After a quick shower and a lunch of spaghetti bolognaise, the couple had recovered their mojo, and were talking excitedly about the afternoon's coming events.

"Bob, are you really sure it'll work properly?" Emma queried.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. I've done the calculations. Besides, there's only one way to find out."

"God, I can't wait! Just imagine!"

Bob often did, fantasising about Emma getting splattered therein during their normie sex sessions. The mere prospect of finally christening it was already making his dick yearn for real-life action. Preparations were completed and the couple returned to the cells to bring the lambs to the slaughter.

As soon as the door was opened, Magda kicked off. "What did you do to my Maisie?" she screamed. "You fucking animals!"

She was so enraged that not even threats of a coshing from Emma would quieten her this time. Taken aback, they retreated, and shut the door while they regrouped.

Outside the cell block, the couple exchanged looks.

"She's so mad," Bob chuckled, "Not a word of thanks for the breakfast. I like that feistyness. This could be more fun than I thought! Anyway, it's good that they've eaten. It'll keep their strength up."

Emma nodded and laughed as she headed for the workshop. "I expect we'll see those breakfasts later when it all comes splurting out again. Yummy! Do you think it will, Bob? Will it all come squoozing out when they get squished?"

Bob looked at his wife as if she was slightly nuts. "It's hard to imagine otherwise," he observed dryly, then brought the conversation back on topic. "I think we better deal with that mouthy bitch first, show her who's boss."

In the workshop, there were several shelves neatly stacked with all manner of weapons and gadgets. Emma laid the shotgun down on the worktop and replaced it with a baseball bat.

Then she changed into a new pair of shiny knee-length black boots. "I'm ready."

Bob looked down at the two-inch spikes adorning the boot's soles. "You know, they really suit you!"