The abattoir had changed so much since last I was here as a girl in the midst of my hormonal riot of puberty. It was no longer a filthy, noisome shed in a back field performing the illegal slaughter of young, tender boys and girls and transforming them into young, tender flesh for human consumption. That was when the world finally understood that overpopulation was killing us all, and the perverse hunger for human flesh arose in response. It was an equitable underground movement; reducing the population while feeding the hungry. Human meat was cheap.
But now, ten years after human slaughter and consumption was made legal, the abattoir is rebuilt and renewed. No longer a hot humid sexual hell, but a smooth stainless automated disassembly line, and today I find myself strapped to a slaughter table in one of the killing rooms, coming to be here voluntarily to atone for my sin of survival.
I remember that day like it was yesterday and can still hear the desperate cries of the others echoing inside my head as their bellies were opened and the butcher reached deep inside their bodies to deliver their final terrible ecstasy. I remember holding their sweat-slick wrists and ankles as he worked, and most lifted their heads to watch in curious horror as his razor sharp knife parted the centerline of their smooth, bowed bellies from pubic mound to sternum, allowing their pink and grey innards to plump up out of them like a grim jack-in-the-box. They watched in a blend of horror and excitement as he snaked his hand through their coiled and twisted intestines and gripped the roots of their sex - boy and girl alike - and squeezed and pulled like he was milking a cowís udders. That is when they all stopped watching and threw their heads back and grimaced and screamed as their final painful orgasm roared through their young bodies. The expressions of complete surrender of that final sexual bliss have been forever etched in my memory we all knew that our final orgasm would pull us into death.
For some, that orgasm was the only one they knew in their short lives, but for all its explosive release was the last thing they felt. I had escaped that day as the butcher was busy with a girl who wanted to stay standing as he opened her up. I marveled at her determination and courage as she pressed her pubic mound against the rolled edge of the stainless steel table, her small hands gripping his forearm as he plunged the knife deep and low and pulled it steadily up her pooched out belly to release her snarled, twisted intestines to spill from her and spread across the slaughter table while he reached deep inside her and gave her that final orgasmic seizure.
I ran as she started cumming, and ran until I dropped then crawled into a drain pipe under a road and hid for hours. In a way, I never stopped running; flitting from place to place, from waitressing job to waitressing job, serving human flesh to hungry patrons and going home each night to masturbate myself to orgasm, fantasizing that I was back on his table and it was my turn.
That was the thing; all those boys and girls volunteered to climb up onto his table after witnessing the previous butchered soul. They all wanted that final, brutal ecstasy and so did I, but I lacked the courage.
But now here I am, having the courage at last. I have spent my entire life stuck in that day, yearning to return, craving his hand inside me, wanting that explosive release. Things have changed here. There will be no deft blade travelling up my belly. There will be no rough hand milking my g-spot. I will be eviscerated in one rapid pass of a spinning blade. At least it will be sharp like his was sharp.
They have given me a few moments to work myself up as I listen to the soft poignant music that plays in the room. I can bring myself to orgasm just by clenching muscles external and internal in the cradle of my belly and I know the operator of this room is watching me closely, to ensure I have one orgasm before starting the saw that is poised between my open thighs.
I think of the others in that room long ago; their faces as they watched themselves opened; then, with eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared, their bodies twisting and jerking as they died in overwhelming orgasm. Imagining them triggers my own orgasm and I cum in tight little convulsions. I barely catch my breath and hear the saw start and the air begins to move between my thighs.
I feel the wind it generates get stronger as its spinning teeth approaches my crotch. Soon I will feel its kiss. I try to prepare, but how does one prepare to be eviscerated?
The tone of the saw sings as I feel a hard tug and the fleshy hood is ripped from my clit. Iím amazed it doesnít hurt. Then the blade bites again and shreds my labia and that does hurt, and it seems to be moving faster. I feel it ripping through my vagina, shredding that most tender flesh, the vibrations of the teeth pounding my sex to bloody shreds now, swelling my g-spot and taking my breath away. The teeth rip through my g-spot and the orgasm it triggers is pure pain and ecstasy.
I feel the grinding of the saw bladeís teeth as it travels up my spine, instantly numbing my legs and cunt. Fuck! I begin to beg for it to stop, but I know it wonít - the process is automatic now. It feels like the saw is devouring my insides, ripping them from me and sending them down into the suction tubes under the table. I feel the vibrations traveling upward, and my stomach begins to quiver and convulse and I vomit hard, no longer able to beg.
This is it! Iím joining my sisters and brothers through this overwhelming portal of ecstasy and ...