Elana's Tail

Elana’s Tail

Elana’s Tail

Nine P.M. and another hard day at the Sunset Funeral Home is ending. At the front entrance, Sam the undertaker is bidding farewell to the last guests from the dinner in honor of the late Cathy Briggs, late guest in the undertaker’s basement prep room and, incidentally, the main course (in the guise of barbeque spare ribs, rump roast, pork loin, pork shoulder, etc.) at her own funeral.

“Sam, you have really outdone yourself this time, this was the finest, albeit saddest, service I have ever been to.”

“Mrs. Smith,” Sam responds, “it was a pleasure to serve Cathy tonight. I only regret that she is not with us any longer.”

“Yes, Sam, it is a shame when girls die so young, having tasted so little of life.”

“We tried to give everyone of taste of what she was like,” Sam answered. “I am sorry that her best friend, Elena, was taken ill at the table.”

“Too much wine and grief for her constitution, I imagine,” Mrs. Smith speculated, “but I am glad that your assistant, Frederick, is tending her.”

“Once it’s clear that she is well enough to leave, we’ll let her go,” Sam reassured her.

On the third floor of the funeral home, in the guest bedroom, Fred is carefully arranging the unconscious girl on the four-post bed. Elana is lying stomach down on top of the bedcovers. He ties her limp wrists to the posts by the headboard, then her ankles to the foot posts. As he rests from his knot work, Fred slaps himself on the forehead. “Forgot to make her comfortable,” he mutters to himself. He unties the wrap-around skirt at her waist and eases it off.  Now, however, he is briefly stymied by the task of removing her panties, blouse, and bra, which can’t be slipped off over the bindings at head and foot.

“Fuck it,” Fred grumbles, takes out a folding knife, and cuts the offending articles of clothing off the girl. “Wow,” he exclaims as the girl’s naked body is exposed to the light from the nightstand, “what a fucking work of art.” Almost every square centimeter of skin surface is covered by elaborate tattoos in swirling arabesque patterns of deep blue, red and black. On her right shoulder, the names Cathy and Elana are surrounded by a floral medallion.

Fascinated, Fred inspects the inert form more closely. He is especially drawn to the genitals. He observes with pleasure that the girl’s crotch is smoothly shaven. “This saves me time I can put to better use,” Fred muses.  A golden ring pierces the labia. A break in the arabesque on either side of the inner thighs bears the motto “ENTER HERE

(If 18 or more years of age).” Fred feels his penis stiffening, and quickly turns his attention to the buttock cheeks, covered with a carpet of flowers. Something in the crevice catches his eye, and he gently spreads the cheeks apart. Concentric colored circles form a bull’s eye around the asshole. Encircling this is another motto, “BACK DOOR ENTRY (lubricate before opening)”

By now, Fred is completely enchanted. He examines his guest more closely, and discovers that the patterns are arranged in panels separated by dashed lines corresponding to anatomical features, “…cut…here…” “Unbelievable,” Fred blurts out load. Just below the short curly nape hair, blue dashes encircle the neck with the words, “cut along dotted line”.

In placing her, Fred has splayed the breasts slightly to either side, so that the nipples are exposed to view. The aureoles are deep brown in color, offsetting large gold rings set into the nipples.

Car doors slam shut, and the rest of the guests, but one, depart. Fred is just beginning to think of the next phase of his care giving, when the prone figure moans and opens her eyes.

“What’s happening to me? Where am I?”

“Miss Brown,” you are an honored guest here at Sunset Funeral Home,” Fred started to explain.

“Honored guest my ass! I’m being held against my will,” she spluttered.

“Nonsense,” Fred said, defending himself, “We are merely trying to help you recover from a fainting spell, and were concerned you might accidentally harm yourself.”

“Bullshit,” she retorted, “you’re keeping me as a prisoner.” “When I saw the tattoo on the roast shoulder, I realized that you fuckers were feeding Cathy to us.” 

“Wait a minute,” Fred interrupted, “we were told you are a vegetarian. Why were you taking a piece of the roast?”

“It smelled so good, I was going to try it, but, but… then I saw that tattoo and realized that Ca..cca..Cathy was on the menu. How could you?”

A gentle knock sounds on the bedroom door, and Sam enters the room. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt anything that might be happening,” he said. “Fred, why didn’t you tell me we had a fucking work of art with us?”

“Sam, I was just working up to the fucking part when you so rudely interrupted my little discussion with Miss Brown. Will you butt out?”

“”Fred, we have always operated on share and share alike principles here. However, if you want to be piggy about it..”

“Just a fucking minute,” Elana shouted, “you goddam bastards cooked my best friend, tried to serve her to me, and now you’re arguing about fucking ME??”

“Young lady, you are jumping to conclusions. I am sure that once we explain the entire situation to you, you will understand the necessity of our actions.”

“Blow it out your ass, you fucking bag of fart. Let me go NOW!”

“My, my, you are even more vociferous than your late friend, Elana.”

“You lying sack of shit, how could you talk to a corpse?”

“Dearie, you must know that even hospitals make mistakes. They switched Cathy and a corpse named Cindy, and delivered Cathy here instead. When she arrived, we thought she was a very attractive goner, and, shall I say, took advantage of the situation.”

“You mean, asshole, that you fucked my best friend while you thought she was a corpse?”

Sam sighed, “Yes, Elana, and when the hospital called, we informed them that she had already been cremated, just a little fib.”

“And I suppose the hospital went along with this charade?”

“Oh yes,” Sam agreed, “They hardly wanted to admit that they had disposed of a live patient as a corpse. So you see, we had little choice but to proceed.”

“I can’t believe this. You are confessing that you snuffed my best friend, and then cannibalized her, you fucking prick!”

“Hey, come on!” said Fred. She was conscious when I fucked her, both times, and she didn’t say no! I think she enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, fuckface, why don’t you ask her now?”

“That’s a little difficult, since she’s now in a lot of different places,” Fred smiled.

“Fred, you’re a moron,” Sam snarled.

“Yes,” said the enraged girl, “ we finally agree on something.”

“Your friend was so impolite through this whole thing that we finally decided to harvest her organs: heart, liver, kidneys, corneas, without benefit of anesthetics,” Sam admitted.

“You can’t be serious! You vivisected her, and then carved her up for food?”

“Now you understand our dilemma, Elana. We can’t just let you go, and risk an investigation that could have serious long-term consequences for us both. On the other hand, you will be classified soon as a missing person, which creates its own difficulties. So we are going to drive your car to a remote area in the mountains and leave it there. By the time a hiker finds it, you will have disappeared, presumed lost.

With that, Sam removes a hypodermic needle from his coat pocket, and shoves it into Elana’s ass. She  shrieks, then passes out.

“That will hold her for a few hours until we can get rid of her car,” Sam told Fred.

“But what are we going to do with this one? Sam,” Fred answered plaintively.

“Don’t worry, Fred, I’m working that out already.”

Four hours later, Elana comes to, realizing that something is sliding into her asshole. “Shit,” she says, “stop it.”

“Too late,” says Fred, “Sam is letting me go first this time. Then it’s his turn. This passes the time a lot faster than reading. Although I am enjoying reading your tattoos”

“My boyfriend thought it was pretty funny to put invitations at my cunt and asshole,” Elana whimpered.

“Well, I think so, too,” whispered Fred, “although the joke is now on you.  Or maybe its IN you, “ he chuckled.

Sunday morning is a quiet time at Sunset Funeral Home. Sunlight pours through the east window of the guest bedroom. The ruddy morning glow strikes the buttocks of the most recent guest, already reddened from an evening of pleasure.

Sam gazes philosophically at the glowing artwork covering her ass, back, and legs. Then he rises, goes over to the sleeping girl, and lifts her head by the hair. “Good morning, beautiful,” he gushes.

“Why are you so fucking happy, you piece of shit?” she snarls.

“Because, my love, I‘ve just figured out how we’re going to handle you without doing violence to your beautiful skin. You see, I’ve been in contact with art connoisseurs who appreciate both the female form and visual art. You also have a rare, and highly sought-after blood type. And there is also a demand for replacement organs and for specialized meat products. I like to think of you as a nice package, which we are going to unpack.”

“You rotten, sadistic, fucking asshole! You and your little idiot assistant go fuck yourselves. Go fuck each other!”

“Why should we do that, when we can fuck you anytime we want? We’re going to turn you over now so that we can have a little more variety.” “Fred? Come up! We’re going to make Miss Brown a little more comfy; bring the ball gag up while you’re at it.”

Once secure in her more restful pose, Miss Brown does yeoman service during the ensuing morning and afternoon. At last, Sam turns to Fred and asks, “What do you think, Fred, have we had enough fun with this one?”

“Sam, I’m tired,” Fred replied, “too much fucking work.”

“Or is it too much work fucking,” Sam laughed. Their playmate made a groan. “You see, her sense of humor is getting better. By the time we’re done, she’ll be howling.”

The two went off for an early meal, checking the bonds to make sure they were tight. “Why don’t you get an good night’s sleep,” Sam said. “I’ll watch her tonight.”

Monday morning, Fred whistled as he wheeled a gurney into the bedroom. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully, as he eases it alongside the bed. We’re just going to slide your ass over onto this gurney, and take you downstairs for your treatment.” He removes the gag from Elana’s mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she exploded, “anything is better than what you’ve done to me just now.”

“Elana,” Sam speaks reassuringly, “ we’re on a tight schedule and don’t have time for chit-chat. I’m sure you will be fascinated by this process and won’t want to miss a minute.” He pressed the basement level button.

As they roll her down the hall to the prep room, Sam explains, ”Our biggest problem is how to keep you as fresh as possible. Fortunately for you, I have found customers for almost everything.”

“Wha..wha..What do you mean?” she stammers.

I have located a wealthy sheik that wants a little décor for his harem. We are going to mount you a little differently than we have for the past two nights. A taxidermist friend of mine will take care of stuffing your skin after we deliver it to him.”

“Meanwhile,” Sam elucidates, “your organs are in bigger demand than I thought. I have received bids from four different transplant centers. Having a little extra time than we did with Cathy is really paying off.”

“You are un-fucking-believable,” Elana shouted. “How can you get away with this?”

“Very easily, cunt. It seems that there are plenty of twenty-three year old graduate students around and no one will miss you for at least a week or two. You will be farmed out long before that.”

The head of the gurney pushes open the door to the prep room. Once they maneuver the gurney alongside the prep table, Sam and Fred slide the slim, now silent form onto the stainless steel surface. “Who is the asshole now,” says Fred, “you’re nothing but a slab of meat waiting to be turned into dollar bills.”

“Listen, Fred, and shut your fucking cakehole. How much are you getting out of this deal? Ever thought that Sam is pocketing the profits and giving you pocket change? How much is he getting, anyways?”

Sam interrupts, “Fred, we’ll be making a quarter of a million dollars minimum for this otherwise worthless bitch’s hide and guts. Not to mention the sale of blood and meat. She’s worth a lot more for parts than alive.”

“Wow, Sam, let’s get on with it then. We don’t want to miss the FedX driver.”

“You fucking mercenary sons-of-bitches, why don’t you take a …..”

Fred slips the gag into her mouth. “Quite right, Fred,” Sam says, “we don’t have to put up with that abusive behavior anymore.”  He grabs an IV needle and approaches Elana, now staring up at him. Grabbing her head, he thrusts the needle into the carotid artery.

“I can now control the flow of blood out of you with this valve. We are going to be nice to you, and just drain enough to reduce your level of consciousness. Meanwhile, we will start some of the other procedures.”

With that, Sam opens the stopcock, and a thick stream of blood gushes into a bag hanging next to the table. After collecting about two pints, he shuts the valve down. Elana’s head lolls, but her eyes remain open.

Elana, I am going to start peeling off your skin, starting with your feet. He takes a small skinning knife and starts a cut at the soles of each foot. He then rolls up the skin up each leg, until he reaches the buttocks. “This is the tricky part,” he explains to Fred, “ I have to cut loose the skin around the asshole and continue. Meanwhile, you take the ring out of her cunt, and the ones out of her nipples. Otherwise, they’ll interfere with the skinning. As Sam gently cuts away the skin from its integument, the girl tries to shrink away. “Open up the valve a little, Fred, let’s quiet her down.”

Once the skin is rolled up to the chest, Sam stops. He grabs a scalpel and makes a fast incision in the now truly naked flesh, exposing the abdominal cavity. Fred helps him as he dissects the liver and kidneys out, and deposits them in waiting receptacles. Now Sam reaches into the chest cavity, makes a few swift cuts, and brings out the still beating. heart.  

The back doorbell rings, and the intercom buzzes. “FedX, here for a pickup for the transplant center”. Fred, wipe the blood off your hands, and take these out. As Fred leaves, Sam continues the task of peeling back the skin. The nipples give him trouble, as the aureoles are particularly reluctant to part company with their deceased owner. Then the face presents its own set of problems, as Elana’s dead corpse seems determined to preserve something of her identity.

“Now,” Sam tells Fred, “time to clean this bitch up a little. Finish gutting her, and put all that trash aside. We’ll burn it later. We’ll cook her for the Samuels service tomorrow. “I’m going to contact the taxidermist.”

Left alone, Fred cleans out the remainder of the last guest. “Too bad,” he muses, “it would have been nice to fuck her once more for old times sake.”

Later, Fred wipes down Elana with garlic and olive oil. “Be sure to salt inside the cavity,” Sam instructs him.  Together, Sam and Fred stuff the cavity with     

celery and grapes, then sew it shut. They wrestle the stuffed guest onto a heavy wooden plank, belly down, and nail the legs and arms to the plank. “She dressed out at 75 pounds,” Sam said proudly, “plenty for the party.” “We’ll bake her in the crematorium at 300 degrees. Have to baste her often, and cover her with foil to preserve the tenderness.”

At the party, Elana was the hit of the evening. 

“Sam,” I don’t know how you do it,” his friend Paul remarked, “this is the most tender and juicy pork roast I have ever had. What’s your secret?”

“It’s all in the preparation,” Sam bragged. “It took us almost four days to properly prepare the meat.”

“It must have been quite an ordeal.”

“No, on the contrary, it was a pleasure I can’t possibly describe.”

“Well, Sam, don’t even try. Have you met my son,  Art, by the way?”

“Art. Pleased to meet you.”

“Art’s girl friend broke up with him a month ago. Now he’s very despondent.”

“Art, I’m sorry to hear that. What is her name?”

“Elana.”

“Really, not the same girl who was Cathy’s best friend? She was at the service, but left really distressed. Couldn’t wait to get her ass out. I’m sure she’ll turn up where you least expect her. Who knows, she might even crash our program tonight.”

“Well, I don’t have time for her now. I’ve got a big job with some Saudi dude. Turns out he is crazy about tattoos and wants to do over his wives. Rumor has it that he actually collects samples of tattoo art. He’s expecting a big addition to his collection and wants me to come over and give my professional opinion.”