We shall embark in the dark, dank building—a converted meat processing plant, where a new meat is process–not for consumption….no, worse, eradication. The call nymphs were virginal, but not in the eyes of the Chekist. They were scourge on society–not to be trusted and most importantly, not needed. Youthfull chicks mostly, these, slightly above teenagers were lead to the chamber. The guard had his job. Countdown the firing squad. They huddled in on last effort for connection—the feel of warmth–of life. Then the shots rang out and there figures flopped lifeless to cold, muddy concrete. They placed them on the cart to be disposed of afterward in humungous pit in the countryside. A family was next…..another in a long line of them over days and days of processing. Arrival, process, countdown, cart. The guard was overwhelm with faces of so many…young, old—it did not matter. They were enemies as determined by the Chekist council. If the dad was bad in the eye of the council, so was the mother, the daughter, the son…..and so on. This family, like so many others were middle class. They came in there Sunday dress. It was a last demonstrate of who they were. A last attempt to make it about real people. The guards no longer spotted real people. He spotted a adorable had, shiny jewelry, some stockings that would glance supreme on his niece should be be allowed to keep them. They marched them forward, past the bodies of the dead whores…..the youngest daughter looking in despotism. Into the next room, it was time to give up all they had. One by one, at gunpoint, they were forced to unclothe. All the clothes. All the jewelry. It all went into boxed for later categorization. Nude, the family was marched into the next room. Like the other room, it was dark. A single light illuminated their bare kinks. They were told to get on all 4s and as they did they huddled together, even prayed. The father, trying to comfort his chicks.
Finally, they were told to straighten and as they did, the firing crew readied. The guard counted down. And the shots rang out.
The family all fell over in a big flop. All were dead, but the youngest daughter was not. The guard, evidently frustrated by this even, walked over, aimed and concluded her off with his pistol—shooting her in the forehead. Her bladder unleashed at her death.
Now begain the process of loading them up on the cart. One by one, they lined up the figures, finishing with the youngest daughter on top. The cart was rolled away.
Afterward, one of the guards came back. The bodies were still on the cart. A fortunate break as normally they would have been loaded into the thicker bin for disposal. He picked up the lightest, youngest doll and took her off into another room where discarded apparel would act as a cushion.
He set her down and proceeded to explore her young figure. No one would come now. He had plenty of time. He pawed her all over and put her mitt on his pulsing spear. Her cold palm felt so superb. He pawed her forearm along his fuckpole, then decided to put his cock in her jaws. He porked her hatch for a while in different positions, then was prepped to shag her.
Her cunny was taut. It was clear to him that she had no experience before her death. He would be her highly first-ever. He found that thought arousing as he pushed his meaty salami into her cock-squeezing honeypot. It got easier and he plumbed the dead gal for a while, changing positions a couple time. When he was prepared, he shot his stream on her. Then, conveniently, she was laying on a tarp, so he dragged her away.