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Epilogue
Ms. Kendal sat in her armchair reading a newspaper, but she wasn't reading it. It had been five days since Trish had left to have her dream of being a snuff bunny. She felt glad for her only remaining daughter, but missed the sweet girl terribly. And yes, she had to admit to herself, she felt a little jealous of the girl.
She remembered the calls she made to Trish's friends, as promised and recalled with delight their wails of envy at the news. Every one of them... EVERY ONE... was both proud of Trish, and hated her for achieving what they all had dreams of, but had never been able to become.
The pretty thirty-three year old woman laughed to herself. She couldn't blame them. Every young girl had a deep longing to surrender themselves so completely to someone... usually someone they didn't know... that the world became only that person. Sometimes it was a group, or even a whole community, but the best situation was always an intimate one.
Not everyone could do it. It took a special kind of girl in the modern world where men and boys were so rare and precious, and the survival of life on the planet, all life, was dependant on the practice of using women as a primary food source. It took work... lots of it... and many long hours of training and study and practice and testing and re-testing. Most important, was for a girl to keep her body soft and tender and full of delights for others to enjoy, which also kept her meat sweet and delicious. It was a good way... the right way... the way that should always have been... for women to exist for sensual delight and to serve as food.
The world and all life on it depended on it women being sources of pleasure and nutrition. There were many ways for a girl to aspire to serve society this way, but without a doubt one of the most popular was as a snuff bunny living her last hours in the joy of absolute surrender and suffering for an utter stranger's entertainment and pleasure. There was no purer aspiration for a young girl, and precious few could achieve it.
Trish was one who did.
As much as she missed her youngest daughter, Ms. Kendal could only feel joy and pride and happiness for her.
The doorbell rang, and she looked up. Who could that be this early in the day?
The local butcher?
No, of course not. She would have been notified.
She sighed, refolded her newspaper and dropped it on the coffee table as she stood up. She smoothed her loose-fitting sundress, and walked barefooted to the door. When she opened it, she saw a pretty young postal maid smiling at her. "Yes?" she said politely.
"Katherine Kendal?" asked the brunette girl, barely twenty years old.
"Yes, I am Katherine Kendal. Do you have something for me." She had a passing fantasy... just for a moment... of being converted to meat for the city's summer slaughter festival.
"Yes, Ma'am. Sign here please." The uniformed girl handed the woman an electronic pad and pressure pen. Ms. Kendal signed her name, and gave it back to the girl, who then produced a green and white envelope from her pouch and put it in her hand. She smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Kendal. Have a nice day." With that, the postal maid turned and headed back to her truck parked in the street.
Katherine closed the door and looked at the envelope. It had her name, written in ink, so she knew it could not be a conversion letter. The only return address was a postal delivery number, meaning the sender wanted to keep the source of the letter confidential until the recipient read it. That could be either good or bad.
She moved into a better angle to get light from the wide pane window, and used one of her long, sharp bright red fingernails to cut the envelope open. With a rustle of paper, she removed the contents and unfolded the pages.
To: Katherine Kendal
(Etc... etc...)
INTIMATE ENTERTAINMENT
A Division of the Women's Punishment Institute
Greetings Ms. Kendal:
Her face brightened, and she felt a joyful warmth flood into her body and soul. It was about Trish! It had to be!
Eagerly, she read the letter.
We are pleased...the success of your daughter, Trish...
Service... superior....
Obedience... perfect score....
Suffering... outstanding...
Entertainment... rare talent....
Intimacy... uniquely competent....
Client satisfaction... 0.1% of subjects... 100 Yr.
Every line she read of the report filled her with new, deeper pride in her daughter, and she wept as she read line after shining line of the praise-heavy report. To be a snuff bunny at all required almost a celestial event, and to be the mother on a snuff bunny that performed this magnificently in her service... the woman could find no expression for her joy. Most magnificent was the client satisfaction score. IE had rated Trish in the top one percent of all subjects in the last one hundred years... an almost mythical achievement.
Ms. Kendal had to stop, find a tissue, and wipe the tears from her eyes. Next to the tissue box on the mantle, she saw Trish's picture from the school picnic a year before. The girl, then a sweet sixteen year old, was completely naked and holding a paper cup of soda in one hand, and a young, tender titty in the other... in the grass under the shade of an oak tree. She looked so precious then... so sweet and innocent and full of joy and enthusiasm for her life... and dreaming of becoming a snuff bunny.
Katherine smiled through her happy tears, and touched the frame of the picture, then ran her fingernails over the image of her daughter, as if caressing her once again.
"Oh, Trish," she said, gazing at the lovely, smiling young blonde girl with the perfect body, happy, bouncy titties, and delicate little pink pussy, "You have made me the happiest, proudest mother in the world."
She composed herself, and continued reading...
.... IE's, and WPI's, most profound thanks...
.... payment in full to your account has been made...
.... Enclosure: Client Letter for K. Kendal...
A client letter?
Katherine lifted the computer-generated report page, and found a hand-written note...
Dear Ms. Kendal,
My name is Marsha Donovan. Last weekend, your daughter Trish came to me as my order from Intimate Entertainment. She was my snuff bunny.
I am very humbled and indebted to you for allowing your wonderful, sweet, and very beautiful daughter to serve my guests and I in my home for a casual, intimate party. You will be pleased to know that she surrendered to us with flawless perfection, joy, and enthusiasm. I am a wealthy woman, and I have had many snuff bunnies over the years. Trish outclassed them all. Her obedience and willingness to suffer the harshest burdens for our amusement has left me rather spoiled for anything less. My guests still glow with satisfaction when the talk about her, which they will likely do for some time. We used her in a public display of suffering and humiliation in downtown Dolcettville, a small town about twenty miles from my country estate. Her joyous display of obedience and surrender left the entire town in awe.
Later, in private with myself and my intimate companion Rene`, she gave us a show of suffering and shame and delightful playfulness that left us in tears, not to mention weary to our bones with orgasm after orgasm for several hours. When we at last had to claim her last gifts, she accepted her obligation with joy, compassion for our needs, and an enchanting playfulness that made that last hour a shining and memory-filled moment for Rene` and I.
She said she was the lucky one, and I am convinced she truly felt that way. But the truth is she changed the way I look at everyone around me. For those few hours, she gave delight and affection, with a magnificent display of shame and suffering, for our amusement, that has left us all in awe and feeling a bit humble to have been privileged to witness it.
You should be proud of Trish, Ms. Kendal. As a snuff bunny, I believe she had no equal in the world. Her body was perfect. Her joy was perfect. Her suffering and shame were perfect, and the memory of her playful smile as she bore the my cruelest torments with unrelenting eagerness and enthusiasm... all these things I will treasure forever in my heart. I've paid many times more for snuff bunnies that gave me vastly less. Trish would have been a bargain to anyone at one hundred times the price.
I would like to invite you to my estate sometime this next week to allow us to share with you a bit of Trish's last gifts and to discuss your daughter's absolutely perfect performance. My companion Rene` has made an excellent pate`, which we are certain you will enjoy. My telephone number is on the back of this page. Call me anytime. I will send a limousine for you at your pleasure. It would be my humble, undeservable honor to have you in my home as my guest and friend.
My deepest gratitude and admiration to you...
Marsha Donovan (but just call me Marsha...)
Katherine folded the letter, her heart overflowing with pride and satisfaction she could scarcely have imagined when she was a teen girl dreaming of being a snuff bunny. She looked once again at the picture, and her love for Trish glowed again in her heart. All the world's imperfections melted away, and she felt at last a nearly perfect contentment.
Nearly perfect... but not quite.
There would always be in her, especially now, a disappointment that she had never been a snuff bunny herself. Like everyone else, she felt a twinge of envy knowing Trish made it and she had not. It should have happened for her. It might have happened.
It could still happen... couldn't it?
Why not?
There was nothing in the law to prevent it. Any girl or woman could become a snuff bunny, if they felt sufficiently motivated and worked as hard as Trish had for that dream. She had a soft, curvy body without any hint of a blemish anywhere. Her tits were certainly big enough, and she had nothing but time now with the money from Trish's fee. It just would take work and study and a great deal of practice and commitment.
It could be done!
"I could do it," she thought, "I really believe I could!"
She smiled wickedly to herself, climbed the stairs and stepped quickly into her study. She sat at her desk, opened the drawer, and removed a long saved sheet of paper...
"You, too, can be a SNUFF BUNNY!"
WPI – Intimate Entertainment
Application For Consideration And Selection
She smiled as she lay the page out flat, and reached for a pen.
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