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Part 2
They met the following Saturday evening in a private room at Casa Domingo's. It climaxed a week of high anxiety for Ming Ming. Several times a day she had questioned her sanity for agreeing to go deeper into this enticement. But then she'd go back and read the Atreus story again and the familiar tingle would begin deep in her womb. Soon she would be envisioning herself being led — bound and naked — to the slaughtering place, or her body impaled on a spit and turning slowly over a low fire. Soon she would be racked with exquisite thrills easily magnified to an orgasm by practiced fingers under her skirt.
Her first reaction to meeting “Atreus” in the flesh was relief. Then astonishment. She had braced herself for a number of disappointing possibilities, but not the tall, blond, athletic man who stood before her with the body of an NFL lineman, the intelligent blue eyes of a quarterback and a thoroughly devastating smile. She could barely tear her eyes away to greet his companions. He introduced himself by his real name, Carver (“No pun intended, I was named after my grandfather”), and the couple with him as Roy and Katie. He made a point of explaining that unless and until she came aboard as a member of the Society, no last names would be used.
Roy was probably in his late forties and attractive enough (although not in the same league as Carver), but the woman was a striking beauty. She was tall — probably about five-ten — with fiery Irish red hair, an alabaster complexion peppered with freckles and a figure that announced itself to anyone within its aura as voluptuous and sexy. She was not what Ming Ming would describe as slender, but neither was she overweight. Perhaps around one-fifty. She was poured into a slinky red sleeveless knee-length dress with a stand-up collar that was open in front and plunged below her bosom to reveal a spectacular cleavage. Her wrists were adorned with wide black leather cuffs with gold buckles and a little gold ring. A matching pair decorated her ankles. All things considered, she was breathtaking. Ming Ming felt pinioned by her bright blue eyes and invigorated by her bubbling personality. She had been half prepared to bolt at the sight of these strangers who practiced cannibalism, but instead found herself captivated.
The next surprise was that Carver immediately requested a different private room from the one Ming Ming had reserved.
“Why?” she asked. “What's wrong with this one?”
“Security,” he said, broadening his magnificent smile. “You don't know us yet, and we don't know you.”
“You think I might have had the room bugged?”
“I think only fools take unnecessary risks.”
“What about me? Look at the risk I'm taking!”
“You're taking no risk at all. You're here to see if you want to volunteer to follow your most intense fantasy, knowing exactly where it will lead.”
She couldn't argue with that.
The start-up conversation around their newly arranged private table covered all the usual mundane bases — where they were from, compliments on their clothes, traffic horrors, the most interesting wines, the weather, movies, music and other chit-chat — until the main course was served and they could be assured of a lengthy spell without interruption. Katie was the first to broach the real subject.
“So, Ming Ming, you've been reading Carver's stories.”
“I love his stories!”
“And he's told you about our little Society.”
“A tiny bit. Enough to peak my interest. That's why I'm here.”
“You want to learn more.”
“Yes. I'm fascinated.”
“But you're not quite sure we're real.”
“That's right. You have to admit, it all seems a bit far-fetched. Cooking and eating people is . . . well . . . murder. Legally speaking. I mean, even if they . . . the ones who get eaten . . . are willing.”
“Which is the reason for our concern about security.”
“I understand. But I think I'd need to attend one of your feasts to be convinced you're real.”
“You're right. When you attend a banquet, you'll certainly believe we're real. But we don't do tours. You can only attend if you're one of us. A member of the Society. You can certainly see why we can't allow someone to just show up, see what we do and then say, ‘Oops, not interested,' and walk away.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Ming Ming suddenly realized she was no longer doubtful. Nothing about these people suggested a hoax. She was being led to what she knew would be a very real and irretrievable decision that both frightened and excited her.
“In fact, you must have figured that out long before you got here this evening,” Carver was saying.
“Well, yes.”
“And yet you still came,” Katie observed brightly.
Ming Ming nodded, hoping her trembling was not noticeable. “I'm here.”
“Why?”
“Why am I here?” Such a simple question. So hard to answer. “I won't attempt to psychoanalyze myself. All I know is that there's something so incredibly erotic about the thought of being reduced to mere meat — being slaughtered, cooked and eaten — that I can hardly stand it. I don't really want to die, it's not death I'm looking for, but I'm willing to accept it as the price for living out that experience. Maybe I'm crazy, but that's how I feel.”
Katie reached over and covered Ming Ming's right hand. “Me too, honey. And all the other girls in the Society. It's indescribable, this feeling of being livestock! There's nothing else that even comes close!” She sat back and appraised Ming Ming's body. “You're an excellent specimen, you know! Isn't she, Roy?”
“Almost as luscious as you, my dear,” he answered tactfully.
Katie ignored it and continued her survey of Ming Ming. “You're slim and shapely, so you'll make a beautiful presentation. But you're not skinny so there'll be plenty of you to feed a party of eight. Well, seven. You'll be the eighth. Now me, I could feed fifteen and there'd still be leftovers. And from what I can see, your meat will be fairly lean. Your arms and legs seem well-toned, and with six months to relax and let them soften you should be tender and delicious.”
“Sounds like you've eaten quite a few . . . ah . . . specimens,” Ming Ming offered. Being appraised as meat made her shiver.
Katie laughed. “Only seven, hon. I've been to four Great Feasts and three lesser banquets. This will be my eighth. And last.”
“Your last? Why? I thought Carver said you couldn't just walk away.”
“You can if you're in other people's stomachs. I'm on the menu for this one.”
“You are?” Ming Ming was stunned!
“Yup. I'm the featured entree.”
Ming Ming didn't know what to say. What came out was, “That's so cool! But aren't you scared?”
“You bet! But that's part of it. It will be the last and greatest day of my life! And I can't escape it. It's excruciating! It's in the forefront of my mind every minute. It makes sex totally astonishing! I crave sex all the time now and my orgasms are amazing! My boyfriend is in heaven, although he doesn't know why. He thinks it's him, that my lust for him has turned me into a sex-crazed fuck machine.”
“I'm confused. Isn't Roy your boyfriend?”
“Oh no. Roy's a sweetie,” she patted the man's cheek, “and I pretty much wear him out, too. But he's only my handler for the Society, like Carver will be yours if you decide to join us.”
Ming Ming looked over to Carver. “And do you have a girlfriend, or a wife?”
“Not now,” he answered blithely. “She was featured at the last Great Feast.”
Ming Ming knew she should be horrified, but instead she experienced a rush that made her blink and catch her breath. “Cool,” she said, and realized she meant it. She turned back to Katie. “You mentioned that it's inescapable. What do you mean? What if you do change your mind?”
“Can't. Once you agree to become a member, there's no dropping out. You become reserve livestock, waiting your turn to be on the menu.”
“But what's to stop you from dropping out?”
Carver spoke up. “That's classified info until you actually commit yourself.”
“And how would I do that?”
“You sign a written agreement.”
“But that kind of agreement isn't legal. Who would enforce it?”
“Ming Ming: if you really crave the uniquely erotic experience of becoming a meat girl, including the suspense of waiting for your turn to be handed over to the kitchen staff, the matter of enforcement is entirely irrelevant, isn't it? But if you've just been kidding yourself and it's not really your fantasy . . . .” He paused and shrugged.
Ming Ming felt a whelming sense of dread, not of the prospect of death, but of being rejected. She changed tack. “How do you decide who goes next? To the kitchen, I mean.”
Carver answered. “It's a two part system. First, at the conclusion of each banquet all the livestock present are given an opportunity to volunteer. Almost always someone does. But if there's no volunteer, we do a drawing. The name of every girl in the livestock inventory, including those not present, is put into a roller barrel like they use in Bingo parlors. Someone is blindfolded and reaches in to pull out a name. If the girl drawn is present, she goes into her handler's custody for the six months leading up to the next Feast. If she's not there, we send her handler a notification and he takes over from there, making sure she's kept in custody, prepped and delivered on time.”
“Prepped? What's that mean?”
“Her life and circumstances must be altered so that she can be delivered to our Chef without complications. For example, she must immediately announce to family and friends that she's about to embark on an open-ended trip to explore Africa or Asia . . . some excursion so vague that she can't be traced when she fails to return. She must resign her employment and make financial arrangements that would support such a trip, including withdrawing most of her savings. She must give her landlord a year's rent in advance or simply serve notice she's vacating and put all her belongings in storage.”
“But where would she go then, while she's waiting to be . . . delivered?”
“All girls selected to become meat must be kept at the home of their handlers.”
Ming Ming glanced over at Katie. “Is that where you live? With Roy?”
“Sure thing,” she affirmed. “I'm designated livestock, and Roy's my keeper.” She giggled and patted his cheek again.
“What about your boyfriend?”
“What about him?”
“What does he think of that arrangement? You living with some other guy.”
“He thinks it's a rooming house. I have my own little suite. He's never even seen Roy. He comes over, we watch a DVD on my big screen, he fucks my brains out and he leaves the next morning. For him it's the perfect arrangement.”
“So are you confined to Roy's house, or what?”
“Yes and no. I'm a volunteer. I get special privileges.”
“You volunteered to be . . . cooked . . . at the next banquet?”
“You bet!” she said brightly.
“Wow!” Ming Ming felt oddly jealous. “What made you decide to . . . go for it now?”
“A bunch of reasons. For one thing, the presentation at the last Feast, Carver's girl, was so beautiful and inspiring that I came three times in my panties: the first time when she was paraded — she was a real knock-out! — the second time when she was cooking and the third time when she was being served. My hormones were still jangling like crazy when they called for a volunteer for August and I jumped right up! I thought, why should someone else have all the fun? If just watching gave me three orgasms, imagine what it'll be like when it's happening to me?”
Ming Ming felt little tremors of excitement, but she said, “I don't know, it sounds really fantastic, but I'd be scared. I mean, I can see waiting to be called up in a lottery, but to jump up and offer myself right then and there . . . I don't know if I could do it.”
Katie took Ming Ming's right hand in both of hers. “Honey, what you mean is the thought of death scares you, right?”
“Yeah. Being cooked and eaten excites me terribly, but it means dying, and that's so . . . final.”
“Of course it is. But that's the point. There are two things about death that have always fascinated and intrigued people. One, it's absolutely final. And two, it's absolutely inevitable. Death gets us all, and when it does, it's all over. The good stuff, the bad stuff, thoughts, feelings, everything. Snuffed. It will be just like before we were born. Tell me, was that a bad time for you, all those millions of years before you were born?”
Ming Ming laughed. “No, I guess not. Now that you put it that way.”
“But most people don't think of it that way. They spend all kinds of energy worrying about dying, trying to put it off, postponing it. The hell with that! Since we only feel things while we're still alive, I want to go out feeling the grandest, most sensational, most obscene high it's possible to feel! There'll be no regrets because at the very sizzling peak of it all, I'll blink out of existence. God! I can't wait! I wish it were tomorrow!” She squeezed Ming Ming's hand for emphasis.
“But then you'd miss the most thrilling part of the long wait,” Roy interjected. “The last few weeks and days.”
“That's right,” Katie agreed with enthusiasm. “It's already building up! The fear!”
“But how can you fear it and want it happen sooner all at the same time?” Ming Ming asked.
“Well, it's all part of the same thing, hon. Fear and thrill! Opposite sides of the coin. It's irrational, but it's part of our animal nature. It's wired in. That's why people ride roller coasters and go to scary movies. The thing for girls like us, sweetie, living out our particular fantasy, is to use the fear as a stimulus. When your heart is pounding, pumping all that adrenalin through your body, and your imagination is all over the map and your panties are soaked through with pussy juice, it's fabulously intoxicating! Better than any drug! Better than sex! Although that's when I really, really want to fuck!”
Katie looked over at Roy and laughed. The way he smiled back reaffirmed that Katie's sex life was not confined to her boyfriend. Ming Ming was caught up in a heady mixture of fear and excitement. She glanced at Carver who was watching her with a bemused expression. She opened her mouth to speak but had trouble making her voice work.
“Do you have any other questions?” Carver prompted.
She took a deep breath and brought out the last hurdle stalling her decision. “Does it hurt? Is there pain involved? When they do it, I mean.”
“That's completely optional,” he said smoothly. “Many of our girls come from a bdsm background and are turned on by pain. Some like extreme pain. If that's their fantasy, we oblige. Some girls want a quick and painless slaughter, like the guillotine. No problem. Still others ask for long, dramatic death scenes, like slow hanging or crucifixion. Amanda, my last girl, was into rape scenes. She had me spreadeagle her on the lawn and tie her down to stakes, then strangle her while we had sex in front of the whole assemblage. Her orgasm was so violent she nearly threw me off before she died.”
“I'm going to be spit roasted live!” Katie put in jauntily. “It's going to be amazingly erotic!”
“My God!” Ming Ming gasped. “That will be horribly painful!”
“Oh no. They have ways to dull the pain, turn it into pleasure. It will be fabulous! I'm starting to come, just thinking about it!”
“The point is,” Carver went on, “there's a wide range of possibilities. Does pain turn you on, Ming Ming? Erotically centered pain, I mean.”
“Erotically centered?”
“Consensual. Like being tied up and whipped by your lover before sex.”
“I've never tried it. Maybe, if it's with the right person. And not too harsh.”
“Well, you'll have plenty of time to try things out, see what you like. You can also see what others do at their own feasts.”
“But what if my name is drawn at the very first feast I attend?”
“Could happen. But that's part of the thrill, isn't it? The uncertainty.”
“The ‘fear factor'!” Katie giggled.
A memory flashed into Ming Ming's mind of an episode on that show of that name where the contestants had to walk a runway naked in the midst of a live audience. She remembered feeling hideously embarrassed for them at the time. Now she embarrassed herself again by blurting out, “Is there nudity at these banquets?” Katie looked astonished and Carver burst out laughing, so she hurriedly added, “I don't mean the girls that are going to be . . . cooked. Obviously they are. I mean the others. Not that it bothers me. Just asking.”
Carver held up a hand and checked his mirth. “I'm sorry. It's a perfectly legitimate question; it's just that it's the last thing I expected you to be concerned about, given the context. To answer the question, we have fun at our feasts and don't worry much about decorous conduct. Some girls like to go topless, or even nude, but you don't have to if you don't want to. The only time you'll be required to be naked is after you've been designated as meat for the next feast. Then you'll be confined to livestock quarters — in your case, my home — and your clothes will be taken away.
“But Katie's been designated as meat, right? And she's not naked.”
“She's out in public. Not only that, she has special privileges as a volunteer, as she told you. That's why she can be with us tonight.”
“The rest of the time she's naked?”
“Pretty much, as is proper for livestock.”
“Erotic, isn't it?” Katie said, her eyes alight. “I love every minute of it! It makes me feel like the meat animal I am!”
Carver leaned toward Ming Ming and placed his large hand over her small one. When he spoke, his voice was serene and calming, but his intensely masculine presence was almost overpowering. “Well, Ming Ming? Are you going to be satisfied to go back to your ordinary life, tending to real estate sales and making do with unsatisfying, garden-variety expectations, or would you rather grab hold of your fantasy and ride it to a spectacular climax, like Katie?”
Her voice was a little shaky, but her answer was firm. “I'm with Katie.”
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