Message-ID: <10901eli$9805050850@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Eurytion Subject: RP Cannibal 4H Chptrs. 7-12 (Death, NC, Inc, Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: eurytion@tripod.net Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <354E1AA0.2112@tripod.net> THIS IS A REPOST OF THE SECOND SIX CHAPTERS OF CANNIBAL 4H FAIR. It is intended only for adults. It contains violence, the raising of humans as cattle meant for consumption by other humans, death and varied and sundry forms of sexual excess. You have been warned. The original two chapters of this saga were written by Neuralmancer, the remaining chapters by Eurytion. My thanks to Neuralmancer for allowing me to be a sharecropper on his farm. New chapters in this ongoing saga are regularly posted on Fridays to alt.sex.snuff.cannibalism and alt. dolcett. And now our story continues:Cannibal 4H Chapter Seven: At the Fair by Eurytion THIS YEAR THE WEATHER was cooperating with the fair’s organizers. Moderate temperatures and gentle breezes had replaced last year’s oven-like heat and Santa Ana winds. As always, the Cannibal 4-H Fair announced its presence with the sweet, succulent smell of human cattle being roasted over wood fires tantalizing the nose long before the participants arrived at the grounds. One of the never ending debates occasioned by the fair was which wood was best. Competing cooks had actually been known to come to blows over this issue. Joey, like his father, was a traditionalist. Strong and hearty hickory for barbecues, sweet maple for smoking. Neither approved of mesquite, calling it a wood “fit only for dilettantes and dickheads.” Linda Sue was not so rigid in her tastes. Although she agreed about mesquite, it was decent for quick grilling of steaks and chops but too long made the meat bitter, and liked the results you got with hickory and maple; she felt that oak and pecan brought out a more subtle range of rich flavours in the meat. Apple and cherry with their delicate fruity essences were her woods of choice for smoking human cattle, especially when the meat was lean. While fist fights had been fought over firewood, full scale wars had broken out over what was, next to the quality of the meat, considered to be the heart and soul of any real barbecue: the sauce. Thick or thin? Spicy or sweet? Mild or Hot? Tomato-based, mustard-based or vinegar-based? Separate theatres of battle had been opened over the issues of rubs, pastes, marinades, mops and sops. In the end, the only thing the combatants could agree on was that those other idiots had no idea what made a really champion barbecue. Joey backed the farm’s large flatbed truck up the pavilion. By prearrangement several hands from the farm were there to help unload a most unusual cargo. To the average passerby, the device would look like a giant aquarium made with smoky glass walls. In fact, it was the final home of the young lady formerly known as Valerie. Ten months under the artificial light of the veal pen had caused cow 701 to undergo some rather severe changes. Even a few minutes exposure to the most diffuse sunlight would cause her skin to burn. Joey would use a strong sunscreen to protect her on the way to Crenshaw’s Superior Meats but the rules of the fair did not allow for any emollients to be placed on an animal’s skin prior to judging. Her eyes, acclimated to the dim red light of the pen, would be blinded by any stronger illumination then she was used to. Thus the transfer box. Based on the techniques used to allow nocturnal animals to be viewed in the zoo, the box had special one-way windows on all of its sides. Inside the box was the same type of lighting system used in the veal pen. The plexiglass-like material had been specially tinted to give fairgoers the best possible view of cow 701 under the red lights. The box itself was big enough to accommodate the veal cage and five people. Joey could bring the three judges into the box and still have room to release cow 701 from the cage. It was, he thought as they muscled the box into its assigned spot in the pavilion, an innovative answer to the problem of showing human veal. After he was sure that the box was properly set up and cow 701 was safely inside, Joey went in search of Linda Sue. He didn’t have far to go. As he suspected, Linda Sue was hanging around the butchering tent talking with Carl from Crenshaw’s Superior Meat. “Joey, we’ve got to go to the Polynesian-style barbecue this year, even if it does cost extra. Carl says they airlifted three girls and all the fixings in from Fiji. They even brought a Fijian cook along so it will be as authentic as possible.” Joey took Linda Sue by the arm and, saying his hellos and goodbyes to Carl at the same time, proceeded towards the food tent. Along the way they passed the open pit. Because it was early in the fair, only two girls were turning on spits, their flesh turning to a golden brown above the climbing flames. A slab of ribs on his plate with extra sauce on the side, Joey sat down at a table across from Linda Sue. As always, no knives, forks or spoons were provided to the diners, hands being the only acceptable form of tableware for use at the fair. Linda Sue was indulging herself in an early afternoon meal of smoked bull pricks smothered in a sea of green chile sauce with pobale on the side. “After we’re done eating,” he told his girlfriend between mouthfuls. “I’d like you to go with me to the supply pavilion. Dad wants to throw a special feast after the fair is over. We’ll handle the details. Crenshaw’s already agreed to butcher those three human heifers we’ve been keeping for a special occasion. Al said you can help if you want. Got to get as many things arraigned today as we can.” Linda Sue felt her pussy beginning to dampen. “You’ve been working with those three while I’ve been concentrating on the veal project. How do you think they should be prepared?” Linda Sue didn’t need any time to formulate her response. “I think the cow in stall 11 would be perfect for whole carcass oven roasting. Her black skin would really look good on a platter set off by a bed of rice or some potatoes. Maybe we could leave the head on and serve her with an apple in her mouth. “We’ll take cow 22 and have Crenshaw’s smoke her. She’s almost finished cattle now and a week on high nutrient density concentrates should top her off. Those hams of hers will be great eating. We’ll serve them bone in and just do a spiral carve around the bone. I’ll let you use maple to smoke this one, she’s a little too fat for anything else. “That last cow, we’ll spit barbecue. You said your dad wants this to be a special feast so I really think we should use pecan wood. She’s young, only 17 and tender. The pecan will burn slower and more consistently. We’ll get some spectacular meat of that one if you do it my way.” The crowds were beginning to increase as the two human cattle ranchers made their way to the supply tents. Although the main judging wouldn’t be held for another two days, there were enough activities already underway to attract fairgoers to the grounds. The inside of the supply pavilion was honeycombed with individual booths and exhibits. More than 600 companies were taking advantage of the fair to display their wares. The pavilion was roughly divided up into sections, each one coinciding with the general type of merchandise being presented. Although they were primarily interested in the restaurant supply section, the gleaming chrome of a Jessica 3000 processing machine glittering under a bank of spotlights caught their eye, a dozen television screens above the machine replaying the classic tape of television anchor Merideth Vierra being personally prepared by Merle Hill for her company’s picnic. A large sign announced Mr. Hill would be making an special appearance at the fair. Another solicited volunteers for his scheduled demonstration. Joey found it difficult to stop watching the tape. In his mind’s eye he could see Linda Sue being processed in place of Merideth; his cock growing rock-hard at the thought of flicking the final switch to drive the spit fully into an unsuspecting Linda Sue. For her part, Linda Sue was also imagining herself taking Merideth’s place but, unlike the hapless anchor, with full knowledge of the consequences of being strapped in place on the apparatus. She could feel her juices beginning to leak down the inside of her thighs. A salesperson for Hill’s interrupted their hypnotic study of the display. “One look at the two of you and I can tell you like what you see up there,” referring to their aroused state. “We’ve been looking for a volunteer for Merle to process during the demonstration. Mam, you would be just about perfect. If you’d like to sign these papers,” he said shoving a clipboard with a voluntary meat registration form at Linda Sue, “we could get everything set up for tomorrow.” Linda Sue’s hand shifted slightly toward the clipboard then stopped. Thanking the salesperson for his interest Joey declined the proposal to Linda Sue and began to move on down the aisle. “If you change your mind, just come on back. I know Mr. Hill would be pleased to pop your sow for you even if you didn’t want to use the Jessica,” he called out to the pair as Linda Sue looked wistfully back over her shoulder at the display. Deep in their individual thoughts, the pair were silent as they proceed deeper into the pavilion. It was only after they had reached the restaurant supply section that they found themselves able to speak. Linda Sue began to flutter between the various displays, excited at the opportunity to pick the best equipment possible. In the end, they ordered a new aluminum whole carcass roasting pan with a special Pyrex top which would allow guest to watch the cow roast; a new set of German Solingen steel cleavers, forks and carving knives; and a full complement of Spode serving platters and dishes including two specially designed for bone in human hams and a reenforced silver-edged whole carcass platter. The most time was spent deciding on the equipment for the barbecue. Linda Sue was quite unreasonably finicky about her selections, taking close to an hour to examine almost every variety of spit available at the fair. The bipedal cow chosen for this portion of the meal was a close approximation to Linda sue in both age and body type. At 5’ 7”, the human cow stood an two inches higher than Linda Sue and at 143 pounds, weighed five pounds more. The doomed girl’s udders were two inches bigger and a full size larger than Linda Sue’s 36 D’s, the results of injections as well as the special tit food. Nevertheless, the Joey’s girl and his girlfriend were near enough matches to allow Linda Sue to use herself as a template while making decisions on which equipment would work best. Linda Sue threw herself into this job with a passion; insisting on being tied to each of her final three choices, hoisted onto a pair of Y-bars and rotated as though she was the torso being roasted. This led Joey to speculate once again about how appealing and satisfying it would be to actually see Linda Sue rotating over a real hickory fire; her clear, savory juices dripping from cracks in a skin turned tawny from the heat of the flames. In the end, she settled on having a Perro brand spit custom built. Composed of a special carbon/Kevlar composite, the hollow spit would have a diameter of 1 1/2”. At 7’ 7” long, it would extend 1 1/2’ past each end of the torso. The custom spit would have the patented Perro “surgical needle” point at one end. After the cow was impaled, the ends of the spit would be attached to a matched set of non-conducting handles allowing for easy, burn-free turning by hand. One of the handles was also adaptable for use with a mechanized rotisserie unit. Between their perusal of the Jessica 3000 and Linda Sue’s active examination of the various spits; the lover’s hormonal levels were at a elevated peak. It took them only minutes after Joey had signed the purchase orders for the party to find their way to the fuck tent and begin to make use of the coital facilities. Lying on his back a dark canvas bag within reach, Joey insisted that Linda Sue get on top. Horny and needing release she didn’t argue. Her hands trapped Joey’s member and, without any preliminary foreplay, placed it at the entrance to her pussy.Moving in tandem, Joey thrust upwards while Linda Sue drove down. The result was a quick and complete sheathing of Joey’s dick into the recesses of Linda Sue’s cunt. Linda Sue began to slide up and down on Joey like a wooden pony on a carousel pole, Joey’s hands kneading her tits between his fingers. She moved faster and faster, Joey squeezed harder. Suddenly her tits were visited by a complete absence of touch. Wondering what was happening, Linda Sue was startled to have Joey grab her by the hair and snap her head back. Looking straight forward, Linda Sue saw Joey give her one of the hand signals used to herd his human cattle. She stopped cold. Joey tugged on her hair again, stinging her scalp. His hand repeated the signal. In response, Linda Sue bent forward at the waist until her breasts were smashed against Joey’s chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Joey’s left hand entering the canvas bag he had brought to their bed. His right hand let go of her hair. She continued to watch for signals. Joey’s left hand reentered her field of vision. Already stimulated to a high pitch Linda Sue began to quiver. In Joey’s hand was an foot-long sample of a Perro roasting spit, the Dolcett model made of cold rolled iron with a blunt-end cap. Its Teflon coating gleamed with a thin coat of lubricant. Joey reached down behind her. She felt her buttocks part. The spit pressed hard at her puckered rose. Her opening began to widen; the spit slipping into her portal. Linda Sue grunted welcoming the invader. Joey pushed harder and the spit probed deeper into as yet uncharted territories. As Joey continued to push, Linda Sue felt the first sensations of panic. “Please Joey, that’s far enough.” Joey ignored her pleading, pressing the spit in further. “Joey, I can’t take any more. Stop.” “Merideth took 10 inches of anal spit. You can take 12,” replied Joey relentlessly advancing the spit forward. Linda Sue began to rock back and forth, propelling Joey’s prick in and out of her now gushing vagina at the same time aiding the entrance of the spit higher into her bowel. All pretence at control was lost. In her lust, Linda Sue only wanted two things; to take the entire length of the spit within her and to come. Neither were denied her. Just as her ass closed over the distant end of the spit her body was racked with a series of wrenching orgasms, leaving her to collapse limp and drained onto top of a similarly satiated Joey. Later that night, Linda Sue sat on the edge of her bed worry etching her features. In her hand was the sample spit that Joey had so skilfully used to coax her to climax. Is this really going to be my fate? Am I really going to wind up on someone’s plate? It was exciting when it was just an unobtainable fantasy. Now that Joey is beginning to treat me like a cow can a real spit be that far off? Is that what I really want? I better be sure because there’ll be no turning back. Cannibal 4H: Chapter Eight: The Judging by Eurytion JUDGING DAY AT THE FAIR. The culmination of months of efforts for the entrants; the culmination of far more than that for the entries. Never was the old joke about the chicken only being involved with breakfast while the pig was committed ever truer. The human cattle that would be appraised today were certainly committed. Cow 701 presented some special considerations for the judging panel. Normally, because of the difficulty involved in the raising, veal cattle weren’t entered at the junior cattle raiser class. In fact, almost all the human veal produced for sale came from giant commercial farms located in the Northwest. It wasn’t profitable to cultivate human veal on family farms. After months of intensive research on the World Wide Web and consultations with extension agents and other experts, Joey had designed his project as the first step in lowering the costs of veal production for smaller, local operations such as Geryon Cattle Farms. Plans for the operation had already been drawn up before Valerie had lost her identification badge at the fair. While it still cost more to ready cow 701 for slaughter than her true cash market price would be (prize winners at the fair were always auctioned off for far more than they would bring on the open market), Joey believed that his new methods could allow smaller, family-owned cattle farms to make, not lose, money on veal. His special veal pen had nearly the same per square foot operating cost as a regular barn. A carefully run cow-calf operation with a breeding herd producing calves solely for veal combined with the selective purchase of heifers and mavericks at auction could help make small scale veal farms feasible and profitable. First though Joey and cow 701 had to get through the judging. The three judges preceded Joey into the transfer box. Closing the door behind them, Joey explained about the need for the red lighting. When the time came for them to judge his girl’s skin tone he would place the goggles on 701 and replace the red lighting with white. But, for most of the judging, the carmine illumination would have to suffice. Complying with her master’s hand signals, cow 701 exited her veal cage with the ease brought on by nearly a year of practice. Her calm outward demeanour as she was examined revealed no trace of the turmoil she felt inside. The Valerie-mind was silently screaming; as a real human she had attended enough Cannibal 4-H Fairs to know she was being judged and what came afterward. But McCain’s conditioning held, even as she heard the judges speak of the high quality of her meat and joke with Joey about the best ways to serve her. In addition to the standard techniques, the panel used a new technology during the judging: ultrasound examination. Based on the medical device used by doctors, a specially constructed machine sent high-frequency sound waves into cow 701 and then recorded the waves as they bounced off the various body tissues. The mechanism produced a visual outline of the girl’s internal body structure on a small screen, allowing the judges to gage proportions of fat to lean, fat thickness, and the size and quality of the various cuts of meat on cow 701. “Son,” said Art Trubell after they had left the transfer box. “Even though I’m the foreman of this panel, I’m probably speaking out of turn because as a panel we haven’t made a decision yet. But I have to tell you how impressed I am by your entry. We serve a lot of veal at my restaurant and if you didn’t have that arrangement with Crenshaw I’d be top bidder on that girl of yours and serve her at my next ‘by subscription only’ meal.” Joey had rarely eaten at Brigliadoro. Widely considered to be the best and fanciest restaurant in town, its prices usually kept him away. Having a hamburger and fries at the Hitching Post might not be as elegant or as gourmet but it sure was closer to what he could afford. The last time he had dined at Brigliadoro was after he had won his second blue ribbon. Al Crenshaw had taken Linda Sue and he there to celebrate and the bill had come to several hundreds of dollars. Still, praise from Art Trubell had to be taken seriously. A hard-dealing businessman, no one had ever accused him of giving out compliments like candy at Halloween. Jeff Myerson, who served as the county extension agent for the county to the south spoke up next. “I have to agree with Art. That’s a fine heifer you’ve got there. The fact that she’s a conversion and you’ve only had her for ten months makes what you’ve accomplished even more amazing. I don’t have any doubt about how I’m going to vote.” The last judge was Peter Barton, the owner of an agricultural implements dealership in town. Having grown up as farm kid and still involved in overseeing the raising of crops for the local food bank, he was more than knowledgable about agricultural issues. “Joey, I don’t think there’s any question about how well you’ve done with this project. I think you deserve the Blue Ribbon for Best of Show and I’ll push for it. Even though I knew that cow before she was converted, she has me really looking forward to sitting down at a dining table and enjoying some nice veal parmigiana. “In fact, I’m halfway considering contracting with you to do the same thing with my step daughter, Patty. Even though she’s only ten years old, she’s made it plain that she doesn’t approve of her mom remarrying me and she’s done everything she can to bust us up. If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring Patty around to the farm and maybe even to the butchering. Your cow used to baby-sit for her and I want her to see what might happen if she doesn’t start to behave and treat me with some respect.” Joey beamed at the accolades he was receiving. At the same time he tucked Mr. Barton’s request away for further consideration. Families selling their unruly offspring at auction did happen although the kids usually had to be really serious troublemakers before such a drastic step was taken. Maybe there was a way to bypass the auction process and make direct purchases. It was worth talking with his father about. That evening Joey and Linda Sue went to the Polynesian-style long pig roast. Joey had spent much of the previous day staving off his anxiety by working on the volunteer crew that helped to dig the three cooking pits or lovos. Linda Sue had enjoyed herself by assisting in the preparation of the three young Fijian girls for their roasting. Each lovo was a uniform 43 inches deep but their length and width varied to fit the girl who would cooked within their confines. While everyone called it a pig roast, during cooking the girls were more steamed than roasted. Four hours before the girls were to be lowered into the furrows, an iron pipe honeycombed with 1/4” holes was laid on the ground at the pit bottom. A standpipe reached up from one end to stand about three foot higher than the earth’s rim. The pipe, along with the outflow of a vacuum cleaner, would be used to get air to the fire allowing it to burn more evenly. Under the chef’s direction, the pit was filled with wood; each piece of which had been carefully cut to be the same size as all the others, another aid to even heat throughout the lovo. The fire was lit without the use of chemical starters such as charcoal lighter and allowed to burn down until the bottom of the excavation was covered with about two feet of red hot coals. After the fire was underway, Linda Sue and the other volunteers began to prepare the Polynesian long pig. The young carcasses, each weighing about 120 pounds, were placed on plastic covered tables. Large bowls of sea salt were set on each table. As she rubbed her long pig with salt, Linda Sue was enchanted by how beautiful the Fijian girl was. Her dark, wavy hair, now encased in a transparent non-heat conducting hair net, reached to the small of her back. Her face was given symmetry by a broad flat nose spread over wide pouting lips. Her skin was already a dusky bronze which would not noticeably darken during cooking. Her most fascinating feature was the elaborate blue-black tattooing of geometric motifs which encircled the girl’s public area and extended into a wide band around her hips. The ornate tattoos made it look as though the girl was wearing a pair of dark, skin-tight, intricately patterned shorts. “Be sure and cover every inch of that skin with the salt,” the chef instructed Linda Sue. “That means inside the body cavities as well as outside.” Linda Sue turned her attention from the body on the table to the chef. If the girl was beautiful, she thought, this man is more than a match for her. Knowing that he was being examined, Cakkobau stepped back from the table to give Linda Sue a more comprehensive look. Linda Sue liked what she saw. The Fijian stood a little over six foot. His hair was black and cut close to his scalp, its waves reaching straight back on his head. His skin colour was a match for the girl on the table while his face was squarer, less elongated than the girl’s. A blue shadow of emerging beard outlined his upper lip and chin. While the girl’s tattoos only covered her waist, the chef’s entire torso was decorated with an intricate network of fine blue tatoos. Because of his role as chef, Cakkobau was not completely nude. His loins were wrapped in a sulu made of red cloth with a white depiction of some sort of tropical flower or plant. His teeth, revealed as he smiled at her, resembled a line of square pearls. “Come along now. Quit staring at me, you’re falling behind the other women,” he admonished the smitten young girl. “If you really want to see what’s under my sulu, come to my bure after we’ve put these long pigs on the fire. Until then you’ve got work to do,” he said giving her naked ass a squeeze as he strode arrogantly toward the next preparation table. With a humph that could be heard throughout the tent, Linda Sue grabbed another handful of sea salt and rubbed it vigorously inside the girl’s body cavity. Cheeky bastard, she thought, although Joey would be out having a beer with his friends and she really didn’t have that much to do this afternoon. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a stroll down toward the visitor’s tents, just for the sake of maintaining friendly international relations. Who knows she might even be able to pick up a few pointers to use at the Geryon Farm celebration. After the trench full of logs had been reduced to a bed of coals, Joey and the others added more wood, stirring with metal paddles to mix the coals and new wood together. Next to each lovo stood a 3-foot high pyramid of round river rocks anywhere from five to eight inches in diameter. Fireplace tongs were used to carefully create an even layer of rocks over the fire bed. Out came the prepared long pigs. Each had been thoroughly salted, stuffed with dressing and laid out on a burlap sheet. The sheets had been soaked in water until they were dripping then covered with banana stumps and ti leaves. The burlap was wrapped around the girls, making sure that each body was fully covered with the stumps and leaves. These would help permeate the human pork with the smoky steamed flavour characteristic of long pig. The burlap had then been sown together at the top using steel thread to attach a series of rings. These rings would be used to place and remove the pigs from the lovos. The final step in preparing the girls was to wrap a layer of chicken wire around the burlap. This would help keep the girl’s meat from falling off of the bones before serving. Each burlap bundle was doused with twenty litres of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and lowered into the lovo. The remaining stones were layered around and on top of the long pig. Joey helped to dump 100 pounds of lit charcoal over each lovo’s second stone layer then wrestle a metal sheet across the opening. Beside him Billy shovelled dirt onto the metal sheets until each was topped with a grave like mound. “This isn’t exactly my idea of fast food,” Billy commented to Joey. “Even my mom’s Thanksgiving turkey doesn’t have to cook for 24 hours. I hope the wait and all this work is worth it. I still say nothing can beat a quality human cow roasted over an open fire.” Twenty-four hours later, as he reached out to pull some thigh meat off the still steaming girl, Billy was ready to admit that he was wrong. “Man, this is delicious. This girl’s meat is so tender just falls off the bone. I’ve never tasted any girl at the fair that was this flavourful or so juicy. I think I may even have thirds of this long pig. We’ve got to do this more often.” Joey, who had been washing a mouthful of meat down with a swallow of yaqona, a mildly narcotic drink made by the Fijians from the kava root, could only nod in agreement. After passing the wooden tanoa bowl to the person next to him, he clapped his hands three times as custom required. Turning around to look behind him, Joey spoke to Linda Sue. “I heard you spent a couple of hours with Cakkobau yesterday after the girls were ready for the lovo. Did you learn anything we could use?” Linda Sue’s face, already ruddy from the reflection of the fire, seemed to increase in its redness. “I learned more about their customs and mores than I did about their cooking techniques,” she said carefully choosing her words to traverse a mine field. “Those tattoos that all the girls had were part of the veiqia rite. The Fijians use bamboo sliver or sharp shells dipped in ink to draw the lines and a special pick made of coconut shell dipped in inks driven into the skin by a mallet to make the dots. Cakkobau says they don’t use any anesthetic so it’s very painful. The girls have to be held down by other girls and they say the men can hear their screams echoing out into the bay. It takes almost a year for the tattooing to be completed but, when it is, it’s a sign that the girls are now young women and eligible to be married. “Cakkobau offered to have his duabati, the woman who does the tattoos, start on mine now and complete it at next year’s fair. Or I could just go back with him to Oneata, that’s his island, after the fair is over and have it done properly in his village. Having fallen under the influence of the yaqona Joey and Billy, began to giggle. “I don’t see what’s so funny you two,” Linda Sue replied huffily. “I could go to Fiji if I wanted.” Billy managed to regain his self control long enough to explain to Linda Sue that Cakkobau had ulterior motives for his friendly invitation. “I was talking with Max Mignon, you know the guy that does all the purchasing of human cattle for the food court. Max told me that Cakkobau asked about the cost of buying human cattle and having them shipped back home. Max said that Cakkobau said the price Max quoted was outrageous and that he’d get his own Long Pig from America much cheaper than that. “Max asked how he intended to get volunteers to be eaten. Cakkobau told him he wasn’t going to tell the women they were volunteering to be eaten; he was just going to get them down there for other reasons. Said they’d find that out they were on the menu just before the ritual slaughtering started.” “Al Crenshaw told me the same thing,” said Joey, filling in for Billy who was now giggling so hard his sides hurt. “And that Cakkobau said he’d not only get his meat cheaper, he’d get them to pay their own shipping and handling costs. I guess he must of had his eye on you. If you fly down to visit him on his island, I’d give you two months tops before they were pulling you up out of a lovo, steaming hot and ready to serve. “Hon, if you want to go and be a long pig instead of a cow, I’d be the last to stop you. Just let me know ahead of time so I can be there for the feast. After all our time together, I wouldn’t want you to be eaten by strangers.” Seething with anger Linda Sue got up and left the fire. She wasn’t sure who see was madder at: Cakkobau for deceiving her or Joey for enlightening her. After a few minutes a staggering Joey caught up with her. “Hey, sweetheart, come on. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I thought you knew what the deal was. You’ve always been quick to figure out all the angles. You’ve made most of the deals; you got my dad to let me enter the first fair; you got Al Crenshaw to sponsor me; you found Valerie and made sure I claimed her --- it was just funny to see that the Fijian had you so fooled about what he really wanted.” Linda Sue stood still, her fury toward Joey somewhat abated. The young farmer took her by the hand and began to lead her back to the party. “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “It could have been much worse. You know that Alma Henderson from the aid society is actually going to go. She’s already bought her ticket. Told everyone she was going to serve the needs of the heathens. She’s stuck her pointy nose into so many other people’s business that nobody felt like telling her she was going to serve their needs on a wooden platter. “Lucy Dorsey’s also going. She’s using her tip money from the restaurant to pay her way. Jonny Quigley caught her in the tent with Cakkobau; she was licking the last of his sperm off her face and the sides of his cock. Anyway, they had a big fight and Lucy broke up with Jonny. Her mom’s too drunk most of the time to care what happens so she won’t stop her. Jonny knows but he’s so mad about that blow job he’s going to let her go. Says it’ll serve her right. Like Jonny’s never stepped out on Lucy. “So what if Cakkobau had you on his list. It just shows he’s got good taste. I think you’d probably taste pretty good myself, although if you were my cow I’d have you spitted for a barbecue, not steamed in a lovo. Since it’s you I’d even give in and use an oak fire. But I’d still use a spicy red sauce, that’d be a good match with you. “Anyway, come on back. It’s a shame to let the rest of this feast go to waste,” Joey cajoled. “Hey, you want to hear the strangest part about Lucy? Jonny says that Cakkobau’s tattoos go all the way down to his feet and even cover his dick. Can you believe that?” Sure that she couldn’t be seen blushing in the dark, Linda Sue said that she could. The couple had returned to the lovo. The Fijian girl had been served face up, her legs stretched to their full length, her arms laid out parallel to the sides of her chest.Her wavy, dark hair had come through the heat unscathed and was fanned out to the sides and back of her head. While she was surrounded by limp ti leaves and wilted banana stalks, she did not have an apple in her mouth. The girl’s bones were beginning to show their whiteness where her flesh had been pulled away for consumption by the country cannibals. Some of the people were breaking the girl’s fingers and toes off from the torso and then sucking the meat from the bones before throwing them into the lovo which received the offerings with hissing and crackling. Linda Sue noted that the area around the girl’s cunt was hardly touched. Usually this was considered a prized piece of meat at the fair. When she wondered out loud why, a diner on the other side of the lovo complained about the taste. “It’s like eating overcooked raw fish, even though that sounds funny. That meat is oily just like raw fish, it’s gritty and well, too smoky, or something. Whatever caused it, it sure makes it taste nasty. That cunt steak just isn’t edible.” Linda Sue wanted to tell him that the taste was a result of the dye the Fijians used to tattoo the girl with. Made of soot and ashes mixed with fish and turtle oil, it would account for why such a usually prime cut of human cattle was so unpalatable. But it was better not to direct Joey’s attention to any portion of her encounter with the Fijian cook. It wouldn’t do to have him start wondering about whether or not she too had seen the full extent of Cakkobau’s tattoos. Cannibal 4H Chapter Nine: Patty’s Lesson by Eurytion TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED since the cannibal fair. Joey had won his third Blue Ribbon for Best of Show, even though it seemed anti-climatic after all the hard work and preparation. Tomorrow cow 701, formerly known as Joey’s 13-year old neighbour girl Valerie, would make her final trip from the farm to Crenshaw’s Superior Meats. By Sunday she would be served for dinner on fancy china all across the county, including as set at her Aunt Janet’s and Uncle John’s. Both Joey and Linda had been invited to the family dinner. Joey wasn’t sure about going since cow 701’s former parents were to be there too. But Linda Sue was insisting that it would be rude to decline. He still had time for decide but, for now, he needed to give cow 701 her final meal. While Billy had come by on the average of once a week to help with the feedings, tonight he and his parents were in their last session with the grief counsellor who was helping them come to closure with Valerie’s conversion. Cow 701 would still have special visitors for her terminal night on the farm. Standing inside the veal pen with Joey and the human cattle were Peter Barton and his young step daughter Patty. Mr. Barton, who had been one of the judges who awarded Joey his third Blue Ribbon, was having trouble with his step-daughter. She had not warmed to his marriage with her mother and was continually trying to break up their union. Before her conversion from human to human cattle, cow 701 had been Patty’s favourite babysitter. Joey had agreed to let the agricultural implement dealer bring his step-daughter to the barn and to the slaughtering to show Patty what could happen to her if she didn’t change her ways. Implicit in the agreement was that Patty would be sold to Geryon & Son Cattle Farm for veal if she continued to cause problems within the family. “Does that cow look familiar,” Barton asked his step-daughter. “Do you know who she used to be?” The prepubescent 10-year old gazed at the complacent cow in shock. She tried to look away. Barton grabbed her head and turned it back to cow 701. “Patty, I asked you a question. Do you know that cow?” In a thin voice Patty replied “That’s my sitter Valerie.” “No Patty. That’s not Valerie. That’s a cow that belongs to Joey here.” “That’s Valerie,” the young girl said stubbornly. “She used to be Valerie. But she wouldn’t listen to her parents. She was bad. And so they sold her to Joey and his dad and now Valerie is a cow.” “No that’s Valerie.” “Joey, you can see what I’m up against. Maybe it would help if you gave that cow her feeding,” Barton said. Joey moved over to the shelf and got the tin feeding bucket. After mixing the formula, he brought the teat over to cow 701 who accepted it into her mouth and began sucking greedily. Patty’s eyes widened as she watched the cow empty the bucket. Within minutes cow 701’s vigorous vacuuming had allowed her to ingest the full measure of formula. “Patty, who is that?” No answer. “Patty, I asked you who that is?” Softly and with just a hint of uncertainty “Valerie?” “If you really think that’s still Valerie and not a cow, go to her. Get her to talk to you,” said Barton pushing his juvenile ward towards the animal. Joey’s protest was stopped by Barton’s raised hand. I hope the conditioning McCains did holds, Joey thought. We’ve never used her name or actually treated her as anything other than a cow. If Valerie reemerges now there’ll be all hell to pay. Patty stopped in front of the human cattle. “Valerie, It’s Patty. Talk to me. Say Hi. Please Valerie, you know me. You used to babysit me.” The cow did not respond. Patty started to cry. “All right Patty, come on back here.” A subdued Patty returned to her stepfather’s side. “Now who is that over there?” “A cow,” said Patty between sobs. “That’s right a cow. But who did that cow used to be?” “My babysitter Valerie.” “That’s right she used to be your babysitter. Now, why is she a cow?” “Because she wouldn’t listen to her parents and she was bad and they sold her.” “And what happens to cows?” “We eat them.” “We eat them. Do you want to be a cow Patty? Do you want someone to eat you?” “No.” Peter Barton reached into the back pocket of his blue jeans and pulled out a raft of papers. “Patty, look at me.” The frail shaken youngster looked up. “Your mom and I went to see the judge today. And your mom signed these papers. So did the judge. I haven’t signed them yet. These papers let us sell you to Joey and his dad. If I sign them, you’ll become a cow just like Valerie. And someone will eat you just like they’re going to eat Valerie. I don’t want to sign these papers, Patty. If you behave and do what I tell you and what your mother tells you, I won’t. But if you don’t obey, if you continue to be a bad girl, I will. Do you understand? “Yes.” “Yes who?” “Yes, sir.” “That’s better Patty. And, just to make sure you know what it’s like to be a cow, I’m going to let you pretend to be one for a little while.” Joey’s eyebrows raised at Barton’s pronouncement. “Joey, could you put Patty in the veal cage while you wash your cow up?” “Sure, Mr. Barton,” said Joey playing along, “I’d be glad to. Are you sure you don’t want to sell us Patty right now? This cow’s going away tomorrow and we’ll have room for another one. You could just leave Patty right here. We’d keep her in a stall out in the barn tonight and move her into the cage in the morning.” “Please,” cried the little girl. “I’ll be good. Don’t put me in the cage. Let’s go home.” “I guess we won’t need to put Patty in the cage tonight after all,” said Barton. “All right Patty, you can come home. But remember there’s always going to be a cage waiting here for bad young girls.” Barton had a cowed Patty wait in the Ragnarok room while he talked with Joey. “Joey, I appreciate your helping me with my Patty problem. I think from what happened here tonight we can consider it solved. And I want you to have these.” Joey accepted the papers from Barton. “I know you may not have approved of everything you saw here tonight. But I also know that you’re a businessman who understands how to serve his own best interests. “I wasn’t quite honest with Patty tonight. I did sign those papers. However, it’s not quite what we talked about. Patty will remain my ward until she’s 16. At that time I have the option of buying her rights back from you for $500 or allowing you to have her for a mutually agreed upon price. The judge felt this was a better solution to the child’s lack of discipline. I can also tender her to you at anytime before she turns 16. You have the right of first refusal. If you do she goes up for auction. “The judge is a bright individual. He not only convinced my wife this best for the whole family, including Patty; he’s got her going into partnership with him on a foster home. Patty could just be the first of a number of children we’ll be raising with an eye toward eventual conversion.” After Barton and his step-daughter had left, Joey thought about what he had said. Using a foster home as a sort of feeder lot for a human cattle operation made a lot of sense. I think I’ll give his wife or the judge a call next week and see if we can enter into some more formal arrangement maybe like the one for Patty. Geryon’s Foster Home and Feeder Lots, the name needs a little work but it might be the next innovative step forward for the farm. Cannibal 4H Chapter Ten: Reaching Closure by Eurytion JOEY AND LINDA SUE BEGAN to give cow 701 her last grooming, rubbing a thick coat of sunscreen over her translucent white skin. Although the cow would stay in the transfer box until her scheduled afternoon appointment, without some protection even the four minutes in the hot sun it would take to make the final walk to the slaughtering chute would redden her skin like a lobster dropped into a pot of boiling water. As they smoothed the unguent on to 701’s hide, they were preoccupied with thoughts about the events to come. A bit morose, the three-time champion wasn’t looking forward to the afternoon. Too many distractions. Billy & his parents would be there to achieve “closure” by watching their former family member slaughtered. Even though he and Billy had patched up their difficulties over Valerie’s conversion Billy had become a frequent attendee at Cow 701’s feedings, the fact that the convert’s former parents would be in attendance made Joey uneasy. To further complicate matters, a new local group of cattle rights activists had promised to picket Crenshaw’s in protest of the “barbaric” methods used to produce human veal. The press would be there to record their actions. Joey was beginning to tire of his “fifteen minutes of fame.” At first, like any young man, he was excited. His name and photograph were in the local paper. People knew who he was and sometimes pointed at him as he walked down the street. Young girls and some not so young girls flirted with him. A number, including one middle-aged member of the local council who brought along her 15-year old daughter and a series of restraints that could have been used on the ranch, went farther providing Joey with a variety of new and appreciated experiences. But, as time went on, the attention lost its lustre. Joey felt pressured to best himself. If he didn’t win the top prize every year at the fair it could only mean that he was going backwards and that wasn’t acceptable. Well, thought Joey to himself, nobody said living at the top would be easy. But, in just a few more hours some of the pressure he was feeling would be released. Cow 701 would be slaughtered and ready for consumption. In contrast, Linda Sue was in high spirits. For her it was a day of triumph. A potential rival for Joey’s affection was getting the punishment she deserved. Linda Sue knew that Valerie had cast her young eyes on Joey; that Valerie wanted to supplant Linda Sue in Joey’s life. Unlike Joey who thought Valerie’s “crush” was cute and harmless, Linda Sue saw Valerie as a serious rival for Joey’s affections. Linda Sue had worked hard to shape Joey’s future. Without her persuasion of Joey’s dad, Joey would never have been able to enter his first fair. If Linda Sue hadn’t shown the initiative to entice Al Crenshaw into buying Joey’s first winner, the business relationship between Crenshaw’s Superior Meats and Geryon Cattle Farms wouldn’t have happened. Even the veal project and Valerie’s conversion wouldn’t have taken place without Linda Sue’s machinations. Step by step Linda Sue had set Joey on the path to a future he had never even dreamed about; towards prospects that had never seemed imaginable. She had big plans, for the two of them. Plans she would never allow a little mooncalf of a girl to ruin. Today would put paid to Valerie’s ambitions and send a signal to others of a like mind that Joey Geryon was hers and no one else's. Cow 701 was in a mood of oblivious contentment, her higher reasoning functions pushed to the far recesses of her mind. The young cow responded readily to her master’s touch as he massaged her sallow skin. With each stroke of her hide, every smear of sunscreen, her nipples hardened and her vulva spread wider. Linda Sue, noticing the lubrication dripping down the cow’s legs nudged Joey. “You know, in just a couple of hours, this cow will be hanging upside down and draining. You dad tells me that she’s never been bred. She’s sure ready for it. I know you’ve bred other cows on the farm. I’ve even helped as you well remember. Why don’t you go ahead and breed this cow before we take her to Crenshaw’s?” “Now why would I want to do that when I’ve got you around,” Joey replied cagily. “I know you’ll be taking care of all of my needs soon enough. Besides, the anticipation of waiting to get you on the shaft just makes it better in the end.” “And just which shaft is it that you want to get me on Joey Geryon,” asked Linda Sue? Joey just smiled enigmatically. “Well, if you don’t want to breed her yourself,” retorted Linda Sue, “let’s get one or two of the hands in and let them have a go at her. They’d appreciate it. I’d enjoy watching and you’d enjoy the aftermath of letting me watch. Besides it seems a shame to slaughter this cow before she’s had a full work out. If you don’t want to use the hired help, that bull in stall 17 has a 10 1/2 inch pizzle that would send this cow out with a real bang.” “Linda Sue, we don’t have time to have her bred. We’re due at Crenshaw’s in less than an hour and we still have plenty to do to get ready. First time breedings aren’t an exercise in calm and serenity and you know how Al feels about anxious, skittish animals.” “Any unnecessary stress hurts the quality of the meat,” they chanted together in imitation of Al, smiles on their faces. “When Crenshaw’s talks about superior meats we mean it. Calm, happy cattle slaughtered peacefully provide us with the high calibre of meat that made our reputation.” “All right Joey,” said Linda Sue. “I guess you’re right. We should have bred her sooner though. It seems such a waste to let this one go unused. She could have satisfied the lust of a half dozen of those fresh bulls in the other section of the barn. Oh, well it’s too late now. Let’s get her in the box and get on the way.” As they drove to Crenshaw’ superior meats, Joey and Linda Sue passed a pair of teenagers jogging by the side on the road. The redhead who was the shorter of the pair had a nice ass that made Joey think of rump roasts while her lanky brunette partner, whose ribs were clearly visible underneath her cutoff shirt, had him thinking barbecue. The two seemed to be arguing as they ran. “Joey, we need to make plans about what to do next.” “Humm?” “Pay attention, quit staring at those two girls. The veal project is a success. Someone else can take that over now. What is the next step? How do we keep moving forward.” “Actually, sweetheart, I’ve got some plans along those lines.” “Planning, without me! Joey, what are you up to?” “I think you’re going to like this if it all works out. Give me a few more days to firm up some of the details and then we’ll talk about it.” “Come on Joey, give me a clue. What are you thinking about?” “Nope, you’re just going to have to be patient, as hard as that is for you. But don’t worry, you’ll have a major role in this new project.” Linda Sue pestered Joey without success to reveal at least a hint about what he had in mind. “Just wait. You’ll find out when the time is right.” With a humph, Linda Sue sat back in her seat. “We’ll see just how long he can keep this a secret,” she thought to herself. The truck carrying the transfer box slowly made it way through a crowd of protesters as it entered the Crenshaw property. There were about a dozen people picketing at Crenshaw’s, their signs reading “Meat is murder; Human cattle still have rights; Set your table with vegetables” and, in a show of stunning insensitivity, “Would you want your daughter to be a cow?” Although these demonstrations had become more common over the years, this was the first time that cattle rights people had been active locally. Because they had announced their intent in the local media, the county sheriff had assigned two deputies, Stan Triplett and Wally Zehr, to see that things didn’t get out of hand and that the demonstrators didn’t interfere with the day’s operations. Nicknamed Mutt & Jeff because of the difference in their sizes, the two county deputies would brook no nonsense on their watch. They were carnivores and had little respect for what they considered to be a mewling crowd of namby-pamby leaf-eating wankers who wanted to take away their steak, chops and roasts. If people didn’t want to eat flesh then well and good. That was their individual choice, freely made. But, to the two deputies, that didn’t entitle folks to force their personal decision on others. De gustibus non est disputandum was their motto. While the truck came to a halt in the parking lot near the entrance to the processing plant, a number of the protesters put down their signs and picked up candles. Moving between the truck and the entrance, they dropped to their knees and began to pray. As Joey and his crew lowered the truck’s ramp to the ground, Linda Sue strode over to the demonstrators, fire in her eyes. Standing in front of one middle-aged lady, she left fly with a verbal load of buckshot. No one could ever accuse Linda Sue of being shy. Her motto was do onto others before they do onto you. “Anges Carlson you mealy-mouthed pharisee,” she addressed the woman. “I’ve seen the order list at the Crenshaw’s. Your husband Sam’s name is on it. Here you are today praying for this human cattle when you know perfectly well that this weekend you’ll be praying over her after she’s been brought to your supper table. You should be ashamed of yourself and this phony-baloney act of yours.” Linda Sue moved to her right. “And you Bertie Williams. A lot of people know what really happened to your first wife Alice out in the forest and why. I guess you should have been more cautious in the showing of a certain videotape. You haven’t reformed so don’t come the righteous one now. I’m going to be sure to tell Mary not to take up botany as a hobby. “All of you with you pious signs and your moral certitude are nothing but busybodies and hypocrites. You all may think it makes you a bigger and better person to be here today marching and praying and calling for an end to the raising of human cattle but there’s not a one of you that doesn’t profit from it in one way or another. “Jason Breen, your gas station sells fuel to all the human cattle ranchers around here; maybe they ought to take their business somewhere else. And you Dottie Donner, I’ve seen you chow down on a bull prick or two when you thought no one was looking. Charlie Pickels, how much more business will your vegetable stand do if everyone stops eating meat? “Maybe you all better worry about the beam in your eyes before you set out to remove the mote from mine.” The deputies couldn’t help laughing openly at the furious dressing-down being given to the cattle rights advocates by Linda Sue. Their responsibilities as law enforcement officials kept them from voicing their personal opinions but that didn’t stop them from agreeing with the young firebrand. But Linda Sue wasn’t the only advocate aroused to a fine edge of wrath. An attractive brunette with shoulder-length brown hair strode athletically forward and began to berate the young rancher. “Are you completely bereft of any human decency,” she challenged Linda Sue. “These aren’t animals. No matter what the law says and what’s been done to them, they are people. They are not our chattel. They are our sisters and brothers. They are not being processed, they are being murdered. What is being done here today is wrong. More than wrong it is barbarous.” At 5’ 9’ Linda Sue’s antagonist towered over her by a good four inches, forcing her to look up into her face. Linda Sue stepped back to allow her to lower her eyes and adjust the psychic interaction between the two females. “Ann,” she started. “It is Ann isn’t it, I think I’ve seen you in town,” she asked. The brunette nodded yes curtly. “What you think or even what I think doesn’t matter. The law is the law. The courts have ruled that this is legal; that these are cattle not people and their slaughter and consumption is legitimate and allowed. Besides that,” she added, “they’re really pretty tasty. You should try some.” “Eating people, whether or not you call them cattle, is an iniquity that stains the human soul,” Ann charged. “It is immoral, evil, inhuman and profane. I don’t care how many men in black robes rule otherwise; not all the court decisions ever rendered can make it less so. “Despite all my attempts to feel otherwise, whenever I hear anyone arguing in favour of this abomination I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on them. How forcefully would you defend this practice if it was you in the stall; you who were reduced to the status of an animal; you who would be cruelly killed and stuck on a pole over a blazing fire; you who would be ultimately reduced to a satisfied belch from the fat stomach of a cannibal after a big dinner?Are you a living human being with all the special qualities an individual possesses or are you just a slab of meat?” Linda Sue couldn’t help laughing. “Honey, I’ve got a boyfriend who beats off some nights with visions of me rotating over an smoldering fire spurring him to shoot sperm clear to the other side of the room. He’s already tried a number of sample spits on me for size. I could very well wind up on his plate. “If I do, I’d take it as a compliment. Like it or not, all of us are potential roasts on two legs. If I fail to satisfy Joey’s cravings as a mate; well then maybe I can satisfy his cravings for meat. I’d be his victuals not his victim. See these tits,” said Linda cupping her 36 Ds in her hands. “I take a supplement every day to grow these boobs, just like the farm cattle do. I’m not just doing it because I wanted bigger tits. If my time comes I want to be the best that I can be. “I’ve helped Joey raise his human cattle. I’ve got a good eye for stock. What are you, about 130 135 pounds? I’d say you’re about a 35 or 36 B cup. Yeh. you’re about 35-25-38. You must work out to keep that figure although if you don’t eat meat that would explain a lot. With a little work and the right supplements, you could be a prime cut of human beef. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you’d be a milker for awhile or, if you’re talented enough you could be a breeder. “Of course, if we used you as breeding stock, we’d eventually wind up selling you as stew meat. I don’t think that figure of yours would hold up under intensive breeding. Still even in a stew you’d be serving people in a better fashion than you are now. Give it some thought Ann. We’re always looking for new cattle.” “I really pity you Linda Sue. If raising human cattle isn’t wrong then nothing is. It is not too late for you to seek redemption. Salvation can still be yours. Remember when a just cause reaches its flood tide, whatever stands in the way must fall before its overwhelming power. We are right on this and we will prevail no matter how hard the struggle; no matter how long the fight.” Before Linda Sue could respond, the two deputies intervened. “OK folks,” Jeff told the sign-wavers, “time to be moving along. Your permit says the protest stops when the cattle arrive. The cattle are here so you’re going to leave.” At heart, unlike their big-city counterparts, the local activists were law-abiding individuals. With a minimum of grumbling, they gathered up their signs and candles and began to leave the property promising that their fight for human cattle rights wasn’t done with. Ann, staring straight at Linda Sue pledged that she hadn’t seen the last of her yet. “No, but when I do I’ll bet it’s on the end of my fork covered with Bechamel sauce,” Linda Sue rebutted. Al Crenshaw, who had been watching the antics of the protestors with some anger, walked over to Joey. “Now that that’s over, let’s get on with business. We’re going to do things a little differently today. You know that this livestock is a conversion. The former family members wanted to attend the slaughtering. I hear one of those touchy-feely counsellors told them they needed to watch to achieve ‘closure.’ “Your cow may have been their daughter once but not any more. She’s just another heifer to butcher. I’ve agreed to let them watch the initial stage of the processing but that’s it. They won’t see the skinning or the dismembering; just the actual moment of termination. After that they’re out of here. “To avoid any problems we have them in a separate room with a large window that looks out onto the processing floor. They can see what goes on but that can’t hear anything. They can’t get out of the room to disrupt anything and Mutt & Jeff have agreed to sit around to see to that. Besides the legal papers they signed before I agreed to this nonsense have pretty severe penalties for any disturbances they cause. “Their being here means we can’t use the usual slaughtering line. It’s not exactly set up for spectators. We’ve gone back to the old guillotine just like they use at the fair. I don’t like it as well as our method but it’s the only humane way to slaughter your heifer and still let them watch.” As Al Crenshaw paused to take a breath, Joey interrupted his monologue. “Al, you know that Billy & his family are friends of mine. They’re not here to cause any trouble. They’re just doing what their shrink said they needed to do.” “Yeah Joey, I know, I know. But I just don’t like it. I’m running a meat market not a therapy group. And if it gets out that I did this for them, everybody who has a conversion in the family is going to want the same treatment. I just don’t like doing this.” “No offense, but why are you doing this if you didn’t want to?” Al shrugged, a small rueful smile on his face. “Hell, Joey, you know Linda Sue. She’s got a way of always getting what she wants. And for some reason she wanted the family here to see this. Anyway, it’s too late to back out now. Let’s just get your cow unloaded and get this over with.” As Joey and Al’s discussion continued, Walt Gram had begun an interview with Linda Sue. “Ms.,” he started. “Please call me Linda Sue.” “All right, Linda Sue. You sure did tear into those cattle rights people. How come? Don’t they have a right to their opinion?” “Mr. Gram, Joey Geryon is a credit to this community. No one else has ever won three blue ribbons in a row. Most of the people, including the ones that were here today, earn a portion of their livelihood from human cattle ranching. It makes me mad to see folks tear down what Joey has done. “Joey can be one of the best if not the best human cattle ranchers in the country. He’s smart and innovative; this last project will change the way veal is raised and make it economical for the small rancher. He’s hard working. He’s going places, big places. I hope you won’t let a few misguided individuals steer you away from the real story --- what Joey Geryon has and will accomplish and what it means to this county and its people.” “But do they have a point? Is the conversion of humans into cattle wrong despite what the courts have held?” Linda Sue sighed heavily. “Mr. Gram, I’ m just a farm hand not a legal scholar or a philosopher or a religious leader. The consumption of human flesh has been an accepted part of our culture for more than 50 years now. If it really was wrong, wouldn’t it have been stopped long before this?” Before Gram could reply, Joey and Al walked over. After introductions and a few more minutes of discussion, including Joey’s declining of an interview, the day’s serious work began. Joey entered the transfer box to find the young cow crouching on her heels. For a moment he was tempted to give cow 701 one final feeding before her rendezvous with the razor-sharp blade of the guillotine. His refusal to breed 701 was based on his promise to Valerie; it didn’t meant Joey wasn’t interested. But Al clearly wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible. Besides Linda Sue was always extra-attentive to his needs after watching a cow turned from livestock into meat. He could wait another hour or so. Cow 701 shook herself as she exited the transfer box and felt the warm sunlight strike her skin. It was the first time she had been outside since her arrival at Geryon’s. Even during her trip to the fair she was loaded in and out of the transfer box inside the confines of the barn. The extra warmth felt nice. So did the chance to stretch her muscles after so long a time in the veal cage. Using hand signals, Joey started the cow walking toward the open door. Just in case they were necessary a shorter version of his herding staff was in a holster on his belt along with a halter and lead. But, obeying the commands of her master, cow 701 ambled easily toward the building. Moving placidly, the converted Valerie felt no sense of alarum; had no foreshadowing of the fate that awaited her inside the building. As human cattle her concerns were of the most basic: food, shelter and rest. To 701, this was a pleasant outing away from her pen. Nothing more and nothing less. Entering through the door, cow 701 stopped in the hallway to await Joey’s orders. His hand signs told her to continue to walk forward and through another door. The cow stepped across the sill to find herself in a large room. As she moved forward, she could hear the soft bang of a door being shut and even feel the slight breeze caused by its closing. Following Joey’s gesture she stopped near the centre of the room and surveyed her surroundings. Four walls, one with a surface that reflected the room. A concrete floor, railings and tracks crisscrossing the ceiling and, in the centre of the room a large, tall object made of wood and metal. A portion of her once human consciousness began to stir. There was something wrong here, something dangerous. Joey examined the guillotine. At first glance it looked like an enlarged, slightly out of proportion exercise machine. The narrow frame was made of two wooden uprights about a foot apart. Attached at a ninety-degree angle to the uprights was a tiltable bench, almost like a weight bench. At the top of the frame, eleven feet above the lunette, was the blade. A dull grey sheen belied the razor sharpness of its 45 degree-angled edge. Resting on the top of the blade was another weight called the mouton which would help gravity to power the blade downwards. Once released, the blade would fall at a speed of over 60 mph, humanely severing the head from the torso in less than half a second. At the bottom of the frame was a lunette, two pieces of wood one on top of another with small half circles cut out. When the time came, 701’s head would be placed on the lower half of the lunette, chin down and facing forward. A small hook would be attached to her bun to assure that her neck was properly stretched. The top portion of the lunette would be lowered and tightly secured. And then the end would come swiftly. A plastic crate was located in front of the guillotine to receive the detached head. It was really nothing more than an old milk crate, the stencilling for Teelucky’s Dairy could still be seen on the side, but the gaps in the gridwork would allow the blood to drain and make for easier cleanup. As he gazed at the guillotine, Joey remembered the story of the baker, the printer and the engineer who were scheduled to die during the French Revolution. Asked whether he wanted to leave this life facing up or down, the baker chose to go facing up telling his executioner that he wanted to die looking towards his maker. Just inches before the blade reached his neck, it came to a sudden and shuddering halt. Declaiming that god had willed the baker to live, he was set free by the executioner. The printer also chose to die facing up. And in his case, the blade also stopped short of his neck. Again a miracle was declared and the printer was freed. Finally the engineer was lead to the guillotine. And, as they placed him face up in the lunette, he said to the executioner “Hey, I think I see what the problem is here. If you just put a little oil in these grooves.” Involuntarily, Joey turned to look at the black glass hiding Valerie’s former family from his sight. “What’s wrong with me. I’m out here thinking of jokes and they’re in their waiting to see the end of their daughter’s life.” The air was getting close inside the small room. It was only intended to hold two people and then for only a short time with the door opening and closing on a regular basis. But, for the last hour and a half, the room had been occupied by six people; Billy, his father Norm Howitt, his mother Nora, his Uncle John Snieth, his Aunt Janet and his older cousin Teresa Gudman. The overtasked ventilation fan was never designed for these circumstances and the window overlooking the butchering floor was beginning to fog over. Billy had been surprised when his dad told him that his cousin Terri would be attending Valerie’s demise. Seven years older than he was,Terri had returned home to recover from a nasty divorce. Although no one was saying so directly, Billy had pieced together enough fragments of hushed conversation to understand that the family felt Terri was fault in the matter. Terri’s husband had been a stockbroker, albeit not a very good one. He had an uncanny sense of market timing but usually in the wrong direction. Most stocks he gave a buy recommendation to either stalled or dropped in value. Stocks on his hold list did much the same. Generally it was only after one of Andy’s “sell” recommendations was heeded by client that the stock met or exceeded expectations. The losses were always small, never catastrophic and, like a blind pig in search of an acorn, occasionally one of Andy’s picks would do very well indeed. He was still bragging about his selection of Balboa International which went from 12 3/4 to 96 7/8 over a six month period. The only problem was that Andy’s clients had become so wary of his judgment that only the three newest had reaped the reward from this pick. While others might have considered a career change, Andy was determined to persevere. He threw himself into researching companies, looking for another Balboa International. Hours on the telephone or the Web were followed by days away from home on site visits. Terri’s sex life declined like one of Andy’s recommendations. To console herself, Billy’s cousin took a lover, a normal enough response to the situation and one that was socially acceptable these days even in the smallest of towns. Then she took a second, this time an older woman. A little more unusual but still within community standards at least in the big city where Terri and Andy lived. The cessation of the marriage had come after Andy returned to the apartment one night to find Terri entertaining four lovers at once, none of them older than 16 and one of them a black girl. In exchange for a hefty settlement, she didn’t contest the divorce. Family wags said that for Terri the wages of sin was alimony. A gasp from his mother redirected Billy’s attention away from his cousin and out to the floor of the slaughtering house. Cow 701 had just arrived. Joey urged 701 further into the room. She moved reluctantly toward the instrument of her demise. One of Al’s butchers stood next to Joey. “Put her in the knelling position.” Joey gave the order and 701 complied. Billy felt himself begin to stiffen. His frequent coatings of Cow 701’s uvula with his sperm had long ago obliterated the reality of Valerie from his mind. That wasn’t his sister down there. It was only another cow about to be transformed into steaks, chops and roasts. Watching the lithe naked animal go to her end was exciting, not sad. Adjusting his growing erection, Billy moved closer to the window. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his father and uncle doing the same. Reaching into a pocket on his leather apron, the butcher took out a two-looped plastic tie, similar to those used in electrical work. Gently he brought 701's hands behind her back and fastened them together with the tie. “Walk her over and have her stand next to the table.” 701 began to tremble and Joey had to give the hand signal twice before she began to shamble forward. As good as the conditioning from McCain’s was, the spark of Valerie that still resided with cow 701 was forcing its way back to consciousness. Her imminent demise was short circuiting all the training she had undergone. Like a patient emerging from deep anaesthesia, Valerie was returning to life. Her cowlike demeanour was fast disappearing and in its place a frightened young girl was emerging. The butcher knelt next to the shaking female and fastened a second set of loops, these made of softer cotton rope, around her ankles. With a small grunt, the butcher picked up the young cow and set her belly down on the table. He moved the table slightly; walked to the front and then returned to make a readjustment. Satisfied with the positioning, he placed her neck in the bottom of the lunette, then wrapped and tightened two leather straps around her torso, one just across the shoulders the other below her knees. 701 was now completely immobilized and only minutes away from drawing her final breath. Billy’s dick was hard, so hard it hurt. He was stuck in the room until after the blade fell, but once it did he’d be running to the water closet for some relief. Looking straight forward Billy attempted to hide his erection by getting as close to the window as possible. He felt his cousin move next to him as her green and white plaid skirt brushed against the side of his arm. “I hope this is over with quick,” he thought, not so much for Valerie’s sake but rather to keep from being embarrassed by his growing lust. The room, which had seemed so quiet before, now sounded like an echo chamber, reverberating with the short, deep breaths of its occupants. Walking to the far end of the table, the butcher reached for a braided nylon rope with a small hook at the end. After fastening the hook to the cotton bindings around the ankle, he moved to the front of the table. There he reached for a smaller version of the rope and hook designed to be placed in 701's bun to fully stretch the neck. Satisfied with the positioning, the butcher nodded to Joey. “Come over to the other side and help me set the rest of the lunette in place. Just swing it around, that’s right. Now lower it down, easy easy. OK there we go. Push that bolt into place. Yep, that’s got it. We’re ready to pop this cow now.” Joey looked down to see moisture trickling down Valerie’s cheeks. Moved by an uncontrollable impulse, he bent over to wipe away the tears with his hand only to hear a soft voice praying. Joey started to move away only to be stopped by the sound of his name. “Joey, Joey, is that you?.” He moved closer. “I’m here Valerie.” “Joey, say goodbye to my family for me. Tell them I love them just like I love you. I know you kept your promises. God bless you Joey. Please go. I don’t want you to watch. Please do this last thing for me and leave.” With a catch in his voice Joey started to speak only to be stopped by Valerie’s voice. “Joey, please don’t say anything. I’m not that strong. I don’t want to start begging for my life, for our life together. Just go and when you think about me remember me as a girl not a cow.” Mutely Joey bent over and gave the tear dampened cheek a final kiss. Stepping back he motioned the butcher over. “Come on, let’s get this over with now,” he said quietly. ‘Can’t. I’m not doing this job. Someone else is going to pull the lever on this cow.” “Who,” demanded Joey? “I don’t know. Some friend of Al’s paid extra for the privilege. Go ahead and leave kid. I’ll stay here until they get here. And if they’re not here in the next couple of minutes I’ll go ahead and pull the lever myself. OK?” “OK,” replied Joey, turning his back on guillotine as he walked unsteadily from the room and into the parking lot. Billy was startled to hear what sounded like a zipper being lowered. He looked to his left only to see his Aunt Janet pull her husband’s throbbing rod out from his pants. Her fist began to pump up and down on John’s cock, spreading the wetness leaking from the tip along its full length. John’s meaty hands had spread his wife’s blouse open and were now busily mauling her breasts without any care about who would see. Billy shook his head in stunned disbelief. A noise halfway between a sob and a choke made him turn around. It was his mother. She was on her knees with his father’s dick deep into her throat. His old man’s hands were clenched hard against the side of her head as he pistoned in and out of her oral cavity. The smell of sexual arousal filled the room. “And I was worried about embarrassing myself,” thought Billy. Within second of Joey’s departure, Linda Sue strode in to stand next to the guillotine’s lever. “Hello, little one,” she said stroking the same cheek Joey had kissed. ‘I’m glad you were able to fight your way through the conditioning. It makes this much more special.” Valerie didn’t reply. “You know I heard you ask Joey to say goodbye to your family. But he really won’t have to. See they’re all here. Your mom, your dad, your brother Billy and by the way, Billy says you suck cock like an angel. Only fitting I guess since you’ll be joining them in a moment. I’ll bet Billy’s right about you. I know I certainly enjoyed the way you gave my cunt a workout when I fed you. “Guess what? Your Uncle John and your Aunt Janet are here too. They wanted to make sure they got the choicest cuts of Valerie for Sunday’s dinner. Even better, this is such a big family occasion that they even flew in your cousin Teresa to watch you get what’s coming to you.” Determined not to give in, and aided by her hatred of Linda Sue, Valerie remained silent. “No little one, you don’t have to say anything. Having you talk at this point would be superfluous anyhow. Just remember you brought this on yourself. Joey’s mine and I won’t let anyone steal my property. Linda Sue walked around in front of Valerie. Pulling something out of her pocket, she held it so Valerie could see it. Despite her best efforts at self control, the sight of her Cannibal 4H Fair ID badge being held in the palm of Linda Sue’s hand brought deep sobs from Valerie. “You were sleeping so soundly, you didn’t even twitch when I lifted this off from around you neck. But I’m an honest person. I just wanted to borrow this badge for a little while. I’m done with it now. You can have it back.” Linda Sue placed the badge around Valerie’s neck. Then, stepping back she placed both hands around the lethal lever. A squeaking noise drew Billy’s attention back to the front of the room. Terri had taken off her skirt and was bent over using it to wipe the condensation from the window. Her bare pussy peaked invitingly from above two black lace stocking tops. It took only moments for Billy to drop his pants and thrust his throbbing penis into Terri’s well-lubricated cunt. His hands reached around to her front as much for balance as to hold her milkers in his palms. Terri moaned as he sawed in and out of her cunt. “Well, little one. This has been so much fun, I almost wish I didn’t have to do this. Now that you have your badge back I could let you go but, then again, we wouldn’t want to disappoint all those hungry family members now would we?” Linda Sue pulled firmly on the lever. With a silvery sibilant hiss the blade descended. The perigee of its transit was accompanied by a sound like a person biting into a crisp new apple, followed closely by a soft thud as the disconnected head toppled into the waiting receptacle. The thud triggered an overwhelming orgasm in Linda Sue as she dropped to her knees in delirious ecstasy, the blood from Valerie’s severed neck splashing on her like a gentle, rejuvenating spring rain. Linda Sue was not the only one to reach the apex of sexual satisfaction. The flash of the falling blade had triggered le petite morte in every male in the room with Terri not far behind. Only Valerie’s mother and aunt remained unsatisfied, a condition that would be quickly changed once Mutt & Jeff unlocked the door. Outside in the parking lot, Joey felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Al told him it was over. He had walked the tight rope from end to end without falling off. He had kept all his promises to Valerie, as hard as that had been to do, and still placed the interests of the Geryon Cattle Farm first. Now, after Sunday’s dinner, he could move on to his next project. Joey smiled to himself as the two joggers he had seen earlier walked slowly by their bodies glistening with a sheen of fresh, female perspiration. They were still arguing about something. Joey was intrigued by the way a silver cross hanging from the redhead’s neck bounced between her small breasts. Equally fascinating were the long legs of the brunette, mentally Joey nicknamed her the stork. “I’d like to go over and meet them,” he thought “but this has just been too long of a day. Well, maybe I’ll see them around again sometime.” Cannibal 4H Chapter Eleven: The Sunday Dinner by Eurytion JOEY WAS HUNGRY. The aromas emanating from the kitchen had his salivary glands working overtime. Discretely, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin, then took another sip of his ale. It was Sunday dinner at the Howitts. The small living room was crowed with waiting guests. Joey stood next to an brown velour overstuffed recliner holding Linda Sue. Across the way Billy and his cousin were sitting on the dark blue couch trimmed in beige, delicately balancing plates of appetizers on their laps. This task was made more difficult than need be by the way Terri’s hand was caressing the nape of her younger relative’s neck. Billy’s dad, Norm and his uncle John were stationed over by a tall glass and bronze table whiskies in their hands telling jokes. “What’s black and tan and looks good on a cattle rights activist? A doberman!’” In the kitchen, Aunt Janet and Billy’s mom were putting the finishing touches on the day’s repast. All in all in was a festive occasion, more so than Joey ever imagined it would be. First the debauchery at Valerie’s slaughtering and now this. Maybe there is something to this “closure.” he mused. Linda Sue reached out and squeezed his hand. Pulling him close she whispered in his ear, “Look at the way Terri is pawing Billy. It’s a wonder the plate on his lap doesn’t tip over from that woody he’s sporting. Maybe after dinner the four of us should go up to Valerie’s old bedroom and give it a final swan song before Nora turns it into a storage room? Interested?” When they were younger, Joey, Billy and Linda Sue had engaged in a number of youthful experimentations. Strip poker had been their favourite amusement, the games leaving all three sweaty but satisfied. While it had been several years since the trio had gotten together on that level, Joey was excited by the possibility of a trip down memory lane and an extra participant just made it more enticing. “We already know Terri’s not exactly adverse to crowds. She probably feels lonely with just one partner,” Joey replied. “I’ll talk to Billy and see if he’d like to get another shot at you again. So yeah, I’m up for it.” Linda Sue’s hand moved subtly to Joey’s crotch. “You sure are,” she chuckled. “Besides, I think Terri offers us a number of possibilities. Watch the way her tits bounce and then think about how much more they’d dance if we put her on a spit.” Joey got even harder at the thought of Terri turning over a roaring fire, the leaping flames turning her large nipples to dark, crisp, nuggets. “Behave,” he scolded. “One from the family is enough right now.” “You’re probably right. Still, she’s restless, unfulfilled. Looking for something. That makes her a prime candidate for conversion. Don’t rule it out too quickly. I know the type and something tells me Terri is going to wind up on somebody’s spit. It may not happen soon but I think it’s inevitable. And since it’s inevitable, it might as well be our spit.” Joey’s response was cut short by an announcement by Nora Howitt. “OK everyone. Dinner’s going to be ready in just a few minutes. Finish your drinks. Wash up and get to the supper table.” The table was oval and, like the living room, not really designed to hold eight people comfortably. Highlights from its golden oak surface glistened through the white handmade Belgian lace tablecloth that Nora had received as a wedding present from John and Janet. The best china was in use this Sunday, its delicate blue floral pattern offset by the gold gild on the edge. This was an inheritance from Norm’s grandmother and was complimented by the silverware, a family heirloom handed down from John’s great-grandmother. Each place setting was accompanied by a Waterford goblet and wineglass. Two bottles of rare Ehrenfelser wine, one at either end, were joined a pitcher of water. There were bowls of potatoes, fresh green beans in basil and ginger; and plenty of hot rolls. After everyone had settled into their places, Nora brought out the main dish: roasted loin of human veal with garlic, shallots and mustard gravy. The platter was covered with 1/2 inch-thick slices of boned veal loin, naped with gravy and garnished with fresh tarragon strips. It was an exquisite presentation, one fully befitting a member of the family. For moments, the only sound that could be heard in the room, was the rough scrape of the platter being placed in the centre of the table. Then Norm spoke up. “I’d like to say something about Valerie. We all loved her and we will all miss her. But Valerie is gone. “While she was here with us she was never shy about eating her fair share of human cattle. Whether it was a rump roast or ribs or just a simple stew she loved those meals; they were some of her favourites and she looked forward to them. Val visited Joey’s farm on more than one occasion, knew what went on there. The provenance of her meals, even the fact that she knew some of the cattle she consumed didn’t bother her. If we want to honour her memory we shouldn’t let it bother us. “Valerie went to the fair knowing full well what could happen to her. And it did. She, like many before her, lost her right to live as a human. On that day our daughter ceased to exist and Cow 701 was born. “Nora and I visited Valerie before her conversion. She had made her peace with the fate that befell her, knew that she couldn’t escape the destiny that awaits all human cattle. As we left her for that last time, she asked us not dwell upon her the way we saw her then, standing in a byre alone, naked and scared; she didn’t want us to brood over her conversion or blame ourselves for what happened. “Valerie wanted us to fix our minds on the happier times, to think of her as she was during those times and to go on with our lives without regret. She told us that what had happened to her wasn’t unique. We’re not the first family to have someone converted to cattle and we won’t be the last. Val said her conversion wasn’t a tragedy but just another part of life playing itself out. “Still it was difficult, losing a family member always is. We were having trouble coping; blamed ourselves for what happened despite what Val said. Fought a lot, drank too much. The family was coming apart at its seams. “Then our friends began to show us they cared and that meant a lot. We can’t thank you enough. Joey, your return of the cameo Val was wearing that day was the start. That and your dad’s extra payment for the crops, well it helped a lot. But nothing helped more than what Linda Sue did. “On her own she came around to talk with us, to listen to our sorrows, to share our grief and help us begin healing. We took her suggestion that we talk with a professional and we consulted the grief counsellor she recommended. “When we visited the grief counsellor and he told us what we needed to do to achieve closure we were shocked and appalled at his suggestions. What kind of parents would eat their daughter? But, as the sessions continued, we began to see the truth just as Val wanted. We have no compunction about eating other parents’ daughters; in fact we look forward to the experience. We would be the worst kind of hypocrites if we were willing to feed on the flesh of someone else’s child yet shunned the meat from our own. “So we went to Crenshaw’s and we placed our order for a veal loin from cow 701. Billy picked up the loin from the market. I boned it. Nora prepared it. We gathered together relatives and friends and now we’ve placed it before them. Today isn’t intended to be a sad occasion but rather a celebration as we reaffirm our love for Valerie and our commitment to our common culture. And so,” Norm picked up his wine glass. “Before we eat this meal, I ask you to join me in a toast to Valerie who we will always remember as a beloved daughter and who we hope you will remember as a cherished sister, niece, or friend. To Valerie.” “To Valerie,” echoed the diners raising their glasses to the young girl they were about to consume. Later that night Joey found himself shivering with delight as Terri’s talented lips worked at coaxing his limp pecker back to life. “Come on stud, don’t quit on me now. Third time’s the charm.” Joey was lying on his back in near exhaustion. The two couples had trekked upstairs after dinner at the Howitts to put Valerie’s room to its final use. What followed made the strip poker games of their youth seem like the child’s play they were. Terri was the most shameless, inventive, and hedonistic woman Joey had ever been with, including Linda Sue. When they got to Valerie’s room, she sat her three companions on the bed and proceeded to do a strip tease that would have brought a blush to the cheek of Salome. Once Terri had shed all her clothes she addressed herself to Linda Sue. “My, my, will you just look at these poor boys here. I swear that the fabric in those slacks is going to give way any minute now the way those trouser trout of theirs are trying to stand up. “Hon, I don’t know about you but I like to receive pleasure as well as give it. These two farmers seemed to really enjoy my little dance and from that wet spot where you’re sitting I guess it didn’t do you any harm either. I think it’s time they paid a little back. Ever see the film the Full Monty?” Linda Sue began to laugh. “OK boys shuck those slacks and be artistic about it. Linda Sue and I are going to be paddling the pink canoe while you show us what you’ve got.” Terri leaned over and kissed Linda Sue full on the mouth, her hands roaming freely across the other girl’s breasts. A moan escaped the joining of the two pairs of lips. Terri looked up. “Stop watching us and get on with what you’re supposed to be doing. You’ve already had your first show. Now it’s our turn for a little titillation.” Linda Sue spoke up. “You must be hanging out with the milking cows in Joey’s barn if you think these tits of mine are little,” she joked as her hands reached out to caress Terri’s bosom. Terri put everyone through their erotic paces. She began by eating Linda Sue while Joey fucked her ass and Billy reamed out her cunt. She orchestrated combination after combination, action after action. Joey was transfixed by her voracious appetite for sex in any form. As she slipped his revitalized boner into her box, Terri stretched forward to bring her head next to his. “Hey stud,” she said in between flicking her tongue in and out of his ear. “After we’re through here tonight I need a favour. And you’re just the person who can do it for me.” “Terri, what else can we do that we haven’t already done?” The ginger-haired girl’s response sent Joey over the edge as he shot his biggest load of the night deep into her grasping cunt. “I want to be a cow.” Cannibal 4H Chapter 12: The Plot Advances by Eurytion THE CAFE’S WINDOWS were covered with dots of condensation. At 6:15 in the morning the outside temperature was chilly enough, even during the summer, to cause the glass to mist over. Inside the cosy restaurant was filled with farmers and ranchers getting ready for another day’s hard work. Baseball caps emblazoned with the names of seed companies, or farm equipment manufacturers adorned most heads. Blue jeans or bib overalls were the uniform of the day as the patrons enjoyed a hearty breakfast before heading out to the field or barn. Nothing at Rowena’s was fancy. The tables in the middle of the restaurant were chrome with grey formica splattered with flecks of blue. These were accompanied by plastic chairs with tan leatherette seats. The high-backed booths along each wall were painted off-white, with the same formica counters as the tables. Their benches were covered in red oilcloth. Patrons ate from plain white china plates, and mugs. The paper place mats covered with black and white advertisements for other stores and businesses in town had only the barest hint of colour, a thin red squiggle outlining the edge of the mat. The silverware had clearly seen better days and a majority of the place settings were mismatched. There were no fruit plates served here. A sign at the entrance claimed that the baked goods alone could cause a coronary occlusion in a marathon runner from 100 yards away and advised dieters to stay on the far side of the cafe’s door. Clearly Rowena’s was an establishment dedicated to the proposition that life has few more pleasant aspects than a well-provisioned breakfast table. The food was simple, tasty and hearty. Lots of eggs cooked in various styles, big servings of meat, three kinds of toast and enough different jams and jellies to fill a full shelf. The coffee was hot, strong and endless; the oatmeal thick and rich. Stacks of hot cakes stood four inches high on the plates with small waterfalls of syrup cascading down the oblate rims of the pile. Part eatery, part hiring hall, part community centre, Rowena’s was considered the hub of the breakfast universe. Here gossip was aired, the papers perused, deals were cut and jobs were offered and accepted. If you wanted to know what was going on in the county you had to have breakfast at the cafe. This was convenient since breakfast was the only meal they served. This morning, like most, the low hum of merged conversations filled the air, punctuated by an occasional “ Hey Latoya, how’s about some more java here?” or “Who needs a job this morning?” Hunched in a corner booth, Joey blew on his coffee while Terri continued to shove hotcakes into her mouth. It’s inhuman that she can look so good this early on a Monday morning, he thought. After everything we all did last night, she shouldn’t have the strength to lift that fork. “Hey, aren’t you at least going to have some toast,” Terri asked around a mouth full of flapjacks, the sheen of the syrup around her mouth reminding Joey of the vestiges of ejaculate and vaginal drippings that had been there just hours before. “It’s just a little to early for me to eat. Coffee will do me just fine for now.” “Suit yourself. I think you should get something into that stomach besides coffee. But if excess stomach acid and ulcers are your thing, far be it from me to get in the way.” At the mention of getting something into his stomach besides coffee, Joey looked up at Terri and grinned. “Speaking of which, let’s talk about your request.” “I thought I got your attention with that last night. Seemed to me that you liked that idea.” “I have to admit that you peaked my interest with that remark.” “Peaked your interest hell. I got that woody of yours to turn into a genuine blue steeler when I told you I wanted to be a cow. You could have hung a hat, naw you could have hung a whole haberdashery, on that blovated rod of yours once I asked about becoming livestock.” Joey toyed with his silverware. “I’ve got an appointment with the Judge today on another matter. You could go with me and we could start the paperwork...” “Whoa, hoss, whoa. Not so fast here. When I said I wanted to be a cow, I didn’t mean I wanted to be a ‘cow.’” Joey sat back confused. “I don’t get it. How can you be a cow without being a cow.” “Come on stud, you’ve heard of role playing. That’s what I want to do. I want to play the role of being a cow.” “So what do you want me to do. If we ever have sex again, just pretend you’re a cow? That’s pretty silly if you ask me.” “First off, we will be having sex again. That’s not the issue here. And I’m talking about more than pretending to be a cow.” “Maybe I’m dumb but I just don’t get it. Spell it out for me and use one and two syllable words so I can understand.” “Joey, I want to be a cow. Now just wait a minute before you interrupt me,” she said warding off Joey’s comment with the palm of the hand that had so recently encouraged him to erection. “I just don’t want to be human cattle. I want the temporary, remember that word temporary, experience of being a cow without any of the permanent side-effects including being butchered and eaten, I mean you can’t get much more permanent than that. “And I want you to help me. I want to go to your farm, live in your barn and be treated as a cow. I don’t want any injections but I’ll eat the same food and keep the same schedule as the rest of the human cattle. I’ll even let you tag me. But no alterations that can’t be changed back. I don’t even want my hair removed so it won’t grow back. “I want to be treated like a cow, groomed and exercised like the rest of your livestock. You can breed me yourself any time you want. Billy can have me, your dad or any of the hands can have me, hell, if you get a visiting 4H group they can all have me to. But no bulls. The deal is that nothing will happen to me that will turn me into human cattle.” “Just how long do you want to do this for?” “A week, maybe two, after that I’m back to being a person and not a cow again.” “What’s in it for me?” “Other than some great sex, not much. If you want I can pay for the feed but I thought you’d do it because you were such a nice guy and because you might get a kick out of it. So, do we have a deal?” Joey paused as his coffee mug was topped off. “Can you honestly tell me you haven’t thought about being converted into a cow?” “Sure, I have. What woman hasn’t? I’ve done my share of fantasizing about rotating on a spit over an open flame, being part of a ‘broad’s night out” barbecue. But that’s all it is for now, a fantasy. And that’s how I want it to stay at least for the time being. Later, who knows. “I’m always looking for that next big thrill. They say that the ultimate kick is being roasted alive in an oven while you stare out the glass door at the people whose dinner you are. Seeing their eyes gleam as they watch you die. Hearing them take bets on how long you’ll last. Watching them lick their lips as they think of how good you’ll taste. “Someone told me that the women who subconsciously want to be cattle move closer to the door and play with themselves as they watch you cook. They don’t know they’re doing it but they just can’t help brushing the beaver. But, like I said, I’ve got too much else I want to do right now to become just the makings of another meal.” “What happens if you decide you like being a cow and you want to become human cattle?” “You know, your brain seems to be stuck in first gear. Let’s go over this again. I just want the stimulation of being a cow, not the end result. If you’re really looking for someone to convert, you don’t have to look much farther than your girlfriend, she’s a dinner on hold. And if you’ve thought about me as a cow, I’m sure you’ve thought about Linda Sue the same way.” Before Joey could answer the conversation was interrupted by Evan McAuliffe. A contemporary of Joey’s dad, he operated the Rippled Ridge human cattle farm in the northwest corner of the county. “Morning Joey, Mam,” he said politely. “Joey did you see this morning’s paper yet,” he asked. “Nope, not yet. I’ll probably take a look at it when I get home.” “Well, maybe you should take a look at it now. There’s a letter to the editor that mentions you and the farm.” Evan thrust his calloused hand forward, the paper held firmly between clenched fingers. Joey accepted the folded tabloid from Evan. It only took him moments to see the letter, the cutline ‘Stop the Slaughter, End Human Cattle Raising’ jumping directly from the page into his brain. “To the Editor: Last Thursday this county and its people were stained by another act of inhumanity and barbarism when Joey Geryon of the Geryon Cattle Farm brought his neighbour, 13-year old Valerie Howitt, to a local slaughtering operation where she was butchered for food. “A young girl, known and admired by many in the community, she was murdered just as life was laying its vast possibilities before her. In this, she was betrayed by family and friends alike. The very people she trusted to love and protect her aided and abetted her death, all of them acting as mindless slaves to a way of life so abhorrent that all moral individuals should protest its very existence. “We cannot be like those who sup at the table of Macbeth and ignore the presence of Banquo’s shade. This practice must end. Raising humans for milk, meat and skin corrupts and degrades us all. We slay and slay and slay our own kind and in so doing become less than human ourselves. “I call on the good-hearted people of this community to join me in abjuring the consumption of human flesh. But this community and its inhabitants must not be content to simply not participate in the act of human cattle raising. The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in times of great moral crisis maintain their neutrality. “This county and its people must regain their souls by ending the practice of human cattle raising and, if necessary, casting out those who would cling to this savage custom. Morality demands nothing less. “All of us who hold life sacred must take whatever actions are necessary to stop this monstrous atrocity from continuing. We must commit ourselves to transforming those who profit from this abomination into pariahs rejected by all decent individuals. Only through deeds can we redeem ourselves for the evil done in our names. “Anneliese Dracon” Joey put the paper down on the table, his face pained. “Well, I guess everyone is entitled to their own opinion, even if it is wrong. But why did the paper let her mention our farm by name but not Crenshaw’s Meats?” “Probably because Crenshaw’s has an advertising contract with the paper and your farm doesn’t,” replied McAuliffe. “Anyway, I’m sorry to have bothered you this morning but I thought you needed to see this. I know this woman was part of the protest at Crenshaw’s; the story in the paper covered her argument with Linda Sue. I just think you ought to be careful. “Most of the locals involved in this cattle rights nonsense are pretty much harmless. They might march a little and wave a sign around a bit but that’s as far as they’re going to go. This Anneliese person is different. I’ve seen her around town and she strikes me as a fanatic. There’s no telling what she might work herself up to do.” “Thanks Mr. McAuliffe. I appreciate your concern. I’ll let my Dad know about this when I get back to the farm.” “All right Joey. Just remember that forewarned is forearmed. If I can do anything just give me a call.” As Evan walked away, Joey crumpled his napkin in his fist. “Dorrie, could I have the check here,” he called out to his waitress. Turning his attention back to Terri, he smiled wanly. “Sorry for the interruption. You know this fame and fortune thing really isn’t all its cracked up to be.” Terri grinned back. “Tell me about it. Is there anyone in town that doesn’t know all the facts and most of the fictions surrounding my divorce from Andy?” “Maybe old Mrs.Kindlemeyer. You know that 92-year old blind and deaf lady that lives by herself out in the swamp beyond the fairgrounds. She’s probably the only one.” “I can believe it. Saturday I was shopping in town and these two old gossips were talking about me and they’re weren’t even making a pretence about being discreet about it. They were right in front of me and acted like I wasn’t there. You should have heard this hatchet-faced old biddy. “‘There’s that Gudman woman. Isn’t it a shame what she did to her husband whoring around like that. The man works all those hours to support her. And then she does that to him. It’s a wonder her family took her back in. If she was my relation, I’d have slammed the door in her face, the disgrace she’s brought her kin.’” Joey couldn’t help laughing at Terri’s imitation. “That was probably Dara Henderson. She’s so narrow-minded she can peep through a keyhole with both eyes. The only person I know who was worse was her sister Alma.” “Was worse?” ‘Yeh, was worse. Get Billy to tell you the story of Alma’s visit to the South Seas sometime. You just might decide to buy Dara a ticket to visit her sister.” A thin, well-tanned hand with rings on every finger placed a check in front of Joey. “Thanks Dorrie,” he said without looking up. “You’re welcome sweetie,” replied a purring, playful voice. “See you later.” Joey waited a beat, then turned to watch with admiration as Dorrie’s pink covered buttocks rumbaed their way across the room. “Can you believe that woman went to school with my mom,” he asked Terri. “She’s still one of the best-looking women I know.” Terri cleared her throat. “Sorry,” said Joey somewhat abashedly, “it’s a guy thing. We’re all perverts at heart and we just can’t help looking.” Terri waited in silence. “About your request, the answer is no.” It was Joey’s turn to hold up a hand to stop an interruption. “And let me tell you why. “My father and I run our family business and it’s a human cattle ranch. Not a bed and breakfast for bovine wannabes, not a ruminant version of a fantasy baseball camp. Like that woman’s letter said we raise human cattle for meat. “Letting to you to pretend to be a cow would disrupt the entire routine of the farm. There’s no way we could put you in with the rest of the livestock. We’d have to make special arrangements for you and those would cost us in time and money. Plus, there is no way, no matter how careful we were, that we could guarantee that an accident wouldn’t happen and that you wouldn’t be turned into human cattle for real. “Even if you were to pay for the feed, we’d lose money on the deal and we’re not in business to lose money.” Unused to having a man say no to her, the ginger-haired woman turned sullen, her face clouding up like the western sky before a summer storm. She was just starting to leave the booth when a comment from Joey caused her to lower herself back down. “But I’ve got an alternative proposal you might like almost as well,” he said. Terri pushed one triple-studded ear forward toward Joey. “I’m listening.” “In three weeks they’re going to run the Chiron Cup races at the fairgrounds. This year they’ve added an fledgling division for amateurs who aspire to pony status but still want to retain their human citizenship. I’ll sponsor you as my entry. “I’ll pay for your boarding and instruction. You’ll get the same treatment as human ponies do, live in the same stalls, eat the same food. You will be a human equine except that fledglings are only given temporary status as ponies, just as you want. “It’s safe. There’s no way entries in this class can be involuntarily converted. Even if you were to be raped by three or four real human stallions, you’d still keep your status. You’ll have your temporary experience of being livestock and, after it’s over and you’ve run your races, you’ll get your citizenship back.” “Joey,” Terri responded, her countenance reflecting her delight at the suggestion, “That’s great. It’s better than great, it’s perfect. I’ll do it.” “Now’s my chance to say ‘whoa, hoss, whoa.’ This deal comes with some conditions.” “Sure, no problem,” said Terri confident that she could met whatever demands the young cattle rancher had. “First, you have to understand that I’m in this to win, not to give you another thrill. I don’t enter contests unless I intend to come out on top. This isn’t a holiday at the shore. You’ll train hard and long and there will be no quitting until after the meet is over.” “OK.” “Second, you’ll run in at least three of the five races they’re holding in your class, one of which will be a distance race. That will give us a chance to get enough points to take home the Chiron Cup in the fledgling division. On race day if you need to run in more contests to give us a shot at winning you will because you won’t be a human, just another pony girl.” “Three races, got it. Still no problem.” “Don’t be too sure of that,” Joey warned. “You’ll be training four times as hard as most of the other entries. Not only do you have to make up for lost time, you’ll be undergoing exercises to build speed for the short sprints and endurance for the long hauls. “I love that slight plumpness your figure has but if we’re going to have a chance at the trophy that pyknic body of yours is going to become more angular and firm. You need to shed some pounds and build up a lot of muscles. And we don’t have a lot of time to do it in.” “Joey, this is the type of thing I wanted to endure as a cow, just being another farm animal forced to do whatever my master wanted.” “All right, but remember there will be no backing out. Once you’ve been placed with the trainer you’re committed to the end.” “I can do this. I want to do this.” “There’s one final condition.” ‘Which is?” “One of the races you’ll have to run in is a tandem harness match. You’ll need a partner next to you and I want Linda Sue to be that partner. If you want to do this, you’ll have to convince Linda Sue into training as well.” “Why don’t you give me something hard to do? Remember that just before that other rancher came by with the paper, I told you that your girlfriend was a hot meal waiting for delivery. I don’t know if you realize it or not but Linda Sue doesn’t just fantasize about pretending to be a cow, she really wants to be human cattle. Take her to a live roast and see where she stands. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars, no even better than that, if she isn’t up front by the oven her fingers on the beauty spot and ready to go over the mountain within 15 minutes after the party starts, I’ll let you have me converted.” “Terri, I know you grew up here so you can’t think that just because I’m a farm boy I’m dumb. Of course, I know about Linda Sue. I probably know more than she thinks I do. I even know that she doesn’t have to shave her pussy any more because she dipped herself in the defoliating tank. That’s not the point.” “What is?” “The point is that I want her to experience being a pony girl without my asking her to.” “Why?” “Never mind why. I have my reasons and they’re mine. Look at it this way. If we work together we can both get what we want. The training and entry fees for the Cup are expensive. You can’t afford them. Your relatives can’t. I can. In return I want Linda Sue in harness beside you and I want the Chiron Cup on my mantel. Do we have a deal?” Quietly, Terri got up and walked around to the other side of the booth. As Joey responded to the pressure of her soft, full breasts on his arm by turning to his right, Terri leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth. “We’ve got a deal. I’ll call you once I’ve got Linda Sue ready for her traces.” Joey spent most of the morning making the rounds of the town. He had a long conversation with Al Crenshaw who commiserated with Joey over the letter; ordered some spare parts from Peter Barton for the tractor which had broken down just the day before; picked up two sets of race entry forms from the fairgrounds office and then wandered over to the court house for his 11:30 appointment. Set in the centre of the town square, the courthouse was a rectangular three-story structure of blood-red brick with protruding white-leaded barrel windows, its mansard roof line unbroken by any ornamentation.Visitors had the option of entering on the ground floor or walking up the limestone and granite steps to the massive oak doors on the second floor. Because a light rain had started to fall, Joey choose the former. After walking up the building’s interior mahogany stairs to the third floor, Joey paused to catch his breath and relax. Mentally, he rehearsed his offer to the Judge, then opened the pebbled glass door. Just inside and to the right of the door sat the Judge’s secretary, Beth Hardie. Friendly and efficient, Mrs. Hardie was the Judge’s factotum handling all of his scheduling and other administrative needs. It was well known around town that you had to gain Mrs. Hardie’s approval and permission before you could do business with the Judge.Politely she asked Joey to sit down. “I’m sorry Mr. Geryon but the Judge has to move your appointment. Prelims have run a lot longer than he expected.” “Thank you Mrs. Hardie. Anything interesting on the docket?” “Since you raise cattle there’s one case you might want to watch when it comes to trial. It involves charges of misrepresentation, violation of privacy, impersonation of an individual and attempted involuntary conversion. The defendant is accused of trying to forge a pair of consensual cattle conversion certificates for two young girls he knew.” “That’s pretty serious. He could wind up as cattle himself for playing games with the quadcee forms. What’s his defense?” The judge’s administrative assistant lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Well, he claims that the girls wanted to become cattle and asked him to help because they didn’t have access to the conversion process and weren’t sure how to go about volunteering. He admits to answering the advertisement on their behalf and providing all the necessary information to begin the paperwork, including the photos. He says they knew and approved of what he was doing. “When the girls failed to respond to the request for independent verification, the conversion overseer began to do some checking. The photos were from a yearbook which anyone could have scanned without the girls knowing. The ‘independent’ biographies each of the girls were supposed to have written all had the same type of misspellings and typos as the paperwork we know he filled out. Finally, the correspondence address given for the two girls was actually registered to a male.” Joey was intrigued. “How did he explain that?” “He said he set up the address for them because they didn’t want their parents or friends to know what they were doing. He also maintained that the girls were afraid they’d get cold feet before they were legally obligated to go through with it and so they asked him to handle everything without telling them. All he was to do was have the paperwork done, pick them up on their conversion date, without telling them it was their conversion date, and deliver them to the conversion centre.” “Think there’s any truth to his claim?” “You know what the Judge would say don’t you?” Before Joey could reply, the Judge himself strode into the room. “Well Beth, I think the judge would probably say ‘Grammatici cetant et adhuc sub iudice lis est.’ And Joey, since I know they’re not teaching classical Latin in the schools anymore I’ll translate for you. ‘Scholars dispute and the case is still before the courts.’ And we shouldn’t be talking about it now. “Please accept my regrets for the fact that I can’t keep our appointment today. I got your proposal and I’m very interested. But these lawyers are mistaking verbosity for competency. They must think they’re getting paid by the word and, if they’re on an hourly retainer, maybe they are. I ordered a three minute break so I could apologize in person.” “Beth, please set up another appointment for next week when it will be most convenient for Mr. Geryon. Since I’m the one who is postponing this meeting, it’s only just that we work around Joey’s schedule, particularly since we may be partners on a small business enterprise Joey has conceived. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the court. I don’t dare leave these honourable gentlemen of the law without adult supervision any longer than necessary. Joey, I’ll see you next week. Please give my regards to your parents.” As quickly as he had entered his office, the Judge returned to his courtroom. As Joey and Beth worked out a new appointment time, another engagement was playing itself out across town. Terri had invited Linda Sue to lunch at Brigliadoro. Brigliadoro prided itself on its atmosphere and elegance. Liveried servers waited attentively on the patrons, their job to anticipate a diner’s needs before the customer was even aware of them. Ivory linen tablecloths, handwoven of course, were accentuated by muted azure napkins. The bone china place settings were a lustrous alabaster emblazoned with a small and tasteful 24-carat gold brindle in the centre. A smaller, equally tasteful gold brindle could be found on the silver tableware. The lighting was subdued and indirect, barely reflecting off the lead crystal goblets. Despite being crowded, the restaurant was quiet, projecting the intimacy of a traditional English Gentleman’s club where conversation was discouraged if not prohibited. Terri was dressed in a conservative mid-length black inverted pleat skirt. Her white blouse was topped by a black vest with white laurel piping along the side of the lapels. Linda Sue had chosen a simple, yet graceful tunic dress in champagne. Both had ordered mineral water and salads with dressing on the side. A basket of fresh, hot seven-grain rolls laid untouched in the middle of the table, the butter dish sitting forlornly at it side. Despite the intimate activities of the night before, the relationship between the pair was uncertain and the two women were engaged in a complex age-old ritual to determine whether they would be friends or foes. There would be no middle ground possible in this relation. “Linda Sue, I’m not a shy person. You probably noticed that last night,” said Terri with a meaningful smile. “I’m pushy and bossy and direct about what I want. Actually I think I’m a lot like you in that regard. What I want now is for us to be friends.” The young brunette took a sip of her mineral water before responding. “That would be nice, I don’t have many close female friends in this town right now.” “Neither do I, but if we are going to be friends we need to get several things straight between us right off the bat. And I want to start with Joey.” At the mention of her boyfriend’s name Linda Sue stiffened noticeably, her eyes narrowing. “What about Joey,” she asked coolly. “I won’t lie to you. I like Joey. He’s attractive and fun and great to do the belly ride with. But so are a whole lot of other guys including Billy. I don’t want you to make more of last night than it warrants. It was recreational sex, raw and simple. “I liked it. You seemed to like it. I know both the boys liked it. I’d like to do it again along with a number of other things. But you need to know that I don’t have any designs on Joey. And I mean any.” Linda Sue listened warily, continuing to take an occasional sip of water. “Joey is yours. I’m not trying to interfere in your relationship with him. I’m not trying to steal him away from you. I want you to know that and I want you to believe me when I tell you that.” “What does it matter what I think?” “Well, for starters, I don’t want to end up like Valerie did.” “What’s that got to do with me?” “Come on hon, I’m not a total idiot. I know about the fair and how Valerie really lost her ID badge. She always was a heavy sleeper so you probably didn’t have any trouble sneaking up on her. I’ll bet she didn’t even twitch while you lifted the badge from around her neck.” “I don’t know where you got this idea...” she started nervously. “Linda Sue, if we’re going to be friends we have to be honest with each other. I’m not being judgmental here. Val was a silly little twit at times. She liked to live in a world of make-believe where the fairy tale always ended happily with the poor young scrub girl winning the heart of the handsome prince. “Valerie had a young girl’s fantasy about marrying Joey. As she grew older she might have grown out of it or she might have pulled it off. You made sure that didn’t happen. I don’t know that she really deserved what she got but I honestly don’t care. I just don’t want the same thing happening to me. “I’m not threat to you. I’ve got my eyes on bigger game than Joey. Being back home is just a pleasant interlude for me, one I mean to enjoy to the fullest. I’m here for three months, maybe six months at the most. By then the dust from my divorce will have settled and I’ll be able to go back and get one with my life where I belong, which I can assure you isn’t here in this county, no offense meant.” “None taken ... yet.” “Good. But while I am here, I plan to enjoy myself. I’m going to try new experiences and fuck my brains out at every opportunity.” Terri punctuated this statement by slipping a shoeless foot up the inside of Linda Sue’s stockinged leg. “I like you. Beside the fact that you seem to enjoy sex as much as I do,” she said while Linda Sue slid her legs further apart to allow Terri greater access, “ you know what you want and you’re not afraid to do what you need to do to get it.” “I’m the same way. It seems to me that as friends each of us can help the other to achieve our goals and have a lot of fun along the way. Oh, and just for the record, Al Crenshaw popped my cherry when I was a sophomore in high school. We’ve renewed old acquaintances since I’ve been back.” At the approach of their server, Terri sat back in her chair, her foot abandoning its trail up Linda Sue’s thigh. “Is everything to your liking,” he asked. “ I noticed that you’ve barely touched your salads. Could I bring you something else?” There was a space of silence while the two women looked significantly into each other’s eyes. Smiling brightly Linda Sue turned to their server. “No, everything is just fine. We’ve just been talking too much to eat. However, my friend and I would like a bottle of Iron Horse sparkling wine, the blanc de blanc please.” “Very good,” said the waiter turning away to get the wine. As they waited for the wine to arrive, Terri posed a question. “Speaking of horses, have you ever thought about racing?” Throughout the rest of the afternoon the clouds continued to roil and thicken, their ebony edges moving inwards until, by early evening,the sky overhead was filled towering, anvil shaped clouds. The sound of Thor’s hammer shook the sky as lightening danced from ground to air. Gutsy winds blew rain in patchwork patterns driving residents to seek shelter inside until the storm had passed. Soaked to the skin, Anneliese Dracon entered her rented house from the back door facing the alley. It wouldn’t do, she thought, for the neighbours to see her and wonder why she was out in a summer squall like this one. Shedding her wet clothes as she moved through the house toward the shower, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She had done more than talk. She had acted, finally struck the first real blow against the enemy; taken the first step toward putting finish to human cattle raising. True, it wasn’t a major attack, more of a sting than a stab. But it would place people on notice and revolutions had been sparked by more insignificant actions than hers. After treating her sore muscles with a hot shower, she wrapped her slim, lithe body in a large terry cloth towel and walked into her bedroom, a cup of chamomile tea in hand. The room was small. A twin bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room, a linen chest nestled at its foot. To the left of the bed was a dresser with attached mirror. On the right side of the bed was a stand, a haphazard stack of dogeared Danielle Steel books covering its surface. A tarnished brass floor lamp stood next to the stand, its lacquer finish peeling. A tiny desk rested against the far wall. The furniture was inexpensive but functional, a motif that was carried throughout the rest of the house. Despite the rent-to-own nature of the furnishings, the house was not without its charms. Anneliese had worked to transform it from just another lease space into a real residence with a sense of the person who occupied it. Flowering plants grew in every room, violets being the predominant species. Small indoor herb gardens could be found in every south-facing window. Colourful throw pillows relieved some of the drabness of the living room couch and chairs while artwork dotted the walls. In the kitchen, shiny pots and pans hung from hooks above the sink. To their right, a shelf full of vegetarian cookbooks was attached to the wall with molly bolts. The shelf tilted slightly, a result of two too many drinks before Anneliese tried to put it up. Sometimes there was a reason besides sex to have a man around the house. A refrigerator and a gas stove, both in matching Harvest Gold, two wall cabinets and a white wood table with two chairs completed the kitchen. Anneliese had bought the table and chairs at the local rummage store and painted them herself. She had never cared for the chipped formica table that had come with the house. It was now in service in the garage, holding half-full cans and other odds and ends. The chairs had made their way down into the basement where they served as impromptu stepladders. A person wandering into the house for the first time would find it homey and appealing. Until they entered the bedroom. For in the bedroom, directly across from the bed was Anneliese’s collection of photos. These served as her motivation, her inspiration, her raison d’etat. Smuggled out of a slaughterhouse, it was these photos which set Anneliese on her current course. Some were in colour, most in black and white. One captured a young cow being used in both her pussy and her ass by the butchers while she was tied to the bed of the guillotine. The next showed her face at the moment the blade descended followed by a print of her head rolling on the floor, her neck nonexistent, her eyes wide in horror. Her blood was a spreading black blemish on the white concrete floor. Other photos showed cattle being skinned, their red fibrous muscles revealed as the epidermis was peeled back. Still others showed the carcasses in various stages of dismemberment, one capturing the floor crew playing soccer with a cow’s head. But it was the photos of the young girl that still held the power to move Anneliese to tears. She had no idea who the subject of the photos was but knew that, except for her aunt’s intervention, she could have been that young girl. When she was 12 both Anneliese’s parents had been killed when their car crossed the median and slammed into a gas tanker. The driver of the tanker had escaped with only minor scratches. Her Mom & Dad had been immolated in the ensuing fire which Anneliese had seen on her way home from school. Anneliese had come home from school to find a note from her father. Times had been tough, her dad had been unemployed for nearly two years and even their dole allotment had run its course. The few odd jobs he had been able to find, coupled with her mother’s work as a maid, still hadn’t been able to keep enough food on the table for all three of them. The note said her dad was sorry but he had tried and was too tired to continue to battle. He said he loved her and always would but that he had to do something to provide for his daughter and he only knew of one thing to do. As it asked, Anneliese burned the note with the matches her father used to light his pipe. Even today, Anneliese awoke in the night, still smelling the acrid stink of the sulphur match as it harshly rasped across the striker pad. Her father had counted on the insurance money to support Anneliese. He hadn’t known that his wife had cancelled the policy two months before and cashed out what little collateral value had been built up. So Anneliese became a ward of the state and, as the law required, after six months without family placement was placed into the auction pool. Two days before the auction was scheduled her aunt had appeared as though by magic to take her home. One of Anneliese’s teachers had finally been able to contact the aunt who was unaware of the tragedy that had befallen the family. Her Aunt Vi had driven alone across country for two straight days, stopping only to nap in rest stops when she just couldn’t go on anymore. She brought her niece back to the county and raised her as her own. Aunt Vi had died just last year and Anneliese still missed her. Aunt Vi had saved her from becoming human cattle. Now Anneliese felt a responsibility to do the same for others, no matter the cost. But it was the thought of paying that price that scared her the most. Anneliese had majored in history in college and she knew that every movement needed a martyr to succeed. If her campaign went as planned the pressure would mount until it could no longer be ignored. But if she was caught. Anneliese shivered as she thought of herself at trial. She saw herself naked, in a cage, on display for all and sundry. Her arms would be secured behind her back, her breasts thrust forward toward the crowd. She would be forced to crouch by the thick ring running through both her labias; a ring attached to the floor of the cage by a chain. Anneliese reached down with her left hand and began massaging where the ring would punch its way though her skin, ripping flesh asunder until its ends met and locked. The chain itself would only give her enough slack to squat. She would be forced to relieve herself in full view of the throng. In her mind, she could hear them jeer at her as her yellow urine spilled out to steam at her feet. Her nipples would pulled to their furthest extension, all the better to be pierced for the tags giving her identification numbers. She could feel the cold metal of the punch resting against the swollen buds, knew the pain the thick blunt needle would cause. Anneliese’s right hand crept up to her breasts and began to tug at her nipples. Her left hand moved closer to the centre of her cunt. If convicted, and she would be because she intended to carry out her plan, she would be given over to the crowd for their use. A lottery would take place and thirty lucky studs would have the pleasure of punishing her in every hole. They’d force her to kneel with her butt up in the air, their thick rods thrusting into her tiny, dry anus until her blood lubricated their path. Cock after cock would saw their way into and out of her mouth, the longer ones penetrating her throat. An oral virgin, Anneliese knew she would choke on her first prick, coughing until her initial taste of sperm jetted from her nose. But her punishers would show her no mercy. They would continue to ravage her oral cavity forcing her to swallow load after load. And her pussy, which had only known one dick in its entire existence, would become the host to a platoon of pricks each stretching her wider and deeper than the last. But the sexual invasion of her body wouldn’t be the worse of it. Eventually the mechanics of her body would take over causing her to either come to orgasm after orgasm or numbing her into a disassociative state of fugue. After her repeated rape would come her conversion. She would cease to be a human, become just another animal, publicly displayed in such a way that even being chained in the cage would be preferable. As meat she would have no rights, be subject to public prodding before the bidding on her body started. And then her death would follow. How would she go? Would it be quick or slow? Would she be bought for business which generally meant a quick and easy death or for pleasure which always foretold a slow lingering torture? And if for pleasure, how would she be dispatched? Would she be slowly drowned, her head held under the water time and time again until she lacked the strength to struggle for another breath of air and water filled her lungs to bursting? Would she be hung, twisting slowly as her own weight pulled down on the rope and tightened the noose, growing more torpid as each agonizing breath became smaller and harder to get, until her trachea was crushed by the inexorable law of gravity and breath came no more? Maybe they would crucify her, drive cruel spikes through her wrists and feet, again letting her muscles struggle to maintain an upright position, doomed to a slow and painful failure as her weight forced her downward until her rib cage could no longer expand to accept air? Would she go like Kay Milton, slowly frying as the electrical voltage moved higher and higher smoke curling from her burning flesh, nipples exploding outward, one final flash of orgasm before she flash fired? Or would it be her worst nightmare? Was she doomed to be cooked alive, held down on a table while a spit was thrust through her from stem to stern, screaming until her vocal cords were ruined by the hard wooden pole? But alive, still alive over the hot coals, seeing first the fire, then people, then the sky, then the people and then once again the fire. Hearing her skin crinkle and crack, listening to the hiss of her sweat and blood and juices hitting the live coals. Feeling the barbecue sauce sting where the flesh had peeled back from the heat. Anneliese’s breath was coming in quicker, short spurts as her agitation mounted. Her maidenly fingers had located the little sugar plum nestled away in the lips below her thick thatch of brown cunt hair. Dipping two fingers deep into her vagina for lubrication, she resumed her panting assault on her pussy. Pressing hard she moved her fingers back and forth, pushing the little nubbin from side to side. With her free hand she reached over to the beside table, opened the drawer and took out a vibrator. With a practiced motion she hit the switch and drove the humming dildo deep within her spasming cunt. It would be the fire, she was sure of it. Fire to bring an end. Fire to purify. Fire to cleanse us all of our sins. Scraping her clit with a fingernail until she could feel the blood dripping down, Anneliese came with visions of saintly Joan of Arc echoing through her head. Like the Phoenix we will be reborn in fire. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |