Fuckpig Slaughter

I know why you hang us upside down. I know it makes the blood pressure greater in our upper bodies so the blood gushes out faster when you puncture our throats. I wish I was one of the other girls. One of the ones who believe you’re only going to fuck us. Only going to torture us. But I have seen too much. I know you are going to slaughter us. You take each one of us and make us your fuck pig. You mind fuck us until we believe its real. Until we believe we are just a collection, and we will be released once you’ve had your fun. You make these girls do things they’ve never even experienced in their worst nightmares. All for the promise of freedom. You make your own BDSM gear, and you tell them they are just test dummies. And they believe you.

But you’re a fucking liar. Why did you let me see? Why did you let me watch the last slaughter? Why didn’t you puncture my jugular and let me bleed out like the rest? I was the one you chose to fuck in the mouth as the others bled out all over the dirt floor. Now, as we all hang here, fucked and beaten and helpless, our tongues cut out so there is no noise, you size us up. Their eyes are terrified, but still have hope. They are remembering what you told them – freedom – and they think you’ve been satiated and they will get to go home soon.

You walk along the line of hanging bodies. Touch their bleeding and broken faces with your hands as if you feel something. But you don’t. I have seen your mind games before. Its all about keeping their hope alive. You take out your cock and go back down the line. Some of them cringe, remembering the horrors they experienced last time they saw your cock in their faces. But you just walk slowly, sizing them up, waiting for the blood to be right where it should be. I am the last in the row of hanging girls. Upside down, wrapped tight in my straight jacket you made, too weak to even swing back and forth.

You take a large tool off the table, the same one I saw you use last time. I watched you make it with the fire and a hammer.  It still has blood on it from last week. I know its coming again. The slaughter of the fuckpigs. You start with the first girl, she tries to recoil away but she can’t. You jam the sharp tool right into her throat and the blood gushes out as her eyes go blank. Then onto the next. As you go down the line, they are screaming inside their heads, hope being dashed once and for all. You tell them to “die, fuckpig, die” as you stick each one and twist your death tool.

Finally you get too me. I can see the rest of them hanging, bleeding out. I close my eyes and wait for the stick of the tool. Instead, once again, you pull my mouth open by my hair and shove your hard cock inside. I suck on it, with no tongue to even taste your evil, and when I open my eyes I see you’re watching your slaughter of fuckpigs twitch as they die. You cum deep in my throat as the last ones stop moving, all life and hope gone.  You reach up and cut the rope that im hanging by. I crash to the ground.  I have survived another round of fuckpig slaughter. But why? I don’t want another week of torture. I don’t want to witness your next set of kills. You unbuckle my jacket and free my arms. Now its my job to collect all your jackets off their dead bodies. To clean them and pile them up for your next set of fuckpigs. I get to work as I hear you leave, no doubt in search of the next.

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