Choices of Sisters

by Erotickynk

Editor's note:

During the era of the girl gangs, one of the worst incidents took place in Texas, a massive riot in the city of Dallas, a riot that went on for four days and even then did not stop but merely moved to Fort Worth. A gang calling themselves "Las Lobositas" started it and remained at the centre of it, but girls from all walks of life were joining in. By the time it was over, the damage estimates were in the billions of dollars, more than five hundred girls were dead in the streets, and another two thousand and been arrested and placed on death row. Shockingly, more than three hundred young men were dead as well, and this tragedy spurred the Texas legislature to quick action. Laws were passed, processing centres were established across the state. The organization once known as the Texas Rangers was expanded and transformed into the Population Police, and given vast powers over the women of the state. Selections were made by lottery--or at random, or by officers who had some grudge against this family or that--and the preferred process was the midnight raid, in which officers burst into a home and hauled off all that family's daughters except the youngest.

There were no appeals, no waiting periods, no process at all. The chosen girls were packed into trucks and taken directly to the processing centres, where they were immediately put to death. This was in the days before anthopopagy had been legalized in much of the Western World, and the bodies were either incinerated or, at times, used as pet food or as feed for pigs. It wasn't too long before at least some Texas officials began realizing that the state was not only experiencing a historic exodus of young women but was squandering valuable resources; even so, these practices remained in effect for decades in the Lone Star State, until superseded by federal laws.


Zoe knew they were coming tonight. I don't know how she knew, but she urged me one more time to run--to run from death even if it was to die in a painless suicide. Or a painful suicide like she plans--although I doubt it's really suicide when you get some creeper to help you.

I don't know why I am so sexually aroused. It certainly isn't because what is about to happen to me is a sexual act--it's not. Being taken to the Processing Centre is a cold, clinical experience. It isn't because I am being treated like anything more than one more cow in a herd off to be slaughtered. Maybe it's the uncertainty of what really goes on in the centre... what really is going to happen to my body in my last moments of life.

Regardless of the reason, I am sexually aroused. Very aroused. I keep getting tingling rushes up the back of my thighs, over my bum and across my waist to my belly up to my breasts. I keep feeling that dull swollen throb deep in my sex that tells me my g-spot is engorged and ready for a solid fucking that I doubt I'll get unless some police officer finds me attractive.


The thought hits me hard that this is my last fuck, my last opportunity to orgasm, the last time I will feel a man convulse inside me and flood my cunt and uterus with cum. And the man fucking me will become my killer in a few minutes.

I'm on my back and each hard thrust is slamming into me and pinning my pelvis hard against the gritty floor. I'm sweating like a pig and the slapping of our bellies is loud and echoing off the concrete walls. His cock is thick and long and each hard thrust is sending shockwaves up through my core, making my stomach flutter like it does just before I puke. But it is an erotic sensation, especially because of the building feelings in my pelvic cradle.

That I think of Riley in this moment makes my cheeks flush deeper than they already are. I wonder if she's feeling sexual at all--I wonder if she's already being murdered by the state. I'm positive I saw the Population Police truck and escorts turn down our street as I ran across the field behind our house, so for sure they have her and she's on her way to the Processing Centre.


All the women and girls around me in this overstuffed transport truck are scared shitless. Many are sobbing, others angry, a few stare dully at nothing at all because they've given up, but only one looks calm like I am. She's a dark haired girl with green eyes and she has a slight smirk on her face. Like me, she is crammed tight with forty other women in a truck meant for thirty soldiers, but she--like me--is alone. I want to ask her name, but she is sitting too far away for me to talk to without shouting. I keep staring at her, hoping she will look my way so I can smile at her--send her the signal that we are sisters in this--being okay with our impending execution.

They came for us in the middle of the night like they always do, just minutes after Zoe climbed out our window and dropped down into our backyard. I saw her running across the field behind our house and just as she disappeared into the woods I head the loud thumping on the front door.

They always come late at night--less fuss that way I suppose--storming into homes in the dead of night, rousing girls and women from sleep and packing them off to the Processing Centre.


I can feel my orgasm growing inside me--it is a hot liquid feeling that is swelling my lower belly and I can feel my body changing; my cunt loosening and opening, welcoming him, enveloping him, hungry for his cum. Even my anus is loosening and I toy with the idea of just letting it all go...let my bowels roll and my bladder release when my orgasm hits.

But my thought is interrupted by his low groan and the sudden hard thrust up into me and his body shuddering as he orgasms inside me, flooding my cunt with ropes of slippery cum and that triggers me...



My body curls my pelvis upward, taking more of him... I want more of him inside me...I want his whole body inside me. My back arches and my thighs tighten and I feel my toes curl and point inward as I cum and cum and cum.


Once Zoe disappeared, I closed the window and climbed into bed just as my bedroom door burst open and suddenly there was a half dozen men in our bedroom, surrounding me, ordering me up and to get dressed immediately. They were taking me into custody, on orders from Population Control, and they flashed a warrant with my name on it. I had such a short time, I slipped on a pair of faded black jeans and a sweatshirt and sneakers. No bra, no socks, and no panties.

"You don't need them," was the curt reply when I went looking for panties at least.

Strong hands gripping my arms and hair as they propelled me down the stairs and out the door past my sobbing mother and our younger sister. Neither my father nor my brother made an appearance to see me off. But it was during the firm handling and emotionless treatment by the Population Police that my sexual arousal began.

Maybe it's surrendering control that is turning me on. Yes, that sounds like it might be it--I no longer have control over what will be done to me.

I'm a passenger in my own body now--no more choices. I am being taken to a secure building filled with stainless steel surfaces and lethal devices to be murdered by the state. We've heard that on processing nights they kill up to a thousand women and girls between the hours of three and seven in the morning. There are hundreds of rumours about what they do with our bodies; harvesting our organs, incinerate us, feed us whole to pigs, even one about processing the meat and selling it as a pork substitute.

Who knows the truth? Who cares, really? What they do with my body makes no difference to me--I won't be in it when they do whatever it is they do with our flesh.


I feel his weight on me and hear his ragged breathing close to my ear as he comes down from his own orgasm, then suddenly he is lifting from me and I feel the suction as his cock pulls out of me, leaving my cunt feeling hollow and needy. And I am left shivering and twitching on the floor as he pulls up his jeans, buttons them and zips up the fly. I hear his buckle rattling as he does up his belt.

I know what hangs from that belt; the leather sheath that holds the Buck knife he's going to use on me.

I know--you probably think I'm crazy. I could have gone with all the other women like just one more sheep in the flock and if I behaved myself in the Processing Center, I might have had a swifter, less painful death. But I've never been able to behave, so I would have been at the mercy--or lack thereof--of the guards. Hanging? Impalement? Beheading? It would all depend on the death du jour. Who knows what really goes on in there?

Fuck that.

And fuck this.

I might as well get it over with.


The truck slows and I can hear what sounds like the squeal of a gate moving aside, then we speed up again. Looking out the rear of the truck I see I was right--the long barbed-wired gate is sliding closed behind us. We are jostled as the truck drives up a ramp, and suddenly bright lights are all around us.

As soon as the truck stops, the rear gate is dropped and our guards hop down and the yelling of orders starts. They want us "Out! Out! Out!" as fast as we can move. Some women and girls are shaking badly and their legs crumple and fold as they drop to the concrete floor from the bed of the truck. I see the dark haired girl drop effortlessly and walk calmly in the direction the guards point to, her hands casually in the pockets of her jeans.

I too hop down, and am a little surprised that my legs are beginning to feel weak as I am yelled at and pushed in the same direction. But as I walk, I can feel the slimy wetness in the crotch of my jeans; I can feel my swollen nipples rubbing against my sweat shirt; and I am still experiencing the rushing tingles of shiver-bumps over my bum and belly.

Is impending death an erotic experience? Will this arousal help me get through it until my vision fades and my body shudders one last time? I hope so--I truly do. Because right now--despite the seeming chaos around me--I am not feeling the terror that so many of the women around me are succumbing to. The pleading, the sobbing, the bargaining...all a waste of time, really. We are doomed. The state's Population Control has ordered our deaths and there is nothing we can do to change that.


I roll onto my side and get my knees under me and rise. My legs are a little shaky, and my head spins from standing up after such a strong orgasm.

"Goddam, you have the perfect belly for this." he says, looking down at my lower abdomen.

I look down and run my hands over it--I'm fairly trim and muscular, but my lower belly is bulged out but still firm. It gets that way during sex, swollen inside I suppose.

I step forward and face him and take a deep breath.

"You're ready?" he asks

"Yeah. As ready as I'll ever be."

He reaches back and draws that knife. God, it looks so long and sleek and sharp.

I step closer and he brings it around, holding it in his fist with the tip toward me and the sharp edge facing upward. He gently places the tip against my lower belly about a third of the way up from my mound toward my belly button. I have a long belly.

"I want to miss your bladder." he explains.

I nod. I'm feeling a little breathless and quivery. This is it.


This is it.

He begins to press inward, slowly increasing the pressure. I feel the sharp tip dimple my belly, the dimple getting deeper and deeper. I'm amazed at how tough my skin is and I am so aware of the pressure down there, I can feel that sweet g-spot ache deep inside. I think if he just does this, I might cum again.


We file through a doorway, flanked by armed police, and into a large white tiled room. The shouted orders to disrobe echo in this featureless room as the police keep us moving. We are instructed to strip off our clothing and deposit all of it in the large square bins in the corners of the room. I walk to the nearest one and pull my sweatshirt off over my head and unsnap my jeans and peel them off my legs, kicking off my sneakers as I do.

I look into the crotch of my jeans and sure enough, it is smeared with an opaque glaze of mucus from my vagina--a testament to my highly sexual state. I can feel the slipperiness of it on my inner thighs as they glide against each other when I walk--so well lubricated. I can smell myself, and I wonder if others can too. One thing I'm sure of is that others can see my nipples--puckered and tight, swollen and a sharp pink. I get dirty and reproachful looks from some of the other women, but what do I care? We'll all be dead before morning--there is no guilt or shame in death.

Once we are all nude, we are again herded onward, deeper into the building--down corridors and through locked doors that grind open to allow us to pass, then close behind us with metallic clangs.

At last we are led into a large open area--a factory floor of death. It is huge and loud and filled with lines of frightened naked women. There is so much going on it is difficult to take it all in--we are pushed and guided to seemingly random lines, but the police are selective in which line they place us in--they seem to be separating us by weight and age. This room is an orchestra of killing and an orgy of dying is taking place before me. A woman throws up in the line next to mine. Stainless machines grip and move struggling bodies. Blood sprays and voices scream.


I look up into his eyes as the pressure grows stronger. He smiles and wiggles the knife hard and short and that is enough for the tip to pop through my skin and slide through the thin layer of fat and press against the band of muscle across my lower belly.

"Oh-h-h," I let out a little whimper and quiver--it's begun.

He starts really pushing now and the pain begins. I reach up and grip his shoulders to steady myself. I feel the blade pressing through muscle and when I look down I see the blade sliding into my belly. He does it slowly, easing it into me and I can feel the coldness of it sliding amongst my bowels.

"Oh fuck,." I gasp. I start shaking and my legs are suddenly very weak. I watch the blade disappear inside me, the silver hilt pressing firm against my belly. He twists the blade slowly back and forth and the sensation is so intense my knees buckle, but I catch myself.

He pushes down on the blade and I feel the ache in my bladder. I grimace and my brows tighten.

"Just let it go, baby," he murmurs, "This is one of my favourite parts."

I look up into his eyes and see that he has a wickedly lustful smile on his face. I force myself to relax and push my belly outward against the knife as he keeps pushing the dull edge of the blade down, compressing my bladder. I push out--the sexual kind of push--and I feel my bladder release and my piss buzzes as it jets from my slit to wet my thighs and the floor between my feet.


I see infernal machines that garrote and strangle and slice open bellies as girls are lifted, twitching and struggling in their final moments, carried through the automated process of dying.

I turn to find the dark haired girl, to have that final connection with some kindred spirit, but I am too late--I hear the "GLRK" as her throat is clamped. She is lifted by manacles on her wrists and ankles and leaned forward by an armature as her body is carried over a rapidly spinning blade that lifts swiftly into her belly, opening it in an instant from mound to sternum then drops unceremoniously as she is moved onward. Her thighs and bum are shaking and jiggling violently, her entrails bulging then sliding out of her as she is carried forward and out of my line of sight.

The girl in front of me is next in my line, and she screams and struggles as the police drag her forward and affix the manacles to her wrists and ankles. The garroting armature lowers and clamps around her throat and because I am closer I can see the mechanism tightening quickly, choking off all her sounds. I watch with growing sexual feelings as she is gutted and moved on.

And now it is my turn.


"Good girl," he says softly as I quiver and piss. And as my stream slows to a dribble, I feel his cum oozing from my cunt--it too is loose now, loose like it gets when I'm being fucked hard. Like it was with him a few moments ago.

This is's too late to stop...too late to ask for another way. This body that has felt so much pleasure will be dead flesh in only minutes. A crumpled corpse laying in a filthy basement in a puddle of blood and entrails.

Dear god, my legs feel so weak and I'm shaking so bad. I look up at him again and my expression must be one of pleading because he tilts his head and says;

"Aww. It's okay, baby. Hang in there. It's about to get intense. You'll fall when you're ready."

He pulls back on the knife and I feel the suction as the blade is pulled almost all the way out of me. But he slides it right back in and I grunt. Then he pulls it out and pushes it back in again, starting a rhythm; in and out, in and out; Fucking my gut with the blade, in and out of the same wound.

I feel my belly tighten and I grunt, holding my breath, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my knees bending as they weaken and my thighs quivering like crazy. My lower belly is tight, the muscles gripping at the blade as he slides it in and out of me as though trying to slow its movement. If I hadn't already peed, I would now. This is intense.

He is smiling as he works me.

"You like the gut fucking you're getting don't you?"

I hate him for that. But he's right--it is amazing. The most amazing thing I've ever felt; cold, unyielding steel sliding in and out of my belly like an infernal cock fucking me right in my core. A paingasm--I've heard of those but had never experienced one and now and it feels like it might happen. I wonder how much more it will take to push me over the edge.


A new set of manacles swing around into position and an armature begins to lower from the overhead track. I step forward, not resisting, not panicking. What's the point? The end result will be the same no matter what I do.

The police fix the manacles to my ankles first, and I first hold my left then my right wrist out for them. One of the officers looks into my eyes, no doubt surprised by my passivity. I smile at him and he looks away as he positions the garroting armature at the back of my neck. I feel it close around my throat with a mechanical ‘click.'

I take three quick deep breaths, and swallow just before the armature makes a whirring sound and I feel it tighten around my throat and things start to move very quickly...

"Glrk." I can't help making the sound as I feel my throat closing under amazing pressure, the root of my tongue pushed up and blocking my gullet. There's no time to think as I feel my wrists and ankles pulled upward, my feet slipping backward on the floor as I am lifted, belly down, my arms stretched out to my sides, my feet together. My calm is slipping and I feel a wild tingling rush over my thighs, my bum and my belly as I am raised up, suspended helplessly.

This is it. I only have seconds to live and I feel the fear growing deep in the pit of my stomach.


I doubt I would be feeling these things at the Processing Center--they wouldn't care to make it sexual for me. All the rumours we heard say that it is a sterile, clinical place and even the eviscerations are done more like a slaughterhouse than like this--bodies sliding over stainless steel; spinning blades as sharp as razors zipping up from cunt to breast bone in less than a second; girls gagging and puking as their entrails gush from their bellies. Riley told me she wanted it that way--to feel that intensity.

I prefer my way.

But I'm not sure how much longer I'll last. My legs are shaking like crazy--really getting wobbly--and my hands slip from his shoulders and I try to grip his upper arms tightly, but I'm losing strength.

"AH!" I cry out, my voice sounding as desperate as I am feeling.

"It's okay, baby. Just let it happen. Just let it go," he says, and as he says this so softly and tenderly I feel him tighten his grip on the knife.

You see, the plan has always been that eventually my legs will give out and I'll crumple to the floor. But the knife will stay in me--he'll make sure of that--and I'll ride the blade down, opening my belly.


I am carried swiftly forward, my eyes watering as the armature's tightness gags me and I feel like throwing up. But through the blurring tears I see the spinning blade beneath me as I pass over it. As scared as I am beginning to feel, I let my abdomen sag as the blade rises swiftly, the blade spinning so fast it's a blur and I can feel the air hissing against the skin of my belly. It slides up into my abdomen effortlessly and I feel the sharp cold burn as I am sliced from mound to sternum in less than a second. Then the blade drops and I am moved forward without pause

Oh my goodness.

I'm opening.

My belly is opening.

It's... fucking... OPENING!

I feel my body shuddering as my large wound parts and the pink sac of my viscera bulges outward, pushing its way out of me. The sensation is so intense and so foreign--I feel my intestines sliding, pulling and uncoiling as they slither out of me. My bum and thighs are quivering badly now. I can't help it. My guts are sliding out of me in long twisting wet ropes. I feel my liver and kidneys shift in my belly, released from their nests inside me. My stomach heaves and I feel liquid gurgle up my gullet, but only a little makes it past the constriction in my throat to slide over my swollen tongue.


And as I feel my hands slipping down his arms and my legs start to give out, my descent to the floor begins. I transfer both my hands to his arm that is holding the knife, and look up into his eyes, feeling my desperation as I whimper.

"Good girl," he whispers as he straightens his arm, following my belly as my shaking legs slowly fold under me. He angles the knife upward, to make sure the blade stays inside me and I grunt as I feel it bite into something deep in my gut. I'm doing my best to keep standing, but I'm losing the battle--my legs won't hold me anymore and I am sliding down.

"...Fuck..." I gasp as my weight settles down on the blade and I feel it slicing upward through my belly. My palms are sweaty and my hands slide down his bicep to the crook of his elbow and the blade is making a slow transit up through my gut. It is a searing ice cold pain as my belly is opened, and when the blade hangs up on my belly button I grimace and cry out. My belly muscles spasm and quiver and the blade slices through the knot of scar tissue up into the softer muscle of my upper abdomen. I feel my lower belly loosen, the bands of muscles now disconnected, but my weight on the blade is still stretching my abdomen, so everything remains inside me for now.

I feel the blade slowly slicing through my upper belly and when the sharp edge lifts the sac of my stomach I gag and heave and my open knees hit the floor. My hands have slipped down to his wrist, and I cling to him that way and lay my sweating face against his arm. I heave again and drool flows from my open lips.

"Let go now, honey," he says softly, "Let go of my wrist."

And I do, lowering my shaking hands to grip the tops of my thighs as my bum comes to rest on my heels.


I am carried into a stainless steel chamber with a long, gore spattered trough and I can feel the cold smooth surface through my intestines as they drag along the trough. My ankles are suddenly pulled wide apart by the manacles and I feel a cold device slide between the round globes of my bum and a smooth spinning steel shaft slides through my anus deep into my rectum. I feel a sudden pinch and burning in my rectum and as the device lifts free I feel my large colon slide out of me to flop down onto the trough with a wet splat. The device has excised my rectum to allow my intestines to drop from my belly. Right on the heels of this assault I feel a buzzing against my throat as something in the garrote is activated and a sudden burn makes me gag hard and I realize it is a spinning blade that slices through my gullet. My mouth is watering horribly and I work my tongue to spit it out.

I feel my gullet sliding downward as my stomach and the rest of my entrails slip out of my abdomen, falling wetly into the trough.

All of this has only taken a few seconds, and I am thankful for that because the pain hasn't really set in yet. I continue to be swiftly carried down the line...


I'm shaking...scared...weak...what's coming next fills me with fear and revulsion.

He pulls the knife from me and I hunch forward and grunt from the sudden release of pressure. I gag and heave again, then look down. I push outward and watch as my belly opens wide--a yawning gaped wound from just above my mound to my sternum--pink and grey coils of intestine bulge outward.

"...Oh fuck..." I say, and I hate how weak and pitiful my voice sounds in the quiet of the room.

And then, before my eyes, my intestines slide and flop out of me and splat wetly on the gritty basement floor between my open thighs. They twist and uncoil and slither like living things and the sensations are just this side of overwhelming. The feeling of them sliding over each other sends tingles of sensation through my core.


I am giddy from lack of air and loss of blood, and surprisingly still feeling the sensuality of what is being done to my body despite my fear. I realize now that we are indeed being processed for our meat like the old automated butchering machines for chickens. And I understand that the garrote is not to give us a merciful death, it is to keep us from screaming as we are gutted and cleaned so we don't disturb the police.

I lift my head as best I can and through drooping eyelids I see before me another section of the line--the girls before me, hanging from their ankles, their bodies slack and flaccid as machines scoop out their lungs and hearts, others pulling their sex organs free as water sprays their open abdominal cavities clean.

And I notice one other thing that brings another tingling rush through my body--their bodies are headless.


I'm losing it. My hands are sliding down my thighs and I have to keep repositioning them. I feel my anus gape and my cunt quiver and I can't stop from hunching forward more and more. I'm going to fall forward soon--face down in my own viscera. And that's how they will find my body. And they'll wonder why I chose this instead of their way.

I close my eyes and feel a small delight that I can still detect some sexual arousal deep in my cunt. I wonder if I'm still capable of one last orgasm as I gently rock back and forth, feeling the tug and pull of my intestines.

And now I feel weightless and warm and so very relaxed. And something slaps hard and wet against the side of my face and my left shoulder and I am confused as my arms and legs are tangled and at odd angles. But my belly no longer hurts, it is open and loose, my insides oozing and flowing from within me.

My eyes flutter open for a few seconds; Nothing hit me--as expected, I flopped forward onto the floor.

I close my eyes, relishing the sense of release I feel.

I feel good.

So good...


This is it--the end. In a few seconds I will feel no more pain, no more pleasure, no more anything.

I am lifted upright by my throat--my head positioned by the garrote armature--my arms stretched out to the side. I see the spinning blade swinging in from the right side, moving into position as I gag and choke with my weight on the garrote, my mouth filling with saliva.

I feel the hissing wind of the swinging blade in the micro-seconds before it touches my throat, while below I feel my sex tightening in a desperate clenching as though my body is reaching for a final orgasm. But I know it is too late and the blade burns through my throat below the garrote and my eyes flicker and roll up into my head.

I feel its cold burn vibrate against my cervical vertebrae, and then...