/lit/ - Literature

"You're not the person I was supposed to meet," she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Oh, he fell sick and asked me to meet you instead, didn't he tell you?" the man smiled unconvincingly and motioned her inside the unlit garage. "Would you please come in?"

She shrugged and entered the place. She probably wasn't getting out alive, was she? she wondered - and was proven right when the garage door clanked shut behind her, and lights lit up.

The room was largely empty, tiled, and the centerpiece was a large table saw with restraints positioned just so. There weren't windows, and the walls looked soundproofed.

"Well, get on then," the man behind her said, tone now icy cold.

She shrugged in annoyance - she really didn't care for the attitude - but complied, disrobing then climbing on the table. She even did him the favor of clanking four out of five restraints shut, first on her legs then her left arm and her neck. The last one was tricky, but the man did it for her as she lay back.

The table was cold. She shivered, staring at the concrete gray ceiling lit up with harsh industrial lights - thankfully, none were right above her. Was he going to draw this out, or?

He did, taking his time somewhere outside of her field of vision. Washed his hands? What was that noise? She couldn't remember if she saw a sink, but it made sense for there to be one.

Finally, he came up to her and stood at her feet, where the lever turning on the saw was. He smiled as he caught her gaze.

"Say the word," he commanded, warmer this time.

"Go," she whispered.

The saw buzzed to life and she tensed in anticipation of pain. It was so, so slow... the longest minute of her life as she squirmed, trying to will time to pass faster so she wouldn't have this horrible feeling of anticipation in her belly...

Finally, there was cold on her pussy lips, and she instinctively flinched back.

It only delayed the blade by a few seconds.

She screamed and screamed as her body was torn apart, until finally there wasn't enough blood for her to keep her consciousness.

"Wonder where that guy I was supposed to meet really was," was her last thought before final oblivion.

***

"Ugh, I really need to fix my phone alarm," the man complained, rushing to the meeting spot. He looked hopefully - but no, of course she wasn't there and his neighbour was had the smile of a fed cat on his face, leaning across his garage door, for once closed. That told him everything he needed to know.

He didn't bother asking where she went. He really needed to come up with another meeting place already.

"I bet you couldn't hang yourself with just your own strength," Iri called out and batted the noose hanging from the swingset next to the regular swing.

"Hmm?" Nae looked up from her book and scratched her pussy, irritated from sitting naked on bare untreated wood of the bench. She had a loosely hanging sailor suit blouse on, but her skirt was in her bag - she was no longer at school, and you could wear anything at the playground. She'd have taken off the blouse too, but it was a hot day and the cotton blouse protected her at least a little - and at 12 she didn't really have anything to show off in the chest department.

"Bet you couldn't hang yourself with this without tying it to something," her classmate Iri repeated, batting the noose back and forth teasingly. She was completely naked herself, which probably was easier to bear with her darker skin. Nae herself was the kind of pale that burned long before it tanned, with deep chestnut hair in a page cut around her ears, while Iri wore her dark curls in twin ponytails - they kept the hair off her neck, at least, in this heat.

Nae looked at the noose thoughtfully. It was always fun to get one over her sporty friend who considered herself superior for spending all her free time climbing, running and jumping, and prided herself on never putting more than two seconds of thought into anything. "I am allowed to only use my own body's strength?"

"And you can't tie a knot!" Iri specified quickly, realizing that her crafty friend was up to something and cutting off the one avenue of cheating she could think of in the aforementioned two seconds.

"You're on," Nae shrugged, put away her book and walked to the swing. She put the noose over her head, then drew the rope taut, passed it between her legs from the back, looped it around her neck another time on top of the noose, then around her waist. Holding the remaining end, she fell forward, pushing off with her feet, and just as planned felt the rope at the top of the swing slide - until her neck and pussy were at nearly the same level and she could no longer reach the ground with her legs.

Easy-peasy, it barely even took effort to hold on to the end of the rope in her hand. Hurt like a b-word, of course, and she regretted not tying a knot between her legs so she could get herself off wriggling. It would of course be against the terms of the bet, not the spirit surely but the letter, and she was already getting by on technicality... She was sure Iri wouldn't have minded a non-functional knot if she asked, but she already missed her window for asking. Lowering herself now would certainly be forefeiting the bet, and Nae was far too competitive for that.

So she just focused on keeping her hand shut while slowly swinging back and forth, enduring the cruel pressure of the entire weight of her body along a thin line of rope where it was never meant to be endured. It would take her a lot longer than normal to die like this, with half her weight on her pussy and tummy instead of her neck, but it would technically still be death by hanging. Would just take what? Fifteen minutes? An hour? Nae had no idea, the noose was usually used far more straightforwardly than that. She'd probably get bored even through the pain, she thought, but she couldn't read even if Iri was thoughtful enough to put a book in front of her - the pain was blacking out her vision.

Her other hand was free, so she could technically get herself off with it, but she needed it to balance lest she turn over and fall off this highly questionable construction. She really should have thought this through better, now she'd need to keep her balance for the entire... however long it would take. At least she was sure her hand would keep the death grip on the rope when she lost consciousness, and Iri was far more sportsmanlike to take advantage of her oversight and push her over. Ugh, she was still winning though... at least so far...

In one of the periods of relative lucidity Nae saw Iri standing in front of her and making a scissors gesture with her fingers. Oh! This was shortcut for asking if Nae would like to be cut down after she lost consciousness, so she wouldn't die. The bet would be won at that point, she didn't really have to go all the way... certainly not with such a shoddy construction!

Glad to have an out, Nae quickly nodded, then blacked out again as the movement caused new kinds of pain and strain in her neck.

She'd kill herself properly with at least a second version of this construciton. She felt it a challenge to make it properly, so anyone could use it, next time.

***

Might write more later in this universe!

my take on the dolcett genre I do not like the underage or non-consensual aspects of it and I dislike the eugenics aspects. Feel free to use the setting without crediting me. This work is in the public domain.

If you are reading this you have stumbled on one of the dimensions of the nuita race as we are farmers of man shaped organisms and we look like sexless beings that are transparent so you can see our organs with balls of magic as heads. we place portals to various places in the multiverse, . We nuita only farm organisms that want to be meat and is of breeding age. They are feed high class food and the meat of norbs which look like cows with antlers and trunks. Our organisms get reincarnated in our vats so they can keep experiencing their joy of being our products. We also offer day-trips and tours so you can see how well they are being treated and take some home as spouse or slave. We have any products you would want from the organisms. If you have found a portal that means you must want this as product or customer. we also allow products to marry in that case they are a package deal. Product and customers are free to leave anytime with no consequences. Unfortunately we do not allow organisms that will contaminate the stock such as faeries, werebeasts or undead, etcetera in our dimensions, or as customers and/or stock. All our live products are guaranteed healthy and have no defects unless the customer wants a defected one.

This portal you went in is only exclusive to cisfemales that want to be meat or eat female humanoid meat, we serve our customers well

Here in the restaurant of Yuriniku Kunoichi all the girls we have are trained to be ninjas, as we believe that makes them happier. and we also offer nullo girl slaves which are girls with no breasts, nipples uterus, ovaries ,fallopian tubes,bellybutton or outer and inner labia, vagina and all of the clitoris with their outer genitals sewn up with just a peehole and anus for you to keep. we have an Edo period vibe in this restaurant. we also enjoy teaching the arts of female on female love. We also have full tabletop and live action role playing games. We do hope you enjoy your stay here. Our yuriniku kunoichi also work as dream warriors protecting the innocent. The girls are completely naked with our yuriniku kunoichi brand on their necks.

-03:00-
Garajımda robotum üzerinde çalışıyordum,karım onla uğraşmamı getirmemi pek sevmezdi fakat bu şey tamamlandığında baya müthiş olacaktı,sanki ilk aşkımmış bu metal yığını,ara sıra onunla konuşurdum o doğal olarak hiç cevap vermezdi,yakında bu değişecekti,robotu yapmanın en zorlu yanı yarı biyonik yarı elektronik olduğu için bazı elektronik parçaları ve organları satın almak oldukça zaman aldı,bir yıl uğraşımın ödülünü yarın alacaktım,sonunda çalışacaktı.Üstünü beyaz bir bezle örtüp yatmaya gittim aslında yatmak istemiyordum,sadece karımın avazı çıktığı kadar bağırmasından hoşlanmıyordum.

-12:00-
Gözlerimi açtım yatakta karım yoktu,hiç böyle erken kalmazdı.Genellikle haftasonları akşama kadar uyurdu,burnuma omlet kokusu geldi,yataktan kalkıp mutfağa girdim,karım kahvaltıyı hazırlıyordu,ona günaydın diyip garaja girdim,fakat robotum burda yoktu sadece üzerine örtüğüm beyaz örtü katlanmış şekilde masanın üzerindeydi.Ayrıca örtünün üzerinde bir not vardı;

"çabaların için teşekkürler sevgilim "
Arkamdan birisi şöyle seslendi
"Sanırsam beni arıyorsun"
Arkamı döndüm ve karımı gördüm

"Hayır seni aramıyorum"
"Peki kimi"
"Robotu"
"Tam karşında duruyor"
"Sen neden bahsediyorsun ?"
"sadece yeni bir elbise giydim yani ona yakın birşey"

-Bir yıl önce-
Garip şekilde işe giderken hasar görmüş halde bir robot bulmuştum eve götürüp tamir etmeye çalıştım saat gece 2 olacaktı,artık yatmalıydım,yatak odama doğru ilerledim,karım uyuyordu,onun en çok sevdiğim hali uyurkenki haliydi,sanki sihirli bir şekilde ağzı kapanıyordu,yatağa girdim ve ışığı kapattım.

-XX:XX-
>duvarlar kıpkırmızı
>karakterin karşısında aynı kendisine benzeyen bir insan var
>gülüyor
>neden gülüyorsun ?
>kabul et
>neyi
>onu

>>>karakter ayılır veya uyanır<<<

-3:10-
"Tatlım sonunda uyanmana sevindim bu arada sakın banyoya gitme şimdi baktımda orayı daha temizlememişim"

>>>karakter bayılır veya uyur<<<

-6:00-
"hadi kalk bir ses duydum"
"muhtemelen rüzgardır"
"hayır rüzgara benzemiyordu sanki birisi evin içinde geziniyor senin kalkacağın yok öyle olsun !!! ben tek başıma gidiyorum"

-6:10-
banyonun aydılandı
kalbe girdi bıçak
saniyesinde öldü
avcı avı soydu

aslında önemli olan deri
et değil
o yüzden kullandı bıçakları
en incesinden

önce uzuvlar
sonra gövde
en son kafa
çünkü baya dikkat gerektiriyor

küvetteki av
derisiz bir et artık
avcı için zaman geldi
deriyi giymenin

avcı ava son bir kez baktı
küvetin perdesini çekti
yeni elbisesinin ona ne kadar
yakıştığına bakmak için ayna karşısına geçti

eski sahibinden daha çok yakıştı
muhtemelen yağlarıda çıkarttığı için
belki bir kaç kesik vardı bu yüzden
fakat güzel bir elbiseyi küçük kusurlardan ötürü atmak ziyan olurdu

hemde sevdiğin kişi o elbiseyi seviyorsa
ancak etlerden kurtulması gerekiyordu
bunu şu anlık unuttu
aynada kendine bakıp durdu elbise cidden güzeldi

DEVAM EDECEK

All women should have their clitoris removed. I want to bite down on a clit, kill it! …then make the woman lick my ballsack. Sometimes I think it would be fun to cut a women's clit off with a man's toenail clippers – that thought makes me smile! I play with my ballsack and dick and think about how much better it is to be a man, sooooooo much power in my genitals. Women, by contrast, often get their cunt torn giving birth; imagine her disappointment to find out "It's A GIRL!" If I had a wife, and she gave birth to a girl – the clit gets cut off for sure.

But I don't have a wife: I masturbate with my friends (and suck dick). They rag on their wives, and I give them ideas: like blowing their clits off with a gun, or using pliers for ripping the clit out, roots and all. Raping their wives would then be all the more painful; fun times.

Jacking off onto mutilated pussy is a fantasy of mine. One day, I shall do it for real. My cum dripping down over the vulva, bringing searing pain to the gouges I placed in her cunt. She will never masturbate again, but I will pay her a visit every week: her crying replaced by screams, my semen threatening to get her pregnant. And abortion should be legal, but with a twist. Contraception is not legal, and all abortionists would be male doctors; every abortion accompanied with an anestheticless clit removal. No clit? Pussy lip (they have four, take one each time). No more cunt at all? Gang rape…

I would love to live in Africa, or Arabia, where men rule, as we should, and killing clitoris is not just legal, it's an obligation. A land where cutting off a female's clit is the best gift a father can give his future son-in-law! That's right: fathers cutting off their daughter's clits. Not only legal, a right to the race of Man. So nice… I want to lick Arabian balls all day, to thank them for keeping women in their place.

Every clitoris in the world should be destroyed, balls and dicks are so much better. Masturbation, group masturbation, should be the exclusive privilege of men. If a women wants stimulation, she must get it from her owner, her husband. If she's lucky, she gets shared with his friends. They pass her preserved clit around, laughing at her as they make her flick it with the tongue.

Mass decliting would be a spectacle event, not something hidden in darkness. Men would hand over their girlfriends for the slightest offenses, then jack off with the men in the audience watching all the bitches in the mass decliting. Jacking off, semen shooting everywhere….. Mine is. Is yours?

(Repost from old Gurochan)

-----
(1/3)

As the woman behind the counter went through the speech, Chelsea let her eyes wander over to the next counter, where men were checking in.

“…be aware that, although we make effort to minimize the risk, accidents can and sometimes do happen…”

She’d heard it all before. She knew the routine. Listen to the little legalese speech, sign the waiver, go in, have a good time. She’d been coming here most Thursdays for years now. She could recite the speech herself.

“By signing this waiver, you agree not to hold the company liable for any injury or loss of life incurred while using the service. If you agree, please say ‘I consent’.”

“I consent,” replied Chelsea. The man going through the other side of the checkin procedure wasn’t very attractive—a little shorter than she’d prefer, a little balder, a little fatter. In a weird way that made things better. He handed over his credit card. Men who come here have to pay. She signed the waiver. Women got in free.

“Alright, cool, you’re gonna be in room three today. Have fun, Chel!”

“I always do,” she smiled. The receptionists all knew her by name at this point, expected her at her normal time. She headed into room three.

—

“Hey Chelsea, welcome back.”

“Hey, Greg.” She smiled back at the doctor. They all knew her as well. Of course, “doctor” was more of a legal fiction than anything. Technically, if you went all the way with it, it counted as physician-assisted suicide, so the people with their hands on the button needed to technically be physicians, but getting certified for this work was something like a two week course rather than eight years of medical school. Chelsea began shimmying out of her dress.

“Okay, you know the drill. If you wish to go through with the procedure, please say the word ‘release’ in a loud, clear, unambiguous voice. You are free to request that we let you leave at any time, just let me know when you’re ready. Think you’re going to go through with it this time?”

Chelsea smirked back at him. “Maybe.” He always asked. She always answered the same way. They both knew she was never going to do it. She was here for a little thrill, to edge herself close, but not to go all the way. She didn’t have a death wish, more of a… death wish wish.

She lay on her back on the bench and scooted into position. Greg carefully pulled her brown hair all the way through so it wouldn’t get caught on anything, strapped her body down to the bench, secured her hands, and flipped the switch that marked room 3 as available. 

Chelsea took a deep breath and looked up at the impossibly sharp metal blade of the guillotine, her heart racing with excitement.

—

“Oh, uh, hi, ma’am.”

“Hi.”


Chelsea couldn’t see who was talking to her given how she was strapped down. He must be new. He sounded new.

“So do I just…?”

“Yeah, go nuts. I’d appreciate lube, especially if you use my ass, and tips are always welcome.”

“A’ight.”

She heard the man undressing. Didn’t hear lube dispenser—was he going in dry or using her pussy? She felt a cock slide into her pussy, answering that question immediately.

“Oh man, this is hot.”

Chelsea didn’t respond. She was looking up at the blade hanging above her like the proverbial sword of Damocles. As the man thrust into her, the guillotine shook slightly. She bit her lip, gasping quietly. The thrusts got faster. He didn’t last long. Newbies usually didn’t.

She was empty again. “Thanks.” “I hope you enjoyed yourself. Come back any time!” She heard the rustle of clothing being put back on. A moment later, the sound of some bills being placed in her tip jar. She thanked him again. Awkward. She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, then opening and closing again almost immediately.

She felt her legs pulled up and some cold lubricant applied to her asshole, then she was being fucked. This was more like it. He was grunting, she was letting out little whimpers. She imagined the blade coming down. She imagined herself falling into the basket below. This guy was lasting longer. She made herself concentrate on feeling every inch of the cock penetrating her asshole, being as present in the moment as she could. Finally, he came, then almost immediately went. She thanked him as she heard the crinkle of some more money going into her tip jar.

The next man used her pussy again. He fucked her hard and fast. She concentrated on the shaking of the guillotine, listening for every little creak. She knew they tested them before every use. She knew they inspected them thoroughly every day. She knew there were safeties, redundant safeties, and redundant safeties to the redundant safeties. She also knew that all of those measures failed in about 0.02% of uses. It was in the waiver she had to agree to every time she came here. 0.02%. More than zero. There was a chance. There was always a small chance that this would be her last moment. She felt herself tensing up and started taking deep, meditative breaths to try to control her orgasm. She didn’t want to come yet. She wanted to keep herself on the edge as long as possible. Another wad of sperm was deposited in her pussy and another wad of bills in the jar.

“How’re you doing, Chelsea?” Greg asked. “Need a break yet?”


“Not quite yet. After the next guy, yeah.”

The next guy took a little while to appear. There were always lulls and rushes. She lay there for the next 15 minutes, looking up at the blade.

“Release.”

She didn’t say it. Not out loud. She just moved her lips. Feeling the word on her tongue. Feeling the motion of it. She moved her hips around a bit, squeezing her pelvic muscles. “Release,” she mouthed again. It was safe. You had to say it loudly and clearly. It had to be unambiguous. “Release.” Just mouthing the word wouldn’t make Greg hit that final button. She could feel the combination of sperm slowly dripping down her cunt. “Release.”

<b>The main attraction of an old amusement park is its stunning animatronics. But there is more to these cute dolls than the average visitor can tell at first glance. </b>



PART 1




Soulford is a big city. Over a million locals make up the busy, chaotic landscape of this small metropolis. But outside the hustle and shoulder-to-shoulder throng of city life, there are miles upon miles of empty fields, run by old, self-reliant farmers. Somewhere between the downtown, the rural field and the suburbia lies a classic example of an American amusement park. It’s old, both in its years and in its look, but it’s still kicking, seeing dozens of guests every day, mostly families passing by on their road-trip and rascal teens looking for a place to hide from their homework. A lot of them are just random passerbys, intrigued by the time-capsule experience this park provides.


The owner of this establishment, a 66-year old balding man with a beer-belly, is simply known to the public as Old Gary. The big sign on top of the gate reads:


The Park of Wonders!


The amusement park features what most people would expect from a conventional theme park. There’s the Ferris wheel, the bumper carts, the various rides, and different game kiosks, usually with the arbitrary furry prize to the winner. But this particular park is more known for, is its beautifully crafted and jaw-droppingly realistic animatronic dolls. They are present throughout the park, an eye-catching pole of attraction. All the animatronics on Old Gary’s Park or Wonders are female dolls, and pretty ones at that. After all, why have a doll that’s not pleasing to the eye?




A joyful, old-timey accordion is blaring through the rusty, bullhorn speaker-phones, located in the entrance as well as around the park, making up the soundtrack of the park, a tongue-in-cheek background to the chatter, laughter and the overall buzz.

Two male high school sophomores reach the entrance, where the first couple of lively animatronics are always there to greet new guests:


Two young-looking, identical Asian girls, dressed in a festive, black-red-white outfit reminiscent of a circus girl presenter, a strapless corset/top with a frilly skirt and black thigh high stockings, plus the necessary heels. A white collar adores their neck, a cute, tiny top hat their head. Black velvet gloves above the elbows cover the dolls’ arms, the only part of them that moves. The dolls’ body types are the same, small, petite, slim, with cute, B-cup breasts and tight buttocks.


Both their arms are sculpted into a presenting gesture. While the dolls are otherwise completely stiff, their arms rotate through a rotatable joint on the dolls’ shoulders, with a battery-operated little motor inside, so that they move mechanically up and down, up and down, presenting the entrance and all the promises behind it. The two dolls’ pose is the mirror equivalent of each other, as each animatronic is placed on each side of the entrance. Both dolls are playfully popping one foot of the ground behind them, for a more dynamic pose. If not for a sturdy base attached to their standing legs, they might have tipped over.


As a lot of newcomers do, one of the two guys gives the astonishing dolls a closer look. While their clothes are real, the dolls’ bodies and faces look glossy, shining under the park bright lights. Visitors are not allowed to touch the animatronics, but the few punks that do feel a hard exterior, probably laminated wood. You can literally act out “knock, knock” jokes on these dolls.


The teenager, no older than 17, examines the dolls from up close. Their varnished faces are painted a perfect creamy white, their cheeks cartoonishly rosy. They both have long eyelashes, the same black, short-bangs-haircut and a huge, toothy welcoming smile. The boy spots a cute mole on the same exact spot, on the doll’s right cheek. “Hmm”, he ponders. “Don’t they look slightly different to you?” he asks his friend, who doesn’t share his enthusiasm for this pointless observation. Who cares dude, let’s just go!” he motions his hand forward. “No, look, this one has a slightly different face shape than this one. Like it’s rounder”, the first boy says, puzzled. “It’s probably a shitty factory job”, his friend replies without much thought put into it.




The cheerful accordion music sharply gives way to silence, as we jump cut to the past, to a workshop-basement, full of rusty shelves and benches with all sorts of tools. An old man is bent over a large, long wooden workbench in the middle of the room. Two lifeless, naked bodies are lying on their backs there, beside each other. They belong, or rather belonged, to two 20-year-old, twin siblings. The two Chinese-American girls stare blankly into the boring ceiling of the basement. They have been dead for about an hour now, the warmth from their bodies mostly gone. A row of recently made stitches runs from their lower abdomen to their stomach, underneath the sternum. It’s the main reason the dolls always seem to have their bellies covered, either with a dress, or a fancier corset.


Despite the autopsy-like appearance of these deceased, young souls, their faces look inexplicably pampered and groomed with plenty of makeup, rosy cheeks, mascara and a red, glossy lipstick. It’s a weird contrast to the bare, unfiltered and crude nakedness of their bodies.


The old man, dressed in some worn, jean suspenders, is hunched over the face of one of the dead girls. With a delicate paint-brush, he creates a little black mole on the girl’s right cheek. She doesn’t seem to object, keeping perfectly still and silent. Despite her gaze meeting his face, her look is devoid of any meaning or purpose. Her equally serene sister already has an exact replica of that mole, only this one is natural. It might have been easier to just paint over that mole with milk-white makeup, but he liked it. He found it charming.


The twin sisters’ hair share the same color and they’re both perfectly straight, but their styling is different. This needs to change, too. The man grabs a pair of scissors and carefully begins to cut the girl’s hair, right there on the wooden table, giving her previously down-to the-chest hair a cute, short bangs look. He was always good with his hands; he even cut his deceased wife’s hair sometimes, back when they were together.


The man recreates the same haircut on the other girl. They’d hate that, if they were alive. Ling and Xiao always strived to present themselves differently, with different styles, clothing, hair, etc. Ling was usually more girly and sexy in her looks, while Xiao was more of a rock-chick. In addition, Ling was always the more extroverted one, the one introducing her sis to new people at parties. They were grateful for each other and loved each other dearly, but they always sighed annoyed, whenever people confused who was who.


Now, they shared a haircut AND a mole. And there was more insult to be added to injury. Two identical, sexy but festive circus outfits, were waiting for them, each outfit prepared as one – corset, skirt, heels, gloves and all - hanging from a cloth rack, only a few feet away. If they could express themselves, they would scoff at the idea of having to wear the same outfit, but that was the plan. The old man takes out a pair of long, fake eyelashes, and gently glues them over the girls’ real ones. He takes a step back, judging his work. He’s too focused to be smiling during work, but seeing the end result, he feels satisfied, even though his face never expresses it.




(IF PEOPLE LIKE IT, I'LL UPLOAD THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS LATER, there are many more to go)

Been working on this for a while, and since I finished a new chapter today I might as well post it here too.

-------

"Do you really think we'll lose this game too?" Rebecka said, adjusting the fit of the black sports bra clinging to her developing chest.

"Well, given how we've performed so far it wouldn't surprise me," Katie, team captain of "Katie's Kitties" answered.

"So we'll all be meat in a few hours?" Anna said, unable to hide her excitement. The petite blonde had come up with the idea to enter the tournament in the first place, and as the games progressed her intentions for doing so were becoming increasingly clear.

At first glance this volleyball tournament seemed like any other, with volunteer teams from schools in the local area competing in different age groupings. The girls of Katie's Kitties were completing their last year of middle school. Unlike ordinary tournaments though, the focus was not solely on the winning team, but the losers got equal attention. The losing team would, after the conclusion of the final match, be stripped of their clothes and cooked on the spot, to be served as food to the other tournament participants and the audience.

Making up the Kitties were six girls: Katie, Chloe, Anna, Rebecka, Grace and Naomi, and they were playing the final, losing match. From the wardrobe they could hear the din of the crowd forming in the arena. The losing match rivaled the finals in popularity, and no one would want to miss the aftermath where the girls would be prepared in front of the audience.

The match would start in a few minutes, and it was time for the girls to find their places out on the court. Katie took a glance at her team and found two girls missing, but the lewd sounds escaping from the bathroom door gave her a good idea of where to find them and what they were currently up to.

"You guys done in there?" Katie asked after knocking politely.

"Just .. a second!" Grace, a curvy, dark skinned girl uttered while breathing heavily, by the sound of it very close to hitting a climax. Naomi, a pale, redheaded girl didn't answer, probably too busy burying her tongue in Grace's pussy.

"Just finish up quickly, will you? The game is about to start!" Katie said and left the girls to finish up. In her experience they would most likely show up to the game at the last possible second, but in return the two nymphos would enjoy the advantage of being thoroughly warmed up.

The team eventually found their places on the court and greeted the opposing team. Grace and Naomi, the latter's pale skin still blushing from arousal, came darting from the wardrobe a few seconds before the game started. After taking a last look to make sure everything was in order, the judge blew his whistle and the match started.

Katie had the first serve. She focused for a second, imagining the path the of the ball, before she threw the ball into the air and slammed it hard. The ball flew over the net straight towards where she had aimed, between the two leftmost players on the back row. It was a difficult ball to catch, but the other team reacted quickly, the girl in the middle stepped into position to receive it and the ball landed perfectly in her arms. It bounced into the air towards the front player on the left, who sat it up for the player in the middle to smack it over the net. She did exactly that, but Naomi, having a keen eye for the game, had foreseen the maneuver and was there to block the ball. It bounced right off her arms and down towards the floor. The other team couldn't react quickly enough, and the ball hit the floor, scoring Katie's Kitties their first point. The girls cheered and gave each other high fives before changing positions and continuing the game.

The rest of the first set continued to go well, and the girls won by a solid margin. After a brief pause it was time for the second set, but something seemed to have changed on the opposing team. The opponents played with a newfound determination, and Katie couldn't help notice that some of the girls seemed very intent on not losing. Despite their best efforts, Katie's team of sporty teens ended up losing the set with the least possible margin of one point. With the game tied the team captain gathered her players for a pep-talk before the final, decisive round. The girls all stood around her in a small circle and listened intently on what she had to say.

"Are you with me, girls?" Katie yelled a short while after, and the girls responded with an enthusiastic, unison "Yeah!" before they ran to their positions, ready for the final set.

It was Katie's turn to serve again and she aimed at the same spot as before. The girl in the middle received it in the same manner and set the ball up for the player next to her to smash it over the net. This time however, Naomi didn't even try to block and decided to stay perfectly still. The ball went towards Anna, who looked like she was going to receive it, but she suddenly changed her position at the last moment. The ball hit her arms and bounced directly left, landing outside of the line, scoring a point for the other team.

"Oops!" she laughed. "I must have slippery arms today!"

Puzzled expressions appeared on some of the onlookers, wondering what the girls were up to. The other team had the next serve, and Katie deliberately bounced the ball right into the net, scoring another point for the other team as soon as it hit the floor.

"Oh no!" she cried in mock disappointment, the wide grin on her face giving her true feelings away. The audience heard her remark and saw how the team members smiled and giggled. They began realizing what was happening and started cheering the Kitties, or rather against, as the audience would roar in joy every time a point was scored against them. The rest of the match played out in only a few minutes, as the ball would only pass the net once per round, always landing on Katie's side. In fact, the Kitties didn't score a single point during the whole set as they tried to find creative ways of how to mess up and score points against themselves.

When the judge blew his whistle signalling the end of the match and the loss of the Kitties, they celebrated, hugging and congratulating each other on their newfound status as meat girls. A little swarm of assistants and technicians clad in black work clothes appeared in the arena, clearing away the sport equipment to make room for the ceremony which was about to happen, where the girls that had 'lost' would be slaughtered or cook alive on after the other, giving the audience the maximum amount of entertainment in the process.

I admit, I'm probably a little fucked in the head.

Bioreplicator tech was definitely not ready for prime-time. It was certainly never intended to be used for full human duplication. And, I dare say, it was absolutely, positively not intended to be used for cheap autoerotic, sadomasochistic thrills.

And yet, here we are.

Well, okay. Here I am. And also there I am over there. And there's most of me over there, and about-to-be-me over there, and… well, yeah. I suppose it gets confusing.

But, point is, this is OG-me. You can tell by the carbon isotope mixture if you wanna take a blood sample. You could also tell by the lack of duplication errors, but that's less reliable, and I could be hiding something - what with the no arms or legs, and all. But yeah, sorry, all 100% zeroth-gen me.

First thing I did once I realized this would work was make like, fifty first-gen duplicates, sifted through the survivors with the nanoMRI for duplication glitches, picked the least error-riddled scans, and started printing them out. Then I realized that I should really average all those together and start printing *that* out, so i did.

Then we mulched all the nonviables, and all the marginals and I had the talk that I decided I was going to have with myself if I came out of the oven wrong, and the ones that didn't want to play helped me feed themselves back into the mulcher. Then we repeated the whole process another dozen or so times until I had enough of a scanset loaded that I could reliably print out as many of me as I wanted, and they'd all come out healthy.

Then I programmed the autodoc to amputate my limbs and feed them into the mulcher, leash me up in the kennel, and let me watch as it did horrible, horrible things to my dupes. And try to pleasure myself with my little nubs, but that just makes things even more frustratingly hot.

Once the autodoc is through with the program, it opens my cell and lets me and my dupe figure out how to get each other off. Since it picks their limb removal, voice alteration and brain surgery options either semi-randomly or based on customer order, other-me never knows what she's going to be left to work with until the autodoc is done with her. And usually she can't ask me for suggestions or feedback. So it's all thrillingly frustrating.

Then I'm done with her and she puts herself in a box to be shipped off to a customer, and I get put back in the kennel.

Gotta say, I haven't got bored yet!

It was rare for us to get a job in the states for three reasons. Magical girls, despite appearing worldwide, mostly seemed to be concentrated in Japan. Being Japanese ourselves, this suited us just fine. The second reason was that very few employers were able to pay our very steep “getting military grade weaponry across international borders” fee. So imagine our surprise when an offer came in from a small town in New England from a company I’d never heard of. The last was that, over the years, the price for our services had grown steadily higher as magical girls had gotten stronger, more pragmatic, and most of all, stopped falling victim to the weaknesses that at first seemed inherent to their nature.

‘We’re heading where?” Aika asked, no doubt wondering how much school she’d have to miss on our little excursion. “Bishopsville.” Itami replied, stoic as ever. “Asylum hired us.” ‘Yeah, and they even hired their own plane. Looks like a piece of shit though” I said, looking out at the runway at the old plane they’d told us to use. “Looks reliable enough” H responded, having the sense not to be transformed quite yet; her BDSM getup would be glaringly obvious in an airport after all. The captain of the plane, an, old grizzled man, waved us aboard and, somewhat reluctantly, we did.

“Is this where we’re supposed to meet? I asked no one in particular as I surveyed the area. The place we were supposed to meet our client’s representative was a park near a high school. I supposed there were worse places to meet, with school in session, it was as far as I could see, almost vacant. “Indeed, it is.” A polite female voice said, waving to us in casual clothing from a nearby bench. “Come, sit.” We did so, not seeing any reason why not to.

“There are two magical girls I need dealt with.” She said, looking straight ahead, not caring to introduce herself. Many clients did the same, obviously not wanting the assassination of children to be traced back to then. “Tell us about them.” I said in return. “You see, the thing is, this isn’t about the asylum.” The girl said, staring straight ahead. “Yes that is important, but the main reason I want them dead is because they killed my older sister.” As for abilities, they fight tactically, and tend to exploit their opponent’s weak points, but your normal ambush strategy should work well against them. “So they’re who we need to kill?” Aika asks, by now transformed into Pretty Deadly. “No.” The girl said simply.

Before any of us could respond, She snapped her fingers, emitting a bright, blinding light, followed by what can only be described as a gunshot. When I regained my vision, Aika, my girlfriend, was slumped over, leaning on me, clutching her arm, which had been blown off just below the shoulder. I didn’t have time to help her though, if I tried we’d all be dead and we wouldn’t have a chance. The girl we were just talking to stood in front of us, wearing a brilliant green dress, wielding a sword and shield made of hard light in a defensive stance. “The magical girls I want dead are Pretty Deadly, and Sailor H” she announced quickly and plainly with none of the long-winded speeches typical of most of our targets. I tried anyway, drawing my pistol and firing off rapidly as she spoke to little effect as she blocked the bullets with her light shield.

“Haba, Lotus, move in. help with whip girl. Dandy, Cherry, hold off the other two. Ignore other” She said, backing off as Itami drew and fired his own weapon. I looked around for the other threats and realized we were surrounded. In this brief second, however, a pink clad magical girl raised a barrier of brambles and thorns between us and Sailor H as two others moved to engaged her. “On it, Lily!” one said, dashing across the park as the girl in green, apparently Lily, started dueling H, staying just far enough away that she couldn’t wrap her up with the whip, seemingly being pushed back. Itami and I tried to cut through the brambles, only to get slammed into them by a strong gust of wind. Another girl had been behind us. I reached back with my gun and fired off a few shots at her. She seemed surprised I could even move in her wind and took a bullet to the leg, dropping to the ground as it gave way and clutching her wound. I tried to aim to finish her off but as I did, the vines lashed out and pulled may arm away at the last second. Fuck.