(Author’s note: I like horror movies and zombie movies especially. I wrote this after watching Dead Girl. If you like this story, I highly recommend that movie. I recognize that this is a controversial plot. I found it difficult to write and I’m hoping it’s just as difficult to read. I’m genuinely nervous about posting this. Good Luck!)
What would you think if I told you that I knew a place which specializes in extreme fetishes? Would you be curious? Offended? Would you warn me about the moral ramifications of even being aware of such debauchery? Would you wanna visit it with me? These are the responses I would expect of the initial question. Usually though, the response is, “Which fetishes?”
The interest obvious on their faces as I describe the completely true, twisted, and fucked up sexual escapades that I’ve personally witnessed. What’s more disturbing is that I know of at least one of these houses in each state of what used to be the good ol’ US of A.
Men are curious creatures sometimes. The women they love begin dying off in droves, depression sets in, the distraught families and lovers all come together with one goal, a perverse sort of preservation of the thing they love. They had no idea the kind of monsters they would create by trying to resurrect their recently deceased loves.
A few brilliant and rich men throwing everything they had at what seemed like a pure and just cause ended up bringing about the death of over three billion women and girls by a destructive virus. No one was prepared for the days that followed. The days the dead rose from where they lay. The long deceased gasped and hobbled, then walked, then ran and climbed, eventually becoming furious creatures who could not be put down easily. The recently deceased woke up like there had been no interruption to their life.
A bullet to the brain slowed them down, but it did not kill them. For that, you had to burn the body to ash. The only way to guarantee that it wouldn’t walk out of the flames was to first dismember it, all while it pleads to you in a familiar and once loved voice. These were not the zombies of lore. They may very well have been demons masquerading as the women and children you held dear to you. Their voices, their mannerisms, these weren’t mindless corpses filling the streets.
They retained information, at least the recently dead did. that information degenerated over time with fresh corpses, but for a while, you had your loved one back. The men rejoiced; their goal achieved.
The fatal disease that struck so many down in an untimely death had been given a work around. The first attack happened about half a year later. Then it was just like pushing a series of dominoes over, each toppling, men becoming infected from the diseases that ravaged the slowly decaying bodies of the women they loved. Many more died of disease, some rose again, some did not. Though there has been speculation that two X chromosomes were needed for the dead to rise again, the testing was never completed.
Currently, the world population stands at an estimated 75 million living and an unknown number of undead. It has been thought that the dead outnumber the living 4 to 1 on average. It wasn’t long before society as a whole collapsed and morals were thrown out the window. While the truly disgusting acts were mostly hidden behind closed doors still, it was not uncommon to walk down a street to witness 10 guys waiting in line for the woman at the top of the stairs in trade for food and supplies. The world changed drastically in just a few years.
I was a businessman.
A few friends and I took complete advantage of the situation. We were survivors and even in times like this, we saw opportunity to swing the tide in our favor. Those houses I mentioned? We created them.
Whorehouses like no one had ever seen before. People have attempted to emulate us, but we are the best at what we do. And what we do is give men who want to exude the presence of morality and justness a place to explore their most primal desires. Secretly, behind closed doors, no one can see the depravity that these men inflict on both the living and the dead. And, to date, these men have remained in high regards in their respective communities for their ability to ‘resist temptation.’ We record every interaction, a receipt, if you will, of services rendered, should the need to remind a patron that his bill is not paid in full until we say it is, of course. They bring us new clientele and they always return for more. Thus far, we have never had to issue an invoice.
Women are rare, few and far between in our world, they are craved more than anything else. Something about a set of firm nicely shaped breasts, a heart shaped ass with dimples on the lower back or a tight wet pussy will push a starving man to pay his only meal in a week for just a taste of her skin.
Sex is an incredibly profitable business and we sell it in droves.
When we first started out we only catered to those who wanted a living doll to play with. Over time we realized there was actually a demand for the dead, so we gathered them, dressed them, and chained them in the basement. Our clients learned of this through word of mouth and soon our dead girls were in more demand than our breathing girls. Our first experience with truly allowing one of the Preachers to delve into the darkest thoughts of the human mind was the thing that forever set us apart from other houses.
The Preachers had been coming in all day, pious men who presented themselves as saviors of their communities. They came to us for stress relief, for entertainment, for pure lewd pleasures of the flesh. They kept many men from straying to the dark recesses of primal behavior, stressing the need to remain civilized and humane, to not treat their daughters, wives, mothers, and sisters as a bartering tool for survival. Then they came to us to do the very thing they preached against.
It was typical behavior of the affluent even before the outbreak. We always tried to accommodate the Preachers but even I, as greedy as I was, found myself unable to fathom this particular request.
Today, a prominent doctor approached me and silently slipped me a piece of paper. It was short, to the point, undeniably disturbing. I looked at it for a minute, tilted my head slightly, then went into the office to see what the other guys thought of agreeing to the request. I handed them the paper. The initial reaction was “Is this a joke?”
I shook my head.
I read the paper again.
I want to see Anna take her last breath. I want to see her turn. I want to kill her.
“Well? Do we agree or draw the line?” I asked my partners.
I looked to the floor. Anna had only been one of our girls for a few months, a few regular customers but not in any real demand. The doctor was her most frequent customer. She was pretty but shy and bashful, she had an immature quality about her that some of the guys found to be a big turn off, many walked out of her room irritated, calling her a vile brat.
We’ve had problems with her in the short time she was here, but this would be murder. Allowing a man to take the life of one of our girls intentionally. Some of the girls had died from injuries or infections sustained after a scene, but that was a risk of the type of play we endorsed. I couldn’t condone willingly allowing someone to murder a girl. My business partners agreed to it, I said no. I was outnumbered.
“Ten times the normal price upfront and double the normal monthly invoice rate.” The oldest of my investors said. And that was the price of a woman’s life.
After telling the doctor the cost, he agreed without even blinking.
I went to get Anna.
Walking down the hallway with her I realized I was walking woman to her death and I couldn’t even bring myself to say anything to her. She sat on the bed, she had wonderful posture, her hair was long and raven colored. She had creamy skin, ruby red lips and just a perfectly sweet look to her. I was shaken how my own skin tone made hers appear to almost glow. She wore a simple red dress that fell to just above her knees, it played up her role of the innocent teenager despite her being nearly 30. Her hair was pulled up into pigtails, blood red ribbons finishing the look off. She wore knee high socks and black Mary-Janes.
The doctor walked into the room. I saw her look up at him. Her eyes widened and her lips curled into a slightly devious smile.
“Hello, Doc,” was the last thing I heard her say as the door shut behind him. I felt sick to my stomach as I rushed down to the recording room. I was disgusted with myself, but I wanted to watch. I needed to see what we’d allowed.
I stood at the monitors and just stared, wide eyed. She stood in front of him, a smile on her face as he ran his fingertips over her lips. She bit her lower lip and looked up to him as he unfastened his pants, moving closer to her as he exposed himself. She batted her eyelashes at him, she was playing into the innocent little girl image for him. He slid his hand along her cheek, she leaned into it and closed her eyes, her lips parted slightly.
He grasped the back of her neck and pulled her to the floor, onto her knees in front of him. She cried out a bit as she hit the ground, the sudden move was unexpected. He was usually much more gentle with her. He ran his fingertips along the side of her neck and gripped the back of her neck firmly in his other palm, pushing his cock between her lips. She started to protest and fight just a little. You could see the irritation in her demeanor as he gagged her. His hand and hips fully controlled the force of his cock slipping between her lips as she tried to push him away.
His voice was deep, stern, as he fucked her mouth, “I’m going to violate you in every way imaginable. Your life is in my hands and if you want me to treat it delicately, you will submit to my every command you little cunt,” He pulled her head firmly against his hips as he spat the last word at her, his hips rocked against her slightly, indicating his own orgasm. He pushed her away, she coughed and gagged on his cum as she tried to crawl away from him.
She didn’t get very far.
He picked her up with one hand on the back of her neck, a strength that his old thin frame didn’t seem capable of. He put her onto the bed, bent over the foot board. He held her face firmly against the mattress with one hand and instructed her to extend her hands to her sides, she obeyed, crying out as he pushed harder against her neck.
He cuffed her ankles to the spindles on the foot board then let go of her neck. He climbed around onto the bed in front of her and quickly bound her wrists, short lengths of rope left hanging for him to grab later. He absolutely beamed as he reached over to the head of the bed and grabbed a leather doctor’s satchel.
He removed a small leather collar and smirked at the girl in front of him. He placed the collar around her neck, tightening it until she was gasping for breath, then tightening it just a bit more. He tilted her head so he could see her eyes. She tried to reach up to the collar but he held the ropes binding her wrists tightly, fighting her every move to free herself. She fought hard, but he fought harder and watched as her skin greyed, the whites of her eyes became blood red and tears streamed down her face. He let go of the ropes only after the last tears slid down from the otherwise empty look on her face. If her eyes had been closed you would think she was sleeping. He smiled and opened his bag again. He pulled a large wooden hairbrush from it and lay it on the bed next to her.
He stood behind her, ripping and pulling at the dress to expose her milky skin. He untied the ribbons in her hair and gently gathered the long strands, letting it fall over her back. He picked up the brush and slowly pulled it through her hair, letting the long raven tendrils cascade over the pure white of her flesh.
He whistled as he carefully separated her hair into two sections, then he braided each section finishing up by tying the ribbon that previously held her pigtails up, into bows at the ends of the braid. He removed the cuffs from her ankles and lay her on her back, positioning her carefully so that her hips were supported by the foot board. He pulled more rope from his bag and slowly tied her ankles securely to the foot board, her legs spread wide apart. He brought the lengths of rope from her wrists up to the headboard and secured his victim fully. Her body was arched unnaturally over the foot board.
When he finished he looked at her, admiring the beauty in her death. His finger trailed over her cheek and down along her neck. He began washing her body with water and a soft cloth from a nearby basin. Her makeup smeared with each pass of the cloth. The water trickled over her breasts, gathered in her belly button and left an outline of her body on the bed.
He watched as her body twitched and her eyes blinked. Her wrists pulled at the restraints without purpose. Her hips swayed as she tried to pull herself free, a soft guttural sound escaped her lips, her voice blocked by the collar still preventing air from entering her lungs.
He stood in front of her, a smile lingering just at one corner of his lips.
He gripped her thigh in one hand and rubbed his finger over her clit, her body moved towards his touch, even as her eyes looked at him with fury.
He pressed a finger into her cunt, it was dripping wet and clenching at him. She made some pathetic whimpering noises which were largely choked off by the collar. He pushed his cock into her and relished the feel of what a body naturally does. With no inhibitions holding it back the muscles work on their own, clenching, pulling, drawing his cock into her and tightening around him.
I watched him fuck her. I watched him push himself into her again and again. I watched as he released her ankles and pushed her further up onto the bed. I watched her writhe on her back, her breasts full and perky as her body tightened in an unrelenting orgasm. He removed the collar from her throat, allowing her to have a sharp intake of unneeded breath, though her brain was trying to say it ached for air, then restrained her again while she helplessly moaned and gasped. I watched him lick and suck on her breasts, the nipples still responding as if she were alive, her body arching towards him, the intense pleasure she seemed to be in made me hard.
I felt such shame in reacting to the assault I was witnessing. I found my body had betrayed the sliver of morals I still held dearly. I may allow monstrosities in return for wealth and success but I had prided myself on never resorting to the use of another human being for my own pleasure. I was at this girl’s mercy, each whimper and movement pushed me a little further over the edge.
My eyes were trained on her delicate frame and I could feel every movement she made. I fell to my knees and gave in to the pleasures coursing through my mind. I truly believe that my failure to protect her broke my resolve for avoiding sins of the flesh.
If I hadn’t given in to releasing the most painful hard on I’ve ever had, I would have noticed the Doc release her wrists and I would have stopped the scene.
Instead, I ignored the screams as she ripped into his throat. She couldn’t speak like many of our fresh undead could. The damage from the collar prevented it. Instead she attacked, her only way of communicating now. Truth be told, even if I had noticed I’m not sure I would have intervened. She deserved a taste of vengeance.
I opened my eyes as I reached my own climax, she sat on the edge of the bed licking the blood from her fingers as she stared into the camera. A smile crept across her face at the bloody mess that lay behind her. I zipped up my pants and pressed a small red button near the monitor. My hand would be the only one capable of opening that door now. I gathered my wits and headed back down to see Anna, ready to face what lay ahead. I deserved nothing less than death for not protecting her.
When I opened the door I was greeted by the young girl holding a small vial. She must have pulled it from the doctor’s bag. To my surprise, she didn’t attack me when she saw me. Her eyes pleaded with me as she handed the vial to me. She tried to speak but her voice was incapable of coming forth, her larynx had been badly damaged by the tight leather binding around her throat.
I looked at the bottle and suddenly felt a little guilty for letting her kill him. In the doctor’s ornate handwriting were the words: Anna’s Cure.
I grabbed his satchel and found a long thin syringe. I didn’t know where to inject her. I looked at her and told her, “I don’t know what this will do.”
Her voice was strained but barely audible, “Don’t care.”
I nodded and pulled up a small amount of the liquid, uncertain of what the dosage should be but trying to make a guess. I injected it into her throat, the point of death, and sat in the room with her.
She lay back on the bed while we both simply waited for something to happen.
After a while I got up and looked at her, amazed that the grey had faded to her more natural milky tone and she appeared to be sleeping. I reached over and felt her neck, finding a steady and strong pulse beneath my fingertips.
“It’s a fucking cure… A legit cure…”
Anna’s eyes opened, the redness was gone. She looked at me, noticeably upset, “You let him kill me,” she tried to yell.
I nodded, “I didn’t have a choice. The partners…I got out-voted. They would have killed me for trying to stop it.”
“Do they know he made a cure?”
I shook my head, “We don’t know for certain that it’s a long-term cure, it could be temporary, like before.”
She nodded, “So lets test it for a while, see how I am in a few months. As far as they know, I’m dead right?”
“Yes,” I said. “I stopped the recording before I came down here.”
“Am I still expected to work?” her voice was still raspy.
I nodded, “Unless I deem you a danger and purge the room. What you did to him is enough to make that claim.”
“What happens then?” she asked me, her voice was trying to return to its normal soft tone.
“You leave with me and I keep you hidden until I know it’s safe to pass you along to a more permanent location away from here.”
She looked me over, trying to gauge how serious I was, “Why would you do that for me?”
I shrugged, “I let him kill you. I don’t know what that cure will do to you long term. It’s the only choice I’ve left myself with, at least if I would like to retain any semblance of my own humanity.”
She took my hand and I led her from the room, locking it behind us. I took her up to the control room with me and let her hit the button to purge the room. She watched, entranced as the flames engulfed the bed and began to trickle up to the camera. I watched her lips curl into the slightest smile, the golden orange reflected in her eyes as she stared intently at her murderer and rapist’s flaming body before the camera went black.
She seemed to come out of the trance at the sudden loss of visual, “Won’t they know I’m not in there?”
I shook my head, “Nothing survives that amount of heat. The entire room becomes an ashen shell of heat resistant metal. It’ll burn for days until there’s nothing left to burn and then an accelerant is sprayed into the room and the fire is lit again and it will stay closed for a week after the second burn. There cant be any proof of what we allow here.”
“This place you’ll send me…what’s it like?”
I smiled, “A safe place. No Preachers, no fear, no rape or starvation or threats of death. It’s a fiercely protected compound.”
She looked me over, “How is it that you know about it?”
My smile spread a little wider, “My wife and daughter run it. I chose a different path than them, but I support their cause as much as I can behind the scenes. I send the girls I think are worth the risk of smuggling out, the ones that are as capable as they are kind. The ones that won’t put my wife and daughter in danger by being stupid. I won’t tell you more than that until we determine if you’re truly cured. But I can assure you that you will be safe and you will find old friends you thought long dead at their side.”
Anna smiled, a soft and genuine smile, something I had never seen from her before.
We still have limitations at the brothel, but they are becoming looser as time goes on. I wish I could say Anna was the last girl to die at a Preacher’s hand for a handsome fee, but that would be wishful thinking
Use of our service is the moral choice for society as a whole, but it still makes me feel like shit and I don’t know how much longer I will stay. As my humanity erodes I fear integration into the compound would put the women I’ve sent there in danger of old wounds being reopened. Assuming my partners don’t simply murder me for contemplating leaving, I imagine my only recourse would be to wander. I’m the type of man that eventually becomes like them. The moral men who think they are doing the ethical thing rather than satisfying their own greed and needs.
I imagine I’ll cut contact with my wife and daughter soon after Anna leaves my house. While I’ve cared for her and protected her the want to touch her has risen in me. I haven’t had a woman in my house since my wife and daughter left for safety. This temptation was a curse on me for allowing her to die, for injecting her with an unknown substance, for running a house of ill repute.
I’ve held out for three months with her in my house so far. I don’t know how much longer I can last. The way she’s been looking at me lately. I’m not sure if she’s hungry for sex or human flesh. Either way, I don’t want to find out but I can’t send her to my wife until I know.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/imdd07/the_preacher_the_doctor_and_the_whorehouse_of