say - a full body experience. It can last a lot longer if the stimulation is right. If you manage to enhance that for someone into snuff with an accentuated death moment in there, it might really become a once in a lifetime experience. Something truly to die for.
The male ejaculation is intense, but short. There's little to be gained by cutting it even shorter. So the closest thing to true sexual ecstasy for a male might be less in the experience of death itself, but watching others experience it. Preferably over and over again. Of course girls can do that, too, if they are into snuff (just like the main character in the story) - but they'd always be knowing that there might be one way to top that experience for them in a way no male ever could.
Then again, who knows for certain? When you ask someone who just snuffed it if the experience was worth it, you rarely get any coherent answers.
Watching is definitely safer >:>>>
Look at the context for a minute. You may find it a strange thing to say, but if you can find anything in this story that ISN'T strange, then I must have missed a spot.
If you really feel the need to justify it — I, the author, do not — you might suppose that, in a society where human females are systematically killed & eaten, it is not unreasonable that the belief would exist (whether true or not) that males & females are much more different than we, who do not live in such a society, would accept. And, remember, for three hundred years, it was accepted as fact in the Western world that there was no such thing as a female orgasm, simply because Voltaire found the idea absurd!
OH! This is a Dolcett story or something of the like! I didn't make that connection at all xD
So it is the setting then. Thanks for clarifying!
I mean, the biggest turnoff of "Dolcett" type stuff for me is that there's usually a strong element of violence, coercion, or brutality. Whatever the world of this story looks like (no clue), the women & girls are 100% on board. "Dolcett-like, without being a straight male power fantasy"? I'm not sure what that would even be!
I had fun with this! Personally I prefer struggles and such, but the air dancing girl and the deep kiss of the head were really fun parts of this for me.
Plus just generally thinking of a world with more or less glorified snuff
Fantastic Story. Thank you so much for writing it. I loved it.
this is so cute!
This really should be continued
I know this is unlikely to be continued, but it's adorable. Bump for those who have never seen it