/lit/ - Literature
Posting mode: Reply
(enter the text below)
(paste a YouTube URL)
(for post and file deletion)
Supported file types are JPG, PNG, GIF, WEBM and MP4.
Maximum file size allowed is 9 MB.
Images greater than 250x250 will be thumbnailed.
–(143.27KB, 600x850, 1415153427508.jpg)
The Splatter Factory
==THE SPLATTER FACTORY==
This is a substantial(ish) re-write of my debut work, 'The Death Factory'.
It features the rape, torture and mechanized slaughter (sometimes all at the same time) of pretty young women and girls (ages 8+) in a modern, custom-built dungeon. You can look forward to mashed and crushed bodies, liquidized innards, snapped limbs, fountains of blood and fabulous screams. Also drilling, sawing, slicing, tearing apart, mangling, shredding and squishing. Especially squishing. Also, there is some incidental scat, psychological torment, and just enough plot to hold it all together and hopefully create some tension. There's a bit of humour too.
I'm sorry I've been away so long. Personal circumstances and lack of internet being the main reasons. At the time of writing, reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.
I got tired of writing too. So I left it on the back-burner for 6 months, until I started to even forget what I'd written.
Then I re-read it. Parts that I previously thought were good now seemed less so. And the last chapter, 17, was *really bad*. So I thought I might as well start over and rework the whole thing.
It's the same story. Same basic plot, characters and machines. So what has changed?
1. The title. I think "Splatter Factory" is more descriptive, and besides, there are at least two other works called "Death Factory".
2. In the old version, chapter lengths were all over the place. Now I've rationalised things into more evenly spaced, bite-sized chunks. Generally the chapters are shorter, because there are more of them.
3. Chapter 1 has been almost completely re-written. The original suffered from being the very first piece of creative writing that I'd ever attempted. So I slashed and burned. Also I thought that it took a bit too long to get to the action, so I added a juicy scene right at the beginning to set the mood for the rest of the story.
4. I haven't made too many changes to the middle chapters, I was mostly happy with those. But I might add a chapter or two when I get to that point.
5. Chapter 17 sucked balls. It's rushed, there's not enough tension, it contains egotistical self-referential bullshit, and it unfairly and snidely mocks Edward Hyde's excellent work. So I decided to scrap it completely and start again. If you're reading this, Mr. Hyde, I'm sorry for being a dick.
So, if you're new to this, don't bother reading "The Death Factory", just read this one. And if you've already read that, and are now a cobweb festooned skeleton forlornly awaiting the next installment, please accept my apologies.
I'd like to thank everyone (and I mean ''everyone'') who made comments and suggestions on the old thread. The encouragement I've received has been more than I could ever have imagined, just thinking about it chokes me up. I certainly couldn't have continued without you guys.
To Bloodlust, Loke, Salem Burns, Sol, Kari and The Dark Hero, please know that your characters have not been forgotten, and in the coming chapters we will be meeting:
* Beth, Kay, Alex and Barb (Salem)
* Luna (Sol)
* Cassy, Hannah, Erika, Billie, Sophie, Lynn, Faye, Hayley and Harley (TDH)
* Emily (Loke)
* Julie (Bloodlust)
I wanted to do this on a first-come-first-served basis, but due to plot considerations, things are likely to get mixed up a bit. Your collective patience is appreciated.
'The Death Factory' is in the archive, in case anyone is interested in the original.
Chapter 1. The Factory
"Mmm! Ohhh, Bob!" Emma mewled breathlessly as her husband entered her. "Okay, I'll be Tara again." She wriggled playfully in submission beneath his lustful physicality, preparing herself for the role that she was about to inhabit.
Bob grunted in approval and started to ease in and out of her yearning warmth.
Emma reached across sheets for the remote, and fired it at widescreen TV suspended above them, one of many strategically placed around the bedroom. The video resumed, the screen showing Bob purposefully advancing towards a young, skinny, blonde woman, 'Tara the Tart'. Already stripped naked, her eyes were fixed on the spiked club in Bob's hands. She wasn't screaming. Not yet. Just backing away towards the wall, with weak knees and a look of fearful disbelief on her face. She visibly jumped when the wall booped her ass, and found she could retreat no further.
"Oh noes!" cried Emma, giggling. "You got me!" She thrust her hips forward, mimicking the way the girl on the video had when startled by the wall. Then she kicked and twisted as Tara made a dash to the left.
"Urggh!" Bob moaned appreciatively. The couple never tired of watching this video, and each time they did, their impromptu choreography added a fresh dynamic. Interpretive dance had never been so much fun.
On screen Tara was too slow. She was spun around by a large hand on her shoulder, then the heavy club smooshed into her middle, spikes piercing deep into her soft belly.
A stunned expression crossed Tara's face as she suddenly realised it wasn't just some sick game of rough and tumble after all, but dreadful horror turned real.
"Fuck, you're serious!" she cried.
Emma stopped the video and laughed, much to the approval of Bob's dick. They always found this part hilarious.
Bob paused for a moment and looked down at his wife's mirthful eyes. "It's not like we didn't warn her!" he chuckled.
"I told her before!" Emma giggled. "We're gonna fuck you up, fuck you then turn you into fertilizer! It's so funny when she acts all surprised about it."
Emma hit 'play'. "Noooo! Please!" she begged, once again playing along with the on-screen victim. She bucked and squirmed as Tara did. The club swung again. This time it ripped a defence wound in a helplessly flailing arm, before pounding into Tara's right breast. Blow after blow slammed into her, biting into her flesh, and with each Bob smashed his cock deeper into his sweetheart as she tensed in sympathy around his shaft.
Tara's brutalised body finally succumbed, her slender legs collapsing under her, splayed awkwardly in a way that Bob found highly erotic, and she slithered down the wall in a gasping mess, her bloodied arm dragging a streak of red on the white paint. Emma wilted under him, suddenly relaxing her womanly grip.
"Hnnng," Bob grunted. Emma could feel Bob was close to nutting, but they had to hold on. The best part was yet to come.
Emma watched as Bob dragged Tara's weakened body away from the wall by one feebly kicking leg, and mentally readied herself, as on-screen Bob straddled his prey and roughly forced himself inside of her.
Bob's hands slipped around Emma's throat in a gentle caress, then suddenly he squeezed as his cameo started to choke and rape Tara on-screen.
"Gllrggh Achk," Emma gurgled, arching her back. She was play acting a bit while she still had the breath to do so, and she knew Bob loved the noises. Then Bob's grip tightened hard, and she started to see stars.
Bob released his iron grip for a moment and she pleaded with him. "No Mister, please! You'll kill me. Please stop," she squeaked hoarsely, jerking desperately below him.
Bob laughed breathily at her am-dram performance, and resumed the grip, pounding harder and harder into his wife's snatch, feeling the ecstasy of her writhing body below. When Emma shuddered and fainted, Bob finally spilled into her, collapsing onto her limp body in a sweaty embrace.
As she came round, Emma could still taste the euphoria of her climax like a fading dream. She looked up at the screen through half-open lids, the frozen picture distorted through her tears. She realised that she must have been out for a couple of minutes, because now the video had already moved on to the next scene, and Tara was dangling by her wrists above an industrial shredder.
They lay together, silently sharing a moment of matrimonial bliss, then Emma said, "Breakfast. Afterwards I'll pop in an egg in my foo and we'll do part two. You can rape my vibrating ass while I go through the shredder."
"Yum!" said Bob. "But I'm afraid I'll be declining that offer today."
"Wait! What?" Emma said incredulously. "But Bob, it's your birthday. You're not turning all faggy on me are you?"
"You're like a hungry cat. Always wailing and getting in the way all the time."
"Yeah, feed my pussy or feel its claws."
At breakfast, Bob stretched out the length of his strong, sinewy arms, yawned, and shot Emma a shit-eating grin across the table. "I thought we might spend some time in the Factory today."
Emma shifted in her chair, and studied the chiselled features of Bob's face. He was thirty-seven, nine years older than her and his dark beard was just starting to be flecked with grey. She loved the way he was maturing, a strong, silent type. At six foot three his rugged good looks made Emma think he could play the bad guy in some old spaghetti western. Not quite pretty enough to be the hero. "You're really going to turn down some sick vibrating bum-sex with me just to nerd out with your stupid machines?"
"What could be better than playing with machines?" Bob was trolling, but his wife hadn't twigged yet.
"Well apart from actually using them, obviously finishing what we started earlier."
"Hmm." mused Bob, theatrically gazing up at the ceiling and stroking his beard. "*Actually using them.* Well I guess you'll just have to finish without me, while I'm checking in the new delivery."
Emma's green eyes widened as the penny finally dropped. "Wait - are you saying we've got a new visitor?"
"Dave brought a fresh delivery last night after you were in bed. Didn't want to wake you."
"*Didn't want to wake me?* For fuck's sake, Bob! And there we were, wasting time with that stupid role-play shit when we've got a real one to play with!"
Bob laughed at her annoyance. He had made her look foolish, so it was understandable that her pent-up frustration was finally boiling over.
So far Tara had been the only delivery, and that had been nearly a year ago. Dave had picked up that fake-fur clad, smack-addled street whore from some distant city and provided her to the couple to fuel a debauched day of lascivious entertainment.
Dave was their supplier. Bitcoin changed hands and no questions were asked. Of course, in his line of work the element of opportunism meant that a sporadic supply of flesh would be inevitable. Still, it had been a long wait for the couple. By day Bob worked on the machines, preparing for the day when he knew Dave would come good on his promises. By night the couple feasted on the videos of Tara's ruination. Memories may fade, but full-HD, MP4 encoded videos are forever.
Bob cleared his throat, knowing that his next statement would raise the excitement level in the room several notches. "There's three of them."
Emma gave sharp intake of breath and dropped her toast with a flustered look of wonderment. "Three!" she cried as she retrieved her toast from her milky coffee. "Three?" Her incredulity was palpable. "Bob, I'm getting wet just thinking about it! Why are there three? What are we going to do with them? Are they cute?"
Bob didn't answer right away, just nodded with a knowing smile, allowing a pregnant silence to settle across the table before resolving the turmoil of possibilities spinning through Emma's mind. "Dave really hit the jackpot this time. It's a mum and two daughters. He says the kids are ten and fifteen."
Emma had shared her husband's unspoken proclivity since fate brought them together ten years ago. Then a chance encounter and a unguarded conversation fueled by a little too much alcohol had made them partners in crime, eternally bound by a dark pact of sexual depravity.
Now fired with excitement and adrenaline, she jumped from her seat and started pacing the stone flags of their typically beautiful Welsh farmhouse kitchen. Bob appreciatively watched her long legs and cute butt clad in white yoga pants do their thing as she strode away past the Aga. He always thought Emma carried the perfect amount of body fat, and it was a feast for the eyes to see it jiggling nicely as it was propelled by musculature borne of much horse riding and the occasional toting of hay bales.
"Three!" she exclaimed again. "Bob, what are they like? Tell me!"
"Well..." Bob started to explain. Then he waved his hand dismissively. "Meh, you'll find out soon enough."
If anything, Bob thought that Emma was even more into their devilish kink than he was, even though he had been the first to broach his sick confession all those years ago. In any case, he was relatively chilled about the whole enterprise, his level-headedness perhaps a necessary counterpoint to her fiery enthusiasm.
Emma, having reached the pantry at the far end of the kitchen, suddenly wheeled around, presenting her pretty round face and full, D-cup figure. Bra-less, her breasts were roaming freely under her top.
She was quite the farmer's daughter, quality breeding stock with strong arms, child bearing hips and just the hint of belly, which Bob thought was her best attribute, as it softened the athleticism of her narrow waist just enough to feminise her abs.
She drew herself up to her full five foot eleven and declared, "Well, if you're not gonna tell me then I'm done with breakfast and your bullshit teasing." She returned to the table as if stepping down a catwalk and swigged down the last of her coffee. "Let's go see them."
Bob wasn't surprised by her impatience, and laughed happily. She left him with a big hug and a little kiss and with that, she fled barefoot from the kitchen, and Bob heard her sprinting up the old farmhouse stairs.
While she was dressing, Bob finished his bacon and eggs, then sat at the computer and did a security check. The couple owned land for miles around, and most of it was covered by CCTV, partly for security, but mostly to alert them to unwanted visitors. You couldn't be too careful in this game.
Emma returned wearing a pair of grubby white trainers, an old pair of jeans, slightly ripped and very faded, and a red checkered shirt, knotted about her waist to show off her yummy midriff.
Bed hair now dispensed with, she topped her outfit off with a red baseball cap, and had pulled a blonde pony tail through the hole at the back where the strap goes. Despite having just thrown a few things on for practicality rather than glamour, she still looked absolutely stunning. The look was completed by a large, bulging sports bag slung over one shoulder.
She looked down at the screen. "All good?"
Bob nodded in the affirmative and he pulled a well worn pair of hiking boots onto his size twelves. He stomped over to the door and grabbed a frayed Caterpillar cap from the peg. He judged that his old Nirvana t-shirt would be equal to the atypical clemency of the April weather, and he too wore jeans, dark with darker patches where engine oil and other stains had defeated the washing cycle.
He straightened his cap. "Lets go."
It wasn't really a factory of course, at least not in the conventional sense. Originally 'The Splatter Factory', it was a subterranean complex partly dug into the remote Welsh hillside, and partly under the new barn where much of the agricultural plant and equipment was kept.
There, secreted deep under the earth was an amusement park of diabolical contraptions having the singular function of destroying beautiful bodies in the most tortuous and messy ways possible. Apart from the factory floor, there were additional facilities; several cells for holding guests, toilets and showers, a laundry room, a well-equipped workshop, and a comfortable viewing lounge with a bed, entertainment system and a galley kitchen. Thus it was possible to spend a fair amount of time in this underworld paradise without needing to come up for air.
Beyond the machine room, was a disposal pit; a deep shaft, topped with a heavy steel cover and leading down to a holding tank. This is where remains were to be dumped, and quicklime shovelled in after to break down and neutralise any kind of organic matter. After all, having your dungeon stink of rotting flesh is *so* eleventh century.
Of course, an undertaking of this scale requires significant resources. Money was no problem. Bob had made millions in the construction industry during the boom, and latterly more still speculating on the property market.
Then it was only a matter of assembling a small construction crew, hand picked from his old contacts. The major works had been completed under the guise of building a nuclear-bunker-cum-hideaway, should anyone have asked, but no-one did anyway.
Finally the dungeon had been equipped with the machinery of doom. At first, only an industrial shredder had been lowered into that dark cavern, patiently waiting to receive Tara's flesh. But thinking up new toys was something of a obsession for Bob, and with Emma's help he had used his considerable mechanical skills to cobble together pieces of industrial plant, and to to weld and fabricate items where a more esoteric product was desired. Tinkering with machines is a fun hobby, and Bob took great pride in his work.
As he trudged up the stony track towards the barn, and pondered which ones might be used today, he watched Emma's Anneka Rice style butt race ahead of him. Ever the 'people person' Bob thought wryly, she was clearly keen to play the good host and not keep their guests waiting for the couple's hospitality.
Running along the front of the barn was a long, low, windowless breeze block annex, the tool store. When Bob arrived, Emma had already fished the keys from her pocket and was unlocking the steel side door.
As they entered, Bob flicked the switch and harsh fluorescent lights blinked into life, revealing a kind of Aladdin's man-cave. There was a generator, ploughs and other tractor accessories, and shelves of power tools and farming implements. An old engine on a pallet here, a roll of fencing wire there. The concrete floor ensured everything inside was coated with a layer of dust, and the sweet perfume of motor oil hung in the air.
Emma carefully locked the door behind them. Bob walked to the corner of the room, hefted a portable water pump out of the way and climbed onto a ride on mower. After a few tries the engine caught and he rode it away from its resting place into the centre of the shed.
Emma tossed him the bunch of keys, which contained a fob, of the sort you might use to remotely open a garage door. Bob pressed the button, and with a slight scrape, a whir and hiss of hydraulics, the floor where the mower had stood slowly gaped open like a Hungry Hungry Hippo, revealing a narrow wooden stairway leading downwards.
Emma skipped excitedly down the stairs, and Bob followed.
Bob had deemed the captives low-risk enough to be held together in just one of four steel lined, CCTV monitored cells. These were nicely soundproofed too, not so much to prevent busybodies from hearing their cries, but to eliminate the annoyance factor. After all, having wails of anguish echoing through your dungeon is *so* twelfth century.
So too, is chaining victims to the dungeon wall. Since the ugliness of the Tara episode, the couple agreed that their playmates' sexy bodies should be maintained in prime condition, at least until the fun started. Thus the cells were furnished with essential comforts; a toilet cubical, bunk beds topped with thin blue plastic mattresses and duvets, and a sink with a cold tap and drinking beakers.
Beyond the outer door of the cell block, Emma pushed Bob bodily against the wall, hitching up one leg and grinding her crotch against his bulging jeans. Her sparkling eyes gazed lustfully into his, and gorgeous, wanton lips parted in a happy sigh before braving his stubble. With straying hands, they kissed passionately.
"You're keen," Bob observed dryly when they finally broke away.
"I really can't wait, Bob," she pleaded, "let's get in there."
"Safety First. We should take precautions, in case our guests are disagreeable." He grinned devilishly. "After all, we wouldn't want anyone to get *hurt*, would we?"
Emma giggled, and the duo crossed to the workshop opposite. They strapped on hunting knives and pocketed pepper spray, then Bob grabbed his trusty Mossberg pump-action 12-gauge, loaded it up with buckshot and handed it to his wife. "Try not to use it."
I really like this! The story flows very nicely, and starting it off with some action captures the reader at once. That's what we're all here for after all.
I'm really looking forward to reading the reworked chapters and eventually the new ones. As you mentioned yourself, I think most of the chapters don't need much reworking at all, though you might want to edit them a little bit now that the future plot line is clearer.
The new chapter 1 is just about perfect in length, in my eyes. Long enough to get immersed, but short enough that it doesn't get boring, as long as it contains some gore or sex and not just exposition. But you balanced that really well in the old story so I'm not worried at all.
Glad you mentioned humor. It's a point that often gets overlooked in guro stories, but in your case the tongue-in-cheek writing style and the references to GuroChan and pop culture is what makes the story readable at all for me since it is so brutal. I've read some snuff stories that are useless as fap material because they are so dark, gruesome and too realistic. I don't want my thoughts to stray from the realm of fiction while I'm reading guro stories, because something like this happening to real people is just about the most un-fappable thing there is.
I do agree that you perhaps overdid the sarcasm and referencing in chapter 17, but don't feel bad about that - knowing where the boundary lies will make writing easier in the future. Sarcasm and irony is difficult to express in written text, especially with limited formatting options, so mistakes are inevitable. What makes a difference is if you learn from them or not. You clearly did.
Nice to see Emily on your list. Do you have any ideas for her character yet? If she isn't fleshed out I could make a 'character card' for her with a little suggested background info and such, but if you've made plans already I won't come in the way of those.
Keep up the excellent work! :)
Glad you enjoyed the first chapter, Loke. In the old story nothing exciting happened until chapter 3, so I wanted to fix that but without losing tension too much.
I'm reminded of an old joke, where a writer is contacted by his publisher, who told him that he likes the story but there's not enough sex.
"But there's a sex scene right there on the first page!" the writer retorts.
"Yeah, but look how far down the page!"
So I liked the idea of the reader joining a sexy scene already in progress.
>I'm really looking forward to reading the
>reworked chapters and eventually the new ones.
>As you mentioned yourself, I think most of the
>chapters don't need much reworking at all,
>though you might want to edit them a little bit
>now that the future plot line is clearer.
It's mostly the first 3 chapters that I'm not really happy with. I think they're too linear and procedural or something -- describe the setting, then the protagonists, introduce the victims etc. I don't think I can totally fix that but hopefully I can make it flow a bit better and keep it interesting. It seems to me that it's often a balance between adding descriptive detail, and keeping it short and to the point. I've already been pretty ruthless in cutting out anything unnecessary to the plot. I mean, they live on a farm, so where's the dog lol?
>The new chapter 1 is just about perfect in length, in my eyes.
Good. I actually timed myself reading some stuff, and decided about 10-15 mins for a chapter seemed about right.
>Glad you mentioned humor...
I put in as much funnies as I can think of. You're right about some stuff being really dark, I've read some that is just chilling and depressing.
>I do agree that you perhaps overdid the sarcasm and referencing in chapter 17...
Yeah it sucked. I felt under pressure, and my mind wasn't in a good place. I ran out of gas. I had a flat tyre. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts.
>Nice to see Emily on your list. Do you have any
>ideas for her character yet? If she isn't
>fleshed out I could make a 'character card' for
>her with a little suggested background info and
>such, but if you've made plans already I won't
>come in the way of those.
I haven't planned anything at all for Emily yet. I was assuming she'd in the 2nd half of the story, but I'm thinking of adding a chapter or two in the first half. So feel free to add some background or detail for her character. That stuff really helps me come up with ideas, just like it did with Mikumiyu.
>Keep up the excellent work! :)
Currently editing chapter 2 :D
>I ran out of gas. I had a flat tyre. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts.
A captivating tale of a lost soul, driving his punctured car until it runs out of fuel to escape a horrifying chain of natural disasters only to end up under-dressed and with conflicted feelings for a reunion with his long lost friend. The ever masterful storyteller Squunch does it again in this masterfully constructed New York Times best seller. Now available in paperback at your local gas station or dark web marketplace!
Anyway, here is some ideas about Emily.
Personality and background:
Emily has been raised in a religious and conservative but very loving home. She's not super religious herself, but says her prayers and goes to church like a good Christian should. Emily is a reserved but very sweet and caring person, always looking after those around her, and she's not afraid to side with the weakest. She does reasonably well in school, not the new Einstein but she diligently does her homework every day and studies before every test. She has a handful of close friends and never has to worry about sitting by herself during lunch break. If any of her friends are upset about something, they come to Emily for support.
Having lead a sheltered life Emily is extremely naive and trusting of others, to the point where all Dave would have to do to catch her is ask her to get in his van because something happened to her parents, or something along those lines. But Dave works in mysterious ways, so who knows how he'll do it...
Due to her upbringing and abysmal sex education she know very little about sex beyond how a baby is conceived. She engages little with boys, knowing how her parents wouldn't approve of a close friendship with the other gender. She did masturbate a couple of times recently, but it's sinful and she knows she really shouldn't.
TLDR: Emily is probably the least deserving person imaginable to end up in a "Snuff Manufacturing Plant" or whatever the story is called again. But will that stop the trio from doing their worst to her? Time will show, but probably not.
Age: Just turned 14
Hair: Naturally reddish auburn and straight
Eyes: Dark brown
Height: Average for her age
General appearance: Girl-next-door vibe, not a supermodel but well within what most would call beautiful. She has a clear sense of fashion and dresses very modestly but elegantly, often opting for skirts or dresses.
Body: Well on it's way to developing all that womanly goodness, but not quite there yet. She's at some point between spindly teen and the 'hot mom' stereotype. Her breasts are quite decently sized and impossibly pert, but always concealed by her modest clothing. She has a very soft form with widening hips that given enough time would have been perfect for bearing many children, if only she ever got that far. Emily shaves her armpits and legs, but not her crotch as being 'presentable' down there doesn't cross her mind at all. Still, her little sprouting bush of red hair is still in its infancy much like the Mikumiyu twins, and the growth around her light pink, barely an 'outie' pussy and asshole is sparse.
Take what you want from my rambling, it's not like you have to mention absolutely all of this in you story. But if you're looking for inspiration there should be plenty to take from here ;-)
I did mention in my original request that she is a character from one of my stories, but you can ignore that. The story doesn't really outline her personality much anyway.
I was kinda hoping you'd get the reference. Maybe you did!
oh well that's a nice character. I've found a gap to squeeze her into, after the Rachael episode but before Kasia makes her list. I think that'll mean chapter 10. Now I just need to figure out what becomes of her.
>But Dave works in mysterious ways, so who knows how he'll do it...
Even *I* don't know how Dave does it!
>TLDR: Emily is probably the least deserving person imaginable to end up in a "Snuff Manufacturing Plant" or whatever the story is called again. But will that stop the trio from doing their worst to her? Time will show, but probably not.
Yeah, probably not. Are my stories so predictable? lol.
"Snuff Manufacturing Plant" is a much better title. I might even steal it lol.
Although my monkey brain wants nothing more than reading about Emily's demise sooner rather than later, you don't have to squeeze her in (figuratively) earlier in the story if that doesn't fit well. I was thinking that her chapter might be a nice break after a whole group has been snuffed, where the story can narrow down and focus on fewer characters for a chapter or two.
Of course, it's up to you. Remember that you don't owe me anything just because I offer encouragement and criticism on your work. I'll be happy to wait a while longer to see my requested character if the story is better that way.
I am willing to admit that I did not, in fact, get that reference.
>Although my monkey brain wants nothing more than reading about Emily's demise sooner rather than later, you don't have to squeeze her in (figuratively) earlier in the story if that doesn't fit well. I was thinking that her chapter might be a nice break after a whole group has been snuffed, where the story can narrow down and focus on fewer characters for a chapter or two.
Don't worry loke, the earlier insertion fits perfectly - so to speak. I've got a lot of plotty stuff happening in the 2nd half of the story so I'd like to keep that clear. I've already started writing about Emily so all is well. Of course, everything is subject to change until I post it, so who knows...
In any case, I'd already decided to add some characters to the first part of the story and Emily fits perfectly. I might do Sol's 2nd character there too. I've got a lot to fit in, and Bob's got lots of machines to test...
>I might do Sol's 2nd character there too.
I had a second character?
OMG it's Sol!
I've missed you so much, and been wondering where you were. So excited to see you here again!
Yes, you proposed a half Chinese girl IIRC, who would meet a fate in your self-designed 'iron maiden of blending'.
Did I mention that I missed you?
I'm so happy I just wanna give you a big hug (While wearing a cyber-suit, until your bones crunch and your innards squirt out of your orifices).
Ooh, that sounds nice. Can't wait to read it! I'm monitoring this thread very closely, hoping that a chapter will appear if I only refresh it ONE more time... Take the time you need though.
Wow, the gang is getting back together or something like that. Nice to see you again!
>Ooh, that sounds nice. Can't wait to read it! I'm monitoring this thread very closely, hoping that a chapter will appear if I only refresh it ONE more time... Take the time you need though.
I've got into a small muddle editing chapter 2. But it'll be up in a day or two. You change one minor thing, then realize you got to change a bunch of other stuff, and it snowballs sometimes.
Love the direction that this story is going, my vibrator is ready to read the rest! Sounds gruesome and exquisate. Cant wait to hear emily scream in agony!
Hello Rachel! Welcome to the show!
Ah, right I'd completely forgotten that I'd turned the tables and suggest a character similar to my other half. Well, it was years ago by this point so can you really blame me?
Still, I am rather looking forward to the coming changes. So far, I'd say the writing is on point with just enough descriptiveness and not too much exposition. Could use a little more squishing and crunching, but I know we'll get to those parts well enough.
>Ah, right I'd completely forgotten that I'd turned the tables and suggest a character similar to my other half.
Ah! So now you finally admit it! I actually find that rather hot.
>Well, it was years ago by this point so can you really blame me?
*Checks notes* Yeah, I suppose 18 months just about counts as 'years'. Probably feels like years, if you've been waiting.
>Still, I am rather looking forward to the coming changes. So far, I'd say the writing is on point with just enough descriptiveness and not too much exposition. Could use a little more squishing and crunching, but I know we'll get to those parts well enough.
It's kinda hard just to launch right into the fun stuff without setting the scene first. I suppose I could have done that at the beginning of ch. 1 instead of Tara's rapey beating, but what's done is done. You'll just have to wait in a state of delicious anticipation.
Chapter 2. Meat Processing.
==Chapter 2. Meat Processing.==
"I wanna go home," Maisie sulked. "Mummy, why do we have to stay in this place?"
Magda nestled the little one's brown head in her bosom and sighed. "I'm sure we'll be going home soon, flower. Anyway, maybe you should ask your idiot sister." She shot an accusatory look at the older girl, Kasia. "If she hadn't missed her bus home from the gym then we wouldn't be here at all."
Kasia was defensive. "I told you already! There was a fire alarm."
"You could have got the next bus."
"Well it was getting dark and I was scared. I'm in an at-risk group. A vulnerable population. There's all sorts of pervos on that late bus, always looking at me." Kasia knew that she was just making excuses, but playing the victim card suddenly seemed reasonable.
Magda rolled her eyes. "If we didn't have to pick you up, none of this would have happened."
Kasia said nothing. Maybe her mother was right. After all, the bad men were already in the house when they returned. And now they were stuck in this stupid cell together.
A dull dread settled as they sat in silent contemplation. Then suddenly there were voices outside and the door burst open.
As the couple entered the cell the three inmates rose from the lower bunk. Spotting the gun in Emma's hands, the mother shrank back and ushered the two girls behind her.
"I...I don't know what you want with us, but just take me. Let the kids go. Please. I can pay. I'll find a way. Please!"
Emma gave her a pitying smile. "It's not about money darling, you're here solely for our pleasure." Then, as if it needed clarification, she added, "all three of you."
"Pleasure?" The mother's eyes blinked in disbelief. "What the hell! You sick fucks! Let us go!"
She had some kind of East European accent that Bob had trouble placing. "You're not going anywhere sweetheart," he told her levelly.
Magda cast around desperately, and Bob could tell she was about to try something dumb. And she did, lunging at Emma and the gun. But before she could get her hands to it, Bob's right fist hit her square on the nose. She staggered back, hands to her face, blood trickling between her fingers.
"That wasn't too smart was it?" laughed Emma, and racked the shotgun. "They say this thing'll blow a hole in a dog big enough to throw a cow through"
"I think you mean..." interjected Bob.
Emma carried on regardless, "Maybe we should see what it does to Sugar Plum here. For science." She aimed the gun at little Maisie's middle.
"No!" cried the mother, "you couldn't. You wouldn't! She's just a baby!"
Emma cackled gleefully. "And we'd make you clean up the mess!"
"Someone will hear us and then the police will be here."
"Sorry sweetheart, no-one will hear you scream down here. And you should save your screams till later, when we can all enjoy them. So, you gonna be quiet now?"
The adrenaline was subsiding, the void filled by stinging waves of pain from her bloody nose. Her head dropped and she nodded resignedly.
The youngest was crying, a grizzled high pitched squeal, and the fifteen year old was sullen, silent tears streaming down her face from imploring eyes.
Abruptly, Emma's demeanour switched. She retrieved a box of sandwiches from the bag and flashed a warm smile. "Well, cheer up, we've brought you breakfast!"
Bob and Emma left the girls to their meal and made their way up to the viewing lounge, a purpose-built area on the mezzanine for hanging out between their wicked doings. In one corner was a desk with a computer and an array of flat panel monitors, where they could keep an eye on the whole farm. On the back wall, facing the bed was a giant sixty-inch TV screen for enjoying 'home videos', matched by an equally impressive surround sound system.
Bob slurped his coffee and gazed out through the panoramic plate glass window, looking down on the assorted machines of destruction below.
Emma appeared at his side, put an arm around his waist and passed him a spliff. The couple found weed to be the perfect aphrodisiac, and Dave had supplied them with a lovely sativa hybrid that sparked their minds to a new level but without monging them out.
"Well," said Bob, exhaling a pungent cloud of smoke, "it's your turn to decide."
Since Tara the Tart's gruesome, toe-first slaughter in the shredder, the couple had bickered passionately over favoured methods of disposal. Taking turns seemed the only solution to maintain marital harmony.
"I think we'll use just one machine, Bob. Otherwise we'll be cleaning all week. But I can't choose."
"Ha! Well it's your call. Maybe figure it out while we're checking them in."
He moved to the desk. Every part of the factory was covered with motion triggered cameras, and each machine had many too, ready to capture the action from all angles. Bob checked that the system was ready to go.
"We should get dressed," Bob said. Street clothes, while adequate, weren't really optimal for the rampant orgy of violent sexual destruction that lay ahead.
So they did, each donning soft black cotton onesies, modified with Velcro for easy crotch access, high boots, and a belt to hold weapons and tools. The overall effect was quite ninja-esque, and once the fun was over, the outfits could be destroyed without compunction if they were too messed up to wear again.
The captives were to wear white pyjamas. Emma had insisted on this colour for the simple reason that it showed up the blood better.
Bob picked up a blue, leather bound notebook. "Let's get them processed."
Emma laughed and rolled her eyes. "Fucking square."
The processing room was situated at the far end of the cell block. There, on a wooden bench, the guests regarded their captors in fearful silence, trying not to think about what was coming next.
Bob pointed the shotgun at the mother and motioned to her to stand. "What's your name sweetheart?" he asked sternly.
The woman looked down at her feet in silence.
Emma stepped towards her. "Name!" she demanded. She was really revelling in the Gestapo act, thought Bob.
After another hesitation she replied, "Magda."
This piqued Emma's interest. "That's a Russian name isn't it?"
"Well I guess that explains the attitude. And what are you? thirty five, thirty eight years old?" Of course, this was a deliberate ploy by Emma to get information. Overstating her age to force a correction. She had always been good at the old psychology.
"Fuck off! I'm thirty two!" Magda spat, offended.
Bob recorded these facts in his notebook.
He motioned with the gun to the far wall, which had a large circular target painted on it. "Go and stand over there, it'll make it easier to shoot you."
Magda made a funny little strangled noise, her terrified eyes once again fixated on the firearm.
"No, not with that silly!" Emma laughed, "We'll use an SLR." She picked up the camera from the shelf.
When, months before, Emma had insisted on painting the roundel, Bob had protested, saying it was stupid and unnecessary, but now the boner in his pants told him that his wife had been right all along.
Emma took a few moments to take photos of her face, then front, side and rear shots.
"I need your cloze, your boots, and your motorcycle." Bob told Magda, in his best Arnie voice.
"Strip," added Emma helpfully.
"What, now?" Magda asked, disbelievingly.
Emma gave her a withering look. "No, next fucking week. Yes, of course 'now'!"
Magda stripped reluctantly, removing a short leather jacket, and green tank-top revealing a luscious pair of G cup titties barely contained by a bulging bra. She started to fumble with the catch behind her.
Emma was tired of waiting, and pulled out her bowie knife. As Magda let forth a little shriek, she deftly sliced through the front band before forcefully ripping the bra away from her and tossing it onto the bench. The ample mammaries, freed of their prison, found themselves at the mercy of Master Gravity, and bobbed downwards to find a new equilibrium.
Bob appraised them with a critical eye. They were full, round, and milfy. He couldn't resist grabbing one with a large paw and his touch caused Magda to gasp. Overflowing the reach of his fingers, the breast was exquisitely soft and pliant. Then he squeezed hard. Magda yelped in pain, and Bob felt a semi growing in his pants. He released his grip, leaving red finger marks on her tender flesh. He gave Magda a nod and a smile. "Okay, now get the rest off."
Magda bent over to remove her white trainers. It was a nice pose, Bob thought. Watching her remove her jeans and knickers was quite a show too, her smooth limbs dancing and hopping as she struggled with the garments.
At last she was stripped bare. Bob looked her up and down, evaluating his quarry.
Tousled mousy hair topped a fearful, bloody and dirt smudged, but still pretty face, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. She had narrow, girly shoulders, which only served to further emphasise her oversized tits. Bob salivated as a random thought popped into his head about how he might destroy them later.
Her torso was distinctly pear-shaped, had a narrow waist, soft feminine tummy, and a deliciously pronounced venus mons. Her hips were wide and womanly, giving her untrimmed cunt the perfect setting. A lush island in an expansive sea of flesh. The whole effect was of a juicy treat, and Bob wanted to dive right in.
"Turn around," he told her, and as she complied her generous bottom jiggled enticingly. Her ass was what Bob thought of as kinda chewy. Seductively soft and plump. A ride built for comfort.
Her legs balanced her torso nicely, her thighs were thick enough not to leave a gap. Bob always thought that a thigh gap looked best, but when you're balls deep, the extra flesh won out.
"It's unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same," he said to no-one in particular.
Shapely calves were terminated with the standard number of feet, the toenails painted with green spangles. It seemed like a wasted effort in view of what was likely to become of them.
The whole effect of Magda's body was not to exude beauty in its generally accepted sense, but voluptuous sensuality. Bob thought it perfect for the forthcoming trials it would be subjected to.
Emma took more photos, creating the kind of 'clothed and unclothed' sets you might find on 4chan/s. Then Magda was instructed to step onto some bathroom scales, and then stood against the measuring wall. Bob diligently recorded the vital statistics in his little book:
Magda (32) 32G-26-38 1.70m 69kg
He had been compelled to record the height and weight in metric, as if this was a nerdy exercise in engineering. In some sense, it probably was.
Bob was still admiring her form when his reverie was interrupted by Emma handing her the pyjamas.
While Magda was dressing, Bob turned next to the older daughter. "Your turn now my dear," he said firmly.
The girl's head suddenly shot up. "What?" she said in surprise.
"Stand." Bob said in his usual laconic style.
"Nooooo," wailed the girl, and started rocking on the edge of the bench.
This time Magda spoke up, "Just do as they say, Kasia," she coaxed.
"But but but..." stammered Kasia, still rocking and crying.
Emma, having had enough of this nonsense, stepped forward. She grabbed Kasia by the ponytail, lifting her bodily from the bench. Kasia screamed a little scream and struggled, kicking out with her legs.
"Hey!" Magda yelled in protest, before a sharp look from Emma made her remember herself. "Okay, just do as they say," she sighed.
Kasia relented and stood quietly against the target, sulkily avoiding eye contact. Then the humiliating process that her mother had endured was repeated.
"You're a pretty one. Now strip," Emma demanded.
Slowly Kasia took off a pink fleece, a snug fitting white polo shirt, sports bra, leggings and finally knickers, and put them next to her mother's clothes on the bench.
Bob could feel both her teenage embarrassment, as her young cheeks flushed at this impromptu strip-tease, and the still growing bulge in his pants.
Again he looked her up and down. His eyes were drawn to her feet first, which were self consciously turned in towards each other. Bob thought this was rather sexy and girly. He raised his eyes to take in the rest of her teenage form. Her legs were really nicely muscled; slim of course, but lithe and toned too. "Do you do sports?"
"She's in the school gymnastics team," Magda chipped in.
Bob grunted approvingly. Fit girls were surely the most fun. Strength and stamina were desirable qualities in this game. Maybe it'd be fun to slowly squeeze the life from this vivacious soul while the others watched.
Kasia had a perfect little pussy too, it was clear that the girl had already started shaving.
Above that, a flat, gymnastically toned stomach. The smooth ripples of her ribcage allowed Bob to visualise the physical structure below and imagine the gore-fest that it would yield later.
"Smashing body," he commented.
"Yah, probably will later," replied Emma, with a far-away look in her eyes.
Bob estimated that Kasia's still developing breasts were a C-cup already, but with that pretty aquiline smoothness that swimmers' have.
Kasia felt Bob's gaze, and her Slavic face suddenly looked up at him. Her pretty lips parted as if to say something, but only her pleading hazel eyes spoke.
Bob thought her fearful, tear-stained face was a stunningly beautiful mask of vulnerability. He was sure they'd see that look again when they were enjoying their carnally destructive fun with her later. The thought caused his cock to pulse and strain against his pants, signalling a sense of urgency to the proceedings. but Bob wanted to see a little more before he moved on.
"Gymnastics right? Cool. Show us what you got then."
Realising she had no choice, but still crippled with embarrassment, Kasia turned around to avoid eye contact. This suited the couple just fine of course, giving them a fresh view.
Kasia's back was as nice as the front. Bob watched as subtle musculature and bone slid under perfect taught skin as she moved through a little routine.
First came some warm up stretches. Then, lying face down on the floor, arching her back and bending her knees, she reached back and grabbed her ankles. Bob watched mesmerized, as her toned ass muscles pushed her butt proud. It was a great look, and Emma thoughtfully grabbed more photos.
Then, a handstand with splits. The look of shock on Magda's face was priceless, as Kasia's pussy was fully exposed to all. The final act was a graceful forward walkover, showing maximum flexibility, and again not leaving anything to the imagination.
Bob exhaled in appreciation. It wasn't just the overt display that did it for him, it was little things like the swishing of her ponytail as she moved. Visceral sexuality belied by a girly innocence.
At last Emma threw her jammies to her and Kasia hastily put them on, thankful to be free at last of Bob and Emma's unwelcome and searching study.
Kasia (15) 32C-22-32 1.55m 47kg
Bob turned at last turned to the youngest. "One of these things is not like the others," he proclaimed. For this little flower was black.
"She's adopted," Magda explained, as Emma positioned her for the camera.
"Okay little one, you know the drill," Bob directed.
Emma started thinking about Bob's collection of drills, and all the things they could do with them. Then she cleared her throat and her thoughts.
"What's your name, little one?" she enquired, as she snapped more photos.
Perhaps Maisie didn't fully understand the seriousness of her predicament as her sister had, or perhaps she knew it too well and had found some resolve, as kids often do. In any case the tears dried up and she quietly answered.
"Okay, we need you to change into your jammies like your sister did."
Maisie pulled off a pink quilted jacket, pink and blue candy striped leggings, and pink Minnie Mouse t-shirt.
Emma appraised her dark form.
'Life is like a box of chocolates', she thought. Soft centres are best.
Her round, brown face was topped with wiry black hair, done in cornrows. She had a cute button nose and dimpled cheeks. Emma imagined that it would have been capable of a smile to light up a whole room, then realised that wouldn't be a likely scenario in this timeline.
Below her delicate ten year old neck was a chubby little torso, with just the merest hint of titties starting to bud. Maisie was carrying a nice bit of puppy fat, and some of it was spread around her middle, giving her a appealing softness.
Below that were dumpy little legs, fleshy thighs and calves and impossibly cute little feet.
Bob didn't exactly find her sexy. Too young. But she'd make a marvellous fuck-toy all the same.
"Give us a twirl darling."
Little Maisie started to turn around but then seemed to get confused as to what was wanted of her, and ended up standing sideways on to Bob.
"That's perfect, sweet cheeks," he reassured her.
It really was the perfect angle to admire her in her totality. A pronounced feminine curve of her lower back gave way to the most stunningly fuckable ass Bob had ever set eyes on. Petite for sure, but gorgeously round and full, of the sort that only African girls are blessed with. Bob recalled there was even a word for it, steatopygia.
He couldn't help but grab a handful of cheek flesh. So soft and delicious, that when Maisie looked up to him with big brown eyes, he nearly came in his pants.
Once she was in pyjamas, she still looked super, the drape of soft fabric showing off her little booty perfectly.
Maisie (10) 1.38m 38kg.
Bob and Emma backed out of the cell and locked the door, exchanging happy smiles.
"I'm so fucking horny right now," Emma exclaimed, and grabbed at Bob's bulge through his onesie. "Those girls are fucking ace. I can't wait to get started on them!"
Bob scratched his chin. "You know we could spread this out over a few days if you like."
Emma agreed, "Yeah, we could that," then paused for a moment, and countered, "Or we could just go fucking crazy for a day."
Bob laughed at his wife's zeal. "That's always an option too."
Very nice! This chapter flows excellently! Detailed but not excessive descriptions and detail, rich but to the point language, and the pacing of the plot feels just right.
There are also an abundance of well put together lines and jokes that spices it all up a bit. My favorite from this chapter is
>Shapely calves were terminated with the standard number of feet
It's clear that a lot of hard work has been put into this; not only to write it in the first place but also in the editing. Well done, and thank you!
>Very nice! This chapter flows excellently! Detailed but not excessive descriptions and detail, rich but to the point language, and the pacing of the plot feels just right.
Thanks, I was going to change the plot a bit, and add another spicy scene, but it was too complicated so I settled with just improving the writing. I feel it is a bit description heavy, but since it's kind of sexy description, I thought I might get away with it.
>There are also an abundance of well put together lines and jokes that spices it all up a bit. My favorite from this chapter is
>>Shapely calves were terminated with the standard number of feet
I almost deleted than line cos I thought it a bit corny!
>It's clear that a lot of hard work has been put into this; not only to write it in the first place but also in the editing. Well done, and thank you!
Yeah I kept editing it until I got sick of it lol. I do think it's substantially better than the original though.
>I almost deleted than line cos I thought it a bit corny!
Reminds me of some advice I got once, not for writing, but I think it's applicable none the less: Whatever you come up with, believe in it and go for it. That joke works because it is stated very clearly; if you had concealed it because of insecurity, doubt etc. it might not have worked. Of course, an author needs to self moderate and refine the language, but the greater the intent and clarity of a given statement, the higher its chance of reaching the reader.
>I do think it's substantially better than the original though
Oh absolutely. The original was still very good, mind you, but now you've taken the step from 'internet fiction' to 'if not for the subject matter, this could've been a published novel'
>Reminds me of some advice I got once, not for writing, but I think it's applicable none the less: Whatever you come up with, believe in it and go for it. That joke works because it is stated very clearly; if you had concealed it because of insecurity, doubt etc. it might not have worked. Of course, an author needs to self moderate and refine the language, but the greater the intent and clarity of a given statement, the higher its chance of reaching the reader.
Interesting, I'll meditate on that.
>Oh absolutely. The original was still very good, mind you, but now you've taken the step from 'internet fiction' to 'if not for the subject matter, this could've been a published novel'
Very kind of you to say so. I don't think I'm quite there yet (who do you think I am, Edward Hyde lol), but definitely improved since I started.
Trust me, I've read novels with significantly worse literary quality than this!
All right, you might not be shortlisted for the Pulitzer or Booker, but your writing really does hold up rather well.
>Trust me, I've read novels with significantly worse literary quality than this!
Now you mention it, I rather suspect I have too! :D
>All right, you might not be shortlisted for the Pulitzer or Booker, but your writing really does hold up rather well.
But I'm always dissatisfied.
Anyway, chapter 3 seems to be more better writed than the first two, so hopefully it won't need so much editing. It'll be much shorter than the old ch. 3, which was crazy long, so it'll continue thru ch. 4 and 5 if you see what I mean.
This is building up anticipation in an exquisite way, you know how to excite an audiance! :)
Thankyou! IDK if you read the old version, but there'll be at least one significant change in chapter 3. i'm having a lot of fun writing that in at the moment. Of course I wont give spoilers :D
Suffice to say that the story really starts to kick off.
>But I'm always dissatisfied.
I definitely recognize that. I'm no artist but I have a few 'creative' friends, and it seems like that feeling is very common.
At one point you just have to accept yourself and how far you've come - just think about how much better your writing is now compared to when you started out. You've improved a lot, and no one can ask for more than that - not even yourself.
Did you dieded again or something?
Fuck yeah, man. I only recently discovered gurochan had been revived and I stumbled on this thread tonight. Good to see you back at it. Hope the inspiration sticks, but if it doesn’t, don’t force it. You do you.
Brought to you by
the Kolyma Network