Gynophagia Chronicles: Hell Week

/files/Authors/LuisCypher/

Hell Week

By Luis Cypher

Part 2

3:34 pm, Thursday, September 19, 2220
Engineering Lab 6, Jesse Jackson Rainbow Push Building, University of Nevada, Elko Campus

Adam MacAlbert watched the Dremel tool intently through his goggles as he buffed the rough edges off the newly vented spit, well aware that this was just another in a line of thousands of attempts to re-invent this wheel. It had been part of his groups project for the last week, based on Mark Fosters design. The difference was that it was a good design. It was the fourth unit the group had manufactured by hand and were desperately trying to finish in time for the next days event. Hopefully, assuming the thing worked tomorrow, there might be an interest in it by one of the many culinary equipment manufacturers out there. That would defray the exorbitant cost of sending a young man to the University, and Elko U was one of the least expensive in the country.

Foster, the geeky, blonde wing-nut eared young man, who looked far younger than his twenty one years, was putting the final touches on the new designs most unique feature, the VSOI, or Vaginal Spit, Orgasm Inducer. That was the best innovation the group could come up with. Ever since Tucker Engineering had introduced their revolutionary Eric Wells Comfort Roasting Cradle, culinary equipment companies that specialized in spitting equipment had been scrambling to match it's features. The idea that a woman could be roasted comfortably restrained on the CRC was so appealing there was real fear that spit roasting would go out of favour, or, possibly, become obsolete. Engineering students across the country competed for various prizes and rewards for a spit design that would bring spitroasting back into favour. The VSOI was going to be the entry submitted by Adam and his group to whichever company showed interest.

Today was a lab day for the premier engineering students on campus. Out of the twenty five top grade getters, seventeen of them were in the Engineering Class, and had, of course, been awarded Tagger status. Hunting spit muffins was the main pass time for these young men when their studies and projects did not take precedence.

“Okay,” Adam said, running his fingers over his work and finding no offending burs. “I think that’s done.”

“Can you help me slide this on?” asked Mark Foster. “It's going to be tough.”

“Shouldn't we lube the spit?”

“I don't think so,” said Foster. The electric connectors need to be clean, and the adhesive won't set if we coat it with anything at all, so I'd rather just slide it on.”

“Alright,” conceded Adam.

Mark fit what was a six inch rubber sleeve over the but of the spit. That was difficult enough. The spit was the standard 1.5” diameter and the sleeve was designed to fit over the 1” tapered portion further down. The two young men struggled together managing to drive the sleeve up only a foot before another young man, Pete Madrid, arrived to help. When it finally was in place it was after four in the afternoon.

When the three young men had the sleeve in place, they huffed and puffed to catch their collective breaths as the fourth, and final member of their group arrived along with dean of the Engineering School.

Phil Jeffries was tall, sandy blonde haired and handsome with the physique of an athlete. To Adams knowledge no girl had ever said “No” to him, or had lived to tell of it. Phil also had the best record of any tagger. He had tagged sixteen girls as a junior. Phil and Adam had been the only junior class taggers in five years. This year there were none.

“Late, as usual,” Adam said without looking or giving any other greeting to Phil.

“Whats with the 'tude, man?” asked Phil.

“Pamela escaped him again,” said Mark.

“Awe, you got it bad,” Phil mocked.

“I'd be upset too,” said Professor Samuelson, Dean of Engineering. “Pamela Danforth, right? Shes been the talk of the faculty since she arrived. Were hoping to invite her to our faculty meeting next week. But her grades seem to be too good.”

“Oh?” Said Phil. “Is that so?” He pulled a paper out of his pocket.

“You know about her? You old dog, you!” asked Pete Madrid. “Shes hot! My sister sits next to her in one of her classes. They've got pretty friendly.”

“Well, she and Bailey Lambert,” said the professor. “Bailey is a particular favourite of mine.”

“Then you're in luck, Professor,” said Phil Jeffries.

“How so?”

“Professor Renault just gave a tonne of demerits to ten of her students,” Phil said. “Guess who's on the list!”

The three students and the professor went slack jawed.

“Why don't you just tell us?” asked Adam.

“Okay,” Phil said. “I’ve got it right here!” He read from a hand scrawled note. “Melanie Davis, Sandy Kincaid, Priscilla Lecler, Rebecca Boaz, Toni Smith, Tania Crumb, Petra Balashova, Bailey Lambert, Pamela Danforth and Farrah Madrid.”

“Bailey Lambert!” said the professor, incredulous.

“Farrah?” asked Pete, looking stricken. “She demerited my sister?”

“Sorry, Dude,” Phil said. “Shes on the list Renee gave me.”

“So all ten will be at the faculty meeting next week?” asked Professor Samuelson.

“Uh,” Phil said. “Assuming they survive the week. They all get to run around in panties and sneakers and each gets two days on the tagging list next week, then all the ones that survive have to show up at the faculty meeting!”

“Holy shit!” Pete said. “Farrah's cooked for sure! I told Mom I'd protect her!”

“Pamela’s on the list?” asked Adam, who, instead of having a joyful expression, had one of sadness.

“I thought you wanted to get her,” Phil said.

“I do,” said Adam.

“Oh, I get it. You want to get her, but you want to fuck her first!” said Phil.

“Cant say I blame him,” said Professor Samuelson.

“Wow!” said Pete. “All ten might end up spitted by Friday.”

“No,” said Mark. “Four at least if we play it right. Eight is possible, but ten is highly unlikely.”

“How so?” Pete asked, hope gleaming in his eyes.

“There are twenty five of us, each gets to take one tag a week. There are ten of them. Ten times five is fifty. We will very likely get five of them, maybe six. More than that and we would be very, very lucky.”

“Wait, so we'd need fifty taggers to hit them all?”

“Lets do the math,” said Mark...

5:25PM, Thursday, September 19, 2220
Dorm room 208, Michelle Obama Hall, University of Nevada, Elko Campus

“...on Monday there are ten of us,” Pamela explained to Farrah, Bailey and Petra in her dorm room. “If they take ten tags that day, two of us will get spitted. The next day, there are eight of us. They take eight tags that day, two more get spitted. The very next day, there are six of us. They can still take six tags, so two more will get spitroasted. That leaves only two more taggers for four girls. There’s a fifty fifty chance of getting us. So very likely six of us will go, possibly seven in the very worst case scenario”

“That’s very bad odds,” said Petra.

“But wait! You have to remember, that the two who are taggable on Monday, at least one will be taggable Tuesday or Wednesday! We each are on two days out of the five. They cant take more than two of us a day even though four of us are available. I say we will see five of us spitroasted, and the rest will get to see the faculty meeting and take our chances there.”

“That’s still pretty bad odds,” said Petra.

“Maybe Ill just volunteer tomorrow,” said Bailey, who’s cheeks were flushed with fear and obvious arousal.

Farrah was weeping openly.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

“Bailey,” Pamela said. “If you volunteer, that increases the odds of the rest of us getting spitroasted...”

“So, you want me not to volunteer?” Bailey said. “What if I get selected in the lottery?”

“We cant help that,” said Pamela. “But please don’t volunteer. We have to come up with a way to fool the taggers and increase our chances!”

“But, how do we do that if we don’t know who’s taggable till she gets tagged?” asked Petra.

“Oh,” said Bailey. “I can fix tha-a-at.”

“How?”

“Oh, I know a certain dean of engineering who will do just about anything to get chance to feel me up,” said Bailey.

“You let an old man feel you up?” asked Farrah.

“Sure,” Bailey said. “Why not? He might decide to marry me and I could live a few more years...”

Petra, who knew Bailey well, and Pamela, who knew Bailey well enough, both smirked at her.

“Oh, who am I kidding! I’m a born spitmuffin! But Dean Samuelson does have nice hands...”

“So?” Petra looked to Pamela. “How do we do this?”

“Well,” said Pamela. “Even if we know who’s taggable, It's going to be difficult protecting everyone. If we can all get through the first day, we stand all stand a much better chance! If we get through the second day, that brings the number of tags they can produce to a maximum of six if they’re very, very lucky! It’ll mean traveling in pairs all the time. Get caught alone on a day you’re taggable, and you've pretty much surrendered. Every girl who’s taggable on her day should definitely be with one who is not...”

Pamela was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Its Lucy,” came the answer, and the dark haired sophomore let herself in. “Hey guys! I just heard! I’m so sorry! Except for you, Bailey! I know you live for this!”

“He he he...” Bailey giggled nervously.

“Hey, Pam, you're working tonight, right?”

“Oh, damn!” Pamela cried. “I completely forgot! Ill be ready in one second!”

In moments, Pamela had on her uniform and made her way with Lucy to Valencha's Grocers, and punched in without a moment to spare at six. Lucy reported to Mr. Anson at the butchers department, who put the girl immediately to work on processing an already skinned carcass while Pamela joined Carter Valencha in Produce. Pamela supposed Lucy had the more interesting job. It was certainly a higher paid job, as Lucy seemed liked and trusted by her boss. Carter Valencha, on the other hand, seemed to hover around Pamela as if he did not trust her at all to perform the very basic tasks of stacking vegetables.

“...so,” Pamela was explaining. “I might get culled next week,” she explained to Carter, almost weepy. His young face betrayed no sympathy at all. He had not gone to college, himself, and expected to eventually be a manager here at the grocers his great grandfather had founded and his grandfather still ran. The staff, like Pamela, were almost exclusively college students from Elko U, with one or two local girls. None of which were paid very much, some four Euros an hour, which was just above minimum wage in Nevada.

“Well,” said Carter. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and hit the lottery tomorrow. Then you won't have to parade around naked for a week.”

Pamela dropped the subject, and accepted the fact that Carter would show her no sympathy at all. They worked in silence till seven, when it was time for Carter to go home. He lingered, as he always did, for fifteen minutes giving Pamela detailed instructions on how to wash the tomatoes and how to properly place the five pound bags of potatoes.

Finally, Pamela was alone. The crowd of shoppers died down after seven and work was mostly about setting up for the next day, with the occasional late comer. She knew them all. Dowdy Mrs. Kinkaid. Nervous Mrs. Pathe. Pleasant Mrs. Joyce all showed this evening and required Pamela’s help selecting the best of what she was putting out.

All of them stayed to watch who was scheduled for the eight o’clock cull. It was not anyone Pamela recognized. It turned out to be a fifteen year old girl who arrived wearing nothing but flip flops and a long t-shirt. Both Lucy and Mr. Anson seemed to pride themselves on making their subjects last experience a pleasant one. Lucy often spoke of this on their way to and from work when she and Pamela walked together.

Pamela worked as fast as she could so that she could enjoy at least a few moments watching the nine o’clock cull. But Mrs. Pepperdine, the forty-ish widow of a local mining executive, was there with her two of her five surviving children. Pamela had been there and listened to Mrs. Pepperdine two months before when her eighty five year old husband died after a long, drawn out convalescence. Mrs. Pepperdine did love her husband, but the relief was visible on her lovely face. Twenty two years of marriage and eleven children had aged the woman, but it had not made her ugly, in Pamela’s mind.

“You look beautiful tonight, Mrs. Pepperdine,” Pamela said, and meant it. The woman’s brown hair was piled on top of her head as it usually was with danging earrings. She wore a colourful floral print silk blouse over grey-brown slacks that showed off her nicely rounded bottom and gray pumps. A silver cross hung at her cleavage on a thin chain.

“Flattery, young lady... flattery,” Mrs. Pepperdine protested with a smile over her demure blush. “Malcolm,” she said to her son. “You would do well to have so lovely a girl as a wife, I think.”

“Awe, mom!” said the thirteen year old boy at her side. Malcolm was gangly and rough around the edges, and certainly not the type to be into girls even at the early onslaught of puberty. Poor kid will develop slowly, thought Pamela.

“Now,” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “Tammy, always buy tomatoes slightly green this time of year. If you have any doubts, ask Pamela. Shell be happy to help you.” She told the high school senior with the same finely chiseled features as her mother. A pointed nose and mirth filled gray eyes completed the look on both mother and daughter, with Mrs. Pepperdine's face slightly more oval and Tammy’s being heart shaped.

“”Why, thank you, Mrs. Pepperdine,” said Pamela.

“Now, take these to the register, please, and go straight home.”

“Mom!” Tammy said. “You...”

“Do as I say, Tamara. Do it now. Do not embarrass me by making a fuss!”

“Alright,” Tamara seemed resigned. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The two children kissed their mother and left her with Pamela feeling perplexed.

“Pamela,” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “Where is Mr. Anson? I didn't see him when I came in.”

“I think he went home,” said Pamela.

“Oh... I hoped.... oh...”

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Pepperdine?”

“No,” said Mrs. Pepperdine who was visibly shaken to the point that her voice cracked and her hands trembled. “Nothing is wrong. I simply hoped to see him tonight.”

“I’m sorry you missed him,” said Pamela. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, well...” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “I should like to know where to go to... uhm... undress...”

“Undress?” Pamela asked. “Oh! Are you...” it was a stupid question, and Mrs. Pepperdine's eyes said it all. The poor woman was obviously terrified. “Uhm... the culls usually undress right outside the butchers bay.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “In front of it... of course! Of course, I knew this. I’ve watched enough of Mr. Anson's work to know this. How silly of me.” She was trembling even more than before now and suddenly her legs gave way. It was by pure luck that Pamela was able to catch her under her arms before the woman collapsed to the floor. Fortunately, Mrs. Pepperdine was not all that heavy. She was slightly shorter than Pamela’s 5'4” height and probably her same 110lbs weight.

“Let me get you a chair,” Pamela said as she steadied the older woman, and rushed to the butchers bay where she found Lucy anxiously looking at her watch.

“Whats wrong?” asked Lucy.

“I need a chair, you have folding ones back here, right?”

“Yeah, sure, in the closet.”

“Can you bring Mrs. Pepperdine a glass of water?”

“I cant,” Lucy said. “My nine o’clock will be here any minute.”

“She is your nine o’clock.”

“Oh! Oh, okay...”

Back out on the main floor Pamela unfolded the metal chair and placed it behind Mrs. Pepperdine, who she had to help into it.

“Oh, goodness this is embarrassing,” said the woman, even as Lucy appeared with a paper cup of water. “Thank you, Miss...”

“I’m Lucy,” said Lucy. “Are you my nine o’clock appointment?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Pepperdine said then gulped the water. “Yes. Harry, did he really go home?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Lucy. “He had to get home to take his wife out to dinner. Its their anniversary.”

“Oh... of course... I knew this... he told me about it...” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “Who will... who is going to render me?”

“I am,” said Lucy.

“But... you’re a girl...”

“Last time I checked,” said Lucy with a bit of frustration in her voice. “That’s not a problem, is it?” The question was not so much a question as an observation, Pamela could hear.

“Uh... no,” Mrs. Pepperdine protested. “Of course it's not a problem... I’m afraid I drank a bit too much of that comfort drink earlier. It appears to be making me feel a little weak and slow.”

Lucy nodded. “Do you have you’re culling order, Mrs. Pepperdine? I need it to begin working on you.”

Mrs. Pepperdine regarded Lucy with soulful eyes, but finally reached into her purse and produced a neatly folded paper which she offered to Lucy with her trembling hand. Lucy took the sheet and unfolded it with a forced smile.

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Pam, if you’re not too busy,” Lucy motioned for Pamela to follow. When they were out of Mrs. Pepperdine's earshot, Lucy whispered. “Can you help me with this one? Shes obviously going to be a pain if I have to do her by myself. If you’re not too busy, I hope.”

“Uh...” Pamela would have liked to decline, but she was well aware Lucy knew she always worked hard to have time to watch processing. Refusing would be a lie that Lucy would see through instantly. “Yeah, sure.”

“Go help her get undressed, would you? Ill get the wash rack ready.”

Sure, Lucy, Pamela thought. Whatever you say. Damn... Pamela turned back to the poor woman sitting in the chair across the isle.

How do I do this? Do I go up to her and say: Can we get you naked now, Mrs. Pepperdine? Its time to take off your cloths in front of me and everyone... not that there’s anyone here... except the girls up front and one or two beer junkies... God... she looks so scared...

“Uh... Mrs. Pepperdine?” Pamela finally said when she arrived near the woman’s chair. “Mrs. Pepperdine?”

“I cant do this!” the woman said, looking wide eyed into Pamela’s eyes. “I just cant.” In her left hand, she held the crumpled remains of the paper cup Lucy had brought her.

The queasy sensation in Pamela’s stomach she felt the first time a boy coaxed her out of her cloths a few years ago. If expressions were any indication, Mrs. Pepperdine felt exactly the same.

“Its alright, Mrs. Pepperdine,” Pamela managed. “Lucy is good at her job. Shell be very gentle with you. I promise. Uhm... we need to get you undressed now. Alright?”

The woman looked down at her hands, and nodded after a few moments. Pamela knelt down and began working the buttons of Mrs. Pepperdine's silk blouse to the point where it was tucked into the waistband of her slacks and she could go no further. Fortunately, the zipper was on the side, not the back, and Pamela did not yet have to ask the woman to stand. She unfastened the clasp and unzipped the zipper, releasing the blouse tails and undid the lowest button.

Pamela had to move behind Mrs. Pepperdine in order to draw off the woman’s blouse. Mrs. Pepperdine was being about as helpful as a frightened child, but she at least she did not fight. The lacy bra the woman wore clasped in back and that helped save a little time, Pamela mused. She drew the brazier off, and Mrs. Pepperdine crossed her arms in front of her, with her hands on each opposite shoulder to hide her bare breasts.

“Oh darn,” came a male voice. It was John Valencha, Carters father, and currently the day manager of Valenchas. “Lucy running late?”

“Its okay, Sir,” Pamela said. “Its under control.”

“I already sent Janet and Paula home,” John said of the two checkers. “You going to stay and help Lucy?”

“Sure,” Pamela nodded.

“Alright,” John said. “Ill go ahead and lock up. Lucy has the keys, so make sure she locks up when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Pamela said.

“Whats the hold up?” Lucy called.

“Coming!” Pamela said, and quickly knelt down to pull the gray pumps off Mrs. Pepperdine's feet. “Mrs. Pepperdine, I need you to stand up now, okay?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Pepperdine croaked. The woman’s legs were quaking as Pamela drew down those gray-brown slacks. Her control top pantyhose and jewelery were all the woman wore now, and Pamela was well aware of Lucy’s impatience as she struggled pulling the tight nylon hose down.

A shopper came around the corner. It was Mrs. Asporan who Mrs. Pepperdine sometimes chatted with when she came in. But this was Thursday, and Mrs. Asporan rarely came in on Thursday.

“Helen?” called Mrs. Asporan incredulously. “Is that you? I had no idea your number had come up.”

Mrs. Pepperdine, standing only in her control top pantyhose lost what colour she had and swayed as if she would collapse again.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Pepperdine with remarkable steadiness in her voice. “Hello Janice. How is Henry?”

“Henry is Henry,” said Mrs. Asporan. “So you’re going to be part of tomorrow mornings meat selection? That’s very fortunate! My son James has been asking for a nice fillet. Might I get a look at the product? ”

“I thought the store was closed,” whispered Mrs. Pepperdine.

“So did I,” said Pamela not at all trying to hide her annoyance. “Mrs. Asporan,” she said. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Valencha is closing up the store and trying to get himself home.”

“Yes, Pamela, I know. Hes already gone. You’ll be a good girl and check me out when I’m ready to leave, won't you?”

“Uh...” Pamela thought fast. There was no use in pretending she was not a qualified checker. When she arrived in Elko in early August that was the job she had. Taking Mrs. Asporan's debit card would not require her to dig out a cash drawer. There was no doubt in Pamela’s mind Mrs. Asporan had timed her arrival so that she could humiliate Mrs. Pepperdine.

“Whats the holdup?” Lucy came back. “Oh! Mrs. Asporan. I didn’t know you were still here. Didn't Mr. Valencha close up?” she said facing Pamela.

“Yes,” Pamela replied. “He did.”

“Oh, I just needed to finish up,” said Mrs. Asporan. “It's alright. I've stayed past closing before.”

“Yes, I know, Mrs. Asporan,” said Lucy. “But I’m sorry, I cant let you stay. I;ll let you out.”

“But I have to purchase a fillet for my son, and you have none out for me to look at.”

“And none will be out before tomorrow morning,” said Lucy. “You’ll have to come back.”

The tall woman glared at Lucy for a moment. “Very well,” Mrs. Asporan snorted. “If Pamela would be so kind as to check me out, Ill come back when you open.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Asporan, Pamela is busy helping me. You’ll just have to do your shopping tomorrow,” said Lucy, sternly.

“Well! I never! Mr. Valencha will hear about your rudeness, young lady!”

“I’m sure he will, Mrs. Asporan. Ill give you his home phone number if you like. Which Mr. Valencha would you like to talk to?”

“I have all their numbers. You can rest assured I will have words with them all about this!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy said. “If you’ll follow me, Ill let you out. Here, Pam. For the pantyhose...” Lucy thrust an old gutting knife into Pamela’s hand, who looked at it with horror. “Ill be back in a minute.”

Pamela watched them leave for a scant moment till they were out of sight before turning back to Mrs. Pepperdine. When she again saw the woman, she was breathing as if winded, obviously relieved. Pamela bent down and took the waistband of the control top pantyhose and slid the hawk billed gutting knife under it, the razor sharp steel easily parting the fabric and exposing the skin beneath. Mrs. Pepperdine gasped as the hose came away down her right leg. It was more difficult removing the left leg as the fabric was now loose at the waist, but not too difficult. When Pamela pulled it away, Mrs. Pepperdine's fillet was revealed to be smooth as a newly depilated pubescent teenager. It was a pretty fillet, to Pamela’s eyes, with swollen lips parting her plump cleft and exposing Mrs. Pepperdine's arousal. Her belly was not pudgy but had a womanly roundness to it that was sexier to Pamela's eyes than she might have expected.

Pamela thought of herself as very heterosexual, but Mrs. Pepperdine's womanly vulnerability was having its affect on Pamela in an uncomfortable fashion. She was quite glad Lucy would take over as soon as she returned and Pamela could make her escape to do whatever needed done, Pamela would find something...

“Okay,” Lucy said as she returned. “What a bitch that woman is! Part of me hopes her numbers coming up soon and I get to do her, and part of me hopes I don't ever have to see her again...”

“I know what you mean,” Pamela said. “Anyway... Mrs. Pepperdine, I really will miss you...”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Pepperdine said in a small voice. But when Pamela turned to leave, the woman sobbed.

“Mrs. Pepperdine,” said Lucy, to Pamela's horror. “Would you like Pamela to help get you cleaned up?”

Pamela turned just in time to see Mrs. Pepperdine nodding silently. Oh God! She knew what that meant! Shed seen enough Mothers helping their daughters and daughters helping their mothers get cleaned up! Lucy did it every time she came to work before she put on her butchers outfit...

“Pam,” Lucy said with an authority based on Pamela's contractual obligation. “Get undressed and bring Mrs. Pepperdine in soon as you're naked.”

Great! In all the time shed worked here at Valenchas this was the first time shed ever heard of any employee having to strip off for a culls comfort. At least the store was closed, and, thank God Mrs. Asporan was gone... the last thing Pamela needed was to have to strip off in front of that woman!

Pamela doffed the green polyester dress she wore over a sports bra and simple cotton panties. The panties she removed first to reveal her neatly trimmed red pubic hair. Pulling the sports bra off to reveal her c-cup breasts with their stiff nipples. Pamela's nakedness suddenly made her feel as vulnerable as Mrs. Pepperdine looked. Pamela's own hands shook as she dutifully put her hands on Mrs. Pepperdine's shoulders and began to guide her into the butchers bay.

“My, Pamela,” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “I’m the one being butchered but you'd think it was you the way you're shaking...”

Pamela snorted a laugh at that. “I'll be running around almost naked next week,” she told Mrs. Pepperdine, and explained the circumstances resulting from her demerits.

“Oh! My, oh my! It seems someone wants to put you on the menu! At least you'll have the honour of being a live roaster! Ill just be cuts of meat...”

“Fine cuts,” Lucy said at the entrance to the shower. In her hand she held a bowl of wax and a handful of cloth strips.

“I’m already depilated, Lucy,” said Mrs. Pepperdine.

“They’re not for you,” said Lucy. “They're for Pam.”

“Me?”

“Yes! Cant have pubic hair in here. Its the law.”

“That makes no sense!” Pamela said. “You're in here all day with your hair uncovered!”

“Doesn't matter,” Lucy said. “The law is the law... bend over...”

“Bend over?”

“Yeah, I'm doing your back end first...”

Pamela stood, mouth agape for a moment. Lucy was far too into this! Did she conspire with Mrs. Pepperdine? No... she could not have... there was no time... they were never together. But Pamela did as she was told when Lucy took a firm stance and pointed to the tile bench and slowly bent over, spreading her legs as Lucy patted her inner things, leaving her rear end open and exposed. The humiliation stung just as much as the hot wax Lucy smeared between her cheeks. Exposing ones self was one of the ultimate taboos back in Pamela’s hometown in Connecticut and all up and down the Eastern Seaboard.

“So,” Lucy said as she spread the hot wax between Pamela’s buns... the hot sting caused Pamela to flinch. “Mrs. Pepperdine, why isn't your daughter here?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “I could never undress in front of my children.”

“Oh,” said Lucy. “I get that. My Mom was exactly the opposite. When she was at home, we'd all parade around naked all the time. She made sure we were never ashamed of our bodies...”

“Oh, I'm not ashamed of my body...” Mrs. Pepperdine said. “I'm just ashamed of being naked.”

“Ow!” Pamela squealed as Lucy ripped away the short, course hair that once grew between her buns. Several more rips followed before Lucy had her sit with her legs spread wide.

“Its such a pity Mrs. Asporan could not admire your fillet, Pamela,” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “It looks truly succulent.”

“Yes it does!” breathed Lucy as she cleaned away the hair, leaving the fair skin between Pamela’s legs pink. “Carving it would be a pleasure... but then, Mr. Anson will price yours at the top rate, Mrs. Pepperdine. If Mrs. Asporan arrives in time to get it, it won't come cheap, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Mrs. Pepperdine. “That is strangely comforting. Although, the notion of her idiot son dining on it is... distasteful.”

“I’m sure she won't make it in time,” said Lucy with a big, hopeful smile on her pretty, freckled face. “Okay, time for me to get you cleaned out.”

“Cleaned out?” Mrs. Pepperdine asked.

“I have to give you an enema,” Lucy said, that friendly smile still plastered on her face.

“An enema?” Mrs. Pepperdine's horrified face made it clear how she felt about that. “You're going to put your hand between... my legs?”

Lucy sighed. “Mrs. Pepperdine, regulations say I have to give you an enema. Have to. I have no choice. Now please step up here or I'll have to put restraints on you.”

“But, I...” Mrs. Pepperdine did not move.

“Oh, good grief!” Lucy said. She went to a drawer and pulled out a metal hoop with two leather straps attached to it, and strode up to Mrs. Pepperdine, who was frozen in fear. Lucy flicked Mrs. Pepperdine's hair away from her neck and snapped the collar closed causing Mrs. Pepperdine to whimper. One by one, she took Mrs. Pepperdine's wrists and strapped those to the collar. The effect was that Mrs. Pepperdine's elbows stuck out to her sides with her wrists cuffed to the back of the collar.

Lucy guided Mrs. Pepperdine forward till she was next to the elongated sink. She turned Mrs. Pepperdine around and backed her up to it till the older woman was straddling the thing. Lucy took the hose with the enema probe on it and smeared petroleum jelly onto the chrome end.

“Come hold her, Pam,” Lucy commanded.

Pamela moved forward, likewise straddling the elongated sink, and put her arms around Mrs. Pepperdine. The converted woman was quietly weeping now. She drew Mrs. Pepperdine to her, very aware of the Sapphic responses of her own body. Skin to skin, breast to breast, Pamela's body was quivering as much as Mrs. Pepperdine's was. Pamela's low level arousal, which she was aware of, was now growing intolerably strong. When Mrs. Pepperdine's body jerked as the probe entered her rectum, she rubbed against Pamela in such a way that Pamela's wetness began dripping down her own leg. Mrs. Pepperdine's legs had buckled, and her thigh was between Pamela's legs and in full contact with Pamela's vulva. Pamela was struggling to hold Mrs. Pepperdine up.

“Oh my GOD!” Mrs. Pepperdine squealed. “OH MY GOD!”

The woman was in full orgasm. Lucy withdrew the probe and a Pamela could hear but thankfully not see the stream of water gushing out of Mrs. Pepperdine.

“Aaah...” Mrs. Pepperdine gasped as Lucy inserted the probe again and her body stood up straight. “MY GOD!”

Again, Mrs. Pepperdine's bowels evacuated gushing.

“One more time, Mrs. Pepperdine,” said Lucy. “Then you should be perfectly clean.”

“Oh no! OHMYGOD!” Mrs. Pepperdine's body undulated in Pamela's arms. Pamela had to hold on tight as the woman convulsed almost violently. When her bowels were evacuated, Pamela again found herself holding Mrs. Pepperdine up.

“Let's get her in the saddle,” said Lucy, Grabbing one of Mrs. Pepperdine's outstretched upper arms. The two girls took the listless woman and dragged her bodily to “The Saddle.”

It resembled a gymnast's vaulting horse with a phallus right in the middle of it. The phallus was not primarily for the doe's pleasure, though it did have that fringe benefit. It was mostly to keep the doe's hips from moving while the butcher unzipped her belly and removed its contents. Mrs. Pepperdine was not as difficult as Pamela would have thought to get onto the saddle. Once the phallus was inserted, Mrs. Pepperdine slid down it, accepting it in with a moan. Lucy attached a chord to the back of the caller with a large halliard clip, and tightened it, so that Mrs. Pepperdine was forced to sit up straight.

Lucy took Pamela's hand and placed it over Mrs. Pepperdine's clitoris.

“Rub,” Lucy said. Pamela hesitated. “Rub! I'm not kidding! Keep her relaxed!”

Pamela rubbed, Mrs. Pepperdine moaned. For a few moments, that's all that went on. Then, with one swift, graceful motion, Lucy put a gutting knife to the base of Mrs. Pepperdine's belly and opened her.

It was not so bloody as Pamela would have expected. Lucy extracted Mrs. Pepperdine's organs, cutting them away, and then, it became bloody. Organs and blood went down the shoot at the front of the saddle as Lucy dislodged them. She did save he liver and the kidneys, the rest went into the tripe bin.

“Did you notice, she's still in orgasm?” Lucy said as she finished with the last of it.

Pamela's hands were quite bloody, but she was still rubbing and Mrs. Pepperdine still seemed to be experiencing ecstasy.

“She'll be gone in a few seconds,” Lucy said. “They tend to bleed out quickly like this.”

“I thought comfort juice was supposed to make them last.”

“Not the red stuff. That's just to diminish pain. We don't sell the blue stuff. That's for live roasters. That's a lot more expensive, anyway. She's gone. All I need to do is skin and quarter her, and we can lock up. Won't take long.”

Pamela cleaned up, and put her cloths back on. She had been sweaty and bloody and she didn't like it. I could never be a butcher, Pamela thought. I don't know how you do it, Lucy!

On the way home. The two did not speak. But Pamela was very much aware that Lucy was watching her as she walked, and it made Pamela uncomfortable. But Pamela would not ask her to stop. She had no idea what Lucy was thinking, and was not sure she wanted to. And bed was calling. Tomorrow was a very big day...