Gentle Ending

I'm okay with this. I know the drugs you gave me are probably part of the reason I'm not scared out of my wits, but because I'm not scared, I can remember why I love you so much.

You rescued me from a horror I had already given in to, the one who took me from my house, the man with the giant hands and the cruel, scowling mouth. I have no idea how long he had me, chained up in that dirty cellar with a chamber pot and two small meals a day. I had lost count how many times he came home, beat his frustrations into me and then impaled me with his meat. That time has become a vague blur, and my life before a half-remembered dream. The only day I remember is the day he showed me to you. I remember your disapproving words to him, telling him that a slave should not be so mistreated. Once I was broken, I should have known fairness from then on, not continuing sadism.

You terrified me. I saw his eyes that he would beat me even worse after you left. But you told him, "I'll give you three hundred dollars to let me take her away. You can buy yourself a dog to beat."

He scowled down at me and answered, "She's worth more than that. Five hundred. That's about four dollars a pound, right?"

You agreed, and gave him the money, and to my amazement he let you take me. I rode in the trunk of your car to this place, where you bathed me, fed me, gave me the first kindness I had known in ages. My lovers before the horror had all been women, but when you took me, I didn't mind. You owned me, so it was right for you to use me for whatever purpose you felt right. I accepted this. I fell in love with you because you wished me to love you, and because I knew I needed to, in order to give thanks for the miracle you had worked for me.

When you decided to begin testing me, I cried, because I didn't yet understand. I thought you didn't believe I really loved you. I didn't know yet how much you needed me to give you, and I had to show you I would be able to do it. You explained it to me after the first test, when you made me sit on my knees naked on the back porch all night without moving. I cried when you paddled me for falling asleep, but you comforted me afterword and your loving rod warmed me inside when we joined. That's when you explained, I had to do something very difficult for you, and I had to do it without complaint, so you needed to know if I could serve you even when it was difficult. You didn't tell me yet what it was, but somehow, I knew you were asking for my life. I discovered then that I could give it to you, and I asked you to keep testing me. The next night I remained awake and seated correctly until I watched the dawn from my station. As the sun began to glow behind the trees, you came out and found me sitting correctly, the dish where you left it balanced on my knees. With my hands and feet bound, I could never have put it back in place, so you knew I had successfully followed your instructions, remained perfectly still all night. You made love to me right there, as the sun came up to shine on us.

The next night, after you let me nap, you put me out there again, this time with a cup of tea balanced on the plate. It was difficult, and I did end up spilling a little, but most of the tea was still in the cup. I cried about it when you came out at dawn, sorry that I hadn't served you perfectly. You only punished me a little, a short spanking, and then comforted me and loved me again. The following night, I was able to do it perfectly.

Finally, you had me stand out on the porch naked, holding a cup of tequila on a plate. You taped a string across my fingers that I could not possibly put back on if I took my fingers off the plate to hold the glass, and you tied a string to my hair and taped it to the porch ceiling, so that I could not possibly sit down without pulling the tape loose. I had to stand all night, holding your glass of tequila on the plate. It stormed and thundered that night, and I was very scared, but I did as you wanted. You came out in the morning, accepted the glass and drank it. Then, with the rain still steadily falling, you brought me out into your back yard and made love to me once more.

When you made me take the painkillers, I was a little afraid. I knew it meant the difficult thing would be coming soon. But the drugs blurred my fears away, and as you increased the dosage, I found I could be more courageous. Oh, I was still afraid, but I knew my love for you would help me through. You smiled so warmly to me when I told you so; you kissed me and tousled my hair. Then you told me what I would be doing for you.

It terrified me at first. I couldn't imagine why you would do such a thing to me, but you explained that your love for me could never be satisfied simply by taking me for sex. You had to take me completely, have every part of my body. Then you told me that I would be giving everything to you, becoming part of you, nourishing you with everything I had. I began then to understand. I know the drugs are helping me accept it. I'm sure I would have refused, cried, begged, screamed... but in the hazy dream of medication, I can see how much sense you make.

So that is why I'm helping you build up the fire in the pit at dawn, my love. That's why I'm shaving my own body and scalp for you, and washing myself carefully, so that I'm perfectly clean. It is also why I'm walking willingly out to where you have laid out the tarp. You've already told me everything in advance, so I'm not frightened by anything unexpected. You've given me an extra large dose of painkiller, so I'm having a little trouble staying upright, but now that I am kneeling down, I won't ever need to stand again anyhow. You give me a bottle of olive oil and take another for yourself, and we oil my skin up, all over. You spend a little extra time in my valley, even though I already oiled it myself

The tarp is over a sheet of plywood with arm and leg straps. You already told me why you use them. You trust me when I say I won't fight it, but the straps will keep my oily body from sliding around on the tarp as you work. You lay me down on my back, and tighten all the straps, then you kiss me sweetly on the lips and I tell you I love you. You say you love me too.

You light the handheld torch for cauterizing and lay out the knives I carefully sharpened for you last night. Selecting the biggest one, you poke around my lower tummy, find my pelvis, then slide the knife in, just above it. I can feel you slicing a short distance to the left and right. You ask if I'm okay and I smile and nod. "It doesn't hurt," I promise you, and it's true. I only feel some pressure, and it feels a little cold, but that's okay. There's a nice warm fire waiting for me.

You slide the knife up my abdomen, through my navel and on to my ribs, then again you cut a little ways to the sides. You lay the big knife down and pull my belly open, then quickly use the tip of the propane flame to burn the cuts, sealing them to stop the bleeding.

Turning to a smaller knife so that you can work inside, you begin cutting places I can't feel, and removing parts of me I've never seen before. I know what intestines look like, and I guess at the kidneys and bladder, but after that I'm not sure. Everything goes into a big plastic tote: you will sort out the different organ meats later. You told me the lungs and heart would stay in, so I would stay alive all the way to the fire to keep my meat absolutely fresh. You would remove everything else from my liver and stomach to my uterus and bowels. I would become empty. Once you finish and wash your hands in the bucket of water I put there, you use the torch once again, to stop the bleeding within. You clean the blood from your hands again, and towel out the blood inside my open gut, then use the herbed butter I made for you and cover every surface within.

Once more you come up to my face to kiss me, and you tell me I look more beautiful than ever before right now. I'm happy. I wait as you oil up the rotisserie spit, and feel a sense of accomplishment. I'm ready for this. I've done what I need to do for you. I smile as I feel the rod sliding into my valley. It's an incredible feeling, a sex beyond any I've ever had. You stop and reach in to find my esophagus, now an open-ended tube where the stomach was removed. You feed the spit into it and upward. It's a bizarre feeling and my throat tries to fight it. Thanks to the oil on the rod though, you can keep going despite the muscle spasms wanting to push it the other way.

I feel the spit in my neck when you stop again. I'm truly excited now. This is really it. You lean over me one more time and kiss me again, say "I love you" once more. I whisper it back; it's hard to talk. You pick up my shoulders to lean my head back, reach inside me to push the rod forward, and it slides into my mouth, over my tongue and past my lips. I close them on it, tasting blood and oil on my tongue, feeling the spit slide out of me like a strange reverse oral sex. You move to the other end, to fit the stabilizer bar into my behind. We've had anal sex several times, so that I would be used to the feeling. You told me it was a lot pleasanter that way than having to 'core' me so that the rod would go in. It feels good.

You unstrap me now, first my feet, using butcher's twine to tie them together around the spit. Then you undo my hands. While you undo the second, I use the first to feel your cheek one last time. You smile at me and bind my hands onto the spit. I feel you pushing the thermometer probe into my butt, where the meat is the thickest. One last kiss, on the cheek because my mouth is no longer available, then you pick me up, cradling me like a bride, and carry me to the fire to set me on the rotisserie. You quickly back away, because the fire is hot, and I can feel it on my back, then quickly hook up the motor to turn me. As I begin to rotate, you use a sprayer to add more oil to my skin.

You calculated I would take about nine and a half hours. That's five minutes per pound of my 'dressed weight' after gutting. You've got the wireless thermometer mounted on the rotisserie so you can be sure I'm done perfectly though. I'm glad you've thought of all these things. I want to do this perfectly.

My love, my mind will have fled before you taste me. It makes me a little sad that I won't be able to watch you enjoy me, but you've told me how it would be. Of course you can't eat so much girl in one sitting, nor can you eat it before it all spoils. I'll be sixty or so pounds of cooked meat; it would take you months to eat that by yourself. So this evening you will enjoy a meal of the best parts. My butt has wonderful meat on it, nicely marbled and tender. You'll also have some of my leg and arm, and you will enjoy my breast along with the arm muscle that goes underneath it.

Then you will cut me up, putting a week supply of different cuts into the fridge. The rib cage will be a little underdone, but that's good. You will saw it into pieces and put them into a slow-cooker to finish up. The rest of the meat you will freeze. You will saw open my skull and harvest my brain and tongue to have for tomorrow's breakfast. You will already have picked through the tub of innards, to retrieve the choice organ meats; the rest you will wash and grind up, season it and stuff it into some of the intestine you save for sausages. And what bits and pieces of bone and skull are left, you will saw up into pieces, to serve as special treats for your dog.

I'm happy. I watch the sky pass overhead, and the fire passing beneath me. I see you watching me from the porch and I try to smile. The spit makes it difficult, but I think you see it. It is only a little more after that, and my vision fades away.

Eat well, my love.