Meat Experiment -- starring Amy Alexis

The Human Meat Processing Ministry commissions an experiment to find out how different methods of killing change the taste of the product. Unfortunately, slaughterer jobs are handed out to any violent sociopath who puts on a clean suit for the interview and, early in their tenure, most lose control and go wild on the victims with experimental equipment, so no worthwhile data is ever collected, though the program endures for years. A typical session goes like this:

My nails are long and polished. Wearing black heels, a black skirt and a white blouse, I walk to a plain=looking wooden armchair with leather straps on the arms and legs. I sit down and rest my arms on the arms of the chair and touch my ankles to the legs of the chair. He doesn't touch my legs or arms as he fastens the cuffs and anklets. The restraints are lined with fleece and surprisingly comfortable and supportive. I pull and see that they are also snug.

"We're going to travel a long and winding road, you and I," he tells me, walking behind the chair and putting his hands lightly on my shoulders, "but I promise you it will end mercifully." I nod and close my eyes, preparing myself. "First we'll loosen you up a bit" he says, massaging my shoulders and then up my neck. I un-tense to his kneading hands and roll my head back and forth. “Mmmmmmm,” I moan and purr, start to relax, but as I do a whisper of fabric encircles my throat and, before I can react, a white satin scarf pulls tight and sinks in deep, just above my voicebox, partly closing my airway.

I gasp....struggle for a breath… gulp at air. My eyes open wide with fear. I try to reach up but cannot free my hands. He bends down to put his mouth close to my ear. “Shhhh," he whispers, "good girl, very good, just give in to it..." The straps hold me firmly but my thighs, hips and upper torso thrash between them. I kick out with my legs but they will not move. My fingers open wide as I try to pull my hands free, but I cannot. My body arches out of the chair, my skirt rides up over the tops of my stockings. As my head thrashes backward I look up and see that he has looked away, but he’s pulling the ligature tighter. “AHHKKKK!”

He gathers both ends of the scarf in one hand, keeping it tight, and strokes my face and hair with the other, like somebody gentling a horse "Just a little more, you’re almost there..." he murmurs reassuringly. My tongue protrudes from my mouth fiercely seeking air, my body arches trying to break the chair, my legs tremble and a small squirt of urine moistens my panties…

Suddenly he releases the scarf and whips it away from my bruised throat. I buck and heave in the chair as I fill my lungs with sweet air, but my breathing is heavy and strained, for my airway is damaged. I try to speak but can only wheeze. “VERY GOOD!" he bellows approvingly. My limbs are so weakened that even if I were free I could not run, or even move.

He goes to a side table and come back with an ice pick maybe 10 centimeters long. I cringe: “ ..grrrr! ....noo!” still gasping. "This will be very different" he says. My eyes widen with fear.I pull at my hands again... but can't move them. Quick as a snake, he lashes out and drives the point into my belly just below my navel. I quiver and gape as the icy needle glides irresistibly through membranes no other touch has ever reached. My wind is lost to me....I stare straight ahead...feeling cold ...no...wet... running down my belly. I look down and see the handle lodged in my stomach, see his hand on the handle, see the blood flow crimson on my white blouse and make my shirt glisten in the darkening light. I look up at him pleadingly.

He leaves it sticking in my abdomen and with both hands holds my face raised to his. "You're so beautiful when you're dying," he murmurs rhapsodically, then pulls the icepick out with both hands and plunges it in and upward under my right ribs, through my diaphragm and into my lung: “GGGGAPPHHHHHHHHH! AAAAKKKK!” Blood fills me from inside, runs from my mouth. Watching me closely, he takes out a handkerchief, wipes his face and seems to collect himself. I move my hands, but only slightly. The life ebbing from me, I cough.

He strokes my cheek and murmurs,"Pain should be close to over now, but let's see…” He turns back to the table. I cough again, wrackingly, and blood spews over my blouse. I make nonsensical sounds as I try to speak, gurgled and garbled by blood. He comes back with a shock prod in his hand. "Let's see how much spunk you've got left..." He applies it to my thigh, and my leg tingles and kicks. There’s clawing pain, a sizzle and crackle of ionization, and a skein of smoke that smells like roast beef.

As the current’s influence spreads, my body arches .... I twitch and go into a heels-to-head spasm. "Oh baby can you take it!" he shouts encouragingly, then roars with bestial glee and watches raptly as I roll my head back and my mouth fills with blood, so I have to bring my head forward to release the blood from my mouth. After I do that a few times, he shocks my breasts and then between them, over my heart. He plays fiendishly with the switch to make me a puppet of frantic flailings.

When he stops I’m flaccid, drained, but still twitching. He undoes the straps and lets me flow onto the floor on my back. Then, with a hard snap, my body convulses backward and flips over so I bounce on the green concrete face-down in a grand mal seizure. He squats: “Shhhh" he whispers as I undulate on the floor, "Good girl, good baby.... let go..." then shoots a bright blue bolt of razor-sharp ultra-high voltage through my mons and into my full bladder.

I piss myself explosively, but he can see it’s all the prod. He shocks me a few more places and my body reacts, but when he checks my eyes he can see that I’ve gone, for they stare blankly. He lifts my head by my hair, feels my neck pulses: no breath .....no reaction. My hemorrhages have ceased. I flop limply in his hands, He stands and stretches. “You've tensed your last muscle,” he says, poking my ribcage with a boot toe, “and it was a damn good one...”

Still warm, eyes wide, flaccid and pliable, never so obedient, I’m ready for waste-processing.

Well done!! Thanks for sharing

Dear Sam,
I enjoyed your story very much.
Pat