R. C. SmithShort Stories and Vignettes

Do not read my works if you are offended by descriptions of sexuality and violence.
(Do not read them just for those descriptions, either.)

Dead Toy

“You’re a pretty girl,” he said, “but you look awful.”

“I am very sorry, sir, not to please you the way I should,” I said.

“Ah, you’re pleasing me all right, I’m just wondering why you look as if you’d just come out of a grave.”

“I did, sir,” I answered. “I am dead.”

“Really?” he said. “I’ve fucked a dead girl once, but I’ve never had one actually suck my cock before.”

He hadn’t understood, of course. “You really fucked a dead girl?” I asked. “Did you like it?”

“I thought she was a bit unresponsive,” he laughed. “You know, I didn’t do it on purpose, I was so drunk then that I hadn’t realized she’d bled to death. Well, you are almost as pale as she was, but you don’t seem as dead to me.”

“No sir,” I said, “but in a way, I am.”

“Don’t speak in riddles, slut,” he said.

“If you are really interested, sir, in the fate of a simple toy, then I will gladly tell you. I have displeased my master, whose guest you are here, and he has killed me for it.”

“How have you displeased him?”

“I do not know, sir. I think it was something I said in my sleep. I did speak in my sleep, sometimes, when I was alive, but I never knew about it afterwards.”

“And how did he kill you?” I noticed in his voice that he didn’t take seriously what I said.

“He asked me what the most horrible way to die would be for me. He often asks this the girls he kills. For me, what I’ve always feared most was being buried alive. So he let me eat and drink plenty, so that I would last longer, and then he had me put into a wooden crate that was three by three by three feet, and had the lid nailed shut, and had it buried eight feet deep in the ground, but there was a small opening in the box and a pipe that led outside so I wouldn’t suffocate. Before he had me put into the box he showed me the hole in the ground that waited for me. I almost fainted, and it made him laugh, and he fucked me right next to it. And then, you know, began a very slow and agonizing death.”

“That must give you quite painful cramps to be cramped into such a small space,” he said, and I did not know whether the idea appealed to him, or whether there was a trace of pity in his voice.

“Unbearably painful,” I said. “And with the cramps, after a while something ruptured. I still have use of my arms,” and I proved it by stroking his penis, “but I cannot walk anymore. Of course,” I added, “I do not have to walk anymore.” For some reason, and very stupidly, I felt tears come to my eyes, and for a moment my voice faltered.

“Don’t whine,” he said, and fortunately my voice was back enough for me to apologize. “You didn’t suffocate from cramps in the chest, though?”

“My master was careful to avoid this,” I said. “The way I was put into the box was especially hard on my legs, and also on my arms, but it left my chest free to breathe. He has experience with this, you know.”

“And you were buried eight feet under the ground?”

“Oh yes, sir, this was the way he killed me.”

“But you are here to please me, now, and not in that buried crate?”

“This is of no significance, except for your pleasure. My master wanted to provide each of his guests with a girl, but there was some incident in which several of his girls were killed or disfigured, I don’t know, and he could not get fresh girls in time, so he was forced to take what was available to him. I was dug out and cleaned and given some water and food, and tomorrow, when you and the other guests will have left, my death will be resumed.”

I had continued stroking his penis, and I could see that he was now ready to use me again. As my legs did not work I could not straddle him, so he had me lie on my back and laid himself on top of me. He was not a cruel man, and I could see that my scream as he put his weight on my thighs did not please him, so I did my best not to show my pain.

“May your master show mercy to you, if I tell him that you have satisfied me well?” he asked afterwards.

“Sir,” I said, “I am a toy, not even a slave. He had me put into that crate, and this is where I am. I cannot possibly be the object of mercy.”

“But you dread returning to your death, don’t you?”

“I know now that it is worse than I had imagined it in my worst nightmares. It might please my master to know this, but then, he has not asked, so maybe he does not care.”

And then we were silent for a while, and he looked at my body thoughtfully, and I saw kindness in his face.

“I will provide you with the mercy that I can show you,” he said, “without abusing the hospitality your master has shown me,” and then he told me what he was going to do.

And I cried, for no one had ever shown such care for me when I had been alive, and much less had anyone ever given so much thought to how he could do me good.

For a moment he was taken aback, as he misunderstood my tears, but when I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, he understood and forgave me.

And as I could not walk, he lifted me up, he was a strong man, and he carried me from the second floor where the rooms of the guests were down to the basement, and into the kitchen, and laid me down upon the large stone table where the meat was prepared, and he said to the cook who was still working despite the late hour, “Don’t kill her, but cut off her legs.”

And before I could thank him once more for his kindness, he left.

“I’ll see to it that he will get a good piece,” the cook said.

“Thank you,” I said, and then I screamed, though he worked fast and with skill. Before I had lost too much blood he cauterized my wounds with boiling oil, and I screamed again, which he did not seem to mind. When the bleeding had stopped, he fucked me.

“Fine meat,” he then said, examining my legs, “I’ll get a slice of that for myself. A pity that the rest of you is going to rot in the earth.”

“I was buried last week,” I said, “you see, it has already happened.”

“Sure,” he answered. “Still, it’s a pity. Nice cunt you have. You stay here for the night, and I’ll fuck you again in the morning, before they put you back into the crate.”

“Thank you,” I said, even though I did not know what exactly I thanked him for. “Thank you,” I said again.

(04/2007)

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