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Subject: RP Cannibal 4H Chptrs. 7-12 (Death, NC, Inc,
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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.


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