"Story: Holiday Parties (complete!) « on: November 27, 2014," By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/cupQ8dBh Created on: Monday 2nd of April 2018 07:30:33 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:14:57 AM UTC Story: Holiday Parties (complete!) « on: November 27, 2014, 04:18:28 PM » ReplyQuote Hi All, I didn't manage to draw this one to a conclusion, and now I have to go get ready for the real feast. Hope you enjoy what's here... “You’re kidding.” She’d said it with an incredulous grin on her face. Her best friend, Callie, had smiled that sly ‘I knew this would blow your mind’ smile she had, and climbed into the driver’s side of the car. Anna had stood there for a second, her mind racing, before she slid into the passenger seat. Callie had gotten the car into gear and moving before Anna had thought of anything else to say. “I mean, they’re seriously going to do it?” “Yep,” said Callie. “Drawing’s at midnight, two names pulled out of a hat, and then the rest of the night to...” “To get them ready...” “Dinner’s at three, tomorrow; everybody at the party tonight is welcome to come back or to stay the night...” “Wow.” She’d been unable to think about anything else the rest of the drive. Because she knew as soon as Callie had told her that she’d end up with her name in the hat. And it was different, she found, when you weren’t trying to decide whether you would do something, but instead trying to work out... her whole image of her self... what it all meant... that she’d already decided. She was quiet on the ride, trying to figure out if she’d suddenly become a different, entirely more interesting and risk-taking person, or if she’d always been this person and was just now noticing. Now she was standing on the stage with fifteen other women, all of them naked, handcuffed, chained to big eyebolts on the stage via collars that’d been fitted around their necks. The stage was small, the kind with a pole in the middle of it, and there wasn’t really enough room for sixteen women on it, so they were crammed together up there, flesh rubbing and chains jingling, and she was torn between being impatient and wanting every step to go on and on forever so she could savor it. Her number, 6, was scrawled in sharpie on her forehead; after the drawing, the women whose names had been in the hat and not drawn would be the center of a lot of attention, and the number-on-the-forehead was a way of making sure it was clear who’d been in. There were apparently gift-bags and honored places at the table tomorrow. Anna didn’t care about any of that; as soon as her name had gone on the list, sixth on the sheet, she’d known that the MC would be pulling the number 6 out of the hat. She knew it in her belly, knew it in her soul. She wasn’t getting off on the anticipation, the fear, of the drawing, the way the rest of the women on the stage were, because she already knew how it would turn out. She was envisioning the process, she could see it in her mind’s eye: Being led down off the stage, a leash attached to her collar, either before or ahead of the other girl whose number would be chosen; being led back through the crowd, hands on her body as everyone got a grope of the girl who was no longer human, quite. The crowd hushed and the MC began to speak, giving the kind of speech you have to give before something like this, getting everybody warmed up, framing what was about to happen in just the right way. She wasn’t listening; she was imagining arriving in the kitchen, being helped up onto the big prep table, the knives... There was a hush, suddenly; the crowd went quiet as the MC reached into the hat and pulled out the first name. He unfolded the little piece of paper and held it up to the light, squinting as though he could barely make it out -- oh the drama! oh the tension! -- before putting the mic back to his lips and saying, ‘Twelve!’ There was a gasp from her left; she spared a glance at the young, olive-skinned, African-featured young woman who would be sharing her fate. She imagined following that young woman down off the stage, through the crowd, watching her ass sway ahead, watching as she climbed up onto the prep table, getting an intimate view of what was about to happen... There was a hush, again, as the second number was chosen. Anna didn’t even listen, she already knew what it would be; she was already imagining the feeling of the blade moving through her flesh, the... “Four,” said the MC. Anna blinked, positive that she’d heard wrong. She opened her mouth to object, looking over at woman number four, who was now Thanksgiving Turkey number two, whose face was a mask of shock. Middle-aged but aging gracefully into it, short hair, ample ass, pretty mouth and deep brown eyes both open wide in surprise. Anna genuinely didn’t know what to do next. She’d been seized with such a, a sure vision... she’d known, with absolute certainty, what was going to happen; she just stood there on the stage. Two women in tight leather came through and undid the collars on all the women who were not chosen, but left the handcuffs on; one by one, the women rejected by fate made their way off the stage, into the crowd. She barely felt it when the crowd groped and grabbed her as she made her way off the stage. She had no idea what to do next. Find Cassie, she supposed, go home, get some sleep... “Hey,” said a voice near her ear. It was a big man with self-assured eyes, his hand already on her hip. She’d never seen him before. “Bend over,” he said, “I want to fuck you.” “I...” She looked back at him in confusion, looked around; other women coming off the stage were... well, some of them were making their way to the back, where their clothes were waiting; others were... staying in the crowd. Little knots of people formed around each one. “Okay,” said Anna. She leaned forward, felt the man’s hands on her hips, his cock sliding into her. Realized that she was dripping wet, had been for a while... He fucked her hard and deep, was still fucking her when the two dinner selections were led past. Anna couldn’t decide whether to hate them or sympathize with them or... They both looked stunned, like they couldn’t believe this was happening. Anna felt bad, because they didn’t look like they wanted to be there, not really. She realized that she should treasure this moment, bent over and being fucked in the middle of a crowd of mostly strangers. Someone stepped in front of her, and then a cock was in her mouth, pushing at the back of her throat, sliding out and back in and then finding a rythm almost, but not quite, matching the rhythm of the man fucking her from behind. She should treasure this moment because not everyone was given a moment of clarity like this, a moment when she knew exactly who -- what -- she was. It hadn’t gone the way she expected, but... well, she’d been foolish to think that it would, really. The hand of fate didn’t rig drawings; it just changed people. And she’d been changed. Probably, she thought, finishing her degree would be a waste of time and money; she wondered if she should just go in on Black Friday and register herself at one of the processing plants, walk right in off the street; or maybe... well, Black Friday was a, a shopping day, maybe she should walk into one of the auction houses, let someone take her home... That would not guarantee that she was meat, she knew; she might be used for anything at all. She wondered if there was a way to specify what use she’d be sold for... but if you could choose, were you really a slave? The man in her throat finished, spurting hot and thick over her tonsils, and pulled out. She stood up, leaned against the man who was in her pussy. Tears were flowing down her face from the face-fucking, makeup flowing down over her cheeks. “I want to see them being prepared,” she said. Simple statement of needs; leave the details to him... His cock slid out of her and he gripped her upper arm, half controlling and half protective, and pushed through the crowd of people, hauling her along. She saw Callie, dancing with some other young man. Wondered what Callie would say when she told her what she was going to do next. Through the door and into the kitchen; one of the women -- the African-featured one -- was up on the prep table, her skin glistening with oil; she made a choking, sobbing sound as one of the chefs slid a long, thick-bladed knife into her belly and sliced her open with one deft motion. Anna stopped moving altogether and just stood in the doorway, transfixed, watching as the young woman’s insides slid out of her and into a big bowl. The other woman, the middle-aged secretary-assed woman -- number four -- was standing to one side, watching, open mouthed, as her compatriot was prepared. The woman looked over at Anna, eyes meeting, a connection passing between them Anna smiled, reassuring, calm, and the woman smiled back, and seemed to calm down. « Last Edit: January 03, 2015, 05:51:53 PM by TheoDoor »