A Thing Returns To Its Proper Place

A Thing Returns To Its Proper Place

---

There is a cozy little home sitting on a large property, far away from any eyes or ears. In front of that home is an old beat up car. A girl sits in the driver’s seat of that car, gazing meditatively at the snow falling all around her. Finally, she steps out of the drivers’ seat of the car. She carefully undresses in the snow, until she is stripped bare. As she does so she neatly folds each item and places it in the seat of the car she just exited. Once naked, she leans over, reaches into the passenger seat, and brings out a long thin rod.

She walks, slowly, barefoot, through the snow, towards the front door of the house. After each step she pauses, and breathes.

On reaching the front door, she lays the rod down in front of her. She squats down, places each of her knees on top of that rod, and stands erect on those knees, her feet extending behind her, occasionally touched by a small bit of snow that drifts onto the covered porch.

She reaches her hand forward toward the door, hesitates for one moment, and finally knocks. She now slowly, conscientiously moves her hands into position behind her head. She is standing on her knees, her knees on the rod pushing its way into her leg bones just below the kneecaps, her hands grasped behind her head, her breasts thrust forward by her perfectly straight posture.

And now she waits.

---

After several minutes the door opens. The girl steadfastly gazes straight forward as the man who opens the door looks down at her, slightly shivering from the cold. He takes in her face, which despite the clear discomfort she must be feeling, is maintaining a blank, relaxed, unperturbed countenance.

The man turns and calls out over his shoulder, “You were right,” he says. “It came back.”

He then shuts the door.

And she waits.

---

A long while later, she is struggling to maintain composure. Her knees remain implanted on the rod below, but her body is ever so slightly hunched over as she openly shivers, quiet hisses occasionally escaping from her lips, her elbows drooping just a little bit as her body screams that her arms should be doing everything they can to cover her up, to preserve its warmth.

The door opens once more, and she can feel the warmth of the inside blow past her for a moment. Now it is a woman looking at her. The woman addresses the room behind her, “It’s still here.” She sounds annoyed.

The woman squats down in front of the girl, appraising her body and its efforts, ignoring the possibility of eye contact. Finally the woman reaches out. In her hand is a metal clip. She attaches this clip to one of the girl’s nipples. The girl is very careful to respond not at all. Then the woman does the same to her other nipple, rises, turns, goes back into the house and closes the door. The girl resists every temptation to wince now at the sharp pains in her nipples. She doesn’t believe the man or the woman is watching her, doesn’t pretend to herself that they would be that interested in her. She could momentarily react to the pain and no one would be the wiser. But she is determined, not for their eyes, but to honor her own nature, to remain as impassive as she can.

She does find that tears have begun to trickle out of her eyes. This is not due to any physical sensation caused by the nipple clamps or the rod or the cold surrounding her body. She is crying, quietly, calmly, because when the woman reached out to place the clamps, she was implicitly indicating a kind of acceptance. The girl would not be ignored until she died on their porch. (And the girl would have waited forever until her death, had things gone that way.) She knows now that she will at least, at the worst, be cruelly fucked with before the end. To that extent at least, the man and the woman are also respecting the girl’s nature.

The girl has never felt such belonging, such understanding.

And she waits.

---

After another long while the man once again opens the door. Standing in the doorway he says, “The rod,” holding out his hand. The girl understands immediately, and lifts her knees off the rod. The rush of blood causes a renewed agony in her as she hands the rod over to him. But true to her nature she simply continues resting on those knees, now on the bare freezing concrete of the porch.

The man steps out and circles around to the back of the girl. She maintains her forward gaze as he surveys her. When the sharp cracking sound accompanied by the burning pain across her feet interrupts her concentration, she grunts, and tears begin streaming down her face, but she does not cry out.

He lands a few more blows on her freezing body, moving upwards, hitting her legs, her buttocks, and her back. She sniffles sobs and catches her cries in her throat as she unsteadily maintains he posture and forward gaze.

“Facing me,” he now says, and she rotates on her knees so that she is now facing towards him.

He removes her clamps in a quick motion, filling those sensitive part of her body with burning blood. She hunches over several degrees before regaining control. He then hits her a few more times, on her breasts, her nipples, her tummy, her legs. By the end of it she is shuddering, but still roughly standing erect on her knees while constantly snorting and sniffling in her struggle not to cry out.

He walks back towards the door, and she closes her eyes preparing to wait again, but he says “On its knees and elbows, inside.”

She crouches down, supporting herself only on her knees and elbows, and crawls painfully fourlegged into the house.

“By the fire,” he says and she continues her slow four-leg walk towards the fireplace. The woman is sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace, and he now takes a seat next to her. The girl is still on her elbows and knees, standing in front of the fireplace, making almost no sound now except for the occasional uncontrollable remaining sniffle. Every blow of the cane, both of her nipples, all of her freezing cold skin, cries out for her to run, but she cannot run. Things cannot run.

That is her true nature. She is a thing. She has always known this, and knows it now more than ever before.

The cries of her body are illusions.

---

The woman now says, “on the buttocks, the hands and feet closest to the fire.” The girl moves away from the four-legged position she had adopted before, and now sits on the floor, her feet in front of her, her hands on her feet, so that they receive warmth first, the rest of her body afterwards. She knows this is not for her sake. No action is for any thing’s sake. Rather, this is to keep her in working order.

The woman now says, “Words, about how it disappeared, and how it came back tonight.”

The girl forms those words without moving from her position, facing towards the fire while the couple sits behind her.

“It was stupid—” the girl begins, but things can’t be stupid. “Foolish—” she stumbles again.

“It thought—it acted like it thought—it acted like it thought it was a person. It had acted like a thing for so long when it was here. It was a thing. But occasionally it thought…” The girl got into the habit of believing she had thoughts while she was away. She closes her eyes, gathering herself.

She continues. “Something like a-a-a sound? Inside its… Inside? Impacted it. And it acted like the sound was a memory of being a person. It… it malfunctioned? And so… it acted like a thing, but… it was fake… until its owners thought it was safe to leave it outside for a while. It walked away into the forest and it… it got to the road before its owners could find it.”

The man interrupts softly, “We thought the police would surely come here. We went to the safehouse, thought we may never come back here.”

“Yes…” the girl stutters. “It may have caused you a lot of… fear?” But then she remembers, things cannot agree or sympathize.

“Indeed,” says the woman anyway. “But the police never came.”

“It acted like a person, flagging down a car. It had acted like a thing for so long it still did not react to things like a person. So the man who picked it up saw a naked girl and picked her up. He asked her why she was naked, because she was not acting like a scared or desperate person, she was acting like… like a thing person. A person who is a thing. Because she was a thing. She didn’t answer his question, but instead gave him an address… the address of the people who she was now acting like had been her family once.”

The woman interrupts sharply, but with humor, “I think it’s starting to call itself ‘she’”. The man laughs.

The girl stops for a moment. “It will say ‘she’ about the pretend person it was acting like. And it will… it will never say ‘I’.” Her stomach churns and she feels sick at the very thought of the word.

“Clever thing,” says the woman, “it should use ‘she’ as little as possible though.”

The girl takes this on board. “When the man in the car asked it if it was available for sexual favors, it acted like a whore. It gave the man a blowjob while he drove, and he then pulled over into the woods and fucked its ass while it lay on the ground under him. It had laid on an antbed, and it was bitten a lot of times before the man noticed. The man said something like ‘Why didn’t you say something you crazy bitch?’, and the man laughed. Then he pulled it away from the antbed and finished fucking its ass. The man understood that it was a thing, even though it was acting like it wanted to go home.

“After he had finished, he drove its dirty, bite-ridden body to a hospital, pushed it out of the car and drove away quickly. The hospital treated it like a person, did their best to repair its skin, and called the… pretend girl’s… pretend parents. The parents flew overnight to get to her. The police at the hospital, and back at the pretend girl’s pretend family’s pretend home once she had been taken there, asked it a lot of questions, and it always said it couldn’t remember anything.”

“Yes,” says the man, “Once we saw that on the news and things became quiet, we realized, we could continue living in the house.”

The woman chides, “We were lucky. We should have been more careful with it. It could have said anything.”

The girl continues. “For six months it tried to act like a person, it acted like it thought it had been a person years before, and it acted like it couldn’t remember anything for years, and it acted like it was trying to be a person again. It made the pretend girl’s pretend family very uncomfortable. It acted like it couldn’t remember how to feel anything. That was really because it was a thing, and things don’t feel. But it did still have its driving commands, the commands its owners had instilled into its thing-mind. It had no thoughts. The thing-mind does not think. But it did have that command.

“To serve, to fuck and to suffer.”

--

“So it acted like a person who tries to serve, fuck and suffer. Near the middle of the time it was with its pretend family it even asked its pretend father to whip it and fuck it. The father cried and the family told it to go to… to therapy.”

The man and woman laugh long and heartily at this.

“The therapist was a woman, and it was good enough at serving to know how to serve the therapist. How to give the therapist what it wanted. The therapist could not tell anyone anything it said, and so it made words to make her see that it was a thing. It made words telling her a lot of things its owners did to make sure it acted like what it was, and it could see that the therapist was trying to be helpful but also was very ready to fuck. After a few meetings it asked the therapist to spank it, and the therapist did, saying it may help to relive and take power over the events. It then turned around and kissed the therapist, and the therapist kissed back, and it took her skirt off and gave her cunnilingus.

“It kept meeting with the therapist for a few months and they fucked every time and the therapist was happy to hit the thing, though never hard enough to visibly bruise it.

“So it was fucking and suffering, and serving the therapist. It could find no way to serve everyone, as a thing that can be commanded must do. Every person it interacted with wanted it to be a person, and it was acting like it thought it was a person to, but its command was to serve and it could not find a way. It could do favors for people but then the people thought they… ‘owed’… it something.” (She shrinks back and feels sick again at this concept.) “It could not find a way to serve as a thing, as furniture, as a fuckhole, as a canvas for suffering.”

The woman chimes in, “Nobody knows how to treat things anymore.”

The girl continues. “One night its pretend parents were out and would not return until morning. And so once its pretend sister was asleep, it found a knife in the kitchen, climbed onto the sister’s bed, and held the knife to her throat. It then woke her up and told her to come with it. The sister was terrified and very confused, but the knife would kill her if she didn’t do what its words said, and so she did. It had her put ropes it had pre-tied, around her wrists behind her back, and around her ankles, while it grasped her by the hair and kept the knife at her neck. While it was doing this to the pretend sister, its vaginal juices began flowing very freely, and it wanted… it acted like a thing that is controlling itself even though an orgasm might interrupt it soon.

“It then pulled the ropes tight, so that they closed around her limbs and she couldn’t free herself. It then had her hop down the hallway and into the garage. The sister began crying loudly when it told her to get into the trunk of the car, but no one was there to hear. It tied a final rope once she was laying down, from her wrist rope to her ankle rope, and pulled it tight so that she was hogtied. It then shut the trunk, and took the car. It drove across the country, hiding the car in the woods or behind abandoned sheds at night, feeding itself and its sister on food it took from the house. When the sister tried to speak it gagged her again and shut her up in the trunk so that she did not get to eat that day.”

Before she has finished this story the man has already stood up and bounded out the door into the freezing cold. The girl hears him open the trunk and hears her sister’s weak shivering cries, and feels another urge coming on.

She knows, though, that a thing made to form words forms true words, even if it will lead to suffering. Especially.

“It…” She began, “It masturbated a lot of times while driving here, and a lot of orgasms happened to it.”

The woman scoffed angrily. “Fucksakes,” she said and went outside to see the debacle unfold.

---

How can a thing, a thing that is not a person, suffer? The girl came to an understanding about this only after she had left her owners and lived, so temporarily, again with her family. It was part of the reason why she returned.

To suffer is to be thwarted, and to feel pain. To be thwarted, and to feel pain, are both simply examples of losing the illusion of personhood. The fantasy of control is part of the pretense to personhood. The illusion of comfort is part of the pretense to personhood. To lose these fantasies is to gain the reality. To suffer is to become the thing that one is. And perhaps a day may come when the illusion of personhood is finally gone, and suffering will no longer be necessary or possible. But the girl knows she has never reached that point. Perhaps no human thing can until the moment of death.

---

A few seconds later the girl hears the man’s gruff, frustrated voice: “Outside.”

The girl stands up and walks outside, approaching the man and the woman standing by the trunk of the car and waiting at attention. The girl’s sister, in ripped pajama shirt and shorts and still hogtied in the trunk, screams through her gag. “MMMnda”

The girl knows her sister—the person who believed she was its sister--is trying to yell the girl’s pretend person name. The girl ignores this. She is a thing, and things obviously do not have names.

The man and woman now walk inside, the man saying “In by the ropes, over to the fire” as he walks past the girl.

Walking naked over the snow she had parked the car in, the girl forcefully rolls the other onto her stomach and pulled upwards on the ropes hogtying her. The sister begins screaming as the girl drags her by the ropes out of the car, letting her fall over the lip of the trunk, onto the bumper and then to the ground like a piece of unimportant luggage. The sister is already nearly numb from the cold she has endured, but clearly the snow now makes its presence known because she begins desperately wiggling and screaming even louder trying to get away from it somehow.

The girl drags the sister, with no regard for the sanctity of her arm or hip joints, across the snowy yard, onto the rough concrete, up the steps, over the lip of the door, and into the house, finally depositing her by the fire to thaw.

---

“Well,” says the woman, “Might as well entertain ourselves while the new one thaws.” She laughs as she begins taking off the man’s belt.

“No fucking kidding,” he replies, ripping the woman’s shirt off. Then to the girl he says, “Hands and knees, perfect posture.”

The girl immediately goes down to the ground, her back perfectly straight as though she were a coffee-table.

The girl steels herself, telling herself, it is a thing. It is a thing. It is a thing that suffers and serves. Its owners enjoy its responses.”  

As her owners mercilessly beat her with the belt and the cane all over the backside of her body, whatever the girl’s thoughts try to convince her of, the enormous agony of the beating impinges on her thing-mind many, many times. This is the personhood illusion, but its owners enjoy its responses was her mantra, and with that she allowed her body to respond to its owners actions, with shudders, and shaking, and screams and cries joining those of her horrified, terrified sister still tied and gagged by the fire.

After they have their fun on her backside they have her lay on that back, so that her front is now exposed. The woman helps the man’s dick maintain a rock hard erection as he now hits her breasts, tummy, legs, and pussy with the buckle of his belt. This is not a thing’s pain, this is the illusion tearing away, she continued to say inside, as her body responded to the blows.

Finally the woman says quietly and gleefully into his ear, “I think the new one is thawed enough, time to test it out!”

As she hadsreceived no command the girl simply lays there on her back, her legs spread, her arms outstretched, suffering as her body continues responding to that which was not a thing’s pain, and suffering as thoughts went through her head of what was about to happen to her sister. Suffering and becoming aroused. Suffering and hoping, even as she knows that things have no hope, that she might be invited to increase her own suffering and arousal by helping them do what must now be done to her sister.

As the couple approaches, her sister begins screaming anew and struggling as though she has any hope of freeing herself. The woman quickly cuts the ties and the girl’s sister’s limbs flop to the floor. She also cuts the remaining shards of the sister’s pj’s off so that  she is now naked, laying sprawled on her stomach, hardly able to move as blood reaches parts of her limbs that she hadn’t even realized were numb before.

The woman gestures towards the girl. “Her arm,” is all she says and the girl now eagerly rolls over, gazing at her sister’s desperate, pleading face as she takes hold of her sister’s arm and puts her weight down on it. The woman does the same, grinning at the man as she does so.

“It’s got a really cute face!” the woman coos.

The girl watches, and wants to cry, and wants to cum, as her still-gagged sister’s eyes go wide at the next important sensation she feels—that of the man, behind her, between her legs, pushing his hardened dick directly into her young asshole. Her sister begs her with her eyes to please make this stop, and the girl, before she can stop herself, smiles sweetly at her sister’s pleading face and shakes her head no. Her sister is going to lose her illusion, and become true to her own thing nature.

She then catches herself smiling, removes all expression from her face, and resolves to let her owners know soon about this malfunction.

The man does not fuck the weeping sister’s asshole for long. He is simply testing it to see how it felt. After a few thrusts he says, “Nice and tight, maybe the best ass I’ve fucked to be honest,” and he then withdraws from her asshole, and aims now for her pussy. If the sister’s cries were of desperation and pleading and pain before, as the girl continues watching her face and holding her down, the sister’s cries now become those of grief as a man forces his dick into her womb.

When he has finished testing her pussy, commenting, “Its pussy feels pretty damn virginal so that’s good,” the woman and the girl know what to do next. Grabbing the sister’s arms they pull her up and pull her arms behind her, holding her in a position half on her knees and half squatting. As the man approaches bringing his dick to her face, they rip her gag off together. The sister screams “AMANDA STOP THEM!” The man comments, “You’re right, it’s damned got a damn cute face,” before shoving its dick inside her mouth.

Any person in this situation would strongly consider biting the dick that entered their mouth in this way. The girl who once believed she was a person named Amanda sees how the girl she had once pretended was her sister does not bite—simply accepting, with however much grief and hopelessness—that the dick that was in her ass and pussy is now going to be in her mouth. The girl wonders if the sister is already beginning to accept that she, too, is a thing, and not a person. If so, the sister is arriving at this state much faster than the girl did when her owners first took her.

When he has finished testing her mouth (“It will need practice,”) the girl and the woman throw her to the floor. She does not try to escape, simply weeping like a child, helpless on the floor.

---

The man asks idly, perhaps addressing the woman, “I wonder why it brought… this other one back with it.”

After a pause, the girl risks forming words unbidden. “A… a gift. An… apology.” Her sister wails quietly at this.

The man turns and stares at the girl. He takes his belt back in hand and rears back, slamming its buckle into her cheek with all of his might. The girl cries out momentarily but, sniffling, regaines her thing nature and sits back up straight.

Ostensibly addressing his wife, the man says, “Things don’t do right or wrong, things don’t apologize, things do not give… gifts! Things wait. Things that can be commanded, wait for commands. If it was acting like it should apologize, and give a gift, then it was acting like it still thinks it’s a person!”

The girl sits perfectly still. The man is right. The girl brought her sister—the one who had pretended to be a thing’s sister for so long—into this house, only as a result of her constant malfunction. The girl feels tears developing in her eyes, and quickly suppresses them. A thing does not regret.

The man sighs. “More trouble than its worth,” he says to the woman, who nods her stern agreement. Then he tells her, “Take it—actually we’ll take them both—downstairs. Let’s show it the real trouble it’s caused.”

The man takes the girl, and the woman takes the sister, in hand firmly, and they lead them down the stairs to the basement. The girl, losing her thing-mind for a moment, feels a twinge of terror. What could they be about to show her?

---

As they open the soundproofed door at the bottom of the stairs, the girl freezes and the sister screams and tries to run away. Nothing can be seen yet but from the basement comes the sound of crying and desperation. The girl realizes, an acidic shock settling into her stomach, that while she was away, her owners had acquired at least two (from the sound of it) more things, and it is clear those things were currently suffering a great deal. The girl thinks, had the screams and whimpers been coming from people and not from things, the sound would have been positively heartbreaking.

As the foursome walk through the door the girl sees what is happening. There ware two girls on the floor, on their knees, facing each other. But rather than facing directly towards each other, their backs  are severely arched backward, such that each girl is looking at the ceiling and sometimes even the wall behind her. Both girls’ arms are tightly, ruthlessly bound behind their backs. And attached to each girls breasts is a pair of sharp, toothed clamps.

The girls’ chests, meanwhile, have ropes tied around them. Those ropes extend to hooks in the floor, then the wall behind, then the ceiling. From there the ropes reach downwards, tied to ropes joining both girls’ alligator clips together.

The significant effect of all of this being: When either girl raises her body up very far from its severely back-bent position, this causes the alligator clamps in both girls’ breasts to receive tension, increasing both girls’ pain and peril severely. Probably if either girl straighten completely up the clamps would finally simply rip off of their skin, leaving behind a mess, repairable but bloody.

So both new girls are desperately trying to hold their position, on their knees manacled to the floor, the muscles of their legs, butts and backs severely cramping as they struggle not to accidentally raise their bodies up. The whimpers happen when they feel themselves forced to relax to relieve the pain a little—leading to a fearful and painful but controlled movement upwards causing an increased pain in all four breasts. The screams happen when a girl occasionally nearly gives up, finally breaking and having to sit up quite a bit to recover for another round of lying back, causing both girls’ breasts to be dug into and stretched upwards cruelly by the clamps.

The two new girl things are in this way being divested of the illusion of personhood.

The woman quickly places a manacle around the sister’s neck and firmly secures her to a pillar by the wall. The girl, meanwhile, simply stands at attention, true to her nature.

The man and woman approach the two new struggling girl things, raise up a cane and a belt respectively, and begin whipping their tummies while they screech and wail their suffering and grief.

After a few minutes of this the man and the woman kiss, then sit in some nearby chairs, watching the two bound girls vaguely as though they ware background TV. The man mutters, “We can’t keep all four of them.”

The woman nods. “Yeeeepp. But we can’t send them back either.”

“I know.”

---

The girl knew her owners would find a solution, though she did not have any clue what it could be. It took the man and a woman a long time, at least a few hours, to get everything arranged correctly. And so now the situation is this.

The girl sits in a chair. She stays there, and her owners know that she will.

There is a small table in front of the girl, and across from her, is one of the new playthings—the one that is clearly the older of the two, much as the girl is older than the sister. Next to them, at another small table, across from each other, are sitting the sister and the younger of the two new playthings.

The girl, as mentioned, sits voluntarily in her chair. For the other three girls, things are different. Each is bound to her chair with only one arm free. Attached to her nipples, pussy and tongue are metal clips. Those clips go to a machine—each to their own machine.

Those machines meanwhile have wires leading to devices on the tables—devices which the girl recognizes as chess clocks.

The man and the woman had wondered of the older of the two new playthings, as they were releasing her from her prior situation, “I wonder if, when this one was acting like a person before, it ever played chess.” That girl whimpered, unable to scream in her weakened, exhausted and pained state, “I’m a person, I’m not a thing, I’m a person.” At this the man roughly punched her in the gut, causing her to collapse helplessly to the floor coughing and wheezing. “Chess?” the man remarked, allowing that at this early stage he may occasionally have to directly address a thing before it has understood that it is a thing. The new girl simply nodded pitifully continuing to writhe from the blow to her stomach. “Good,” the man said, roughly picking her up and bringing her to her new seat.

And so, on the tables before them, the girls are now all staring, (three in terror and wonder, one in meditative equinamity punctuated by bits of illusory fear that float up to interfere with her thing mind on occasion,) at game boards. The two older girls at a chess board. The two younger girls at a checkers board.

The woman speaks, describing the situation to the man. “The winners stay with us, the losers get scrapped?” The man simply replies, “Yep.”

The three bound girls, even as they hope against hope that “scrapped” means something less than what it could mean, cry and made pleading tones through their gags.

Now the man says, “The longer it takes to make a move, the harder the shock,” then walking over, and starts each clock.

---

The girl is surprised. Chess, checkers, games—these are things she thought of as what people played, not things. Never before have her owners had her participate in anything of this kind of complexity or depth. Her thing-mind draws a blank as her person-illusion begins once again to take over. Even her owners are, perhaps despite themselves, acting like she is a person? Like all four girls are?

But she also now remembers the following. A function of things is to entertain the owners. The owners are often entertained by their thing’s responses to their actions. When they hit the thing and it yelps, they often laugh or kiss each other. This didn’t mean the thing was a person, it meant they enjoyed the sound of crying and the vision of a shaking body, the shattering of the illusion of personhood.

This is simply that, the girl realizes. Perhaps at a more complex level in some way, but fundamentally, this is another example of the owners enjoying the way their things respond to what they do to them. The girl’s thing-mind returns, very quickly putting the person-illusion back away where it belongs.

During her reverie, the girl-thing across from her has simply sat there staring in terror at the board and the clock (which now read 37 minutes—the new girl-thing has spent three minutes considering her first move apparently.” So the girl repeats her owner’s words to the new girl-thing. “The longer it takes to make a move, the harder the shock.” The new girl-thing looks up at her, her eyes wide and her brow furrowing, her breathing becoming more rapid. She finally finds her resolve, reaches forward with her free hand, and moves a pawn forward. She then pushes her button on the clock, and immediately yelps loudly and after a second of silence, cries again like a baby.

The sister-thing, at the other table, has also apparently waited a long time for her first move. On seeing what just happened she quickly moves a piece of her own, pushes her button, and yelps in pain. She holds in her crying though, perhaps understanding that she has avoided even worse pain by finally acting.

And so the games continue. The three new girl-things quietly sobbing and yelping as they try to concentrate on their games. Try to save themselves and condemn their opponent. The girl herself, receiving no pain for any delay but having a clock just like the others, makes her moves carefully, and with the smooth motions and blank mind of the thing she knows she is.

---

The new girl-thing across the chessboard from her spends the minute of the girl’s final move frozen in terror, probably hoping the girl won’t notice the winning move move or if she notices, will have mercy. When the girl calmly—if her hand is shaking perhaps it was exhaustion—moves to checkmate the new girl thing’s king, the new girl thing chokes and cries and weeeps. She sweeps her gaze desperately over the board probably hoping to find a mistake had been made. As she engages in this futile search, the man immediately wraps a rope around the new girl-thing’s neck. She now screams desperately and struggles against her bonds. He ties the loop of rope behind her—but then leaves her there in her bonds screaming and crying through her gag while the two younger things finish out their game.

It isn’t very long before the sister thing, the one the girl had brought to her owners in the trunk of the car, loses her last checker. She sobs and screams as the girl across from her makes the final jump, also crying even though she has won. But no rope is placed around the sister thing’s neck.

The tables are removed. The clips are removed, and the owners in the process ungag all three girls. They immediately begin begging for release, for an end to this ordeal, but as the owners remain impassive, simply standing in the room, ignoring the cries and kissing and fondling each other, the girls’ pleas morph into simple cries, and then just sniffles and whimpers.

Once they quiet down the woman walks over to the new thing with the rope around her neck, and picks up its lead. She climbs up a stepladder and threads it through an eye in the ceiling. She then descends, and hands the end of the rope to the girl who had won the match.

In the process the rope has moved around the new girl-thing’s neck a little, and the girl can now see the nature of the tie. It is a noose. And the girl holds the other end of the rope in hand.

“Until it can’t breathe,” the woman says.

The girl, true to her nature, begins to pull, albeit slowly.

The sister thing yells, “Amanda no don’t!”

The new girl-thing who she is about to strangle springs vocally into action in a panic. “No no no no, no, don’t do this don’t do this. What’s your name? Amanda? Amanda? You are not a thing. You are a person. You don’t have to do this. My name is Cecily. I’m a person—” The rope is now fully in contact with her neck’s circumference. The new girl-thing pauses and takes a desperate breath.

The other two girl things scream in terror as they see the rope closing in.

The girl, holding the rope taut but pausing a moment, watches the noosed girl-thing begin to struggle to breathe a little. The girl watches the breasts heave, the eyes blink, the legs struggle to free themselves. At seeing this, the girl realizes her own nipples are stiffening, her own clitoris is beginning to seek relief.

“I… I’m Cecily,” the new girl-thing continues with effort. “I’m going to graduate this year and then get my PhD. I’m going to study the ocean. I have a boyfriend. I have a sister.” She begins crying, looking over at the other new girl thing. “That’s my sister Rosa!” The younger girl thing she is addressing weeps, also crying “no no no no.”

As the girl holding the rope begins pulling again, her pelvis perhaps imperceptibly moving slightly back and forth as she does so, the girl thing with the rope around her neck chokes before finding an adjustment that let her breathe a moment longer. She keeps talking. “You can stop. You can…” cough. “You can… stop…” Then a series of helpless choking noises. Her face begins to turn red. She mouths, without being able to vocalize it, “Rosa, Rosa, help…”

Then she speaks, or tries to speak, no more.

The younger girl-things cry “noooooooo…. No….. stop….. let her go.”

The girl who is killing her meanwhile felt an actual pounding pulsing feeling coming from her lower parts, as she continues to pull hard on the rope. Her clitoris is aching.

She watches with aching desire unbecoming of a mere thing, and the other girl-things watch with terror and despair, as the girl-thing with the rope around her neck twitches and struggles and finally goes still.

When the girl thing who has just killed her lets go of the rope, the younger girl thing who thought it was called Rosa yells, “Cecily! Cecily! Wake uuuuup please!” and inarticulately howls out her grief, her illusion of personhood pouring out of her like vomit.

The woman, meanwhile, ceases stroking the man’s cock for a moment, and approaches the girl again. This time not with the end of a rope, but with a knife.

While the sister thing looks on in terror, the woman gestured towards it. “Until it can’t bleed anymore.”

---

The sister thing hyperventilates as the girl approaches her. “Amanda, Amanda, this is me, this is your sister, this is Gwen, please put down the knife, what are you doing please put down the knife?”

The girl continues her approach. Suddenly the man appears next to the sister thing, with a marker in hand. The girl stops. There is a weakness in her legs from the pounding in her vulva. Without being bidden to, she goes to one knee while the man uses the marker.

“It bleeds the most when it gets cut where the lines are,” he says to renewed cries from the sister-thing. The girl understands.

Not daring to stand up just yet, the girl now crawls, with the knife in hand, towards the sister thing. Despite being firmly bound to the chair, the chair held in place against the wall, the sister thing makes mighty efforts to get away from the girl, but of course moves not even an inch away.

The girl sees a line drawn down the inside of the sister thing’s thigh. The girl raises her knife as the sister thing yells “Noooooo! We can stop! Let’s go hoooommeee Amanda I don’t want to dieeeee!”.

The girl holds the knife over the line, poised to stab. The girl then looks up at the sister thing’s face. The girl, though a thing, though not a person, once again can not stop herself. She smiles.

The sister thing looks down at the girl’s smile, which does not look unkind despite the presence of the knife in hand ready to stab. The sister thing pauses in her cries. Absurdly she sniffles, and says in the momentary silence, “What?”

The girl between her knees with the knife continues her smile as she slowly moved the knife over to an area of the sister thing’s leg with no line marked. And that is where it chose to make the first cut.

---

It took a very long time, as the girl avoided the marker lines entirely, instead opting for small cuts all over the sister thing’s body. Beginning with the legs, then the arms, then venturing to the tummy, the tits, the nipples, the face. Finally applying little slices to the sister thing’s vulva, its clitoris. Stabbing, then, hard, through its feet, its hands. Only then, when the sister thing appeared only half conscious already, did the girl finally apply a deep stab to the sister thing’s gut, followed by deep slashes to its inner thighs, its vagina, and finally its neck.

During this process the sister thing never gave up on cries like, “You can still stop,” “We might still go home,” “I love you Amanda,” and so on.

And during this process, the girl brought herself several orgasms, blatantly masturbating with her hand. This was not something a thing ever did without being commanded to do so but she was somehow both malfunctioning and being truer to her thing nature than she ever had been before. She was somehow confident the owners would find her masturbative murderous frenzy very pleasing, and she was right.

---

A few weeks later, the girl is tied to a coffee table, face up, her legs spread, her wrists and ankles secured to the legs of the table. Her owners have their feet resting on her as they sit on the couch. The new younger girl thing, the one who had been spared as the sister thing had been killed, sits naked, impassively between the owners, with one hand lightly stroking the man’s erect cock, with the other lightly fingerfucking the woman’s pussy.

As this goes on the owners converse. “The table’s been serving well lately,” says the man. The girl has been a table now for more days than she can count.

“Sure has!”

“I think it’s finally going to start acting like a thing forever. I think we’re not going to have any more problems.”

The woman responds. “Yes but…”

“Go on?”

“It’s still got one stupid person illusion left, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it needs one more adjustment, one more repair, before it will fully realize its thing nature. It has been relying lately on… some kind of illusion of pleasure? Coming from its clitoris area. That’s been keeping it in line I think, and that’s a person motivation, not just a mechanical thing.”

The man replies slowly, “I think I see what you mean.”

“So, this will probably cause some problems in the short term, but in the long term, this will probably really fix the thing finally.”

The woman picks up a pair of scissors from a knitting basket on a table beside her.

During this conversation, the new younger girl thing had continued its passive pleasuring of the owners’ genitals. The woman now says, “The new fucktoy still acts like it thinks it’s a person you know.”

The new fucktoy sobs. “I’m not a person,” it says, “I’m a thing. I fuck, serve and suffer.”

The woman now takes an extraordinary step. She addresses the fucktoy directly. “Don’t worry,” she says. The fucktoy turns red at this most direct command it has heard since it had first been brought here to its rightful place. “Well, worry, because the ‘you’ illusion will be destroyed eventually and it won’t like that, but anyway, does the fucktoy remember when it first came here and the table killed the thing the fucktoy acted like was its sister?”

Still sobbing, still stroking, the fucktoy nods quietly.

“How did it act like it felt at that time?”

“…sad?”

“Yes? What else?”

“…scared?”

“Okay, and how did it act like it felt towards the table at that time?”

“…angry…?”

“A very strong person illusion.”

The fucktoy replies, gazing at the table’s face, as the table’s face begins changing. A certain person illusion within the table is beginning to discern what is happening.

 “I had… Sir, ma’am, I have a very strong person illusion” the fucktoy finally confesses, using the names for the owners that things only usedin the very first days of learning what it is to be a thing.

The woman strokes the fucktoy’s hair. “I know.”

---

The woman now gives the fucktoy the scissors. The woman points at the table’s vulva. “Anyway. Tables don’t have clitorises.”

The fucktoy doesn’t hear this for a second, then does hear it, then glances again at the table’s now clearly, absurdly (for a thing) terrified face.

The fucktoy then looks at the scissors in its hand. The fucktoy’s face grimaces, then relaxes. The fucktoy begins its forward movement.

---