Hierarchy Act
Article A of section 23, Determination of the second class: “The Social and Civic Council may, by means of an act, determine the second class of a particular race, ethnicity, physical/mental defective, religious group, absentee, ex-prisoner or national of a conquered country. In the absence of any provision to the contrary, the second class, once established, shall permanently include all their descendants.”
Section 24 Legal status of the second class: “From the date of the adoption of this Act, the State shall have full power to dispose of the lives, bodies and all property belonging to the members of the second class as determined by this Act, and that power shall be vested in the citizens of the community as a whole. The State shall, in accordance with the law, designate reserve areas for the second class and may by appropriate legal process select some or all of the members of the second class for the provision of various social services.”
(b) Article B, paragraph 24: “Members of the second class, selected for the provision of social services, may be legally assigned to independent social citizens by means of sale, transfer, gift, etc., under the appropriate management of State institutions.”
Ju was a tall, athletic young woman of twenty-eight. She had long been accustomed to being naked all around on all occasions, so when she bared a pair of streamlined, perfect breasts with a gorgeous metallic-like sheen and stood naked and erect on the auction stage, her proudly royal demeanor was innate.
Though her arms were clipped back, and her delicate stalactite-like calves were clamped harshly between two parallel horizontal steel tubes, secured by cross-welded angle irons, in order to rotate her body for a demonstration as ordered by the auctioneer, Sister Ju could only spread her legs in a zigzag pattern, stiffly loading the unconventional yoke to painstakingly make small circular arcs from heels to toes. She stumbled and staggered, sinews and tendons running like mercury under her tense skin.
She had broad shoulders and a long neck, and Ju’s body was not fine jade but coarse red copper, her strips of well-defined muscle causing the light to mask pinpricks of light and dark intervals on her body with the jagged beauty of mountains and gorges.
The curves that cinched around her waist were already dazzlingly narrow and crisp, yet they spread out debauchedly over her hips, lazily wrapping up in consummate mass and majestic nuggets, like a heavy gold mine in the process of melting away.
Like Beatrice and Little Red, Sister Ju falls squarely within the scope of application of the aforementioned law. Therefore, my Flower House’s purchase of Sister Ju at today’s government-held auction of edibles and becoming her third owner is a perfectly legal business move. But this will surely add a piece of lace news to this port, and tomorrow’s morning paper won’t miss anything related to Sister Ju.
Kiku’s whole life quality record shows her extraordinary experience. The first scope of registration made for her social services is the item Gladiatorial in the category of Athletics, owned by New Times Entertainment Ltd. This refers to the type of entertainment show in which two or more men or women, unarmed or armed, fight each other in a bare-knuckle combat, and wherever possible, victory is always decided by the death of one of the parties. The eager viewers of this port quickly recognized that Kiku was not the kind of girl-doll who came out into the ring naked to perform a round of fancy boxing before an official match.
At the home of New Times, the Southern Cross 10,000-person indoor arena, Kiku is always the last to appear in the finale of the Mad Flower Blood Night special every Friday, and she’s the steak with the blood on it at the dinner party.
Kiku’s final record in your death-defying gladiatorial career was one-on-two, two-on-male. Yes, it’s true that Kiku has been a guaranteed box office draw for New Times for the past three years, and the death-defying, bitter fight in which she was challenged by the Law of the Jungle Athletic Corporate Syndicate’s chief fighter, Ape of the Wrestling Lion, at the Southern Cross is still a topic of conversation among enthusiasts.
That night didn’t start out fair. An hour before the scheduled start of the fight, Ju’s drug test came back positive, meaning that she had used a stimulant drug that would have prevented a fair fight. We know that the second tier of male and female gladiators are fully responsible for everything they eat and drink on the company’s side, and have no rights of their own, so this can only be an adjustment error on the part of the pharmacologists at New Times. The public has been led to believe that the attendants of the athletic class have always been heavily drugged by their owners, just don’t get caught – but now Kiku has been caught.
Obviously, if the night’s performance had been canceled, the offending New Times would have been subject to a large claims lawsuit by those who had already purchased tickets. The Fair Play Committee, after urgent consultation, came up with the concept of the doctrine of equity, whereby the offending party would be shackled to offset the benefits she may have gained from her use of illegal drugs and allow the rodeo to go on as scheduled.
The law of the jungle on the challenging side agrees to this scenario, and New Times then tells a story to all the big shots caught in flagrante delicto as it were, claiming that Ju stuck her hand out of the cage unattended, picked up a pill on the floor of the aisle, and swallowed it, and that the pill must have been discarded there by an outside visitor for some nefarious purpose.
Therefore, although New Times failed in the incident due to lax management, it did not have the intention to use prohibited drugs.
Thus, after the first scene in which two guinea girls scratched each other to the point of bleeding from their mouths and noses; after the second scene in which an Arizhni man who had broken several ribs yanked his rival’s belly-gut completely out through his anus and wrapped it round and round his own arm; and after the third scene in which the competitor, Kiku, got inside the ropes and blazed her flesh under the brilliant columns of the searchlights, her naked, nude body was one that had long been familiar to her admirers, but you still can’t help but get your blood pumping for it every time it’s presented.
What was unfamiliar to people that night were the restraints that bound Kiku. Between her lean, strong ankles were attached silver-white chains of pure steel, long, moderately thick, and smooth, which made a pleasant crashing sound as they were dragged along with Kiku’s mother-beastly, elastic gait, and the same objects fell coldly to her thin, tough wrists, which she held in a circle in her hands. According to an announcement made on the spot by the Fair Play Committee, it was determined that precise calculations had shown that such constraints had been just enough to cancel out any advantage that the New Time player might have gained with the aid of the drug.
The audience on hand gained the impression that New Times had seemingly decided to discard Kiku as a victim as quickly as possible for the purpose of clearing its name. Kiku, in chains, was ordered to get down on both knees in her own corner of the wrestling ring, waiting to receive the additional discipline her company had offered: fifty lashes, inviting the challenger to send someone from the Law of the Jungle to carry them out. The Law of the Jungle would love that idea.
One of the Law of the Jungle’s assistant coaches, topless and in a pair of baggy practice pants, poked the pole of his whip against Ju’s slightly arched bottom , lifted her face for a moment to survey her face, lifted the microphone in his other hand and laughed, “I really wish New Times would allow me to use another whip.”
Gags are always welcome and 10,000 people laughed out loud.
The tip of the whip swept through the air with unseen swiftness, splashing down on Kiku’s bare chest with only a dull thud and a momentary crimson crack on her copper-colored breasts, and no cry of pain from the woman. The stoic Kiku only curled deeper downward, but at the stern “Lift up, you pill-popping woman,” she reared her ample breasts and smooth belly in a cold shudder, so that she could continue to deliver crisp, accurate blows.
The Executioner wasn’t easily satisfied, however, and his grip on the woman’s long hair snapped into place, causing an off-guard Kiku to fall forward like an unsteady pocket of rice. With one foot in the crook of her knee, the Executioner further methodically destroys Kiku’s exposed shoulders and back, as well as her buttocks, which magically round dramatically from the waist down.
When it was finally over, the New Timers helped the woman, who had gone into a bit of a trance, up off the ground, though they only had time to feed her two mouthfuls of plain water.
Kiku leaned against the ropes, naked and aching, her arms and legs restrained in a mass of cold metal rings, whip marks all over her body making her look like a piece of marble covered in green and black patterns. She stared at her opponent, who was approaching like a brown bear, twice her size, and deftly sidestepped his straight left, her long hair flying up to confuse her opponent’s vision.
She had retreated, and retreated again, her hands shaking the clanking chain links vainly, unsure of how she should fight back. She’d finally overlooked the problem that never existed, and the meter-and-a-half-long shackle her ankle was leading coiled around the ground in front of her like a dying snake. Kiku’s eyes swept across the ground–and her opponent had already lifted his foot onto it, swinging a short jab in warning, “Don’t come any closer!” At the same time, he crouched down to grip the silver chain that looked thin in his large hand.
At this point Sister Ju began to counterattack. She did not swing her arm in a gesture, but the same length of chain on her wrist shot out, straight as a sword, and shattered the challenger’s left eye. But the challenger’s right hand had been flung behind her at the same time, which caused Sister Ju’s paws to leave the ground, and the ape of the lion’s wrestling made an amazingly light leap with his bulky body, and lifted his leg to kick the woman, who was already on her back and facing the sky, in the ribs, and who rolled across to avoid it, but whose long, graceful, athletic legs like those of a doe’s were stranded high in the air – due to the tightening of the steel cord in the hands of the challenger.
The rest was so simple that the lion-wrestling ape kicked Ju’s outstretched thighs almost imperceptibly and gracefully, and the woman’s scream of desperation was as powerful as spring thunder. The man followed up two kicks, three kicks, with outstanding results, he then threw away the chain, holding the left foot and right wrist upside down to lift the woman in the air, as if the momentum of the two sides of the tearing away, his anger for the “a” shape of the broad shoulders of the huge arm presents an art of exaggeration of the structure of the muscle groups, just like the spreading of the wings of the rabbit of the vulture.
He gazed with the whole audience at Ju’s fat, soft, moist, fleshy lips, split like a clam, quivering like a blind young animal under the roots of a birch tree, the fragrant flower of the warrior who has cut his way through the thorns, the prize of his blood. With a look of satisfaction he lifted his heel high, took aim with his lonely right eye, and stomped down–an indescribable howl of wildness from the 10,000 spectators.
Always on the lookout for a counterattack, the lion-wrestling ape knelt on one leg to the side of the shriveled up Kiku, and as soon as he glimpsed the slightest struggle of the twitching and disorganized limbs, he did not hesitate to pummel her face and her breasts.
Our eyes followed Ape’s hands as they slid over the woman’s heaving naked breasts and closed in on her long swan-like neck, as if there was nothing left to stop the challenger from putting an end to Kiku’s myth. We noticed with surprise that the dying Kiku’s marvelous body seemed to be dissolving away, the mountain range of tendons hidden from the mysterious fog-like glow that filled the room. The woman slightly exposed her tongue, licking the blood, her star-shaped eyes unopened and unclosed, her moans stretched out like silk. Kiku was revealing her delicate and dependent side as a wounded woman.
The Ape of the Lion Wrestling noticed the change in Kiku as much as the audience did, for he released the huge paw that was jammed tightly around Kiku’s neck, and as he reared back to his feet, the whole audience saw that his man-root, which had been tightly clenched in a thick tuft of hair during the life-and-death battle, was now towering upward in the same way as the flag.
One must be doubly cautious when facing an opponent like Kiku, and he had made the right decision to attack further.
His stance was complete, sealed, horse-stepping in and out, and with lightning speed, he struck the woman’s left ribcage again with the back of his taut foot, which caused his already limp opponent to flip out of a 180-degree circle around his body’s longitudinal axis, exposing the other half of his flank toward him. The grim-faced challenger exhaled, and within seconds had delivered five to six kicks in quick succession, each one causing the woman to not only tumble over, but also to groan with a mournful sigh, impressing the audience with his superior fighting qualities.
The lion-wrestling ape wiped up the blood that had poured out all over the stage with his bear-pawed bare feet, created by the red gush of the woman’s pussy that had rolled all the way to the floor. The man then stepped in behind Kiku’s hips, and he leaned down and took the woman by the waist, and Kiku’s ever-tough, rubbery waist snapped like a willow in the wind, her entire upper body dropping to the ground at an unimaginably great angle, tumbling in the air like a kite of soft, disconnected breasts and a curtain of tousled hair.
“Pill-popping woman, remember your last entertainment!” The Challenger’s muffled voice echoed out through the hall, and to the awe of the entire audience, he took not the slightest effort to slither the-soft, blood-drained female body downward into his organ, which we had already seen to be rare and thick and strong, and already well-prepared. Indeed, in mixed martial arts, a rape-and-kill ending is always what our evil subconscious expects.
The Supreme Court’s decision in Monks’ Moral Fund v. Caterers’ Guild established the principle that “the conduct of the second class, being under the control of the owner, is exempt from the Social Order Act”. The Supreme Court’s judgment states.
“It is well known that the second class is not part of society and does not enjoy all the rights and duties of citizens of society in general. Therefore, members of the second class exposing any part of their body/or the whole of their body in public at the behest/or at the pleasure of their owners; engaging in sexual intercourse in part or in whole; and accepting physical/non-physical punishments against the genitals which may have indecent connotations from their owners do not contravene the provisions of the Social Order Act that citizens of the society should behave reasonably and decently in public places. In the final analysis,” the judgment reads with a touch of humor, “after all, no one has ever violated the law by having his pet dog copulate on the road.”
To satisfy our consumers, practitioners of services and entertainment using second-class men and women have been exploring the limits of this jurisprudence to the best of their ability.
“You pill-popping woman! Pill-popping woman!” The lion-wrestling ape roared rhythmically, accompanied by his feverish revelry unencumbered by the Social Order Act, and with only his thick knuckles clamped in a steel vise around Kiku’s battered loins and stomach, his natural brawn enabled him to lift his trophy in the air to his own crotch. The latter was connected to him at the hip, like a puppet with broken strings, as weak and submissive as a sad and bewitching body twisting and sliding up and down along his body.
The woman’s upper body was thrown in round after round of large arcs, one second her emanations were tangled in her own spasming toes, the next she was soaring up as if in longing, her breasts flattening in carnal crashes into the man’s mountain-end like chest. Ju’s boneless body slumped over the man from breast to shoulder, swirling like a transparent gel in response to his frenzied onslaught, and Ju’s face showed a sad but contented joy, as if she were a girl returning to her mother’s arms after running away from home.
It was at this instant that Kiku violently interlaced her hands to tighten the silver chain around her wrist, which no one had noticed before that it was already encircling the neck of the lion-wrestling ape. She knew she didn’t need to wait long for him to choke, for the force was definitively designed to break the cone of his neck.
As a public figure, Kiku’s nude photographs, front, back, three- and four-pointed, have filled all sorts of publications over the past two years, even Banker’s Monthly, but Kiku’s latest triumph has still caused Street Corner, a men’s publication with huge circulation, to decide to feature a close-up photograph of Kiku’s genitals as the cover of its next issue, with a headline that reads. “Kiku’s Seventh Weapon?”
After this battle, the steel chains that sustained Kiku between her arms and legs became her signature ornament. When she sometimes condescends to take the ring at the company’s pleasure against two or three Fusanese female martial artists, she must also have her arms clipped back behind her back and cuffed, if not for which no one would even be willing to try to bet on the outcome.
The shackle specially prepared for Kiku by New Times was now heavier, more flexible, and twice as long, long enough for Kiku to be able to bring it up and accurately side-kick her opponent’s chest and breasts. Spectators, no matter which side they were betting for, would soon hear the sound of sternums snapping under the edge of Kiku’s tough-as-a-knife feet, which made them as crazy as they were.
Rumor has it that Kiku was a female officer in the special operations unit of the Samovar Republic east of the sea. The rumor mongers even pointed out the explosion of a coastal city in the Straits War, which was an example of Kiku’s command. But Samofo was now a conquered country, and the entire second class of its citizens were farming and grazing in the reserves on the edge of the Qinghai-Tibetan province, the only two things they were permitted to do to perpetuate their communities. No more electronics, no more uniform instant noodles, no more industry in any sense of the word, just wheat and sheep and cattle.
As for women or men like Ju who have been chosen to serve the mainstream, their entire public record begins with the first form of the Whole Life Quality Record. They didn’t exist before that and they are not allowed to have a past.
Her admirers were truly outraged when they heard the news that someone had offered to change the registration for Kiku, and it was certain that New Times would not welcome such a thing either. But the applicant was the second son of General Nagasu, the chief of the Defense Palace, and he graciously made an opening offer that New Times would have a hard time refusing.
Mr. Sue is requesting that Sister Ju be reclassified as a social service (Item C), which means that the registrant resides in the owner’s home and provides all “reasonable and available” services to the owner.
The handsome young Soo proceeded to start a chic, cynical fashion trend in the city.
He routinely frequented all sorts of elegant establishments, but carried his tall, beautiful, naked new pet with him, and kept her hands and feet encased, as always, in cumbersome chains and steel rings.
When Mr. So would sit down at the Oasis Club, where suits were always required, and play a couple of rounds of bridge, he would instruct the naked and shackled Sister Ju to kneel properly beside him, holding a carved silver tray of champagne and cigars. The bruises and bruises everywhere on her naked body seemed to confirm a rumor: it was said that Mr. Su often played a game called “Overcoming Kiku” at small circle parties held at his home, which simply meant that Kiku, tied up behind her back, was suspended next to the sandbags in his gym, and the participants took turns to beat the naked woman, who was incapable of defending herself. The participants take turns beating the naked body of a woman without the slightest ability to defend herself.
Successful people do often bring their carefully chosen second-class girls to informal events and gatherings to dress them up in strange costumes for fun. For example, I personally like to bring two Fuso girls in kimonos and barefoot clogs, and that’s about it.
So I was a little dismayed when Mr. Su drove his stretch limousine at fifteen kilometers an hour down Daze Road in the center of town while holding Sister Ju by the neck on a leash and forcing her to run naked and barefoot with shackles dragging behind her, contributing to the atmosphere of debauchery that is encroaching on our society. It is now possible for CXOs of all kinds in town to take a woman of the second degree with them when they meet with their lawyers, go to the dentist, play golf, or even attend a board meeting, and leave her as bare as the day she was born. Traditionally, such pleasures were supposed to be available in dining and entertainment venues.
On the other hand, while it is true that Kiku now belongs to the second rank, she has earned the public’s love as a servant by virtue of her talent, not to mention the fact that she is likely to be a former worthy adversary. The excessive insults and abuse reveal Su’s arrogance as a second-generation son; after all, it was your father, not you, who fought and won the battle.
In that cool noon after the snow, the flag car gracefully parked in front of the Flower House, the car door opened, Su Gongzi ringed up the slender waist of his new girlfriend. This is a new singer, a social citizen, who is rapidly becoming popular recently.
Her dainty little face was hidden in the large lapels of a white wool cloak over a pair of calf-skin boots.
“Oh, there’s that too.” The little singer laughed and lifted the chain around Sister Ju’s neck: “Let’s go, let’s go!” Sister Ju, with both hands on her chest, was prostrate on the trunk lid of the limousine, dry heaving. Even if she was a sinewy machine, the ten kilometers of long-distance athletics was not an easy task.
“Oh, poor big thing!” Glancing at Kiku’s suffocating purple face and the sweat that was overflowing like a torrential downpour sweeping across the wasteland, the little girl said in surprise, “Are you hot? How can you be hot in this weather? You really should cool off outside the door for a while.” She revealed two delicate fingers from her big sleeves and waved them toward the snow pile that was cleared to the side: “Go there and stay there, and I’ll call you when I need you.” She took Mr. Su’s arm and walked up the big steps of the Flower Full House, and then turned back to instruct: “You know what you should do, you must kneel!”
Throughout that long noon, Sister Ju Jing knelt long and naked beside the dragon and phoenix-carved front door of the Flower House, silently watching the stream of merry people coming in and out. In the foot-deep snow, her bare complexion was as red as a baby’s for the first hour, and as cold as crystal for the second. The biting cold below freezing poured across the street like water, and Ju’s lips trembled like a ballad, her nipples erect and stiff as peaks of love.
After devouring a small half of the Fairview Hot Pot in the warm box in the building, and feeling a little dizzy, the young singer stepped out into the foyer to get a little fresh air, when she was suddenly blessedly reminded of her big toy.
“BOY!” she mercifully said to my waiter after calling in Kiku, “Go to the kitchen and get her a bone to chew on.”
“Hi! Hi! You… I’m telling you, you can’t use your hands!” She eagerly kicked Sister Ju’s groin with her calf-skin boots: “Put that thing on the ground, you have to pick it up with your mouth!”
I stood side by side with my lobby foreman in the corner of the elegant foyer, watching Kiku as she crouched on her knees on the marble floor. With her lips and teeth alone the woman was engaged in a struggle against the bloody arm-bone, and the little singer was stepping down playfully on her big, shrugging buttocks, and underneath Ju’s great fat cushion of flesh, evenly divided by a rough, lascivious cleft, we saw her ankles in shackles and irons, with their sharp, protruding joints; and her tired, bare feet, spread skyward, and dirty with the remnants of snow and sludge, bleak, wet, broad, and vulgar, with ten rustic toes and damp, broad and coarse, with ten toes spread rustically.
A greasy-headed guy with a ponytail pushed us aside and rushed forward: “Are you Sister Ju? My God, you must be Ju!” In his hand, a thin, lightweight interview machine appeared as if by magic, and he leaned down and poked the microphone into Ju’s mouth: “I’m Alan, a reporter for Street Corner Magazine. Kiku-san, do you like the new changes you’re currently experiencing? Are you likely to return to the ring in the foreseeable future? As a trailblazer, how would you describe your inner feelings about being naked in serious situations on a frequent basis? Tell us a little bit about the life side of Kung Fu Su, will you?”
Kiku raised the upper half of her body, looking at him in surprise, the corners of her mouth hanging bright red marrow, Aaron added a question: ” Comparatively speaking, do you prefer to eat men?” Kiku smiled wearily, opened her mouth and said: ” — yada yada yada –” Behind her neatly pointed rows of white teeth was a cavity where we did not find the common tongue. This must be new news to the readers of Street Corner, and to us as well.
Section 54 of the Social Services Act: “The owner may use excision, castration, drug influence, removal or reorganization to adjust the physical/mental condition of the second degree to the specific nature of the service required.” Apparently due to certain peculiarities of Kiku’s services, Mr. Su didn’t like long-tongued women, which is only human, and he exercised his right under the law.
After a relentless effort, the little singer finally squeezed in between them and slapped Ju’s face so hard that she shut her mouth: “Get in the back, get out!” Cupping her sore hand and tearfully turning back, the singer smiled sweetly, “Are you a reporter from ‘Street Corner’? Oh, my circumference number will be a big secret to your readers!”
I sighed and said to the foreman beside me, “One to fifty on the next fight, bet on Sister Ju to win. What about you?”
He held up both hands in front of his shoulders: “Oh boss, you know I’ve never bet on Kiku’s opponent before.”
You can see the end of this tragicomedy in the third set of tables in the Whole Life Quality Record: the conflict intensified six months after Kiku’s domestic service. Kiku “left her owner’s custody without authorization” and there was “violence against the owner and irreparable damage”.
The second half of the sentence is a pretentious official trope meaning we’ll never hear anything about that little singer again. On the night the incident broke out, the Palace of Defense deployed helicopters and wheeled armored vehicles in accordance with the Emergency Law, using tranquilizer guns and tear gas.
The disposition received by the second class in which such behavior occurred was necessarily swift. After only a few minutes of brief discussion, the Law and Order Commissioners unanimously agreed to classify Kiku in the edible category, along with punitively, her entire family still living on the Highlands Reservation. Originally, after paying the price of providing social services in the form of Sister Ju, they were entitled to continue their lives as farmers and ranchers there undisturbed.
My marketing department’s seller took both of Ju’s youngest sister, Meimei, who had just reached adulthood, during the auction process, and I think her other, older brother fell into the hands of the Caveman. And Sister Ju’s older parents would have to go to Meijer Speed Foods, I guess, which has always prided itself on its huge throughput of raw materials and canned finished goods.
In the public notice of this auction, we learn that Kiku is married, childless, her husband died in the Channel War, and so on.
Located on the second basement level, the Preparedness Warehouse was a large plaza, divided by rows of iron-barred steel fences, that could simultaneously retain approximately three hundred females of the Edible category who were in survival mode. Unlike Beatrice and Red, whose edible divisions had been established at birth, Kiku was improperly trained, dangerously skilled, and had a poor quality record, so the Warehouse Department had discreetly placed her in a single observation room in one corner of the plaza.
No one dared to unlock Kiku’s back-cuffed hands, and the warehouse manager simply passed them through the low-positioned iron rings in the wall, just enough to confine Kiku to half-squatting on the cold concrete floor in a ludicrous stump-like fashion, bending her long, surprisingly proportioned legs achingly, while her bare feet underneath continued to be jammed into the framed structure that had been given away by the government free of charge to totally prohibit any movement of the lower limbs. The naked woman had to remain in this grueling position for seven days and seven nights without a moment’s relief.
The electrodes had to be used, in order to quickly remove her injuriousness, like soaking in boiling water to get rid of a raw odor. The flat metal discs of the electrodes were taped to one side of her breasts with duct tape paper, and the other was routinely inserted into her pussy. A randomized controlled time progression was entered for the electrodes, and from day to night the machine kicked in suddenly with no regularity, while Kiku, bound tightly to the wall, then bucked over backwards in one violent reflexive impulse, and her biceps like large female rabbits and rectus abdominal muscles like stone paths jumped manically under the sudden outpouring of rolling beads of sweat. She never knew how long this was going to last, and couldn’t predict if the next ghastly cycle would be in half a minute or if she’d have to wait for another bell.
If in the first three days Ju was still strong enough to clench her lower lip with her sharp white teeth and let out only a little “whimpering” moan of pain, by now she had begun to give up. If in the first three days Ju was still strong enough to clench her lower lip with her sharp white teeth and let out only a little “whimpering” moan of pain, now she had begun to give up. Oh… lolololah… wow… wow A.-“
The hissing and wailing indicated that she was already looking like an edible.
Re-adjusting Kiku’s breasts was naturally again the so-called holistic design of the marketing gang, who decided that her pristine condition was far too natural, using a large syringe in which palm oil mixed with hardening agents heated to 80 degrees Celsius was injected into Kiku through the nipple, where it was gradually cooled and congealed. This work required graded molding and assessment, so controlled appropriate doses were administered several times during each day to make certain that both her breasts were always even and reasonably full, even if they were increasingly alarmingly full and heavy.
One can only imagine the pain in Ju’s nipples every time a needle as thick as a 1-0 penetrated them, and the intense reaction of her mammary tissues as they were subjected to the massive influx of hot oil. But Ju’s smooth, unruly breastfeeding organs had finally morphed into a pair of spherical giants that only appeared in a man’s dream, and they were swinging slowly like a ten-thousand-ton ship that was carefully berthing at the dock.
Mame, who was allowed to share a room with her sister in the last days, was horrified to see the harsh side of life.
Meimei, a young girl born with a pair of pink labia and three cute flesh dimples sunken into the backs of her little feet, if she had once held a grudge against her sister for her out-of-control reaction that had caused all this fallout, she had probably become more sympathetic and forgiving after witnessing her loved one’s excruciating pain.
The home life of these sisters ended two hours ago. In the afternoon it was determined that Meimei would appear for the day’s dinner, and a team from the marketing department entered the observation room to prepare Meimei. They washed the soft virgin from the inside out, messed up her hair in the manner of the White House presentation, and finally lashed her evenly over all parts of her white body with a fine, slightly cooked leather whip. Even though she was a second-class girl living on a reservation, this was something she had never experienced before, and Meimei cried out shrilly and beaded tears as she was whipped, which was exactly the look the White House needed.
After cuffing her back with handcuffs that shone like gold signaled that she could say goodbye to her sister, and since she had forgiven her big sister for putting her in such a situation, the little girl knelt down in front of Kiku and kissed her face.
A professionalized voice now came out from the internal calling system: “Bai Gong Guan’s second order, Bai Gong Guan, second time. Designate Sister Ju, Warehouse Department, send Sister Ju to the White House. Over.”
It’s not a terribly uncommon scenario for a guest to specify that they want to eat a particular object, and your willingness to pay an extra 10% to specify is welcomed. Kiku is also pretty much close to being available, and I think guests are aware of the astronomical price we’re asking for Kiku.
The next call was: “General Manager, please come to the White House, General Manager, White House. Mr. Su is at the White House, Mr. Su, White House. Over.” So that’s it. Mr. So, it sounds like that smug son of a bitch is following me and trying to eat me.
Released from the irons for the first time in seven days, still in her back-cuffed state, and after the lackluster foot shackles had been burned away with a gas cut, Kiku was replaced by a pair of ruggedly styled leg irons in the full color of black cast iron: two large links, thirty centimeters in length, trailing heavy black iron balls, which made it possible for her to walk with great reluctance, but certainly not to try kicking again. A cardboard sign reading “White House Selected” was attached to her pierced nipples, and the strong and powerful Ah Tao and Xiao He from the storage department slipped into their white overalls like chefs and lifted both of Ju’s arms to help her move up to the two basement floors and through the three-storey breakout halls. As I’d hoped, Ju’s appearance caused a stir, and I needed something so advertised.
Yes, Xiao Mei Mei who was busy cooking in the White House. His right arm was wrapped in a plaster cast and suspended from his chest by a bandage, Mr. Su patted Sister Ju’s huge breasts that were covered with congealed oil and stored fat, and said in a friendly manner, “I used your sister to make the scattered flower juice, so stay here and watch us eat her, and then I will tell you what my next dish is.”
“By the way, I liked your boobs better the way they were.” He added. Fucking marketing department!
Scattered flowers juice has a chic production process, Meimei lotus root like watery legs high towards the sky, split bunch on both sides of the flower stand, her upper body bent over lying on her back on the ground, delicate naked carcass on the hair has not been damaged. What had been done to her was simply to fill her young and pure teenage uterine cavity with red dates, wolfberries, barley, white fruit, injected a small cup of soup, and now inserted a well-insulated electric heating wire connected to a power source.
The front half of her body tumbled up and down in the ground, to one side and then the other, but her small, inhumane burrow was fixed skyward and tight, and the juices would not splash out. “Sister, I’m burning in my belly! I’m burning with pain!” She shouts. Yes, we know, that’s exactly what we’re burning up.
Making any soup is a good recipe for cultivating the body and mind. Lord Su leisurely sipped his tea and wittily guided the small talk, occasionally glancing lazily at the white misty steam that was wafting out from under the young girl’s labia. “Time to add water.” He said. It was a long process, requiring frequent additions of water, and you knew that a little woman’s womb was still small despite the treatment, and would boil dry after a few moments of slight boiling.
As the sizeable pieces of flesh around Meimei’s pussy swelled and flopped up into a sort of mushy state of cooked meat, the cook carefully dumped her body and gathered up the white, thick finished product, a small bowl, served in celadon and overflowing with the scent of girlish flesh without a trace of mince.
Careful enough diners might notice a steel tube embedded in the girl’s flaccid, congealed vaginal walls, through which we had previously injected a bundle of elasticized steel wire balls, which held open the lining of the uterus. Of course, do you think a woman’s belly stays empty and wide open when she doesn’t have a BB?
Side by side in the crafting room on the basement level lay five naked edible females, their limbs stretched out and secured to iron frames that could be rotated, and a second level apprentice was busy tending to them.
The second level apprentice had a large deflector staff type tool, slightly different in that the staff was densely studded with sharp steel pins half a centimeter long, which he used to grind evenly and firmly across the woman’s flattened surface. Immediately afterward he quickly fumbled with his brush and saturated it with sauce to apply to the fine, deep wounds of the naked body. The first pass was a salt-rich soy sauce, and when observation had determined that the blood spilling from the wounds had coagulated and that the sauce had seeped in sufficiently, he ran it through a second full pass to transform the woman back into a beehive of bearing bodies, this time brushing in the shoyu that should have been used. The third pass is chili or mustard, or the curry specified by the guest. After any option, the final seasoning is always rose juice.
They’re spread all over the body, week after week. Imagine the highs and lows of the female anatomy, compare the wolfsbane to the subtle folds of their pussies and armpits, and we realize that this is a monotonous and complex task. In order to fully moisten those twists and turns, an ethical employee would responsibly cut back and forth with a knife. Also requiring this extra effort are their excessively high breasts.
The apprentice wears close ear-plugs, otherwise the shrill and hoarse cries that rise and fall in that room might impair his judgment as to the extent of the pickling of the product, and the long, drawn-out, painfully sobbing and wailing as it nears completion might more than likely take away the courage to go on with the work altogether.
That was the sound that was now emanating from Kiku’s mouth and nose, and it was Kiku who was the second one to the right from the door.
She had been finely plowed and harrowed by thousands of steel needles for four days, four days in which her supple, bronzed skin had satiated itself with an infusion of irritating seasonings. After enduring it all in agony she was still alive, they all were. That day Lord Soo had booked the Intense Rose for four days later.
Tomorrow he’ll be back at Flower House, and I’ve even sold the exclusive rights for tomorrow’s interview, where Street Corner will set up its cameras for a feature on “We ate Kiku at Flower House.” After preparing the pasta, scallions, and sweet sauce for the meal, the chef at Flower House will roast Kiku’s entire body from the neck down over charcoal in front of the public, taking great care not to damage Kiku’s internal organs too much with the heat.
Thus, when the rose was finished, Sister Ju would join us in seeing her own superficial skin all over her body, marring and glistening with a mouth-watering luster, not burnt yellow, but a dark reddish amber impregnated with honeyed oils. Skillfully sliced with a sharp knife, the thin, brittle, translucent skin of her body, five centimeters long, three centimeters wide, and two millimeters thick, reveals the living flesh underneath, still half-alive and oozing with blood, after a puff of white smoke.
I know Mr. So is a despicable villain. So am I. I sympathize with Sister Ju, but I wish Mr. Su would come more often.