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.
