"The Resolution of a Mistress and her 3 slaves" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/mtyfMpTL Created on: Tuesday 4th of April 2017 07:56:56 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:22:11 AM UTC The Resolution of a Mistress and her 3 slaves « on: March 31, 2017, 07:34:44 am » Quote I was just doing my chores when our Mistress came home early. When I heard the keys in the door, I frantically ran to the foyer to try to be in position to receive her, skidding painfully to my bare knees, but she was already inside. My sister slave rushed panicking into the reception area. She fell prostrate on the floor, both our naked bodies (save our simple slave collars) trembled. Instead of receiving a rebuke, Mistress just walked past us both without any notice. I could tell that something was deeply troubling her. No, it was more than that. Something had angered her. When it was clear that she was going to neither summon us nor come back into the foyer, I rose to my bare feet and ushering my sister slave to her feet. Hesitantly, we moved into the main room where my Mistress sat slouched in her favorite chair, her countenance perturbed. We stood silently and definitely apprehensive. The last time, she was this angry, she took her frustrations out on one of our predecessors, and she was so badly hurt that she had to be butchered. This was intensely different. Her eyes were struggling not to flood with tears and she paid us no attention. When it was clear she wasn't going to give an instruction or greeting of any sort, my sister slave discreetly sank to her knees. As she was halfway down, I did the same, both of us sitting on the back of our legs in proper Gorean rest position with our palms up on top or our legs. our eyes lowered. There is another sister slave but she is not here. She is our Mistress' favorite... so much so that she chose to breed her and have her bear my Mistress' child. I couldn't say that she loves my eldest sister slave but it is an uncommon privilege to conceive with your owner. Of course, our sister slave will not survive the birth as she will be bearing a she-male child. This was only a source of joy to her. "Go run me a bath, please," my Mistress said with a tired defeated expression. I was nearest to her, so the task fell to me. "Yes, my Mistress," I say instantly, rising to my feet and scurrying barefoot through our palatial residence. Though it is a single level ranch style home, it is huge and sprawling. I go into the carpeted Master bath suite, which is complete with a huge waterfall shower and ten foot circular sunken tub with a beautiful rockery around it and Jacuzzi jets. In front of the tub is a cushioned bench where on more than one occasion I have been bent over or forced to kneel on either to be whipped or caned or to service my Mistress' huge cock with my reluctant butt. All three of us have suffered there. As I start the hot bath for her, I realize that although my Mistress is not emotional with us... she is impeccably fair. She is our Mistress and she is Nephilim. When I first arrived in her house, it was to replace a slave that she butchered for Thanksgiving soon after. All of us know that we will never see age 20 and that our purpose is to serve and then be butchered for her. I am content in that, even if I would sometimes like to romanticize my Mistress' heart towards us. It is why I always find myself envious of my eldest sister slave. Though I don't see her treat her any different than she treats me the youngest and the middle sister slave, the thought that she opened her legs and accepted her seed to impregnate her, causes a yearning in me that I feel as wet warmth in my bed at night. I love my Mistress even is she can't or won't express the same emotion for me. Back in the Master bedroom, I hear my youngest sister slave helping Mistress undress. I turn the Jacuzzi on until the water is a slow roll. I turn off the water, soap beads in hand should she want them in the water. As she rounds the corner, I am still struck by her beauty. Full round breasts that are only beginning to hint of a middle age sagging, with dark, small crinkled brown nipples. Her skin is Mediterranean as is her slightly coarse long black hair. She is completely shaven and her cock hangs gracefully, never seeming to be completely flaccid. I felt a tinge of jealousy go through me towards my eldest sister slave's privilege of taking that wonderful stem into her willing cunny. My Mistress says nothing but accepts my hand to balance her as she steps into the tub. Without bidding, I undo my collar to join her in the tub which is standard operating procedure for her. However, she waves me off. Awkwardly, I step back and then settle into a kneeling rest position. I hear activity outside the Master bath. When I first arrived, she told me her name used to be Tammy, just as mine used to be Allison. Mistress now addresses us by our rank, eldest or 1, middle or 2, and me, youngest or 3. 1 serves as our overseer and she is authorized to punish us autonomously. 1 was never a beautiful fetching slave like 2 is, and she wasn't as "cute" as I am. She was a round pear shaped girl before she became pregnant, with wavy shoulder length carrot colored hair. She was well freckled on her upper chest and arms and wore glasses. Frankly, she was an unlikely candidate to be a concubine slave. She has quickly undressed and walks in with purpose and grace despite her six months of pregnancy her collar now affixed. She comes in and kneels by me, lowering her eyes and raising her hands up, quickly followed by 2, who does the same opposite her. We are silent as we hear Mistress moving slowly, pensively with the thrum of the slow rolling jets churning the water. I actually love resting in slave positions. Sometimes when I had free time, I would find myself gravitating towards being in slave rest positions for over an hour on some occasions. I focus on my Mistress, just keeping a picture of her in my mind. It is extraordinary how much better a slave I am even when that role is not pleasurable. Finally, we hear Mistress shift around in the water. She has moved to the closest edge of the tub where we are kneeling. I can barely see her movement in my upper peripheral vision. I concentrate on holding my eyes down and away. My Mistress sighs with resignation. I sense her hands moving and then I feel water splashing in little drops on me... on all of us. It continues and the eldest allows herself to giggle slightly. My Mistress sighs again, this time with an odd mix of warmth and sadness. "I want to drink heavily," she says finally with a clear measure of defeat in her voice. "Yes, my Mistress," the eldest responds without looking up. When the three of her slaves are together, 1 is the voice that answers for us. "What drink would you like?" "No drink. Bring me a bottle. Crown Royal. Vanilla." "Yes Mistress," 1 says instantly. After answering, she tilts her head to me, and I rise instantly, sprinting out, my bare feet slapping on the tile as I do. I come back into the main living area where a well-stocked bar is waiting. My Mistress is acting very strangely. She drinks but is not a drinker. She will enjoy a cocktail with guests and generally will enjoy a glass of wine every evening, but I have never seen straight hard liquor. I look at the bulbous bottle of Crown and then retrieve a glass for her. Then I pause holding the glass. She asked for the bottle. She has never drank straight out of the bottle, but if it was unspoken that she wanted to drink it out of a glass. My Mistress strongest trait was being specific about instructions so this was a departure for her. Either way, I risk getting a spanking from her or 1. I take the glass with me as I return to the bathroom. If I was going to be punished, I would rather be because I erred on the side of too much service. When I returned to the room, 1 immediately saw the glass and her eyes flashed slightly. "Mistress asked for the bottle, little one (1's pet name for me), not a glass." My eldest sister slave has always preached that if Mistress didn't say it, it never happened or didn't need to happen. My Mistress looks at me with a wry smile. "Well, you're right. I didn't ask for it, but I'm glad she brought it." My eldest sister-slave looks up at my Mistress for the first time. "Send them out," my Mistress commands softly. With a wave of 1's hand, 2 and I leave the bathroom and kneel in the Master bedroom, near the entrance. I want to talk with 2 so bad. What has caused our Mistress such distress and made her act so out of character? It wasn't that she acted badly but it wasn't our Mistress. We can hear them talking, the words to inaudible to make out complete sentences. "...spank her, aren't you?" my Mistress says. My eldest sister-slave responds fully with a long explanation but her voice is too soft to make out the words over the sound of the Jacuzzi. "I think it's best, Mistress," I make out as the final words of her explanation. I am going to be punished. A moment later, 1 walks out and directly past me to the Mistress' bed, though I can't see her. "Come here, little one." I rise and see her standing next to the end of the bed, she has Mistress' heavy wide paddled hairbrush sitting on the bed next to her. I go directly to her and without instruction bend at the waist, supporting myself on my elbows. Normally, I would go over her lap, but she is far too pregnant for that. I imagine that I have been punished by my eldest sister-slave 40 or 50 times and by my Mistress another 30 or so, in the year and half that I have been here. I don't enjoy being spanked by either one, but being spanked by my Mistress always seems like a greater offense--- as if offending and being punished by God. Being punished by 1 has always seemed a normal part of life, like regular maintenance. Indeed, if there are times where we have been particularly good and haven't received a spanking in a while, she will administer one to keep our hearts and flesh broken to our Mistress' will. I feel the softness of my eldest sister's hand on the small of my back. "Relax your spine. Spread your legs a little more." She says this every time that I am spanked in this position. "No matter what the circumstances, no matter how good the intent... " she continues. "...taking it upon yourself to bring a glass is initiative, which slaves don't have the right to. Correct?" "Yes, sister." I can feel the tears already welling in my eyes. I always start crying even before the start of the punishment. Spankings are cathartic in the purge of my emotional state. This situation with my Mistress, the change from normal has caused me to abandon one of the basics of submission. That is why the hairbrush looms for me and not just a simple hand spanking. "Please chastise my bottom as much as you think I need to help me serve my Mistress as well as possible," I sob. I know that there is a ritual act of submission in the asking, but I did mean it though when I am being punished that thought seems to suggest that I hadn't counted the cost. However, it's not as if I have a choice in the matter. It is a way of bringing my spirit back into submission by asking for the punishment. "Alright," my eldest sister-slave says with a voice of approval. She reaches around my waist with her left hand as if carrying a football. I like that she keeps me close when punishing me. She is a hard disciplinarian but has never punished me when I didn't need or deserve it, and I love the feeling I have after I have had a good cleansing cry. "Thank you, sister," I sob more vehemently. "Owwiee..oww...ow...owww...owiee!" My cries start with each stroke. I concentrate on relaxing in her arms. It means that my buttocks relax and that she doesn't have to strike me as hard to cause me pain. Her hand rains down on my cheeks over and over. We don't count strokes, my Mistress and my eldest sister spank until they decide I am done being punished. On at least, three occasions, I have asked for more when they thought I was done. My little 'ows' have turned to a constant low groan that mixes with my crying, signifying that my glutes have been sufficiently softened up for the true arbiter of my punishment the dreaded hairbrush. 1 pauses a moment and takes stock of her work, running her hands over my butt to assess both the heat in the cheeks as well as the reddening. When I am done with the brush, my sit spot will be an angry purple. She gives me another minute with her hand and then picks up the heavy brush. She pats rapidly and gently it on the lower right sit spot, as if a golfer taking practice strokes before addressing the ball. Then I feel her lift her arm and the brush comes down hard and fast on my cheek. "OOWW!!!" Before I can think the other cheek gets a strike and the my cries become one steady draining loud cry. I am squirming involuntarily but my eldest sister is remarkably strong and holds me against herself and her soft skin which is comforting even as my cries become a low scream. Soon, my crying is becoming a convulsion with each strike, which my sister brings with steadiness. After three minutes, as always, I feel like I can't take anymore and I feel myself start to lose myself even as I am wailing. I know that more is coming and that it will be harder. Again, my eldest sister pauses to look at my butt, her fingers running gently to feel the angry rising skin. Then without compunction, she starts back up again, this time her rate of striking me faster and harder. Now, she doesn't restrict herself to the sit spot but spreads the anguish of the hairbrush on any fatty part of my bottom, higher and wider from the main sit spot. My cries become more shrill and she pulls me hard to her, to silently remind me that this is supposed to be another act of submission, though she makes no voice of it. "I"M SORRY! OH GOD I"M SO SORRY. OOOOOWWWIE!" My exclamation is actually for the squirming and wailing that I was doing, but it was inclusive of the fact that I wasn't specific in my obedience earlier. She continues to paddle me with brush and I am clutching desperately at the covers of the bed as my pain is getting so bad that I have reached that place. I don't know how either of them sense it but they always know better than I when it is time to stop my spanking. I receive four more extremely hard swats on each cheek and then the spanking is over. She lifts my shaking body by the arm and pulls me into her embrace. I have to bend to clear her pregnant bump and rest my wet with tears face against her shoulder. She holds me several moments as my crying eases into the reflexive gasps of where the convulsive crying once held serve. "Fix the bed you messed up and then fall back into position." She walks back into the bathroom where the Mistress is, but this time she shuts the door behind her. I obey and remake the Mistress' bed which I literally unmade grasping at the covers from the pain of the spanking. I returned the hairbrush back to its proper location on Mistress' vanity and then returned to kneel next to my middle sister-slave. She breaks protocol to look as I sit carefully and painfully on the back of my legs. All of us have experienced the sensation of trying to sit after a stern punishment. We have not been dismissed to do our chores, something that 1 would have been faithful to instruct us on. So we sat in our position. I tried to concentrate on my Mistress but all I could think of in the immediacy of the moment was the hard back of the hairbrush tormenting my bottom. Doing so, caused me to start crying softly again. I am the cry baby of the house and everyone knows and accepts it, understanding it is just how I process my emotions. Even my Mistress has poked gentle fun about it, noting that I always seem heartbroken after I get punished. I suppose to my credit that is true. I always want to be what my Mistress wants me to be for her. We could hear conversation. It is less Mistress/slave in its tone as it was old friends and though I cannot make out what they are talking about behind the door, I realize that what they have even as Dominant and submissive is far more than either my middle-sister slave and I can ever hope to aspire to. I feel a dark feeling jealousy roll through me and that will-fullness makes me angry at myself. Submission to my Mistress shouldn't depend on other's relationship with her. After about 20 minutes there is a suspension of conversation with only an occasional sound of a voice. Then comes the unmistakable sound of rhythmic body slapping. Sex. As if in confirmation, my eldest sister begins to issue a loud, painful cry over and over in synchronicity to the body slapping. Other than my eldest sister-slaves impregnation, none of us have ever had any form of intercourse with our Mistress other than anal. I have heard 1 being fucked in the butt before and I know that is what she is surrendering to my Mistress behind the door. Their sex lasts another 10 minutes and I hear both of them climaxing together. Another five minutes passes and the door opens where they emerge, my Mistress in a robe; my eldest sister slave, visibly showing the exhaustion and stress of brisk fucking in her bottom--- her hair mussed, her face drawn and unfresh. She walks in and carefully kneels down next to me. She smells of my Mistress' semen. "Eyes up girls." All three of our eyes obediently look into our superior's dark brown eyes. "I don't believe it, but this is going to happen, so you need to know. I have gotten a goldenrod slip." I felt my heart skip. My Mistress must die. She's only 34 years old, six years from Resolution still. She is a free citizen. No! I didn't mean to start crying, but the tears start to slip and then it grows to barely audible sob. I am fighting so hard not to cry worse. I was always expecting to die... but not my beloved Mistress. My Mistress looks down at me with a warm smile... the first one I have ever experienced from her. "It's not what I want, but it will be okay. I am going to ask for an extension for the baby, but I don't expect it to happen." I can't stop crying for my Mistress. She kneels down and pets my cheek. "Your so sweet. Sweeter than I would have been when I butchered you." I was going to protest, but the memory of the hairbrush that my eldest sister-slave administered is still fresh in my mind. My Mistress rose up in front of us. "It does mean that all of us are going to die... very soon." My Mistress was a sage when she predicted that she wouldn't be able to wait for the baby to born. Essentially, the Commonwealth officials saw that the birth would have made my Mistress' death pointless, since a new she -male would have been in place to replace her. A day was set and suddenly we all had less than a week to live. Obviously, she could have sold us if she had wanted to but there was no point since she had no use for money in death. Frankly, I don't think any of us wanted to live beyond her. It is very strange. When I arrived, for the first few months I wondered how I could ever enjoy being the slave of someone so emotionally distant and, frankly, one who considers me property that she fully planned to kill. However the week gave my young spirit time to consider my feelings for her and for my sisters. I love them all. I want to be with them. I live as a slave in complete contentment. While sexual servitude to my Mistress was, at times, painful, physically stressful and exhausting, all my memories of the times she took me; or even watching her take my sisters has been nothing but good. However, the knowledge that we all were going to have the shared experience of dying made us so much closer than we ever had before. Many strangers were in our world now. Realtors who were going to move the huge home to another buyer after we were gone. The furniture stayed. Both of the cars were bequeathed to Mistress' half sister, who came and visited to say good bye. There was so much sadness. It wasn't the death that caused us the pain. It was how the fact that we were dying was showing how happy and successful a family we were. I could tangibly feel the ache in my spirit when I considered that I wouldn't be eaten by my Mistress. My whole existence as a person and a slave were pointed to that destination. How can we now hope to reconcile this fresh revelation of how wonderful our lives and potential deaths would have been? ~~~ I am first. I don't know how to feel. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced with my Mistress. It is Tuesday: five days before my Mistress must be put to death. We are about to make love. More succinctly, she is about to make love to me. I have never even kissed her. I have received her seed in my mouth (joyfully so) and in my butt. I can't even recall her giving me a gentle pet when she was using me before. Now her soft hands are running over my skin, giving me chills. The nipples on my tiny breasts are hard as pencil erasers and the skin on my bare mount has goose bumps as her fingers delicately trace the cleft of my cunny. She is so large over me, but her face is uncertain. It is as new for her as it is for me. She kisses my lips awkwardly. The her lips soften and her tongue pensively enters my mouth and finds my tongue also tentative. Finally, she raises up. I can feel welling in my eyes. Look what they have done. They have taken the power away from my magnificent Mistress. "I'm sorry. I don't know why this isn't easy for me. I really do appreciate you all. I wanted this to be a nice way to go out." I am embarrassed for my Mistress' awkwardness and it angers me that this has happened to her. Tears are sliding shamelessly down my cheeks. I know that if my eldest sister-slave were to come in, she would drag me by the hair for such impertinence and punish me soundly. "Mistress," I manage, "you are not my lover. You aren't supposed to be my lover. I love you but I don't love you like that. I am your slave. I love you because you own me. It is the only way I know how to love you. Please... for all of me... for all of us; have your way with me. Be my Domme, not my friend." My Mistress sat up and then onto the back of her legs looking at me in astonishment. I had chosen the right thing and knew that the cost would be higher. Still, it is in the nature of the submissive mind to not be satisfied with life without risk. This was immediately clear after my declaration to her. "You're right, of course," she says looking down on me, her cock suddenly stirring to life. "Those are strong words from a slave though." I try not to smile because my Mistress is back. "Yes Mistress," I say with a softer tone, lowering my eyes. "This slave deserves to be punished for speaking to her Mistress in such a petulant way." Mistress had a wry smile and rolls off the bed, stepping into her walk-in closet. She emerges with a cane out of the rack. It isn't the smallest nor the worst, but I know that it will hurt. "On the table." Quickly, I scramble off the bed to the massage table, which is one of the primary places where we are punished, especially near bed time. As I am climbing on, my Mistress brings me a pillow. She has me lay on my stomach with the pillow under my hips, causing my bottom to rise as a helpless target. "What are the rules for slaves speaking in this home?" "A slave does not show initiative in speaking. A slave never addresses it's Mistress in a familiar way. A slave does speak unless spoken to and then only to say Yes or No Mistress, unless the Mistress asks for a more elaborate answer." "Why are you being punished?" Though she is behind me I can hear the smile in her voice. "Because I was familiar with my Mistress when I spoke and because I showed initiative when I spoke to my Mistress." Even as I was confessing my sin, I feel her lay the wood dowel over the cheeks of my fanny. It is still sore from the hairbrush the week before. As the last words exit my mouth the cane rises and falls with a woosh across my cheeks causing me to shriek. She does not count nor give space between swats. My legs involuntarily kick and my thighs get a lacing for that, before the assault on my butt continues. Though the punishment only lasts two minutes, I am wailing freely, and I am sure that my sister slaves hear my situation from other parts of the house. When she is finished, I am left curling up and reaching behind me to rub the welts produced by her efficient punishment. I see my Mistress though the haze of tears take the dowel back to the closet. As she returns, I note that she almost fully erect now. Moments after that I am weeping again as she is sturdily stroking her member into my reluctant rectum. Life is blissfully close to being back to normal. ~~~ The next two nights followed similarly for my sister slaves. The house was filled with the painful high pitched groans of my sister slave having her tiny bottom violated. I suppose that it was my fault that Mistress decided to not make this an act of pleasure but an act of service. I loved it though I couldn't sit down normally for several hours and my stool came out as soup the next day. My eldest sister does not cry out on her night. I know that they are making love. I am not jealous. Her love for Mistress has changed and isn't as pure as mine. So I rationalize; for I know I would be so joyous to carry her child for her. However, the last night is different. She calls us all into her spacious master bath house. She has a waterfall shower and calls us all in. We think we are going to bathe her but instead she starts playing with us. We are giggling and joyous as if it might never happen again. At one point my eldest sister is tickling me, her baby bump pushing into my back and I whirl around and because of the bump I have to bend and my face is near her round, red head features. I hear Mistress chuckle. "Make love," is all she says. My eldest sister smiles and kisses me. It is not playful. It is furtive, longing, and passionate. I coo into her mouth as we kiss. Time slides away and my eldest leads me out of the shower. As we are leaving, I see my youngest sister receiving the greatest of gifts as she impales her tiny pussy on Mistress' mighty cock. She is weeping again as she did two nights before but this time it is out of emotion, her wet eyes locked on the person who holds her life in her hand. It is so arousing especially combined with my eldest sister's gentle lapping of my hungry cunny. The cocktail of images and sensation sends me easily over and I began to climax in succession, squirting into my eldest sister's mouth and face as I do. She only coos in appreciation. Moments later, I am between her legs as she lays back on Mistress' bed. I am on my hands and knees when I do this my head down to administer the same loving pleasure she had given me. I was about to plunge two fingers into her and assault her G-spot when Mistress' strong hands take me by the hips and I feel the head of her cock press against my pussy's entrance. I catch my breath. The tip spreads my lips a little and I can't help it. I push back against her and I am startled by how easily she is inside my pussy. It is the first time in my life she has chosen to claim this part of my body. I cannot think except to know that my orgasm is far beyond my ability to control. "Oh God! Mistress!.... May I please, come? Please???" It is a moot point for her to answer because I can feel my spasms begin as my cunt tries to grab her shaft. I am crying out as if I was being butchered. I am shameless. Below me my youngest sister has taken my place at licking my eldest sister. We make love into the night. In two days we have to die. My Mistress must die. Even the exquisite pleasure of being on her tip, doesn't mitigate the sadness of that thought. ~~~ I am cleaning the bathroom before morning discipline when I see Mistress talking to my other two sisters at a distance. They all nod in agreement after they share and move off, my eldest sister to the kitchen and Mistress and my youngest sister outside. I don't want to pry but at the same time I am incredibly nosy. The back yard is where Mistress has put down slaves. I remember my predecessor being hung from the branch of the big willow tree there. There is also a cut wood stump under the tree. Mistress and my younger sister go to the shed first and then came out. Because it was early morning, my younger sister was visibly chilled in her nakedness. When Mistress comes out with a machete that I had used to cut weeds with along with a rope, I realized that my younger sister was being killed. Mistress' demeanor with her is patient and almost appreciative. In her own hands she had a long cord of rope that was similar to the rope she used to hang slaves with. I don't hear my eldest sister come in behind me. When she is close, I am pleasantly startled by the softness of her skin, her now bulging breasts inviting to me. But I can't take my eyes off the scene under the willow tree. "Mistress' last meal," my eldest sister said. "She wanted it to be one of us." "That's nice." I nodded, knowing that I both my eldest sister and I would be eating her flesh as well. I don't care for hucow meat. We watched, cuddling in the windows, the dawn illuminating the scene more and more. My youngest sister sat on the stump and Mistress knelt down and tied her slave's ankles tightly. As my youngest sister watched her Mistress restrain her one final time, even as I could see her start to breath unsteadily and become more anxious and nervous. I prayed in my spirit that she would die well for her Mistress. Mistress takes the open end of the rope and tosses it over the a heavy limb about 8 feet up she pulls most of the slack and then says something to my younger sister, who nods but is starting to sob. She kneels in the grass right next to the stump and Mistress takes up the rest of the slack in the rope. Mistress takes the machete in hand. I am a mix of emotions: fear for my own death tomorrow, jealousy because I always imagined Mistress eating me, and camaraderie with my younger sister. Mistress pushes my youngest sister's head to the stump her face turned to Mistress so I can't see it. She says something to my youngest sister who nods and is obviously crying in fear. She reaches around and clutches the stump hard. Mistress strokes my youngest sister's back tenderly with her left hand even as she raises the machete in her other. It comes down hard but not enough. "AAHGH!" We here her cry even in the house. Before she can finish the cry however, Mistress has struck my youngest sister again directly in the neck which causes her slave's body to jolt and then twitch in a familiar death throe. Still the head isn't severed and Mistress remedies this with several smaller chops with the machete, twisting my youngest sister's head to free it from the stubborn tissues. When the head is free, she tosses it into the grass, slams the machete into the stump and goes to the end of the rope and pulling hard lifts the beheaded corpse up so that the blood will flow out the fissure that remains. When she secures the rope to the tree so that the body will hang, she picks up the head and as she heads back into the house, opens the garbage dumpster, tossing it in. My own breath is as shallow as I imagine my youngest sister's was and my heart is pounding from what I have just watched. ~~~ "I know that you are disappointed." My Mistress' voice isn't stern but tells me that she was completely decided about the matter. I blink hard knowing that I am going to cry. I want to speak, even if to simply acknowledge Mistress, My chin and bottom lip are straining to not give my tears away. All I do is nod. We are dining on my youngest sister's buttocks. Mistress loves cooking and she has taken something that isn't that appealing to me and made it luscious, with a cranberry/apple glaze over the filleted glutes. My eldest sister is there and she is looking down and I know that she is empathetic but only to a point of minor guilt. She will get what she wants. The final joy of a slave is to be put to death by her beloved Mistress; the last submissive act of a bond slave. I choose slavery. I choose to die for my Mistress because of my love and her possession of me. Mistress has long known my passion about proper slavery. As she rises from the table, there is a wry smile on her face. Still when she walks around by me, she grabs me by the hair and roughly lifts me out of my chair. "Owwie!!!" My yelp is involuntary and I have to work hard to not fall and stay up with her. She takes me to the living room sitting on the soft arm of the sofa. My stomach is sinking. I am going to be punished. My eldest sister walks in idly. This week she has abandoned almost all of her slave protocols. She doesn't kneel, does ask permission to come into the room. I know it is about the doomed child in her belly. I am crying silently. The end of my life is not going how I imagined it. Mistress goes into the closet and examines the implements hanging on the inside, estimating the pain inflicted based on the gravity of my offense or need. "You know, you try to hard to be the perfect slave." She pulls out the heavy leather strap and returns to me kneeling on the floor in front of me. I am looking down on her and it is uncomfortable for me. "You top from the bottom, so much," she added with irony in her voice. "Mistress,... I would never do..." She stops my sobbing protest with a raising of her fingers that tells me continuing would be an escalation of my punishment. "I know that you try to make yourself be good. To plan and romanticize everything about being my slave." Then she stands up above me almost to illustrate the point. "The problem is that those things are my job. It's my job to help you be good. It's my job to decide how your life ends. Is that right?" I nod sobbing again, bowing my head defeated. She pushes me back onto the sofa my ass and legs up. My eldest sister comes and takes my ankles and holds them as Mistress spends the next five minutes whipping me hard with the strap. I scream in pain so loud that I am hoarse for the rest of evening. ~~~ I was only allowed to watch not speak or participate. When they were dead, I was to bring down the bodies and then call for disposal. Then I was to report to a slave farm on the edge of town to be slaughtered. Today is the end of my joy. My butt is so sore and yet its discomfort echos of the lost joy of being Mistress' slave. This last day of our life as a family is fittingly cold and gray. No rain, just gray. Mistress is up before me which never happens. My sister slave slept in bed with her and I realize in watching their body language as I come into the kitchen that Mistress is in love with my eldest sister. There is a great sadness of loss on Mistress' face... for her own life, the life of her unborn child and the slave she has come to know in a different way. It is 6AM and they are drinking coffee. I come in and kneel properly before her. "I'm sorry for yesterday, Mistress," I say truthfully. "I'm not," she answers softly and I feel her fingers trace through my hair. "I like disciplining you... I like the way you respond to it. You truly are what slavery is supposed to be. You had more lessons to learn, but we ran out of time." Unbidden, I raise my eyes to her and she is looking down at me blankly. "Yes Mistress." They drink coffee while I kneel silently for several more minutes. There is no conversation. Then it begins. "Alright, lets get this over with." We are following her out. She is only wearing a robe. My Eldest sister slave only her collar which she is undoing as she walks across the grass. When she gets it off, she turns and hands it to me. I stare at it a moment. Then she comes close and gives me a little half hearted hug as if she thought I needed her to do that. Then she goes to the stump. On the tree limb that was used in draining my younger sisters body now hangs two traditional nooses. Beneath both is a single bench. They walk straight to it and Mistress lets her robe slip off. Her feet are slightly covered with grass as she steps up onto the bench and then helps my heavy pregnant eldest sister up onto the bench. Each of them pull the noose around their head and tighten it. In my grip are the two plastic ties to restrain their hands. Reluctantly, I restrain both of them. She told me not to do any fan fare or final goodbyes. I was told to do it as soon as they were ready. With my foot, I kick the bench from beneath their feet. The fall half way to the ground and are jarred when the rope goes taunt. When Mistress twirls towards me she no longer looks like my powerful Mistress. Her face is registering a measure of shock and surprise from her sudden mortal predicament. I didn't hear it but the short drop combined with her additional weight must have broken my eldest sister's neck because her head fell to the right oddly even though the rope is tight. Her blue eyes were empty and peaceful. Now my Mistress, registering that her child and favorite slave are dead, tries to cry out in grief because no sound can escape... no air. She is suffering and for the briefest moment I entertain getting the bench back up. I have never killed anyone before and certainly not someone so important to me. I am crying freely in anguish as she is dying. For all the strength that she showed as my Mistress, like all people on the edge of death she instinctively wants to live. I fall to my knees in front of her. Even as she is slowly twirling and gasping--- her face starting to lose its color, now deprived of oxygen and the free flow of blood to her head--- she seems to make eye contact with me and shakes her head vigorously. Automatically, I straighten myself and try to quell my tears. As my heaving steadies, so Mistress' struggling ebbs on the end of the rope. I watch her body once so beautiful; her full soft bosom, long hair, spacious hips, and elegant cock. Now it seems mortal as it finally stills on the end of the softly twirling rope. Her cock now completely fallen without any blood to give it volume seems to release Mistress urine as an act of relief, the golden shower spattering the grass below. I step close and wrap my arms around her, pressing my cheek into her belly. I can feel the death in her. The difference between dead flesh and living is tangible. I am crying again because my Mistress had to die. It was her duty to die and she did it without complaint. All should be in order. Then I realize how right she was. It is my own selfishness that causes me to grieve. I grieve for myself. That my preconception on what how my slavery should end... indeed, of the very way my slavery should be conducted diminished the true submission that I pretended to offer. My Mistress knew me well. Now with her dead and my sister slaves killed. I was left to my own recognizance. I could flee to the outer provinces and disappear among the hospitality of the Believer tribes. My Mistress always knew that I was always going to be the good slave, even if no one was there to ensure it. That was why she left me alive to close out the affairs of the house and see to my own death. I wanted to die on the same day as Mistress did. However, after I arranged for their bodies to be collected and processed, I called Raynette's Slave Farm, very local but very well reputed, on how to report for my conversion. They found the arrangement made by Mistress but said that they were backed up and would have to come and pick me up the following day. Now, I sit watching the sun go down after winning its battle with the gray of morning. It is still cool. Because I am alone, for the first time in six years, I put on clothes. I put on underwear but they don't fit, because they belong to Mistress, who was a whole head taller than me. Same with even her tightest pants. They all fit me grotesquely. The one item that I wind up keeping on all night is Mistress' silk robe brought from the Far East. It was the one she wore outside for her hanging and the one item of clothing she probably wore the most. It didn't matter to me that it dragged behind me or that I occasionally stepped on the train which was, actually, only a hem. Throughout the evening, I clutch it around me basking in the familiar smell of my Mistress in it. ~~~ I am thankful this morning that the Raynette's sent a van early to pick me up. I guess they don't trust that I am a willing slave, because once they determined that I was the one to picked up, they chose to strip me even of my collar and bound my hands behind me with ties. They were very nice to me and seemed to be very sensitive to my loss. There are for other girls in the van all bound and naked. The drive is relatively long almost an hour, but we seem to get there in no time. All I can think about is watching my beloved Mistress die. As we are riding, I try to change that vision, thinking of the disciplines, the acts of servitude I provided her, her using me sexually. All these conjured pleasant memories for me, but I kept coming back to her dying on the rope. That will not be my end. Like my youngest sister slave, I am now a hucow... meat... converted. though it is not registered in my death, I know in short order that all of us in the van will meet a necessarily gruesome end, just as my younger sister slave did. Two of the girls in the back seat seem impossibly young. They are chatting quietly and they seem genuinely at peace with the fact that they are about to be put to slaughter. It is an old rustic farm, with a quaint farm house with pillars and lovely shade trees. What is clearly a garden has girls tending it. Slaves. The van pulls up and a very fat, dark haired older girl wearing gloves raises her hand for the van to stop. She is very tan and though I estimate her to be at least 275 to 300 pounds, she is wearing denim shorty shorts and a halter, barely restraining her huge, heaving chest. She opens the panel door which is nearest to me and looks me directly in the eye with a big smile, which spontaneously creates a small smile back from me. "Alright girls, welcome to Mistress Raynette's. You're here for a very short time. We will be getting you slaughtered right away. Is anyone going to be a problem with compliance because all of the girls here are consent friendly?" I shook my head even as the two girls, probably hispanic, spoke up. "Not us, Miss," one said with a slight accent. The black girl to my left was silent but nodded. "Good." The big girl looked at the driver who turned off the van. "Can you remove the ties please, sir." The driver who was obviously only contracted to deliver us, seems to sigh with harumph and gets out of the van pulling out his pocket knife. We all climb out and stand in a compliant line where the man comes behinds us and roughly cuts the ties off of us. My wrists have ligiture marks from the ferocity of his freeing me. He gets back into his van and drives off for his next delivery. "Alright girls," the big girl says. "My name is Claudette and I am a hucow just like you. I also serve as the slave overseer here. Mistress Raynette wants to thank you and your owners for letting her farm process you. She won't be coming out though to see you off like she does us. Don't go off the rails and start to hesitate. That doesn't happen here and is dealt with in the harshest most painful ways." As she gives the speech I imagine she has given dozens of times before, I am surveying my surroundings. The most stark thing to me is that we are the only ones naked. Everyone who is slave age is dressed in normal clothes. If they are working at chores they are wearing work clothes. The girls just lounging are dressed in a wide variety of ways as any girl on the street would. In fact, if I didn't know why I was there, I wouldn't have been able to tell that the place wasn't a school. "Follow me, ladies." We start walking through something of a courtyard behind the main house and the dormitories towards the wooded back of the property. Three very young girls run up all in shorts and t shirts run up to Claudette as we are moving through the courtyard. "Claudette... Claudette..." they call as they are running. When they get to her in the front of our makeshift line, she stops us smiling at the younger girls. "Is this the group?" one asks gasping. "Yes this is them. Do you still want to be the washers?" All three nod eagerly. "We can stay afterwards and watch you." Claudette is already nodding. "If you do the bathing and then the clean up afterwards." They all node in unison again. One girl, a blond with flaxen, straight hair, looks at me, she is smiling. It is strange, though we are both meat, she is looking at me as if she has secrets that I don't have. Like I am a foreigner. Our entourage moves on and starts down a dusty path, but the three younger girls race at full speed ahead of them. "Two wash, one rinse," Claudette calls behind them. As we have walked, I find myself close to Claudette. "Miss, may I ask a question?" "Of course." "How are we being butchered?" Claudette never lost a beat in the conversation as if we were talking about movie preferences. "Oh we only spit or gut. None of you are big enough for the Jessica." As she said this, an old red barn-like structure comes into view. We are there in a moment. It is a rustic slaughter house from a different era. In the small grassy yard in front of it, the girls are filling two big metal buckets with soapy warm water. The third has a sprayer nozzle hose. It is the only thing about the slaughter house that was vaguely updated. The doors and the loft are open and I can see a row of hand cranked Jessicas--- the 1000 models--- the first gynophagia processing device of the modern era. There there is a considerable amount of hay on the ground and a stack of metal bins like the ones the girls filled. From the roof in a different part from the Jessicas there are ropes hanging down from two rows of six. Each one has a pair of wrist cuffs. And then the slaughter begins. The two hispanic girls who I determined were twins but not identical, rushed to be first, each one getting into a wash tub and being amatuerishly bathed by the younger girls, who giggle during the process especially when touching the girls genitals, butt or breast. When the first one is done, I step impassively into the warm, suprisingly welcoming soapy water. The quietest of the three girls is bathing me, her hands take the soapy cloth over my whole body. I feel her fingers in the cracks and folds of my body. Even her fingers probing my pussy causes me any reaction. I realize that my spirit is already starting to separate from my flesh, preparing for the death it is expecting. The first hispanic girl is being hoisted up in the slaughter house and the black girl is being bathed while the second hispanic girl awaits her turn to be hung up. Claudette is going to kills us. She already has a white apron on that has clearly not had enough bleach on it, because the faded echo of other slaughter's blood is still etched in the fabric. I take my place behind the second twin while the first is secured. Her hands are pulled taunt above her head after her ankles are restrained to the floor. When the rope on her hands is pulled tight it pulls her at an angle which leans her body our. The process of restraint is repeated with the second twin, who asks to be positioned directly across from her sister. Claudette is amicable to it and restrains her in exactly the same way. The twins are speaking Spanish and I can't understand them but it sounds that with death about to visit them in an agonizing way, they are making jokes about their predicament. Claudette brings me up alongside the second twin. She has me spread my legs slighly until they are alongside ankle cuffs that are petoned into the floor. She pulls the rope with the wrist cuffs down and snuggly fits them in. She doesn't speak and I can think of to say. I shiver from the dripping water and open air but that seems to be normal here. The rope is pulled taunt and I feel myself being leaned forward at an angle. I am naked and vulnerable. "Gillian, start bringing me some bins for the guts. I don't want to be here all day." She calls out this instruction as she is restraining the black girl who is in shock and weeping. I don't know if she is weeping over a mistress or the fact that she is dying or that it will hurt so bad. My own breath is shallow and rapid. If it weren't for the fact that I was going to be dead shortly, this position could definitely serve as a from of punishment unto itself. One of the young girls comes in carrying four more of the large metal basins that we stood in to be bathed. These are dry and crusted with old blood. Claudette takes one and places it directly beneath each of our bellies. I feel lightheaded and I don't know if it is because of what's about to happen or the fact that I am spread in such an awkward position. I don't know where she produced it from but I see that Claudette now has a large slightly curved blade in her hand. I can see by its glint in the daylight that it is well cared for and sharp. There is not conversation or talk. The second twin says something to the first, but Claudette is already cutting her. She is in my way from seeing the penetration of the blade. The first twin is wailing in shock and pain and I can see streams of blood pouring loudly into the tin basin. Claudette's motions are strong and vivid so I can tell she is sawing upwards. Then she pauses and seems to cut below where she started. The first twin groans notably and an avalanche of her entrails spill out of her and into the basin. The twin keeps on with a soft droaning wail as Claudette calmly pulls the bowels and organs out of her at an astonishing rate. When all of the lower organs are cut out of the first twin, Claudette moves upward under the rib cage. As her pronounced motions of cutting there continue, the first twin makes as sound like a mouse being squashed. And then her head falls forward unmoving her face covered by her hair, which hangs down. This causes Claudette to push the head back hard and somewhat unnaturally. She broke the neck so the head would stay back out of the way while she removed the heart, lungs and wind pipe. When the cavity that remained is empty, the third younger girl with the sprayer comes and begins spraying out the carcass as Claudette turned to the second twin. The second twin dies slower but quieter than the first it seems to me. I watch with morbid fascination just as she looks down and does. Again there is no goodbye or fan fare. Claudette addresses the knife just above the dark girl's pubic bone, blade up, sinking it deep and to the hilt into her belly. The girl groans but continues to watch as Claudette saws with remarkable strength and ease a wide gash from the pubis to the sternum. "Mas Rapido, por favor..." the second twin gasps several times as she watches. Her cries become slightly louder when Claudette opens the bikini line cut and her guts burgeon out of her and into the basin, she creamy sound like that of stirring pudding. I don't know why I watch. I look at Claudette's face. This is something that is going to happen to her and yet she approaches it like any chore. It is both amazing and baffling. She cuts and carves up the twin's insides, killing the girl with a drive up under her rib cage. Again she roughly pushes the limp head back and this time I hear the cracking of the dead girl's neck because they are so close. I can see the guts with more vivid colors than just the red I imagined it would be. In scant moments, Claudette's experienced technique have completely emptied the second twins carcass. Now it is my turn. It is strange. As close as I was when she killed the second twin, I felt no enmity or even a sense of domination which sometimes goes with the territory as an overseer or Death Administrator or a simple butcher. When she turns to slaughter me, she has a content peaceful expression. We are two people filling our role in society. I, to be killed. Her to kill me. She pats my bottom ever so briefly as she turns with the big knife in her hand. I close my eyes tightly. "Relax your tummy and it's easier," she says in an almost inaudible voice. I let my body hang loose with my eyes clinched and focus all my stress on my eyes. She is very strong and the blade is in to the hilt in my belly just above my pussy before I can register the pain. I don't scream. "Owww......" I allow myself. Then she starts to saw upward. This is a savage, ravaging pain and I think that I can stay quiet but by the time she gets to my belly button I am losing it. "AAAHHH!!!!....AAAAH!" My cries are no different than my predecessors or what I imagine will come from the frightened black girl. I settle myself and find a place where I can endure the agony of the huge blade splitting my abdomen vertically asunder. I am shaking and the tears are running down my face as I focus on relaxing. I wonder how much it would have hurt if I hadn't. "Doing fine," Claudette says under her breath as she reaches my sternum, removes the blade and then with stunning speed and dexterity carves out a bikini cut which causes me a sudden wave of nausea. I can hear my little straining sounds as my intestines push to be free of the prison of my body. "oooohhhh....uuuuuuuhhhhhh.....ooowwww...." The sounds coming from me are involuntary and don't speak of any sense of lack of consent. I have only moments left in my life and I will not sully my Mistress' decision to have me die here, by not dying well. My eyes come half open and I look down as Claudette puts her gloved hands into the chasm created by the knife. She pulls out an extraordinary amount of my bowels which splat slickly into the basin. I make a lurching spontaneous sound as she loosens more from me. This was an ancient form of execution and I am standing up to it well. But I need to die soon. It hurts so bad. I see my uterus, stomach, liver, small glands all fall out of me in a vivid display of color and sliminess. I am breathing though I don't know how. Blood has filled my mouth with the rancid copper taste that I smelled when I first arrived at the slaughterhouse. I wonder if I will get to be a slave to my Mistress in Heaven. I am told, though I am not religious that, everyone is equal in heaven which is a disappointment to me. Claudette comes in front of me knife poised. She smiles at me slightly recognizing that I am still conscious and my eyes are open for the first time. "Well done," she says softly as she send the blade up under my ribs. I feel an exquisite sharp pain as she saws in my chest which lasts a moment like my entire chest is being sat on. Then I issue a sigh as I feel life ending. It is a tangible measurable affect where I can anticipate the end. Everything is becoming more and more pale. I can make out through the haze, Claudette tossing my heart into the bin. As my head sags she pushes it back hard and there is a loud crack like an old branch being snapped. The haze becomes a white flash as it announces to me that I am no longer alive.