Dark Erotic Fiction

THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster

Chapter 25: Death by Protest

Was Saturday ever going to end?

My slaves had it much worse. I felt bad about complaining. I was a little sleepy and I had at least an hour of work ahead of me.

“Tough it out, Foster.” I commanded. I took the disk and plugged it into the machine, wondering when I”d be using the new flash drives instead of bulky, fragile disks. The machine spooled up and the images began.

“This is a vegan protest from ARMIES,” a fat woman in a sweat shirt and jeans said into the camera. “I am Amber Anderson, president of the Eastlake chapter of the Animal Rights Militant International Executive Society, or ARMIES. The entire chapter is here at the Dixon estate to protest killing and eating animals. Stick to eating humans! There are too many of us!”

Great! I”m sleepy and I have to view this tripe! No doubt Ms. Vegan there was going to be the girl roast at the Dixons. I wondered if the spit would hold her weight. Amber Anderson introduced five other women:

Josie Dixon, vice president

Nadine Humphrey, treasurer

Kathleen Citron, executive secretary

Tulip Redman, publicist

Hawthorne Waite, recruiting

Also introduced was their slaver, Kentucky Smith. Kentucky Smith? I wondered if I was merely having a vividly weird nightmare. What happened next convinced me that I wasn”t. The camera was hand-held and operated by someone called William. The slaver had the six women undress and urinate for the mandated tests. At that time, Hill”s arrived. I didn”t recognize the crew—four women and a man. He said that his name was Richard. The naked Hill”s slaves were prettier than the ARMIES crowd by a country mile—but the Hill”s crowd lacked that hard fanatic stare. Amber was the first one trussed to a spit for live roasting. They didn”t gut her or anything—they were just wiring her to a spit that held her rigid. It took four straining slaves to get her over the coals. The rod was beefy enough to hold Amber.

“Any final words before we light you off, Amber!”

“GO VEGANS!”

Amber was gagged and Josie was next. Josie was anorexic, with flaps for breasts. Josie had fresh welts and cuts all over her body. Her last words were: “We”ve had 12 girl roasts this year. It is my turn, Daddy! Mommy, I hope you rot in Hell, too!”

After Josie was gagged, another plumper was wired to the spit. Her last words were that she was happy to sacrifice her own life so that a hog could continue living. So much for Nadine.

Kathleen had so much metal on her body—I stopped the tape and counted the visible piercings. I quit at 30. She crowed that she was getting off Planet Earth to make room for some other more-deserving life form.

Tulip couldn”t stop laughing. They gagged this homely woman and put her over the cold coals to await her fate.

Hawthorne had a lot to say. She read a manifesto that dragged on and on and on. When William said that he had had “enough of this shit,” Richard gagged Hawthorne and that big girl was hoisted over her coals. The roasters were lined up in a row and three slaves positioned themselves to light off the coal beds. The roasters were not the standard Jessica”s—the spits didn”t penetrate the women. That meant an agonizingly slow death awaited them. The fires whoomphed to life, and the trussed women began to wriggle and scream through their gags almost immediately. The four Hill”s slaves began basting the roasting women. I saw the fires flare as the dying women voided bladder and bowel over the fire. There was a break in the video and the six women had ceased wriggling, were turning reddish brown over the fire. Kentucky Smith wasn”t visible any longer, but there were a shocked man and a screaming woman next to Josie.

“Why? Why? Why?” The woman sobbed at her roasting daughter.

It happened so rapidly that it didn”t register at first. Something red flashed through the old man and he fell. The woman”s head toppled off her shoulders and she collapsed. I saw the blur and guessed that it was Hannibal Johnson. He was shouting MY MEAT over and over again as he hacked down Richard, then the screaming Hill”s slaves. William”s survival reflexes were absent—Hannibal rushed the camera and the last image was of the sky.

I reviewed the last few seconds at one frame per second. It was Hannibal and he was clothed at the time. He held a machete and a fire axe and used them both. The last images showed a blood-stained madman rushing the camera. I checked the last few seconds and determined that it took just nine seconds to kill eight people—four slaves, three men and a free woman. The time was shortly before the attack on the Foote party next door, if the cameraman had set his date/time correctly.

I jotted down the report, including the incredibly short time span of the attack. Okay, he caught the first two by surprise, the third was Richard, who was just too slow, all four slaves had been wearing leg irons and chains on their wrists, and William the cameraman was just recording video on automatic pilot—but still, that was speedy death. I had thought that the ARMIES women had hard glares—Hannibal”s eyes were something out of Hell”s depths.

Despite that nightmarish vision, I finished my report and called for Cheryl. I began making slow love to her, assisted by Shawna. After the nightmare of Hannibal Johnson, I was more than happy to worship creation of new life. Cheryl and I became one with the universe.