Bob and Emma left the girls to their meal and made their way up to the viewing lounge, a purpose-built area on the mezzanine for hanging out between their wicked doings. In one corner was a desk with a computer and an array of flat panel monitors, where they could keep an eye on the whole farm. On the back wall, facing the bed was a giant sixty-inch TV screen for enjoying 'home videos', matched by an equally impressive surround sound system.

Bob slurped his coffee and gazed out through the panoramic plate glass window, looking down on the assorted machines of destruction below.

Emma appeared at his side, put an arm around his waist and passed him a spliff. The couple found weed to be the perfect aphrodisiac, and Dave had supplied them with a lovely sativa hybrid that sparked their minds to a new level but without monging them out.

"Well," said Bob, exhaling a pungent cloud of smoke, "it's your turn to decide."

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

"I think we'll use just one machine, Bob. Otherwise we'll be cleaning all week. But I can't choose."

"Ha! Well it's your call. Maybe figure it out while we're checking them in."

He moved to the desk. Every part of the factory was covered with motion triggered cameras, and each machine had many too, ready to capture the action from all angles. Bob checked that the system was ready to go.

"We should get dressed," Bob said. Street clothes, while adequate, weren't really optimal for the rampant orgy of violent sexual destruction that lay ahead.

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 quite 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.

Bob picked up a blue, leather bound notebook. "Let's get them processed."

Emma laughed and rolled her eyes. "Fucking square."