Aprille

APRILLE

©2004 by C. Smith

Chapter 1

Tucker could see that Aprille was a little nervous as she walked to the front of the class. But that was to be expected. She was by nature a shy girl, seemingly unaware of her exceptional beauty, and she was speaking on a subject that bored the know-it-all girls, frightened the faint-hearted approaching activation and incensed those who resented the role they were born to fill.

"The advent of gynopophagy in the United States," she began softly, "officially started with the thirty-second amendment to the Constitution during President-for-life General Moamar Bormann's administration."

As soon as she said "advent" the sullen girls in the back row began rolling their eyes. Well, it did sound a bit stuffy and he would speak to Aprille about the need to dumb down her vocabulary a bit. But shit, any word with more than one syllable was beyond the reach of some of these girls, even if they had been marked for future Pleasure Girl status, a ranking that would ward off slaughter for a few years, at least. They sure as hell knew what gynophagy meant, though. Their turn to be meat would be coming up within the year if they failed to make Pleasure Girl. They were all sixteen and God knows they were fully mature, body-wise if not brain-wise. They were practically busting out of their halters, thanks to the company's breeding standards and breast conditioning lab. The only reason they were here was a pathetic hope that they might pass the course and be selected as Pleasure Girls. They were M1's, dreaming they could become M1-P's and extend their life span a couple of years. Fat chance. He guessed most of them would be on a spit within a month after their seventeenth birthday.

Aprille continued nonplused. "But it really began five years earlier when General Bormann signed the Treaty of Shanghai. General Bormann saw that the world was heading for all-out terrorism and nuclear war. He realized that a primary factor in all the discontent and political upheaval in the world was the combination of extreme overpopulation and, with it, the failure of global food supply systems. It was a vicious cycle feeding on itself."

Tucker would also have to talk to her about redundancy.

"So he and the other leaders of the so-called Nuclear Thirty nations hammered out a solution based on successful experiments in Asia and Africa where, in desperation, anthropophagy had been legalized in certain places. At first both men and women were selected by official lotteries and their meat offered for sale. It soon became obvious, however, that poor families were willing to sell their excess girls to the meat factories. Boys were considered more important to families because of social and religious concepts and because they represented social security for the family. Girls, on the other hand, were liabilities. A girl had to be gotten rid of by marrying her off to someone, which often meant offering a hefty dowry."

More eye rolling at the words liability and hefty .

"But what happened was that because the demand for meat was so great, the girls were easy to sell and became even more valuable than boys for poor families. That, in turn, meant that instead of families using gender-control drugs to favor delivering boy babies, they began to prefer having girls and selling them. Later, when the pool of marriageable girls threatened to drop too low, the governments outlawed doweries. In the end they had solved four problems at once. There was now enough food, the average family income rose, and they were able to enforce population control without trying to restrict sex or depending on abortion. In addition a balance had been struck between males and females available for marriage."

Tucker could see that this was much too esoteric a history lesson for the would-be Pleasure Girls. Their attention was wandering. They would pay for their insouciance in a few weeks when they failed their tests and found themselves still M1's with no cushion against immediate activation as meat.

"In Shanghai," Aprille was saying, "the concept of cannibalizing females for profit was adopted on a world-wide basis. To squelch objections from troublesome women, the treaty also stripped freewomen of all political rights, including the right to vote at any level or hold any political office. Later, when General Bormann's son, our current President-for-life Osama Bormann, came to power, more restrictions were placed on freewomen to maintain order and decency. The two sexes were restored to their natural relationship in which men govern and support the family and women obey and nurture their men and children. That is why everywhere in public life and in the business world every freewoman must be under the supervision and direction of a male. Marriages must be approved by an authorized male relative or guardian and a wife is legally obligated to obey her husband. Freewomen who get pregnant outside of marriage must turn themselves in to authorized institutions such as this one. Male fetuses conceived out of wedlock are aborted. Female babies, along with their unmarried mothers, become the property of the institution for appropriate disposition."

That last phrase was too much for the other girls and inspired a grand display of eye rolls. Tucker decided to shake them up a little.

"Mariah, what kinds of 'appropriate disposition' is Aprille referring to?"

A back row girl whose cute, round face outclassed her mental acuity, jerked to alertness. "Ah . . ." No further erudition was forthcoming.

Tucker could see moisture appear on her pretty forehead. She knew the penalty for failing to answer. He decided to help her get off the hook. "What do those words mean, Mariah? 'Appropriate disposition.' What can an institution like this do to unwed freeborn mothers?"

"Oh! It can turn her into either a breeder or meat, Sir." She managed a look that was both insolent and relieved.

"Right," Tucker acknowledged. "And her baby, if it's a girl?"

"Same thing. It's raised for meat or as a brood-girl."

"And which are you, Mariah?"

She hesitated, beginning to get the point.

"Stand up, Mariah!"

She jumped to her feet. "Yes, Sir."

"What is your classification, Mariah?"

"M1, Sir. But I'm hoping to get to M1-P."

"Which means?"

"Pleasure Girl, Sir."

Tucker detected a little too much smugness in her response. "Pleasure Girl," he echoed. "Wow. I'll bet you'd get a lot of sex as a Pleasure Girl."

"Yes, Sir. Lots!" she said, saucily thrusting out her enviable bosom.

"And you'd like to get work at a Pleasure House, right? Be off campus, get better accommodations, more perks, frequent sex, a longer life?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And what about the M?"

"The M, Sir?" Her face clouded over.

"Yes, the M. You said you're an M1. What does the M stand for?"

"It means I'm going to be meat."

"Going to be?"

The cloud yielded to fear. She had finally figured out where this was leading.

"I am meat, Sir."

"And the '1,' what does that mean in terms of you being meat?"

"It means I'll be spit-roasted live, Sir."

"Exactly. Do you look forward to that, Mariah?"

"Not really, Sir. I mean, not right away." Her voice was barely audible now, just a whisper.

"No?"

"I'd like to work as a Pleasure Girl for a while, Sir. I'd really enjoy it."

"Do you realize I'm on the Commission that decides which girls will be activated, and when?"

"Yes, Sir." She had begun to chew her lower lip. He wouldn't do this to her, would he?

"How would you like a "D" added to your classification, Mariah?" She turned pale. He hoped she wouldn't faint and ruin the effect he was building.

"Please, Sir!" she whispered, putting a hand on her desk to steady herself. "Please don't do that. I'll do whatever you want me to do, Sir. Please!"

"What I want you to do, Mariah, is give full attention and respect to your betters, including Breeder-Girls like Aprille. If you put as much effort into improving your vocabulary as you do in developing your cunt muscles, maybe you will get to be a Pleasure Girl, instead of just Prime Class meat."

"Yes, Sir. I'll do better, Sir. I promise, Sir!"

"Right. Because if you don't, you're apt to be activated sooner than you'd hoped, and as an M1-D. Do you get the picture?"

"Yes, Sir." Color began to return to her pretty face as she realized she'd dodged the bullet.

"Sit!"

"Yes, Sir." She dropped into her seat and stared at the floor as her pulse slowed to normal.

"You may continue, Aprille," Tucker said.

"Thank you, Sir. Anyway, the laws vary from country to country, but most nations now participate in gynopophagy under the terms of the Shanghai Treaty and, with the exception of a few rogue states, it's all strictly controlled and regulated. For example, our institution, Musgrave, Inc, is a Class-A breeding facility turning out over ten thousand spitted roasters a year, about three thousand of them live, plus well over five hundred thousand pounds of butchered meat. Musgrave is also authorized to buy females of any age from birth onward. As you may know, President-for-life Bormann recently signed an international agreement making it illegal for any female who has been sold or bred for meat to be freed. We may only be sold to other authorized facilities. That came about because of situations where girls were sold to individuals, and even married, as a way for them to avoid activation. That, of course, was causing losses among the meat producers. The same agreement, however, has also made it possible for both meat and brood girls to work outside their home facility, but we must always be on call for sale or activation. And that's my report. Thank you."

Aprille cut her eyes to her teacher for approbation. Tucker smiled.

"Very nice, Aprille. That was a fine job of encapsulating the history of gynopophagy and more recent developments. You may be seated now."

"Thank you, Sir."

Her attempt at nonchalance as she walked back to her seat didn't quite hide the glow of pride in her teacher's praise. Tucker glanced around at the rest of the class. He knew that fewer than a quarter of the M1's here would live to celebrate their eighteenth birthday. Roasters reached their peak sale price at seventeen, the minimum legal age. M1's who proved to be good money-makers as Pleasure Girls could remain in the inventory as long as the computers showed that the potential of their work income outweighed their one-time sales value as meat. The instant it went the other way, they were activated and processed as roasters or packaged cuts. It was a business like any other. What mattered was the bottom line.

Many M1-P's developed a large clientele of regular customers enamored of their particular charms and talents. A girl could begin to think she had escaped the specter of the roasting pits indefinitely. That, of course, was self-deception. Sooner or later their clients would drift away to fresher, younger models and their income would begin to sag. The computers knew just when to switch a girl's career from fucking to feeding. There was always a bountiful crop of younger M1's, plus almost as many purchased from parents, guardians, husbands, orphanages, prisons and other institutions, from which to draw replacements.

The brood-girls were also available for pleasure work, although on a much more limited and supervised basis. The lovely Aprille was one of these. Tucker kept glancing at her during the tedious balance of the class, constantly amazed at how radiant she looked when her shaky self-confidence was shored up by approbation from an authority figure. How could such a stunning girl have such low self-esteem? Her bright golden hair, clear blue eyes and exquisitely contoured figure made her the perfect breeder. Her sharp intelligence and coy nature made her irresistible to her certified stud customers, and to certified faculty members such as himself. Damn President-for-life Bormann and his anti-marriage rules for meat-raised females! Tucker would sweep her up and carry her home, if he could. He was fairly sure she'd like it, too, although neither one of them could discuss such a thing. Nevertheless, when they copulated she was wonderfully passionate, frenzied, almost brutal at times, tender at other times, caressing him all over with her fingers and tongue, kissing him everywhere. He hungered for her, but would have to make do with the opportunities allotted to him by Musgrave as an authorized breeding stud.

He had been ordered to assign her as escort to an important guest this afternoon. When the red lights came on indicating the end of the class hour, he beckoned her to his desk. This, of course, made her instantly nervous again because it could mean anything from a rollicking sex session to an appointment to be prepped for roasting. Tucker tried to relieve her anxiety by smiling at her as she approached, but it didn't ease her mind any. Was it a pleased smile or a crocodile smile?

"Yes, Sir?" she whispered, pretending confidence, her heart thumping.

"Aprille, that was an excellent report, and well delivered. You covered a lot of ground in a short time and gave a respectful accounting of the role of our two beloved presidents-for-life. You also kept your cool in the face of some rather impertinent M1's who are in need of, and will receive, greater discipline.

She unleashed her brilliant smile. "Thank you, Sir."

"What is your current grade status, Aprille?" As if he didn't know.

"B1, Sir."

"Which means?"

"I have been classified as a Prime Grade Breeder. I will be expected to produce at least one baby every eighteen months, and at least fifty percent of them must be prime grade."

"And I have every confidence you will, Aprille.

"But I've been in the breeding program for three months now, and I'm still not pregnant."

"How often have you been inseminated?"

"Almost every day."

Tucker felt an irrational surge of jealousy storm through him, but he didn't let it show. This was standard procedure for brood-girls. Drown them in semen until they conceive. There were plenty of approved studs willing to pay the fee.

"Don't worry about it. First pregnancies often take a little longer. If need be they'll use drugs. You're far too beautiful to waste as meat. They want a couple dozen more little Aprilles, just like you. Right now, though, I have a special assignment for you.

"Yes, Sir?" She brightened up.

"Musgrave Industries is interested in expanding its European presence and has been wooing an Austrian meat-packing company for a friendly takeover. This is a company that has only handled beef and pork products up to now. But it has connections with extensive cattle operations that can easily be converted to breeding girls. This purchase will give us a toehold in the Austrian, German, Hungarian and Czech markets. They seem to be agreeable to the merger, so it's up to us to make sure they remain happy. They have sent some representatives to check us out and find out more about the business. The name of the gentleman you will escort is Richter. Werner Richter. You are to give him a tour of our facility and answer all his questions. He's been cleared by both the Medical and Genetics departments and has his Stud Certificate, so both the breeding stock and the meat stock are available to pleasure him, if he wishes. Including yourself, of course. Any questions?"

"When and where will I meet him, Sir?"

"This afternoon at 1:00 o'clock, right after lunch. You will meet him at the Hospitality Desk. This is an important assignment, Aprille. You are expected to make him very happy with what he sees, and to make sure his experiences here are memorable and pleasant. Whatever he wants, he gets. Within reason. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. I will do my very best!"

"I know you will, Aprille. Normally we would assign one of the Pleasure Girls to this duty, but this particular gentleman requires far more than mere sexual gratification. Management has tasked me with the responsibility of finding a girl who can also answer his questions intelligently. You were my first choice. He's also a virile young man and has been fully processed as a Stud, so he's clean and can only beget female children. As I said, he will probably want to have sex with you, and you, of course, will oblige."

"Of course, Sir. I will not disappoint you."

"I know you won't." Tucker was painfully sure she wouldn't. How grotesquely old fashioned of him to feel so possessive of this remarkable girl, so jealous, like some dick-driven adolescent swept away by her beauty and the brilliant glow of her personality. He wanted to sneak her off to a place where she would be his alone, forever. But he knew that could never be. He could only smile at her and pat her small hand. Feel its silky skin. Send her off to the arms of another. Many, many others.

"Thank you, Sir!" she said through her iridescent smile. Breaking his heart.