This is part three of a story that will take a couple of posts and some time to write. If you haven't read the first two parts, please do that first. It turns out I need a distraction more than anything else, so yay for more writing! Feedback and messages are always appreciated.

First, she felt freedom, her arms and legs no longer restrained. Next, she felt a gentle hand bend her limbs, bringing some feeling back into them, followed by the tingling white noise of extremities that haven't been used for a while. She kept her eyes closed as he bent her arm double and taped her wrist to her upper arm. The smiled when he did the other arm as well. She'd expected it: first one, then the other. Probably her legs next. She marveled at how easy it went without her hands in the way, and suppressed a moment of panic when she remembered the cleaver coming down on her. Indeed, once both arms were safely secured and the bandage around her stumps was pulled back in place, he moved to the back and did the same with her long shapely legs. Massaging the muscles, getting blood flowing back where it could, then gently bending at the knee and taping her ankles to her thighs. She also felt the pain. So much of it. If he'd given her something to sleep, she was sure it had worn off now and her body was back to protesting with a vengeance, as if it wanted to make sure she'd noticed that parts were missing. But when he picked her up, when she felt his arms around her, when she was so helpless and so free from worry, it was alright. The pain felt warm, intentional, so how could it be wrong?

He carried her up the stairs and into a bathroom. He did talk to her, but the way one would talk to a pet. Telling her she was a good girl, that he'd take care of her, that she must be hungry. Her stomach rumbled and she looked up at him, unable to reply. It was a while before she got fed though, first carefully undressed, her torn and dirty clothes put aside, her skirt carefully folded. Then he washed her, tenderly, carefully, like a newborn calf needs to be handled. She could see the stumps of her wrists when he removed the old bandages. Charred meat, clean cut bone, exposed flesh and bits of tubing and plumbing. It was fascinating. She watched in silence as he cleaned her wounds and dressed them again, laying her down on her stomach to do the same to her ankles pressed against her ass. He even applied some perfume and painted her lips with a practiced hand, then brushed her hair and tied it together. The contrast was so strong that she teared up, looking up at him with gratitude for making her pretty for him. He picked her up again, and she nestled back in, already finding her comfort spot with her head against his shoulder.

The living room was rustic but large, more functional than ornate, but spoke of wealth and age. The table was set in an almost romantic way, with a floral centerpiece and flickering candles, and two chairs next to each other at one end rather than facing each other. Her stomach got louder as they approached the table, and she blushed. She actually blushed when she saw the two dildos pointing up from the seat of one of the chairs. He lowered her, pausing when she hovered above the hard wooden cocks, and made sure they were positioned correctly before lowering her further. She gasped as the first one parted her cunt, and then went quiet when the second pressed against her ass. So slowly he lowered her onto them, smiling at her as they stretched her further and slid deeper. She finally felt the cool polished wood of the seat hit her skin, and relaxed as the dual rods settled inside her. She was held firmly in place, with no possibility to slide off the chair. "Good girl" his voice seemed loud and surprised her, and she looked at him with big eyes as he attached a leather strap around her chest, just under her breasts, completely strapping her in place.

"Let's fix this first, shall we? It'd be so difficult to eat otherwise". She finally tore her eyes from his face and saw the pliers in his hand, immediately wondering what part of her he'd cut off now. But when the metal touched her cheek and she heard a snip, she felt some tension disappear from her mouth. Another snip, and then two more on the other side, and she could open and close her mouth. He took her chin between finger and thumb, and opened her mouth, looking in, then reaching in with the pliers, grabbing the metal still stuck in her tongue, and pulled it out without hesitation. She could feel the steel slide through her tongue, and then freedom. One more time, and the second skewer was pulled from her mouth. She could taste she was bleeding again, but gave her captor a bloody smile, happy to have her tongue back. She wanted to thank him, but trying to speak was still too much to ask. She mumbled, she moaned, she sounded like a damn cow, but with some effort and blood dripping from her painted lips, she finally managed an "ank you" and beamed with pride. He even smiled back, and with a "you're welcome" took the lid of a tureen and served her a bowl of delicious smelling stew.

Of course he had to feed her, bringing spoon after spoon to her lips, making sure it wasn't too hot, allowing her to sip the broth and helping her eat the small pieces of meat, removing any small bones that came up whenever he stirred the bowl. She was starving and it was delicious, salty, rich, tangy, heavy.. she was in heaven. Warm, wonderful, she emptied one bowl and without asking her he filled it again, only taking one bite for every five he fed her. She should have known better of, course, but it took until he lifted the spoon and instead of a piece of meat, or carrot, onion or potato, it held something metallic. Different from the small bones he'd discarded before, it looked very out of place. Her ring. The one she'd seen disappear in the bucket with her hand. The one she got from her mother. The one she thought she'd never see again. She was rested and well fed, no longer as exhausted and confused, so it only took a fraction of a second to realise why it was in her dinner. She felt her stomach sink, her heart skip a beat, and looked up at him. His gentle smile hadn't changed but looked sinister to her now. "Open up, little girl, you need your strength". Eyes wide open, skin pale and cold, heart racing, she opened her mouth and after fishing out the ring, he fed her more stew. And she ate. Another bite, and she ate it. A full spoon this time, and she opened her mouth, chewed and swallowed a piece of herself. The knowledge was... fine, really. She realised that it didn't taste any worse than before she knew what it was. Part of her must have known all the time, part of her must have seen it coming, part of her already accepted it. She emptied the bowl and stopped eating, not out of disgust or horror, but because she was full.

He touched her lips with a napkin and smiled at her. "I'm proud of you. I know that feeding cows their own kind can cause mad cow disease, but we can handle a bit of madness, right?" He even winked at her, smiled, joked. "I'm going to use mainly your own body to feed you, my toy. Sure, I'll supplement it with a diet of piss and cum and drugs, but your main sustenance will come from yourself. Like true circular agriculture" He even laughed out loud at that, clearly pleased with how terrible the jokes were. His hand slid over her leg and found her cunt, sliding over the wooden cock impaling her on the chair, up a little bit, finding her clit, and gave it a playful rub, barely touching it. "I'll give you everything you ever wanted, even when you never knew you wanted it. And you'll give me everything you have, everything you are, until there is nothing left. It'll be perfect" His finger was distracting at first, until it became the centre of her being, merging with the warmth in her full belly, giving her a sense of contentment, of purpose, of being where she's supposed to be. A small moan betrayed her, as if her cunt hadn't already. "Anything to say to that, my dumb little cow? Any last words as a human before I get to enjoy you the way you're meant to be enjoyed?" She looked into his eyes. She opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to force her tongue to work, to form words, to sound like a person just this moment. His eyes were everything, her entire world, she felt her past and her humanity stripped away before those eyes, reducing her to an animal collection of muscle and nerves. "I lo.." she stuttered. "I lo.." she swallowed. And as she finally pushed herself and said "I lo.." one more time he simply said "I know, my pet" and stabbed her between her chin and neck with a steak knife. The blade entered her mouth and went up through her tongue, pinning it to the roof of her mouth. She screamed in a reflex, sending droplets of blood over her tits and the table. He twisted the knife and pulled it free, using the pliers that liberated her before to grab her tongue and pull it out. Ignoring her struggles and screams, her head wedged between his arm and his chest to hold her still, he pulled harder on her bleeding tongue and with one scarily easy slice cut off half her tongue.

He dropped it on the table in front of her. Such a small pink piece of flesh, so still. Her head still pinned against him, he stroked her hair. Blood flooded her mouth and she had to stop screaming to swallow. And again, and again, drinking her own blood until it slowed down, her mouth feeling too big around what was left of her tongue. "It's okay, my rapedoll, cows don't speak, you don't need it. You've said all there is to say" her screams and moans turned to tears and sobs, and she let him stroke her hair. Her tears and blood soaked his shirt, her body trembling in his arms, soaking up his warmth, she was allowed to grieve and part of her wanted to thank him for it, wanted to declare her eternal devotion, wanted to let him know she'd do anything for him. But he was right, she didn't need to say the words. He knew.