House Call Part 3, Last Sunrise (preg, cons, snuff, lac, MF + g-2yo + g-unborn)

Here is the final chapter of the House Call series, originally posted to 
usenet. It is the shortest of the three, but it is extremely graphic.

Last Sunrise 

In the past week, the doctor had been abducted, beaten, threatened, 
beaten again, and then seemingly left for dead. Then, he'd discovered 
paradise, knowing that he was destined to destroy it. It was so 
peaceful. A little girl dressed only in an oversized shirt sat on the 
floor eating a freshly picked apple, as her pregnant mother and the old 
man calmly discussed how she would die. 

The mother was an informant. When she saw a truck drive into her apple 
orchard, she watched as three men got out, but only two returned to 
town. She told the police about the dead man in the trees, and all about 
the truck and the killers. They took away the body, but nothing else 
happened. So the young mother sent a letter to her boyfriend in the 
capital city, the father of her little girl and the unborn baby. 

Whether out of curiosity, or a sense of right and wrong, the father made 
the mistake of asking too many questions about the dead man in the 
orchard. Unfortunately, the man's death was on the orders of a man named 
El del Norte, one of the many druglords who were the real power in the 
lawless lands on the northern border of Mexico. del Norte would not last 
long. Instead of learning to manage his enemies, he killed them, without 
thinking about the new enemies each death would create. But for a few 
years, El del Norte was the king of his little corner of Mexico. 

The druglord decided immediately that everyone who knew about the 
incident would die. The unfortunate father was killed on the street. But 
del Norte knew that his men would not have the loyalty to take care of 
the pregnant girl and the baby. His men were motivated by fear, not 
loyalty, and they would probably kill a goat for the blood and turn the 
woman loose somewhere safe. He needed someone who could kill an innocent 
pregnant woman as easily as his men could kill an innocent man. 

The doctor stayed away from del Norte as much as he could, and thought 
he was safe in the territory of El Jefe, a man who was just as 
bloodthirsty but much wiser. So when the luxury truck pulled up to his 
house, he answered the door without hesitation. El Jefe often sent 
someone to pick him up to act as midwife for someone in his compound. 
But this time, the man at the door punched the doctor in the face, 
dragged him to the truck, and sped off. When the doctor opened his mouth 
to speak, another man knocked him out with the butt of his pistol. 

When the doctor woke up, he was tied to a post in a horse stall. That 
was where he got his orders from a short, thick thug who constantly 
looked around behind him, as though El del Norte might be watching for 
any sign of disloyalty. When the doctor asked about his equipment bag, 
the thug shouted at him to shut up and kicked him in the stomach. After 
more threats about how they would kill him if he didn't do the job, the 
doctor was blindfolded for the trip. But just to be sure, one of the 
thugs knocked him out again. They dumped the doctor in the same place 
where they had killed some other guy, and kicked him a few more times 
just so he would know they meant business. 

As the doctor explained the situation to the young mother, he could see 
the resignation in her eyes. El del Norte had already destroyed her 
business, because nobody would come to the town to buy her apples. Now 
her lover was dead. She talked to the doctor about saving her babies, 
but there was noplace for them to go but to the orphanage, where their 
life would be worse than death. So the little girl was eating her last 
apple. Her mother called her over to nurse for the last time, lifting 
her faded blouse to reveal a swollen breast over her pregnant tummy. Her 
nipple was the color of dark chocolate on skin like coffee, the shades 
fading together with no clearly defined border. Her daughter jumped into 
her lap and greedily latched on, slurping loudly. 

As the little girl nursed, the doctor walked to the small rock-floored 
room attached to the kitchen. This was where the family killed and 
butchered their goats in better times. The goats had long been sold, but 
the family's tools were still here. The doctor looked out past the apple 
trees to the mountains, thinking about the beauty in the land that God 
had created, and the beauty of the task that God had planned for him 
inside. He winced as he thought about his own injuries, then thanked God 
for the reminder that his own life would soon end as well. Lost in his 
thoughts and in the mid day sun, he startled when the young mother came 
to the door from the kitchen and said, "She is asleep." The doctor 
turned to see the woman in the doorway, her left nipple erect against 
her blouse, and a growing wet spot around her right nipple. "She fell 
asleep before she could nurse the other side," she said with a shy 
smile. 

They walked through the kitchen to the only other room, where the little 
girl was sleeping on a blanket on the dirt floor. Her mother had taken 
off the dirty shirt and laid the baby on her back. The doctor watched 
the mother closely, as she knelt down to kiss her daughter again, and he 
could see the milk oozing from both nipples now as her body responded to 
the thought of her daughter's death. The mother sat down on the floor, 
crosslegged, bringing her skirt up above her knees as her belly settled 
into her lap. She looked at the doctor, and saw that he was holding an 
iron bar in his hand, the instrument they used to stun the goats before 
the slaughter. Her baby kicked, and she took a sharp breath. The doctor 
swung his arm quickly, and smashed the heavy end of the bar into the 
little girl's head. The metal bulb at the end caught her above the ear, 
and her head snapped to the side and bounced back limply before rolling 
to the side again. He looked at her for a moment, then swung the bar 
again. This shot connected square with the back of her skull with a 
crack, rolling her onto her side. 

Gently, the doctor rolled the girl onto her back again. Setting down the 
iron bar, he looked back at the mother. She was transfixed, with one 
hand on her bulging belly and the other grasping her swollen breast 
through her milk-stained blouse. He reached over and gently lifted the 
blouse over her breasts, and she closed her eyes as warm milk squirted 
through her fingers. The doctor picked up the carving knife and cut the 
blouse away, since she would not be needing it again. Then, still 
holding the knife, he turned back to the girl. 

As he watched, a small convulsion, just a shiver, came over the girl, 
and her bladder opened. He smiled, and reached down and parted her vulva 
slightly to let her pee more freely. The warm urine quickly soaked into 
the dirt. He bent down and kissed the dying flower, lightly, and heard a 
moan from her mother. He turned and saw that the woman's hand had slid 
around her belly to between her legs, and it was time for the next step. 
He put the point of the knife at the base of the little girl's sternum, 
angling slightly upward, and pressed it into her abdomen. As the 
mother's moans began in rhythm, he removed the blade, put two fingers in 
the hole, and slid the knife in again, blade up. He sliced through the 
little girl's tummy all the way to her navel, turned the blade slightly 
to get around it, and continued the cut all the way to her pelvic bone. 
As he spread the skin and muscle apart to reveal the girl's liver and 
stomach, he could hear her mother's rhythm becoming faster, so he had to 
hurry. He grasped the stomach and slit it open, and the woman exploded 
in climax. The doctor scooped out a handful of apples and milk, fresh 
and perfectly mixed, and turned to the mother. Closing her eyes, she 
opened her mouth. She knew a lot of apple recipes, but this was the 
sweetest of all. 

The mother opened her eyes again, and looked at her daughter's body. 
Tears filled her eyes as the doctor picked the baby up and put it to her 
breast. She held the girl close, and moaned as warm lips touched her 
nipple, and milk flowed again. She squeezed slightly, and her daughter's 
organs began to slide onto her pregnant tummy. Then she gasped, as she 
felt her daughter suck. She was still alive, and feeling, and then the 
iron bar came crashing against the mother's head. At that moment, 
between life and death herself, she understood how the doctor felt. She 
wanted her daughter to feel the knife, the cutting, the dying. Then the 
bar crashed again and her thoughts were gone. 

Her head hurt, and the setting sun was shining in her eyes when the 
mother began to stir again. "Say a prayer of thanks," she heard the 
doctor say in his gentle voice. She looked towards the setting sun and 
saw her daughter hanging by one foot from the door frame, her carcass 
eviscerated like a baby goat, except that the head was still attached. 
That was the difference, she realized. The iron bar only knocked out the 
goat long enough to slit its throat. Her mother had taught her to finish 
the job quickly or else the goat would wake up and be hurting. She had 
always wanted to break the rule and find out what it felt like. Now, the 
doctor's knife was making her childhood fantasy come true. 

He used the serrated blade to cut through the skin and muscle over her 
sternum, between her breasts. Then he used the carving knife to separate 
the skin and pull it away from the muscle. She screamed as he slid his 
hand under one full breast and then the other, straining against the 
ropes he had tied to her wrists and ankles. She felt him force the milk 
out of her body by cupping her breast in his hand and pushing down as he 
pushed up from her ribcage with the other hand, pulling each breast from 
her chest and leaving it lying full but limp at her side. He suckled the 
forced lactation into his mouth, then bent over and gave it to her in a 
wet, milky kiss. She choked and gagged, as her body went into shock and 
made normal swallowing impossible. 

The doctor plunged his knife into her just like he had done to her 
daughter, and the air in her lungs sprayed out as he pierced her 
diaphragm. He took the short way around her belly, around the side 
instead of up and over, pausing to get a good grip on the slippery flesh 
as she jumped and bucked in agony and desire. He cut right around her 
waistline, then lifted the flesh up and over to expose her swollen 
uterus. Seeing that his patient was almost out of time, he grabbed the 
top of the bag, felt the baby's head still not turned for delivery, and 
used the serrated knife to cut just below the head. Clear fluid streaked 
with blood sprayed from the wound and the baby's head suddenly appeared 
as her wounded uterus contracted violently. Another cut and the baby was 
free. It was a little girl, about seven months along. She didn't have 
the plump rolls that would have come after two more months of baby fat, 
so her clitoris stuck out like a tiny finger. 

He saw the mother's lips moving silently, saying a prayer from her 
childhood. Holding the baby by the neck, the doctor plunged the carving 
knife directly into her abdomen below the sternum and cut downward. The 
blade sliced through skin, muscles, and organs, pouring blood and 
intestines down onto her mother's quivering uterus. The baby didn't have 
a chance to breathe, and her mother was gasping as her lungs collapsed. 
The doctor dropped the baby back into her mother's abdomen, and quickly 
cut the ropes holding her mother's arms. She had no strength of her own, 
so he lifted her hand and placed it in the middle of the maelstrom, 
between her own exposed organs and her baby's. Neither could breathe as 
their blood poured together. The doctor sat down on the ground, 
exhausted, and watched as they brought the young woman's first and last 
fantasy to reality. 

As the sun set, the doctor tried to get up to light a candle, but 
couldn't. He sighed heavily. His time had come as well, with his fate 
sealed when El del Norte's men kicked him in the side, rupturing his 
spleen. He had been bleeding to death all day, and now he would join his 
last patients in God's hands. Fighting his final slide into sleep, he 
leaned forward and lay on his stomach on the dirt floor, reaching toward 
the young mother whose only sin was to see and to talk. He smiled as his 
hand found her vulva, still warm, though sticky with dried blood. He 
could imagine her pleasure as he slid a finger up to her clitoris, then 
down to her vagina. He closed his eyes and saw her shy smile, and then 
he joined her on the other side of life.

d udet