The Abbattoir

5. The Execution

Kayla wept. She wept in grief for the brave young woman she had hated less than a day ago. She wept in gratitude that Jan's suffering was finished. She wept in terror of her own ordeal, now only minutes away. She was so immersed in her boiling emotions that she hardly noticed that one of the guards had entered her from behind and was pumping away. It was only the pain screaming from her hands that drew her attention to it. Her over-sensitized vagina felt scalded by the hot semen that gushed into her. That was followed swiftly by the insertion of a thick copper stim in her pussy, wet now with the guard's semen. The stim was locked in place with a chain around her hips. She didn't allow herself to scream as the nails were yanked out of her hands with a pry bar. She concentrated so hard on isolating her mind from the pain that she hardly noticed as they handcuffed her again, this time with her hands in front of her and clipped to her collar. The part of her mind still able to analyze her situation told her it was to keep her hands away from the stim between her legs.

Jan had shed a prodigious amount of blood and the two girls were hosing most of it down the floor drain as Kayla's guards began prying at the nails in her feet. The guard on her left “accidentally” set the heel of the pry bar on the outside edge of her foot and crushed the bones as he levered the bar back. There was an audible crunch of bone and Kayla screamed in agony in spite of herself.

“Oops,” the guard said. “Guess I should be more careful. Hope you don't think this little boo-boo is going to get you out of walking down those stairs and over to the table, though, ‘cause I sure don't plan to work up a sweat carrying you just because you got your foot in the way of my pry bar.”

Both guards chuckled at the sarcasm.

“If you're curious about that thing in your cunt,” he went on, “It's a remote controlled stim. Packs quite a wallop, too, just in case you decide to give us any trouble.” He showed her a small object in his hand. “This here's the trigger. Works like one a them keyless things for car doors. Let me demonstrate.”

He pushed a button and a terrible pain exploded between her legs and in her belly. She fell to her knees, doubled over. It lasted only a few seconds. Then the same guard pulled her to her feet by her hair. “Want another demo?” he asked mildly.

“No,” she whimpered. “Please, I'll do whatever you want.”

“Course you will,” he said. “In fact, we're so confident you're gonna be a good little bitch, we ain't even gonna put your leg irons back on. So wadda ya say to that?” He held the remote control in front of her face with his thumb hovering of the button in case she failed to get the hint. “Huh? Whadda ya say? Let's hear it!”

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured.

While they waited for the slave girls to finish cleaning up, one of the guards said to the other, “Hey Roger, I been watchin' that little blond slave, the one with the hose. She's a cutie. Where's she been all this time?”

“Over on the men's side.”

“Doin' what, for chrissake? They're all a bunch of fags over there.”

“Fluffin'.”

“Fluffin'? You mean givin' the fags blow jobs?”

“Blow jobs, hand jobs, whatever makes ‘em stiff.”

“Fuck! Why're they wasting that on them fags?

“Oh, it ain't the staff they're fluffin.' It's the perps.”

“The perps? Well shit! Where's the punishment in that?”

“Oh that ain't the punishment part. I'm sure the ass-wipes don't mind some pretty young slut givin' ‘em a blow job. It's what comes next they don't like much.”

“Yeah? What?”

“When she's got ‘em all stiff and hard and ready to pop, she wraps a leather thong around the bottom of their dick and ties it off real tight so the blood can't run out. Then one of the faggots slices it off at the base. The damn thing stays hard as a rock. Gives the chef a nice stiff cock to cook up for the fag customers. He does these decorative platters with different colored cocks.”

“Think Bert'll let me have her for a whole night? I got a thing for blonde pussy. A real thick, long thing!” He laughed at his own joke.

“Don't know why not. He let me have the brunette for a couple hours the other day.”

“She hot?”

“Hot? Christ, yes! She'll do anything you want. She let me shove it in her mouth and piss down her throat. Drank every drop, and pretended she liked it, too. Fuck, she'll let you shit in her mouth if she thinks it'll keep her outta the lineup for another few days.”

“Think Bert'll mind if I rough the blonde up a bit? You know, put some real good stripes on her, make her scream?”

“Shit no. He's been bangin' ‘em both pretty good since he pulled ‘em outta the line. Prolly gettin' bored with ‘em by now. I saw him eyein' a couple beauties in today's lineup. In fact, if you wanna hump the bitch, you better do it soon. Their two weeks is about up. The clowns over at Central will be wonderin' where the fuck their heads are. Old Bert'll wind up on one of the tables next door if he holds ‘em out much longer.”

“I'll bet the fags over there would love to fry up his balls.”

“Prolly wouldn't even take ‘em off first.”

They sniggered at the prospect.

By then most of Jan's blood had been flushed off the floor below and the slave girls were coiling the hoses. The two guards took Kayla's elbows and guided her down the stairs. Cringing from the pain, her legs now barely able to hold her up, she limped across the wet floor leaving bloody footprints behind. She closed her eyes to avoid the sight of the table and wondered if her beloved Paul was thinking of her. She wondered how long it would be before he found a new woman to share his bed. She wondered if his new love would be kind to her baby. The stim rubbed against her vaginal walls as she hobbled along, reminding her of the first time she and Paul had made love and the spectacular orgasm it produced. The first of many hundreds. The first had been at a picnic in a pine grove on her parent's property. The last one was just two days before her arrest. Afterwards licked each other clean and held each other and shared dreams of their new home. But there were so many other times. In her apartment. In his apartment. In their apartment. On a beach at midnight. In a motel pool at three in the morning. In the toilet of an airplane during a trans-Atlantic flight.

Suddenly the guards jerked her to a stop. They had arrived at the table. The place where she would die. Those painful steps were the last she would ever take, these blood spattered walls the last she would ever see. Her whole life was reduced to a series of “lasts.” She had read her last book, seen her last movie, nursed her daughter for the last time. Even the horrible ordeal she was about to undergo, her first confrontation with death, would be her last.

They were standing next to the intersection of the X. Two more guards waited alertly on the other side. Four burly male guards to subdue one wounded, frightened, fettered female. Did they expect she'd make a break for it? Her handcuffs and collar were being removed. The two guards on her side of the table seized her by the ankles and upper arms. In a moment they had picked her up, suspended her horizontally over the table and lowed her on to it, the small of her back landing on the center of the X. The other two guards quickly seized an arm and an ankle and within seconds all four of her limbs were being strapped down to the narrow beams. She herself was now an X. The length of the crossbars were adjusted so that her hands and feet extended over the ends. Each arm and leg was pinned down by four very tight straps. She felt another belt being tightened down over her hips and watched the two guards at her head securing a final strap just under her throat and over her armpits. It was the same configuration of restraints she had watched applied to Jan and they rendered her totally helpless, completely at the mercy of the same ruthless team that had just shown Jan no mercy whatsoever. A strange listlessness swept through her. Even the pain in her feet faded to a tolerable burning.

A noise at her left drew her attention. She turned her head to the side. A woman was being led on to the platform. Her observer. The next in line. With a shock she recognized the face. It was Karen, the gag still strapped in her mouth. She was being brought in to watch her assistant die. At least she would not have to watch her other daughter being taken off, although it was not beyond the cruelty of these people to bring the girl in to watch her mother die. Or maybe the nubile teenager was one of the girls the guards said Bert had his eye on to replace today's slaves. It was all sadly moot since she would not be around to find out.

Suddenly a hand was squeezing her breasts. “Okay, Bert! She's down tight and ready to test.” It was the guard who fancied the blond slave.

“Go ahead,” came Bert's laconic reply from somewhere out of sight.

The same terrible pain that had doubled her over on the platform seared through her belly again. They had activated the stim. Kayla screamed and every muscle in her body stiffened in an involuntary effort to escape the pain, but only her hands, feet and head moved. The agony went on for several eternal seconds, then suddenly stopped. She had just caught her breath when three more short jolts elicited three more screams. Still her body barely moved.

“She's secure!” the guard shouted.

“Okay,” Bert answered from somewhere out of her sight. “But gag her. She makes too damn much noise.”

The dark haired slave girl appeared beside the guard and handed him a thick, wadded ball of cloth and a leather strap.

“Open wide, bitch!” he ordered. “Unless you want us to test your restraints again.”

She opened her mouth and the wet, slimy glob of cloth was pushed into it. With a shudder she realized it was the same gag they had just removed from Jan's severed head. It was Jan's saliva she was tasting. They cinched the strap so tightly it hurt, but at this point that discomfort was the least of her concerns.

The bright overhead lights were cut off by Bert looming over her. “All comfy?” he grinned. “Don't worry, we'll start the festivities in a minute. First we have to get your observer settled so she don't miss anything.”

At that instant Kayla heard the bang of a hammer and a muffled scream from the platform. She looked over to see the guards hammering nails through Karen's breasts into the 4x4 railing. They had left her hands shackled behind her. The screams stopped when the hammering stopped, but Karen's face remained twisted in pain as she looked down on Kayla spreadeagled on the table.

Bert pretended to confide his thoughts to Kayla but spoke in a voice loud enough for Karen to hear. “That bitch up there thought she could bring down the most effective, most efficient and, frankly, most fun system of justice this country has ever known. In the end all she's done is bring down herself, her family and all her fellow traitors. So we've gone to the trouble of making sure she gets to see as much as possible of the suffering her meddling has caused. She watched her oldest daughter led off earlier. She was quite a treat, by the way; both of our docs got off in her. Spunky little bitch, stayed conscious long enough to see her own ribs sawed off and removed so they could get at her heart and lungs. Next this bitch watches her closest conspirator led off to her death. Now she gets to see you butchered. Later we'll bring in her sixteen year old to watch Mommie get carved up. She'll die knowing her daughter is gonna get the same treatment. Talk about justice!”

Karen was making desperate sounds through the muffling of the gag.

“See that?” Bert said. “The bitch is trying to protest that her darling daughters are innocents, had nothing to do with her treason. But she's wrong. It was their patriotic duty, them and her husband, to call the cops and turn her in as soon as she told them what she was up to. Instead, they kept quiet, tried to protect the bitch. That makes them part of the conspiracy. Guilty as hell. More meat for our customers.”

He laughed and straightened up, moving around to her side. The guards had pulled the stim out of her vagina and stripped away its chain. They were now tying very tight tourniquets around the tops of her arms and legs.

“Well, we better get started,” Bert said. “Gotta keep on schedule. Don't wanna be here all night. There's a basketball game I wanna see on TV.” He picked up the same boning knife he had used on Jan and gave Kayla's breasts some appreciative squeezes. “Nice fucking tits.” He bent down, sucked on each nipple for a few seconds and licked his lips. “And your milk is real sweet. Well, it better be. The customer's paid top dollar for ‘em. Want's ‘em nice and fresh, too, which is good. Be a crime to freeze luscious boobs like that, all chock full of mommie milk. Screws up the flavor.”

His preamble had the desired effect of ramping up Kayla's terror. Her whole body tensed as he laid the knife flat on her stomach, pushing the point into the underside of her right breast. With a practiced skill, he began slicing through the tissue. For Kayla the pain was searing and non-stop. She heard herself screaming into the gag, though little sound emerged. There was only a short reprieve as he handed the amputated breast to the blonde slave girl and began on the other.

At the same time a new pain flamed up in her right wrist. Through her tears she saw that one of the green-smocked doctors had begun sawing at her wrist with the cross-cut saw. The incredible pain, greater than anything she had thought possible, and the realization of what they were doing to her drove her to the edge of consciousness; but before she could dissolve into blessed oblivion, a pungent odor spiked into her head and she was immersed in hell again. The dark-haired slave was holding something under her nose, keeping her from passing out. She glanced over to her right in time to see her hand fall away from the end of her arm.

Now the man in green had moved up her arm and was placing the teeth of the saw on her upper arm just below the tourniquet. He began sawing and to a whole new symphony of agony slowly cut down through the flesh and bone, blood flying off both ends of the saw. Then he was moving around her head to the other arm while the blonde slave girl unstrapped the detached arm. More pain screamed from her left arm as the saw severed first her hand then the arm. The source of her agony then shifted to her left leg as the doctor sawed through her thigh, just below the tourniquet. Her mind was a chaos of horror and pain as the right leg was cut off in the same way.

She closed her eyes to shut out a reality too ghastly to witness. It couldn't be happening. It couldn't be that there was now just empty space where ten minutes ago she had arms and legs and breasts. She was struck by a terrible sense of waste. Her beautiful, healthy young body wasted, reduced to a bloody stump, irreparable forever. Deep sorrow and bitter anger raged alongside her pain, weakening her slippery hold on sanity. When she was able to open her eyes again, the slave girls were hanging the last of her severed limbs from a bar on meat hooks to drain. Bert had already skinned one of her legs and was carving off slabs of thigh meat. None of it seemed real. She could still feel her breasts and arms and legs as if they were still there, all of them immersed in molten pain.

The surgeons had moved in on both sides and she felt the sting of their scalpels as they cut a large oval on her body from her pubis to her neck. Working quickly to accomplish as much as possible before she bled to death, they peeled the huge flap of skin away from her body, slashing with skinning knives to free it from the tissue beneath. In a few excruciatingly painful moments the interior of her entire torso was exposed to the air. They swiftly sliced out the abdominal muscles and added them to the pile of meat growing on a stainless steel table behind Bert. In an increasingly muddled daze, Kayla watched them pull out yards of intestine, snip it free and dump it into a basket. Pain roared through her body as they moved on to the more valuable organs, cutting them loose and handing them one by one to the slave girls who put them carefully into coolers. Someone's fist rammed its way through the opening between her legs into the emptying cavity of her abdomen. It added to a torment so excruciating that she could no longer think about what was happening. What did it matter? What did anything matter anymore?

She heard a sobbing in the distance. Hysterical. Someone was afraid, sick with terror. She remembered the feeling. How long ago was that? Everything was vague now. Detached. The room blurred, dimming, sounds becoming dull, confused. Her massive agony was drifting away, becoming dull, not part of her. Images of her husband and her daughter sprang into her mind, and the memory of their sweet bodies warm against hers, Christina's little round mouth sucking contentedly at her nipple. She hugged the image closer. There was a faint buzzing sound, a saw somewhere in the far distance, a tingling far away where breasts once gave her the form of a woman. As her senses grew numb, her mind drew itself inward, a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

Hey babe, how you doing?

“Paul, I think they're cutting out my ribs, to get at my heart.”

You've got a great heart there, babe. Someone will be damn lucky to get it.

“I'm so scared, Paul!”

You're doing fine. It's almost over now, babe. They can't hurt you anymore. Can't you feel it? How the pain is getting farther away? And the noise. Hear how quiet it is, now.

“It's so dark. I can't see anything!”

There's nothing here you want to see. That thing on the table, that's not you anymore, babe. Come to me. It's peaceful over here. All bright and clean.

“Where's my baby, Paul? Where's Christina?”

She's right here. She's waiting for you. Come on.

She was floating. Into the softness. Her thoughts shrinking . . . shrinking . . . converging to the tiniest of pinpoints . . . balancing . . . reluctant . . .

It's time, babe. Take my hand. Let's go.

She felt the soothing warmth of his hand in hers and followed him away from the horror, into the light.

And she died.