Tonight I offer a nice little Dolcettish nightmare. Don't we all dream at some time about what it might be like to be spitted and roasted?
They came for me in the middle of the night. I had already been asleep and dreaming for hours. I’d. been told they liked to come at that time ... when one is least likely to flee or resist ... when the neighbors are asleep and hear nothing, or are unlikely to bother to check even if they do.
They rang the buzzer and rapped insistently on my apartment door. Groggily, I stumbled out of bed, wrapped myself in a terrycloth robe and went to answer the door.
Peering through the peephole, I could see m two men ... weirdly distorted through the thick glass. One was holding up a badge. The other ... a behemoth of a man ... was looking, with fists tightly balled, as though he was about to break down my door.
I hastened to unlock it, opening it a crack.
“What is it? What do you want?”
“Official government business. Open up!”
After a moment’s hesitation, I undid the safety chain and backed away.
They barged in.
“Are you Barbara Moore?” inquired the one with the badge. “DPFA cull registration number M830724-096?”
I nodded, sucked in my breath and pulled my gown more tightly around my body.
“Your number is up, Ms. Moore!”
“You mean .... ?”
“Yes, you’re number forty-seven of tonight’s cull.”
“But there must be some mistake? I mean ... surely ... shouldn’t I ... “
“No mistake. I have the cull order and documentation papers right here.”
“I see,” I muttered, frowning at the papers thrust into my hand without really focusing on the writing.
“You know the score, girlie. You’re on the register. Keeping the nation fed is your patriotic duty. You should have known it was always just a matter of time before your number came up. You’ll come peacefully, right?... no trouble?”
“No ... I mean yes,” I said, my voice quavering. Resistance was futile. This loathsome little balding man, with a perpetual snigger and leer pasted on his pock-marked face, was not to be trifled with. “May I get dressed?”
“No need. As a matter of fact, regulations say you’re required to strip for me. Do it now, or I will have my colleague, Bull, do it for you!”
I blanched ... backed away, turned my back on him and dropped my robe. I was naked save for the kinis I had worn to bed.
“Come on now, girlie. No need for modesty where you’re going. Off with that little thing! Make it snappy ... and turn around and face me!”
I slid my kinis down off my hips, let them drop to my ankles and stepped free, one foot at a time. Slowly ... reluctantly ... I turned myself about to face him, covering myself as best I could with arms and hands. I avoided eye contact.
“Drop your arms to your sides and don’t move!”
“Please.” I whispered, raising a hand to wipe a tear from one eye.
“Arms down! Do it! Now!”
“Alright, alright.”
I stood, trembling, but holding as still as I possibly could. Walking up to me, he began what appeared to be some kind of inspection.
He worked methodically ... checking my scalp ... looking into my open mouth ... squeezing me at the shoulders, running his hands down my sides to the curve of my hips.
“How tall are you?”
“Five feet, six inches.”
While that tidbit of information was being written down by Bull on a clipboard, my inspection continued. His hands went to my breasts ... cupping and lifting them ... as though he were trying rob weigh them.
“Grade A, medium,” he reported to his assistant for recording ... then hebrelessed my breasts allowed when my them to fall, but not before stroking and tweaking my erect nipples with his thumbs.
“Hips slight ... ass a bit smallish and firm” he continued, lifting my ass cheeks in his hands and squeezing hard.
“Spread your legs!” he ordered, kneeling before me and slapping at the insides of my thighs. I did as I was told, sliding my feet outward on the hardwood floor, while raising my gaze to the ceiling and fixing it on the overhead light fixture.
I grimaced and gasped as he poked and probed, tentatively at first with one finger, then rudely inserting two ... forcing them in deep and working them vigorously ... not stopping until I began to respond ... after which he withdrew them, wiping my wetness off on his sleeve.
“Mark her high on the pussy scale,” he grunted, rising to his feet.
“Finished?” I snapped with undisguised contempt.
“You got a bathroom scale, girlie?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Go get it and bring it here.”
I headed for the bathroom. He followed, keeping me in sight. I picked up the scale, brought it back, set it on the floor and, without waiting for him to say anything, stepped onto it.
“119 pounds, little on the thin side.” he observed drily. It was written down.
“Ok, give me that clipboard,” he said, snatching it away from his over-sized partner. Turning to me, he presented it with a pen, saying, “Sign at the bottom. You’ve been graded A1. Top grade. Congratulations, girlie. Your next of kin will be duly compensated for your sacrifice.”
I signed without looking.
“What now?”
“On the floor, face down. Bull, get the ropes! Time to truss her up.”
I knelt, extended my arms, placed the palms of my hands on the floor orb and lowered myself ... stretching out on my tummy.
“Hands behind your back!”
He knelt beside me and bound my wrists together. I winced as the cords dug into my flesh. Then they tied my ankles together. When that was done, they flipped me over on my back.
“Ok, girlie. This is it. You’re nothing but meat now!”
“How long do I have?” I murmured.
“Transport is waiting outside. Overnight delivery. You’ll be spitted and over the coals by well before noon tomorrow.”
“Will it hurt?”
“The spitting will. After that ... a piece of cake ... or should I say steak.” he chortled. “Enough now. There’s a dozen more like you outside, trussed up on the floor of the van. Time’s a-waisting.”
I blinked at him, wide-eyed, as he slapped a sticky swath of silvery tape over my mouth and produced a syringe. There was a quick jab and the room began to spin. The last thing I remember was Bull scooping me up, tossing me over his shoulder and heading out the door.
