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Part 4
Making sure that Amanda taken care of in a gracious and dignified manner out of respect for her years of faithful devotion to him is perfectly consistent with Trent's extraordinary character. As further testament to his thoughtful nature, here is an excerpt from his journal, written that same day.
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“[THURS, July 28] This has not been a happy day for me, financially or personally. It came with a double dose of grief.
“This morning I had to slaughter one of my most promising assets, an adorable nine-year-old calf named Fire (#5316). She had been developing into an unusually gorgeous redhead, really cute with a lovely face and a body that was already hinting at perfect curves and excellent frontal development. Six years from now she would have been breathtaking and brought in a small fortune as a prime bride. Unfortunately, she was also a ball of uncontrolled energy, always dashing about roughhousing and getting into things. This morning she charged through the main kitchen door without looking and ran straight into Apple who had been deep frying a batch of pussy lips, nipples and tongues and was emptying a large fryer full of hot cooking oil. The entire cannister spilled all over the child, burning her horribly. When I arrived at the scene the girl was screaming and thrashing in agony. It was obvious she would be horribly disfigured, which made her worthless as bride material, and would need medical treatment far in excess of her future value as meat, so I cut her throat on the spot to put the poor child out of her misery. Apple cooked her up for dinner that night, but there was barely enough of her to feed six. What a waste!
“I hold Fire's mother, Dawn, directly responsible for this loss. She allowed a particularly valuable property to run around recklessly, especially in a dangerous area like the kitchen. Dawn is eight months pregnant so I can't have her strung up and flogged as she deserves, but I have instructed Robin, my new Household Enforcer, to have her tied face-down over an Ottoman and caned severely, forty hard strokes on the buttocks and the back of the thighs, after which she will be locked in the cages for two weeks to think about her bad judgement and irresponsibility. Sitting on that wire mesh with her sore ass and getting pissed on day after day should give her plenty to consider.
“As if that were not traumatic enough, this afternoon I had to attend to the slaughter of Amanda, the last of my original pride of wives and my Household Enforcer these last thirty-four years. Amazingly, she was almost as lovely today as when I first laid with her all those years ago when she had just turned sixteen. It's on days like this when I regret the termination-before-fifty law. But, of course, I understand the need for it. We can't have a world where four fifths of the population is sterile, ugly old women.
“I do regret, however, that I've been too damn busy lately to attend to my older wives. I can barely keep up with impregnating the newest ones. But I did take Amanda aside for a quick little “thank you ma'am,” as they used to say, just for old times sake. I guess I'm a sentimentalist. I have to say, it was fun playing “Plant the Flag” one last time with the old girl. And she certainly did enjoy it. We did it in the “Bag Room,” the pantry where we store stuff in sacks and bags. She was wearing only a loose robe for her snuff, so it was no problem burrowing under it with my hands to get her revved up. By the time I slipped it off her shoulders she was moaning and writhing around like a worm on a hook. She offered to go down on me, but I said, “No, this one's on me,” and went down on her. I laid her out over a couple of hundred-pound sacks of flour and gave her an old-fashioned eating out like I used to when Daddy first gave her to me. The little devil had obviously been hoping for it because she'd used her licorice flavored douche, my favorite. She wrapped her legs around me to pull me in tighter, like she used to as a teenager, and dug her fingers into my hair, massaging my head like a melon while she twisted and bucked and squirted girl juice on my face. Man did she come! I licked my way up her body like in the old days to get my dick into diving position and she was humping the tip of it while I was trying to slide it all the way in. She was wild! She must have come five more times before I shot my load. When I was finished, wiped out actually, she licked me clean then thanked me for letting her “go out with a bang.” That's pure Amanda. Always looking on the bright side. I guess that's how she was able to keep all these females and calves in line year after year without going crazy. I'll sure miss her.
“When I walked her to the slaughtering deck in the kitchen, she was still stark naked (at her request) and my semen was dribbling down the inside of her thighs. She had a big smile on her face. She wanted everyone to see she'd had one last grand fuck with the old man. She handed me the little rope, turned away from me and stuck her hands out behind her back so I could tie her wrists together. Chef Apple connected the shackles to her ankles and I picked her up and held her in my arms as Apple hauled on the block and tackle to draw her feet up. She was heartbreakingly sexy hanging there upside down, helpless, her hair all pulled into a neat bun, her hands tied behind her, those wonderful tits that had suckled more than a dozen calves stretched up and out. Apple slid the catch basin under her. Amanda had asked me to do the honors — the only favor she ever asked of me, she pointed out — so I gave a little speech recounting some of her many contributions to the household, kissed her one last time and drew the scalpel across her throat. I had purchased it new and ultra sharp to make sure it would only sting a little. She only flinched a bit, then mouthed “I love you,” and gazed right at me as her blood drained out, smiling right up to the moment her eyes went blank. What a class act!
“We had a beautiful celebration banquet that night in her honor, to which my ten senior wives and my old friend Curt Hollowell were invited. Because of Amanda's age, most of her cuts were boiled, but I had Apple slice off the breasts and roast them just for Curt and me. The kitchen made enough soup from the bones and leftovers to serve the rest of the pride.
“I know it sounds silly when I have two hundred plus other wives, especially since I'd kind of neglected Amanda in recent years, but the household seems to have a gaping hole in it now that she's gone. The other wives are much younger — in fact, the oldest now is thirty-five thanks to a welcome uptick in the used bride market — and some are very beautiful, like Robin who's twenty-nine. But there will never be another Amanda. She was unique.”
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