Three Choices

Bill refuses to comply and receive an I.D. Then he is given three choices of method --- for his execution. Who wouldn't defy the future government, with such beautiful enforcers?

Three Choices
A second sequel to the ID Registration Squad

Never had William (we’ll call him Bill) been confronted by such a lovely, sexy-looking young woman in his life. He’d seen such beauties portrayed on television, films, in magazines and the computer, but having seen Beyonce once – a member of the ID Security squad ---seeing her in his house was most disturbing.

Firstly he was taken aback by her sheer seductiveness, her ebony-coloured skin, her figure and height.

Her ‘phone-call had come only five minutes earlier informing him of her arrival to check whether he had any intention of procuring the much-hated Identity Card to prove his national security status – a measure decreed by the predominantly female government

Like many of the population of Great Britain, he had refused point-blank to subscribe to it with the excuse that it encroached on his personal and private life.

Standing before him in his small sitting-room, she presented a formidable figure. She was attired in a smart jacket, single-breasted with just one button. Under her jacket she wore a crisp-white blouse, and the second thing about her was the prominent size of her breasts which had no bra to enhance them. Thirdly, and perhaps what disturbed him the greatest, was the miniscule skirt she wore that revealed her long, slender legs almost to the top of her thighs – the hem of her jacket barely an inch above that of her skirt. She also carried a brief case. She sat on a chair and Bill’s eyes bulged when he caught sight of her bare thighs. The shortness of her skirt resulted in revealing the whole length of her thighs, and when she crossed her legs he knew if he moved to face her, he’d see the underside of her knickers. However, decorum bade him to be discrete, yet his senses caused him to ‘rise’ to the occasion as she opened her briefcase to extract some documents. She was an official but portrayed a very seductive official.

“Now,” she said in her authoritative but soft-velvety voice, “We have on record that you do not have an ID Card and do not have any intention of acquiring one. Is that correct?”

“Well, yes,” Bill replied in a tone of protest, “I can prove who I am. I’m not a member of any reactionary group. I’ve got no reason to blow up any trains, buses or crowds of people.”

“That’s immaterial,” she stated, “The law says every individual must have an ID card regardless of any political status. If you refuse and disobey the law, then you will be charged with treason, and the penalty for that is death.”

Bill gave a short gasp and stared at her in disbelief: “What, death…. execution... for heaven’s sake!”

“Yes, that’s correct. Do you still refuse?”

“I most certainly do!” he gasped, “You can’t go to such extremes just because….”

“We can,” she curtly interrupted, “and I’m sentencing you to death. However, I can grant you the choice of three methods of execution. You may choose one and I shall begin.”

Bill was flabbergasted. He stood there shaking in his shoes and staring at her incredulously. Any other situation and he would have taken it all as a game, but her official bearing, her seriousness, told him it was real.

“I want you to strip off… everything,” she commanded.

Bill was stunned, then he thought – perhaps, just perhaps, she might be joking and there may be something else in her mind, something exciting. He really hoped so.

Even with hopes of a sexual nature buzzing in his head, he nervously undressed. He hesitated when he came to his underpants but removed them at her sharp command: “I want you stark naked!”

All the while he wondered what she meant by ‘three choices’?

Once naked, Bill stood still, his mind in a whirl. Beyonce looked him up and down and opened her case to take out an up-to-date syringe. She placed the case on a table and, in a twinkling of an eye, slapped the hypodermic into the side of his neck. Bill uttered a sound and clapped his hand to the minute wound staring at her questioning. In seconds he was feeling weak. Beyonce stepped up to him, her face close to his and held him by his shoulders. “You’re getting three choices,” she reminded him. “Once you’ve decided there’s no going back.”

“What are they?” he asked in a subdued tone, “What are you going to do?”

Without answering, she guided him to a chair. She stood there and, to his amazement, began removing her jacket, but as he gazed, seeing the darkened nipples beneath the fine material of her blouse, he began to feel strange. It wasn’t until she started to look bigger, including the chair he was seated on, that he realized shockingly that he was shrinking.

In his mixed-up mind he heard her speaking: “You are growing smaller, William. Soon you’ll be as small as a tampon…. a female tampon. You know what that is?”

Bill murmured that he did and began weeping in despair.

A cruel smile came over her features as she removed her blouse and unclipped the fastening of her micro-mini skirt, and all the while his mind was shrieking: Why, why, why?

With her shoes kicked off, Beyonce thumbed her very brief knickers down her dark thighs. By then he was only half his original size and still shrinking, his eyes now level to her stomach. As she lifted each foot to lift her intimate garment free, he was gazing at her crotch and the tightly-curled inverted triangle of her pubic hairs and saw to his troubled mind the sight of her labia.

“Those three choices, Bill, are…. one that I swallow you whole, insert you up here…” she pointed to her pubic area…. ”or up into my rectum.”

Dumbfounded, speechless and in shock, Bill could only stare. He was now less than a quarter of his original size and had to move further back on the chair lest he fall to the floor.

Just then, Beyonce turned to present him with her bulbous backside. Bill gave a gulp at its magnificence. Surely, he thought, she’s got to be joking! He continued gazing at her prominent cheeks, so perfectly rounded, the skin so pure and unblemished. The sight confronting him sent a wave of desire through his system regardless of his fate.

Beyonce turned to face him, and once more the evulsions of passion welled up in his loins to do battle with his extreme apprehension.

Now, Bill was barely a foot tall and still shrinking. Beyonce was a dark-skinned giantess with the ineluctable power of life and death. She repeated the three choices. He gazed up at her with helpless resignation. Visions of being placed in her mouth repelled him, and the thought of sliding down her oesophagus, her gullet and down into her belly filled him with terror. The knowledge of the digestive process was not exactly clear to him, but he was aware that being swallowed alive would be horrendous…. and that all but his skeleton would be horribly pulped and dissolved. He knew also that he would literally become part of her body until the day she herself dies.

Next, he considered being thrust into her vagina and be squeezed as he slowly suffocates, probably gulping down the viscid fluids promoted by her excited libido.

Then he wondered fretfully what it would be like to be inserted up into her rectum, the much tighter confinement and the frightful condition of being immersed in her foul excreta and having to swallow it in his efforts to live.

His tearful eyes turned up to Beyonce’s face and scanned her trim torso. “I can’t!” he wailed, “Can’t you just… just….” he couldn’t say ‘just kill me.’

“Make your choice, Bill,” she prompted, “It’s either in my mouth and down in my stomach, up my vagina or my arse. I’ll give you just a few moments to decide.”

Bill was at his wit’s end. Whichever he decided would be hideous. He gazed at her all over wondering how such a lovely black female could be so utterly cruel; how all those females throughout the country under the employ of the Government, could go about and execute dissidents for simply refusing to subscribe to the identification ruling even although they could prove their alliance to the queen; but how could they, besides sentencing a non-card-holder, execute him or her in the fashion she described?

“I….I… can’t!” he wailed, his tiny voice now relative to his miniscule size – that of a lipstick holder and that of a lady’s tampon.

Without a word, Beyonce seized him in one hand and carried him to the settee upon which she threw herself full length. She raised one leg up to rest it on the backrest and stretched the other to rest her foot on the floor. With a determined thrust she plunged Bill’s head into her vagina urging him between the salient lips. Bill uttered a despairing squeak as she forced him further and further deep into the fleshy confines until only his lower legs, caught in her thumb and index-finger remained visible.

With the movements of impatience and growing excitement, she plunged him back and forth, making sure his minute body rubbed and animated her clitoris. Poor Bill began gasping; desperately sucking in whatever air there was inside the clammy interior, and needless to say, swallowed copious amounts of her pre-coital fluid. He could feel the pressure of her aroused clitoris as it rose from its hood in response to his physical contact.

Minutes went by as Beyonce plied him back and forth. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and her dark, ebony-coloured skin gleamed like polished mahogany. It must have been a good ten minutes or so before she gave out the deep gasps of exhilaration heralding her sexual gratification – that wondrous sensation of a climax. She fell into a semi-stupor of euphoria releasing her hold of his tiny legs, and as she lay she allowed Bill to slowly slide out of her vagina for which he was eternally grateful.

Such is the feminine libido; Beyonce was swiftly consumed with the desire to continue her sexual stimulation. She lowered her upraised leg, lifted her outstretched leg and, positioned on her back, raised both legs to bring her knees up over her torso thus presenting her rear orifice to his exhausted gaze. The sight of that crinkled-edged orifice sent Bill’s senses into a maelstrom of horror – especially with the knowledge and vision of its purpose; that of expelling the body of the most foul of bodily waste…of which he would be transformed into if she swallowed him.

“No, no!” he squealed, “Not there, anywhere but there!”

Beyonce, in the silence of the sitting-room, could only just hear his piping objection. A grin spread over her face knowing how males are so attracted to females’ posteriors, but not so intimately as this. She held him by his waist as she guided him to her anus. Covered by her vaginal emissions, it should be easy to insert him, but with a degree of forceful persuasion.

Bill felt the resilient, rubbery surround press against his lubricated head, and the pressure growing. Very slowly the lips gave way and the terrifying entry began. He used his free hands to prevent the insertion but to no avail.

At first, the sphincter tightened around his head, then around his neck in a strangulating grip, but with further urging from Beyonce, Bill was pushed in deeper. His shoulders, although not broad in any way, proved the most difficult, but thanks to his viscid-besmeared body, they made their way into the tight and narrow passage. He felt his whole body being squeezed and crushed in Beyonce’s rectum; and he thought with certainty that there he would expire. He suddenly felt something pushing him further, little realizing it was her finger directed at his crotch, the pointed finger-nail digging into his behind. It was there Bill encountered the thick, cloying mass of Beyonce’s faeces awaiting its turn to be expelled via the way he had come; and it was there that he was to spend his last moments.

The air, fetid at first yet life-giving, was now absent, and as a result, he began to struggle desperately to fill his lungs. He struggled like mad and as he thrashed about he distinctly felt a rhythmic movement against his body behind the membrane separating her rectum and vagina. He realized in great despair that the beautiful black girl was playing with herself- masturbating as he slowly expired.

It was as her masturbatory movements quickened at a furious rate and then ceased, that he passed out of his mental coil and with the knowledge she had satisfied her sexual desire.

Shortly afterwards, her body having completed its erotic fervour, Beyonce climbed off the bed and stepped to Bill’s bathroom. There she sat to relieve herself, feeling with added excitement, his lifeless body ooze from her. She cleaned herself and gingerly picked him from the waste matter in the lavatory. She thoroughly rinsed the corpse making sure there were no traces of her faecal matter remaining.

Her final act to complete the disposal of Bill was that of consuming him, and, like an oyster, popped him into her mouth and gulped him down for her stomach to finish the process.

Later, perhaps the following day, she would again have the thrill as Bill’s skeletal remains emerge to be flushed away to the nearest sewage farm where plants such as tomatoes, cucumbers and the like grow profusely and in abundance.

The end