Chapter 2. The Delivery is Inspected.


The three captives were together in a steel lined, soundproof cell. The soundproofing wasn't so much to prevent busybodies from hearing their cries, but to eliminate the annoyance factor and to allow some peace and quiet.

There were actually four cells in total, but Bob had deemed it easier and sufficiently risk-free to keep these girls together.

The cell had just the basics to keep their occupants in good enough health until they were required, a bunk bed replete with thin blue plastic mattresses, and duvets, and a sink with a cold tap, drinking beakers, and a toilet cubical.

Each cell also had CCTV, so could be monitored remotely. In fact the whole farm was covered with cameras, partly for security, but mostly to eliminate any unexpected or unwelcome surprises.

Once the couple had reached the basement level, Bob grabbed his trusty Mossberg pump action 12-gauge from the workshop. Today it was loaded with solid rounds that would 'blow a hole in a cow big enough to throw a dog through' as the saying goes. Both he and Emma also strapped on hunting knives, and pocketed pepper spray. The plan wasn't to use any of these weapons, but it pays to be prepared for all eventualities, and disagreeable guests were certainly a hazard.

Emma pushed the door open while Bob held the 'Shotgun of Compliance' as it was affectionately known. Apart from it's dog-hole making capability, it's visual presence carried considerable psychological force.

Straight away the mother started running her mouth. "What the hell you think you're doing!?" she yelled. She had some kind of East European accent that Bob had trouble placing.

"I'd give that attitude a rest darling, if I were you!" warned Emma. Bob had noticed that she enjoyed getting fired up with captives, it really seemed to get her in the mood.

"Someone will hear us and then you'll be in real trouble. Let us go now!"

"Sorry sweetheart, no-one will hear you scream down here. And you should save your scream 'til later, when you'll need it."

"Fuck you!" This bitch certainly had attitude, but she was no match for Emma's nasty streak.

Emma pulled her right hand from her pocket, revealing a knuckle duster. A quick snap of her arm and it connected with the woman's temple.

"Ahh! fuck you," the bitch cried again.

"You gonna be quiet now?" Emma asked, although by the way she said it, it was more a statement of fact.

The woman's head dropped and she nodded resignedly. A trickle of blood ran down her cheek.

The youngest was crying, a grizzled high pitched squeal, and the fifteen year old was sitting sullenly, tears streaming down her face from imploring eyes.

Emma trotted out the well worn cliché, "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

And with that the captives at last seemed to accept their situation. Although terrified by the sudden change in their life's trajectory, a realisation had finally descended that they were at the mercy of their captors, and resisting probably wasn't a good idea.

Emma's demeanour suddenly changed, and she flashed a warm smile, "Anyway, we've brought you breakfast," she chirped brightly. Bob had always been impressed by her Jekyll-and-Hide ability to manipulate victims in the service of ensuring cooperation. Emma dug into the bag and produced a Tupperware box of sandwiches and other goodies that Bob had prepared earlier.

"Ok guys," Bob informed the girls, "That's all for now, eat your breakfast and we'll be back later."

The couple needed to attend to a few necessities while the girls breakfasted. Bob checked on the cameras, and made sure everything was set up to record.

Then Bob and Emma made their way up to the viewing lounge. It was a purpose built area for hanging out during and between their wicked doings. In one corner was a desk with a computer system and an array of flat panel monitors, where they could keep an eye on the whole farm, and on the back wall, facing the bed was a giant 60 inch TV screen, for watching videos that had been previously recorded, and an equally impressive surround sound system.

On the long front wall was a panoramic plate glass window which overlooked the factory proper. The lounge was on a kind of mezzanine level, so that one could look survey all the goings on in the factory, much like your boss does at work.

Emma put the kettle on while Bob rolled a spliff. He found weed to be the perfect aphrodisiac, and Dave had supplied him with a lovely Sativa hybrid that sparked his mind to a new level, without monging him out. It was time to plan their next move.

Bob and Emma sat together on the couch, supping their tea.

"So what do you think?" Emma asked, dunking a biscuit.

Bob inhaled and passed her the J. "Well all the machines are in good order. We're spoiled for choice. I think we'll just use one machine though, otherwise we'll be here all week doing cleanup."

"Sounds like a plan," Emma agreed. "Also it'll make logistics a bit easier. Not so much moving about."

Bob nodded. "But which one? It's your turn to decide."

Since Tara the Tart's gruesome, toe-first slaughter by means of an industrial shredder, the couple had bickered over favoured methods of disposal. Taking turns seemed the only solution to maintain marital harmony.

Bob and Emma often relived the Tara episode through the big screen while fucking. Bob loved watching the destruction in slow-mo, and Emma got off on the screams. The other machines were all as yet unchristened, and they were both keen to test them out.

"We should get dressed, too," Bob said. Street clothes, while adequate, weren't really optimal for the rampant orgy of violent sexual destruction that was to be undertaken.

So they did, each donning soft black cotton onesies, modified with Velcro for easy crotch access, high boots, and a belt to hold weapons and tools. The overall effect was ninja-esque, and once the fun was over, the outfits could be destroyed without compunction if they were too messed up to wear again.

The captives were to wear white pyjamas. Emma had insisted on this colour for the simple reason that it showed up the blood better.

"Let's get them processed, I'll grab my notebook," Bob said.

Emma rolled her eyes and laughed. Bob was such a stickler for protocol she thought. Such a square, recording everything for posterity. Still, it was one of those loveable traits that added to his character.

Soon, the three females were led into the processing room next to the cell block.

"Sit there." Bob motioned with the shotgun to a wooden bench. The three sat nervously in silence, wondering what this was leading to.

He pointed the shotgun at the mother. "Stand up."

This time she did as she was told. Bob suspected that her earlier outburst was more an immature attempt to save face than a serious challenge to his and Emma's authority.

"What's your name sweetheart?" he asked sternly.

The woman looked down at her feet in silence.

Emma stepped towards her. "Name!" she demanded. She was really revelling in the Gestapo guard act, thought Bob.

After another hesitation, she replied, "Magda."

This piqued Emma's interest. "That's a Russian name isn't it?"

"Polish," Magda replied.

"Well I guess that explains the attitude. And what are you? thirty five, thirty eight years old?" This was a deliberate ploy by Emma to get information. Overstating her age to force a correction. Emma had always been good at the old psychology.

"Fuck off! I'm thirty two!" Magda spat, offended.

Bob recorded these facts in his little leather-bound, blue notebook.

"Go and stand against that wall, we need to take your picture." Magda moved over to the wall, which had height markers, just like you see in criminal's mugshots.

Bob took a few moments to take photos of her face, then front, side and rear shots.

"Take off your clothes," Bob said quietly.

"What, now?" Magda asked, disbelievingly.

"Yes, of course."

Magda stripped reluctantly, removing a short leather jacket, and green tanktop revealing a luscious pair of G cup titties barely contained in a bulging bra. Magda started to fumble with the catch behind her.

Bob didn't want to wait, and pulled out his Bowie knife. As Magda let forth a little shriek, he deftly sliced through the front band. Emma forcefully ripped the bra away from her and threw it onto the bench. The ample mammaries, freed of their prison, found themselves at the mercy of Master Gravity, and bobbed downwards to find a new equilibrium.

Bob appraised them with a critical eye. They were full, round, and very milfy, and just a little saggy. He couldn't resist grabbing one with a large paw and his touch caused Magda to gasp. Overflowing the reach of his fingers, the breast was exquisitely soft and pliant. Then he squeezed hard. Magda yelped in pain, and Bob felt a semi growing in his pants. He released his grip, leaving red finger marks on her tender flesh. He gave Magda a nod and a smile. "Ok, get the rest off."

Magda bent over to remove her white trainers. It was a nice pose, Bob thought. Watching her remove her jeans and knickers was quite a show too, her smooth limbs dancing and hopping as she struggled with the garments.

At last she was completely naked. Bob looked her up and down, evaluating his quarry.

Tousled mousey hair topped a fearful, bloody and dirt smudged face, but still quite pretty, with high cheekbones and a proud but well formed nose. She had narrow, girly shoulders, which only served to further emphasize her enormous tits. Bob salivated and a random thought popped into his head about how he might destroy them later.

Her torso was distinctly pear shaped, had a narrow waist, soft feminine tummy, and a pronounced and extremely erotic venus mons. Her hips were fabulously wide, and well padded, but without unsightly rolls of fat or flab, giving her untrimmed cunt the perfect setting. A lush island in an expansive sea of flesh. The whole effect was of a juicy treat, and Bob wanted to dive right in.

"Turn around," he told her, and as she complied her fat bottom jiggled enticingly. Her ass was what Bob thought of as kinda chewy. Soft, plump, and just a little bit saggy. A ride built for comfort.

Her legs balanced her torso nicely, her thick meaty thighs were big enough not to leave a gap, leading to shapely calves, ending with the standard number of feet. Bob noticed that she had painted her toenails green spangles. It seemed like a wasted effort in view of what was to become of them.

The whole effect of Magda's body was to exude not beauty in it's generally accepted sense, but voluptuous sensuality. Bob thought it perfect for the forthcoming trials it would be subjected to.

Next, Magda was instructed to step onto some bathroom scales, and then stood against the measuring wall. Emma produced a tape measure and Bob diligently recorded the vital statistics in his little book:

Magda (32) 32G-26-40 1.75m 71kg

He had been compelled to record the height and weight in metric, as if this was a nerdy excercise in engineering. In some sense, it probably was.

Finally, the processing was completed with another round of photos, this time naked, creating the kind of 'before and after' sets you might find on 4chan/s.

Bob was still admiring her form when his reverie was interrupted by Emma handing her the pyjamas.

While Magda was dressing, Bob turned next to the older daughter. "Your turn now my dear," he said firmly.

The girl's head suddenly shot up. "What?" she said in surprise.

"Stand." Bob said in his usual laconic style.

"Nooooo," wailed the girl, and started rocking on the edge of the bench.

This time Magda stepped in "Just do as they say, Kasia," she coaxed.

"But but but…" stammered Kasia, still rocking and crying.

Emma, having had enough of this insubordiation, stepped forward. She grabbed Kasia by the ponytail, lifting her bodily from the bench. Kasia screamed a little scream and struggled, kicking out with her legs. This caused a natural reaction from her mother.

"Hey!" she yelled, before a sharp look from Emma and the barrels of the gun waved towards her made her remember herself. "Just do as they say," she added quietly.

Kasia relented and stood quietly, sulkily avoiding eye contact. Then the humiliating process that her mother had endured was repeated.

"You're a pretty one. Now strip" Emma demanded.

Slowly Kasia took off a pink fleece, a snug fitting white polo shirt, sports bra, leggings and finally knickers, and added them to her mother's on the bench.

Bob could feel both her teenage embarrassment, as her young cheeks flushed at this impromptu strip-tease, and the still growing bulge in his pants.

Again he looked her up and down. His eyes were drawn to her feet first, which were self consciously turned in towards each other. Bob thought this was rather sexy and girly. He raised his eyes to take in the rest of her teenage form. Her legs were really nicely muscled, slim of course, but lithe and toned too. "Do you do sports?"

"She's in the school gymnastics team," Magda chipped in.

Bob grunted approvingly. Fit girls were always the most fun. Strength and stamina were desirable qualities in this game. He thought maybe she would be saved until last.

Kasia had a perfect little pussy too, very tight, smooth and tidy looking.

Above that, a flat tummy with noticeable abs, no doubt from the gymnastics. Smooth ripples of her ribs were nicely visible too. Bob liked the way her underlying physical structure was visible, and wondered what fate would befall it.

Bob's eyes greedily apprehended her developing breasts. He estimated that they were a C-cup already. Round and perky, each one was a nice little handful. Bob had quite a thing about arms, too, and this girl's were lovely. Kinda spindly as would be expected for her age, but lean with a hint of the underlying muscle, terminated by delicate hands.

Her face was stunningly beautiful. It's tear stained, and terrified aspect making it all the more appealing. Full lips, her mother's broad face and proud cheekbones, and strangely alluring hazel eyes topped off with carefully presented eyebrows gave her a look of grace, intelligence and intensity.

Bob wanted to see a little more before he moved on. "Gymnastics right? Give us a little show then."

Realising she had no choice, but crippled with embarrassment, Kasia turned around to avoid eye contact. This suited Bob just fine of course, giving him a fresh view.

Kasia's back was as nice as the front. Bob watched as subtle musculature and bone slid under perfect taught skin as she moved through a little routine.

First came some warm up stretches. Then, lying face down on the floor, arching her back and bending her knees, she reached back and grabbed her ankles. Bob watched mesmerised, as her powerful ass muscles worked, and pushed her butt proud. It was a great look, and Emma thoughtfully grabbed more photos.

Then, a handstand with splits. The look of shock on Magda's face was priceless, as Kasia's pussy was fully exposed to all. The final act was a graceful forward walkover, showing maximum flexibility, and again not leaving anything to the imagination.

Bob exhaled in appreciation. "Whew. Ok put on your jim jams." Emma threw her jammies to her and Kasia hastily and gratefully put them on, at last free of Bob and Emma's unwelcome and searching study.

Kasia (15) 32C-22-32 1.55m 47kg

Bob turned at last turned to the youngest. "One of these things is not like the others," he proclaimed. For this little flower was black.

"She's adopted," Magda explained, as Emma positioned her for the camera.

"Ok little one, you know the drill," Emma directed.

Bob started thinking about drills, and all the things he could do with them. Then he cleared his throat and his thoughts.

"What's your name, little one?" he enquired, as photos were taken.

Perhaps she didn't fully understand the seriousness of her predicament as her sister had, or perhaps she knew it too well and had found some resolve, as kids often do. In any case the tears had dried up and she answered promptly.

"Maisie" she confided quietly.

"Ok we need you to change into your jammies like your sister did."

"Is it bedtime?" she asked querilously, no doubt having lost track of time. As it turned out, it soon would be, but not in the way Maisie had hoped.

Maisie pulled off her clothes with a little help from her mum and then stood quietly.

Bob appraised her dark form. Unsurprisingly it was a complete contrast to Kasia's.

Her round, brown face was topped with wirey black hair, done in cornrows. She had a cute button nose and full, dimpled cheeks. Bob imagined that it would have been capable of a smile to light up a whole room, then realised that wouldn't be a likely scenario in this timeline.

Below her delicate ten year old neck was a chubby little torso, with just the merest hint of titties starting to bud. Maisie was carrying a fair bit of puppy fat, and some of it was spread around her middle, giving her a cute softness.

Her pussy was as you would expect, nothing more than a slit.
Below that were dumpy little legs, fleshy thighs and calves and impossibly cute little feet.

"Give us a twirl darling," Bob said.

Little Maisie started to turn around but then seemed to get confused as to what was wanted of her, and ended up standing sideways on to Bob.

"That's perfect, sweet cheeks," Bob reassured her.

It was actually the perfect angle to admire her in total. A pronounced feminine curve of her lower back gave way to the most stunningly fuckable ass Bob had ever set eyes on. Petite for sure, but gorgeously round and full, of the sort that only African girls are blessed with. Bob recalled there was even a word for it, steatopygia.

Bob couldn't help but grab a handful of cheek flesh. So soft and delicious, that as Maisie looked up to him with big brown eyes, he nearly came in his pants.

Once she was in pyjamas, she still looked super, the drape of soft fabric showing off her little booty perfectly.

Maisie (10) 1.38m 38kg.

Bob and Emma backed out of the cell and closed the door.

"I'm so fucking horny right now," Emma exclaimed as soon as the door was locked, and grabbed at Bob's bulge through his onesie. "Those girls fucking ace. I can't wait to get started on them!"

Bob scratched his chin. "You know we could spread this out over a few days if you like."

Emma agreed, "Yeah, we could that," then thought for a moment, and countered, "Or we could just go fucking crazy for a day."

Bob laughed at his wife's zeal. "That's always an option too."