Episode 5: Harem-Part 4

With a small THUMP, the soles of Emily’s feet made contact with the hardwood floor at the foot of the stairs. In her search for Tommy, Emily found herself in the well-lit living room, admiring to the fact that without all the boxes and packages, the place looked stunning; it was definitely an improvement when compared to their old one back at the US. Yet despite the comfy tone of the place, Tommy had yet to be found; the smells of something succulent cooking were a no-brainer on where to go next.

By the time Emily had entered the kitchen doorway, the lovely scent of finely cooked meat had become completely empowering. She would have checked to see the source of this wonderful aroma herself, but her eyes were too busy darting around and taking in the biggest kitchen Emily had ever seen in her whole life (no matter how short it was).

It was wide, with counters and cupboards lining up whatever walls weren’t occupied by the necessary appliances a good quality kitchen needs. There were not one but two fridges, each large and plated in a dull chrome. The stoves had no visible burners, but instead a flat surface with certain points capable of heating without any gas. The sinks appeared common in comparison to everything else around it, but it seemed to be occupied by something, something Emily couldn’t make out from where she stood. A massive island sat straight in the middle of the room, with plenty of space all around it. But what truly drew the young girls’ focus was the sole-source of that wonderful smell: the oven.

The thing was massive, so large in fact that it occupied an entire wall all to itself, despite only being large enough to take up half of that wall. Like the fridges, it used the same dull-chrome plating, only it seemed to be of much newer quality, with a large see-through panel consisting of most of the door. It was double, no, triple-layered; the thing was so big that one could manage to fit an entire person in there; and the more Emily looked at it, it seemed as if there already was.

“Hello Mistress Emily; May I help you with something?”

Emily had been staring at that oven for so long, that the sound of Molly’s voice from behind gave her quite a surprise. Yet to face the woman, Emily calmed herself down and answered her, “Oh, sorry Molly, you gave me quite the scare for a moment. I actually came in here looking fo……”

While speaking, Emily had turned around to face Molly and to answer more polite and directly. Yet her attention was swiftly thrown off course when she saw what the delivery-girl was wearing, or to be closer to the truth, what the cleaning-girl should be wearing. “Molly, wh….why are you wearing a….maids’ costume?”

It was true; Molly no longer wore the signature navy-blue jumpers assigned to all package-and-delivery class gals, and instead she was now in the full and complete getup of a common house maid.

What drew Emily’s intrigue about the outfit the most wasn’t the fact that it was just there (Emily didn’t remember them, or the entire house having any maids uniforms anywhere), but that the entire getup was actually quite decent when regarding to ‘what’ was wearing it. It’s obvious the outfit was based more on functionality in regards to the job it represented, than serving as mere ‘sex-appeal’; to prove the point, the skirt managed to conceal the woman’s knees finely, with the top of the outfit completely devoid of any cleavage whatsoever.

With little to no understanding of Emilys confusion, Molly entered the kitchen (with a mid-sized pot of water in tow) and coolly explained the reason for her attire. “A few hours ago, Mister Thomas left to get some things from the nearest city. When he returned, he assigned me as the houses new maid, and gave me the maids’ outfit he bought as my new uniform. Now he has assigned me to prepare the evenings’ meal.”

It all made sense to Emily now: if both her and Tommy were going to live in a big house together, they might as well have someone around to help clean them up. And it did make sense to use a gal not designed with procreation in mind, but instead work and physical labor to do such a task, and Molly was perfect for the job.

From what Emily remembered about the Molly-units, they were very capable (along with quite charming) workers. They were efficient and well-trained, built-in with ‘by-the-manual’ knowledge on how to do the common types of tasks the company needed done at home base. Emily remembered seeing quite a number of Mollys on her first days at the Creation facility she was born in, and she remembered them doing quite a number of jobs there as well. She remembered one labeling boxes packed with specialty drugs, she remembered two of them carrying a coffin-sized crate around, she remembered one that watched her urinate while cleaning the bathroom………..

She remembered one in the bunker-room on her first night of dreaming. It was in there, constantly dabbing a soaking mop into a janitorial bucket, and plopping it down on the ground again, trying its best to clean something up. Emily remembered it so well because, as the other fourteen girls (including her twin sister) lay resting within the comforts of their beds, Emily was completely awake, watching as the redhead worker-gal tried its hardest to clean that ‘something’ off the grey-tiled floor. As if realizing itself that the task was futile with the current tools it had, the Molly set its mop back in the bucket, and stared a few feet away at the only girl in the entire room who was not asleep.

It was of personal debate to Emily back then on whether the Molly could comprehend and take note on what she felt that night, but now she understood that the working-class ‘drone’ was incapable of knowing what Emily had felt for the first time that night: fear, genuine fear, and with that fear came the trauma that refused to set her minds at ease and let her sleep it off.

The Molly now stood in front of the young girl, whose feet dangled motionlessly at the edge of the bottom bunk, and proceeded to pull something out of the pocket of its jumper. Without batting an eye or reacting in the slightest way, it rubbed a clean rag lightly against the soft skin of her chin, wiping away what had once been splattered all over it.

But no matter how much the Molly wiped, it could never wipe away the memory of what Emily had seen. It had been everywhere; on her face, the floor beside her bed, and dragging all the way out the door and even further into the hallway.

With the stuff now gone, the Molly-unit returned the stained rag to her pocket, and proceeded to leave the room with equipment in tow. It took Emily a while, but eventually she managed to get herself a few hours of rest before being awoken for the next day. Although she barely forgot about what happened the night before, Emily could still remember the vague glimpse of that Molly returning the used rag back into her jumper pocket, now stained a mid-blue.

“Mistress, Mistress; I apologize for stating such a demand, but I need you to move so I may return this pot to the sink over there.”

Molly, the current and only Molly she could ever know to have worn a maids’ uniform, returned Emilys’ thoughts back into the present, only with a greater urge than before to find her beloved.

As she stepped aside to allow Molly through, Emily asked her without hesitation, “Where’s Tommy? It’s an emergency and I need to find him as soon as possible.” While setting the water-filled pot down into the sink, Molly gave her answer, all the while without detracting from what she was doing. “Mister Thomas retreated to the basement to begin work on something of interest to him, probably involving that Variety-Pack he ordered.” Emilys eyes grew wide with shock and awe at hearing such a phrase, a phrase that was so stunning to her that it made her forget her urgent message for Tommy at the moment.

A Variety Pack was a very unique and rarely-used service offered by the Guro-Gal corporation, namely because noone knew what the hell they were going to get the moment they ordered it. How it worked was this: the customer places the number of gals they want, and the rest is merely a matter of chance, with the range of girls one may get without restriction and without boundaries. You knew what you’ order but didn’t know what you’d get, either with or against you, or somewhere in the muddy between.

Molly, untouched by what she just said, continued to speak, “His Variety Pack of seven came here while he was out, and when he returned he examined them and had six of them join his company down in the basement. The seventh he had me prepare for tonights’ meal.”

If Emily wasn’t stunted before, despite already being shocked from learning about the Variety Pack in the first place, than the last part was definitely a heavy-hitter. With difficulty, she spoke, “Seven…..girls? With one of them…..as tonights’ meal? Surely you must be pulling my leg or something.” Oh, right, a worker-unit, devoid of any concept of humor.

“I am not pulling on anybodys’ leg Mistress Emily. If you wish to see for yourself, you may check in the oven over there to see how she’s doing.”

Being in a rush of urgency, Emily wasted no time in walking towards and checking out the contents of the oven. Grabbing the handle bar at the top of the flip-down door, she pulled it downwards, and got herself a good look at what occupied inside.

Emily had never seen a gal cooked before, and her first-time to do so took her breath away almost instantly. The body was skinny, a frame that bore the signs of great womanhood coming along its way, only to be too late. The limbs were folded onto themselves at the knees and elbows, bound together by thick-cords of cookery rope, and the hands and feet were cut off. The entire body was suspended from a hook latched onto the upper-grate of the oven, and showed into the throat of the headless neck.

But it was the color of the skin, which put awe on Emily the most: it was beautiful. Free of contact from the glowing-hot surfaces of within the oven, the body was allowed to cook evenly and thoroughly, with the skin turned into a nicely-roasted, golden-brown hue. Emily knew, that only a gal intentionally designed to be consumed, could be produced into such a fine meal; the aroma of steamy-flesh that arose from the sizzling skin confirmed that.

“Is the meat done yet?”

Closing the door upwards, Emily gave a smile to Molly and said, “I think it’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Molly confirmed with a nod, resuming her work of plopping bits of potatoes, onions and carrots into the pot of water. Surely this would make a nice meal and all, but Emily was only even more curious about the rest of Tommy’s Variety Pack; so curious in fact, that it made her forget her reason of urgency mere moments ago.

“I want to know more about this Variety Pack of Tommy’s. From what I remember, a folder with info on all the gals is delivered along with them, am I correct?”

Without pausing her work with the vegetables, Molly answered, “You are correct, Mistress. The folder is located in the lounge area under the girls’ head.”

As if getting the hint that Emily would ask whose head, she added on, “The girl I’m cooking right now.”

Emily understood, and with a small “Thank-You” for Molly’s assistance, she left the kitchen the way she came in the search for the lounge area. Molly did not remark to the kind girls’ ‘thank you’, and instead resumed her work at the kitchen sink without halt or haste; she was a maid, after all.

Emily, however, was on the search for the lounge. She didn’t see a folder or head in the living room area before, so it was safe to assume that the ‘lounge’ and ‘living’ rooms were not one and the same; to be honest, she didn’t do much exploring of the house while they were unpacking everything, and mostly spent her time in the upstairs areas.

When she found the lounge area, she was glad to know that unlike the rest of the house, this area seemed to be closer to ‘average’ or typical lounges one would see in a house; it even had the common objects one would find in a lounge. There was a worn-leather couch, a side-table, a wall-mounted flatscreen, and even a pool table; and on the pool table was the folder, with the girls’ head right on top of it.

Emily actually shuttered when she saw the head for the first time, and not because it was disfigured or anything (actually, the head was entirely undamaged), but because she didn’t expect it to have so much…….makeup.

The skin was covered completely in pasty-white makeup, rendering the ability for one to see any normal features to be near-impossible. The color of the lipstick it wore was a bold black; with the bright-pink flesh of the tongue sticking out limply and as far as it could naturally go. The eyes were a piercing bright-green, and stood completely out against the gothic-style makeup that surrounded them.

The still unsure Emily stepped slowly towards the head, afraid that the thing may still be alive; heck, it was part of a Variety Pack, anything could happen. But when she finally got to the pool table, and slowly reached a hand out to lift the head off the folder, everything seemed to be A Ok.

With the folder finally in her hand, she was about to seat herself and look into it, when she decided to set the folder down, and give the head an even further look.

She looked young, probably somewhere in her mid-teens, and despite all the makeup she had plastered on still looked cute in some way or another. Emily especially liked the long mane of dark-red hair flowing down, admiring the adorable if-not creepy skull clips it had here and there. She was definitely modeled after a gothic, which was strange seeing as how she appeared to be smiling. It was hard to notice with the white makeup covering everything, but one could faintly tell that her face showed an expression of happiness, and possibly pleasure. Emily was about to set the head down and focus on the folder, when she once again looked at that long tongue sticking out at her.

It had been awhile since she’d done so, and despite her futile attempts to resist, she eventually gave into her temptations and gave it a wet kiss.

Actually, it was more of her sucking on the tongue rather than her giving a full and ‘in-the-mouth’ kind of kiss. But none the less, she was enjoying it tremendously. It was difficult at first for her to realize it, but she grew a sort of ‘philia’ towards heads; so much so that when Tommy was away during the funeral, a great deal of her time was spent pleasuring herself to Amy’s decapitated head, whether it was ‘alive’ or not. This was something she had always kept to herself, and had yet to reveal to Tommy; maybe she could tell him after she found him.

Pulling her mouth away from the now lubricated tongue, she used her index finger to push it back behind the black lips, and afterwards cleaned the finger onto the rim of her (Tommy’s) T-shirt. Afraid she might wet her new shorts from so much excitement, she hastily set the head back onto the pool table, and plopped her rear down on the lumpy surface of the couch.

Flipping the vanilla cover of the folder open, she skimmed past the first few pages until she found the picture of the girl whose head she nearly came to, and began to read the bio.

Her name was Rosa, and was indeed modeled after an average 16 year-old American gothic girl. Merely 5’2” and weighing only 96 pounds, the skinny young girl was designed with the particular kink of extreme pleasure when being cooked alive; seeing as how her head showed signs of joy yet was completely untouched, she must have been partially roasted and then decapitated as to not damage it.

To Emily’s confirmation, she was in fact a “Gourmet” class gal, meaning her body was engineered to be completely capable of safe and easy consumption. Even though technically ‘all’ G-gals are designed to be eaten, only Gourmet-gals could both be eaten and taste delicious at the same time. Now the meal was going to taste far better than Emily had thought it would.

Emily looked back at the full-body picture of the gothic Rosa, and noticed that she originally had an outfit on her, yet didn’t remember seeing any of it on her trip here.

It was of the typical fashion associated with most goth-kids, with the black leather short-skirt and top doing a poor job of making her look decent, the red and black slippers on her small feet (Emily questioned why she had those on in the first place), the black thigh-highs that concealed the pale skin of her legs, and finally black fingerless gloves complete with red frills on them. As if the whole thing couldn’t get anymore ‘goth’, chains dangled from all over the outfit in any way they possible could.

Emily wondered where the outfit may be (heck, she was curious enough to try it on herself), and her best guess was that it was down in the basement with Tommy and the other ‘Varieties”. Closing the folder and stuffing under her left armpit, Emily left the lounge to resume her search for Tommy; but not before giving one last, long look at the lifeless head that lay there on the pool table.

With a soft moan echoing from her lips, Emily reached down, gave herself a soft stroke with her free hand, and went on her way.