#firefly trilogy

Otis was always the creative type. He dipped his toes into many mediums, his favorite far being humans, but he dabbled in others as well. One of those being metal work, I mean he and the Fireflies live out in the sticks, Otis has to have developed some conventional skill for it when doing home repairs with his brothers, and well, he has incorporated it into his art, but frankly it was too time consuming to be worth it in the end.

Until now at least. He was out around stalking through the woods, after a week of not leaving the house, looking for some fresh inspo a new victim. He didn't know how far he traveled, till through the brush, he saw some fences keeping in some cows, nothing odd really considering the area they're in, he was about to write it off and take his leave, until something caught his eye.

A calf, couldn't be more then a year old, the white hair on it's hind, stained. Red. Bloody. The flesh was pink, freshly scorched from where the farmer had branded the young livestock.

And there he had it, fresh inspiration, and the answer to his art block. A wicked grin split his face. As he skulked home, he couldn't help but nip at his chapped busted lips in anticipation. He had an idea he was impatient to execute and he knew just who he was gonna test it on...

☠ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ٠࣪⭑

It was hot out, AND I MEAN HOT OUT. The Texas summer heat was basically unbearable, the shed you sat in did little to nothing but provide shade, mixed with the manual labor they put you up to, you knew it was gonna be a sweat fest so you threw on some shorts and a baggy T you didn't care about.

And off you were.

To the shed.

Where you now stand.

Infront of a naked girls body....

Now that the Firefly family had their fun with her when she was both alive and otherwise, it was time to gut and skin this bitch, butcher her like a fucking pig. So the family can well, do whatever they want with her remains. I mean, thats all Mama's instructions really were, "butcher her like a pig, just like RJ showed yuh", were her exact words, so what was going to happen to this Jane Doe's butchered remains were unknown to you.

But who were you to say no to that women?

Though, it's not like your weren't used to it by now, you were usually assigned grunt work like this, either you or it was Tiny or RJ, but RJ had a real job he had to attend to, and why would mama make her Tiny work when you could do it instead. The only other person who touches jobs like these is Otis. It's not like he has a aversion to corpse's, on the contrary he has a very distinct infatuation with them.

But you can tell Otis is done playing with this chick's remains by the dried semen between her thighs and her heavily mutilated face.

Sighing, you finally relent, breaking you gaze away from this girl's mangled cadaver, you grabbed the cleaver off the work bench, gazing up around at the strung up women bodies around you, most people would be frightened, but it was something you were used to by now, so much so thats the quiet of the dead was almost comforting, or was at least preferable to the screams, cries, and begging of the living victims.

Finally when you brought you hand up, ready to swing down that meat cleaver with a force to sever the women's head from her vertebrae, you were caught off guard by the sudden unexpected presence of a person right behind you, their chest a mear inch from your back, your ears were filled with the slightly nasally yet raspy voice of a man you know all to well, "Hey mama..."

Startled, your swing weakend and you missed, the bottom edge of the cleavers blade slices through the side of the corpses neck, "fucking hell...", you grunted as blood splattered onto your hand and onto the bench.

You shifted your gaze over to the dirty man behind you. "Who you talking to, me or Ms. Rigor mortis here..." you said gesturing to the corpse laying before you. You could glimpse the eye role from behind you, "I'm talk'n to you bitch..." he grumpily grunted.

But before you could open you mouth to question him as to what the hell he was doing, he beat you to the punch, "listen up sugar I need yer help with something, I've got a new vision for my art and I need a candidate for a test run..." his hand traveled to the hem of your shorts above your ass, you didn't think anything of it, cuz unsolicited touching was the only form of non violent physical affection Otis knew of. You glanced at the body you were supposed to be breaking down, assuming he was looking for a cadaver considering all those who participate in his art die or are already dead, and you'd like to avoid the thought that you'd take any part in it because of that fact, "I mean theres plenty of candidates, as you put, inside the house, I don't understand why you came outside to get a body from out he-"

Before you could finish your sentence you felt Otis grasp the hem of your shorts pulling them down along with your underwear, exposing your ass to the thick mid day Texas air. And before knew it you felt the air around your ass suddenly heat up before something scorching hot press into your ass cheek.

Involuntarily you let out a screech, you tried to jerk away but Otis kept you pinned to the bench with his surprisingly strong body, his hips pressed into your other ass cheek as his free hand wrapped around your waist. He held you still while you struggled, and you could feel his grin grow as tears flowed out of your bulging eyes, then it started.

"One... two...."

In a almost sultry voice he rasped out numbers.

"Three... four.... five....."

Your struggle slowed but your whimpers continued.

"Six... seven...... eight...... nine......"

You could hear him slow down his counting, purposefully drawing out your suffering. Bastard.

"Ten..."

And suddenly the burning object was pulled away from your hind, and the sound of metal hitting the ground filled the air, yet the pain did nothing to subside. You could feel him pull away, relinquishing his hold, but he still had you entraped.

"You did a great job, now everyone will know your my whore.." even his praise was crude, and his tone was condescending but the way his calloused fingers brushed the freshly inflicted wound was almost tender, caressing it in a way that was almost reverent, or well, it would be if you could ignore that he was the one who inflicted it.

You had long since abandoned the cleaver, opting to brace yourself on the work bench, white knuckling the splintering wood. "What the fuck.. was that for..." you turned to look at him with a burning face and teary eyes.

He just leered his sleazy crooked smile, "I told ya, you fuckin' deaf mama? I've decided I'm gonna keep you, officially..."

The audacity of this man was palpable, and all you could do was gawk at him. He clicked his tongue and pulled his gentle touch away, the only thing soothing the painful burn, and replaced it was a sharp slap on the ass. "Now get back to fuckin' work.." He snapped, turning round and picking up the implement of your pain off the dirt and walked away, out of the shed, and leaving you in quivering distress.

Abandoning you to not only pull your pants back up but pull yourself together, and sooth an anguish he created.

Carefully when you heard his footsteps disappear, you reach around to feel whatever the hell he just burned into your skin.

Tracing it out with the tip of your middle finger.

Repeating the letters out loud.

"O.."

"B..."

"D...."

It took you a minute to recognize it but it came to you eventually.

"Otis B. Driftwood..."

ᴏᴛɪꜱ ʙ. ᴅʀɪꜰᴛᴡᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙʀᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ...