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