Chapter 1: Carrie Self-Administers

Carrie stood in the room trying to compose herself. She knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes and started counting.

“One ... Two ... Three ... Four ... Five...”

The sound of the door and the click of heels broke Carrie from her preparation as another woman entered the room. She was smartly dressed, much smarter than Carrie. The smart Channel suit, the stockings and heels, perfectly coiffured hair and makeup suggested she had just come straight from tidying up loose ends at the office.

The woman confidently picked up the gun from the side table and with her feet slightly apart she braced herself against the wall. With her eyes closed she lifted the front of her skirt and slid the muzzle of the gun up her thigh, flinching a little as the cold steel of the barrel crossed her stocking top.

Carrie watched intently as the woman buried the gun into her bush as far as it would go, opening her eyes and glancing down to align it before staring straight ahead and completely ignoring Carries presence.

Crack. She fired and flinched. Immediately her hand and the gun was washed with urine as her bladder began to empty through the wound into her pussy. As she took the gun away blood began to run down her inner thighs. She replaced the gun on the side table and turned, resting her hands on the side table to steady herself she coughed and reached before spitting out the bullet that landed next to the gun. She had succeeded and prepared herself perfectly.

Leaving a trail of blood on the floor the woman edged along the side table, turned and heaved herself up so she was sitting on the edge before picking up her legs by the knees one at a time and swinging them over. Exhausted she just silently laid back.

The Woman’s head had barely touched the table before the two uniformed maids entered behind their trolley. They lifted the round ended spit from the shelf beneath the side table and one of them inserted up the woman’s skirt before they began to push it in.

The woman lied motionless throughout the procedure until one of the maids said. “Head back.”

The woman dutifully lifted her chin and opened her mouth as the spit emerged.

The maids pushed their trolley up against the side table and rolled the woman on to it face down. Her jacket was still pristine but her

skirt, stockings and shoes were soaked in thick sticky blood.

The maids wheeled the woman out the way they had come in, one of the maids just casually telling Carrie. “Just two minutes left.” As they exited.

Carrie was all too aware the time was ebbing away. Only five minutes was allowed before the maids would intervene and complete the process. Carrie became even more aware as she could hear screams from an adjacent room. When the time is up the only option is the manual spitting with a pointed spit.

Carrie gingerly lifted the front of her yellow summer dress and pressed the cold muzzle to her thigh. She still had a few seconds to warm it a bit she thought as she prevaricated. She still had the dilemma whether she had been selfish to pay the thousand pounds plus V.A.T. to be able to use the gun, thinking what her family could have done with that money if she had just gone along with a manual spitting. It is not like she had not had a month to thrash out all of these things since she had been chosen for ‘Meat Service”. The government had decided that they would just extend the existing Jury Service selection process to select women to provide meat for the poor.

It was fair, all women had an equal chance of being selected but options were available to the better off. The current going rate was about two million pounds to buy a substitute. There were still a few poor women who would sacrifice themselves to provide money for their families, but their numbers were dwindling as the price was rising. You could not import a foreigner, the substitute had to be a subject, and of course she had to be healthy.

Carrie had discussed it with her family and they had insisted that she had the gun. They could not face the thought of her enduring the pain any more than she wanted it. Carrie could have had one of her loved ones with her, or even have them administer the gun, but Carrie had researched and knew that with all the emotion they would all fall to pieces and she would end up being spitted manually anyway.

Carrie had also considered the slightly less painful spiting in the bottom. Either bottom or pussy was allowed, but it was much harder to self-administer in to your own bottom as many who tried it had shown, with the bullet usually exiting from their back instead of neatly lodging in their throat, incurring an extra administration charge for the inevitable manual pussy spitting that would follow.

Why couldn’t the maids just do it. Why was there so much bureaucracy. Why was there demarcation. It all just led to extra suffering.

Carrie closed her eyes and started counting again. “One ... Two ... Three...”

Abruptly the doors burst open and the maids returned but this time with the cleaning trolley. “One minute.” One of the maids called out.

It was hard for Carrie to concentrate as as the maids busily swabbed down the side table and hosed the floor, washing the woman’s blood and pee into the central drain. The clicking as they cleaned and reloaded the gun were most distracting.

Trying to ignore what was happening in the room Carrie started again. “One ... Two ... Three ... Four...”

Carrie slid the gun up her thigh using the muzzle to neatly part her bush.

“Five ... Six ... Seven...” She continued.

Carrie now wiggled the muzzle into her pussy, pushing it all the way in until she felt the trigger guard on her clitoris.