"lucky girl R-18G" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/2AEN32xf Created on: Friday 19th of July 2019 10:04:31 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:08:55 AM UTC Lucky Girl Christy was a lucky girl. Normally a girl who go her two front teeth knocked out in gym class would not be fit to be cooked in the way girls were supposed to aspire to. Normally, that girl would be taken to the butcher, had her head removed, and been cut up for parts after death. Not Christy. The butcher was feeling generous. Christy was strapped into a heavy oak chair. Pliers were located, and the teeth below those knocked out were pulled. Christy screamed and wept. She was injected with Jessica Serum, which kept her alive until her head or heart was removed, or she suffocated. A girl who had her front teeth knocked out would have died quick and painless, and been forgotten and served anonymously right next to the parts of those who graded B- or less, not Christy. She was strapped into a special gutting rack. A small knife sawed open her toned belly, and her intestines were removed. She was kept awake and alert, and she sobbed through this as well. Everything that was not fit to eat was removed, and the space filled with vegetables. Then weeping Christy was sewn back up. A girl without her two front teeth would have been placed on the guillotine, and after a single ‘whoosh, thunk’ her head would be tossed in a bin with the rest. Her family would have gotten a small sum, and that would be the last time anyone really thought about her. Not Christy. She was held down by four strong men. The spit was pushed into her cute pink slit. Christy howled as the cold steel lover ruptured her cervix, her womb, her liver, and her vocal chords on the way through her body. She vomited blood, and hallucinated vividly before the bloody tip came out her mouth. The spit was thicker than normal, because the missing teeth gave it a bit more room. An A-Grade girl with her two front teeth would have been treated much the same as Christy to this point, minus the tooth pulling. But her head would have been carefully removed at this time, pulled off the spit (ending her life) to be arranged into a smile showing all her teeth, and been displayed next to her roasted body. Not Christy. Christy was placed in the dark as they locked a fireproof helmet around her head, tucking her hair inside. She felt the heat of the flames as her spit was carried over. She was placed over the coals, and Christy squirmed and writhed as the heat washed over her body. It was like setting her hand on a stovetop, but she couldn’t flinch away. Her vocal cords were shot, so she couldn’t scream. All she could do was weep, her tears steaming against the helmet and turning it into a tiny sauna. An A-Grade girl would have been long past any pain or fear by this point. She would have been taken off the fire, and the headless body would have been presented to the diners to much polite applause. She would have been carved and served. Everyone would have eaten their fill and retired to the yard for entertainment. Any meat left on the bones would be removed for sandwiches or gravy or a hundred other things. The guests would all agree that the meal had been delicious. But they were used to such things, and even that girl would have been forgotten in a few short days or weeks. Her head might be kept as a memento….. One among many. Not Christy. Christy was taken off the fire. She was delirious, feeling the worst heat stroke imaginable. She was medium rare, but didn’t know it. The extra thick spit had air holes for her to breathe, so she lived, but her muscles were mostly dead, with only small twitches, and the ruins of her vocal cords barely able to produce a whimper. She felt relief at being taken off the fire, but fresh pain when she was brought to the table and they started carving her alive. A regular girl would generally not be harvested until high school or even later. Her body would pick up years of bruises and bumps, small scars or burns. Broken bones that had not set quite right. There would be years of illnesses and sleepless nights. Of fears and anxiety and stress. Of hard work, of hopes and dreams that would only be dashed when her grades or physical came in too low for citizenship and she was taken to the butcher. Not Christy. Christy was 13, in 7th grade. She loved playing soccer more than anything in the world, so she was in excellent physical shape, toned all over. But she had the baby face, and the soft and pale budding boobies. She had taken her fair share of scrapes and bumps, but never suffered the broken ribs from the boys football team practicing tackling the girls. She had not reached the age where bad grades meant death, so she hadn’t found herself crying from the stress. She had never had to deal with her own wild children, or had to answer to an employer. She had not had the heartbreak of her first crush leaving her. And in the two hours between that first slice on the table, and her being allowed to die, as her ribcage was cracked open, and her pussy carved out, Christy helped pioneer a new serving style and became famous forever. Christy was a lucky girl indeed.