Until your owner considers you too faded regarding the standard of his market. He sold you during the annual sales.

To cover

Covering in progress

You do not remember the number of children you have given birth, after you were sold as a breeder-milker slave, after another brandind covered the Arab-Market one.

You do not remember the number of episiotomies, caesarians because they want to shorten the pregnancies

You just remember the pain of the milking machines between two births.

Now ...

Meat slave. The end for a slave. When she has not any more usefulness, except for meat.

It's time. You are tied on the machine.

The two others slaves have been already killed, beheaded. One of the butchers has ripped them open to empty out their viscera. They will be used to make spicy sausages and pâtés. Or with the  the leftovers, some dry slavefood.

To "lubricate" you, as they say, they rape your womb, they rape your mouth.

Then...

the spit moves forward. Millimeter by millimeter, it goes into your body.

You have felt a quick pain when it has ripped your uterus, when it makes its way across your belly, pushing back your organs, emerging from your throat, going out of your mouth.

Your brain, bathed with endorphin, is become deaf and blind to the pain. You have breathing difficulties.
The  incandescent embers shake you out of your lethargy.

You are...  thinking...  about...  your...  daughter...  may...  God... protect her... 
It's hot...

It's...   so hot...  It's...   too hot...

It's...   the end