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Part 7
Having lost out on her bid to be meat, Ming Ming was eager for her second best choice: being fucked by Carver. Or better yet, by both Carver and Roy, the latter being temporarily without a playmate. But both Carver and Roy were bent on watching the contest between Brooke and Lara. Ming Ming didn't much care which of the two won (although her recent intimate acquaintance with Brooke inclined her to favor the little blonde), but she was curious as to what the “contest” would be. So she followed the two men and, as it turned out, the rest of the dinner ensemble, as they drifted slowly into the Exercise Room.
“So what's the contest?” she asked. “What do they have to do?”
“Don't know, yet,” Carver answered, taking her hand to draw her beside him. “Could be a lot of things. Surprise is part of the fun.”
“What is this pit he mentioned?”
“It's pretty grim. It's a steel cylinder, kind of a tin can thirty inches across and sixty inches high. It's buried in the ground with a steel grating over the top and a dirt floor. If you're taller than four foot ten, you can't stand up straight in it, and no matter what your height, you can't lie down, or even sit. You can only jam yourself between the sides. There's a solid steel cover with air holes that goes on top so you're in the dark most of the time. The girl has to stay in there for thirty days or until she asks to be taken out. They drop food through the grate for her, but the only water she gets is from a bucket that gets filled when staff members piss into a funnel above ground.”
“How does she . . . you know . . . go to the bathroom?”
“That's her problem. Most do what cats do: they try to bury it in the dirt. Of course it's pitch black down there, so after a while it's impossible to dig a hole without digging into your own previous shit. It can get pretty rank.”
“How do they clean their hands?”
Carver laughed. “Well, little Miss Hygiene, the sad answer is: they can't. Lavatory facilities are not included in the lodging. Although, I guess they can always wipe their hands on their tits.”
“Yuk. I should think they'd get sick. And drinking pee!”
“Actually, they don't have to touch their meals. They're fed a liquidy mush in a bucket lowered on a rope. They can drink it like soup. Helps keep them hydrated in case they can't develop a taste for piss. Actually though, urine is perfectly harmless. In fact, most of the girls willing to risk a stretch in the pit are submissive bdsm types who have experience as slaves and being toilets for their doms. Piss isn't so bad to drink, once you get past the idea of it.”
“Double yuk! But what's to keep them down there if all they have to do is ask to get out?”
“It's what banks call the ‘early withdrawal penalty.' The price for early release is a caning: one stroke for every day remaining on their sentence, including the day they ask out. Again, the bdsm girls are used to being caned, it's their thing, so they generally opt out of the pit less than half way through. But this is no playtime caning. The pain is horrendous. They often pass out two or three times before it's over. It leaves frightful welts on their ass and the back of their thighs. They usually can't sit down or lie on their backside for at least a month. Some beg to be whipped instead, but a comparable whipping would tear them up so badly they'd only be eligible for butchering and oven roasting. The welts do heal and disappear. Eventually.”
Ming Ming's desire to be meat did not extend to an enjoyment of being trapped in a steel can or suffering severe pain, so she resolved never to get herself into a contest.
The Exercise Room was spacious and littered with equipment of every conceivable body-toning type. The reason for choosing it as the venue for this “contest” was immediately apparent. A portion of the ceiling was a grid from which a variety of gymnastic equipment was suspended, from climbing ropes to swings and rings. Hanging amidst the athletic apparatus were two block and tackles through which a hemp rope was threaded and lashed to a cleat; dangling from the business end of each block was another length of hemp fashioned into a noose.
“Oh my God!” murmured Ming Ming. “Are they going to hang those girls?”
“That would be my guess,” said Carver.
She was appalled! “That's not fair!”
“Why is it not fair?”
“They said it was a contest!” she protested.
“I guess we'll just have to wait and see,” was all he would say.
Right on time at the thirty minute point the two contestants, Brooke and Lara, entered the Exercise Room along with their handlers, the CEO and the rest of the men and their livestock from the Dining Hall. In his loud, Public Speaking voice, Jeb ordered the two girls to undress. Giggling, they stripped off their clothing, dropping it piece by piece on the floor. Ming Ming couldn't tell if they were self-conscious about their unilateral nudity or high from an excess of champagne and brandy. Jeb gestured for them to stand beside the two nooses which their handlers promptly dropped over their heads and tightened around their necks. At his next command the two girls held their hands behind their backs so the handlers could slip padlocks through the loops in their wrist cuffs and snap them shut.
Like a magician flourishing an object he's about to make vanish, Jeb held aloft two white eggs for everyone to see. “I am about to insert these fresh ovarian products recently ejected from the genital passages of two mature hens into the equivalent passages of these two young chicks.” He paused for the expected sniggers from the crowd. “The first girl to drop her egg will be sentenced to thirty days in the pit. The other girl will be the star of our February Feast with all the perks of a volunteer. And to make sure they have to concentrate on retaining them, I will dip each egg in a bowl of olive oil before installing it in its snug new home. Are you ready girls?” They both nodded, their eyes bright with excitement. “I'll begin with Brooke. When the egg is in place, I will and ask her handler, Eric, to hold it there while I insert the other in Lara, just to make sure neither girl gets an unfair advantage.”
He stepped in front of Brooke, dipped the egg in a bowl of olive oil held by one of the kitchen staff, then carefully pushed it into her vagina. “Hold it in tightly, dear,” he said, and nodded to Eric to insert a finger to prevent premature ejection. Then he oiled the second egg and pushed it into Lara's cunt. At a signal, both men removed their fingers at the same time. “All right, men,” he announced to the handlers, “man your ropes! When I say ‘hoist,' pull ‘em up to about a foot off the floor. Ready? Three, two, one, hoist !”
The two girls rose into the air simultaneously, their nervous smiles suddenly blitzed into expressions of distress. Their bodies began twisting in opposite directions, but they kept their legs pressed firmly together, the eggs safely ensconced in their most personal depository. As the minutes crept by their faces turned scarlet from the entrapment of fresh blood above the fierce grip of the nooses. But the scarlet turned gradually to purple as the blood became depleted of oxygen, its round-trip route from lungs to head increasingly pinched off by the vicious squeeze of the noose. Eventually the depravation of oxygen drove their bodies into a state of panic, their arms tugging at their restraints in a hopeless attempt to get free, their legs flailing about, trying to find a purchase on something more solid than air. The only result, of course, was an increased tightening of the noose around their small necks. Because she was taller and heavier, Lara's noose had slipped into the cruelest grip and her distress was visibly the more desperate as she thrashed in mindless frenzy, trying to draw in and expel more than a teaspoonful of air at a time.
Splat!
Ming Ming didn't see the egg drop because she was looking at Jeb at the time, wondering if he would let the girls strangle to death if an egg didn't drop first. But the question was now moot. The smashed egg lay on the floor directly beneath Lara's kicking legs, its yolk miraculously intact in the center of a puddle of milky slime. A moment later Brooke's egg popped out and smashed into a yellow and white mess beside it.
“Lower them!” Jeb called out.
Both girls descended quickly to the floor where they would have crumpled into the slimy ruins of their eggs if their handlers hadn't scooped them into their arms first.
“Congratulations Brooke!” the CEO boomed out. “You have now earned the right to be our designated meat for the February Great Feast of Atreus, with all the attendant perks! Lara, you gave a worthy effort, but unfortunately, you just earned a visit to our special facility for runaways. I'm afraid you will have to remain shackled. Tomorrow your handler will take you to our special facility where you will be confined to The Pit for thirty full days, or given thirty hard strokes with the cane, or any combination of the two you choose that equals thirty.”
The padlock holding Brooke's cuffs together was unlocked. She gave Lara a quick kiss on the cheek and said, “Nice try, hon. Now it's your turn in the can.” She laughed, snatched up her clothes and was piecing them back on as she left the Exercise Room with most of the other girls and their handlers as an entourage.
Lara didn't look dejected, but Ming Ming felt the need to console her anyway. “I'm sorry you lost,” she said, looking up into the girl's dark brown eyes. “But it was amazingly erotic watching you up there, especially toward the end when your face was all blue and you were kicking. I almost came! You were so hot!”
“Thanks! It was fun.” Lara unleashed a brilliant smile. Ming Ming noticed that her teeth were perfect.
“So now you have to spend a month in that pit thing?”
“Oh it won't be a month. I can take a good caning. If Brooke can take it, so can I.”
“What do you mean? Is she going to be caned?”
“No, no. She was in another contest last year and lost to a girl named Sarah. We ate Sarah last February. Brooke said the caning was tough but worth it.”
“ Brooke lost a contest last year?”
“Sure did.”
“And was sent to the pit?”
“Yeah, but she was only in it for a couple of days. She's . . . whadda ya call it? Claustrophobic? Anyway, she was going nuts, screaming and clawing at the walls, so they took her out before she could hurt herself. She took twenty-eight strokes instead. You ever been caned?”
“No.”
“Whipped?”
“No.”
“You don't know what you're missing. Makes you horny as hell! Whipping's easy, gets your pussy tingling real quick. But a hard caning . . . Christ! Every blow is like a hot branding iron! And I should know. See this?” She turned her back on Ming Ming and bent over, patting a deep scar on her right buttock. The scar spelled out the initials RJK. “My Master did that do me three years ago when I turned eighteen. Didn't you, hon?” She winked at the tall young man who had inserted her egg. He nodded solemnly. “It was my reward for signing up as livestock. I think all livestock should be branded, don't you?”
Ming Ming shuddered. “I'd rather not, thank you. I have a hard enough time imagining twenty-eight cane strokes.”
“Well, it did cramp Brooke's style for a couple of weeks. She was one sore puppy! She had to be on top or standing up and bending over when she fucked.”
“Poor Brooke.”
“Oh don't fret about ‘poor Brooke.' I know she looks like some fragile little blonde doll with those big innocent blue eyes and that little kissy-poo mouth, but she's one tough little pain slut. Did you know she wanted to be gutted and cooked without benefit of happy juice? The Members won't allow it, though. Too scary for the livestock. The Society wants happy meat, like Katie. She was great, wasn't she? She was enjoying every minute of it. No pain at all. That's how I want to go.”
“Me, too,” agreed Ming Ming. “So, how long do you think you'll be able to stand it in the pit?”
“I figure about ten days. I'm not as prissy as Brooke about drinking piss and standing in your own shit. And if Brooke can take twenty-eight strokes, I should be able to take twenty. Bobby gave me twelve once. It was gawdawful, but I survived. After a while you're crying and screaming so much you lose track anyway. And it's a great feeling afterwards! You've proved you can take it!”
“I can see that,” Ming Ming mumbled with more tact than truth. She had no intention of testing the assertion personally. “Well, good luck!” She put her arms around the tall, nude beauty and hugged her.
“Thanks.” Lara leaned into Ming Ming but, with her hands still locked behind her, could not return the hug.
“Come on, Babe!” her Master/handler said, gripping her arm and leading her away.
Ming Ming sagged against Carver's solid chest, somewhat overwhelmed by the day's events. The sights, aromas and tastes of Katie's feast still reverberated in her mind, magnified now by the provocative memory of the hanging girls and Lara's reflections on pain as a welcome and stimulating companion to sex. Already she was so sexually aroused that she knew Carver, even with his formidable stamina, would not be able to satisfy the raging demands of her body.
“My darling Master,” she said, no longer giving the word a facetious twist, “would you understand if I told you I'd like others to join us tonight? For sex, I mean.”
He put his hands over her breasts and kneaded them. “Super horny, are we?” he teased.
“In a word, yes. God, YES!” She clamped her hands over his and pressed them harder to her bosom. “I want to be a total slut tonight. I need to be fucked until I bleed! And then fucked some more! Not with fingers or plastic dildos, but with real live warm cocks and hot wet tongues! I want to be fucked in every position ever invented, by people I know and by total strangers! I want to be dragged around this endless mausoleum and fucked in every room! I want it sweet and dirty and gentle and rough! I want all my holes stuffed with man meat, both one at a time and all at once! I want semen to be running out of my mouth and cunt and ass. I want to be fucked all night until I pass out from a fatal overdose of ecstacy! Please, my darling, can we do that? Please!”
“Why of course,” he said. “I thought you'd never ask. Everything but the fatal part. Don't want to waste a perfectly good future meal. But what better way to conclude Katie's triumphal feast day and pay homage to her delicious memory than to indulge in a nearly fatal excess of bawdy sex? It's exactly what she'd want us to do! But first . . . let us make you appropriately indecent. Not too much, mind you; just enough to make your invitation not only credible but irresistible.”
Ming Ming, delighted at his quick acquiescence, trembled with anticipation as he pulled up the hem of her chi-pao, slid his finger inside her green thong and pulled it down to her ankles. In a trice she had stepped out of both panties and shoes. Carver picked them up and told her to hold them in her teeth, which she did. Thereupon he threw her over his left shoulder with her dress pulled up to her waist and her naked rump resting against his cheek and set off for the main lounge.
“Attention all!” he called out as he entered the room carrying his temptingly exposed prey. “To honor the beautiful Katie for the gift of her delicious meat we so recently enjoyed, and to celebrate the designation of the lovely Brooke as our next Grand Entree, the lithesome little head of livestock you see draped over my shoulder has volunteered herself as our party slut for the evening, to be used by any and all comers.” He paused for the traditional pun groans. “She thinks the perfect dessert for a party slut following a grand feast and a double hanging is orgy cream, straight up. And lots of it.”
“Hey! No Fair!” one of the girls piped up. “She already drained half the guys here before dinner. How about saving some for us?”
Carver chuckled and walked over to the complainant, a lushly built Mediterranean beauty whose dramatic eye makeup, streaked brunette hair and sultry sexuality was offset by an excessive penchant for tattoos and piercings. Garish skin decorations aside, she had the kind of body that the editors of centerfolds salivate over, a young Anna Nicole Smith kind of body whose lavish curves eventually swell to titanic proportions. In her case, of course, that was a fate she didn't have to worry about. Her sexy curves would become generous cuts of meat long before they lost their eye appeal.
“Why Michelle!” Carver said, raising his eyebrows. “I didn't realize you were having a hard time getting laid these days.”
“Well, I'm not!” she sputtered. “I just meant Ming Ming has been prowling around all afternoon like a bitch in heat . . .”
“I am a bitch in heat,” Ming Ming growled from her inverted position.
“. . . and has already fucked half the guys! I mean, you guys can only get it up so many times a day, right? And she's already had more than her share. How about you and Roy pound her for a while. I mean, she's your meat girl, and Roy's free, right?”
“I intend to do just that, and I'm sure Roy will be happy to join in. But there's nothing to stop you from setting out your own bait, Michelle, to catch all the fresh cock you can handle. Meanwhile, our little meat girl here is an equal opportunity party slut and welcomes everyone who'd like to join the orgy — males, females, Members, livestock, kitchen crew, security guards, anyone and everyone.” Carver inserted the middle finger or his right hand deep into Ming Ming's vagina, then withdrew it and tasted her juices. “Mmm! Sweet, yet tangy. The perfect after dinner aphrodisiac.” He inserted it a second time then held the wet digit out in front of Michelle's face. “Try it! You'll like it. I promise.”
The girl's first reaction was to glare at him. Then she looked down at the upside down Ming Ming who was licking her lips and winking seductively. She looked up again to see that Carver was kissing Ming Ming's perfect round bottom while spreading her legs and lowering her exposed sex to within easy reach of Michelle's tongue. Rethinking her position, Michelle put on a recalcitrant look, tossed her head to flick away strands of sexily unruly hair, and licked at the proffered pussy lips. At the touch of her warm tongue, Ming Ming moaned with pleasure and squirmed on Carver's shoulder, opening her legs still wider to encourage deeper incursions. Michelle obliged, and soon was sucking, licking and nibbling with enthusiasm. Ming Ming swung her calves behind Michelle's head to hold her in position as Carver began backing toward the door to the corridor.
“Come along, Michelle,” he said.
But Michelle had seized Ming Ming's hips as though it were a prize-winning watermelon and was tugging in the opposite direction. Looking up, her face slick with Ming Ming's excitement, she said, “Why not right here? The party slut wants an orgy and everyone's here! So let's do it here! Lay her down on the carpet, Carver!” Carver was happy to oblige, and as he did so, Michelle stripped off her own skirt and panties and tossed them aside. “Okay, here it is!” she cried. “Hot, wet cunt available to whoever wants it!” She dropped to all fours and pushed her face between Ming Ming's wide spread legs to resume her ministrations from a new and more favorable angle; at the same time she raised her bare haunches high, an invitation to whoever might chose to partake of their rich charms. The invitation was accepted and her gaping vagina filled in less than seven seconds.
It was the beginning of a very busy, highly indecorous, totally communal, utterly depraved evening, which, Ming Ming knew, was exactly the kind of tribute Katie would have loved.
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