The Society of Atreus

by C. A. Smith ©2005

Part 1

It all began with certain drawings.

She had come across them on the internet one night almost two years ago when she felt a little lonely, a little horny. She was just bopping around, looking for something that would stir up a bit of a tingle in that bodily zone that was her chief source of solace, bliss and ecstasy. Looking for something a little naughty. Something a little outrageous. She'd found it all right! First the drawings, then stories to go with them. It was the beginning of a fantasy life that never failed to send her straight through solace and bliss right on up to ecstacy!

A life which she kept carefully locked in a closet.

People would think she was crazy if they knew. Maybe she was. But she didn't care, as long as she could keep it to herself. Her own secret thrill. In every other respect she looked and acted perfectly ordinary. Nobody knew.

What they saw was a beautiful young woman of Chinese extraction named Ming Ming Xo who sold real estate for Abacus Realtors in the L.A. area and dated a bevy of up-and-coming young men of every racial and ethnic persuasion. What clueless people saw was an elegant body honed to spectacular shapeliness by years of competitive skating and aerobic exercise, capped by a short, lustrous mop of jet black hair. Few men could look upon her delicate face without marveling at its perfection. To gaze too long into her black eyes was to lose your soul. Few woman could appraise her flawless golden complexion without envy. Droves of young men fell in love with her because they could not resist her gentle personality, captivating intelligence and — perhaps most of all — her sensual feminine magnetism.

She made sure none of them discovered her dark secret, although she did subject the best prospects to a sly test. If some new good-looking guy managed to pass her first and second date criteria (decent restaurants, interesting conversation, appropriate attention to her, respectful behavior, and a sense of humor) she would invite him up to her apartment for “a drink.” She would have left some copies of those drawings in plain view on the coffee table where he could see them as he waited for her to return from the kitchen with the drinks. If he made no mention of them when she returned, or was inspecting them with a disgusted look on his face, she would immediately classify him as a “temp.” Good for the occasional overnight, but not compatible for anything serious. If, on the other hand, he was examining the pictures with apparent interest and said something like, “What's this?!” she would answer, “An artist named Dolcett drew that. What do you think of it?” His answer would determine whether he, too, would be relegated to the temp list. So far, after nearly two years, she'd enjoyed many a good romp but had found no one who shared her “weird” interest.

Then on two warm June evenings three years ago, everything changed.

The first evening — a Monday following a so-so weekend in Vegas with a contractor who thought he could impress Ming Ming by letting her lose a truckload of his money — she had logged on to the internet, gone to her favorite reading site and found a new story centered around her secret fantasy. The excitement she should have felt with her clueless contractor in Vegas rushed on her full bore as she read the futuristic tale of a sixteen year old girl named Ara. In the story Ara was an only child living in a time when the need for population control and scarcity of food had led to laws requiring that every other child born to any woman, starting with the first, must be registered with the government as meat, to be called up at age sixteen for slaughter and processing. As a first-born child herself, Ming Ming empathized with and, perversely, envied the doomed Ara. When she got to the part where the girl was slaughtered and butchered, she had the most extreme orgasm she'd ever experienced. She had immediately sent off an e-mail to the author describing her response to the story and thanking him for contributing it.

The next evening, Tuesday, Ming Ming received an e-mail from the author inviting her to join him on IM. She wasted no time doing so. His address name was Atreus.

MING: Your story was wonderful! I still get shivers thinking about it.

ATREUS: Ty. It's my favorite theme.

MING: Is that your real name? Atreus?

ATREUS: No. It's the name of a Greek who was pissed off at his brother Thyestes because Thyestes had screwed Atreus' wife. For revenge he killed Thyestes' children, cooked them up and tricked Thyestes into eating them for dinner.

MING: Wow! I'd have liked to have been there!

ATREUS: At the table?

MING: ON the table.

ATREUS: Even better! So you enjoy stories of cannibalism?

MING: The thought of being turned into meat makes me wet!

ATREUS: LOL! You're my kind of girl!

Every night after that Ming Ming logged on to her IM and every night Atreus would be on hand for more conversation. During the day she should could barely concentrate on her work for thinking about the subject that dominated their discussions. Every night she wolfed down her frozen Weight Watchers meal so she could log on again. Then, after about a week, the conversations took a fateful turn.

MING: Wouldn't it be a kick if there really were secret clubs or organizations where people get cooked and eaten?

ATREUS: But there are. How do you suppose I'm able to describe the flavors of various body parts so vividly?

MING: What do you mean?

ATREUS: I mean such groups do exist.

MING: You've met people who belong to actual cannibal groups?

ATREUS: Absolutely. In fact, I belong to one.

MING: No way!

ATREUS: Does that shock you?

MING: Not at all. But I find it rather hard to believe.

ATREUS: It's a fact. You interested?

MING: Of course I'm interested. If it's TRUE.

ATREUS: I assure you it is true. The group I belong to is called the Society of Atreus and meets at least twice a year, in February and August. That's when we cook and consume one of our female members in what we call the Great Feast of Atreus.

MING: The society is named after you?

ATREUS: LOL. No. I took the name of the Society for my code name as an author. It's a secret society so only the members know the relevance of the name. And now you, of course.

MING: How many members are there?

ATREUS: At the moment about twenty men and an equal number of girls. They come from all over the US, but usually only six to eight couples attend any given feast.

MING: Can anyone join?

ATREUS: Anyone we trust. But females can't be over thirty-nine.

MING: Why not?

ATREUS: Because eventually they'll be eaten.

MING: So?

ATREUS: Older women are too tough and stringy.

MING: What about the men?

ATREUS: We don't eat men. They're ALWAYS too tough and stringy. LOL

MING: I'm supposed to believe all this?

ATREUS: It's absolutely true!

MING: I'm going to be really pissed if you're yanking my chain!!!

ATREUS: And I wouldn't blame you. But seeing is believing. Care to see for yourself?

(Ming Ming froze. Was this real? Her heart was pounding so hard her breath came out in little gasps.)

ATREUS: Why the hesitation? Cold feet? Maybe YOU”RE the one yanking on chains. Maybe YOU'RE the fraud.

MING: No No! I'm just kinda stunned. I'm caught halfway between wanting to believe you and thinking it can't be.

ATREUS: Don't blame you. We have to bring in at least two new female members a year, for obvious reasons, and most of the girls we invite feel the same way at first. Which reminds me: I'm assuming you ARE female. Are you?

MING: LOL. Yes.

ATREUS: How old?

MING: 23.

ATREUS: Vitals? Be honest, now!

MING: 5'4. 34B x 24 x 35. 121 lbs. Chin-length black hair, dark brown eyes. I'm Chinese-American. My folks are from Beijing. I'm not as athletic as I used to be, but I'm still firm where it counts (LOL). I have lots of guys hitting on me all the time so I must be fairly attractive. Will that do?

ATREUS: You sound ideal!

MING: In your story they eat girls at 16. Maybe I'm too old and tough.

ATREUS: Actually, you're at the ideal age. In my story the concern was to balance the quality and quantity of the meat while minimizing the cost of raising it. Actually, the ideal age for girl-meat ranges from 16 to 25. Calves (girls under 18) have very tender meat, but we make it a point not to recruit minors because it's too chancy. Of course, if the young daughter of a Member wants to volunteer as livestock (and some do), we'll accept her because that's safe.

MING: I getting very wet here! I hope YOU'RE being honest!

ATREUS: I promise you, it's all true. Look, let's simplify things. I'm in San Francisco. Where are you?

MING: L.A.

ATREUS: Not that far. How about we get together, you and I and another couple from the Society. You name the place. Somewhere in LA where you'll feel safe. A restaurant maybe with booths where we can all talk without an audience.

MING: A couple?

ATREUS: One of our Members and his current girl.

MING: That'd be OK, I guess.

ATREUS: No guessing! If you're a wuss, check out now. But if this is really your fantasy, now is your opportunity to meet others who are actually living it. So make a decision!

MING: OK OK. I guess meeting with two guys and a girl in a restaurant won't be any more risky than meeting my clients in empty houses. (I'm a realtor.)

ATREUS: A whole lot less, actually. Where?

MING: I know a nice place that's always crowded, but they have little rooms where we can talk privately. It's called Casa Domingo, on Aurora Street.

ATREUS: Perfect. When?

MING: My schedule is flexible. But how will I know that you and your friends are not all in on a gag at my expense?

ATREUS: You won't. Seeing is believing, but until you actually attend a Great Feast as my guest you won't be convinced. However, this will be a start. It's just so you can see who we are, what we're like and whether you can be comfortable with us. We're basically normal people who not only share your fantasy but act on it.

MING: . . . and who might eat me later on.

ATREUS: Who WILL eat you later on if you want to live out your fantasy. Isn't that what turns you on? The prospect of being meat at a banquet?

MING: Sounds insane, but yes! YES, YES, YES!

ATREUS: Then don't lose heart. Your most exciting dream is about to become real!

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.”

Part 3

For Ming Ming the signing ceremony was an almost ethereal experience. All four of them held hands around the table as she spoke aloud the words of the contract that had been placed before her, that would strip away her old identity and bind her to a new, irreversible and wildly exciting fate.

“I, Ming Ming Xo , of my own free will, hereby convey my body and person to The Society of Atreus as its wholly owned property for use as meat at any time it so designates. I renounce all my former rights as a free human being and, as property of the Society, acknowledge that I am now entirely subject to any and all rules, orders and penalties it deems fit to impose. ”

Katie squeezed Ming Ming's hand and seemed to glow with excitement as she finished reading. With her own stomach aflutter, Ming Ming picked up the pen Carver placed beside her hand and signed the document. He then handed her a razor blade and instructed her to cut her thumb and impress her thumbprint in blood on top of her signature. She did. The final part of the ceremony was a round robin of ritual kisses. She felt gripped in a swirl of competing emotions, a wild admixture of dread and exhilaration.

“You now belong to the Society,” Carver declared. “You are, in a word, livestock, and I have been appointed as your handler whom you must obey. Does that make you nervous?”

“Not at all,” she lied. “Should it?”

“Not yet. But I may order you to do things that you'd rather not do. How will you respond?”

“What kind of things?”

“Doesn't matter. You're just livestock. You've renounced all rights as a free person. How will you respond to an order from your appointed handler?”

She sighed. “I'll obey.”

“Right answer. I'll try not to make your life difficult, but I will expect obedience.”

“You're not going to make me . . . do stuff, are you?”

“Stuff?”

“I think she means sex,” suggested Katie with a lascivious smile.

Ming Ming's face grew hot. “No I didn't! I mean, maybe, but not just that.”

Carver laughed heartily. “Sex will remain an option for you, my dear. I had more practical things in mind. For instance, now that you're our property, it will be necessary for me to check you out and make sure you are who you say you are and live where you say you live. So . . . when we finish our dessert, we'll leave here and regroup at your place. I trust you have no objection to that.”

“No. Of course not. I'm an obedient livestock girl, right? Besides, I am who I say I am. I'm wondering something, though. What happens if a girl . . . not me, but some other girl . . . tries to back out?”

“See that word ‘penalties'? The penalty for attempted escape is death.”

“But if she's gonna die as meat anyway, how is that a penalty?”

“Dying as meat can be quick and painless, or even slow and painless. Dying as punishment is very different.”

“Okay, but what if she just skips town and disappears?”

“She can skip town, but she can't disappear. Listen to me, Ming Ming; don't even think in those terms. Why would you have come this far and signed that agreement, if deep down you weren't yearning to be converted to meat? This is your destiny, Ming Ming. Your body and psyche are crying out for it. Nothing else can truly satisfy and thrill you.”

“Yeah, you're right,” she found herself saying.

Later that evening, when all four Members of the Society of Atreus had gathered in the residence of its newest head of livestock, Carver and Roy began a thorough search, inspecting every cabinet, closet, piece of furniture, drape, cushion, wall, even the wall sockets.

“They're looking for bugs, hon,” Katie explained. “They'll be checking you out, too,” she giggled. “Hope you're not wired.”

“What? Are they gonna frisk me?”

Katie giggled harder. “At least!”

When the two men began examining Ming Ming's files and personal papers in the small room that served as her office, she started to protest; but Katie gently restrained her, pulling her down on the sofa next to her.

“They have to look at everything, hon,” she said in a soothing tone. “Remember that agreement you just read to us, then signed and stamped with your own blood? You've got to start thinking of yourself as property. This is what it's like. It's deliciously demeaning!”

Ming Ming nodded. “You're right, I guess. It does float my boat. It's exciting in a strange way. Almost like having to get naked in front of an audience on TV.”

“Are you thinking of that Fear Factor show a few years back?” Katie asked. Ming Ming nodded sheepishly and they both laughed. “Well, get set for a personalized rerun!”

“What do you mean?”

As if on cue, Carver appeared in front of her and said, “Okay, Ming Ming, it's time for a personal inspection. Stand up and disrobe.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Stand up and take off your clothes. We need to inspect you.”

“Right here? In front of everyone?”

“Right now! Do it!”

Ming Ming was stunned. “I . . . I . . .” She was blushing again, hotly!

Katie jumped up. “Don't be silly, Ming!” Katie pulled her dress up over her head, flinging it onto the corner of the sofa. Ming Ming was shocked to see that she had been wearing nothing beneath the slinky dress. She was also impressed by the magnificent bosom Katie thrust out proudly as she spun. Nor could she fail to notice that Katie had shaved herself as clean as a prepubescent girl. A little gold ring dangled sexily from one of her pussy lips. “See how easy it is?” Katie was saying. “They just want to make sure you're not hiding something. Remember girl, you're just meat on the hoof now and one day you'll be paraded naked through a room full of banqueters about to dine on you. So what do you care? Time to get used to it.”

Ming Ming's three companions watched her expectantly, Katie's face aglow with deviltry, the two men with expressions that spoke only of rapidly expiring patience. She knew it was time to begin acting out her fantasy. Livestock were expected to obey their handlers. Embarrassment and humiliation were part of the thrill, after all, she told herself. If the Fear Factor contestants could get naked on national TV in an auditorium full of titillated strangers, she could certainly manage it in front of a nude woman and two men who had seen it all many times.

She used her toes to push off her heels, then rose gracefully to her bare feet. She was wearing her favorite dress, the one she wore on third dates when her plan was to end the evening with her clothes on the floor under his. It was a high-neck, knee-length, jade green, silk chi-pao slit up to the top of her thigh and held together by a series of frogs curving in an arc up the front. Not only did the clingy silk with its dragon motif show off her eye-catching curves and exotic ethnicity, but the frogs — unbuttoned slowly from the top — presented an incredibly sensual means of getting naked, whether she did it while exciting her date, or he did it while seducing her. Now, pushing aside her embarrassment, she went into her slow tease mode, releasing the top frog first and working her way down all six in slow motion, all the while looking her tall, blond “handler” in the eyes. As the two halves of the dress gradually peeled apart, she could see his smile widen. When the last frog was released, she pulled the dress fully open and let it slide down her arms and drop to the carpet.

She picked up the dress and placed it carefully on the opposite side of the sofa from Katie's dress. Now only a minimally adequate green bra and thong preserved her from total nudity. She reached behind her to find the clasp that would release the upper garment, but her fingers were trembling a little and sweaty, making it hard to deal with the hooks. Finally they came free and, taking a deep breath to quell her nerves, she peeled the bra away from her breasts, fighting off the entrenched compulsion to cover her nipples with her hands. Part of her discomfort was a feeling of exposed inadequacy when she compared herself to the flagrantly endowed Katie watching her from the sofa. She felt better when she saw both men give approving nods, and laid the filmy black bra on top of her discarded dress.

Stomach churning, heart thudding, head roaring with the rush of blood and adrenalin, she hooked her thumbs under the thong for the final stage of her disrobing. Slowly and elegantly (and hoping she wouldn't throw up) she lowered the thin piece of lacy material past her neatly trimmed black pubic bush and down her golden legs to her ankles, where she stepped out of it and draped it daintily on top of the bra and dress. Standing up straight, she faced her audience with as much aplomb as her nerves would allow.

Carver's voice broke the silence. “Superb!”

“An excellent specimen!” Roy added.

“O my God! You're lovely!” Katie chimed in. “It's an unforgivable sin to cover up such a perfect body! You should be naked all the time. I really, really regret, now, that I won't be around to enjoy you when you're served. If you taste half as good as you look, you'll be a smash! But I'm glad, at least, that you'll get to enjoy me . I'm not as young as you — I'm thirty-one — so I won't be quite as tender, but I'm still close enough to prime so your first taste of girl meat will be a good one. Us older girls have lots of flavor. See if you can talk Carver into giving you a taste of one of these.” She cradled both impressive boobs in her hands. “Roy has promised to have them injected full of light cream before they roast me, so they'll be really firm and juicy. Haven't you, hon?”

Roy smiled and nodded. “Mammalia as grand as yours, Katie, always deserve special attention.” Sensing that Ming Ming might take that as a belittlement of her own smaller bust, he turned to her and explained, “Large tits are always good because they provide more meat, and it's the most popular cut. But smaller tits are just as tasty, if not more so. Nipples, of course, are a special delicacy, although they're rather chewy, so unless the girl is roasted, we generally deep fry them to crisp them up. And, of course, the cunt is especially esteemed — that's the lips, vagina and womb. Your handler gets first dibs on those. They can be deep fried, as well. Or steamed under pressure to tenderize them.”

Carver stepped in front of her and cupped both her breasts in his hands. “If you're thinking that you don't come up to Katie's standard, forget it. Yours are the perfect shape and firmness.”

“That's right, dear.” Katie rushed up beside Carver and placed her hands over his on top of Ming Ming's breasts. “Your boobs are ideal! They're beautifully proportioned, naturally firm and will be absolutely scrumptious for those lucky enough to get some. And those little pink teats are absolutely darling! Honey, there may be more of me to eat, but you'll be a perfect vision! You'll take everyone's breath away! And once you're fully cooked, you'll be glorious! I'd swap my body for yours any day.”

Relieved and cheered by the positive reviews of her anatomy (if not entirely convinced), Ming Ming's embarrassment ebbed quickly. She was beginning to relish the strange feelings that her new status elicited. It was extraordinarily erotic to be handled and discussed like an animal, evaluated only as an attractive and tasty meal.

So when Carver ordered her to spread her legs, bend over and pull her butt cheeks apart for an anal inspection, her initial reaction of outrage was instantly overruled by a sexual buzz that nearly knocked her over. She did as ordered, aware that for the first time in her life she was responding to a nature she had never before dared to face or admit. She loved this! She loved being demeaned and humiliated — not privately and against her will, but by her own choice and in front of others who accepted her for what she really was. She was freed at last from any need to put up a pretense of strength and competency. None of that mattered any more. Not for an animal soon to be meat. She could let all that go and devote her remaining days to pure and simple obedience. She felt Carver's latex gloved finger probe deeply into her bowels as the others watched. She felt like a dog at the vet's, and enjoyed the marvelous shame of it.

She was even more wonderfully mortified when he led her into her bedroom and ordered her to sit on the edge of her bed, lie back, lift her legs high and hold them spread wide. She delighted in her obscene degradation as he inserted a vaginal spreader and conducted an even deeper and more thorough search, this time with his bare fingers, while the others watched nearby. She had no doubt they would have grabbed her legs and forced them apart if she had not meekly obeyed. As well they should! It felt exactly right to be treated this way.

“Well, she's not hiding anything in those two places,” Carver reported, slipping the spreader out of Ming Ming's vagina and slapping her on the rump. “She's rather tight, though. Those tissues need some tenderizing.”

“Well, you should have plenty of time to fix that,” Roy chuckled.

“Ooo. Lucky her!” Katie purred.

Ming Ming felt her face burning. Did that mean her handsome “handler” expected sex on demand? Didn't he say sex would be optional? Did she want it to be? Was rape really rape if she secretly desired him anyway? Still, it would be sweeter if he asked. Or would it? She grew moist as she imagined him grabbing her, throwing her on the bed, removing his jacket and shirt, his pants, his . . . .

“Let's go into the living room and discuss a few basics, first,” Carver said mildly. He took Ming Ming's hand and led her to a chair at her dining table. She glanced over at her clothes, but he shook his head. “Nope. You're going to remain naked the rest of the night as a reminder of your new status. Katie, you can get dressed if it's okay with Roy.”

“I'd rather stay nude, if I may.” Katie gave her handler an imploring look.

Roy nodded. He knew Katie enjoyed being naked and suspected she was trying to help Ming Ming settle into her role.

“Well, Ming Ming,” Carver continued, “I must say I'm pleased with your behavior so far. Until you're called up as meat, or volunteer, you'll have a fair amount of latitude in your everyday life. The danger is that you'll mistake that latitude for freedom. You are NOT free. You are property now and you must obey your owners, the Society. I represent the Society, so that means you must obey me . Failure to obey will bring serious consequences. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“It means nothing to me because I will obey. But please don't hurt me.”

“Why do you think I'd hurt you?”

“You said something about most of the girls being bdsm types who like pain. I don't. I want to obey, but please don't make me accept pain. I don't want to be whipped and . . . stuff. I know I'm going to be meat, but . . . ”

“I won't subject you to any pain, Ming Ming. Only if you are disobedient, or ask for it. What I mean is, you may want to experiment a little, see if you do enjoy it in easy doses. It can be very erotic. But I won't demand it. Okay?”

Softly. “Okay.”

“Here's what I do want. You are to give notice to your landlord and your real estate firm. Two to four weeks. No longer. ”

“Why? How will I earn a living? Where will I live?”

“You will be coming to live in my house. L.A. is too far away for me to keep proper track of you. You can always join a real estate firm in San Fran if you want to, but I will support you if you don't.”

“Are you expecting me to be your . . . concubine?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Haven't I already said that you do?”

“But it sounds like we have a Master/slave relationship going here. I mean, you give orders and I have to obey. What if you order me to let you . . . you know . . . fuck me? What then?”

Katie, bright eyed, started to interject a comment, but Carver held up a hand. “Ah . . . would you two mind giving us some privacy for a moment?”

Ron stood up. “Certainly!” He took hold of Katie's arm. “Come wench!” As he pulled her into the bedroom, Katie smiled lecherously back at Ming Ming, rubbing her slit suggestively with her free hand.

“Now,” said Carver, melting Ming Ming into her chair with his eyes. “Let's get something straight. Yes , as your handler I am, de facto, your Master. And since you brought up the term, you may call me that. Except in public, of course. And Yes , I want to fuck you because you are inordinately beautiful and immeasurably sexy. And Yes , as your Master I could order you to let me fuck you and if you refused I could have you punished. But Yes , I do keep my promises, so whether we fuck or not remains your option. In fact, since you're so worried about it . . .”

“I'm not worried about it.”

“. . . since you're apparently concerned about it, I am issuing the following order: if and when you decide you would like to have sex with me, you are to tell me so. Until then, I will not touch you. Clear?”

“Yes . . . Master .” An enigmatic smile blossomed on Ming Ming's face. She was obviously pleased with herself.

Carver returned the smile and lapsed into silence, letting his eyes surf the elegant contours of her body. Ming Ming shifted self-consciously under his smokey gaze. Part of her wanted to cover her exposed intimate parts with her hands, but another part of her — the part that knew well what affect she had on men — wanted to preen.

Ming Ming inevitably found herself unnerved by the silence. “So,” she said, “now that I'm a full-fledged, wholly owned, fully examined bit of livestock for the Society of Atreus, can you tell me how this enforcement thing works? How do you find and round up girls who chicken out and disappear?”

“Glad you mentioned that,” Carver said. “I almost forgot.” He slipped out of his chair where he had been facing her and sank to one knee in front of her. “Lift up your right leg.”

Ming Ming raised her right leg so that it was extended straight out from the chair seat. For a few giddy seconds she thought he was planning to put her leg over his shoulder and do something deliciously indecent to her exposed sex. Instead, he pulled from his jacket pocket a black leather cuff exactly like the ones Katie was wearing and in a single well-practiced motion clamped it around her right ankle and locked it on with a click. It was about an inch and a half wide and quite thick. For the first time she noticed that the gold buckle was just a decoration. The O-ring extending inconspicuously from one side, however, seemed ominously utilitarian.

“Your other foot, please,” he said, and when she lifted that leg he clamped on an identical cuff. Then he asked her to extend her hands to him, which she did without hesitation. He promptly adorned each wrist with a cuff identical to those on her ankles. She held them out all four limbs to inspect them. Each cuff was trimmed on the edges with a delicate Grecian decorative pattern in gold.

“These are very pretty,” she said. “But what are they for?”

“They have four functions, besides making you look even sexier. First: they identify you to as part of the Society livestock inventory. Second: they're locators. They enable us to find you with GPS technology wherever you may be. Third: they can be used in conjunction with padlocks to restrain you when needed. And fourth: they're radio-activated termination devices.”

“Termination devices?”

“Exactly. They contain small needles which, when activated by a radio signal, inject a virulent poison into your body. Let's say a girl is weak minded enough to try to escape her sworn obligation and runs to the police, or finds some refuge where our collection agents can't get to her. Unfortunately, we would then have to activate the injectors.”

“Which terminates her.”

“Painfully.”

“Would I be right in guessing I can't get them off?”

“Correct.”

“Can you get them off?”

“Not even me.”

“Which means I'm really committed now.”

“You really are.”

“No way out.”

“Your fate is sealed, my dear.”

She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. “Good.”

“Good, huh? It doesn't make you feel the least bit scared?”

“Jesus God, yes! It scares me shitless! Which, as Katie predicted, makes it wonderfully exciting! I've dreamed of being . . . livestock . . . for years, wondering what it would be like. What it's like is an indescribably intense rush!”

Carver sighed. “You're fabulous, Ming Ming. Too bad I have to wait for your invitation to ravish you.”

“Who said you had to wait?”

“Oh?”

Ming raised her cuffed ankles again and placed them lightly on Carver's shoulders, sandwiching his head between her size six feet and giving him a direct view of that feminine grove so coveted by lovers. “Well, Master ?” she cooed. “Does this strike you as an invitation?”

“Close enough,” he said, and began licking his way slowly up the inside of her legs, with special and prolonged attention to her inner thighs. By the time he reached that sweetest of all junctions, she was already in the throes of her third orgasm. Katie and Roy were still going at it noisily in the bedroom, but they made room for the moaning Ming Ming when Carver, having licked his way up to her breasts, carried her in and laid her down beside them on the bed, all the while suckling on her left nipple.

Part 4

The next day, still sleepily aglow from a long night of little sleep and much cavorting, Ming Ming served notice to her real estate agency and landlord. Fourteen days later she packed as much as she could into three pieces of luggage (a reasonable maximum for faking airline travel), put the rest of her belongings in storage, cleaned up the empty apartment, announced to family and friends that she was off on a Round-the-World-in-God-Only-Knows-How-Many-Months adventure, and moved north to San Francisco to live secretly with Carver.

Gallantly, Carver offered her a bedroom of her own, but she gave him a sultry smile, ran a hand down the inside of his trousers and drowned him in wet kisses while she toyed with his manhood. It didn't take long to convince him that her place was in his king sized bed.

She quickly became accustomed and then addicted to his prodigious appetite for sex, which (typically) started first thing in the morning with a half hour of cuddling and gentle wake-up intercourse, continued with a little lunchtime sodomy and a sandwich, resumed again in the early evening with nooky and wine, then finished with a full-scale sexual gala as a nightcap.

It wasn't long, of course, before she took advantage of Carver's apres-coitus male languor to coax more information from him about the Society. She learned that in addition to the semi-annual Great Feasts there were impromptu gatherings to dispose of recaptured runaways, which explained Katie's earlier cryptic reference to “lesser banquets.” Ming Ming learned that the black leather cuffs with their lethal injectors were actually leather-covered steel and were exceedingly difficult to cut off. Furthermore, the slightest attempt to do so set of a radio signal that triggered a prompt dispatch of “collection agents.” The foolish girl would then be snatched up and hustled to one of the Society's two secret banquet facilities where she would be kept in a small cage until a banquet was arranged to punish, cook and eat her. Only “a dozen or so” girls had attempted to “fly the coop” over the years, Carver assured her, and of those, only one had managed to evade recapture by the collectors. They did, however, recover her body and bring it back for conversion to dog food. She could have avoided the sting of the injectors, Carver admitted, by chopping off her hands and feet above the cuffs, but apparently she had been squeamish about preemptive amputation.

Both Carver and Ming Ming enjoyed the exuberant company of Katie and Roy, and since it was Katie's last few months to live before her starring role at the next Feast, they spent frequent evenings together indulging in ribald chatter and unfettered orgies. Ming Ming surprised herself at how easily she threw off the socially acceptable decorum that had characterized her sex life prior to signing up as livestock-in-waiting. Knowing that her days were numbered, that she could even be converted to meat before Katie finished digesting in her stomach, had given her a dazzling sense of freedom. What need had she now to be “respectable?” She would never have to work again and didn't have to worry about getting pregnant (Carver kept her on birth control) or raising a family. She could be as wild and wicked and have as much fun as she pleased. The only opinion she cared about was Carver's, and he happily encouraged whatever wanton excess she desired. As the days flowed by and her old life as an independent, struggling, professional woman faded into welcome oblivion, she came to luxuriate in her new status as a well-used piece of female property, currently on loan to and entirely at the disposal of her sexy, handsome Master.

Even her monthlys had ceased to be an impediment to her ardor. Carver was not the least put off by a woman's blood and kept available a large pad made up of thick towels sewn together by one of his earlier specimens of live-in livestock, long since called to dinner. He would simply throw it over the bed (or couch, or whatever) to absorb the menstrual effluent and take her as vigorously as ever. He called it their “fuck rug.” Of course there were many other ways to enjoy their passion without bloodying up the furniture: they could do it in the Jacuzzi, or on the lawn, or leaning against any convenient wall. If she was really gushing, he liked to play with it, smearing the blood all over her body and letting her smear it on him, followed by a delightful shower together, which gave them yet another venue for play while simultaneously cleansing themselves of crusted bodily fluids, both hers and his.

One night two weeks before Katie's kitchen date, all four friends let loose with particular abandon and gave Ming Ming her first experience in swapping partners. Up until then their group fornication had involved lots of crossover petting, licking, kissing, hand jobs and head, but no full-fledged fucking of the other's partner. On this night when Carver's sweat slicked body slid off hers and Roy's took it's place, she amazed herself at how ready and eager she was to accept a second well wetted cock inside her.

She remembered how devastated she'd been just three years before when she discovered that her lover at the time had been entertaining himself with call girls while she was off to a real estate meeting or indisposed with her monthly. How liberating it was not to care about such things any more! Exclusive sexual relationships were senseless for a girl soon to be carved up for dinner. A far more rational approach was to cram as much variation and pleasure as possible into whatever time was left.

* * *

Inevitably, the weekend of Katie's Feast finally arrived. The journey to the banquet site began early Friday morning with a Southwest Air flight to Las Vegas followed by a long trip in a rented Lexus, made longer for the two women because they were required to wear blindfolds for the entire trip.

“Sorry to keep you in the dark,” Carver had told them as he secured the black masks in place, “but the Society feels the less their livestock knows about the locations of their facilities, the better.”

“Did you say locations, plural?” Ming Ming asked. “Are there more than one?”

“There's two. The other's in Florida.”

“That one's my favorite,” Katie chirped. “The grounds are gorgeous! Tropical gardens and all that shit. ‘Course, for me it doesn't much matter. I won't be roaming the grounds this time.”

Ming Ming lost track of time during the seemingly endless trip, and when it was finally over she was led, still blindfolded, out of the car and into a building. There the mask was removed and she found herself in an anonymous, stereotypical motel room. No brochures or other identifying information to be found. There was no clock, either. Her only hint the time was the fact that it was pitch black outside. Ron produced a small brass padlock and proceeded to lock Katie's ankle cuffs together before leaving the room to fetch back some Burger King food.

From there the night evolved into an out-and-out orgy. With her ankle cuffs unlocked once again, Katie indulged giddily in every outlandish sexual caprice she could think of.

“O my God! This is so fabulous!” she kept saying.

“Are you terribly nervous?” Ming Ming asked between bouts of dissolute carnality.

“Like you wouldn't believe!” Katie said. “I'm afraid I'll die of heart failure before they get to cook me. It's mind blowing!”

“Do you regret volunteering?”

“Fuck, no! I wouldn't trade these last six months for anything! Or this moment, for that matter. I'm scared silly and I can hardly wait all at the same time! Just thinking about what's going to happen gives me an orgasm. There's nothing like this in the whole wide world! Not even close!”

Early Saturday morning, blindfolds back in place and still exhausted from the night's excess, they resumed the journey. Ming Ming felt the speedy hum of the highway yield to a slower, more convoluted route, then slow to a rough bouncy stretch before stopping at what must have been a security gate. Men's voices. “I.D., please.” Beeps and clicks of a computer and cell phone. Unintelligible words. Then, “Enjoy the Feast, folks.” Followed by several more minutes of travel, this time on a smooth surface. When the car stopped again, Ming Ming heard the click of Roy's padlock and his soft voice instructing Katie to open her mouth. Katie said nothing. Ming Ming wondered what he was putting in Katie's mouth. A minute later Ming Ming heard the sound of the back door opening and the scrape of clothing on the plush upholstery. But by the time Carver finally removed her blindfold, Katie was gone.

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.”

Part 6

The Great Feast of Atreus was served at 7:00 p.m. Already on sensory overload, Ming Ming could barely contain herself waiting for Katie's grand entrance.

Watching the lovely redhead roast over the fire had put her into such an acute sexual frenzy that she had worn out both Carver and Roy in one of the open-doored bedrooms. Still not sated, she shucked the last vestige of her old inhibitions and wandered the grounds naked, flirting openly with everyone in sight, male and female, a veritable bitch in heat. Two girls and four men took advantage of her ravenous carnal appetite: one on a garden path under the shadow of a giant azalea, one on a couch in the great room, one in the pool under water, and three at the same time on the hard wet tiles beside the pool, plumbing and licking all three of her orifices at once as she moaned and begged for more. But it was not until the dinner gong sounded that her true craving was finally addressed.

The Dining Hall was an immense room with sand colored carpeting and walls clad in pale gold. A hockey rink could easily have fit under it's vaulted ceiling with room to spare for a tennis court. It had been located adjacent to both the kitchen and the area of the courtyard containing the roasting pit, separated from the latter by a gigantic pair of bronze doors nearly twenty feet high. In its normal “legit”mode, as Carver explained to Ming Ming, the Dining Hall served as a golden epicurean harbor dotted with white linen islands, each adorned with a candle floating in a bowl of scented water, a vase of carnations and four full sets of heavy silverware, origami napkins and long-stemmed wine glasses. But for this special Feast a space had been cleared in the center of the Hall and a dozen or so tables had been arranged in a kind of squared-off horseshoe around a large butcher-block island, with the open end of the linen-covered horseshoe facing the great bronze doors.

The eight men of the Society and their seven remaining female charges, all in evening dress appropriate to the luxurious decor, were seated around the outside of the horseshoe sipping hundred-dollar-a-bottle champagne and chatting excitedly as they waited for the ceremonial start of the Feast. Ming Ming, in the same jade chi-pao she wore when she first met Carver (she thought of it as her “lucky dress”), was nervously toying with one of the carnations from the nearest vase, enjoying the sensuous feel of the soft petals against her face, when two members of the kitchen staff, spiffily attired in fresh whites, began to push open the ponderous doors. The room fell silent as the widening portal allowed the early evening sunlight to flood in along with the first aromatic hints of deliciously roasted girl. When the doorway was fully open and the kitchen staff began its formal Banquet Procession, Ming Ming could barely breathe.

With the Head Chef leading the way, Katie was brought in on a great silver platter atop a litter draped in red velvet and carried between two assistant chefs. The Dolcett drawings that had turned Ming Ming on just a few months earlier were a pale burlesque compared to the real thing! Katie had been placed on her stomach with the spit removed and the traditional apple stuffed into her mouth. Her steaming skin had cooked to a rich, crisp bronze. It shimmered with layers of buttery basting mixed with the body fat that had bubbled through her skin. She was laid in a bed of greens and surrounded by a bountiful and colorful array of fruits and vegetables, some cooked and some fresh, sparkling with moisture. The smooth, lush contours of her back and buttocks, and the elegant tapering of her long shapely legs were a delight to behold. Her hair, uncovered now, was still the flamboyant red it had been in life and had been left in a tight bun to expose the delicate curves of her neck and shoulders. Her arms were still wired together behind her back, preserving an erotic sense of bondage further enhanced by a narrow strip of red velvet cloth that had been tied over her eyes. A fresh carrot had been inserted into her rectum, it's plume of foliage rising like the proud green tail of a fanciful pony.

The dinner guests broke into enthusiastic applause and expansive commentary, the gist being general agreement that this presentation ranked high among the Chef's mouth-watering best. Roy also received a substantial share of the accolades for having contributed “such a fine specimen of livestock.” A young blond girl (who had been licking Ming Ming's pussy and much of the rest of her body an hour earlier) couldn't resist adding, “Let's hope that she tastes as good as she looks!”

The delicately spiced fragrance of Katie's roasted flesh filled the huge room as the kitchen crew carefully rolled her off the platter and on to the butcher-block island. Face up, she was even more stunning, her figure enhanced to no small degree by spectacular breasts made even more prominent and delectably firm from the promised injections of cream and the hours of slow roasting. One of the kitchen staff released her hair from the bun and spread it out like a glorious red pillow under her head. Her face was nearly as beautiful as in life despite the seared lips and roasted skin.

“I love the little red blindfold,” Ming Ming said to Carver. “That's a nice touch. Do they always do that?”

“For live roasts, yes. When your eyeballs are exposed to prolonged heat at roasting temperature they swell up and eventually burst.”

“Oh lovely!” she said, punching his arm. “Why'd you have to tell me that?”

“Well,” he laughed, “if you want to keep your eyeballs intact, you can be slaughtered before you're cooked. Then they'll put little shields over your eyes.”

“Hmm. I'll think about it.” But her hormones were telling her that this was how she wanted to become meat. Just like Katie!

The potential of burst eyeballs faded to irrelevance, however, when the Head Chef began to slice into Katie's roasted carcass. First she opened up the belly so her assistants could lift out the stuffing and transfer it, steaming and fragrant, into bowls to be distributed around the horseshoe table. She then stripped the skin off the entire belly area and sliced Katie's abdominal muscles into small flank steaks. This exposed the interior cavity and the organs that had been left within, including the womb and vaginal canal. These she carefully excised, along with the inner and outer labia. The womb and vagina were sent into the kitchen for deep frying. The cunt lips, already crisply roasted, were set aside in a dainty dish.

Next she turned to the breasts, having left them untouched to that point for the visual enjoyment of the guests. With two efficient strokes the nipples were severed. They too were already crisp, so they were placed in the dish with the cunt lips which was presented to Roy with a ceremonial flourish. The deep fried inner parts would join them later. Katie's magnificent breasts were then sliced off and reduced to fifteen slices, a succulent morsel of the best cut of girl meat for everyone at the table.

Ming Ming saw that rather than wait out the slow process of carving up the carcass, the diners immediately attacked the portions already at hand. Accordingly, she cut off a small piece of Katie's breast meat and popped it into her mouth. It was fantastic! She closed her eyes and savored it, chewing slowly and lovingly. When she had licked the last trace of it off her lips, she glanced over at Carver (who was enjoying her rapturous reaction), then dejectedly down at her own B-cup endowment.

Carver put his hand on her knee. “I know what you're thinking,” he said. “You're comparing yours to Katie's.”

“Well, shit!” she said mournfully. “If Katie's humongous tits can only provide only fifteen little slices, these things are practically useless.”

“So I won't share them. I'll hoard them all to myself. Yours are more than enough to satisfy me.” He slid his hand up her thigh and patted her pussy for emphasis. “Besides, smaller tits have much better flavor.”

“Even better than Katie's?”

“Much better. I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into yours.”

She giggled. “Well, maybe you can practice some tonight.”

“Are you still horny?”

“Am I horny?! My dear Master , I'm ready to take off my panties and climb into your lap right now, if you want, so we can fuck between courses. Just say the word.”

He laughed. “Hold that thought. I'll save you for dessert.”

She reached under the table and grasped the hard cylindrical thing she could see pushing against his pants. “Are you sure you can wait that long, Master ?”

“Not if you don't get your hand out of there!” He slapped it away and stuck his tongue in her ear. “Behave, or I'll lock you up for a month with no sex.”

She feigned a frightened look. “All right, Master, I'll behave. But I'll only get hornier as the meal goes along. Once you get it in, you might never be able to get it out again.”

“That's a risk I'm willing to take,” he said. “Now, pay attention. The prime cuts are coming up.”

The kitchen staff had gently turned Katie back on to her ruined front and were snipping the wires binding her arms. Four assistant chefs, two on each side of the table, began carving slabs of meat off Katie's arms and legs, skin and all. The Head Chef concentrated on her buttocks, first stripping off the skin, then carving out the entire rump muscle and slicing it into thick steaks. Soon everyone's plate was loaded with delectable cuts of Katie's meat, along with a variety of sauces and vegetables to choose from, all expertly prepared and cooked to the perfection the Society demanded of its Chef.

Ming Ming selected a large slice of thigh meat and a small juicy tenderloin. The flavor was beyond anything she had ever imagined. “I could get addicted to girl meat!” she told Carver.

“I already am,” he replied.

There was more of Katie than fifteen people could reasonably eat at one sitting. That left some for the staff, plus some luncheon snacks for the next day. Ming Ming was almost delirious with enthusiasm and excitement by the time they wheeled away the carving table with what was left of Katie's carcass. And there was very little left. Only the head, hands and feet remained intact. Much of the skeleton was exposed, having been scraped bare of its meat. Even the torso had been demolished to extract the ribs and heart. Nor did the apple and carrot go to waste, both gobbled up by one of the livestock girls.

As she sipped at her dessert of creme brulee and Irish whiskey, Ming Ming absently rubbed herself against Carver, teasing his erection, but she was imagining what she would look like stretched out on the silver platter. As her mind drifted, the CEO of the Society of Atreus, a man named Jeb, rose to his feet and clinked a spoon against his glass of after-dinner brandy.

“I'm sure you'll all agree,” he boomed, squelching the residual babble of conversation, “that this has been another marvelous Feast of Atreus.” He waited out the ubiquitous round of assents. “Now it's time to look ahead to our February feast. Which of our livestock would like to volunteer to be our next marvelous entree?”

Ming Ming began to climb to her feet, but two others beat her to it. “I will!” the two called out in unison. One of them was the cute little blonde girl who had dallied with Ming Ming by the pool and questioned whether Katie would taste as good as she looked. Ming Ming seemed to recall her name was Brooke. Her competitor was a tall brunette with large brown eyes and a flawlessly sculpted face.

“Well, well!” chortled the CEO. “Looks like we have a surfeit of volunteer livestock. Would either of you like to stand down and let the other go first?”

Both girls assumed determined looks, neither speaking nor moving.

“Looks like we'll have to settle this the fun way, then. A contest. But you girls know the rules. The winner gets to be the star attraction in February with all the perks; but for the loser, it's off to the pit. So, now's the time to back out.”

But neither did.

“Very well then, you two — Brooke and Lara — will meet me in the Exercise Room in thirty minutes, along with any others who would like to witness the action.”

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.

Part 8

Sexual excess had taught Ming Ming an interesting lesson. For all the tongues and fingers and cocks that had serviced her that evening, there was only one that gave her real pleasure. Only one set of arms and lips, only one perfectly familiar penis was able to calm her rioting emotions and bring a peaceful resolution to her conflicting emotions. Strange, she thought, how it can take a surfeit of lovers to make a girl realize that she only really wants one of them.

Does that qualify as love, she wondered?

The one man who made her happiest also turned out to be reluctant to take her to the next banquet a few months later — a “lesser banquet” in which a failed runaway would be punished before slaughter. Carver was afraid she would be upset by it.

But she insisted.

It was, in fact, quite upsetting to her. But she tried not to let on because she had been warned, and because Carver felt so badly about exposing her to it.

When they had arrived at the facility, the girl was stretched out lengthwise on a log at a point where everyone could pass by and spit on her. It was a segment of tree trunk with the rough bark still on it. She was naked and face up, her hands and feet nailed to the sides to hold her in place. Her legs were spread apart and bent at the knees to allow her feet to be nailed flat to the outside of the log. A large pine cone had been shoved up her cunt and blood from the torn vaginal tissue had crusted on the log. She was weeping and groaning. Ming Ming didn't spit as she passed by.

The girl was about five feet eight with a nice figure, a pretty face and ash blond hair. Ming Ming guessed she was probably in her late twenties and weighed about a hundred and forty pounds. How sad, she thought. If she hadn't tried to back out of her obligation, this girl could have had a beautiful presentation and enjoyed an exciting and stimulating roast. Instead, what should have been a pleasurable experience would be humiliating, demeaning and exceedingly painful.

When all the guests had arrived, the girl was taken off the log. It was not a pleasant procedure for her because wrecking bars were used to remove the broad-headed nails and her hands and feet were crushed in the process. Carver adamantly refused to let Ming Ming watch as the girl was gutted because no happy juice was used and her agony, he said, would be “much too horrible” for her to see and hear. Ming Ming pleaded, but to no avail.

“My darling,” he murmured in her ear as they cuddled that afternoon in their suite while the girl was being eviscerated and stuffed in the kitchen, “if you were some brainless piece of fluff like Michelle, I would let you see what happens to rebellious livestock, just as an object lesson. But you don't need such lessons. That girl is a victim of her own selfish stupidity; it got her addicted to drugs, turned her into a whore to pay for them and made her think she could steal from the Society and run away from her obligations. You, by contrast, are an intelligent girl who's happy with her circumstances and the path she's chosen to follow. Why poison your cache of inspiring memories with images of needless suffering brought on by mindless stupidity? ”

She was disappointed but loved him all the more for his sweet concern.

She could hear the girl's screams when the live roasting began, but Carver kept her tightly folded in his arms, kept her mouth busy with his, kept her love passage teasingly stimulated with slow and easy strokes, and wouldn't allow her to peek out the window at the roasting pit. The screams didn't last long.

The presentation of the carcass was far more pedantic than Katie's. The kitchen crew simply carried her in on the spit, set it on brackets and began carving her up. But the flavor was superb. Carver even let Ming Ming have his share of one nipple. It was pleasantly crunchy and tasty.

The interval between the lesser banquet of November and the Great Feast of February was filled with new sensations for Ming Ming. For one thing, Carver never tired of taking her on jaunts around the western states to take in the various natural attractions, national parks and celebrated nightspots. He took her on a fishing cruise in the Pacific, on a mule trek to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, on wine tasting expeditions to the famous California vineyards and on scenic hikes in the Rockies. He acquainted her with the California and Nevada bar scenes, both the glitzy and the dark, and even let her play prostitute for a day in a brothel outside Reno.

She also made a new friend, a girl named Meagan whom Roy had met at a nudist spa in southern California and quickly recruited into the livestock inventory. She was a lively twenty-one year old with hazel eyes, a slim, nicely shaped body and long, straight, chestnut hair. Meagan was a junior at UCLA and had recently been making a decent living working as a model for various on-line bondage sites, an occupation she had taken up the instant she discovered they would actually pay her for indulging her secret and insatiable lust for ropes, chains, whips and pain. Now she was eager to take her fresh young body to the maximum level of submission, the ultimate thrill!

With Roy once again in charge of a beautiful and seriously oversexed meat girl, Carver and Ming Ming once again had a wonderfully compatible couple to help them slake their common thirst and to accompany them on their various and extremely improper excursions. Ming Ming's acquired taste for orgies and sexual variety grew more zealous with every new adventure. She was open to practically any activity, position or combination of bodies that resulted in sensual pleasure, and the more the merrier! — although she preferred to begin and end all her sexual free-for-alls with Carver. Finding others to join them was never a problem and she loved it! She adored having every part of her body, inside and out, exploited by multiple partners, male and female. She savored the contrasting tastes and textures of skin, the feel of stiffened nipples on firm breasts, the differing girths and lengths of rock-hard cocks. She was in heaven when two or three men invaded her at the same time, even when a massive rod was thrust far down her throat, making her gag. She relished the sight of a man in the throes of orgasmic spasms, jaws clenched as he thrust deep into her cunt or spurted hot jizm on her face and into her mouth. She cherished the distinctive taste of all love's wondrous excretions.

By the time the February Feast of Atreus rolled around, Ming Ming was hyped up, sexually afire and eager to fly to Florida. This was Brooke's Feast and she was excited to see how the spunky little blonde had planned to have herself cooked.

She now thought of Carver not so much as her “Master” (although she liked to call him that) as her lover. As property of the Society and part of its meat inventory, it was obvious and appropriate that she would never be his wife, but she could no more deny her deepening feelings for him than she could deny her own gender. She wasn't sure how he felt about her, but it didn't matter. She took clues from his behavior. For example, he didn't need to treat her tenderly since she was only reserve livestock in his charge, but he did. He didn't have to take pains to see that she was comfortable and happy at all times, but he did. However, he also made sure she remembered her status by requiring her to spend twenty-four hours every week — a full day and night — naked in the “cage.” The cage was a seven by five foot cinder block cell with a single twenty-five watt light bulb and a double door. The inner door consisted of rugged steel mesh (hence the term “cage”) and was secured with a heavy padlock. The outer door was constructed of thick sound-proofed steel disguised as part of Carver's workroom wall. The tiny cell was furnished only with a small, thin mattress (no sheet or blanket) and a toilet with no seat. The only other artifacts in the room were a bottle of water, a bowl of oatmeal and twenty-four squares from a roll of toilet paper. It was not her favorite place to be, but those weekly lockups and the fact that Carver could choose to confine her there indefinitely at any time, convinced her that a sweet temperament and complete submission to his will were in her best interest. The hours spent staring at the two doors, praying for them to open, also gave her plenty of time to consider an even less pleasant possibility: that one day she would have to spend six full months there as designated meat. Unless she volunteered first.

The Florida facility turned out to be as gorgeous as Katie had said. Where the August facility had been artificially spawned in the midst of a desert, the Florida grounds and gardens were naturally lush with dark green subtropical vegetation emblazoned with vividly colorful flowers.

Carver, Roy, Meagan and Ming Ming were the second and third of eight couples to arrive as dinner guests. Ming Ming recognized all but one of the other girls from the August and November banquets so there was a good deal of squealing and hugging as each blindfold came off. The newcomer was a tiny Philippino girl of eighteen, a new recruit brought in by Lara who had found her at a bdsm club in Manilla and signed her up. She had been assigned to a wealthy insurance executive named Claude who introduced her to Carver and Ming Ming as Jen, the foreshortened form of a name that tended to trip up English speaking tongues. Jen's English was somewhat limited and her efforts at pronunciation a bit skewed, but her breathtaking figure was eloquent in any language. Her hair and eyes were dark chocolate, her complexion much more dusky than Ming Ming's. Her face was somewhat scarred with the legacy of an acne breakout during adolescence, but it was a cute face, a sweet, almost childlike face. Even her errant pronunciation was endearing. She and Ming Ming hit it off immediately.

Brooke was the last to arrive, as was the tradition. Her handler helped her from the front seat of a late model Cadillac. She was wearing a bright red sun dress and was barefoot. Her wrist cuffs were locked behind her and a red ball gag that matched her dress filled her mouth. Like all the females, she had arrived with a blindfold; but unlike all the others who preceded her, hers was not removed. She was led through the crowd, wincing as her bare feet made contact with the hot pavement. Her long bright hair flowed smoothly down her evenly-tanned back like a river of gold, her full breasts swaying slightly and the muscles of her perfectly shaped legs rippling gently as she walked, promising juicy steaks to be served in another seven hours.

When she emerged from the kitchen an hour later at the end of the Chef's leash, her hair had been bound up into a tight yellow bun. As with Katie before her, she was paraded through the crowd and put on display for hands-on inspection by the crowd. While ostensibly testing the firmness of her breasts, Ming Ming took the opportunity to whisper the same questions in her ear she had asked Katie.

“Are you scared?”

Brooke nodded emphatically.

“Are you happy?”

Another emphatic nod.

Satisfied, Ming Ming kissed her cheek and stepped away.

After everyone had copped their feel of the new meat, the chef reattached the leash and led Brooke to the evisceration table. This cooking scene was different from the previous two, however. The roasting pit had been covered over and a giant caldron had been set up over a gas-fired burner. It was filled close to the top with water. While the Head Chef and two assistants removed Brooke's intestines from the slit in her belly, three other members of the kitchen staff dropped a basketful of various chopped up vegetables into the pot and stirred them. As the Chef was inserting her needle into the top of Brooke's spine, the caldron attendants were adding spices to the mix and lighting the gas fire under the caldron.

Brooke was lifted from the table by her armpits and ankles by two assistants and brought over to the caldron. They slowly lowered her limp body into the tepid water as other assistants scooped vegetables out of the way, then clamped her ankles and upper arms into shackles built into the inside wall of the caldron. Her gag and collar were removed and the two halves of a hinged grid were closed around her neck to keep her face from slipping under the water. She had asked to be live boiled and it wouldn't do to let her drown before she had enjoyed as much of the experience as her heart could survive.

In a few more minutes the water, now a frothy stew, was beginning to emit a pale cloud of vapor. By the time bubbles began to rise Brooke had started to squirm and show distress. Curiously, the expression on her face was more appropriate for a girl in rapture than agony. Nevertheless, her squirming turned to thrashing as the water began to boil in earnest. Her mouth and eyes were wide open, her lips twisting. She moaned softly.

Ming Ming had to ask her one last question! She went as close as the Chef would allow and called out over the noisily boiling caldron, “Is it good, Brooke?”

Brooke's mouth widened into a smile and she nodded.

“Are you in pain?”

Another slow nod.

“But it's giving you orgasms?”

For answer she got a definite nod and a clearly mouthed YES !

Ming Ming didn't know quite how to reconcile pain with orgasms, but Brooke was in obvious ecstacy and it was too late to ask more questions. Her eyes had rolled up into her head and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. Her twisting and writhing gradually lessened until, a half hour from the time of her initial immersion, she lay quiet in the vigorously boiling water, her lips parted, still touched with the hint of a smile. Her eyes stared unblinking into the bright Florida sun.

The presentation at dinner, though beautiful, was slightly disappointing to Ming Ming. For one thing, the exquisite, carefully cultivated tone of her skin had blanched during the long hours of boiling, leaving her a sallow white. For another, Ming Ming missed the distinctively delicious aromas given off by freshly roasted meat. There was no question, however, that Brooke's meat was savory. It was also, needless to say, extraordinarily tender. Every cut literally melted to pieces in the mouth. The veggies, too, had absorbed strong hints of her flavor combined with the spices. Ming Ming was not given the opportunity to taste the separately deep-fried teats and cunt lips, but those who did pronounced them delightful.

By the time the meal was finished and the diners invited to move to the special Dessert Room, Ming Ming felt so stuffed she could barely move. As small as Brooke was, she had yielded a surprising amount of meat and Ming Ming had consumed far too much of it. The Dessert Room, a smaller venue with cozy booths on all four walls, offered a stunning array of rich desserts and high end liqueurs. It was, Ming Ming was sure, a dessert connoisseur's delight, but the only thing she could bear to add to her overwrought stomach was an elegant brandy that she happened to know was obscenely expensive.

In no time she was into her third refill and buzzing pleasantly. She and Carver were sitting in one of the intimate booths and she snuggled close to facilitate the naughty things he was doing to her under the table. His fingers, having snaked their way under her panties, were busy sending jolts from her clit to the top of her head. At the same time, her own fingers were equally active under his napkin testing his resistance to the sensations she could produce to the tip of his manhood through the fabric of his dress pants. She had no idea what affect her finger play was having on him, but each zap he produced from her clit sparked erotic memories: proud Katie being led around on a leash; a pretty girl nailed to a log and weeping; Brooke and Lara twisting side by side at the end of ropes, struggling for air; Brooke boiling in the caldron; Katie turning on a spit over a low fire. Ming Ming kept hearing Katie's contagious excitement the day before her appointment with the Chef. “I wouldn't trade these last six months for anything! Or this moment, for that matter. I'm scared silly and I can hardly wait all at the same time! Just thinking about what's going to happen gives me an orgasm. There's nothing like this in the whole wide world! Not even close!”

She was riding a rush of these clitoral thrills and exciting memories when Jeb, the Society's CEO, stood up and clinked his glass of Poland Spring Water.

“Gentlemen and girls,” (Ming Ming had long since noticed that the Society never referred to its females as women), “I'm sure you all agree that this was another wonderful Feast. I believe a round of applause is due to Coltan for contributing such an excellent and well tended specimen, and to Chef Boisvert for another magnificent presentation and banquet.” Hearty applause and raised glasses. “Now, it's time to move on to the future. It's time to name our star for the next Great Feast of Atreus in August. Which of you gorgeous girls would like to vol . . .”

“Me! I will!” Ming Ming had jumped up and was waving her right hand high in the air, preempting any competition.

Surprised by her fervent response, Carver let his hand drop away from under her skirt and glanced at his fingers. They were dripping wet. The girl was obviously in a sexual lather. Until this moment he had thought it entirely the result of his expert finger work; now he realized she had been planning this all along. All the while she had been dining on Brooke and secretly playing with him under the table she had been working up the nerve to volunteer as meat for the next Feast. He felt an immediate pang of regret, knowing that she had set in motion an irreversible process. But he quickly reminded himself that this had become her sole purpose in life, her identity, and that he had helped her find it.

“Marvelous!” the CEO was saying. “This will be a very special treat. Asian girl meat is a real delicacy. In my opinion it has a special quality all its own. Something in the genes, I guess. Super tasty! It is my pleasure, therefore, to officially designate the beautiful Ming Ming as the main course for our next Great Feast of Atreus. Accordingly, I hereby remand her into the custody of her handler . . . that's you, Carver, you lucky man . . .” A pause for lecherous chortles. “. . . to be confined according to Society bylaws as Designated Livestock until shipment to our western site in August. With all due perks arising from her volunteer status, of course. Congratulations!”

Ming Ming wasn't sure whether Jeb was congratulating her or Carver. But it didn't matter. She had done it! She had officially turned herself into meat and set the date for the last day of her life. “I'm scared silly and I can hardly wait, all at the same time!” Katie had said. Ming Ming, her heart pounding, now understood precisely what Katie had been feeling. Suddenly she needed to be fucked until she went blind! She turned and threw herself down on Carver, hugging him fiercely and grinding her skimpily veiled bosom into his face. He placed both hands on her bottom and tapped one of his wet fingers on her clit to let her know he got the hint.

Part 9

Six months drag by in a flash.

Six months of counting down the days.

The six most tense, exciting, dread filled, fantastic months of her whole twenty four years.

Her life span is no longer an unknown number reckoned on a vague actuarial spectrum. It's one hundred more days. It's seventy-three more days. It's thirty-five more days. Ten. Five. Four. Three. Two.

One.

Her last day of life.

This afternoon she'll be cooking over a fire.

This evening her steaming carcass will be presented at dinner.

Frightening!

Exhilarating!

Ming Ming hardly slept a moment last night. Her body reflects a night of bawd more extreme than anything she can remember. Every place where a penis could be accommodated is sore. Every place that a lover's teeth could bite, hurts. Yet she's exuberantly happy. And terrified.

She's also starving! They have allowed her nothing solid to eat since yesterday morning other than fresh fruit juice and water. And, of course, the cupful of vitamins and other pills she's been taking every day for these last six months to build up her health, strengthen her heart and enhance the flavor of her meat.

Why was her sleep so fitful? Perhaps it was the unfamiliar feel of the motel bed, filled most of the night with four bodies and sticky with congealed bodily fluids from the night's frenetic play. Perhaps it was the insane mix of fear and buoyancy percolating through every nerve in her body, a combination so unquenchably erotic that although last night's excesses eventually sent her companions into a sound sleep, she continued to toss and twist in the darkness, wrestling with the damned leg chain, her own itch barely scratched.

But now they're back in the rented car again and Carver is starting to put the blindfold over her eyes. She ventures a mild protest. “This is silly,” she says. “What difference does it make if I know where this place is? This is a one-way trip for me.”

“Consistency, I suppose,” he answers. “In case we crash and you escape, maybe? But also for your benefit. Same reason I've kept you naked and chained to one thing or another for most of these last six months. It reinforces your status. After all, in a little over a year you've gone all the way from free range female to designated meat in shipment. At any rate, it's an iron-clad rule of the Society: blindfolded and restrained for the entire trip — from holding pen to kitchen.”

The “holding pen” had been the worst part for Ming Ming. “Do I have to be kept in that awful room?” she had whined on the way home from Brooke's feast six months ago.

“The cage?” Carver had said, eyebrows lifted, as though amazed that anyone would object to spending twenty-four hours naked in a five-by-seven cell with nothing but a thin mattress and a toilet. “When I'm out of the house, yes. I'm required to keep you safely locked up in the cage. It will be good for you. Keep reminding you of what you are now, which, you have to admit, always excites you! However, you are a volunteer with perks, so when I'm home I'll let you out. I'll often have to chain you to something and you'll still be naked most of the time, but otherwise life will be fairly normal. At night you'll be sleeping with me, as usual, except chained to the bed. But I'll just attach it to one of your cuffs, so you'll hardly notice it.”

She had noticed it, of course. How could she not? By now the leather-covered cuffs themselves had become part of her body, as unremarkable as her toes, their deadly potential no more worrisome than a smoker's fear of lung cancer. But a chain locked on to any one of them became a major annoyance. If attached to a wrist cuff, it would somehow wrap itself around her neck during the night and she would invariably awaken Carver as she tried to free herself. If attached to an ankle, it would often entangle him as well. That's because he always locked it on her before the final round of their nightly love-making so he could fall asleep with one arm around her shoulders, one hand on her breast and his dingy still anchored in her harbor. At some point she would delicately extract herself from his slumbering weight so she, too, could get some sleep.

But sometimes her efforts to get free would wake him. This was a particular annoyance to her because there were any number of ways he could wreak unpleasant revenge for having his sleep disturbed. He might, for example, withhold his half of their regular breakfast cunnilingus/fellatio and coffee. Once he even took her to a WalMart parking lot and made her push a shopping cart the length of it stark naked.

The good thing was, if he punished her, he always offset it with something pleasurable. Trips. Fancy restaurants. An orgy with friends. Actually, any occasion that took them out of the house was a treat for her because she got to wear clothes, although he wouldn't allow undergarments no matter where they were going.

Midway through the six months he began bringing her to the local bdsm club, not for the sado-masochism — he knew she disliked pain — but to widen the circle of candidates for their orgies. There she finally did a little experimenting and discovered she enjoyed a certain amount of light bondage. In fact, one of her favorite entertainments was to be tied up, blindfolded and gang banged by a dozen unseen club members. And once, remembering Lara's description of her ordeal in the pit, she let them hogtie her, set her in a bathtub and use her mouth as a toilet. Carver had been right: piss didn't taste as bad as she thought it would and it didn't make her sick. But once was enough!

She reminisces on these things now as the car purrs smoothly along an anonymous highway, heading to that unknown place where in eight or ten hours — she's lost track of time — she will be hot slices of girl on expensive china. Her nerves are so taut she feels she might explode. Carver has been sweet and has not locked her hands behind her back. Not yet. Instead, he's locked her ankles together. She's promised not to touch her blindfold and he knows she'll be good. She desperately needs to talk, so she picks a topic at random.

“Why this long, drawn out, six month process?” she asks. “Why not just have a lottery on the day of the Feast to choose the meat for the day?”

Carver answers. “Would you have preferred it that way?”

“Well, it would be exciting, the suspense and all. But these six months have been fabulous!”

“Exactly. When the Society first formed, that was how they did it. A lottery at noon and the winner was slaughtered on the spot. But it wasn't all that satisfactory. For one thing, we needed more time to lay a proper foundation for the girl's disappearance. For another, the girls were telling us they felt they were being cheated out of the best part of the experience: being forced to live like a cow in a stockyard, penned up and waiting for their appointment with the kitchen staff. They also wanted the option to volunteer to be the next dinner, rather than wait for sheer chance.”

“By the way, why do you always refer to us as girls? We're all grown women.”

“Ah! The lady wants us to be politically correct. What's the problem? Do you think it's demeaning to the livestock?”

“Well . . . yes. Although for myself, I like it.”

“And that's the point! It's Society policy to refer to all livestock as girls because, in the first place, the word women feels kind of like the word mutton : old and tough. We prefer to emphasize that our meat is from young, tender stock: girls . But more important, we want our females to feel demeaned. They want it. It's part of the pleasure they derive when they renounce their old self and become livestock.” He smiled down at her. “So like it or not, you're girl meat.”

“I love it,” she said. Indeed, just hearing him call her that raised her pulse rate.

* * *

More hours go by. Time is distance. Every minute they are more than a mile closer to the kitchen, the roasting pit, the dining hall. Ming Ming can hear her heart thudding, feel its pulse in her temples.

“Will you miss me, Master?” she asks, and wonders why she should ask such a thing..

“Will I miss you?” he mimics, as if appalled. I already miss you! I thought you'd figured that out by now. Especially after last night. Did you happen to count how many times I came for you?”

“Sure did. Six times.”

“Six times! That should tell you something. You think I can get it up six times in one night for any old piece of pussy? At my age?”

“What is your age?”

“Never mind. The point is, you're one terrific girl and I'm gonna miss you more than you can imagine.”

“Oh, right. You already have my replacement lined up. I saw her picture.”

“Who? Dakota?”

“Yeah, Dakota, with the blond hair and the big boobs.”

“Fake blonde, real boobs, but no contest. Meagan met her up at the Red Rock nude beach a couple of weeks ago. She's a thirty-one year old middle school teacher and frustrated submissive. She spends her days disciplining rowdy brats when what she really wants is to be a full time sex slave. When Meagan showed her some of those Dolcett drawings of yours and one of my stories, she got all hot and bothered. Then, when she saw pictures of you and found out you were scheduled to be turned into meat today, she begged to come and watch. So I signed her up. One of our Members, Chris Miles, who doesn't have a regular assigned girl right now, agreed to bring her.”

“Why doesn't he have a regular assigned girl?”

“We ate her a couple of years ago.”

The ease with which he said that gave Ming Ming goose bumps. “So why not assign Dakota to Chris?”

“He lives in Little Rock; she's in San Francisco. Besides, he's working on a local girl in Arkansas and expects to add her to the inventory in time for the February Feast.”

“So you get the fake blonde with the big boobs to keep you warm after I've been eaten.”

“And she'll be replaced with another girl after she's been eaten. But none of them will be you . No one has your unique combination of exotic beauty and mind blowing sensuality.”

“Mind blowing, huh?”

“You blow my mind and wring me out, babe. I'm really, really, really going to miss you! If we had time, I'd pull over and shag you six more times right now.”

“I'd settle for once or twice.”

“God! Don't tempt me, vixon.”

“Why not? What's the big hurry? Can't you fuck me and eat me all in the same day?”

“We have a deal with the Society, sweetheart, remember? In return for your arrival at the site on time and properly restrained, Chef Boisvert will prepare and cook you just the way you requested. Otherwise, it's Chef's Choice. She could just have you slaughtered and butchered for oven roasting, the way she does for runaways if the punishment team has been too . . . ah . . . rambunctious; or gut you without benefit of happy juice. If we don't keep our side of the deal, they don't have to keep theirs.”

“Then shut up and drive, Jeeves. I want my happy juice!”

He laughs, and the journey continues. For several minutes, perhaps half an hour, nobody speaks. But Carver sees that Ming Ming's nervous tension is building up again. She's chewing her lower lip and her breathing is abnormal. He reaches out with his right hand and places it on her left thigh. She smiles. His fingers begin pawing at her short skirt, pulling the hem up over her knees, bunching it under his palm. He slides his hand under the gathered material and over her smooth, exposed skin, caressing the tops of her thigh, moving in feathery circles downwards. The back of his fingers brush inside of her right leg. She parts her knees to grant him easier access as the circles spiral closer to that certain piece of flesh that craves attention. At the same time she reaches over his arm with her left hand and finds his lap. She feels for his zipper and begins to work the tab down the little double ladder, then burrows in, pushing aside the flaps of the last remaining barrier between her fingers and a familiar warm, hardening shape. Both sets of fingers reach their respective objectives simultaneously. But while her blood pressure lowers with a happy sigh, his rises with a soft moan.

“Sure we can't stop for just a minute?” she breathes.

“Yeah,” comes a teasing feminine voice from the back seat. “The poor girl hasn't had sex in — what? — three hours. She's gonna be fucking the gear shift in a minute!”

“Watch out, though,” Roy puts in. “Could be a trick. The old ‘wait-till-he-gets-his-dick-in-his-hand-then-make-a-break-for-it' routine.”

“Don't worry, I'm all over it,” Carver says. She may plan it, but I'll can it.”

Roy chuckles. “You say you're going to thwart the twat's plot?”

“Oh yeah. I'm going to ream her little scheme and drown it in my cream,” Carver retorts.

“And he can do it,” Meagan says, unable to resist the challenge. “There's nothing like a rhyming fool with a turgid tool to tenderize a tough tart's heart.”

Now Ming Ming catches the spirit of the thing. “True, but maybe his poor tortured tool is too tired to take another trip down my tight little tube.”

Carver's eyes glint as Ming Ming's fingers slide expertly up and down his shaft. “Not to worry,” he says, formulating one last effort. “That puffed up puppy you're palming is never too pooped to pop. In fact, my puppy is prepared to play with your pussy right now!”

Roy quickly offers another alliterative suggestion. “Before you pursue this penetrating plan to plug into her pussy, what say we pull over and park!”

“Nice advice. And not a minute too soon!” Carver says, gasping slightly.

Ming Ming can feel the car slowing, coming to a stop. She also notes that the puppy in question is fully primed and ready for action, as is the pussy it's eager to plug into.

“Better, yet,” Carver adds, “let's trade places. You and Meagan in front, me and this overheated Chinese chippy in back.”

The car stops. Doors open. Hot desert air swirls past her and the car bounces a little as bodies move in and out. She stays put because her ankles are locked together. She waits to see how he'll handle it. Hands grab her knees and swing her to the right, setting her bare feet on the hot dirt beside the car, standing her up. Muscular arms wrap around her back and under her knees, sweeping her up. She wraps her own arms around Carver's familiar shoulders and pesters his unseen face with wet kisses while he carries her a few steps, then places her carefully in the rear seat. He urges her to wiggle over and make room. She feels him sit down beside her. Four doors slam and the car begins to move again.

“Okay, you guys, go to it!” Roy calls out cheerfully. “We'll watch and give you pointers as needed.”

Carver is bent over, his cheek against her right knee. He's unlocking and removing the padlock holding her ankles together. He sits up again and moves about. She knows what he's doing and places a small hand gently on his bare hip to confirm it. She hears the jingle of pocket change as he lifts his legs to remove his pants and shorts. Now her hand has full access to his tumescent puppy. Her index finger finds the creature's single eye and she spreads the advance droplets of his passion over its sensitive head and around the flared edges. His left arm slides behind her and his large hands grasp both her buttocks as he lifts her up and places her in his own lap facing front. She flips up her skirt so nothing will come between her own skin and his. Now he's rubbing his penis, slippery with leaking pre-ejaculate, against her vulva, searching for the opening to paradise. She spreads her legs wide and reaches between them to guide him into that sweet portal. As it glides past her wet inner lips she sits, impaling herself with a sigh. Her breath becomes ragged as she begins to post up and down on his thrusts.

“Slow, slow!” he says. “Let's make this last.”

She tries to restrain herself, but it's too hard! “I don't want slow ,” she protests. “I want to come a gazillion times!”

He laughs. “Don't we all! But you'll come plenty when you're on the spit. Let me enjoy you now.”

“Hey, you'll have lots of time to enjoy me tonight when they carve me up and put me on your plate, tits and cunt and all. Then for dessert you can make bang-bang with Dakota who'll be hot and horny from watching me roast. This here is my dessert. My last sweet fuck.”

“So slow down and it will last longer!”

But she can't, and soon both are in noisy orbit, crying out, bucking and clawing at each other the way lovers do when they climax together. She holds her breath to maximize the pleasure of his hot semen gushing against her cervix, his fingers gently squeezing and rolling the hard nubs of her nipples. Then, too soon, it's over. The sizzle permeating every fiber of her body begins to fade. She relaxes back against him for the extended afterglow, her vaginal muscles clamped tightly around his deflating manroot to prevent it from slipping out. Even flaccid he's unusually long, so he remains firmly implanted, locking their bodies together as he strokes her breasts under her dress. Her eyes are closed behind the blindfold as she luxuriates in the sensation, yet they're filled with images, exciting and memorable scenes from this last year of her life.

“I don't know if I can get it up again,” he says apologetically,” but this seat is wide enough for some nice cunnilingus if we work it right.”

“No. Don't move. I want you inside me right up to . . . as long as possible. If you get hard again, that will be lovely; and if you don't, that's beautiful too. Just stay in me. As long as you can.” She knows the question he wants to ask but does not for fear of the answer. She puts his mind at rest. “I want you to know, sweet Master, that I don't regret a single thing. I'd do it all over again. Just visualizing how I'll be cooked and eaten today is a huge high! Yes, I'm terrified, knowing I'm going to die this afternoon; but no, I don't have any doubts. Katie was right: the fear and the finality of it makes the whole experience an incredible rush! I want to run and hide and I can't wait for it to begin, all at the same time! So don't fret about me. And don't move a millimeter.”

More miles of silence roll by. She's almost at peace despite the niggling terror. She even feels a stirring of the instrument still firmly inside her and smiles in anticipation, making just enough movement with her hips to encourage its gradual revival.

But then the car begins to slow.

Roy's voice drifts back to them from the driver's seat. “Playtime's over. The entrance is about a mile away. You better zip yourself up and prep her.”

Without extracting himself, Carver takes her hands and gently pulls them behind her. “Sorry, babe,” he whispers.

She feels him slipping the padlock through the rings of her cuffs and hears it click shut. But he is fully hard now and pumping upwards into her. Her minds bounds chaotically between terror and pleasure. Something rubbery is pushed against her lips. The ball gag.

“I have to . . . put this . . . in now,” he says, thrusting faster and harder. “Any last . . . words . . . before I do?”

But all she can say is “Ah . . . Ah . . . Ah . . . Ah . . .”

And once again they climax together, cry out together, his arms around her, his hands crushing her breasts; her hands between them, kneading the flesh of his stomach.

When their breathing has slowed down, he asks again, “Any last words, my sweet?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe,” he whispers back.

She opens her mouth and lets him stuff the rubber ball between her teeth. He's careful not to hurt her. She feels the straps wrap around her cheeks and pull taut as he joins the velcro closure behind her head. He lets her remain in his lap, enveloped in his arms. Their double charge of man and girl juices are leaking copiously past her swollen cunt lips and his shrinking member. He strokes her breasts and plants small kisses on her neck.

She can't hold back a sad little sigh as he slips out of her. She hears the jingle of loose change as he slips his pants back on.

Now the car stops and Roy is talking to the guards at the entrance. This is it! She will never pass through this gate again, except in the sundry digestive systems of those who will dine on her tonight, including her lover. Her heart is pounding as the car starts forward for the short journey down the long driveway. She can't see it now, but she remembers what it looks like. The enormous mansion. The pillared portico. The crowd of Members and girls waiting for the arrival of today's meat. With a last kiss, Carver smooths her dress and brushes at his own clothes. She wonders if any semen has leaked on to his pants. Will he be embarrassed by it, or display it proudly?

The door on her right opens and lets in another blast of hot air. A subtle motion of the seat cushion tells her that Carver is no longer beside her, but his hand grips her right elbow and urges her across the seat towards the open door. She feels the sticky residue of their lovemaking on her bare buttocks as she slides across the upholstery. She tries to pull down the hem of the silk dress to reduce her southern exposure before she swings her legs out of the car, but with her hands cuffed behind her it's impossible. But then, why bother? She remembers how Katie was paraded naked through the assembled guests and made to endure their groping and fondling. She'll receive the same treatment. One of Carver's hands is on her ankle, helping her find the pavement. Her feet are bare, as required by the Society during shipment. The hand switches to her head so she won't bump it on the door frame as she stands up in her blindness. The hot pavement scorches her tender soles, forcing her into a little dance that inspires guffaws from her unseen audience. Fuck you, she thinks, standing there in your shoes and sandals and flip flops!

Then a scary thought occurs to her. If the sun-heated pavement is this painful, how is she going to bear it when her flesh starts roasting over an open fire? She remembers Katie's face and its enigmatic alloy of pain and pleasure. O God! Does the happy juice really work?

Damn this blindfold and gag! She wants to see Carver, be reassured by his calm smile and soothing words. She wants to ask him to stay with her to the end, praise her courage, hold her hand.

Suddenly the hot, rough griddle under her tortured feet turns cool and smooth. She remembers the marble floored piazza beneath the shade of the portico and welcomes its soothing relief. The relief is multiplied when her bare feet sink into deep soft pile. She knows she's being taken to the kitchen, but she doesn't know the route because she wasn't allowed to follow Roy and Katie a year ago. She can only guess by the changes of surface she's led across — wood . . . carpets of various textures . . . tile. Finally a door opens ahead of her and her senses are assaulted by the unmistakable aromas of a kitchen.

“I'll take her from here,” an authoritative female voice intones.

Carver's hand releases its hold on her arm. “See you in an hour, sweetheart,” he says, and pats her bottom. “Do what they tell you and you'll be fine.”

“We're going to cut off your dress now, dear,” the woman says. “The scissors will feel cold, but don't be alarmed. They won't cut you.” Her tone is businesslike but not unkind. She might have been a dental assistant prepping her for a root canal.

The cold metal of the shears traces a line from her left thigh up to her neck, then two more across her shoulders. The silk material is whisked away and she feels her skin exposed to the moving air of the ventilated kitchen. She's glad she can't see the poor ruined remains of her beautiful green jade dress, but she couldn't hold back a sad little whimper.

“I know, dear,” the woman said. “It was a pretty little dress. But you won't be needing it any more.”

Someone is putting something around her throat, buckling it on. The collar. She hears the click as the leash is attached, feels the cold metal of the chain as it falls past her breasts and hangs between them against her skin.

“Let's get rid of this foolishness,” the woman says.

With a rip of velcro, the straps on the blindfold loosen and it falls away from her face. She blinks in the sudden brilliant light from the high kitchen windows and the overhead florescents. She sees ranges, ovens, sinks, steel counters, wooden butcher blocks, hanging pots and pans, racks of knives, refrigerators and all the other impedimenta of a commercial kitchen. She also recognizes the kitchen staff that cooked and served Katie, Brooke and the runaway girl. The woman in front of her, still holding the black blindfold, is Chef Boisvert.

“Oh my, you have such beautiful eyes,” she's saying. “Unfortunately, we won't be able to salvage those, but that gorgeous shimmery black hair! That will look exquisite against a bed of bok choy and red peppers. You're going to make a wonderfully exotic and exciting dish! But first we have to clean you out, my dear. You don't want to be making any mess when we gut you. Just go along with John here, and he'll take care of it for you.”

One of the assistants who had helped the Chef eviscerate the other three girls — a short, thick man with jet black hair and a neatly clipped beard — steps up and takes the handle end of the leash.

“Come along, love.” He has a tenor voice that seems much too high for his bulk, but that deficiency is offset by a charming British accent of some sort. He sets off ahead of her holding the leash over his shoulder. Having no other choice, she follows him.

She's led out of the kitchen and along a “staff only” hallway into a room about fifteen feet square equipped with a shower on the opposite wall, a sink on the left and an open toilet on the right. The walls and floor are tiled identically, and the floor is pitched from all sides to a drain in the center. Two chains hang from the ceiling near the shower and an odd piece of equipment that looks like a vinyl covered ottoman squats between the center drain and the toilet. Her heart sinks as she spots three bulging enema bags hanging from a rolling I.V. rack near the toilet. She gives John a baleful look and groans through her gag.

He nods. “Right. They're all for you. But not all at once. You'll cope.” He leads her to the ottoman. “Kneel down right there on that little pad and lay face down over the stool. Slide forward so that your bum is high in the air.”

When she does so, he wraps her leash around a cleat on the opposite side to hold her in place. With her head upside down, she peeks past her left leg to see him roll the rack up behind her and take down one of the nozzles. He dips it into a tube attached to the rack and it comes out covered with a shimmery substance she guesses to be a lubricant of some sort. Twisting it back and forth, John inserts the nozzle deeply into her. It's a far more comfortable insertion than the many times human nozzles have been forced into that orifice. Then she feels a peculiar swelling in her rectum.

Amused at the expression on her face, John explains, “That little balloon will keep the nozzle in your ass and seal you up until you've taken the whole bagful, so you don't have to sweat it. Hold on. Here she comes!”

He twists the pet cock and she feels a rush of warm, soapy water pour into her belly. For the first few seconds it's a pleasurable feeling. Then her intestinal alarm system sends its first advisory that a visit to the bathroom is indicated. The advisory is quickly upgraded to a warning as more fluid pours in. Before half a minute has elapsed the need to evacuate has become urgent. Then desperate! She feels she will burst if the flood doesn't stop! But John ignores her writhing and moaning until the bag has flattened completely. At that point tears are rolling down her face and she's groaning piteously. He releases her leash from the cleat, backs her over to the toilet and orders her to hover there, not quite sitting down. Then, in a well practiced one-two-three combination, he deflates the balloon, pulls out the nozzle and plops her onto the rim of the toilet just in time to catch the explosion of soupy excrement. Ming Ming had thought that by now — reduced to a thoroughly debased, sexually shameless, physically helpless and permanently naked piece of livestock — she would be beyond humiliation. But sitting on this seatless toilet gushing foul smelling, watery shit in front of a smiling kitchen assistant is more deeply humiliating than anything she has ever imagined possible.

And she has to go through it all over again. Twice!

Touched by her sobs as he forces another gallon of treated water into her, John tries to ease her suffering by assuring her it's all for her benefit. “They work pretty fast when they gut you, love, and sometimes they accidentally slice where they shouldn't, and if anything's in there, it spills out. You only get to do this once and you don't want folks remembering you as tasting like shit, do you?” But his well-intentioned logic doesn't help.

When he brings her back to the dreaded ottoman a third time, she hopes that knowing what's coming will made it easier to bear. But her body's determination to empty her belly at the first hint of excess capacity is as fierce and torturous the third time as it was the first and second! The only part of the ordeal that grows less intense is the humiliation. Her final discharge into the toilet is nearly clear and smells only of the strawberry scented soap.

Finally it's over.

“There now,” John says in his cheerful accented tenor, “that wasn't so bad, was it?”

If it were not for the gag, she'd have set him straight.

She's led to the shower side of the tiled room. John positions her between the dangling chains, each of which ends in a metal cuff, like halves of a pair of handcuffs. He clamps the cuffs on her wrists just above the leather-covered cuffs already there. To her relief, he removes the padlock holding those original cuffs together, freeing her hands, at least to the extent that she can now move her arms around to loosen up her aching shoulders. As she does that, he takes from his pocket a small black object that looks much like the remote device Carver uses for keyless entry to his car. He touches it to one of the black leather cuffs and snaps open with an audible click.

“This here is a pretty cool device,” he says chattily as he does the same with the other three cuffs. “Has to be activated by three of the bigwigs here, three different combinations, or it don't work. ‘Course if you was gonna be butchered for the barbecue grill, or pan fried or oven roasted, we wouldn't bother. Just chop off your hands and feet. Saves time.”

She stares at the white bands of sun-starved skin. Curious how unnatural her wrists and ankles look now, completely naked.

John is behind her, now, unbuckling the collar. Taking it off.

Next he moves to a crank bolted to the wall and begins to turn it. The chains to which the new metal cuffs are attached are rising, pulling her wrists with them, upward and outward until her hands are just above her head and about four feet apart.

The door opens and a second kitchen assistant enters — a tall, blonde young man Ming Ming recognizes as one of the servers at all three previous banquets. He stops at the sink and picks up a bucket containing a long-handled brush and what appears to be soapy water, which he brings over and sets on the floor near her feet. He arms himself with the brush while John plucks a hand-held shower wand from the wall. A moment later Ming Ming feels a wide swath of blunt, hot needles stinging her back and moving around her body in a delicious aqueous massage. A few seconds after that the soft bristles of the soapy brush begin to describe gentle swirls on her body, adding to the unexpected pleasure. She's ordered to spread her legs wide and heavenly attention is paid to her sex, legs and feet. Every inch of her body is gently scrubbed and showered. A soft cloth in the hands of the blonde assistant is used to cleanse her face, ears and neck, then her breasts and pussy. He uses his bare hand to test for stubble, but Carver had shaved her in the motel and she's a smooth as a child. The same bare hand caresses her breasts and tweaks her nipples, exciting the nubs to erection, but for a less professional reason. Having firmed them up, he leans down and sucks at them alternately while rubbing her soapy slit with one hand. With the other he zips himself open, frees his stiffened member and pumps it until his spunk spurts all over her sex and legs. Then John takes his place and repeats the same performance. She doesn't mind, for although their suckling and fondling fails to do for her what it's done for them, it's followed by another two minutes of delightful hand soaping and showering to clean off their jizm.

The blonde assistant retrieves a bottle of shampoo from a nearby cabinet and proceeds to lather her hair and rinse it out twice, enveloping her in a subtle fragrance of peaches. Once again she lets herself drift into a state of bliss as his fingers massage her scalp. After the final rinse the men team up to towel her off, taking turns between a vigorous rubbing of her hair and a sensuous patdown of her body, with special attention to her female bits.

When they're satisfied with the results (and have, no doubt, stretched their unauthorized play time as far as they dare), John replaces her collar and leash, then goes to the crank and lowers the chains until her arms can hang normally at her sides. His partner, standing behind her, puts his hands on her shoulders and slides them down her sleek arms to her wrists. He pulls them to the small of her back and locks the two halves of the handcuffs together. Then he disconnects the chains, turns her around for one last suckle at each tit and leaves the room.

John takes the end of the leash and pulls her after him out into the hallway to another, somewhat smaller room. It's set up like a one-chair beauty parlor. One of the female kitchen staff is standing beside the single chair and gestures her into it. John clips the handle of the leash to the arm of the chair and leaves.

“Well, you're going to be easy,” says the woman, running her fingers through Ming Ming's black hair. “Nice short cut. Very cute. Exactly right for your doll's face. Lots of natural luster and bounce. Not ruined with bleaches and colors. Perfect!” She picks up a blow dryer and a brush and begins to finish what the two men had begun. “Your eyebrows and lashes don't need any help, either; nice and black. They can oil up your face and not have to worry about makeup. You'll be a scrumptious sight on the spit, but your real glory will be when we present you on the platter. Trust me, honey: you'll be fabulous!”

As the hair styling goes on, Ming Ming becomes more and more excited that she's about to be cooked, but equally aware that she has less than two hours to live. It's as if she'd jumped out of an airplane and was free falling thousands and thousands of feet, steering herself in circles and figure eights, all the while the ground rising up to meet her. A human bird gliding through an exhilarating plunge that's about to end in death!

With her hair properly primped and styled, she's led back to the kitchen at the end of the leash where she's attached to a ring bolt in a steel counter. She waits quietly while the kitchen crew bustles about washing vegetables, kneading bread dough, mixing sauces, rolling out pastries and creating a myriad of things she can't identify. Chef Boisvert is issuing rapid fire orders to her staff, pointing at various kettles, pans, cutting boards and other pieces of kitchen apparatus.

It's fascinating to watch them prepare the various accompaniments that will be served with her meat. It helps to divert her mind from the growing pain in her jaws caused by the ball gag. It began as discomfort as soon as Carver had pushed the thing between her teeth, forcing her mouth open as wide as it would go. Discomfort had escalated to an ache during the enemas and was getting steadily worse. But before she can feel too sorry for herself, Chef Boisvert turns and heads straight toward her. Ming Ming's heart skips a beat then speeds up alarmingly. This is it.

The Chef unlocks the leash from the counter and faces Ming Ming. “Okay, girl, this is your moment. This is what you signed up for and have been preparing and waiting for all these months. Are you ready?”

Ming Ming nods, her hands trembling behind her.

“Your handler tells me you're a little concerned about your tits, that you think they're a little too small compared to some of the other girls. Is that right?”

She nods again with a sheepish glance at her modest 34-B's.

“Well, let me tell you, girl, your tits are the ideal size and shape. Nice and firm. Not the least floppy. When we roll you face up for carving, they'll stand up proud and perfectly shaped, not squished down and flattened out sideways like the really humongous boobs do. They'll be nice and succulent, too. Really tasty. We don't have to inject any cream or thickening agents. Now listen: all your friends are here to see you transformed from a common head of livestock, like those girls out there, to a superbly beautiful and delicious roast. I promise you, the Feast tonight will be truly memorable. You'll be exceptionally erotic on the spit as you cook, absolutely stunning on the platter when we bring you in, and every forkful will be delicious! You'll be a meal that our Members will remember for a long, long time, and an inspiration to the other livestock. So stand up tall, girl! Show them what a fine specimen you are. Get their salivary ducts flowing and their dicks and cunts twitching. Okay? Here we go!”

The Chef turns to the red door that enters on to the courtyard and starts off, leash in hand. Ming Ming has no choice but to follow. Her heart is thudding so hard in her chest it hurts. The door opens automatically at their approach. There, standing in a line and watching expectantly, is the whole host of men and women who have come to feast on her. She steps out on to the hard flagstones. They're hot under the intense sun but not blistering like the driveway pavement. She actually welcomes the mild pain because it helps take her mind off the gnawing ache in her jaws.

Acutely conscious of the picture she's presenting — naked, bound, gagged, collared and leashed — she keeps her back straight and her head high as she's led past the Society Members and the pretty girls in their charge. These are mostly the same people she stood among when Katie and Brooke were in her place.

She spots Carver near the end of the line. He winks at her and she winks back. He's flanked by Meagan and the new girl, Dakota. Dakota is just as he described her, except he hadn't mentioned how cute she is or her spectacular figure; only that her shoulder length riot of curls is bleached and that her boobs — twice the size of Ming Ming's — are real. Still, she feels no jealousy. This cute faux-blonde will one day soon be walking these same hot flagstones at the end of this same leash and be replaced by yet another pretty piece of meat.

Chef Boisvert brings her to a stop. “Stand here and spread your legs!” she orders, then drops the leash and backs away.

Nearly the entire assembly moves in to fondle and grope her, testing not only the firmness of her meat but the wetness inside her vagina and the reaction of her nipples to their pinching. She fixes her stare on the pool several yards ahead of her, remembering her happy escapades in that very venue. It helps deflect her mind from the busy and sometimes hurtful hands swarming over and into her body. Occasionally she glances at the roasting pit to her right where the staff is warming up the coals.

A profusion of blonde curls with dark roots arrives in front of her face, claiming her attention.

“Wow!” Dakota says. “This is awesome. I've heard a lot about you from Carver and Roy. You look fantastic! I can hardly wait to see what you taste like. I hear the Chef likes to season tit meat with rosemary. I love rosemary! I'm a gourmet cook, you know.” She cups Ming Ming's breasts with her hands and frowns. “Geez, I hope there's enough here to go around.” She shrugs and backs away. “Oh well. I'll be over there,” she rolls her eyes at the roasting pit, “watching them do you. Have fun!”

Suddenly Ming Ming feels less charitable about her cute, blonde replacement. But before she can get her dander worked up properly, a more welcome face appears in her place.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Carver uses the palms of his hands to give her sore and recently maligned breasts a gentle and soothing massage. Her eyelids droop with relief and pleasure. He kisses her nipples and her eyes, then murmurs in her right ear, “You look absolutely ravishing! I'd like to eat you up right now. But you're worth the extra wait. You're going to be the most fabulous roast of girl ever! Just think . . . after all the hundreds of times I was inside you , tonight you're going to be inside me, and remain part of me forever.” He kisses her on both cheeks. “They'll be taking you to the roasting area now, but I'll be near you the whole time, darling. I'm so proud of you! Love you!”

He backs away as Chef Boisvert steps in and plucks up the handle of the leash.

“Come along, dear,” she says, and begins pulling Ming Ming toward the stainless steel table waiting beside the roasting pit.

Part 10

The looks of dreamy pleasure on the faces of Katie and Brooke while on this table are still vividly etched in her mind. Even so, the thought of being ripped open and disemboweled while awake and alert is scary.

But there's still some time before that happens. For one thing there's the relief of having her hands free again when the handcuffs are removed, even though the Chef has locked her leash to the table. She touches the sides of her gag and moans beseechingly at the Chef, but the woman shakes her head.

“No. Leave it alone. I know it must be terribly uncomfortable by now, but you must leave it in place or we will restrain your arms behind you again very harshly. Furthermore, if you do not cooperate, we will not numb you with happy juice. You wouldn't want that, would you?”

Ming Ming drops her hands to her side and shakes her head sadly.

“Then climb up on the table and lie on your back like a good girl.”

She does as she is told and is soon enjoying her last massage, a full body rub with basting sauce by John and the blonde assistant. She smells the rich fragrance of seasoned butter. They work the soothing balm into every inch of her body, paying special attention to the most sensitive spots: her face, eyelids, lips, nipples, labia, clit and vagina. Ming Ming suspects the latter is more for their own jollies since the vagina will never be directly exposed to the hot coals and fire. Her suspicion is confirmed when they flip her over to baste her backside and again include her clit and the depths of her vagina for a good minute of rubbing. She doesn't mind a bit. In fact, she tightens herself around their fingers and wiggles a little to let them know she enjoys it, too. Her eyes are closed in a bliss that's tinged, perhaps enhanced, by a niggling terror of what comes next.

She feels an additional set of hands on her shoulders and hears the Chef's voice in her ear. “Take hold of the table legs, dear. I'm going to inject the serum now and it might hurt a little at first. You must hold perfectly still so I can put the needle in exactly the right place and not have to do it again.”

She reaches down to find the steel legs and grips them with her hands. The assistants have not yet applied basting to her palms so she's able to hold herself tightly against the table. She feels the prick of the needle, followed by a burning flare of pain as though a red hot spike were being pushed into the base of her skull. Her body trembles with the strain of holding herself motionless.

Then, as though a valve had been opened, the pain drains swiftly away and a strange new giddy feeling permeates her entire body. She feels hands grasping her body and sees that she's rotated once again to be face up, but it doesn't seem quite real. It's as if she's in some sort of human body simulator; or perhaps connected by sensors to a stranger's body and is experiencing what that stranger is feeling via some kind of computer generated wizardry. The ball gag comes out of her mouth at last and she licks the drool off her lips. It's not as easy as it should be because her tongue moves with maddening slowness, like it's mired in molasses. She tries to say thank you , but can barely move her mouth and can't make her voice work at all.

She sees the knives come out and feels the terror well up in the back of the stranger's mind while she looks on with a detached curiosity. She feels the sting of the scalpel as it slices deeply into the belly — her belly — but it's an almost theoretical kind of sting, once removed from wherever she is now. She watches analytically as the two assistants stretch the two halves of her abdominal flesh apart and the Chef reaches in to pull out vital parts of her she's never seen — a tangled mess of white sausages and bloodied organs which are both foreign to her and profoundly personal. While part of her is deeply saddened to see them dumped into a waste bucket as useless garbage, another part appreciates the need to move things along efficiently.

Someone is using a cauterizing tool to seal the wounds made by the Chef's knife. Ming Ming feels the terrible pain the stranger is suffering, but only as a kind of hearsay. She turns her head toward the small crowd of onlookers — a sluggish process because her head is so distant and heavy — and sees Carver in the front rank, along with Roy, Meagan and Dakota. They're watching her. Dakota, for whom this is all new, is fidgeting excitedly, pointing, waving, taking in every detail. Just as Ming Ming had done herself as she watched Katie being gutted. She smiles. She smiles and wants to wave, but can't quite raise her hand. She gives up on the idea.

Now the kitchen crew is lifting her onto the smaller table. She knows what will happen here and is both excited and frightened. This is the final setup for the ending she herself has chosen. Her legs are pulled apart and she feels the cold point of the spit enter her vagina. The sensation as it worms its way into her womb and on up through her body touches off a torrent of orgasms. The thick steel skewer is both a white hot poker and a lover's dildo. She knows she's in agony, but that's in the distance, whereas a series of powerful orgasms are swallowing her up! Whoever has been holding up her head lets it fall backwards at a sharp angle. She doesn't care, except that the white hot spit has plowed into her throat and cut off her air. She can't breathe. She feels her body twitching, racked with spasms, trying to inhale. Meanwhile the searing point of the spit has reached the back of her mouth. Now it's scraping between her teeth, forcing her mouth as far open as it will go. Suddenly she can breathe again and her body relaxes. The steel spit is much larger and harder than the rubber ball. It crushes her tongue against the floor of her mouth. The new pain in her jaws is extreme. And distant. Her body reacts with new waves of delicious orgasms.

She feels the kitchen crew wiring her legs to the spit, shoving stuffing into her gaping belly. She can even smell the fragrant breads and spices and feel her belly being sewn up again after it's all been packed in.

Her vista shifts again as her surrogate body is turned once again face down. In that same remote way, she feels her hair being tucked into an aluminum foil helmet and the prick of stitches tacking it to her brow and scalp. She feels her arms being wired together behind her back, hands on opposite elbows. She even feels the fingers of the handsome blonde assistant when he completes her initial basting by rubbing it into her palms. Strangely, her sense of touch can no longer distinguish between the pleasurable and the painful. Both trigger wondrous thrills! Both are equally welcome!

John is kneeling in front of her now, wiping the blood off the two feet of shaft protruding obscenely from her mouth. The metal, polished with her own gore, gleams in the bright sun. John is smiling at her, but she can't smile back. He's saying something to her, making a joke; something about how lucky she is to be leaving this world with something long and hard in both pie-hole and pussy. She wants to laugh, to agree, but she can only wriggle her lips a little on the shaft. She can't even swallow anymore. Saliva drips from both corners of her tormented mouth.

John stands and takes a grip on the polished spit extending from her lips. He nods at someone at the other end. His biceps bulge and the shaft on which she is impaled begins to rise. The wounds torn through her flesh by the spit are torn further by her weight and the additional pain produces another overwhelming rush of orgasmic pleasure! There's another burst of pain/pleasure as the two men set her spit down on the pair of trestles. She remembers now. They're going to clean off the blood that poured from her belly when they slashed her open and tore out her insides. This looked so innocuous when she watched them do it to Katie and Brooke. But every movement of the shaft running through her body brings on a stab of not-quite-real excruciating pain and its companion jolt of ecstacy. They hose down her body from just below her shoulder blades to her knees, the water warm and welcome on her skin. But then they rotate the spit on the trestles to wash the front side and there's a new blaze of pain, a new sexual rush. The water stops and a soft, broad brush goes to work basting a new coat of seasoned butter where some of the previous coat has been washed off with the blood. The slow rotation ends with her in the original position: belly towards the ground, ass in the air. The spit is lifted off the trestles.

She's moving now. Her vision is blurry with tears and her view ahead is blocked by John's white coated torso, but she can see the faces of the Members and girls and hear their remarks — appreciative, salacious, crude — as she's carried in the traditional circuit around the courtyard. She remembers her own impressions as a spectator: a beautiful girl turned living carcass, fully dressed and basted, squirming erotically on the spit from an incomprehensible combination of pain, pleasure, excitement and fear, ready for the rotisserie.

She feels the first hint of the roasting pit's fiery embrace as the procession of kitchen staff with their girl-on-a-spit draws up alongside it. She looks down into the fearfully glowing coals licked by low blue flames as she's raised up over them and the hint becomes hellish reality as the spit is lowered into its brackets. The full force of radiant heat slams into her body. She knows they will quickly engage the gears to the motor that will rotate the spit, but the searing heat of the fire has already swept her into an extremity of pain and ecstacy that obliterates all other thoughts.

The spit begins its slow, endless rotations, spreading the pain and pleasure to every part of her body. The agony is immense! The ecstacy even greater! She can feel her flesh cooking. She can smell the appetizing aroma of roasting skin and meat beginning to sizzle. Thankfully she's not really present where the pain is. That's her in another dimension, another time. The real her is convulsed with orgasms so consuming, so overwhelmingly pleasurable that the fiery torment to her flesh is irrelevant.

Her eyes have closed against the inferno, but on one of the upward revolutions she drags them open one last time to see Carver blow her a kiss. With a great effort she blinks at him. Once. For Yes!

She's turning . . . turning . . . the heat driving deeper . . . cooking all her meat . . . her legs . . . arms . . . breasts . . . rump . . . even her face, hands and feet. Through the continuing maelstrom of orgasms she sees herself carried in to the Dining Hall on the silver platter, apple in her mouth, carrot greens sprouting from her perfectly roasted rump, her bronzed skin shining with layers of basted-on butter. She sees her carcass being turned over now, belly up in a bed of greens, smooth black hair framing the delicate oval of her face, a little strip of red cloth covering her eyes, her sensuous figure erotically displayed, her firm, elegant breasts topped off by crisp brown nipples waiting to melt on her lover's tongue, along with the coveted cunt lips, seasoned and crisped to perfection during hours of intercourse with the hot spit. A steaming, tender, perfect roast of girl to be carved up and served to her hungry friends. Savory, tender meat to be devoured slowly with an excellent wine over stimulating conversation.

Then forgotten. Just another delicious meal.

That lovely, roasting body with all its memories of pain and pleasure is floating away now. Her fantasy is complete. She allows herself to ride one last raging orgasm . . . a tidal wave of cataclysmic ecstacy that sweeps her up to a pinnacle she's never reached before! . . . then carries her gently down a cascade of sparkling aftershocks into sweet, dreamless sleep.