Chapter 14

Dr Hildegard Fotzenficker had had a hard couple of weeks. “Fucking overagers, fucking Undesirables, fucking escapees – fuck the whole fucking lot of them!” she grumbled to herself, as she sat at her large oak desk in her office at the Princess Asshole Hospice. “To ruin that whole funeral party – and to force me to implement Emergency Measure Number Six – ungrateful fucking fool! He could have gone in the ecstasy of pleasure if he had been more co-operative. As it is, he died in pain, in a filthy smear of blood on the cold floor. Stupid wretch...”

To make matters worse, now the Hospice was facing an investigation by the CQC (Cunt Quality Commission). “Fucking investigation...” muttered Hildegard. “They’d do better to investigate how that fucking Undesirable got into the country in the first place ... But they won’t, will they, because they’re all namby-pamby fucking woke PC do-gooders ... Shit, what’s become of the Enlightenment?!”

Chad Halloway had not been having a good couple of weeks either – but he lacked Hildegard’s unassailable arrogance. Since that unfortunate day at the hospice, he had not been allowed back to the RAF – also pending investigation. He was feeling scared, humiliated, and – quite unusually for him – intermittently remorseful. Suspension from college had forced him to spend more time with himself than he had ever enjoyed doing. His habit was usually to buttress his fragile self-esteem by bullying others; but now, without that option open to him, he was finding his congenital anger turned inwards – and it was not a pleasant experience. “Why the fuck,” he said to himself, “do I always get things wrong? Why do I always fuck up? Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” he shouted into the middle-distance of his North Kuntington bedsit. But he knew no one was listening.

All these dispiriting thoughts passed through Chad’s mind, as he sat facing the wrong way on the toilet seat, stroking his eight and a half inches. He had not had a fuck in a fortnight. Not that he couldn’t have gone out and picked someone up: picking up girls in London was never difficult, and – this being a highly Enlightened city – they were almost always happy to be discarded immediately afterwards. But this time, something was different – and Chad just didn’t know why. For as he sat, massaging his throbbing glans with the thumb and two fingers of one hand, palm wrapped around the thick shaft, whilst stroking his balls with the other hand, his mind was filled with images not merely of “generic cunt” (as he usually called it) – but of one person in particular. He closed his eyes, better to feel the boiling pleasure rising through this stiff shaft – and into that strange dark sparkly space behind his eyelids there swam, unbidden, images of a glistening ebony pussy, its lips gently parting to reveal the pink haven inside; a pair of luscious tits, their wide brown areolas pierced with shining silver barbells; that head of wild loose afro hair, which jiggled as its owner bounced up and down on his shaft; but, more than anything, that gorgeous face – dark but luminescent, delicate yet luscious, those full wipe lips smiling, pouting, parting, panting...

“Oh fuck,” groaned Chad, as his cock exploded. He watched each successive jet of semen squirt downwards, splash, and suspend itself on contact with cold water – thick, gloopy, off-white. By habit he silently counted “one, two, three, four ... five ... six...” – the physical gratification of each exquisite pulse of his shaft briefly effacing, but not banishing, the pain he felt in his heart. “How fucking pathetic you are, Chad Halloway...” he muttered, as his pleasure subsided. “If you were able to be just a bit less of a dickhead you might now be fucking her hot pussy instead of wanking on the bog...”

Chad heard an envelope drop through his letterbox. “Oh shit: another summons, another interrogation,” he groaned as, wiping his cock clean, he flushed away the whirlpool mixture of toilet-paper and semen. “What more do they expect me to say? I’ve said it all: I was behaving like a shit, I always behave like a shit ... Just fucking expel me, if that’s what you want!” He thought for a moment, then he added despondently, “After all, no one will fucking miss me...”

But it was not another summons from the RAF. It was a short hand-written note:

“Fuck!” exclaimed Chad.

Monday, 31^st October, 2050

Dear Mommy,

Claire says hello.

“‘Claire says hello’? Is that all you’re gonna fucking say?” complained Claire. She was dressed in a flowing see-through red-and-black lace dress with a cape, and wearing a set of false fangs in her mouth.

“Well, what the fuck do you expect me to say? ‘Claire, who is passionately in love with me, and wants to bear your grandchildren, craves your permission for my hand in marriage’? Do you want my dad to come down here and kill us both?!”

“Oh, okay, never mind, ‘says hello’ is probably safer,” admitted Claire, as she applied deep red lipstick to her lips. “Oh fuck, I keep getting lipstick on my fangs.”

Alison continued:

Claire says hello. We get on so well, she’s pretty much moved into my room with me now. It’s means we can fuck each other as much as we want, without having to go through the hassle of walking down the corridor to each other’s rooms!

“Ha ha! Fucking liar!” laughed Claire, reaching around to squeeze Alison’s tits affectionately.

“No, no. I never lie to my Mommy. It’s just ... I don’t have to tell her everything all at once, do I? And besides, what would your mom and dad say if you told them you’d fallen in love?”

“Probably fucking kill me ... But hey, it’s getting late – you’d better get your habit on, we gotta go!”

Anyway, I’ll pause now, as we’re running late. Sorry! Tonight is Hallowe’en, and Darren and Joe are organising a fancy-dress party. I’m going as a nun, and Claire is going as a vampire.

I’ll finish this tomorrow – cunty-promise!

Al

It was All Saints Day, and Hildegard Fotzenficker sat at her desk, dressed in her lab coat, trawling through Cunt Quality Commission Health and Safety Protocol Numbers 69B-81C (“Consent for Culling Undesirables [fuckless]”, version 3.a) – and swearing loudly to herself. “Fucking bureaucrats!” she cursed. “Do they have any idea what it’s like running an operation like this?! Why do I have to gain ‘consent’ to cull an Undesirable: they’re fucking Undesirable, aren’t they?!”

Happily, she was interrupted by a knock, and the office door opening. “He’s here, Doctor,” said Nurse Datchet – who was dressed today not as a nurse but as a central European farm girl, wearing a red-and-white lace-edged dirndl which squeezed her large tits together, her nipples just visible through the lace, and her hair in two long side braids which dangled down her chest.

“Bring him in, Dolores!” called Hildegard, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Into the room, escorted by Dolores Datchet, walked a rather nervous Chad Halloway.

“Ah, Mister Halloway!” Hildegard put on her best smile. “I am very pleased to see you again. Eat my cunt.”

There were very few people in life Chad had ever been intimidated by – but even he was somewhat anxious about being summoned to the office of a woman who had recently killed the father of a fellow-student in cold blood. “Suck my cock, ma’am. Uh, let me say at the outset, Doctor, how very sorry I am for my behaviour here the other day.” There were, in point of fact, very few people Chad had ever apologised to in his life before – but, despite his best efforts at convincing himself otherwise, he knew he had behaved like a shit.

“Ach, don’t worry about that. A minor matter. No, Chad, I have asked you to come because I was very impressed with you the other day. Very impressed indeed.” Hildegard got up, walked around to Chad, and groped his crotch. “Eight inches?” she asked.

“Uh, well, eight and a half on a good day, ma’am,” replied Chad, regaining some of his customary swagger as his cock swelled. Meanwhile, Dolores walked over to Hildegard’s desk and sat on top of it, pulling her skirt up just enough to display her cunt, which was partly shaven, but topped by a neatly trimmed red-brown bush.

“Now, I gather,” continued Hildegard, “that you may be in the process of being expelled from the RAF – pending investigation? It appears that the Academy has some objection to students being gratuitously violent...?

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” replied Chad, chastened – but also somewhat distracted by the sight of Nurse Datchet’s pussy peeping out from underneath her dirndl. “But I can explain it all, I promise you, it wasn’t my fault, I –”

“I am not interested, Chad,” interrupted Hildegard. “Take your trousers off.”

“Ma’am?”

“You heard me. Now.”

Chad did as he was told. His cock, thanks in no small part to the nurse’s ongoing gynaecological tease, stood erect, thick and strong – eight and half inches of hot, beautiful, throbbing meat poking proudly from his tall, handsome, muscular body. Both Hildegard and Nurse Datchet beamed in admiration.

“We are always looking for good specimens of meat here,” said Hildegard, reaching forward to stroke Chad’s cock, feeling it twitch in her palm. “As you may have heard me say, only the best physical types are suitable to be ... a Final Fucker.” She smiled encouragingly.

Despite his trepidation, Chad suddenly felt flattered, and valued – and it was a nice feeling. “You mean I ... Well, that would be an honour, ma’am! But surely you would want me to finish my NDF first?”

“Ach, what are pieces of paper to a true fucker?” said Hildegard, as she walked back behind her desk and sat down. No, I just need to see that you have what it takes. Fucking is a vocation: it is not something you can learn from books. I would like to offer you an apprenticeship here – to be reviewed in, say, six months. You see, to be a good Hospice Fucker, apart from having the right physical attributes – and you clearly have those – you have to have the right attitude, firstly to fucking, and secondly ... to death. We are dealing with very important life-and-death matters here at Princess Asshole.”

“Uh ... ma’am?” Despite his excitement, Chad was finding Hildegard a bit hard to follow. His attention was, frankly, distracted by Nurse Datchet, who had now hawked a large gob of saliva onto her exposed clit and was slowly rubbing it in, whilst whispering to herself in a high-pitched squeaky voice: “Ooh, pwetty cunt; pway wiv pwetty cunty, nursey-nursey...”

“You see,” Hildegard continued, “while the RAF claims to train students in Pleasure, it has a limited understanding of the word. Here at Princess Asshole we deal with people at the end of their lives, when social norms matter little any more. And we find that different people have very different ideas of Pleasure – some of them involving pain, humiliation, shame. We have to cater to all these manifestations. Last week we arranged the Final Fuck of a woman who wanted to die with her head forced down a toilet bowl and five men pissing on her head. The week before, there was a man who wanted to have his cock sucked by a vampiress while two others drank his blood. Would you deny any of these people their final wishes?” Hildegard’s eyes glinted with perverse delight.

Chad was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. He was not much interested in sucking blood or pissing on people’s heads, and was finding Hildegard’s enthusiasm for such matters a bit unnerving. But Nurse Datchet’s pussy was very tempting – especially as she was now slowly fucking it with two slender fingers, whilst continuing to giggle and squeak, “Cunty-cunty, pwetty cunty; wooky sticky fingahs in me cunty-cunty...” Chad’s cock was throbbing desperately, and a thin strand of pre-cum dangled from his glans; but he was trying to be on best behaviour, and dared not touch. Indeed, he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the nurse’s crotch, look Hildegard in the face, and answer her question with a firm “No, ma’am, of course not.”

Hildegard seemed to be getting into her stride, and her voice was rising in pitch. “And then there is the whole business of culling – or shall we say, killing? Have you ever killed a man, Chad? Have you ever tried to?”

Chad gulped. His heart began to beat rather fast and, continuing to avert his eyes from Nurse Datchet’s pussy, his cock started to droop. “Ma’am, I have never killed a man before, no – but of course, if I were to have the privilege of working in a hospice such as yours, I would rise to the challenge, I’m sure. I mean, the Enlightenment depends upon culling the old and unfuckable, doesn’t it? And, as you said the other day, no one ever objects ... except...” Chad’s sentence faded away, as his eyes were again drawn magnetically to Nurse Datchet, who was now sliding three fingers in and out of her shining cunt and whimpering under her breath, “Oooooh, fwee fingahs in vere now, pwetty cunty, vat’s so good, so fucky good...”

“Ah yes,” said Hildegard. “And there’s the rub, isn’t it? Because we do ever so occasionally have an Undesirable who hasn’t accepted Enlightenment wisdom, and who insists upon clinging onto his own worthless life, even if he is old and ugly. Would you be willing to cull someone who wasn’t being entirely ... co-operative?”

“What, you mean, like happened that day?” said Chad, tearing his eyes away from Dolores Datchet’s crotch.

“Ach, do not jump to conclusions, Chad,” replied Hildegard, wagging her finger in admonition. “We too are ‘under investigation’, you know.” Nurse Datchet had moved on again: four digits were now squelching in and out of her glistening cunt, and she was just beginning to curl her thumb into the palm of her hand so it too could follow suit. “Cunty-cunty, fisty-cunty,” she warbled to herself, “shaww I stick my pwetty fisty in my squidgy cunty...?” Chad had always loved watching a pretty girl fist herself, and didn’t want to miss that exquisite moment when the nurse’s whole hand would disappear for the first time between her stretched-out fuck-lips. Consequently, he was finding it very hard – nay, impossible – to concentrate on his interviewer’s words.

Hildegard recognised this, and raised her voice. “But ... hypothetically,” she insisted, “would you, if ordered, kill a black, or a half-breed, or an antediluvian religious believer, or any other deviant Undesirable subhuman freak?” Her voice continued to rise in pitch as she stood up behind her desk and pointed directly at Chad. “Would you, if ordered, point a gun at him and BLOW HIS FUCKING BRAINS OUT?!!!” Her eyes shone with demented ecstasy.

There was a long silence. Even cocksure arrogant Chad was thinking he had made a terrible mistake in coming here today, and he was feeling very scared and confused. He looked from Hildegard’s lunatic grin, to Nurse Datchet’s hand, now buried wrist-deep in her cunt, and back again. The substance of the doctor’s words was completely escaping him, though her face continued to tremble with sadistic imagination. Dolores Datchet pulled her hand slowly out of her pussy, so that Chad could watch her glistening pussy-lips stretch wide, leaving her pink fuck-tunnel gaping and her hand fragrant and glowing. “Heehee, squelchy pinky cunty all gapey wiv me fisty,” she giggled, smiling at him seductively and licking her red lips. “You wanna fucky pwetty cunty, wittle boy?”

Chad, despite his arrogance and his bullying temperament, was not utterly without morals, and he hesitated, his heart pounding with horror at Hildegard’s fervid, deranged monologue. But the sight of Nurse Datchet’s hot gaping cunt, added to her filthy infantile babbling, was too much for him. He wasn’t sure which question he was answering – Hildegard’s “blow his fucking brains out?” or Dolores’ “fucky pretty cunty?” – but he replied, slowly: “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

“So glad to hear that, Chad,” said Hildegard firmly. “The job is yours.”

In an instant, Nurse Datchet closed her legs and pulled down her skirt. She pouted her lips at Chad. “Poor wittle boy wanna fuck my pwetty cunty? Maybe he can tomowwow, hee hee...” She got up, and swiftly left the room, leaving Chad standing alone, frustrated and bewildered, with a raging, dribbling erection, while Hildegard smirked inscrutably.

“Get your trousers on, please, Chad,” she said.

Tuesday, 1^st November, 2050

Dearest Mommy,

Well, the party last night was totally fucking! Harriet was dressed as a 1920s flapper, and was smoking her cigarettes with a really long holder, which looked sooo sexy! Eva came as some kind of voodoo priestess or something – you know, wearing a see-through grass skirt and draped with beads and shells and stuff. She had these mini-skulls dangling from her nipple piercings, which looked absolutely amazing!

Claire gave several fanged blowjobs. Bradley got so freaked out, ‘coz after he’d come all over her face she was giving him some post-cum head and then bit on a fake blood pellet hidden in her mouth, so it looked like she’d bitten his cock! He’d already jumped back and screamed before realising it was fake. But Claire looked so fucking amazing with his cum all over her face and “blood” dripping from her mouth: after that all the boys were wanting “vampire” blowjobs!