The Society of Atreus

Part 5

When Ming Ming had blinked the dazzle out of her eyes, she saw that they were in a circular drive, pulled up in front of a sprawling building of stone and stucco. It was fronted by a colossal portico supported by a forest of Corinthian pillars. A multitude of narrow, marble-lined windows seemed more suited to the battlements of a medieval fortress than a desert hotel. The place had all the homey ambiance of a huge public library. As Carver ushered her from the black tarmac of the driveway — hot even through the souls of her three-inch heels — to the cooler white tiles under the portico, she caught glimpses of other buildings in the distance and what appeared to be the starting tee for a green golf course in the midst of a brown wasteland. She guessed this to be some kind of ostentatious, out-of-the-way resort for the non-PC rich.

Inside there was a spider web of corridors lined with countless mahogany doors. Some of the doors stood open to reveal spacious, cooly lighted and opulently furnished rooms featuring decorative themes of an overtly sexual nature, including mirrors on every conceivable surface. A few, she noticed, were occupied by couples in the throes of early morning amour, apparently unconcerned that they were in full view. Just two months ago Ming Ming would have been shocked to see sex acts performed in full view of anyone who happened to walk by. Now the sight of their uninhibited intimacies only made her horny, half hoping that Carver would also steer her into one of the lewdly appointed rooms.

Instead, he took her hand and led her through the building and out the other side to an enormous flagstone courtyard centered by a large pool. Signs were prominently displayed forbidding any kind of wearing apparel in the pool and from what she could see above the four-foot water line, the two couples playing water volleyball appeared appropriately nude.

The bare-breasted players reminded her of the many times she had gone to nudist sites on the web in her adolescent years and had imagined herself running and frolicking naked among equally naked boys, their intriguing male things hanging right out there in plain view, her own blossoming female parts drawing their prurient attention. Her fascination with the concept of public nudity had continued beyond her school years, yet in spite of the plethora of nude beaches and nudist resorts in California and adjacent states, she had never summoned the courage to visit one. Several dates had taken her to all-nude strip clubs, beginning on her eighteenth birthday, where she would become intensely aroused as she fantasized herself up there on the runway baring it all for a roomful of randy men; or better still, dancing at a table, writhing seductively for a big spender, her hardened nipples a tempting inch away from his moist lips, yet untouchable. But later in the night, after her date had taken exhaustive advantage of her hyped-up libido, her good-girl inhibitions would kick back in and her dreams of exotic dancing would evaporate with her vaginal juices. Now, thinking of her current and final vocation, she smiled at the irony: someday soon she would not only be up close, personal and naked with some very big spenders, but they would get a really good taste of her nipples.

As Ming Ming and Carver continued past the pool and its noisy occupants, she noticed that colorful gardens abutted the courtyard on both sides. The gardens were bursting with neatly groomed vegetation totally alien to the desert environment she had seen from the driveway. Wherever this place was — which she figured could be anywhere within Nevada and parts of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado (unless their handlers had been really devious and circled back to California) — there was certainly no handy local source for the water required to keep this pool filled and sustain these luxuriant gardens and a golf course. It had to be piped in from a distant river. That fact alone bespoke money. But so did every aspect of the Atreus operation, from their elaborate security system of hi-tech GPS death cuffs and on-demand “collection agents” to the maintenance of two ostentatious “facilities,” not to mention the cost of transporting “livestock” by devious routes from all over the country.

She asked aloud if the grounds crew that took care of this place knew what went on here.

“They know nothing of this,” Carver answered. “What usually goes on here is perfectly legit. It's a clothing-optional resort that draws clientele from all over the world. We simply don't book any outside guests for a three week period surrounding one of these Society events and send all the regular staff away for a company-wide vacation.”

“What about the smaller banquets you mentioned? For the runaways.”

“Same thing. Being an altruistic corporation that believes in sharing the wealth with its hard-working employees, we issue bonus vacations from time to time.”

“Don't you find it difficult to find enough girls to replace the livestock you cook?”

“Not at all. You'd be surprised how many girls are secretly turned on by the idea of being meat. You just have to know where to look. Then there are the girls who have developed a really expensive drug habit and will agree to anything when offered a huge windfall of cash, thinking they can somehow sneak away when it's time to pay the piper. We find a lot of those in strip joints and brothels and working the streets. They go through hell in the holding pens while we flush their poisons of choice out of their systems. We'll be cooking up one of those in a couple of months for our next special banquet.”

“May I go?”

“If you wish. But it won't be pretty, like today.”

“Did she try to run away?”

“Sure did.”

“So will they punish her right there in front of us, or do they do that before we get there?”

“Both. The accommodations for runaways are not — shall we say — five star. By the time we take them out of it, they're usually eager to finish the process. But, of course, that's when they get to the really painful part. You can watch it all, if you like, but you don't have to. It's usually pretty grim. But the meat and the dinner will be great, as always.” He pointed straight ahead. “See that roped-off area ahead, under the big awning? That's the roasting pit. That's where Katie will be cooked.”

As they approached the rope Ming Ming watched with curiosity as two men in white kitchen aprons worked around a raised concrete fire-pit, raking the coals and adding kindling. “What are they doing?” she asked.

“Raising the temperature of the coals to the correct level for spit roasting a whole live girl.”

Even from where she stood, Ming Ming could feel waves of heat. “Wow! That's where they're going to put Katie while she's still alive?”

“That's what she wanted. She won't suffer, I promise.”

At that point there was a tinkling sound like a choir of wind chimes.

“Ah! Katie is about to be presented,” Carver said. Let's go!”

The volleyball players were scrambling out of the pool and wrapping themselves in towels. Other couples were streaming out of the main house, a few in terrycloth robes. A few more couples materialized from the gardens. They formed into a straight line beginning at a red door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” and stretching toward the pool. Carver and Ming Ming joined the line.

A few moments later the door opened. A woman in a chef's hat emerged with Katie following immediately behind. The Chef held one end of a chain leash attached to a black leather collar around Katie's throat. Katie moved regally, or as regally as she could with her hands shackled behind her back and a red ball gag strapped into her mouth. The first thing Ming Ming noticed was the brilliant smile lighting her eyes. The second thing she noticed was that she was no longer wearing the black wrist and ankle cuffs. She was shackled with ordinary handcuffs.

Ming Ming whispered to Carver. “I thought you said these cuffs couldn't be removed.”

He whispered back, “I said you can't remove them, and I can't. There's a remote control that unlocks them, like a TV remote; but it takes three secret codes from three different Society officers to activate it.”

Aside from the collar and handcuffs, Katie was completely naked, a condition made all the more dramatic because she was the only one present in that condition. This, Ming Ming suspected, explained the sudden modesty of the volleyball players and the bedroom exhibitionists: they were giving Katie her moment of uncontested visual glory.

And glorious she was! She walked with her head high, her freckled skin shining in the hot mid-day sun (no doubt from a recent scrubbing), winking flirtatiously at all the men. The one off note for Ming Ming was that her wonderfully flamboyant red hair was bound into a tight bun at the back of her head.

“Why have they put her hair into that awful bun?” she whispered to Carver.

“Because she didn't want to be shaved bald,” he whispered back. “They have to protect it from the heat. You'll see.”

“Does everyone get to choose how they'll be cooked?”

“Only the volunteers. Another perk.”

The Chef led Katie to a point midway between the pool and the roasting pit and stopped. “Stand here and spread your legs!” she ordered. Katie quickly obeyed. The Chef dropped her end of the leash and stepped back, leaving Katie in a parade rest stance. The Members and girls immediately crowded in and began poking and feeling her all over.

“What are they doing?” Ming Ming asked with concern.

“It's just another part of the presentation ritual.” Carver explained calmly. “Everyone gets to inspect the meat on the living animal. For the most part that boils down to groping her tits and cunt. But it's a routine all the livestock goes through prior to slaughter. Since Katie's a volunteer, she gets to stand there unattended rather than chained to a post. You'll notice she's not complaining no matter how hard these bozos pinch her nipples and labia. She's a class act! Would you like to give her a final squeeze?”

“Oh, yes! May I?”

“Certainly.”

He pushed Ming Ming gently ahead of him, threading her through the milling crowd until they were right behind a man crushing Katie's breasts alternately until the Chef yelled, “Hey, take it easy there! Don't bruise the meat!” The man gave the nipples a last tweak and moved away.

Ming Ming slipped in behind him. “Hi Kiddo,” she said.

Katie, unable to speak through the ball gag, nodded.

“Are you scared?”

Katie nodded vigorously.

Ming Ming wiped away some drool from the corners of Katie's mouth with the back of her fingers. “Are you happy?”

Katie nodded more vigorously and winked.

On an impulse, Ming Ming put her right hand over Katie's heart. It was hammering ferociously. The girl was terrified! Ming Ming suddenly threw her arms around her friend and hugged her, murmuring in her ear, “You look fantastic, Katie! You were right: this is going to be amazing! So enjoy it, sweetie. Remember, you're my role model. I'll be thinking of you when it's my turn.” She kissed both corners of Katie's mouth and gave her a final pat on the cheek while Katie winced in pain as a man behind her tried to insert four fingers into her vagina.

Shortly after that, the Chef reconnected the leash and led Katie over to a stainless steel table that had been set up near the roasting pit. Katie's leash was locked to a table leg and her handcuffs removed. She was helped up on to the table and laid down face up without any other restraints. Most of the crowd, having seen this before, dispersed for other amusements, but Ming Ming and Carver stayed to watch the next stage of her preparation. Roy joined them.

“Beautiful, isn't she?” Roy offered. The others nodded. He turned to Ming Ming. “They'll start by applying the first coat of basting while she can still fully enjoy the sensation. It would be easier, of course, to do that a bit later, but this is one of her perks as a volunteer roast. They use melted butter seasoned with the Chef's secret combination of oils and spices and rub it in like a massage. Once she's over the fire they'll use brushes to baste her.”

The Head Chef and two of her assistants proceeded to rub the seasoned butter into nearly every square inch of Katie's body — her face, limbs, hands, feet, breasts and belly — including her vulva and vagina. Then they turned her over and did the same for her back side. Ming Ming noticed that Katie's eyes were closed during the entire process. She was relaxed and smiling, apparently enjoying the ministrations. When she had been thoroughly basted and while she was still face down on the table, the Head Chef drew a syringe out of a drawer in the table, bent over and said something in her ear. Katie responded by reaching down on both sides of the table, grabbing the legs and holding on tightly.

“What's she doing?” Ming Ming asked.

Roy answered. “She's about to get her happy juice, as the girls call it.”

“What's that?”

“It's what makes live roasting a pleasant experience rather than agony. But it hurts a little when the needle goes into the spinal column and she doesn't want to move and spoil the Chef's aim. This is the only painful part and she doesn't want to prolong it.”

The Chef placed the point of the needle at the top of Katie's spine near the base of her skull and pushed it in. Katie's legs and arms twitched but she managed to hold her upper body still as the Chef slowly pushed the plunger down until the syringe was emptied of its contents. She withdrew the needle and Katie relaxed. They then flipped her over and removed the ball gag. Katie's eyes were closed but her face registered a kind of dreamy peacefulness.

The Chef reached into the drawer again, this time coming up with a scalpel. She stared at her wrist watch for several seconds (waiting for the serum to take full effect, Ming Ming assumed) then plunged the blade into Katie's belly about three inches above the navel. The Chef studied Katie's face for a reaction. Nothing. Not even a twitch this time. Satisfied, she drew the blade downward through Katie's flesh, parting both skin and abdominal muscle to a point just short of the mons Veneris. Blood gushed out through the incision, but Katie remained serene. The Chef's assistants, one on each side, pushed their fingers through the gash and pulled the wound wide open, exposing the ropy loops of Katie's viscera. As they held the skin open, the Chef plunged both her hands into the belly, dug under the red and white tangle and lifted a great mass of it out of the wound. Katie's eyes flew open.

Ming Ming clutched Carver's hand fiercely and fought off a light-headed feeling. “Are you sure she can't feel this?” she asked.

“Oh, she feels something, all right,” Carver said, returning the squeeze of her hand, “but it's not pain. See! She's looking this way and smiling.”

Sure enough, Katie had turned her head slightly and was looking directly at Ming Ming. The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a kind of silly and flaccid grin. She appeared to be in a foggy stupor, but not in pain.

“Is she drunk? Or paralyzed?” Ming Ming asked, wondering at Katie's sluggish movements and lack of reaction to the gory disembowelment process going on in her abdomen.

“A little of both, I think,” Roy answered.

Carver nodded agreement and added, “She's still breathing normally and I've seen a little movement of her fingers and feet, so she's not completely paralyzed; and from what the chefs report, the girls all claim at this point that what they're feeling is actually pleasurable in some way.”

“If they stopped right now, would she recover?”

“No. The serum pretty much wrecks the nervous system. Besides, she doesn't have a digestive system any more, or several other vital organs. She wouldn't survive more than a day, and even for that length of time she'd be a vegetable.”

Even as he spoke, the last of her intestines went into a waste receptacle, followed by her stomach, bladder, liver and several other organs Ming Ming couldn't identify. As the Chef sliced them free of her body, a third assistant used a kind of soldering iron to stanch the wounds.

“They leave the uterus, ovaries and vaginal canal intact,” Carver told her, “and, of course the heart and lungs. Everything else comes out.”

“Can she talk?” Ming Ming had noticed that Katie's mouth was slack and saliva drooled from one corner.

“No. She doesn't have enough control of her throat muscles at this point. She spoke her last back there in the car before Roy gagged her. The Society isn't interested in anything our livestock has to say once they're here for processing.”

Ming Ming felt conflicted about that. Her old self thought it wasn't right for a girl who had volunteered to be cooked to be refused a chance to bid her friends goodbye. But her new self felt an erotic thrill at the added reminder that she was now only meat in live storage with no rights whatsoever.

A smaller stainless steel table was being rolled up alongside Katie's table. It was exactly the same height, but only half the length. The two assistants, one gripping Katie's upper arms and the other her ankles, slid her well-oiled body from the longer table to the shorter. It was only long enough to support her body from her shoulders to the center of her rump. The assistants held up her head and legs. Meanwhile, two more assistants arrived from the kitchen, one of them carrying a long metal pole. With a shudder Ming Ming realized this was the spit with which Katie would be skewered. It looked to be about ten feet long and two inches in diameter, pointed at one end. That end was riddled with holes to about half way back. A short cross bar intersected the shaft about four feet from the blunt end.

The Head Chef rolled the larger table out of the way while two of the assistants took positions on either side of Katie, holding her legs up by the thighs, letting her lower legs dangle free. They spread her knees apart as far as her hips would allow while the fourth assistant lowered the spit to a horizontal position and aimed its point at Katie's fully exposed crotch. Using her hand, the Chef applied a generous coating of seasoned oil to the first few feet of the spit and deep into Katie's vagina. Then, while spreading Katie's glistening pink labia wide open with the fingers of her left hand, she guided the point of the shaft into the gaping vagina with her right. With the spit successfully planted and the assistant pushing it deeper, the Chef switched her attention to the empty abdominal cavity, plunging her right hand through the incision.

Ming Ming couldn't see what she was doing in there but soon more than a foot of the spit had disappeared inside Katie, far more than any woman's vaginal canal could handle. She made a quick check of Katie's face. She was still smiling contentedly, the way she did after an especially rapturous orgasm, her head cradled comfortably in the assistant's hands.

The queasiness Ming Ming had felt during the evisceration phase of Katie's preparation had completely vanished. She now found herself enthralled, gripped by a growing sense of euphoria radiating from the core of her sex to the tips of her toes and fingers. She could almost feel the sensual cold steel of the spit inside her own love tunnel, burrowing its way into her womb and punching through the other side, boring ever deeper into her body. She watched spellbound as Carver, seeing she was fascinated and sensing the heat of her arousal, offered commentary on what was happening.

“The Chef is making sure the spit doesn't puncture Katie's heart or lungs. She want's to ensure she'll still be alive for her roasting as she wanted. She's real good at this. Lots of experience.”

“How much?”

“Oh, she's probably cooked at least twenty-five or thirty girls as live roasts. She knows just how to guide the spit safely just by feel. Watch now, the spit should be just about ready to enter the trachea. Then they have to work fast so she doesn't suffocate, but they have to be careful not to break her teeth.”

As he spoke, Katie began to jerk and buck, her eyes showing a kind of lethargic panic. She was trying to breathe. The assistant holding her head let it drop back and down, opening her mouth. A moment later the bloody point of the spit emerged and ran out quickly to a distance of about two feet. Katie immediately settled down, breathing normally again.

“The spit is hollow,” Carver explained. “The holes allow air into her lungs. That will be the last discomfort for her. The rest will be sheer pleasure, right up to the end.”

“Even when she's over the fire?”

“Especially then. She won't feel heat as pain. Every girl I've ever asked while she's roasting has confirmed that it's like a gigantic, non-stop orgasm.”

“But how can they talk to you with that spit filling their mouth?”

“Well, they can't, of course. But they can signal with eye blinks, or with their fingers. For a while, at least.”

“My God! No wonder she couldn't wait. I'm beginning to feel the same way.”

Carver grinned at her. “That you can't wait? Maybe you won't have to.”

The assistants at the foot end of the table had stretched Katie's legs out along the spit and rested her calves on the cross bar. They bound her legs to the shaft and cross bar with wire. Another wire was wrapped around just above her knees to keep her legs from bending.

One of the assistants had repaired to the kitchen and was now returning with a large tub filled with something that gave off the aroma of heady spices. Ming Ming deduced that it was stuffing and, indeed, the Head Chef began immediately to pack it into Katie's empty abdominal cavity. As she did so the group of observers began to swell, apparently drawn by the delicious scent. By the time it had all been stuffed into the smiling Katie, sculpted to replicate her normal spectacular figure and sewn up, all eight Escorts and the seven remaining livestock girls were on hand to observe the formal start of the roast.

Katie was flipped over on to her belly, her hands drawn behind her and her arms wired together. An aluminum foil cap was placed over her hair and tacked on with sutures in six places. That task completed, two of the assistants, one at each end of the spit, picked her up and set the spit on a set of trestles so the blood could be washed off and more basting applied with a brush. Then they picked up the spit again, one assistant at each end, and began parading Katie around the courtyard to the cheers and applause of the observers. She was a breathtaking sight stretched out along her spit, her head thrust up as she bit down on the hard shaft, fingers flexing, toes wiggling, eyes darting about, taking in her audience. Ming Ming wanted badly to run up to her and tell her how incredibly sexy she looked, but Carver and Roy held her back. “Time for that when they put her in place,” they told her.

After one circuit around the courtyard, they did just that. The ends of the spit were set into brackets at each end of the roasting pit. A sprocket wheel was quickly slipped on to the blunt end of the shaft, locked in place and connected by a chain belt to a small motor. At the flip of a switch the spit and its beautiful female occupant began to rotate slowly over the hot coals and low fire.

Ming Ming watched in fascination as Katie's voluptuous body writhed slightly with each rotation, her full breasts dropping tautly forward and smoothing back again as she turned, her lips working on the metal skewer as though sucking on it. Within minutes the air was filled with the luscious fragrance of roasting flesh. Ming was so moved by the sight that she felt herself coming and had to close her eyes and clench her fists tightly to ride it out without making a scene.

But her sexual distress had not escaped Carver's notice. He came up behind her, placing his hands over both her breasts, massaging her taut nipples and whispering, “You don't have to hide your passion here, Ming Ming. You're now in a world where the rules are all different. We don't hide sex here because that's what we're all made for. Everything else is just stuff to keep us alive and occupied between fucks. If we have a grand moral duty as a species, it's the same one every mammalian species has: to fuck up a storm, and if that results in babies, raise them to the point where they can fuck other people's babies. Any other reason given for existence is pure intellectual conceit and superstitious bullshit. If you enjoy being naked and having sex, do it right out in the open and let everyone share in your joy. Who's it hurting? If you enjoy eating fresh roasted girl meat, or offering yourself to be roasted, do it! Enjoy your passions with others who share them.” His fingers slipped under her dress, over her bare mons and into her thoroughly wet grotto. “Let's go speak to Katie, then test one of those sumptuous beds inside.”

Ming Ming, shivering with pent up tension, moved up close to the rotating Katie, shrinking a little from the heat of the pit, but studying her eyes. Katie was wriggling on the shaft as much as her wire bonds would allow, her fingers and toes flexing constantly. She seemed to be trying to chew on the shaft protruding from her mouth. Her eyelids kept drooping, her eyes rolling up, then they would snap open and she'd focus on Ming Ming until the rotisserie rolled her away again.

“Can you hear me, sweetie?” Ming Ming asked. “If you can, blink once.”

On her next roll around Katie gave her a long, single blink.

“Are you in pain? One blink for Yes , two for No .”

Katie was obviously having a hard time concentrating between turns but she managed another long blink.

“Carver says the pain is like a long, grand orgasm. Is that true? One blink if it is. Two if it's not.”

Katie was breathing in short gasps and her eyes were rolling, but she closed her eyelids firmly for a full three seconds, then opened them. With a great effort she kept her eyes squarely on Ming Ming as she rolled away downwards towards the fire pit. Ming Ming noticed that Katie's milky skin had turned a bright red, the freckles fading into the blush. The heat was beginning to be painful for Ming Ming as well, but she had to ask one last question of her dying friend. “Are you sorry you did this, Katie? That you agreed to become meat?”

As she rolled over the top of the turn, Katie closed her eyes for two long seconds, then a second time for two more seconds, then opened them to make sure Ming Ming was clear that she was not the least sorry.

Ming Ming stepped back away from the heat as the Chef moved in to baste the roasting girl with another coat of seasoned butter. She stayed nearby clinging to Carver's arm watching her friend turning over the fire, her heart filled with both envy and sadness.

About twenty minutes later Katie's body stopped writhing on its spit. Her fingers and toes became still. Her breast stopped heaving. Her eyelids stopped twitching and remained at half mast, the unfocused eyes turning whiter with each pass over the fire.

Carver kissed Ming Ming's ear and murmured, “Her lights are out, sweetheart. They'll be turning up the heat now. In about four and a half hours she'll be ready for her big moment. Let's leave her to cook.”