"Story: Souvenir « on: August 12, 2017, 11:07:31 AM » ReplyQ" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/bVWnfhRN Created on: Monday 2nd of April 2018 07:28:58 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:15:00 AM UTC Story: Souvenir « on: August 12, 2017, 11:07:31 AM » ReplyQuote “Oh, my God,” I said, purely out of nothing else to say. She smirked a little, that facial expression she had that acknowledged that she’d wrong-footed you. I had seen it a lot, during the years we were together -- years which had ended a long time ago. I chopped at my eggs; I had been mixing them into my hash browns, but now I was just taking my ex’s sudden appearance on what was supposed to be my vacation out on them. “If you didn’t want company,” she said, “I assumed you wouldn’t have put where you were all over Facebook.” It was true, actually, that I wouldn’t have minded company; friends had mentioned that they might consider joining me, when I told them where I was going. Las Palmas, the capital city of the island nation of Altamere, didn’t exactly rival Vegas for splendor or sheer glitz, but there was nowhere like it for balls-out murderous debauchery. I’d had an inch-thick steak from the top of a beautiful young woman’s thigh for dinner the previous night, having had the opportunity to speak with the young lady first... the place was just... out of this world, and I had two weeks here, with nothing to worry about except deciding what the most debauched thing I could do next was. Well, that, and now what to do about my crazy ex. She sighed, and looked away. “I never knew what to do,” she said. “For you, I mean. I never did know what to do to make you happy.” “Die in a fire,” I mumbled, and turned away, looking over into the casino. A serving tray walked up: It was the lower half of a shapely, nude, female body, truncated just at the belly button, with a flat tray mounted on top. I reached out and took my check, the little leather folder wrapped around a pen and a slip of paper. I wrote my room number down on the slip of paper, signed it, folded it back into the folder, set the folder down on the tray. The tray walked away, its shapely ass swaying seductively. I hadn’t fucked a serving tray here, yet, but it was on my list of things to try; it was apparently considered gauche to do it in public, but they brought room service up to the room, so... “I’d do it,” she said, quietly. I looked up at her, meeting her eyes. She held them, just for a moment; she raised her chin up, to let me know she was feeling vulnerable and wanted to project toughness. “Yeah?” I asked, light and easy. “Do what?” She looked away. “Whatever you want,” she said. “I know what you like, why you’re here.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “If you just... talk to me, really talk to me... I’ll go down there, right now, and climb onto any of those machines, let them do... whatever, to me... just... talk to me. Please.” I attacked the eggs again, chopping them a bit, then abandoning the whole breakfast enterprise. I pushed the plate away. “All right,” I said, then looked up to meet her eyes. “All right, it’s a deal.” I held out my hand, and she took it, just the barest hint of doubt in her eyes, as though she weren’t quite sure she’d made the right choice. “Let’s go,” I said, “I know a spot.” I stood up and held my hand out, indicating the direction. She slid out of the booth, allowed herself to be guided; I walked along behind her, admiring the swing of her hips. She’d always had an amazing ass and an incredible hourglass figure, wide hips and an almost impossibly tiny waist. She was wearing a skimpy skirt that swished when she walked and a tight, short t-shirt above it, and I could just see the top of the lower-back tattoo she’d gotten, largely at my instigation, while we were together. There was a raised bar in the middle of the casino floor with a fantastic view of both the betting action and... some other action. There were three kinds of guillotine, a multi-party gallows, and brightly polished Jessica 3000 auto-spitting machine; I’d sat in this bar for most of the afternoon yesterday -- a Sunday -- and watched as the machines were used, on average once every half hour or so. I indicated a booth, watched her ass as she slid in. She had the most lovely ass of anyone I’d ever dated, round and lovely and perfect and she moved it perfectly and it felt... my God, it felt like... but she hated anal sex, so I hadn’t felt it more than a couple of times. I ordered a pair of shots, vodka, and then an old, expensive bottle of wine; we poured a pair of glasses, and we talked. It was raw, tearing open old wounds like that, but I bore it, smiled and took a deep breath and let her see my inner self, my true feelings. We talked the entire afternoon, and I told her everything, and I listened when she talked. I didn’t hear anything new, or say anything new, but I didn’t angle any of it, I just let it all... flow. Every once in a while, a shapely young woman was led up to the gallows and hanged; twice, women were beheaded, and one was run through on the Jessica machine. It was tourists, mostly, women who’d come here specifically to lose their heads or in the company of men who wanted to see them dance the last, final dance in the air; the place was famous for eating its women, but they mostly did so in private. At places like this, it as other people’s women who were eaten. We laughed, and we cried, and we connected, deeply and truly, this one last time. After we’d ordered and eaten one of the best meals I’d ever had -- some sort of spaghetti bolognese -- she poured the last of the bottle into her glass, and she swished it around, and she drank it all in one long drink. “Well,” she said, “What’s it going to be?” She looked at me, and I looked at her. A serving tray approached, bearing the check; I signed it and put my room number on it, and set the black folder down on the tray, which turned and walked away. In a fit of playfulness, I slapped its ass; it stumbled just a little, then shook itself, saucily, and kept walking. I could almost see the half-amused, half-annoyed mue on the face of the absent upper half of the woman. I looked back at my ex, and I knew what I wanted. Standing, I took her hand, and led her over to one of the specialized guillotines. This one I had seen used only once, since I’d been here, but it had been spectacular, and I knew it would be again; I could see, in my mind’s eye, my ex, bound over... but I’m getting ahead of myself. “Are you sure about...?” She looked at the device skeptically. “I was sure you’d want me on one of those, with one of those sticks up my butt...” “No,” I said, “I mean, before I actually came here, I’d totally have chosen that, but... shit.” She shook her head. We were waiting for an attendant. Unlike the traditional guillotine or the gallows, this one required help, technical specialists. Our “technical specialists” arrived in the form of a pair of cute twenty-something women wearing the casino’s khaki pants and maroon golf shirt -- the women’s version, in which the golf shirt was skin-tight and short, leaving the belly button visible. “Hey,” said the more senior-looking of the two -- she had more flair around her name tag. “I’m here to be your proctor and tech support... while we’re firing the machine up, we’re going to do Megan here, as well.” “I mean...” said Megan, though if she meant it as an objection, it wasn’t very convincing. She cocked her hip, which was impressive. I wondered, briefly, how the life span of female casino employees would plot against the size of their hips and the shape of their ass. Probably, I thought, it would be an impressive curve. “You guys can pick whether you want to go first, or second,” said our Technical Support. “Maybe if you want to, you know, get it over with,” She looked at me encouragingly, “Or maybe you want to watch Megan, kind of see what you’re in for?” Megan rolled her eyes. She wasn’t actually chewing bubble gum, but I keep wanting to remember her that way, she just had a... chewing bubble gum sort of expression. “I’d like to see Megan go first,” I said. My ex- had started to say something, but for once I had no compunction about just speaking right over her; it wasn’t as though there were going to be repercussions later, thank God. The Tech Support girl smiled and nodded. “Okay,” she said. She turned an impressively large wheel on the device, which seemed to start slow but then spin freely, and a very heavy-looking blade, an inch thick and beveled to a sharp edge along the bottom edge. There was a padded bench, bisected by an inch -thick slot which was obviously paired with the heavy blade. It was curved to allow the person using the device to kneel and have their upper body supported. “Okay,” said Tech Support, “Go ahead and get in there.” Megan rolled her eyes again. “Seriously,” she said, “I was just fifteen minutes late.” “For the sixth time this month,” said Tech Support. “Your contract clearly says...” “Seriously,” said Megan. “Seriously,” said Tech Support. Megan seemed to deflate. “Do I need to strip, or...” “Just... take your bottoms off,” said Tech Support. “Your top doesn’t matter.” “That’s the impression I’m getting,” muttered my ex. “Fine,” said Megan, and shimmied out of her khakis. Her skimpy little bikini briefs rolled off her with the pants, showing off a lovely well-trimmed pussy with a tiny tuft of hair above it; a tiny piece of silver heart jewelry peeked out from inside her puffy, complicated labia, and a tattoo that said “Bobby” in cursive script just where her thigh met her crotch. Tech Support helped Megan kneel in the device, bent forward at the hips over the padded curve of the bench. Once the girl was situated, Tech Support fed a strap over her back and cinched it down, holding her in place. I noticed that there that there was a laser casting a line across Megan’s lower back; Tech Support adjusted her just a bit, making sure the red line was straight across her perfectly tanned back. “One second,” said Tech Support, “Megan’s already chipped, so I just have to transfer her personality construct to a new chip in her... lower half...” She had a big needle-ish device, which she shoved into Megan’s ass-cheek. Megan squawked. Tech support played with her phone for a second. “loading,” she said, “fifty-five per cent... sixty...” She looked up at me. “Hey,” she said, “Do you want to fuck her while we do the, you know?” “Jesus, Jen,” said Megan, “It’s bad enough you’re invoking my contract over fucking being late, you just can’t let him fuck me...” Jen the Tech Support Person got an annoyed expression on her face. “Override alpha alpha three two three lima four peru,” she said, and Megan’s face suddenly changed, her bored, disaffected expression disappeared in favor of a chipper smile. “Of course I’d love it if you fucked me while I was being converted,” Megan said, a little bit eerily perky. “Oh my God,” said my ex, under her breath. “Oh,” said Tech Support Jen, to me, “Is she chipped? Because I can transfer a limited version of her construct straight to the new controller, but if you want to build a construct from her natural personality from default hardware it’s going to take a couple of hours...” I looked at my ex, who was giving me one of her inscrutable looks, and then back at Tech Support Jen. “Is there a sort of default personality chip you guys use for the trays you have on the floor?” Jen looked back and forth between my ex and me and said, “Of course, I’ll just set that up...” There was a little bit of silence, and I said, “Could you switch her back to her real personality? I didn’t want to fuck her anyhow, and I’d rather watch her get...” Jen looked at me blankly, then shrugged, and repeated the control code. “Oh my God,” said Megan, looking back over her shoulder, and at that moment Jen pressed whatever it was she needed to press and the huge heavy blade seemed to simply accelerate from “suspended above Megan’s back” to “resting below Megan’s belly” without making a sound or seeming to strain or pause or... It was only after I’d tracked the path the blade had traveled and wondered at its smooth operation that I suddenly looked up and became really cognizant of the fact that Megan had been cut clean in half, right along the line that the laser line had made across her back. There was a sort of cut-out to either side of the blade, a hole in the padding that Megan’s torso had been resting on, and it was suddenly clear what that was for: Megan’s insides were spilling out of each side of her, the top and the bottom, and sliding down into those holes. There was a snap, snap: Jen from Tech Support had pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and as I watched, open-mouthed, she began to scoop out the remainder of Megan’s insides. I said was fascinated by the after-care being administered Megan, or what had been Megan and was now two distinct parts of... something. Jen was had slapped a sort of plastic plate over Megan’s bottom half; it adhered to the raw edges of her torso and stuck in place, transforming what had been dead meat into something... whole, and distinct. Megan’s lower half, her legs and ass and her delicious-looking cunt, stood up sharply, suddenly displaying a coordination that you don’t necessarily expect to see from a severed body part. It took several steps back and curtseyed, or at least performed the bottom half of a curtsey. Jen placed another of the plastic plates over the gaping hole at the bottom of Megan’s torso. “Oh my God,” said my ex, “What are they going to do with her top half?” I opened my mouth to respond, but realized I didn’t know. I looked at Jen from Tech Support, who said, “Well, she’s a croupier, and she’s already chipped for that, so we’ll just stir her and then mount her at one of the tables. Much cheaper than employing a real person, of course, but sort of... low rent.” My ex looked at me, at Megan, and then at Jen. “Stir her?” Jen held up a device that looked like an extra-thin version of the sort of stick blender you see in bars. “I’m going to punch a small hole in the back of her skull,” she said, “And then I’m going to insert this...” Jen hit a button on the stick-blender, and it whirred to life, spinning at a very high speed; two pieces of wire with tiny little weights on the ends of them spun out from the central axis. “Oh my God,” said my ex, looking the device, and then at me. “Shit,” said Megan, who, it turned out, was still alive and conscious, although a little distracted-looking. She raised her head. “You’re really going to do that?” “I can’t leave you intact and then install you as furniture,” said Jen. “Fuck,” said Megan. Jen leaned forward and stuck tip of the blender-like device against the back of Megan’s skull; it telescoped in, seeming to push into her skull but actually pushing into itself on a spring; then the spring-loaded thing against the back of her skull went “snap!” and something happened, because Megan jolted, or at least the top half of her did. “Wait,” she said, but Jen pressed the button on the device, and there was a barely-audible whirring sound and Megan’s eyes went sort of blank. “Override alpha alpha three two three lima four peru,” said Jen, and Megan’s eyes suddenly came back into focus. She smiled a charming, warm smile. “What can I do to help you today?” she said, looking around, meeting all our eyes. “Standby, please,” said Jen, and then Megan went unfocused again, but this time somehow more gracefully. Two young women in bell-hop type clothing had arrived with a cart; they loaded Megan’s vacantly-smiling upper half onto the cart and wheeled it away. Megan’s lower half followed along like an eager but clumsy puppy following its newly adopted masters. “So,” said Jen from Tech Support, “Are you sure you don’t want to save her personality? The original hardware isn’t supported, too power intensive, but we can at least make it as close a match as possible...” I shook my head. “Being able to fuck that ass without having to deal with the personality is the whole point,” I said. My ex gave me a cool look. Jen met my ex’s eyes and reached out to pat the padded station, reset and ready for its next customer. My ex looked at me, then at Jen, and then did the thing with her chin again, raising it up just a bit. And then she stepped forward to climb up onto the machine. “I know you want the lower body,” said Jen, “Have you given any thought as to what you want done with her uppers? I shrugged. “I just... I guess I hadn’t given it any thought.” “If you chip her before we chop her, the Casino will buy her off you...” “I don’t really own her,” I said, “She’s just... fulfilling her half of a bargain.” Jen nodded the nod of someone who didn’t really want to know any more. “Okay,” she said, “In that case, I can simply dispose of her top half, take what meat we can and apply the balance against disposal fees and maybe your account if there’s a surplus...” “You’re telling me,” said my ex, “that from the waist up I’m worth slightly more than it costs to dispose of me?” Jen shrugged. “Maybe,” she said agreeably. My ex sighed. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s just get on with this.” She settled into the machine, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Jen walked around her, doing the thing with the laser and the strap, pulling my ex’s shirt up to expose her midriff; then she used the big needle to inject a chip into my ex’s ass. “Okay,” said Jen, “That’s it, then. Do, uh, do you want to fuck her, while we...?” I looked at my ex, found her looking at me, met her eyes; she raised her eyebrows, like, yeah, you wanna fuck me? “Nah,” I said, “Just do it.” Once again, the blade went faster than I could see; one second it was suspended above the middle of my ex’s back, and the next second it was below her. The look on her face was something I’ll savor forever: The only time I ever saw her look surprised, the only time she didn’t manage to look smugly superior and just the slightest bit bored. “Oh, my God,” she said. Behind her, her lower half suddenly stood up, awkwardly, then fell over sideways; Jen from Tech Support caught it, and managed to get it back kneeling on the machine. My ex was panting, her eyes moving around, looking a little unfocused. Jen slapped one of the plastic plates over the top of my ex’s lower half. Her insides were spilling out of her top half. “I can’t believe you’ve done this,” said my ex, almost conversationally, like I’d failed to clean up after poker night or something. “And I can’t believe you’re going to let me die, and keep my... my...” “I’m not letting you die,” I said, “I’m keeping you, I’m just getting rid of the part of you I don’t think is necessary.” She stared at me, and I got to see her surprised look again; it gradually faded, her face going very gradually slack as she bled out. I watched the light finally fading from my ex’s eyes. “Your tray will be ready for you tomorrow, you can pick it up at the front desk or we can arrange to deliver it to your room...” The bellhops were back with their cart, and Jen directed them in loading my ex, the live part and the dead part, onto the cart. “My room,” I said. “By the way, can you arrange for a girl, for tonight? Unlimited use, please.” Jen nodded, then followed the bellhops, my ex’s lower half trotting along beside her. A tray came walking by with cigars and cigarettes for sale; I took a cigar, chopped the end off, and lit it. Time to start that vacation in earnest.