"mbsw guro" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/9z7R4tjA Created on: Saturday 5th of September 2015 10:11:19 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:43:42 AM UTC Musings from a Butcher's shop window By: Sukie The world looks really funny when you’re dangling upside down. I wish I could say that I was struggling furiously against the twine encircling my wrists, but, really, as any motion just pulled on the dull hook lodged in my protesting bum...I was relatively still. My modesty compels me to claim that dangling, naked, with my back almost painfully arched in the butcher’s shop window was the most mortifying thing that’s ever happened to me, but distressingly, the dominant emotion consuming me was excitement. My exposed nipples could feel the chill of the winter air through the thick glass and I could feel little goose pimples rising on my skin as I swayed helplessly lost in a mix of my own musings and near constant stimulation. I could go on and on about how I used to come into the shop as a customer and how an ill considered bet landed me in this situation, but let’s face it. When was the last time you asked your dinner about her life story? I bet you don’t even REMEMBER what you had for dinner two weeks ago today! Well, ok, maybe you remember some particularly fine cuts, but you probably gave little to no thought about HOW said flesh went from being an integral part of someone to being your meal. However, with your indulgence, please allow me to illuminate one of the more interesting bits of social dynamics in a neighborhood butcher shop. A sane person might be excused for thinking that the LAST place a convertible woman might want to go is a butcher’s shop. However, the reality is, of course, a bit messier and more complex. There’s an addictive rush in seeing someone else’s cuts laid out for YOU to purchase. They gambled and lost and now you get to reap the consequences of their folly. I’d say that flies buzzing around a spider’s web are similar, but they never actually eat their fallen brethren. The easiest way to tell whom the next volunteer will be is to watch her reaction when she’s looking at the meat case. If she gets a bit flushed, with a faraway look in her eyes...then she’s going to make the jump soon. I’m sure that any butchers out there know exactly what I’m talking about. There’s always that awkward moment when you look up and meet the butcher’s eyes. Maybe there’s still a bit of blood on the apron, maybe a slight gleam in the eyes, the hint of tension in their neck muscles ...because they know. They can see that one day, for at least a fleeting moment of time, that they’ll be as close to you as anyone can possibly be. For they’ll be the one to claim everything that the you have to offer. They’ll take your memories, your head, your thoughts, your breasts, your future, your filet, every possible future you could have had... Of course, I’m sure that such thoughts bounce around everyone’s head...even if they’re not very keen to admit it. So let’s assume that, according to her normal routine, our heroine (e.g. moi) wandered into the butcher’s shop to buy herself a treat. This time, the butcher, on seeing her enter, brought out a tray from the slaughter room. The sheer, nearly unfathomable hotness, of running her fingers along freshly harvested (and still warm even!) cuts and then hearing that one of her friends had donated them. With, of course, confirmation laying on top of the pile of severed heads. Who could possibly level blame at her, if she finally succumbed and uttered those two magical words which quickly led her to dangling upside down? Of course, it’s hard to really capture the sensation of hanging in your own neighborhood’s shop window as a product to be purchased, processed, and consumed. There’s a mixture of relief and annoyance every time a would-be purchaser glances at you then wanders along. One does wonder what many of these people ARE eating for dinner if ME hanging here isn’t tempting. Such thoughts are immediately laid to rest by the lump which settles into one’s throat when a stray glance from a vaguely familiar looking person leads them into walking into the shop. The feeling of soft hands gliding over taut skin as it becomes nearly impossible to control one’s breathing and force down any feelings of nervousness. The gyrations of one’s stomach go through when their hand caresses and then lifts my breast as though weighing it...or the feeling of their fingers sliding INSIDE almost like a lover. Of course, the illusion that they were looking for carnal rather than culinary relief was shattered when they turned and started to haggle prices with one’s soon to be... butcher. “Tonight...one breast...a few slices of rump....the fillet....definitely traditional slaughter...”, the words drifted lazily along and arrived in snatches, as fate and the rest of the afternoon activities, were described so matter-of-factly. The sensation of being just another product, that one’s life up to that point, had merely been preparation for such a transaction and all of one’s actions had merely the smallest effect upon the final purchase price washed over me. I could feel my hips bucking in the restraints as some deep part of me reacted to the realization that I’d been bought. After a particularly jarring nudge from the hook, my consciousness rose up and reacted utterly differently. My breath froze and my heart began to pound as the enormity of what was about to happen crashed over me. My eyes flicked from the slops bucket in the back corner that soon would be holding my...offal, to the bins marked “Hands & Feet”, to the trash can with all the heads, and finally they alit on the meat case that soon would be holding the parts of me judged worthy of selling to others. The butcher began whistling tunelessly as he walked over, grabbed my frame, and began wheeling me back to the slaughtering area. My tummy fluttered while my heart began to pound as I was moved to closer to where I would be harvested. The butcher’s motions had the casual ease of a well-practiced routine, not worthy of note or comment, as he locked the frame in place and made fine adjustments to the way that I was suspended. Right in the center of my vision was the metal grate of the blood drain and a large green plastic bucket labeled “Offal” rudely intruded as it was placed in front of my chest. I could hear the sounds of cutting implements being moved around and organized on a tray as I dangled helplessly on the point of no-return. My tongue and teeth worked furiously on the gag in my mouth attempting to get rid of it to at least beg for a reprieve. At that moment, a rough, warm, and firm hand gripped my right hip to fully stabilize me in place just as I felt the daintiest pinprick at the swell of my mound. Immediately following the pinprick, there was one of those pauses, I’m sure it only lasted the barest of moments, but suddenly, everything came very sharply into focus. I could hear the buzz of conversation on the shop floor, everything from jokes about volunteering to discussions about which cut to buy. My nose was overwhelmed by a mixture of the coppery scent of blood, the rich scent of raw meat, and the cleaners that I’d been subjected to right before being wheeled out and put on display. My eyes fixated on the numerous nicks and scratches on the offal bucket while they attempted to make out the label of the pet food company that would pay pennies for my priceless (to me) organs. My sense of touch was flooded with contrasts, from the rough twine binding my wrists to the smooth gag lodged between my lips. The acuity that allowed me to feel a drop of blood slowly collecting and then making its way down from the cut on my mound contrasted with the dull ache from the hook that had worked its way inside my rump. The pause abruptly ended as my mind was briefly overwhelmed by a tsunami of pain, as I felt a line of intense fire travel from the pinprick right up to the cleft between my breasts. Spots danced across my vision as I felt the butcher deftly maneuvering the blade around my abdominal muscles rending them apart. A distinct sensation of coldness assailed me as I realized I’d gone over the tipping point. All of my potential futures had contracted to the singular fate of being harvested and placed in the meat case to be sold. The singular identity that I had possessed before entering the shop had been replaced by a series of numbers scribbled on wax paper, which would be wrapped around my cuts, as people consumed all that I had to offer. My reverie was broken as I was assailed by a unique combination of nausea, the sensation of movement, and the largest flip flop that my stomach had ever performed. The butcher had apparently finished the initial cuts and had reached INSIDE me and PULLED. An unidentifiable pink, grey, and red mass succumbed to gravity’s ministration and fell through my field of view to land with a wet *PLOP* in the slops bucket. New tremors of exquisite pain sliced through my consciousness as my precious organs began their inexorable journey toward their new role as pet food. They traitorously continued to relay sensations of pain as they piled into the slops bucket under me. I have no idea how long I hung there, upside down, half-gutted, utterly helpless as a few trickles of blood began to flow over my skin to drip into the bucket and the drain. At some point, my consciousness arose above the constant jarring noise of the pain to notice that the butcher had left me. After some indeterminate period, he came back in, this time carrying a familiar looking tray with a layer of ice on it that he set down next to me. As he reached inside me and began to tug, slice, and finish gutting me, a sense of serenity washed over me. A quiet moan snuck around the gag as I could picture the scene of my breasts laying on the ice next to my fillet followed by some thin slices of rump. I was nearly breathless, lost utterly in my fantasy when I was jolted back to reality by a freezing sensation. I looked up and I could see him washing me out casually, as though he hadn’t just put a large amount of freezing water AND his hands into my abdominal cavity. Once I was as clean as I could be, he then tipped me backwards to let the reddish water come spilling out and down the drain. After being drained, the butcher locked me even more tightly into the frame. I could no longer move even a little bit...as though a gutted bit of meat has many places to be... A large metal collar-like frame was locked around my neck and I could no longer see what he was doing. Ominously, I could just make out that he seemed to be selecting blades from the table. My traitorous body kicked into a state of high excitement as I realized that he was about to commence the harvest. The pain seemed to fade into the background as I could sense that soon I’d be fulfilling my destiny. I could feel a finger tracing gently around a nipple as my heart and breath began to race. If I’d been able to move I would have been squirming like mad. The gentle caress of a finger was replaced by the sharp bite of a blade and my breast began to scream at its harvesting. The metal of the blade made short work of my helpless flesh as it sliced, almost effortlessly, through me. My eyes shot over to the ice covered tray and then I saw IT. My breast was being laid carefully on the ice, my nipple still painfully hard but already beginning to soften. My body took over and chased any possibility of thought away, as I was swept away on a tide of pain, pleasure, lust, and horror. When some semblance of thought returned, I could see that the tray was beginning to fill up. My body was now raw with agony. The experience of being parted out while alive was taking its toll and I felt a bit tired when I realized WHERE his hands were...they were sliding up my mound. I could feel my most delicate flesh yielding painfully to the blade as he began to cut out my core. I tried to scream through the gag and thrash out of the restraints as the pain overwhelmed me. I felt the movement of the blade come to a stop...and then a feeling of gentle penetration as he sunk his finger into me. The finger crooked inside of me causing a wonderful burst of pleasure. This was followed by the sickening feeling of robbery as he pulled my most prime cut away from me. My eyes went wide as I saw him laying my fillet on the tray. His finger still pressed between the sensitive, glistening lips and a small oval of flesh surrounding it. My futile attempts at motion ceased as I was transfixed by the sight of my breasts laying next to my filet on a bed of ice. My eyes flicked up to meet his, and then catching a hint of motion, saw him stepping on a pedal. Confusion shot through my mind just as an intense pain crushed my neck. A rushing noise filled my ears along with the distinct sensation of falling. The world was rushing past my eyes and something hit me hard on the top of my head before the whole world rotated sideways and went dark...