Cannibal 4H

ABOUT CANNIBAL 4H

For newcomers, this is a tale intended only for adults.  Let me repeat that.
This story is for adults only.  If you are a minor go away.  If reading this
story would in any way violate the local laws, rules, regulations, morals or
customs where you live go away.   There are many other more edifying stories to
be found elsewhere, stories that would be more appropriate to your age and legal
status.

Now, to round out this warning, if you are an adult and have stumbled across
this continuing story for the first time take note: This is not Rebecca of
Sunnybrook Farm. This is an intense story of the raising of humans as livestock
and the consumption of human flesh.

Cannibal 4H or C4H as it has come to be known on the newsgroups chronicles the
adventures of two young people, Joey Geryon and his girlfriend Linda Sue and
their adventures in raising human cattle.  It contains violence, death, family
tragedy, sex of all shades and stripes and people eating people. This tale is
not to everyone's taste. If you have the slightest idea that you might be
offended by the contents of this story, please read no further. As the Judge
would say "caveat lector:" let the reader beware.

As always, my thanks to Neuralmancer for allowing me to assume the mortgage on
his farm.
	
Eurytion


Our story so far:

In Chapter One: A New Project by Neuralmancer --- we meet Joey who lives on a
human cattle ranch owned by his father. His girlfriend, Linda Sue, uses her
feminine charm to convince Joey's dad to allow Joey to raise and enter a human
cattle in the upcoming judging at the Cannibal 4H fair.

In Chapter Two: The Fair by Neuralmancer --- Joey and Linda Sue take their human
cow to the fair. Watching the activities in the butchering tent leads them to an
afternoon of carnal delight, followed by a repast of medium done portions of
human cattle thigh and rump well covered with barbecue sauce, onions and
mushrooms. Joey envisions Linda Sue rotating about a cooking flame.

In Chapter Three: The Slaughtering by Eurytion --- we find Joey and Linda Sue on
their way to Japan, reminiscing about their first Cannibal 4H fair. We meet Al
Crenshaw, owner of Crenshaw Superior Meats who has bought Joey's blue
ribbon-winning cow. Joey and Linda Sue lend a hand in the slaughtering.

In Chapter Four: A Maverick's Conversion by Eurytion --- Linda Sue catches
Valerie, Joey's thirteen year old neighbour who has a huge crush on Joey without
her identification badge. Under the fair's rules, that makes her a maverick to
be claimed by the first person who finds her. Linda Sue relinquishes her claim
to Joey who reluctantly decides to have the youngster converted by McCains into
livestock for his new human veal venture.

In Chapter Five: A Brother's Visit by Eurytion --- Cow 701's former brother
Billy and Joey patch up a friendship strained by Valerie's conversion.  Billy,
acting on the advice of his grief counsellor, participates in the feeding of 701
and enjoys his former sister's oral ministrations. We learn, to achieve
"closure" his entire family has "to be there when they butcher her and then we
have to help eat her."

In Chapter Six: Evaluations and Judgments by Eurytion --- Linda Sue is sized up
by a professional and given a passing grade. Cow 701 passes a father's muster as
does her owner. And we learn of Joey's final promise to Valerie.

In Chapter Seven:  At the Fair by Eurytion --- Cow 701 arrives at the fair.
Linda Sue models spits for a special barbecue. And Joey tips his hand.

In Chapter Eight: A Fijian Feast by Eurytion  --- Cow 701 pleases the judges
while Linda Sue pleasures the cook.  Billy learns the true meaning of finger
licking good and a trip to the South Seas is contemplated.

In Chapter Nine: Patty's Lesson by Eurytion --- Another young girl learns a
valuable lesson and Joey is given an idea for a new branch of the business.

In Chapter Ten: Reaching Closure by Eurytion --- Although it's hard, Joey keeps
his promise to Valerie. Linda Sue  dispatches one adversary only to meet a more
formidable foe.  Despite the recovery of a missing item, Valerie loses her head.
Taking a cue from the rest of the family, Billy advances relations with his
cousin Terri.

In Chapter Eleven: The Sunday Dinner by Eurytion --- The Hewitts say goodbye to
Valerie while Linda Sue suggests a family replacement.

In Chapter Twelve: The Plot Advances by Eurytion --- Joey suggests Terri and
Linda Sue engage in a game of horse.  A sparkling new friendship is formed while
an almost cow plots revenge.

In Chapter Thirteen: The War Begins by Eurytion --- Anneliese strikes her first
blow against human cattle ranching while an old friend of her aunt's frets about
the future.

In Chapter Fourteen: The Eyes Have It by Eurytion --- A brush with incontinence
leads Anneliese to stumble upon her inamorata.

In Chapter Fifteen: The Pinto Project by Eurytion --- Joey goes dotty over a new
undertaking.

In Chapter Sixteen: At The Stables by Eurytion --- We visit Kyner Stables to
find a home for Terri and Linda Sue.

In Chapter Seventeen: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion --- We look
at the hidden occurrences in the souls of our main characters.

In Chapter Eighteen: In Training by Eurytion --- A pair of new ponies are put
through their paces preparatory to the Chiron Cup races.

In Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by Eurytion --- We learn more about the
legal system and watch a marriage terminate.

In Chapter Twenty: A Day at The Races by Eurytion --- Joey closes in on the Cup
while others close in on the finish line.

Cannibal 4H  Chapter 1: A New Project  BY NEURALMANCER

JOEY PACED NERVOUSLY outside of the barn door. Today he certainly wasn't
himself. Normally upbeat, his mood as of late was downright somber. Through the
day Joey had mechanically attended to his farm chores. His thoughts were
elsewhere.

Only upon the approach of Joey's girl friend, Linda Sue, did his mood improve.
Her scantily clad body, just barely covered by a tight spring dress, caused
Joey's pick to stir underneath his overalls, the only clothing that Joey usually
wore. Damn, thought Joey, she looked good. The sight of Linda Sue's swinging
hips temporarily caused Joey's mind to think of something other than the fair.

Linda Sue yelled out to Joey as she came near. "Hey Joey, have you approached
your Father with your idea for the fair yet?"

Joey frowned as he heard Linda Sue's question. He hadn't dared bring up the
subject to his father yet. Human cows were extremely expensive. Joey wasn't sure
whether he was responsible enough to be trusted with the care of one. "No Linda
Sue, not yet. I'm still looking for the right time to bring the subject up."

"Well you had better hurry up, we only have six months till the fair." Linda Sue
paused as she came closer. Placing her hands about her slender waist, she
sexually tossed her head back causing her long jet black hair to cascade behind
her head. Standing with her bare legs apart, she had Joey's attention. With a
look of seriousness on Linda Sue's face, she continued to address him. "Well
perhaps all you need is some encouragement. We all know that you're the best
junior human cattle farmer in these parts. Now's our opportunity to prove it.
You need to show everyone that you're ready for responsibility. It's now or
never."

"I want to see the cattle." Taking Joey's hand, Linda Sue led Joey into the
barn.

Though from the outside the barn appeared much like any other, on the inside
similarities to convention parted dramatically. For this was a barn for bipedal
cattle. In a former existence the cattle residing within the barn may of been
considered human. Now the residents of the barn were highly valued farm animals,
nothing more.

The human cattle's special requirements implied dramatic changes to the barn's
interior design. For one, the barn's interior temperature was strictly
regulated. The human cattle now lived in a state of complete nudity. As such,
they had to be protected from the vagaries of the outside environment. Joey
always felt as if he had entered one of those elaborate enclosed shopping malls
with a sunlit atrium every time he entered the barn. Multiple sky lights
illuminated much of the barn's interior. The abundance of natural sunlight plus
a rather high setting of the thermostat made the barn's interior atmosphere
border on that of a greenhouse. Only on the warmest of days would the human
cattle be allowed outside.

Two parallel lines of stalls lined the barn's interior. Most of the stalls were
occupied by naked human female cattle. Cows they were called in the trade. Most
of the demand was for girls. A couple of stalls located opposite of the stalls
occupied by cows each held the masculine counterpart, bulls. With the exception
of head hair, all were hairless as well. Joey knew that well for he had
personally helped his father with the hair removal. One of the first chores to
be done upon a new cow's or bull's arrival to the farm was a dip in the hair
removal bath. The hair removal solution was strong stuff. After only a couple of
hours within the bath and the new cow or bull would emerge as hairless as a
newborn babe. Frequently the new arrivals would offer quite a bit of resistance
during this step. It wasn't unusual for the farm hands to come in contact with
the hair removal liquid. Joey had learned his lesson to ware protective clothing
on his first attempt. A wiry blonde cow had managed to splash some hair removal
liquid on his right arm. Joey made her stay in the hair removal bath a bit
longer than necessary. A couple of years human harvesting later and the hair on
his right arm had still not grown back.

"Young and lean" remarked Linda Sue as she kept her head turned towards the line
of cows. None of the cows ÷as more than twenty years old. All were young and
nicely filled out with ample breasts and shapely buttocks. Each cow was chained
by the neck to the cinder block wall. Their hands and feet remained free. They
offered little attention as Linda Sue and Joey walked pass. Neither did they
attempt to offer up any sense of modesty. Most of the cows had been on the farm
for awhile and probably had some idea of what lay await for them.

Linda Sue paused to pick up a cattle prod from the wall. Turning towards the
line of human cows, Linda Sue stopped in front of one of them. Linda Sue's
selected cow had been on the farm for some time now. The cow's body showed the
effect of the farm's treatments. Like so many others, this young cow, still in
her late teens, had been only average upon her arrival at the farm. After almost
six months however the cow had dramatically changed. By a combination of special
injections and diet the cow's breasts had increased in size. Linda Sue guessed
that this young cow was easily a D-cup now. Not that the cow would ever again
need a bra. In contrast to the breast enlargement, the cow's waist had remained
quite narrow. A second affect of the special conditioning was a leaning out of
the cow's meat. The hips and thighs had filled out nicely with tender meat.

Sitting with her legs stretched out on the hay lined floor of her stall, the
cow's gaze was fixated upon Linda Sue's cattle prod. The cow knew that demands
were soon to be placed upon her. "This one appears about ready for harvest. Just
a little extra work and she should win first prize at the fair."

Without saying another word Linda Sue jabbed the end of the cattle prod against
the shin of the sitting cow. Understanding Linda Sue's desire, the young cow
quickly got to her feet. The cow made no attempt to move away from Linda Sue.
She knew well the consequences of disobedience.

Keeping her gaze fixated on the standing cow, Linda Sue continued to talk to
Joey. "I see that you make sure that your stock gets plenty of sun. Did you know
that tanned cows always receive higher point scores than plain old white ones?
Not that it makes any difference in the end."

Joey nodded his head in agreement. He enjoyed seeing the naked cows prance about
the open air pen.

Linda Sue handed the cattle prod to Joey. With her hands now free Linda Sue
began to explore the soft contours of the young cow's body. Starting at the top
of the naked woman's head, Linda Sue ran her fingers through the woman's hair,
the only hair that she now had. Like those of all of the other cow's on the
farm, the cow's head hair had been pulled back into a compact bun extending no
lower than her shoulders. This particular hair style had become the farm's trade
mark. "I have always wondered how I would look wearing my hair this way."

Hearing Linda Sue's remark, said so casually, gave Joey a start. Hmm, he
thought, does Linda Sue secretly desire to become a cow? Joey formed a mental
image of Linda Sue spiked from ass to mouth and slowly roasting over a barbecue
pit, not an unpleasant thought.

Moving her hands down pass the sides of the young cow's head Linda Sue felt the
tag that the cow wore suspended from her left ear. "Ah my dear, reduced to
nothing but a number", Linda Sue said in jest.

Linda Sue then reached underneath the cow's now ample breasts and cupped one in
each of her hands. Squeezing hard, Linda felt the quality of the woman's tit
flesh. The cow's nipples hardened in response to Linda Sue's manipulations. This
time saying nothing, Linda Sue showed how pleased she was by the smile on her
face. This cow was definitely top prize material.

As Linda Sue moved her hands yet lower down the sides of the cow's body she felt
the quality of the woman's flesh, full, yet firm meat.

Bending her knees to lower herself, Linda Sue reached behind the standing form
to feel the young woman's buttocks. The cow vocalized a sharp sound as Linda Sue
pinched the flesh of the cow's ass. Again Linda Sue was pleased. "I can already
tell that this one has developed a fine romp roast. The meat should fetch a good
price in the market."

Through out most of Linda Sue's fondling of the cow's body the cow had showed
little if any emotion. She had become use to being treated as a lowly animal.
However, hearing her ass characterized as nothing more than a romp roast was too
much to bear. The cow's blank look of resignation was suddenly transformed into
an expression of dread and pain. True to her conditioning though, she still did
not say a word. It needn't matter. Neither Linda Sue nor Joey gave the once
human, now mere two legged cow, any heed. Nothing could change the cow's fate.

While withdrawing her hands from the lovely cow's ass, Linda Sue causally drew
her index finger against the cow's hairless vaginal opening. It was moist and
open. "Ah my lovely cow, so you enjoy your keeper's touch. No doubt that you'll
long ago lost any sense of inhibition."

Finishing her exploration of the cow's body, Linda Sue noted that the cow's
thighs and calves of the same high quality as was the remainder of the cow's
flesh.

Resuming a standing posture, Linda Sue returned her attention to Joey. "This is
the one that we should take to the fair. You have already done a fine job on
her. Just a little bit of preparation and we will certainly win first prize."

Joey nodded his head in agreement. "The only problem is convincing my father to
let us go. You know how old fashioned he is. He is unusually adverse to anything
that doesn't bring a profit."

Striking a sexy pose with her hands on her hips Linda Sue smiled. "Don't worry
Joey boy. Just let old Linda Sue here handle him. Besides, the publicity
generated from the fair should do the farm's sales good. If you want to get
sales you have to advertise."

As far back as Joey could remember, Linda Sue always had a wild streak to her.
He wondered what she had in mind for his father.

Cannibal 4H Chapter 2: The Fair BY NEURALMANCER

THE SIX MONTHS till the fair quickly went by. Joey wasn't sure exactly how Linda
Sue managed it, but she somehow got his father to approve of their taking Linda
Sue's selected cow to the fair. From the smile on his father's face after Linda
Sue had him alone, Joey could guess what had transpired.

The work to prepare their entry however fell mainly to Joey. He gave the lean
brunette cow that Linda Sue had picked out special attention. Throughout the
spring and early summer Joey made sure that the young cow got just the right
amount of exercise. He took particular joy upon seeing her run about the outdoor
stockade. Bathing her afterwards was even more enjoyable. It became almost
routine, at least for those times that Linda Sue wasn't around, for Joey to take
the young cow sexually after her bath. Young cows not selected for breeding,
like the cow that Joey now lavished so much extra attention to, were routinely
fixed. Such little details made life on the farm so much more enjoyable.

Balancing the cow's regime of exercise was her special diet. Joey carefully
controlled the young cow's intake of tit and ass food. A high protein blend
consisting mostly of soy byproducts and high fiber cereals, tit and ass food, as
the farm hands called the feed that Joey's father purchased from the local
livestock merchant, was specially prepared for the particular diet of human
livestock. Things went so well, that by the time of the fair, about the middle
of July, Joey's and Linda Sue's selected entry's breasts had again enlarged,
this time reaching double D.

The first day of the fair finally arrived. Joey had attached a small livestock
trailer, a short enclosed affair much resembling a horse trailer, to his van
into which the young cow would travel to the fair. To save on expenses during
the week long event, both Joey and Linda Sue would spend their nights together
in the van. Joey had equipped the van with everything that they would need,
including most importantly, as large a bed as Joey could fit within the back of
the full size van.

Though it took a couple of hours for both Joey and Linda Sue to pack the van
with their supplies, the time seemed to go by much more quickly. The last thing
to do was to secure their young cow into the livestock trailer. No doubt sensing
that something was up, the cow was noticeably apprehensive and skittish. Linda
Sue spoke softly to calm the two legged cow. "Easy girl, we've just got a short
way to go."

Walking with a slow and carefully stepped pace, Joey and Linda Sue eased their
girl into the livestock trailer. Strapping the cow into the trailer, Joey and
Linda Sue closed and secured the trailer's door behind them. Transformed from a
human being into a bipedal cow, now but a piece of livestock, the young farm
animal would travel naked to the fair.

As Joey watched Linda Sue climb onto the van's passenger seat he noticed her
perspiration soaked shirt clinging revealingly to her chest. Linda Sue didn't
wear a bra. In fact, Linda Sue didn't wear much at all. A pair of almost illegal
cutoff jeans just barely covered her ass cheeks. Her feet were bare. Linda Sue
smiled at Joey as his cock stiffened in response to sudden carnal thoughts. "Oh
the July sun is hot! Come on Joey, lets get this show on the road, the fair is
waiting!"

I took the better part of a half of a day to drive to the fair grounds. Once
there they had to go through the usual routine of checking in and finding a
place to park. Fortunately, the check in was a drive through. The check in
attendant, an older man with graying hair and a developing pot belly, was naked.
Unlike most agricultural fairs the cannibal fair was nudist. It was the custom
for not only the bipedal cattle, but also for those attending the fair to go
about completely nude. No one was quite sure how this tradition got started,
some say it came from some old cannibal cartoons, but needless to say there
wasn't a more comfortable way to spend a hot July day.

"How are you all doing? Here's your identification badges. Remember, don't lose
them. It's about all there is between you're being human and someone's next
meal."

Joey thanked the attendant and drove to a parking spot not too far from the
livestock barns. Always the thoughtful farmer, Joey was careful to pick a spot
upwind of the barns. Already, it was only the first day of the fair, the fair
grounds were crowded with people, all naked and glistening with sun tan lotion
in the lengthening July afternoon.

As Joey and Linda Sue stepped out of the van the smell of roasting meat, human
meat, greeted their arrival. Joey was the first to comment about what awaited
them. "I love coming to the fair, that aroma gets my appetite going every time."

"Dinner will have to wait. First spray some of that sun tan oil on my back
before it burns. Then lets get our little prize winner safely installed in the
exhibit area. Then we can eat."

Looking back to Linda Sue, Joey noticed that she had already stripped down to
nothing but a pair of sandals. Her firm breasts, well covered with a layer of
sun tan oil, glistened invitingly in the afternoon sun. Suddenly Joey forgot
about food, but only temporarily.

With their bodies protected from the sun's harmful effects and having remembered
to place the identification badges about their necks, their only garment besides
the sandals on their feet, Joey and Linda Sue carefully escorted their cow to
the livestock barn assigned to their category of entry. At the fair there were
primarily three categories of cows on exhibit. The first kind of cow was like
theirs, known as a conversion, a cow that at one time had been human like
themselves, but for one reason or another had their status converted to
livestock. The second kind of cow were those who were specially bred to be
livestock. Presented with the first two kinds of bipedal livestock, Joey could
easily tell them apart. Once having been human, a certain fraction of humanity
always remained. Those bipedal cows raised from birth as nothing more than
livestock never had the opportunity of a normal human development and it showed.
The third category of cow were those prepared for the smokehouse. In contrast to
the general desire to keep the meat of the first two kinds of cow as lean as
possible, those cows destined to have their meat smoked were put on extremely
high fat diets. Their bodies were optimized in the entirely opposite direction.
The third kind of cow was generally huge and obese. However, the hams that
resulted tended to be very tasty.

Having secured their cow in her pen, Joey and Linda Sue turned their attention
to one of the fair's many food tents. Elbowing their way through the a crowd of
other hungry fair attendants, Joey and Linda Sue encountered a most fantastic
site. In front of them, four parallel rows of double high rotisseries were
available for the barbecuing of human meat. Fed by a line of gas fed flame lying
parallel with the axis of each spit, eight human carcasses could be
simultaneously roasted. Already, despite the evenings early hour, half of the
spits were occupied with slowly spinning and cooking meat. Before long all the
spits would be busy with the task of cooking meals for the multitude of hungry
fair goers.

Pressing his way to the ordering counter, Joey peered to the nearest of the
roasting carcasses. Decapitated and skinless, Joey could see the spit, which
entered the carcass at the anus and exited through the neck, passing through the
cow's lower abdominal region. The stomach had been left open after gutting. The
legs had been doubled over and were pined to the carcass's sides. The arms were
likewise doubled over and pined to the cow's back. Both the feet and hands were
missing. The overall effect made the roasting cow appear much like a chicken, a
very large chicken. This particular cow must be near done though Joey. The meat
had acquired a dark brown color, black in places where the barbecue sauce had
burned.  Torrents of hot steam rose in visible streams from every opening. The
nipples of the cow's ample breasts had turned charcoal black due their greater
proximity to the flames. Juices dripped from the cow's expanded vaginal opening.

All of the roasting carcasses were from cows. All of the other roasting cows
were similarly prepared. As Joey waited for the ordering attendant, a pretty
teenaged woman whose naked body compared favorably to those roasting behind her,
to get to him for his order, Linda Sue yelled out to a middle aged man wearing
nothing but an apron and a cowboy hat who was busy using a broom to apply
barbecue sauce to one of the rotating carcasses of meat. "Hey mister, where can
we see the butchering?"

Dipping the broom into a large bucket of deep red barbecue sauce, the man paused
to carefully coat the buttocks of a roasting cow with barbecue sauce before he
replied. Only after he was sure that no spots of the roasting meat had been left
uncovered did he answer. "Behind this tent there's another tent and behind that
tent is a stockade. The meat cows are kept in the stockade as they wait to be
butchered. Feel free to go into the butchering tent, but keep out of the way.
The guys in there like to work fast."

Grabbing Joey's right arm, Linda Sue pulled him from his place in line. Joey was
furious. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Joey, come on. You can eat anytime. If we hurry we can still witness the day's
butchering", replied Linda Sue.

Reluctantly, Joey went along with Linda Sue's wishes. It was at times like this
when the thought of Linda Sue rotating about a cooking flame was the most
appealing.

As Joey and Linda Sue approached the stockade they could see a collection of
naked cows being herded together within the stockade. Though differing in their
appearances, all of the cows shared the common marking of their ear tags. The
ear tag plus a variety of inspection tattoos clearly indicated the status of
those waiting within the stockade. Joey couldn't help getting aroused from the
sight of so much naked femininity being forced to line up within the stockade.
Ample breasts bounced unhindered and well padded hips swayed as the line of
naked cows moved forward. Herders armed with cattle prods were in the process of
constricting the herd onto a narrow ramp entering the butchering tent. As Joey
and Linda Sue watched, a panicking cow attempted to climb over the stockade's
fence. An alert herder rushed to the outside of the stockade fence and with a
quick jab of his cattle prod promptly forced the cow back. Restricted to a
single file on the ramp, a sliding door opened to allow a single cow entrance to
the butchering tent. Forced within, the door promptly closed behind her. After a
short pause of constant duration the door once again opened for the next waiting
cow.

Noticing Joey's excited sexual state Linda Sue reached down and tightly grasped
Joey's stiffening cock. "Plenty of time for that later, Joey. Come on, lets go
see what happens inside."

Joey attempted to take his mind off of the eroticism of the herding. Not
entirely successful, Joey's cock remained half hard as Joey and Linda Sue
entered the butchering tent.

Though bright lights illuminated critical areas of the tent's interior, there
remained a significant number of dark spots. The overall effect caused an
observer's eyes to be guided from one work station to the next. Details
in-between were missed. Perhaps that was just as well. Neither Joey nor Linda
Sue wanted to know what felt wet and slimy against their almost bare feet.

A production line of human disassembly greeted Joey and Linda Sue as the pair's
eyes adjusted to the tent's interior illumination. At each stage of the line men
were busy with either the initial beheading of the cow, the removal of the skin,
gutting, and at the final stage, the impalement of the headless carcass on a
rotisserie spit. Joey and Linda sue stood transfixed near the start of the line
watching the workers ready yet another cow to meet her fate as a tall man
approached them.

"Hello there, you two want a tour? Well, don't just stand there looking
dumbfounded, yet me show you around."

Joey and Linda Sue graciously accepted the man's hospitality. Unlike all the
others attending the fair, this man and the other men working the disassembly
line wore pants and boots. Their chests however were bare. The butchering tent
had rather poor ventilation. Copious quantities of sweat dripped from the men's
brows. Upon closer inspection Linda Sue noticed that the little clothing that
they wore clung closely to their bodies from the wetness. Linda Sue admired
their guide's buttocks which were well revealed despite their fabric covering.

"Here it begins. At least for us. I suppose you could also say that here it ends
for the cow." The man had stopped right behind the sliding door from the ramp. A
pair of men were in the process of strapping down a young cow to a guillotine.
Another man stood by at the ready to release the blade which in short order will
separate the young cow's head from her body. A blood stained trough awaited to
carry away her head. As Joey and Linda Sue passed by the young cow turned her
head slightly to look up at the observers to her last moments. Fear showed in
the young cow's eyes. Joey knelt alongside the entrapped cow and reached over to
feel the quality of her flesh. A pair of breasts that seemed to be much oversize
when compared to the cow's frame, dangled invitingly in front of Joey. Reaching
out with both hands, the tit flesh felt firm and the nipples were hard. Moving
one hand from the cow's high quality tit flesh to her buttocks, Joey repeated
his inspection there. Again, Joey was not displeased. This cow had been well
prepared. Though Joey thought the cow to be pretty and well shaped, she was just
a cow. As if signaling an invitation, the cow's hairless cunt gapped invitingly.
Under different circumstances if Joey had the opportunity to view the cow not as
she presently was, but as a woman, he would undoubtedly find the woman
attractive. But, as it was she was nothing but a cow, a very delicious food
source.

A warning was shouted and Joey stood back from the guillotine. The cow's eyes
never closed. From a signal from those securing the cow to the guillotine, the
cow's executioner let the blade fall. With a sudden snapping sound the cow's
neck was severed and her pretty head rolled down the trough. The cow's head had
traveled no further than half way down the trough when another man after having
looped a pair of ropes around each of the cow's ankles, caused the cow to be
lifted vertically above the disassembly line. It was a short journey to the next
processing station.

Joey and Linda Sue's guide continued his narrative at the next processing
station. "Once the heads are off, here they get skinned. Flaying requires a
great deal of skill." Implicating those working at the skinning station, he
continued. "Few are more expert at their job than is our flaying team. This is
all that they do eight hours a day."

Having received the unfortunate cow who had just lost her head, a pair of men
armed with special knives proceeded to cut away the cow's skin. Starting from
the ankles, they made long cuts just deep enough to separate the skin. In an
impressively short time, the pair simultaneously stripped off the cow's skin.
The cow's pink meat was exposed for all to see.

Linda Sue's interest in the butchering operation was nevertheless tempered by
the smell. Joey seemed not to be bothered by the smell. No doubt he had long
since grown accustomed to bad smells. A low grade stench filled the air of the
tent's interior. As their guide directed them to the next processing station she
found the foul odor's source. At the gutting station several men, one man per
cow, were busy slicing open the belies of inverted bipedal cows. Once opened,
the contents of their belies were cut away. Large trash cans received the
contents.

The guide paused before an inverted cow that had just been washed out. Joey and
Linda sue could see the cow's backbone through the cow's belly opening. "From
here on, all that remains is impalement on a rotisserie spit. Most cows are
processed as you have just seen. Occasionally we do deviate from the procedure
that you have seen here. For example, from time to time we get requests to leave
the head on. Don't miss the Polynesian style barbecue that the fair has each
evening. For this event a cow with her head on his baked in a shallow trench
over hot coals."

At the last station Joey and Linda Sue watched as a spit was forced through the
carcass of a butchered cow. Taking advantage of gravity, the vertical cow was
forced down upon the spit's pointed end. Entering from the neck, the spit
shortly reappeared from the cow's ass. The cow's limbs were then secured.
Finally, both the hands and feet were cut away. As the pair of onlookers walked
out of the butchering tent they noticed a large trash can filled almost to the
top with discarded hands and feet. Another pair of extremities from an
unfortunate formerly human girl were unceremoniously tossed onto the heap.

Joey still felt sexually aroused. He couldn't wait any longer. On their way back
towards the food tent, Joey and Linda Sue encountered the communal fuck tent.
Sounds of passion could be clearly heard coming from its inside. Grabbing Linda
Sue's right arm Joey directed her into the fuck tent. "Come on Linda Sue,
there's no time like the present."

Smiling, Linda Sue did not resist. Like Joey, she had been sexually aroused by
their encounter with the slaughtering operation. The sight of all the naked
bipedal cows forced to await their conversion to roasts on a spit had awakened
deep dark desires within her. Her vagina had remained well lubricated throughout
the entire tour.

Finding an unoccupied mat, Linda Sue positioned herself on her back. Already
highly aroused, there was no need for foreplay. Invitingly, Linda Sue lifted and
spread apart her legs. Joey's cock was already hard. Kneeling over Linda Sue's
prone body, he momentarily paused as Linda Sue took hold of his stiff member and
guided it to her waiting sexual opening. She was well lubricated. Linda Sue
steadied herself as Joey quickly thrust himself deep down into Linda Sue. She
sighed happily as she once again felt the wonderful filled feeling that Joey's
cock provided. Tightly grasping the flesh of Joey's heaving buttocks, Linda Sue
joined in on the familiar rhythmic motion of their now joined bodies.

Though Joey could of kept on going for quite awhile in the good old missionary
position, after awhile Linda Sue wanted to try something else. "Oh that's good!
Turn over, it's my turn to get one top."

With a sudden popping noise, Joey reluctantly slid his prick out of Linda Sue
tight fitting fuck tunnel. Turning over onto his back, Linda Sue promptly
assumed a sitting position across his lap.

Having secured a tight grip onto Joey's skyward bound cock, Linda Sue wasted no
time impaling herself down onto Joey's stiff member. Starting slowly, Linda Sue
gradually increased the tempo of her pounding onto Joey's cock. Closing her
eyes, she imagined Joey's long cock to be an impaling spit ready to pierce its
way all the way through her body. With Linda Sue's most secret fantasy vividly
pictured before her closed eyes, the period of her impalement on Joey's cock
quickened to it fastest rate and in so doing Linda Sue achieved the crescendo of
sexual release that she so desperately craved. Continuing her movements, Joey
came soon afterwards.

Sexually relieved, feelings of hunger returned with a vengeance to both Joey and
Linda Sue. Returning to the food tent, each them ordered a rump roast with an
attached thigh. The young naked waitress smiled from behind the counter as she
took their orders. Joey couldn't help wonder how she would taste.

Receiving their orders, medium done portions of thigh and rump well covered with
barbecue sauce, onions and mushrooms, Joey and Linda Sue found a spot to sit at
one of the food tent's communal tables. There they joined several other couples
who were already partaking in the cannibal feast. No utensils were provided.
Instead, the use of one's hands was expected. Picking up the roast of human meat
in both hands, Joey commenced to bite away chucks of the rich tasting meat.
Pausing to wash down the meat with a drink of beer, Joey casually wiped his
greasy hands on his naked chest. No napkins were provided either.

All of the other participants in the cannibal feast, including Linda Sue, copied
Joey's dining behavior. To be not covered with the grease of formerly human cows
was considered to be in extremely bad taste. Previously accepted notions of
civilized decorum were forgotten at the cannibal fair.

Cannibal 4H Chapter Three: The Slaughtering by Eurytion

JOEY TWISTED NERVOUSLY in his seat as the Japanese Airlines 747 approached
Tokyo's Narita Airport.  Next to him, gazing out the window sat Linda Sue. 

"Well, Joey," she reminded him, "I told you that you were the best junior human
cattle raiser around.  And now, since you've won three Blue Ribbons at the
Cannibal 4-H Fair, other people know it too. That's why we're going to Japan, to
teach them how we raise human cattle in America and to learn how they raise
their special Waygua cattle.  I've been looking forward to this for a long
time."

Three blue ribbons, mused Joey. It wasn't all that long ago that Linda Sue
started them on this journey by putting a big smile on Joey's dad's face and
relieving a big lump in his pants, all so Joey could enter his first fair.

And what a Cannibal 4-H Fair that first one was.
	
Linda Sue had been almost insatiable after she watched the butchering at the
fair. Over the three days the fair lasted she must have dragged Joey at least a
half-dozen times to watch the human cattle slaughtered. Afterwards  it was
straight to the communal fuck tent where a gushing Linda Sue would mount Joey
and ride him for all she was worth.
	
Once Joey's entry had won the coveted Blue Ribbon for Best of Show, Linda Sue
had even arranged with the local merchant who bought the cow for them to attend,
and help, in the slaughtering.
	
It was a warm morning when Joey's old pickup rattled to a stop at the meat
market on the edge of town. Uncharacteristically, it was Linda Sue and not Joey
who seemed nervous during the trip.
	
Alighting from the truck, Linda Sue gave a tug to her short, yellow sun dress
causing her breasts to ascend like two mounds of rising dough. If she tugs a
little harder, thought Joey, those tits are going to pop right out of her dress
and Mr. Crenshaw's eyes are going to pop right out of their sockets.
	
Standing just a few feet away from Linda Sue was Al Crenshaw, the owner of
Crenshaw Superior Meats and the man who had bought Joey's human cattle. A stocky
man of about 5' 10'' in height whose black hair speckled with flecks of grey was
beginning to recede, he was dressed in a pair of tan pants and red polo shirt
bearing the store's logo, a stylized depiction of a young lady presented on a
roasting platter.
	
"I'm glad you both could be here," Mr. Crenshaw told Joey and Linda Sue.  "Even
though you're both farm kids, I wasn't too sure about your assisting today. But
after Linda Sue here knew I bought your stock in the auction, she convinced me
to let you help."
	
"You know Joey," he laughed, running his eyes up and down Linda Sue. "Your
girlfriend just has quite a nice way of getting a person to do what she wants. 
You keep listening to her and you're going to go far."
	
Mr. Crenshaw walked the two young ranchers out to the back where Joey's
prizewinning cow was waiting in an individual pen.
	
The culmination of months of effort, Joey's cow seemed to glow with an even,
warm tan.  Her well-developed tits and ass were balanced by the narrow waist and
long legs. Her calves were hard and firm while her thighs had filled out nicely
with what promised to be tender cuts of meat. Even now she was chewing on a
special cud developed at the Geryon farm, one that would keep her meat lean
while enhancing her breasts.
	
"Your cow is used to being handled by the two of you and having you here will be
a big help in keeping her calm before she's butchered," he said.
	
"Mr. Crenshaw, where are all the other human cattle, " asked Linda Sue? "Even
though you did pay top dollar for Joey's cow, I know you bought at least two
dozen others cows and bulls alike. I really expected to see them together in a
large stockade. You haven't already butchered them have you," she asked rather
dejectedly.
	
"Nope. We're starting with Joey's cow first  and we'll get to the others later.
But I have to tell you kids that Crenshaw Superior Meats does things
differently," he said with a touch or pride. "We don't believe in the assembly
line approach to butchering any more than Joey used the assembly line method to
raise this cow."
	
Joey, who couldn't help noticing that Mr. Crenshaw kept directing most of his
remarks to Linda Sue, was curious enough to ask "What do you mean differently?"
	
Mr. Crenshaw asked if they remembered how it was at the Cannibal 4-H fair with
all the human cattle being herded from a large pen down a narrowing ramp into a
single line for slaughtering. Both Joey and Linda Sue nodded yes.
	
"Sure, Mr. Crenshaw" said Linda Sue. "I saw how some of them tried to climb the
fence. I know that the herders had to use cattle prods to get some of them back
into line. I guess I found that sort of--well--exciting."
	
"Don't feel bad Linda Sue.  A lot of young girls get aroused at the fair and a
lot of young men too, right Joey," he asked with a wink.  "That's why we set up
the coitus tent.
	
"By the way Linda Sue, I'd like you to do me a favour."
	
"What's that," she asked?
	
"Quit calling me Mr. Crenshaw. I already feel old enough without you treating me
like I was your grandfather. You can call me Al," he requested. "That goes for
you too, Joey," he added as an afterthought. "From now on not I'm not Mr.
Crenshaw, I'm Al.
	
"Anyway," he continued. "Having all those strange cattle penned together raised
the stress level on the animals. Any unnecessary stress hurts the quality of the
meat. Being crowded with animals they don't know leads stock to panic. Panic
causes them to crash into each other while they try to get away. Not only does
the meat get bruised when the cattle slam into each other while trying to get
away, using the electric prods darkens and burns both the meat and the leather.

" We don't pen animals together or herd them into a mass slaughtering line. All
our animals are handled on an individual basis, even though it takes longer.
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."
	
As they came closer to the holding pen, Joey's cow came up to the fence. Joey's
responded by patting his farm's trademark bun on her head and slowly talking
with her.  "Good girl," he said. "We're going to go for a little walk now. It
won't be far. Come on girl. Let's go."
	
Al opened the pen and asked Linda Sue to get on the other side of the cow. Now
the future feast was flanked on either side by familiar people.
	
"I want you to just walk her over to the chute," Al instructed. "Once she's in,
I'll shut the gate behind her and we can begin the process. If you both do your
job right, she'll be bled out and ready for butchering in about ten minutes."
	
The chute was dark with two gutters each four inches deep along the sides for
the human cattle to move their feet along. Small, dim lights, like those along
theatre aisles ran along the middle of the chute providing enough light to move
ahead but not enough light to see more than a yard in front. After the stock had
passed, small rollers underneath the floor in each of the gutters would move
forward, tilting the flexible floor enough to encourage the animal to continue
moving ahead.
	
The lights would attract the cow deeper into the chute and help keep her calm as
she moved along the passage. Their positioning on the floor and the low wattage
also meant Joey's cow would not see either the people or the machinery awaiting
her arrival.
	
With a serious note in his voice, Al explained what he expected Joey and Linda
Sue to do. "Once she starts walking down the chute the lights in front will come
on in small sections while the lights behind her will get dimmer until they fade
from sight. This will keep her moving forward until she reaches the bend.
	
"In just a few steps after the bend, she'll reach the head restraint. When she
does Linda Sue  I want you to reach around and very gently set her head onto the
head bracket. You may have to push her shoulders down a tad and you'll have to
stretch her neck just a little to place the headband around her forehead," Al
directed.
	
"Joey, once Linda Sue has the headband in place, you'll move the three-inch pipe
so it fits snugly where the back of her neck meets her shoulders. It will lock
automatically. Then quietly lower the final gate behind her. After that step
quickly out of the way and let my people take over. We want the slaughtering to
take place within seconds after the cow has been placed in the restraint."
	
By the time Al had finished with the instructions, the group had reached the
chute. Up to this point the cow had come along docilely but she made a sudden
stop and began to look around in a concerned manner, her legs quivering. Joey
knelt next to her and, running his hand up and down her thighs, spoke to her
calmly in a soft, soothing tone.
	
After a few seconds his hand moved between her legs and up to her hairless
vagina. As his finger rubbed back and forth across her clit her vaginal lips
moistened and opened. The cow's nipples distended to more than an inch, aided by
some pulling and pinching from Linda Sue who had joined Joey in giving the cow
one last moment of pleasure.  With a deep low the cow gave an orgasmic shudder
and slumped forward. With a little push Joey started her along her final
journey.
	
When the former free human, now human cattle and soon to be someone's supper,
reached the end of the chute, Linda Sue was ready. Reaching out with both hands
she grasped the cow's head and set it softly onto the restraint. While one hand
kept the cow's head in place, the other reached up and pulled the headband down. 
With an easy, almost practiced, motion Linda Sue attached the headband and
pulled down slightly on a nearby cord. This raised the cow's head up and back
until her chin was pointing up at a 60-degree angle and her throat was taut and
fully exposed.
	
While this was going on Joey put the pipe in place, lowered the final gate and,
after a last swift caress of the cow's hanging breasts, stepped back. Afterwards
he swore he saw a single tear roll out the big brown eye closest to him.
	
A small man dressed only in a butcher's apron strode briskly forward from the
shadows behind Linda Sue. In his hand was a thin, black knife. With one
economical stroke he made a cut just under the jawbone and across the entire
throat. So sharp was the black knife that it severed the internal and external
carotid arteries without any pressure on the part of its wielder.
	
The cut remained open as blood gushed out of the cow and onto the floor below. 
Overhead sprinklers went on, gently washing the blood down into a metal
grid-topped drain which carried it away. In the span of two seconds the cow's
eyes rolled upward into her head and her entire body went slack. After about
four more seconds had passed, the butcher used the cord to release the tension
on the headband and bring the cow's head forward.
	
"Well," said Al. "That's all there is.  In about another minute or so we'll be
sure she's dead and we'll move her to the dismembering line.  The crew will
hoist her up by her feet and let the rest of her blood drain out. They massage
her from the top down to help with the draining process. Then she'll be marked,
graded and butchered into parts. By this time tomorrow she'll be gracing some of
the finest dinner tables in the county. 
	
"You did a hell of a job raising this one Joey. I'd like you to think about
entering into an exclusive contract with us. We'd be glad to sponsor you for the
fair each year. But, in exchange, we'd get right of first refusal on all your
human cattle."
	
Al turned to Linda Sue whose eyes were glazed and whose breathing was
quickening. He noticed a large damp spot on Linda Sue's sun dress just below the
waist.  Although it didn't seem possible, Linda Sue's nipples were even more
distended than the cow's nipples had been just before slaughtering. Joey noticed
the same thing and wondered if Linda Sue had been sneaking portions of the
special feed the Geryon farm used to promote breast growth.
	
"I suppose you two would like to spend some time alone now," Al remarked. "I've
got a room for just that purpose you can use. But Linda Sue, I have to say I was
impressed by the way you handled yourself, almost like a pro. If you're ever
interested, I might have something for you here at Crenshaw's Superior Meats,
either a job or some other position."
	
"Thanks Al," replied Linda Sue smiling. "I have to tell you I cheated just a
little. Once you said we could help with this slaughter ---well I didn't want to
embarrass myself by being clumsy so I persuaded your butcher Carl to let me
rehearse before today." As Al shook his head, Linda Sue took Joey's hand and
walked over to open the door to the shop's special room.
	
Once inside, Linda Sue wasted no time. As Joey got out of his overalls, she
shucked her sun dress over her head. Joey stared at her breasts which looked to
be at least  a size larger than he remembered. Before he could ask about the
feed, Linda Sue had fallen to her hands and knees on the mattress.
	
While fluids dripped from her fluttering pussy lips,  puddling on the mattress
below, Linda Sue took charge.  "Take me from behind, Joey," she commanded. Joey
was only too happy to comply. His prick was rock hard, both from watching the
slaughter and from Linda Sue's wanton behaviour.  Using his feet he kicked her
legs wider. Reaching down with his right hand he scooped up some of her juice
from the mattress and smeared it over his rampant member. With his left hand he
spread her lips even wider until she grunted in pain. Just as he moved forward
to enter her vagina,  Linda Sue reached a hand back to stop him.
	
"Not there," she told Joey. "Not today." Joey was confused. If she didn't want
to fuck why was she in this position and what did she want to do? Then, as Linda
Sue reached back to pull the cheeks of her ass apart, Joey realized what Linda
Sue really wanted. Linda Sue wanted to pretend to be human cattle. She wanted to
envision his dick as a roasting skewer.
	
With no pretence at gentleness, Joey leapt forward and, in one quick and
decisive stroke, sheathed his cock deep into Linda Sue's bowels. "Oh Joey," she
cried out her voice catching. "Oh yes, oh yes, deeper Joey deeper. Impale me, oh
god yes, impale meeee."
	
Joey relentlessly pounded Linda Sue's nether region. Now Linda Sue was just
grunting and moaning. Joey thought he could hear her saying something about
turning and browning but he was lost to the overwhelming sensations that came
with exploring the previously forbidden secrets of Linda Sue's ass. Suddenly he
felt Linda Sue stiffen.  His eardrum nearly shattered by the loud howl issuing
from her mouth as, at the same time,  her anal ring clamped tight around his
cock, milking it of all the sperm he had to offer.
	
While they dressed, Joey regarded Linda Sue in a new way. Previously when
visions of his girlfriend turning a golden brown on a rotating spit had
occurred, he pushed them out of his mind as perverted. He had told himself that
he was just projecting when he thought Linda Sue was exhibiting signs of
"cowlike" behaviour. Now Joey was sure that Linda Sue fantasized about roasting
over a roaring flame. The question was how far did she want to take her fantasy?

Cannibal 4H Chapter Four: A Maverick's Conversion by Eurytion
	
JOEY'S REVERIES about his first cannibal fair were inteòrupted by an
announcement from the flight deck. Initially in Japanese and then again in
English, the copilot announced that heavy traffic over Narita would mean at
least an hour's delay in landing at the Tokyo airport.
	
"I hope Mr. Inokuma knows we're going to be late," said Linda Sue. "I know it
was a long drive from his farm to the airport. I'd hate to have him just sitting
there waiting for us when he could be doing something else.
	
"Remember how mad your Dad was when we kept him waiting for us after the fair,"
she asked Joey. "Of course, once he found out about Valerie he calmed right
down. For a while there though I thought for sure we were in real trouble."
	
Mad didn't begin to describe his dad's mood, Joey reflected. Tired after
spending three hours midwiving a difficult birth with one of the breeding cows,
Dad had to drive the 45 minutes to the fairgrounds when Joey called to say the
pickup had broken down. Then, when he got there to pick them up, it was another
hour and a half before Joey and Linda Sue arrived.  Joey still wasn't sure what
his dad would have done if they hadn't had Valerie in tow when they finally
showed up.
	
It had been at the end of Joey's second Cannibal Fair and the weather that
August had been hotter than expected. Temperatures, usually in the low 80's, 
had soared into the 100's with a humidity to match. People were making jokes
about how, if nudity wasn't the prevailing mode of dress at the fair, folks
would be cooking without the need for the spit and a fire.
	
Despite operating the water mist coolers that had been brought in for the tents
at full strength, the searing sun and hot winds meant a slower, less energetic
fair. The familiar aroma of barbecued girl roasting over an open hickory pit did
little to make mouths water. They were too dry and it was just too hot. Bare
feet almost seem to sizzle on the baked ground like freshly cut breasts on a hot
Mongolian grill. Even Linda Sue had cut down on her usual number of visits to
the butchering tent, complaining that "the tent reeks this year and the flies
are awful."
	
 Children ran through hose end sprinklers while the most popular pastime for the
adults was the dunk tank.  Unlike previous years, the longest line wasn't for
contestants waiting to throw a ball but rather for volunteers who wanted to sit
on the seat above the water. The unrelenting heat had forced the organizers to
move most of the entertainment to the evenings when the temperatures would drop
to a more tolerable 85 degrees or so.
	
What shade there was on the grounds was proved by some old gnarled trees planted
years ago by the early settlers.  Having won a second blue ribbon for Geryon's
Cattle Farm, Joey was lounging underneath the dappled shade of just such tree
nursing a lukewarm beer and waiting for his dad when he heard a cacophony of
wailing coming his way. He looked up to see Linda Sue, her breasts bobbing up
and down like a pair of perpetual motion birds, pulling a young girl by her
hair. The girl was crying for her parents and trying hard to get away from Linda
Sue who also had a small rope tied around a wrist.
	
"Here you go Joey," said Linda Sue throwing the rope down to the dirt in front
of him. "I've brought you a little present. I hope you like it."
	
Joey looked up to see a familiar face look hopefully back at him. It was
Valerie, the 13-year old sister of his friend Billy. Billy's parents ran a farm
a few miles away from Joey . It wasn't  a human cattle farm. They raised corn,
soybeans and wheat. Joey's dad bought most of their crops to use in the feed at
the farm.
	
Valerie was, as most girls her age were, somewhat of a pest.  She'd had a crush
on Joey for a number of years and followed him around like a moonstruck calf
every time he'd come over to the farm to see Billy or pick up a load of grain.
During the last week of school, Valerie had become bold enough to put a note in
Joey's locker saying she was going to ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance in the
fall.
	
Just after the summer started, Billy told Joey that Valerie has made an
important announcement at the family dinner.  She was going to grow up to be
prettier looking than that mean old Linda Sue who was always running around on
Joey. And she was going to become Joey's girl.
	
Of course the family had corrected Valerie, explaining the difference between
being Joey's "girl" or a cow and Joey's girlfriend. Billy laughed while he told
Joey who did have to admit it was pretty funny.  The humour was lost  on Linda
Sue who didn't even chuckle. In fact, a look came over her face as though she
had bit into a rancid lemon. Now Valerie was standing there acting like a kitten
about to be put into a bag of rocks and thrown into the pond.
	
"Oh, Joey," Valerie cried tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't let them do it
Joey. I know I had it and I know I can find it again. I had it when I went to
sleep. You know who I am Joey. Make them quit. Make them go away. Stop them,
please, stop them."
	
"Linda Sue, what's she talking about," he asked. "Why were you dragging her over
her and why do you have that rope around her wrist?"
	
"For Pete's sake," replied Linda Sue tartly. "Take a good look at what she's got
or better yet what she doesn't have."
	
Joey took stock of the sobbing female. Although Valerie had tried to flaunt her
little body during Joey's visits, this was the first time he had seen her au
naturale.  Her long blond hair was brushed straight back off of her face and
divided into two braids which hung down to the middle of her back.  A small
orange and white cameo of a young woman had been woven into one braid.
	
The face before him was really quite attractive for a kid her age despite the
dirt and tear tracks. With her hair pulled back into the braids her ears stuck
out a bit from the side of her head -- sort of cute really.  Her light green
eyes were set nicely above a button nose, the arching eyebrows adding emphasis.
Valerie's lips were full and set off nicely by the pink lipstick she was
wearing.
	
Valerie's skin, a creamy white with no hint of tan almost as though she never
got any sun, was taut against her bones.  Her puffy breasts gave just the merest
outline of what might some day be,  rising less than a quarter-inch from her rib
cage. Her youthful nipples were inverted deep into her aureole.
	
Arms that were thin without being gaunt;  ribs showing as the flesh worked its
way down to a well-defined muscular stomach --- probably comes of being a tomboy
mused Joey --- nice hips; a hairless pudendum with crinkled lips just beginning
to peep out; long, coltish legs almost out of proportion with the rest of her
body. All in all a fetching prepubescent female thought Joey and one that might
be quite a woman in a few years.
	
"Look, all I see is a young kid I've known for years standing in front of me,"
Joey said. "I don't know what it is you want me to look for."
	
"Joey, she doesn't have her identification badge. Under the rules of the fair
she's not human anymore. She's bipedal cattle who belongs to the first person to
register her. And that's going to be you."
	
Taken aback, all Joey could do was shake his head.  I can't believe that Linda
Sue really wants me to turn Valerie into a cow. Maybe I shouldn't have told her
that story, he thought.
	
While they were arguing about Valerie's fate a small crowd had gathered. As the
crowd grew in size a familiar man, wearing the traditional adjudicator's hat,
walked over to join them.
	
"OK, what's going on here," said Al Crenshaw obviously displeased at being
called out from an air-conditioned trailer into the blazing heat.
	
Linda Sue told Al that she had found Valerie sleeping in the fairgrounds without
an identification badge. That, she said, made her a stray and officially put her
up for grabs.
	
Joey protested that everyone here knew who Valerie was and she wasn't bipedal
cattle.
	
After breaking up the crowd, Al put Valerie into a temporary holding pen and
brought the pair of bickering paramours inside the trailer.
	
"Joey, there's no two ways about it. If you have your identification badge on
you're human. If you don't you're somebody's next meal," Al explained. "It
doesn't matter how long or how well we've known her. Valerie doesn't have on her
badge. That means she's about to become a conversion. You don't have to like it.
I don't have to like it. We sure know she doesn't like it and neither will her
family.  But that's the way it is.
	
"You really have a couple of choices. Ordinarily, since Linda Sue found this
girl, she gets the first claim on her. She's willing to let that opportunity go
to you. If you don't want to claim Valerie then the rules say that she is
auctioned off to the highest bidder. Or I can declare her the property of the
fair, have her slaughtered on the spot and get her on a spit in time for
tonight's banquet. It's your choice son.
	
"Now I'm going out to give that cow -- and Joey that's what she is now a cow,
not a young lady -- a calmative we use on nervous animals. The drug will also
help start her conversion. Then I'll put the ear tag on her. That will take
about fifteen minutes or so. When I get back here I expect you to have made your
decision."
	
As he left the trailer, Al turned to Linda Sue. "One other thing, there's no bed
in this trailer but if you were planning on trying to 'convince' Joey to do what
you want, you might just find a couple of air mattresses in the closet over
there."
	
The argument that followed was titanic even if it only lasted ten minutes. In
the end, without having to drag the air mattresses out, Linda Sue got her way.
	
"Joey, quit being so stubborn," she demanded. "You heard Al. Valerie doesn't
exist anymore. What's waiting out there in the pen isn't Billy's sister. It's a
cow, livestock, a meal on two legs and a tasty looking one at that.
	
"You've been talking about that new project for months now. That cow would be
perfect. She's the right size, the right age. If you're squeamish about it, you
don't even have to do the conversion. We can drop her off at McCain's and have
them process her for you. You're a human cattle raiser.  She's human cattle.
What will your dad say if you let that cow go to someone else?"
	
For Joey, that was the convincing argument. He sure didn't want to tell his dad
he turned down the chance at a free human heifer and a quality one at that.
	
Friend of the family or not, Joey knew his dad would call him an idiot or worse
for not staking his claim on Valerie when he had the chance. He couldn't even
begin to imagine what else his dad would do, probably tell Joey he was too
softhearted to be a human cattle rancher. Maybe even stop him from raising
stock.
	
Nope, Joey decided, the missing badge had sealed Valerie's fate and there was
nothing he could do to change that. They would both just have to live with the
consequences although Joey could look forward to a longer and more pleasant
life.
	
When Al reentered the trailer, Joey reluctantly told him he'd be claiming
Valerie. Walking around to the far side of the desk, Al opened a drawer and
pulled out a claim form. When Joey moved next to Al to sign the papers he
thought he saw something white and shiny in the drawer. That must be were they
keep the spare ID badges he thought to himself.
	
They found Joey's dad waiting out in the dusty parking lot.  Red-faced and
sweating he took a deep breath to begin yelling at Joey for being late but
stopped when he saw Valerie trailing behind at the end of a rope. In a few
sentences, Linda Sue filled him in on Joey's most recent acquisition, leaving
out Joey's reluctance to claim her. Joey's dad's mood changed almost
immediately. With a smile on his face he agreed to detour over to McCain's and
even asked Linda Sue to stay over for supper. "I'll have the missus make one of
your favourites; barbecued bull pricks with pinto beans. Afterwards you and I
can go out and pick some raspberries for dessert."
	
A little over two months went by before the cattle trailer from McCain's rolled
into the farm yard. Joey and Linda Sue had spent that time getting the barn
ready for Joey's newest project ---human veal.
	
Cow number 701, for that was Valerie's new designation, would reside in a
specially prepared addition to the barn, the veal pen.  Unlike the rest of the
barn, which provided plenty of natural light, the new veal pen had no skylights
or windows.  Sunlight or moonlight was unknown here. Even the balanced white
light provided by the barn's artificial lights to encourage tanning and vitamin
A production in the normal herd was absent.
	
In its place was a pallid vermilion luminescence caused by a special lighting
system. The effect was not unlike being in a darkroom or the nocturnal animal
section of the zoo, although some of the more zealous human cattle rights
crusaders likened the effect to a decent into hell.
	
While the dim red lights dampened the ability to discern colours, creating a
monochromatic world, seeing wasn't really a problem. At least not after a
person's eyes got used to the twilight conditions.
	
The darkness was an important part of the process. Any light would encourage cow
701 to move around and would stimulate the production of unwanted hormones and
enzymes. These would, in turn, darken and toughen the meat resulting in a lower
grade of veal. The only illumination would come during the three daily feeding
and care periods and then only for to 15 to 20 minutes.
	
Awaiting the arrival of Joey's newest girl was a veal cage. This diminutive
enclosure was deliberately built so that cow 701 would not be able stand
upright, stretch or turn around. The intent was to prevent movement and any
muscular development. Cow 701's muscles would gradually soften and atrophy from
disuse.
	
The final component was a special feeding regimen. Solid foods were a thing of
the past for cow 701.  Her new diet would be a liquid one, deliberately lacking
in iron and other nutrients but high on fat. While the other human cattle on the
farm were raised to be hale and hearty with full and even tans, cow 701 would be
raised to be ashen and anemic resulting in the delicate and tender veal so
prized by gourmets. To help assure a high-quality product, the formula contained
bio-engineered enzymes which would incrementally break down muscle tissue.
	
Raising good human veal was a tricky proposition, requiring dozens of
interlocked determinations in a complicated balancing act. One of the key
decisions was when to harvest. Too soon and the meat could be tough and stringy.
Too late and the meat could be gelid and tasteless. Joey's task would be made
all the tougher because cow 701 was to be his entry in the next Cannibal 4-H
Fair. His harvest date was predetermined. He would have to work backwards from
the date of the judging to make sure that his cow was at her peak for the
competition.
	
It was late afternoon when the cattle transport from McCain's slowed to a stop
in the yard, dust from the road settling behind it. Jim McCain stepped from the
truck, a clipboard in hand.
	
"Hey Joey, how ya doin'," he asked? "Got yer conversion here. Where do ya want
her?"
	
"Hey, Jim, I'm doing all right," replied Joey. "Let's unload her here so I can
get a look at her and we'll move her to the barn for depilating and then into
the pen. She give you any trouble while you had her?"
	
"Ya know how conversions are. They can't believe its happenin' to them. Make all
kinds of offers if only you'll let them go. Try to get away. This one wasn't
much different than the others. She's settled down nicely now. I think she'll
behave just fine for ya. Funny thing though..."
	
"What?"
	
"Well, her family never came by. Usually with a local conversion like this, we
at least get a phone call offerin' to buy her back. Most of the time they show
up wavin' money like a white flag. But with this one, nothin'. Really pretty
strange."
	
That, explained Joey, was his dad's doing. Since a good portion of Valerie's
family's income came from sales to the farm, an accommodation was quickly
reached. Prices would increase this year for the soy, corn and wheat. The extra
money would more than compensate for the loss of a careless daughter.	
	
Joey checked to make sure his instructions for the conversion had been followed.
He didn't want the girl to be treated roughly, the conversion was to have been
done as compassionately as possible.
	
"Nuthin' to worry about there, Joey," said Jim. "We gave her the kid glove
treatment, no electric shock, no physical punishment. That's why it took us so
long. Normally, we'd have had her back to you in about three weeks, four if she
was extra stubborn."
	
And she's still a...Joey started to ask.
	
"Oh yeh, she hasn't been popped. That's not to say the boys & I didn't have a
little fun. Ya know that's part of the process. Have to break her will; let her
know she's just farm stock now.
	
"The second week she was there she sucked off five of the hands, thought they
were gonna to let her go afterwards. Fat chance of that, I'll tell ya. She did
me twice that night. She's got a hot, sweet little mouth on her. Swirls that
tongue like a mini-twister when she gets goin. For such a littl' thing she sure
can create a big vacuum. If a wang wasn't in the way, her cheeks would be
touchin when she sucks; you almost wait for her head to collapse like that kid's
in the pop commercial.
	
"Got to be a regular thing, her doin one or two guys with each meal. She'll take
to the feed hose real good for ya once ya get her in the pen.
	
"Well, anyhow, just sign here," he said, holding out the clip board for Joey,
"and we'll get her unloaded."
	
While Joey was talking with Jim, Linda Sue had made her way out of the barn. She
was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and a red bandanna-style halter top. Her skin
was glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; her legs lightly speckled with straw
and other debris from the barn.
	
"Afternoon Jim," she greeted the visitor. "See you've got the new cow with you.
Sorry I wasn't out here earlier but I was milking the bulls.  I don't care what
the new technofarmers say. I still think you get more semen production when you
milk by hand than with one of those automatic ejaculation machines."
	
Linda Sue had made the milking a regular part of her routine on the farm. Joey's
dad was pleased enough by the results that most of the bulls were handled by
Linda Sue's method. And, since the veal project had started, Linda Sue had been
more careful around the bulls.
	
She made sure they were properly restrained and in the milking stall, did only
one bull at a time, knelt down in front to do the milking instead of standing
between two bulls and, although she still used the sight of her bare breasts to
stimulate the animals, kept her shorts on tight. Linda Sue might still fantasize
about becoming a cow but it didn't seem like she was going to let it happen by
accident.
	
"Howdy, Linda Sue," Jim responded. "I'm almost envious of them bulls if you're
doing the milkin. Still, I'd prefer to keep all my equipment intact if ya know
what I mean. And having my member ending up as somebody's tube steak sandwich
isn't my idea of a good time.
	
"But, if you need anybody to practice your technique on..."
	
Linda Sue laughed. "Jim, if your wife Sarah found out you'd been visiting
another milkmaid besides her, keeping your equipment intact would be the least
of your worries."
	
Jim shook his head ruefully and agreed. "Well, let's get this cow out of the
trailer so we can all get on with our work."
	
Walking around to the back of the trailer, Jim removed the pins holding the gate
in place and lowered the ramp.  With a little encouragement from Jim, cow 701
emerged slowly from the rear of the trailer stepping off the ramp to stand still
in the barnyard.
	
This was the first time Joey had seen his stock since she had been dropped off
at McCain's for conditioning. Physically, she resembled the Valerie he
remembered but any trace of the personality that had been Valerie's was gone.
	
In place of the bounce and animation, Joey saw lethargy and docility. Hopeful
curiosity had been replaced with passivity and meekness. Cow 701 might look like
a human but now was nothing more than subdued bipedal cattle.
	
Joey grabbed a herding staff which was leaning against a nearby fence and
approached his new cow. A single nudge from the rod made 701 turn around, a
second high across the back of her shoulders made her bend over.  Joey ran his
hands over the cow's back and ribs. Her skin seemed unmarked. His hands
travelled further down her body, reaching her taunt buttocks. The cheeks
clenched together.
	
This won't do, thought the young rancher. Placing the staff down, he used both
hands to pull the cheeks apart. His right index finger explored the young cow's
anal pucker. 701 lunged slightly forward at the touch but pressure from Joey
steadied her in place. He pressed his finger against the ring, testing its
elasticity with the pad of his finger but being careful not to penetrate into
the rectum.
	
"Seems pretty tight back here," he said to Jim. "She's a bit jumpy though."
	
"No reason for it not to be tight," the conversion specialist replied. "Like I
said, we followed your instructions to the letter. That's probably why she's
jumpy. Most conversions get used in every way possible. This one's still a
virgin in both holes. Just like you wanted."
	
Joey used the staff to stand 701 up again.  He continued his examination down
her thighs and calves. The gap between her thin legs widened until it reached
its apex at her knees and then began to narrow. The muscles of her legs were
firm but not hard.
	
Another nudge of the staff turned the cow around. For the first time since she
had arrived Joey got a good look at her face. The braids from the fair were
gone. In their place her long champagne tresses hung free on either side of the
shoulders. The eyes were focused, not on her new master, but on the ground. Lips
bare of lipstick seemed to be a little fuller, probably from the workout at
every meal.
	
701's breasts were still mainly potential, potential that would be denied
fruition by her current station in life. Unlike the inverted nipples Joey
remembered from the fair, her little nubbins now stuck out although only about a
quarter of an inch.
	
Linda Sue, who until now had been content to watch, stepped up to the cow.
Moistening the tip of a finger in her mouth, she began to draw lazy curlicues
over first one and then the other of the nascent bumps. This stimulation not
only led the cow's nipples to erection, Linda Sue's own mammary tips were
visibly inflated.
	
Amused by Linda Sue's behaviour, Joey reflected that something about a cow's
nipples seemed to always attract his girlfriend's rapt attention. For himself,
Joey preferred more enterable delights which allowed him to delve deeper for his
satisfaction.
	
Knelling, his scrutiny now moved on to the cow's vulva. Here, Joey imitated
Linda Sue, first wetting a finger and then gently rubbing on 701's lips. After a
few vertical strokes, the cow's natural lubrication took over. The moistened
lips began to part like an envelope being steamed open.
	
Joey switched his attention to the cow's clitoris, kneading it back and forth. 
701'S dampness increased and her knees began to bend. Joey stopped his
ministrations and stood up, shouldering Linda Sue out of the way. He took the
cow's head in his hands tilting her face up until her eyes locked with his.
	
For Joey, this was the most important test of the day.  Who would be reflected
back at him from those eyes? Would it be Valerie or Cow 701?
	
The seafoam green eyes looked directly into his. In their depths Joey
saw.....nothing. No sign of recognition, no sign of the little girl who vowed to
ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Only the placid, tranquil gaze of an
unconcerned farm animal.
	
Joey let the head drop back down, thankful that McCain's seemed to have done
their job well. If it had been Valerie who had looked back at him, well, he
wasn't sure what he would have done.
	
"Jim, you've done a good job here," said Joey. "Thanks a lot. Just send us the
bill and I'll be sure you get your fee and a little bonus."
	
Jim silently nodded his thanks as he ambled back to the truck. Joey turned to
Linda Sue, "It's time to take this cow to the depilatory. She's still not
showing any signs of public hair but the hair on her arms and legs has to go.
Have one of the hands put her in the tank. If you want, you can do it but be
sure you wear the gloves, cap and coveralls."
	
Early in his career as a junior cattle rancher, Joey had made the mistake of
dipping new stock without the proper protection. Some of the hair on his arm
still hadn't grown back.
	
"After she's been dipped," Joey continued, "you can cut and style her hair.
While you're doing that, I'll go tell Dad she's here and file the paperwork from
McCain's. By that time, you should be done.  Then we'll introduce her to the
cage and call it a day."
	
Joey started off in the direction of the house. Linda Sue took a waist halter
from the fence and placed it on cow 701. These implements were an essential part
of human cattle ranching, designed to aid in handling cows. A tug on the
halter's lead was enough to get the animal moving in the right direction.
	
As she walked the human cattle into the prep room, Linda Sue began a one-sided
conversation.  "Well, Valerie," she voiced, "looks like you were right after
all.  You told your family you were going to be Joey's girl and you sure are,
all the way to Crenshaw's meat counter. Al's already got customers on a waiting
list for you. The best part is that some of them are your relatives.  Your folks
aren't on it but Al tells me your Aunt Janet & Uncle John paid a nice amount to
be at the top of the list. Guess they didn't like your smartass ways anymore
than I did.
	
"Your Mom & Dad probably knew it wouldn't look right for them to be buying their
own little girl. But I bet their mouths are watering at the thought of having
Braised Veal Shanks or Veal Piccata the Sunday after you're slaughtered. I hear
Billy even bought  Aunt Janet a copy of '50 Meals You Make with Veal' for
Christmas."
	
After hearing the last, cow 701 stumbled. "So, there's still a little bit of
Valerie somewhere in there. That's good," Linda Sue said cruelly. "I want you to
know what happens to little girls who are careless about whose boyfriend they go
after and where they sleep."
	
The monologue came to an abrupt end as they entered the prep room. Only Luke,
the oldest of the hands on the ranch was on duty. Linda Sue explained that she
was there to get the new cow ready for the veal pen. Could Luke be a dear and
fill one of the tubs while she changed?
	
After tying 701's lead to the wall, Linda Sue grabbed a coverall from the rack
and entered the dressing room. Once she had stripped, the buxom lass began to
pull on the Tyvek jump suit only to stop when the zipper reached her breasts.
	
Pulling the zipper back down, Linda Sue placed her right hand on top of a now
soggy cunt. First one and then two fingers slipped in and out of her cunt.
Moving faster she used her thumb of her left hand to massage her clit. Thoughts
of Valerie turned into medallions of veal stacked on a platter spurred her on to
more frenzied efforts, four fingers now plunging her pussy. Suddenly, the vision
began to change. The medallions of veal were being replaced by something else.
	
It was the Cannibal 4-H Fair. And Joey and his friends were there. But where was
she? Now Joey was pointing to a carcass slowly turning on a spit. His friend
were slapping him on the back as though they were congratulating him. Was this
one of Joey's prize winners being barbecued?	
	
Then Linda Sue realized that she was on the spit. It was her body being
slathered with tangy red barbecue sauce; her skin crisping over the hickory-fed
flames; her nipples blackened and steaming that Joey was chewing in his mouth.
In an instant she came with a force that left her disoriented.
	
Slowly realization of her present surroundings returned. This had been the most
vivid fantasy yet. Was it a sign or a warning? Shaking her head from side to
side, Linda Sue finished donning the jump suit and reentered the prep room. Luke
was just topping off the stainless steel tank with defoliator.
	
Thanking him for his efforts and assuring him that she could handle a young
heifer like this with one hand tied behind her back, Linda Sue dismissed Luke.
After placing Valerie's --- and Linda Sue only wanted to think of her as
Valerie, it was more pleasurable that way --- hair into a Tyvek hair cap and
coating her eyebrows with petroleum jelly, she removed the waist halter and led
the girl up the platform and over to the tank.	
	
Linda Sue entered the tank with the girl. While this was not the normal
procedure, it was common enough that the farm provided its hands with full body
jump suits. The girl twitched a little as she felt the sting of the tank's
chemicals. Just a few minutes would be enough to assure that no hair ever  grew
again on skin exposed to the tank's mixture.
	
Even with the two of them in the tank, the defoliator only came up to the
13-year old's shoulders. Linda Sue used the tank's restraint straps to tie
Valerie's legs and arms spread eagle to the side of the tub. This allowed both
better access by the solution to what the young girl had once called her
"private parts" and made it easier for Linda Sue to use a sponge on Valerie's
neck and face. Once this was done, the only hair Valerie would sport would be
the farm's trademark bun.
	
Linda Sue restarted the monologue that had been interrupted by their arrival at
the prep room. "Valerie, I wasn't really being truthful about your aunt and
uncle. They're not at the top of the list. I am. Al liked my offer even more
than the cash from Janet and John. Don't worry though. There's going to be
enough of you to feed your whole family a couple of meals."
	
The girl began thrashing. In her haste to finish before Joey arrived, Linda Sue
had not properly tightened one of the bindings around 701's wrist. Now the cow
was working that arm free. Alarmed at her carelessness, Linda Sue leaned forward
to tighten the restraint. But before she could yank on the strap, 701's fingers
closed around the zipper on Linda Sue's jump suit and pulled it down a half
inch. Immediately, some of the tank's content entered through the opening.
	
Securing the restraints more forcefully than necessary, Linda Sue felt only
disgust. That shouldn't have happened, she thought to herself. If I'd been
paying attention to what I was doing, it never would have. Still, maybe it's not
all that bad.
	
Taking a deep breath, Linda Sue unzipped the jump suit the rest of the way down.
After only a few moments of difficulty, she had completely removed the coverall
exposing her entire body, save her head, to the defoliant.
	
Across from her, a stunned 701 stood silently. Although her conversion had been
a lengthy and extensive one, it had not been total. Such transitions from free
human to livestock very rarely were. In a distant part of 701's mind, Valerie
still existed.
	
But while 701 was resigned to its fate, the portion that was Valerie raged,
raged against the dying of the light. The knowledge that Valerie the human had
of 701 the cow's ultimate destination was too painful to face. And so the cow
forced Valerie into the farthest recesses of its psyche, only allowing her to
emerge under the most stressful of circumstances. Still, to see a human
voluntarily take a step toward becoming bipedal cattle, even a conversion had to
be in awe of that.
	
By the time Joey returned, Linda Sue had hosed down Valerie, taken a shower
herself and redressed.  Valerie's flaxen mane was now shorn and styled into the
familiar bun. The waist halter was back in place.
	
Linda Sue had no intention of telling Joey what had happened in the tank,
calculating that he would never find out. After all, she had been shaving off
all her public hair for over two years.  Joey wouldn't notice the lack of
stubble. Now at least, she could stop with all the bikini waxes and other
tonsorial tortures she'd been putting herself through to remain smooth.
	
They took cow 701 out of the prep room and through the barn.  Although she
didn't know it, cow 701 was getting her last glimpse of natural light until the
Cannibal 4-H Fair began.
	
Entering the veal pen was a two-step procedure. First the trio passed though a
door into what Joey called the ready room. The room was designed to allow a
person's eyes to adjust to the lighting that was used inside the pen. 
	
The walls and ceiling of the room were painted in a dark, undeterminable colour.
Opening the door automatically caused dim overhead lights to come on. Halfway
down the length of the room a curtain composed of heavy strips of thick black
vinyl descended from the ceiling to the floor.  While easy enough to push
through, the individual strips formed an overlapping opaque barrier which
blocked the light from the open door.
	
On the other side of the curtain there was a second door which lead directly
into the veal pen.  Above the door was a small sign which read "Welcome To
Ragnarok," placed there as a joke by Hela, one of the few women beside Linda Sue
who worked on the farm as a hand. A small bench was located on the wall to one
side of the door, restraining rings and rods mounted on the other.
	
Joey fastened 701's halter to one of the rings then reached for a switch next to
the door. A push of a button turned the insufficient white lights of the room to
an even dimmer red. The ready room was now illuminated in the same manner as the
pen. Once his vision was able to pick out the room's detail, Joey got up and
removed the halter from cow 701, hanging it on the wall. Opening the Ragnarok
door, he herded 701 through as Linda Sue trailed behind.
	
The room was quite small, not even 20 foot by 20 foot. It contained some storage
cabinets and shelves,  a sink, a small shower without a curtain and a veal cage.
	
The veal cage measured 42 inches high, 36 inches wide and 60 inches deep. It was
made of smooth oak slats.  It sat in the middle of the pen on a concrete floor.
The door to the cage lifted up and was held open by pegs. Inside the cage a 
small pad covered a quarter of the floor. A portion of the floor was without
slats. Here, a hole had been placed in the concrete to allow 701 to relieve
herself.   A small round spigot attached to the cage's sidewall.
	
When 701 was thirsty, she could drink from the spigot. Centred at the end of the
spigot was a small plastic rod. The spigot was activated by placing it in the
mouth and pushing the rod into the spigot with the tongue. This moved a ball
valve back enough to allow a water flow for as long as the tongue held the
spigot back. The water was stored in a reservoir mounted below the level of the
spigot. This would cause the animal have to suck the water from the container.
Once 701 stopped sucking, the law of gravity would ensure that the water would
stop flowing.
	
Feeding would take place outside the cage. Prior to being given a meal, the cow
would be washed, either in the shower or with a hose running from the shower and
the cage would be cleaned. Once every other day she would receive a clean cage
pad. Other than the cleaning and feeding, 701 would have no opportunity for
exercise. She would spend the rest of here time on the farm in the cramped
confines of the cage.
	
Used to the relatively open space of a stall, 701 balked at entering the cage.
Joey had to make firm use of the herding staff to shepherd the bipedal cow into
her new residence. It was a tight fit, just as it had been designed to be. Once
inside, the former neighbour girl was clearly having difficulty in finding a
comfortable position.  The height of the cage was inadequate for her to stand
in. There was just barely enough room to lay down. Feeling parched after her
ordeal, she settled for kneeling in front of the spigot, and taking a drink of
water.
	
Joey watched with some fascination as the cow's cheeks reached inward to each
other. If Linda Sue wasn't here I'd give this girl her feeding, he thought. 
Then I'd see just how much Jim was exaggerating. Although, by the way the level
in the jug is going down and the fact that there's no water dripping from her
chin, I think the chances are pretty good that he might even have been
understating her prowess.
	
Leaving 701 to get used to her new home, Joey escorted Linda Sue from the veal
pen. As they exited the barn, Joey asked Linda Sue if she'd like to have dinner
and maybe go for a walk afterwards only to have his girlfriend decline.
	
"It's been a long day for me Joey and I'm really tired. Don't take this as
anything personal but all I want to do is go home and crawl between some nice
smooth sheets on top of a firm mattress."
	
"What a coincidence. That's just what I had in mind."
	
"Joseph Geryon, I know better than that. The sheets weren't only the things you
had in mind to crawl between; my thighs were going to be next. Joey, I wasn't
kidding when I said I was tired. I don't even think I've got the strength to
take a bath before I go to bed."
	
Giving him a kiss on the cheek, Linda Sue opened the door of her car. "I promise
I'll be more receptive tomorrow after I get some sleep." 	
	
Joey furrowed his brow in puzzlement as the motorcar left the yard.  Usually,
after a day on the farm,  Linda Sue was as horny as a maiden aunt at a
bachelorette party   She must really be exhausted if she's too tired to want to
shag.
	
With the sound of Linda Sue's horn honk echoing in the distance, Joey retraced
his steps to the barn. There was still time to give cow 701 her first feeding
before he called it a night.

Cannibal 4H Chapter Five: A Brother Visits by Eurytion

SEVERAL WEEKS HAD GONE BY since 701's arrival when a familiar yellow truck
pulled into the farm's loading dock causing Joey a great deal of apprehension.
Behind the wheel of the truck was his friend Billy, former brother to cow 701.
Joey had only seen Billy once since Valerie had been assigned to him at the
fair. It wasn't that pleasant of a memory. 
	
Billy walked around to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate. He waved
to Joey and began to unload bags of grain onto the dock.  Steeling himself, Joey
approached the dock. Billy seemed friendly enough now but that might not mean
anything. The last time they had talked Billy was more than pissed off that Joey
hadn't come up with a way to save his sister from becoming a conversion.
	
"Need any help with that, Billy?"
	
"Nope. I think I can get it alright. But thanks for asking." Joey could smell
the ale on Billy's breath.
	
"Not a problem. If you need anything else just let me know." No sooner had Joey
said these words then he began kicking himself mentally. Jesus, you take your
friend's sister, turn her into a cow to be slaughtered and eaten, tell him you
can't help get her back to human status and then, the very next time you see
him, say 'If you need anything just let me know. You really are a dickhead.
	
"If you've got a few minutes after I get done unloading I really need to talk
with you."
	
"Sure, Billy.  I'll be by the feedlot. Come on over when you're through."
	
Joey's sense of uneasiness grew with every bag Billy unloaded. He remember their
last talk, just after Valerie had been dropped of at McCain's.
	
"Damn it, Joey. You're my friend, maybe my best friend. She's my sister. You've
got to help me get her back. There's got to be something we can do."
	
"Look, there isn't. Don't you think if there was I would have done it.  Valerie
lost her identification badge. Under the fair rules that made her fair game.
Your folks knew that when they signed the permission slip for her to attend. No
badge and you're meat. I didn't make the rules."
	
"No, but you sure as hell did take advantage of them to snatch up the chance to
claim her."
	
"Damn it Billy, what was I supposed to do? Al Crenshaw said if I didn't claim
her he was going to have her butchered right there. This way your folks at least
got to say goodbye to her."
	
"Oh, yeah. That was great. They got to say goodbye while she was standing in a
byre and had a tag through her ear.  A real Kodak moment, something to put in
the family album.

"Don't you remember from English class 'If it were done when 'tis done, then
'twere well it was done quickly.' We'd all have been better off if you'd just
have let them eat her at the fair. Then this would be over with and we could get
on with our lives. You're my friend. I expected better from you."
	
The sound of a tailgate clanging shut made Joey flinch. Striding toward him with
a serious look on his face, Billy was brushing his hands against each other to
get off the chaff from the bags. To Joey it looked like the hands were squeezing
on an imaginary throat.
	
Before Joey could say anything, Billy held up one hand, palm facing upright and
forward.
	
"Joey, we've been friends since we were five. I can't count the number of
scrapes we've been in together. Jeeze, I still remember that time I fell out of
the tree and broke my leg. You carried me on your back through the woods for
almost a mile until we reached the road. I owe you an apology. More than an
apology really.
	
"It wasn't easy just after --- well you know when --- and I said a lot of things
then that I really didn't mean.  We were all in shock about the conversion.
Sure, you sign the forms to get into the fair and you know the rules but you
never expect anyone you know to become human cattle, let alone a member of the
family.  Mom & Dad had some fights about whose fault it was letting Val go in
the first place and then who it was that let her go by herself. I felt rotten
because I wasn't there. 	 Kept telling myself that I would have kept an
eye on her and made sure she didn't lose the badge.
	
"The truth is that shit does happen. And sometimes it happens to people that you
love. I know that Valerie is gone. She's been converted and what's there in her
place is just another human cattle, a bipedal cow. Like I said, it wasn't easy
coming to grips with this. I even went to a shrink for a couple of grief
counselling sessions on how to handle all of this crap.  Me at a shrink's
office. I thought that was only for wankers and whiners.
	
"Anyhow, I wanted to tell you that I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault. Mr.
Crenshaw told me you didn't want to claim her. You did what you could. Val's the
one who let her badge go astray. You didn't sneak up and take it from her. After
that Val was a maverick, not a free human. I don't blame you for claiming her. I
really don't. Friends or not, I'd have done the same thing in a minute if Linda
Sue had lost her badge.
	
"Hell,  remember when we were about 14. We used to camp out back in the west
meadow at my place. At night while we choked the chicken, we'd talk about which
of our classmates we'd like to see shoved on a spit. It was always Alice Kipfer
and Linda Sue. You couldn't find a spit strong enough to hold Alice these days.
We'd have to treble-hook her to hang her in the smoker. Linda Sue though ... I
remember wrestling you to see who got first dibs on Linda Sue's knockers. I
still say you cheated. Anyway, I'm sorry for what I said." Billy held out his
hand to Joey in friendship who took it.
	
Their day's work done and several six-packs later,  the two reunited mates were
sitting on the dock in the loading bay wasting time.
	
"Billy, I don't want to pick at a healing scab but how are your parents doing?
Are they ok?"
	
"Like I said, it was tough but they're tough people. They're getting better with
it. They don't fight about it anymore. They've been with me to the grief
counsellor and that's helped all of us. Something else that helped was your
returning the cameo. That was my great-grandmother's and it's been in the family
for years. My mom knew I was coming over and she wanted me to thank you for her.
	
"Your dad was good about all this too. With that extra money for the crops and
all. He didn't have to do that. But it does help with things." Billy took
another swallow of beer then crumpled the empty can and tossed it aside.
	
"Joey, I came over here today to do two things beside deliver your grain.  One
was to ask pardon for my behaviour and the other --- well the other was to ask
to see your new cow."
	
Again, before Joey could say anything, Billy held up his hand. "I know what
you're thinking right now. I don't blame you. But the grief counsellor says we
need closure and that one way of getting it is to see the cow for ourselves.
Look, I'm not using her old name because that person is gone. I'd use her number
if I knew it."
	
"701, you're talking about cow 701."
	
"Thanks. 701 it is then. I need to do this Joey. I need to see 701 as the cow
she is, not as the person she once was.  I'm not going to get all weirded out on
you. But this is something I need to do and I'm asking you as a friend to let me
do it."
	
"Are you sure you're up to this? This is some serious stuff we're talking about
here."
	
"The shrink says I need to do it and I think he's right. I'm as ready as I'm
ever going to be."
	
"Then let's do it. You can wait in the ready room while I get her cleaned up and
then..."
	
"Nope. That's no good.  I want to see cow number 701 just the way she is. If
she's covered in her own crap and stinks to high heaven, that's good. If I could
see her with a mouth full of hay, chewing away contentedly on her cud that'd be
better yet.  She's an animal, she's bipedal cattle, she's a feast on two feet.
That's what I need to see. Hell, that's what I want to see. I can't deal with
the idea that this is happening to my sister. I have to know that its happening
to a cow."
	
Joey opened the Ragnarok door and Billy stepped resolutely inside the veal pen.
He took a moment to familiarize himself with the room's layout and then picked
up a herding staff.  Striding over to the cage, he lifted the gate, inserting
the pegs to hold it open. Cow 701 crawled out of her confinement.
	
Guiding 701 to the shower with the herding staff, Billy took a moment to examine
the animal before him. It looks like Val, he thought. But it's not. Just keep
remembering that this cow isn't Val and you'll be fine. After checking the
temperature of the water, Billy began to rise the cow off. His hands roamed over
her body, at first businesslike, then with increasing carnality.  Shutting off
the water, he cupped the young cow's clean breasts in the palms of his hands and
began to squeeze and massage their tiny surface. His own personal staff began to
rise.
	
Moving 701 out of the shower, Billy vigorously applied a towel to her skin. At
times his fingers slipped from the towel's surface to outline a rib or the swell
of the small tits. The juvenile cow seemed to enjoy the attention, pressing
herself back against Billy's hands, her tongue slipping occasionally from an
o-shaped mouth.
	
Billy paid special attention to the cow's legs, kneading her thighs until the
animal winced. He was particularly entranced with her vaccination scar which
looked like a pressed flower.  Using the herding staff, Billy encouraged the cow
to spread her legs wide, but other than the briefest touch, left her genitals
unstroked. After 701 turned around he lingered over her buttocks,  at one point
resting his cheek briefly on her cheeks.
	
When the cow was thoroughly dry, Billy left her with Joey and went to the
storage racks at the side of the pen. There he took a large bucket made of
galvanized tin of the shelf. The bucket had a rubber appendage sticking through
on one side. This was the bucket's teat through which the cow would suck her
liquid nourishment.
	
Measuring the powered mix carefully, Billy spoke to Joey for the first time.
"That's a fine cow you've got there Joey. I think you've got another blue ribbon
sown up for sure." His voice was even and calm. But the front of his pants stood
almost straight out from his body, a spreading wet stain at the farthest point
belying his seeming control.
	
Billy brought the bucket over to 701, who immediately knelt down in front of
him. This was, after all, part of the usual feeding routine. Her hands reached
up to Billy as though in supplication. Startled, Billy took a step backwards.
	
"Billy, It's ok man. That bucket of formula isn't the only nourishment that cow
wants from you. She's just trying to show it."
	
Trembling slightly, Billy stepped forward again. Like an automaton his hands
moved of their own volition to unbuckle his belt. To the companionship of a
sound like a scale being played on a zither, his zipper was lowered, the sides
of his fly parting like the Red Sea. Out poked a hard cock encased in white
cotton made almost translucent by his leaking precum. His shorts were almost
torn in his haste to free his tumescent member from its captivity.
	
Then cow 701 leaned forward, her ovaled lips passing over the helmet-like head
of her former brother's cock,  compressing its flesh as they progressed back and
forth across the stiff ridges. Billy began to moan. Her lips sealed around his
dick like an o-ring. Her tongue danced a tarantella of delight around his
prick's perimeter. Each stoke of her warm silky mouth squeezed Billy as though
he was a tube of toothpaste with one last brush worth inside. Billy's legs began
to shake. The young heifer increased the force of her suction. Billy could feel
the sides of her cheeks rubbing along the sides of his prick.
	
Billy's knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Her contact with his penis
temporarily broken, cow 701 followed him to the concrete, twisting her body
around in the process.  Looking up Billy saw her legs looming over his head and
falling fast. In self-defense he put up a hand but that only succeeded in
spreading her thighs apart. 701 landed on the floor with a thud, her knees
bookending Billy's head.
	
As the cow returned to her assault on Billy's cock, Billy reached up with both
hands to her ass and mashed the girl's cunt onto his face. His nose rubbed
fiercely against the top of her triangle, his lips pressing against hers while
his tongue wiggled its slippery way toward an entry into her pussy. She tastes
delicious, he thought, spicy and clean. All those times she'd walk in on me in
the bathroom at home, or when she'd prance bare-assed past me in the hall,this
is what I should have done. I don't care if she was my sister, or is my sister
or if she's a cow. It doesn't matter now.  I just want to come.
	
And come he did. Billy thought he could have filled the bucket with the sperm
this cow was coaxing from his cock. He expected his balls to be shrivelled down
to the size of two early spring peas from the vigorous vacuuming cow 701 had
given them. Certainly the cow's face would be covered with his cock cream, a
result of the copious spending he just enjoyed.
	
As 701 lifted herself off his body, Billy was surprised to see no traces of
sperm on her face. I'll be damned. The little heifer swallowed it all, every
last drop. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Joey, a stiff cock grasped
in his rapidly moving hand. 701 moved quickly over to Joey and, again knelling
in front of him, stuck her tongue out as far as it would go. Joey stopped
masturbating and placed his dick on the flat of the young girl's tongue.
	
Sitting up, Billy watched in disbelief as her tongue curled up at the edges,
wrapping Joey's dick in an oral blanket, like a hot dog in a bun. She pulled
Joey deep into her mouth and began to replicate her majestic ministrations with
much the same results. Because this was far from his first time, Joey was able
to keep his balance and remain upright to the finish.
	
After 701's went for the formula bucket with all the ardour she showed for male
genitalia, Joey and Billy put her back in the cage and went outside for a couple
more stubies. Walking out to the truck with Billy, Joey talked about the
evening's activities.
	
Billy assured Joey that, as far as he was concerned, that was a cow in the veal
pen, not his sister and, even if she was his sister it was worth converting her
just to get blow-jobs like the one he'd enjoyed. Joey told Billy he was welcome
to help with the feeding anytime he wanted. Then he asked Billy the question
that had been on his mind since their afternoon conversation.
	
"You said that the shrink said seeing cow 701 was one way to bring closure. But
your folks haven't come here yet. Are they doing to do that or are they going to
do something else?"
	
Billy was silent for nearly a minute. "Man, I thought they should come. But the
shrink says there's more than one way to skin a cow if you'll pardon the sick
pun. Mom and Dad have decided to do it a different way."
	
It was Joey's turn to be silent as he waited for his friend to continue.
"Basically, what I did tonight is really only the first piece in getting
closure. Because my folks saw their daughter in a stall with a tag in her ear,
they can skip this part.  There's really only two more things we have to do."
	
"And those are?"
	
"We have to be there when they butcher her and then we have to eat her."

Cannibal 4H Chapter Six: Evaluations and Judgments by Eurytion
	
LINDA SUE CAST A CRITICAL EYE over her nude reflection in the fitting room
mirror. Well, she thought to herself, there's no question I'm not a classical
beauty. My face, even with makeup, is too plain for that. I may be stocky but
I'm not Rubenesque.  I guess I'm just that good ole' well-scrubbed,
apple-cheeked home-spun farm girl everyone talks about.
	
She had ventured into town to buy a new outfit at Fripperies for the
time-honoured Cannibal Cotillion, traditionally held on the last night of the
fair after all the awards had been announced and bestowed. Unlike the fair
itself, where visitors never wore clothing, the ball allowed the ladies to
parade in their finest outfits. Linda Sue was determined, if not to shine, at
least to not be embarrassed.
	
Ignoring the several outfits hanging on the wall, none of which met her needs,
she continued her self-examination.  Her  auburn hair was shot full of natural
curls which flipped up from her brow and, falling below a mini-bun which hinted
at the farm's trademark hairdo on the back of her head, cascaded down until they
reached her shoulders.
	
Even under the best of circumstances my hair could only be described as "unruly"
and working on a human cattle ranch never provided the best of circumstances.
It's a good thing I've got an appointment at Stacie's to have my hair done. I
couldn't go to the dance with this mare's nest sitting on my head. Maybe I'll
even get a full bun, like one of the farm's cows. That would certainly surprise
Joey.
	
Linda Sue's russet ringlets framed a pleasant face; thin when presented in
profile, more rounded when viewed from the front. Her eyebrows were a dark
black; her eyes shaded by long, thick lashes. The colour of her cheeks did
resemble the skin of ripe Snow apples, smooth ivory domes interspaced with
irregular soft pink areas. Full, maroon lips sat above a small cleft chin. As
she smiled she could see her even white teeth grinning back at her. A thin gold
necklace hung around her neck, a present from Joey after he won his first blue
ribbon.
	
At 5' 5" inches and 138 pounds, Linda Sue was solid without being stout. Her
hips were a little wider than she would have liked, but even the strenuous
chores at the ranch hadn't been able to take an inch of her waist. Sometimes
there was just no fighting genetics. Maybe she should start eating just a little
of the special fodder the farm used to lean out their stock's meat. It was worth
thinking about.
	
She sighed as her hands reached down to cup the underside of her breasts,
lifting them off her chest.  Three years ago her bra size had been 32 C. Today,
thanks to Joey's dad, it was 36 D. 	

Mr. Geryon had required her to take the supplement the farm used to increase
breast size as part of the original deal that allowed Joey to raise his first
human cattle. Once she'd started snacking on the bars she'd become hooked. Not
only had the size of her tits increased, they had become much more sensitive.
Sometimes all it took was the feel of teeth clamping down on her nipple to get
her off.
	
She wondered what might have happened if she hadn't been afraid of needles and
had allowed Joey's dad to give her the monthly injections.  It was probably just
as well she hadn't. Most of the stock only received the injections for a year.
Three years worth of injections coupled with the supplement most likely would
have required her to use a wheelbarrow to haul her milkers around in.
	
Turning in a small circle, she clenched and unclenched her buttocks. Although
her waist was a little wider than she liked, there was no denying the fact she
wasn't a fat ass. This butt was nicely rounded and firm but not hard. It sat 
nicely on a well proportioned pair of shapely legs.  If I was stock, I'd grade
out well at the fair she thought. Definitely a "whole roaster."
	
In the aftermath of one of their "negotiations" Linda Sue had, in fact, asked Al
Crenshaw, the owner of Crenshaw Superior Meats, how she might do in a
competition. Raising himself up on one elbow and throwing back the sheet
covering Linda Sue's body,  Al's demeanour turned from passionate to
professional.
	
"I couldn't give you any final determination until I saw your carcass. That's
really the only way I could judge your meat. We check for marbling; colour and
brightness; firmness and texture; the colour of the fat, lustre and quality.
You'd be marked down for any damage done during the slaughtering such as muscle
bleeding; muscle edema; inflammation of the muscle or fat infiltration; external
wounds or missing parts. That's what we look for when we grade meat at the
store.
	
"Now if you were up for sale at the auction, I'd use different standards, at
least about whether or not to bid on you." He reached down to pinch her side
just above the waist. "Your body/fat ratio seems to be acceptable. I can
certainly vouch for the firmness of your meat. How tender it might be I'm not
sure." Al's hand continued to prod at Linda Sue's body.  "Your legs would make
nice round steaks and you've got an excellent rump roast in you. Good
development in the shoulders so we'd get decent chuck roast from there.
	
"Your breasts are still a little smaller than we'd like so we might sell part of
those as brisket and save the nipples for shish-kebab.  Depending on how we
decided to carve you, we'd get a good number of slabs of ribs, maybe some short
ribs, possibly even some rib steaks.
	
"Those calves would yield some high quality steaks and we'd get several pounds
of stew meat from your arms. Overall, I'd guess you were above select, maybe in
the mid-range of choice. I'd put you near the top of my second tier when it
comes to bidding. You'd barbecue nicely. I'm not sure if I'd sell you as an
whole roaster though. I think my best bet would be to dismember you and sell the
individual cuts."
	
Sensing that Linda Sue had turned colder with this pronouncement, Al sought to
backtrack. "Hey, that's a pretty good rating. Remember, you're not a human
cattle. You haven't been bred and raised to be somebody's Sunday dinner. You
haven't had any of the care and attention they get, no special foods, no
designed exercise program. Most of the women I know would grade out as select or
lower and if I did bid on them, I'd have to send them to Joey's for finishing. I
could slaughter and sell you tomorrow."
	
Slightly mollified, Linda Sue let her head slide down Al's chest and stomach
until his public hair scratched against her cheek. Like an adder, her tongue
flicked quickly from her mouth to strike at the leaking tip of his cock. Her
thighs were slick from her crotch midway to her knees due to the lubrication she
had produced while Al was giving his pronouncement.  Her last thought before
resuming their carnal play was of the work that still faced her. Linda Sue would
be satisfied with nothing less than a prime rating. The second tier wasn't for
her.
	
Linda Sue was shaken from her revery by a soft knock on the fitting room door. 
Startled, she pulled a pair of panties up over a hairless pussy made moist by
her recollections.
	
"Is everything ok in there," asked a salesgirl? "I thought I heard you groan. Do
you need any help?" For a second, Linda Sue considered her response. If Sallie
had been on duty she would have asked her in. The rumour around town was that
young Sallie would help a girl out with more than just a fitting. Lord knows
that I could use some release, she thought. Pushing her sexual needs aside for
the moment, Linda Sue responded "I'm fine. Thanks. Just can't seem to find the
right outfit. Could you bring me that strapless emerald dress again? It think
they're still holding it at the counter."
	
While she waited for the salesgirl to return with the frock, Linda Sue surveyed
her surroundings. That's odd, she mused, this dressing room is about the same
size as the veal cage would be if you stood it up on its end. Suddenly the door
to the tiny enclosure opened and a hand thrust itself in.
	
Startled by the hand reaching in toward her, cow 701 bumped her head on the top
of the cage. Although her sense of time had almost completely disappeared, a
result of the never-ending twilight in which she now lived, she retained enough
cognizance to realize her full stomach meant it wasn't time for her feeding. And
meals, along with her bath, were the only reasons she ever left the cage.
	
Fully responsive to Joey's system of hand signals, the human cattle entered the
less confined space of the veal pen. There she should stood waiting uncertainly
for what might happen next.
	
Her master indicated she should squat. She did.  In the room with him was an
older gentleman holding a herding rod. The still human recesses of her mind
identified the man as Mr. Geryon, Joey's father but her cow mind pushed this
thought away. To 701, this was another herder who she must obey.
	
The older man approached and, as he did, the young cow routinely reached out her
hands towards the upper joining of his legs to his waist only to have the staff
move her arms back to her side.  The herder walked slowly around to the
crouching cow. Reaching into his back pocket he took out an object and placed it
on 701's head. It was a pair of goggles with dark almost opaque red lenses. This
was something new, the cow thought, wondering what it meant.
	
After fitting the goggles in place, Mr. Geryon nodded to his son who walked to
the wall and turned a switch. Slowly to allow for human eyes to adjust, the
faint rubicund light was replaced by a bright white illumination, revealing for
the first time since it began to be used for its intended purpose, the room in
its natural colours.
	
Both Joey and his dad examined the squatting animal.  Her skin, a pale white
when she had arrived at the ranch, was almost translucent. Her hair had faded
from its original straw blonde to a nearly pure white, a side-effect of the
special liquid diet. If, at this moment, she was unfettered and set loose on the
street the former neighbour girl would be mistaken for an albino. Only the
colour of her green eyes remained unchanged.
	
Joey gave the hand signal for the girl to stand. As she rose, both the ranchers
observed her muscle tone. Again the special feeding regimen had done its job.
While still visible, her body's definition had softened like an inexpensive
plastic doll left out in the hot sun. Her arms and legs were fuller yet  less
sculpted; more rounded with just a hint of sag. Joey indicated that the cow
should walk to the scale. A glance at the chart after weighing showed that 701
had put on 13 pounds during her stay, most of it distributed to her legs and
buttocks.
	
After she had stepped off of the scale, Mr. Geryon took the bipedal cattle's
head in his hands. A tender application of pressure at the point where the jaw
met the skull induced the girl to open her mouth. Joey's dad tilted her head
back and, placing a finger inside of her mouth, attempted to press on her gums.
	
701's first reaction to this invasion of her oral cavity was a natural one, to
suck. She had been conditioned to suck on anything put into her mouth, be it the
feeding bucket teat, a man's cock or even a woman's tit.  She was surprised then
to receive a sharp rap on the nose. Another squeeze of her jaws reopened her
mouth. Again a finger was inserted but this time the cow remained still as the
digit pushed firmly against both the upper and lower surfaces. The pallid gums
became even paler, showing almost no trace of pink where the finger had been.
Joey's dad smiled at this sign of anemia. Joey had been right. There would be no
need to bleed this cow before the fair.
	
His examination over, Joey's dad stepped back behind the cow. A nudge of the
staff told 701 that this herder wanted her to bend over while a second indicated
that she should spread her legs. Mr. Geryon was beginning to undo the huge
silver buckle on his belt when Joey spoke out.
	
"Wait a minute Dad. If you're planning on taking this cow, please don't. At
least not like that."
	
The old rancher turned to look at his son, incredulity on his face. Before he
had a chance to say anything Joey continued to talk.
	
"If you want some of the best head you'll ever have, that's great. But this cow
is still a virgin and that's the way she has to stay. Other than her mouth,
she's never had a cock enter her body.  Mr. Crenshaw told me that veal from
virgin cattle is highly prized and will bring us a better price.  And you can't
fuck her in the ass because of the liquid diet.  A penis as big and long as
yours would tear her a new asshole, so to speak. She needs to keep control of
her bowels otherwise this liquid diet would just pour out as fast as she took it
in."
	
Joey's dad nodded and then, for the first time since entering the veal pen,
spoke.
	
"You know Joey, when Linda Sue came to me three years ago and suggested I let
you start running your own herd --- well, I thought she was doing it because she
was your girlfriend and not because you could really do the job. You're a good
boy and I love you. But you've always been a bit disinterested and
lackadaisical. Instead of doing your chores you'd be off in the woods with Billy
building a fort. I never really felt you wanted to run the farm. It took a lot
of hard work by Linda Sue to convince me you had what it takes.
	
"Sometimes a father is too close to his son to see what's really there. I was
wrong and Linda Sue was right. These past three years you've matured in more
ways than I can mention. You've learned the business and learned it well, not
only how to raise cattle but the financial end too.
	
"More importantly, you've got the mental toughness needed to run a successful
cattle ranch. Al told me you had a rough time deciding to claim Valerie at the
fair. I understand why. A friend's sister, someone you knew well and then the
fact that she had that schoolgirl crush on you. It wasn't easy to put the farm
before sentiment or friendship. 
	
"Your mom probably never told you this.  I know I never have.  But I had to make
a similar decision.  Only in my case, she wasn't just an acquaintance.  She was
my girlfriend and I might even have asked her to marry me.  But she got into
some trouble at home and her folks made the decision to sell her as human
cattle.  Your grandfather sent me to the auction to bid on her.  Left it up to
me whether or not to make the purchase.  It was one of the hardest decisions
I've ever had to make.   The farm wasn't doing as well as it is today.  We
needed a breeder and I knew that Marie sure had the hips for it.   I bought
Marie and had her converted. She was the start of our Coleman line of human
cattle.  If I hadn't done what I did, well who knows if there would even be a
Geryon farm today.
	
"You made the right decision about buying this cow. But that didn't tell me
enough. I knew this cow hadn't been touched and I knew why she hadn't been
touched. What I wanted to see was whether or not you'd stop me from spoiling
this project.  I needed to know whether or not you'd stand up to your old man
for the sake of your project and the farm.  You did and I'm proud of you for it.
	
"Joey, I'm going to tell you something now that I was going to save until after
the fair. I don't want you to tell Linda Sue what I'm telling you.  Let's both
let it come as a surprise."
	
Joey nodded his agreement.
	
"After the fair, whether or not you win that third blue ribbon, I'm going to
make you a full partner in the Geryon & Son Cattle Farm."
	
"Dad, do you really mean that?"
	
"Damn right I do.You've earned it." Joey broke out in a smile.
	
"Now son, I'm going up to the house and get your mom. You put this cow back in
her cage, get cleaned up and we'll go into town to celebrate. Sound ok?"
	
Again, Joey nodded still grinning from ear to ear. "Great," said his dad,
slapping him on the shoulder. "We'll be waiting on the porch."
	
Joey shook his head in disbelief as the door shut behind his father. Reaching
for the switch to return the pen to its normal lighting, he could only think how
lucky he had been that he hadn't told his dad the truth about the real reason
for maintaining cow's virginity, the last thing that had happened between
Valerie and Joey, just before she entered McCain's plant for her conversion.
	
"Joey, I know this isn't your fault," she said looking deep into his eyes. "I'm
scared and I don't want to be meat. But I know it's going to happen. But I want
you to promise me two things."
	
At this point, Joey would have promised the little girl almost anything, except
her freedom, just to get away from her. "What is it you want me to promise?"
	
"I know I'm only 13 but I love you. I know you like me and if you didn't have
Linda Sue as a girlfriend you might even have gotten to love me. I've been on a
couple of dates and I've done some things. Jason Warner and I petted in his
barn. And Stevie van Dine got me to kiss his thing because I wouldn't let him
put it up my butt like he wanted. But I've never done anything more. I never let
any boy stick his thing in me because I wanted to be a virgin when you & I got
married.  I guess that's not going to happen now.
	
"When we went on that field trip to your farm, we saw one of the hands rogering
a cow.  The teacher tried to get us not to look but I did. Afterwards all I
could think about was you and I doing that kind of stuff in bed after we were
married. Please promise me that  I'll stay a virgin. That when I'm a cow,
nobody, not even you, will try to do it to me."
	
"I promise Valerie."
	
"Bless you Joey."
	
"What's the other promise?"
	
"I told you I'm scared. I've gotten over being scared of being a cow. The drugs
they gave me at the fair helped. Being a cow; even being eaten doesn't scare me
as much this does. I remember what happened to Melissa Hamilton when she ran
away from home and her parents disowned her and she got caught and changed into
a cow. I was at the picnic and they roasted her alive.  I saw her eyes as they
put her into the roasting pan and shoved her in the oven. I couldn't eat any of
her after I saw her eyes. Please Joey, please even if I'm not a human anymore, I
used to be one. Please don't let them cook me alive."
	
Joey meant to keep his promises to Valerie.

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 small 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.

Cannibal 4H Chapter 13: The War Begins By Eurytion

THE AIR INSIDE THE LIVESTOCK EXCHANGE was pleasantly pungent, each breath rich
with the establishment's history. The yeasty bouquet of beers both past and
present communicated a sense of camaraderie while tobacco smoke fused with the
tang of smoldering hickory in a olfactory imitation of the comfort of the open
hearthside.

For close to 35 years the saloon had been the favourite watering hole for the
area's ranchers, farmers and hands. Here was a place to bitch to people who
understood what you were bitching about; who lived the same life that you lived,
one of hard work for uncertain results, your future always hostage to the
weather or to some bureaucrat in a cubicle with a pencil for a plough who
thought farming was a pretty easy way to earn a living. 

Even when the weather cooperated and the government didn't get in the way,  you
still had to worry about events occurring thousands of miles away that could
raise the price of your fuel and supplies to ruinous levels or drop the price of
your commodity well below the break even point so that every bushel or head of
livestock you sold cost you money.

The Livestock Exchange wasn't a private club. Anyone could come in and no one
was ever made to feel unwelcome. But, unless you were a tourist looking for a
bit of local colour, non-ranchers always felt a bit out of place there, subtly
excluded from many of the conversations that swirled around them, not out of
malice or even intent but simply because people who didn't farm just couldn't
understand that some days it just seemed easier to take all the seed money,
place it on 22 black and leave it there then to get up before dawn and fire up
the tractor one more time.

The lighting inside was subdued but not by design. It resulted from the failure
of a number of  light bulbs made in Myanmar under the trademark "Decade Lamps"
and sold at Dawson's Five and Ten. Cavanaugh the bar keep had refused to replace
the bulbs, claiming that Eddie Dawson had sold him the damn things with a
guarantee they'd last for ten years so Eddie Dawson could just haul his damn
skinny old ass up the bar's rickety ladder and replace 'em his own damn self.
Anybody who thought it was too dark should stop complaining to him and start
complaining to that crook of a store keeper.

Eddie Dawson's standard reply was that no one else in town had had a single
Decade Lamp fail. The problem at the Livestock Exchange, he told one and all,
wasn't with the light bulbs but the faulty wiring that the whole county knows
Cavanaugh had bribed the building inspector to pass years ago. The bulbs were
perfectly fine; they just weren't getting any juice because of broken wires. 

Mark his words, any day now a spark from the faulty wiring would send the whole
place up in flames and the customers would be even more well done than those
hockey pucks that simpleton of a tavern keeper tried to pass off as hamburgers.
And all this tragedy, which could have been avoided, would happen because
Cavanaugh was tighter with money than the bark on a tree.

So the standoff continued, each participant refusing to give way to the other,
preferring to grumble at each other like a couple getting too close to their
40th anniversary.  Meanwhile the Decade Lamps continued to flicker out and the
bar continued to moved closer to stygian darkness. Joey's dad, who could often
be found on the premises enjoying a cold Momus lager, joked that in another year
or two customers would have to be given mining helmets just to find their way to
the tables.

Matters electrical were on the minds of several of the saloon's habitants but it
was unrelated to the illumination or lack thereof in their surroundings. 
Instead, the current topic of discussion was the vandalism of Shea's Butcher
Shop done under the cover of the Friday night's storm.

Shea's was a small store out on rural route 27A which didn't get enough traffic
to stay open on the weekends. They didn't do their own butchering but instead
bought their meat wholesale from various suppliers, depending on the price.
Their trade was aimed at those who couldn't afford to shop at either Crenshaw's
or The Stockyard, the town's two premier meat markets.

Shea's had metal security shutters. These operated much like a roll top desk
sliding down from the top of the window on a pair of tracks until they reached
the bottom where they were secured in place with a lock. Being made of glass,
the front door received similar protection.

Jim Wickham, who owned Shea's, had arrived at the white block building Monday
morning to find that, no matter how hard he turned his key, the lock on the back
door wouldn't open. When he was unable to open either of the front locks he
called a locksmith.

The stench when the locksmith opened the back door was staggering, rotting meat
reeking like a bad embalming job and at war with the sour smell of spoiled dairy
products to be the first to cause a person to revisit their breakfast.

The investigation by the sheriff's office found that little squares of aluminium
foil had been inserted into the keyhole, probably with a toothpick.  When
Wickham had placed the key in the lock he had forced the foil further back into
the cylinder. Turning the key pressed the foil into the tumblers and jammed the
lock.

The main electrical cable to the building had been cut, probably with an axe,
just below the meter box. The telephone line into the store had also been
severed to prevent the alarm indicating an electrical outage from ringing into
the security company. The words "stop the murder" had been stencilled in red
paint in a area underneath the eaves protected from the rain. More than two days
without air conditioning or refrigeration completed the rest of the sabotage.

"I'm telling you guys it's that Anneliese Dracon bitch and her bunch of human
cattle rights wackos that did this," said Dickie Peal pointing to the article in
front of him.  "She said she was going to do something and then this happened.
Mutt, why the hell don't you just take and toss her ass into jail," he asked now
pointing over a plate of nachos at Stan Triplett.

The deputy just shook his head.  "Dickie, we don't know if she did it or not. 
There wasn't any physical evidence at the scene to indicate she was even there. 
Wally talked to her and she said she was home during the storm and that she
didn't know anything about what happened.  We don't have anybody who can say
otherwise."

"There's the letter," continued the farm hand. "She called us murders and told
people we had to be stopped. Can't you arrest her for libel or inciting a riot
or something like that?"  

"It isn't a crime to write a letter to the editor. She didn't call on people to
break the law. She didn't advocate the armed overthrow of the government. She
told people they should stop raising and eating human cattle. You and I might
thinks she's nuts but she didn't do anything illegal."

"What about having her followed," interjected Ralph Levitt, who worked on the
same farm as Dickie. "Don't criminals always return to the scene of the crime?
And even if she doesn't go back you can follow her and catch her when she tries
to do it again."

"Jeeze Ralph, you've been reading too many of those mysteries from Bowler's Book
Store," Triplett replied gesturing toward Cavanaugh with a near empty beer mug
in hopes of snagging a refill. "First off excluding the sheriff, the dispatchers
and the jail attendants,  there are only six of us to patrol the entire county.
That's two of us each shift. Following people is a lot harder and a lot more
labour intensive in real life than in fiction.  There's no microminiature homing
transmitter that we can slip in her drink or inject under her skin to track her
with. If we did want to follow her we'd have to do it with real bodies and we
don't have nearly enough to do the job right.

"Second, we can't follow a person without a reason and we have no reason to
follow her.

"Third, and here's where the rubber hits the road, it isn't worth it. Jim lost
about five thousand dollars worth of meat and dairy products. It'll cost him
about another $800 to get the store cleaned up and aired out. He'll lose about
$700 in sales until he can reopen. The locksmith's bill was $400. The power and
phone companies are reconnecting him at no cost. Add in the dollar worth of
white paint he used to paint over the graffiti and his total costs are less than
seven thousand dollars, all of which is covered by insurance. The county is just
not going to spend the kind of money it would take to fully investigate what
happened. For the time being, it's just going to be written off as one of those
unfortunate things, you know like when bad things happen to good people."

"So that's it, shit happens and you're not going to do anything else," asked
Peal.  "She's just going to get away with it?"

"Read my lips very carefully," said the deputy who was beginning to get a little
tired of the continuing questioning. "We don't have any proof that she did
anything. We can't do anything without proof, something that you two ought to be
very happy about on occasion. We're not going to arrest her. We're not going to
follow her. We're not even going to question her any more. This incident is
closed.

"Now just so you two pinheads can understand, that doesn't mean we're not doing
anything.  The sheriff sent a letter around about what happened and suggested
folks keep a real close eye on things for awhile.  We're rerouting our patrols
to pay special attention to businesses involved in human cattle ranching,
including ranches. And we're splitting the patrols up so we can cover more
ground. Wally & I will be driving in separate cars instead of together. So will
the other shifts. It may not seem like much but it's all we can do right now.
Hell, this might never happen again"

Mutt's lecture was interrupted, first by the arrival of his third beer of the
evening and then by Evan McAuliffe. The owner of the Rippled Ridge Ranch had
been sitting quietly at the table while the deputy had been peppered with
questions.

"Stan, you don't believe that any more than I do," he said dunking a chicken
wing into some extra blue cheese dressing. "Dickie might not be the tallest tree
in the forest but I'm afraid he's right about Ann. Either she planned what
happened or she did it herself and it's not going to stop with what happened at
Shea's.

"You were overseas while you were in the service.  You know about these zealots,
the type that strap a bomb to their bodies or set themselves on fire.  To them
the cause is everything and nothing is going to stand in their way.  I'm afraid
Ann is one of them.

"I knew her Aunt Vi pretty well. Violet was a good woman with a heart as open as
the break of day. She didn't have to take on the responsibility of raising her
sister's kid. She could have just left her in that state home. Hell, if she had
even thought about it for a couple of days there wouldn't have been any kid to
go pick up. But to Vi family obligations meant more than exchanging birthday
cards and getting together at the holidays. She believed that everything started
and ended with family. I don't think it took her more than a half hour to load
up her car and drive away once she got the call from Ann's teacher.

"I used to go over to the house after she brought Ann back. Ann was polite and
friendly but even at that age, she was only about 13 or so, you could tell the
girl was different. Not bad different but different all the same. The girl
always reminded me of a dog that lost its tail, wondering why and what might be
next.

"It got worse when she went away to school. Vi used to worry about her; who she
was hanging around with; what she was learning. When Vi died last year, just
before graduation, well I think the girl's last link with the rest of us was
cut. Now it's as though she never lived here, she's a just a visitor passing
through."

"Or maybe a missionary to the cannibals," cracked Ralph. "I say we get the pot
ready."

 " Ralph, you might be closer to the truth than you know," Ev admitted. "I'm not
very philosophical and I don't think much off all this psychiatric stuff but
whether its because of how her parents died and what happened to her afterwards
or when Vi died or just something that happened while she was at school, Ann has
given herself over to stopping human cattle ranching."

"OK Ev, let's say you're right," said the deputy. "Let's say Dracon is the
Moriarty of this county, 'the power behind the malefactor ... the Napoleon of
crime' and that at this very minute she's 'sitting motionless like a spider in
its web' sending her underlings to do her bidding, what am I supposed to do
about it?"

"Just don't fool yourself into thinking what happened at Shea's is an isolated
incident. And don't waste your time looking for other suspects.  Ann is behind
this and these things aren't going to stop until she's stopped. I'd like to see
her stopped before things go too far. I don't want to see anything happen to
her."

"So go and talk to her. Maybe she'd listen to you, you being an old boyfriend of
her aunt's and everything."

"Don't you think I tried that?  She stared at me like I was the fallen
archangel.  I'm a cancer on society and she's the surgeon that needs to cut me
out before I metastasize though the rest of the community."

"If she treats you like a turd on the heel of her shoe why do you care what
happens to her?"

"Maybe because Vi was almost family to me and I feel I owe her something. Maybe
because I remember that little girl with the long brown pigtails who loved to
help her aunt in the flower bed and brought me a handful of daisies and some
lemonade every time I stopped by in the summer. Maybe because somebody needs to
care about what happens to her, because it might make a difference somehow. 
Hell, Stan I don't know why.

"What I do know is that when I looked into Ann's eyes at the funeral they were
as empty as the fair grounds after Labour Day. The idea of dying for a cause is
attracting her the way bread crumbs attract pigeons. I don't want to see that
happen."

Dickie banged his beer mug on the table splashing a foaming cascade over the few
nachos left on the plate in front of him.

"And you say  I'm not the tallest tree in the forest. I think you're the one
who's playing piano in the marching band.  Ev, didn't you read her letter or
those handbills she's always putting under the windscreen wiper? You're an evil
cattle rancher. Old Scratch his own self couldn't be worse than you are. This
girl, who by the way is as crazy as a shithouse rat, wants you and me and Ralph
and every other mother's child that make their living from cattle run out of the
county on a rail and if a rail isn't available I'm sure she'd be glad to loan
everyone her broomstick.

"But just because she used to bring you milk and cookies when she was a little
girl we're supposed to ignore all this and feel sorry for her," the lanky farm
hand continued.  "Well I don't feel sorry for her at all. I feel sorry for Joey
and his dad because of that letter and I feel sorry for Jim because she trashed
his store. But I don't feel sorry for her. And if I ever catch her pulling any
of her stunts she's the one who's going to be sorry, not me."

McAuliffe took a deep sip of his beer. Count to ten he told himself and then
count backwards from ten.

"Let me tell you something Dickie," said Mutt while Ev was regaining his
composure. "I don't care that we went to school together. I don't  care that you
had your sister gave me my first blow job behind your barn.  I don't even care
how good of friends we are. None of that cuts any slack right now," the coolness
in his voice mounting.

"I don't want to see you or anybody else in this county pulling any vigilante
crap. This isn't Gotham City and you're not Batman. And that goes for you too
Ralph.  Spread the word around that if anyone sees anything they call us, they
don't try to handle it themselves.  And don't even give me that citizens arrest
nonsense," he said forestalling another outburst from the farm hand. "Anybody
and I mean anybody who takes the law into their own hands is going to have
problems with me and you sure as hell don't want that."

"Sure thing Mutt. Hey, we were just talking here you know, blowing off a little
steam," replied Dickie apologetically,  taken aback by Mutt's attitude. Maybe he
had gone a little too far and shot his mouth off when he should have kept quiet.
His mom always told him to think before he talked. Now look what happened when
he didn't listen to her.

"Ev, I didn't mean to insult you, you know that don't you", asked the abashed
hand repentantly. " I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

"I know Dickie. Don't worry about it. I'm sorry if I seem a little sensitive but
this whole thing has got me spooked."

"Yeh, that goes for all of us," said Ralph. "Hey, you know why the women in the
Ladies League don't like to have group sex," he continued trying to lighten the
mood.  "Because they hate writing out all the thank you cards afterwards."

After a couple more beers and about a half hour of desultory conversion, Ev was
walking toward his SUV when he felt a tap on his shoulder.  Turning, he found
himself eye to eye with Stan Triplett. 

"Ev, I got the feeling back there that you know more than you're letting on.
Care to fill me in?"

"Stan, there's not much more I can tell you.  Something happened when Ann was at
college. I don't know what, Vi never told me. But sometime during those last few
days when Vi was in hospital, Ann said she didn't care what it took, didn't care
who got hurt; she was going to end human cattle ranching in the county or die
trying."

"And that's what's got you worried, that Ann is going to die trying?"

"It's not just that."

"What else then?"

"I'm worrying about how many others she's going to take with her."

Cannibal 4H Chapter 14: The Eyes Have It by Eurytion

ANNELIESE SAT MOTIONLESS at her kitchen table, her eyes fixated on the
photograph in front of her.  A candid shot taken outside with a inexpensive
point and click camera, the composition was amateurish.  The subject was too far
to the right and part of his head was cut off.  But, to Anneliese, the photo
couldn't have been more entrancing if Anne Leibowitz had taken it.

The subject of the photograph was a gangly young man of medium height leaning on
a walking stick, his left foot wrapped in an elastic bandage.  His multicolored
shorts revealed thin, sinewy calves partitioned from the more muscular upper
thighs by a pair of knobby knees. A fraying yellow golf shirt covered a midriff
with just a hint of baby fat showing.

The face in the picture was nicely rounded with a sly, cherub-like smile playing
mischievously across its surface.  The beginnings of a moustache sat scraggily
above the Cupid's bow of his upper lip resembling the first set of quills on a
young porcupine.  A single mahogany curl drooped over the left eyebrow while a
dusting of fine freckles mottled the exposed portions of his body.

What was missing from the photo, thought Anneliese, was his intensity of his
eyes.  You could see them on either side of that simous nose but the
two-dimensional shot robbed them of their vitality, rendered them flat and
lifeless. She had often lost herself in their gooseberry deeps which could
express more emotions than a knighted Shakespearian actor.

They had met in a bathroom of all places and not even a coed one.  It was at a
football game. The line into the women's room was 30 people deep and moving at
the speed of a glacier. Anneliese couldn't wait any longer. It was find a stall
now or pee in her panties.

Choosing the least embarrassing option, she had bulled her way into the men's
room and, with eyes adverted from the rows of men relieving themselves at the
troughs, burst into the first toilet that became available, almost knocking down
the departing occupant in her urgency.

Her cheeks suffused with blood, Anneliese left the bathroom with as much dignity
as she could muster.  Moving at a quick but poised pace she strode from the
lavatory with her head held high, a bit too high because once outside she
stumbled over an unseen depression in the sidewalk.

A pair of hands encircled her waist, keeping her from tumbling to the concrete.
As she regained her balance she looked up directly into a pair of animated
greenish grey eyes alight with good humour. Her pointed retort at being grabbed
mutated in her throat escaping as a quavery "oh, thank you."

"My pleasure," he said without a trace of irony, as his tapered fingers released
their steadying hold on her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine thank you. I just was in a hurry and wasn't watching where I was
going."

"I know. That seems to be a problem with you today."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hey, no need to beg. I accept your apology."

"You accept my apology?"

"Sure, for running into me."

"I didn't run into you. All I did was trip. You're the one who grabbed me."

"No, no, no, not out here. In there."

"In there?"

"Yeh, back in the men's room. I was coming out of the stall when you sailed into
me. I just wish our linebackers could get by people that fast."

"That was you?"

"That was me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you. It's just that I needed to, well you
know. And I couldn't get into the women's room, the line was too long. I don't
usually, no not usually, never, I've never gone into the men's room before but
it was either that or..."

"Don't worry about it.  I've already accepted your apology."

"You have?"

"Sure that's how this conversation started, remember. Any way, you're not the
first female to invade our sanctum sanctorum.  We get at least a half dozen
every game. There's one who comes in twice or three times a game.  The story is
she's checking out everyone's equipment to find a partner for a postgame
celebration."

A chill tone added frost to Anneliese's voice. "Please be assured that my
purpose was not, as you put it, to 'check out anyone's equipment.' My visit was
propelled by the simple need to relieve myself. Nothing more and nothing less."

The young man's smile widened, his skin around his eyes crinkling as they grew
merrier. "Believe me, I know that. I've got the bruises to prove it, remember?"

"Of course, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm  embarrassed by the whole thing."

"I've already accepted your apology.  You don't strike me as the cringing,
obsequious type. No need to say you're sorry again."
"So if I'm not the cringing, obsequious type, what type am I," asked Anneliese
curiously.

"Ah, a dare from the lady. Never let it be said that The Great Sebastian failed
to answer a challenge."

"The Great Sebastian?"

"Yep, that's me, Sebastian Poole.  My mom named me after the Cornel Wilde
character in The Greatest Show on Earth.  My dad said it was prophetic, that
somehow even back then she knew I'd be taking risks like a high wire artist."

"And do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Take risks?"

"Sure, what's life without risks?  I'm taking one just now talking to you.  If I
say the wrong thing, you'll turn around and walk away, dismissing me as a
buffoon. But if I say the right thing..."

"If you say the right thing?"

"Then a whole new universe of possibilities opens up for us.  Who knows what
might happen. But enough procrastination, it's time to spin the wheel.  Just one
question before I start, what is thy name oh fair maiden?"

"Ann. Ann Dracon."

"Buzz, sorry wrong answer," said Sebastian. "What's your real name?"

"That's it, Ann Dracon, that's my real name," she replied beginning to wonder if
he wasn't just a buffoon after all.  What kind of person goes around calling
themselves the Great Sebastian?

"Nope, Dracon is your last name all right. But Ann has to be the diminutive of
your first name. I think your full first name has to be longer, more poetic but
not trendy. Angela isn't right, you'd call yourself Angel or Angie. Annette is
too Mickey Mouse Club/Beach Blanket Bingoish.  You don't strike me as an
Annette. It's got to be something like Annabel,  Anika or maybe Anthea. Come on,
fess up.  What is it?

"Anneliese," she said unaccountably pleased by his deduction. Maybe there's more
here than I thought. "But only my family can call me that. To everyone else I'm
Ann."

"Interesting construction of that last sentence. Very revealing you know.  Most
people would have said only my family calls me that. You said only your family
can call you that. Well, Ann Dracon I want you to look deep into my eyes while I
delve into your innermost secrets. But first, let's step over here, out of the
way of this crowd."

With a small start, Anneliese noticed that they were still standing almost
directly in the path of the men and boys leaving the bathroom, forcing the line
of exiting males to walk around them. Sebastian took her hands in his and gently
pulled her aside. When they had cleared the pathway, Sebastian let go of her
right hand and reached up to adjust her face slightly upwards until their eyes
met.

Regaining his grip on both hands he gave her an appraising look, his eyes
seeming to measure her very existence. Sphinxlike he continued his examination. 
Just when Anneliese thought she should pull away, Sebastian gave a insolent wink
and released her hands which fell limply to her sides.

"OK, what type of women is Ann Dracon?  Well, to start with Ann Dracon is smart,
very smart and she knows it.  She's organized, neat as the proverbial pin,
believes that cleanliness might not be right next to godliness but it isn't too
far away.  A real 'place for everything and everything in it's place' person. 
And that includes people.

She's scrappy and determined, almost like a terrier in that regard. Once she
gets that rag in her mouth she's going to shake it until it gives. Very iron
willed. Resolute almost to a fault.

"The face she reveals to the world isn't always the real her. She's like an
iceberg, 7/8ths of her is below the water line where it can't be seen.  She
likes people, enjoys company but doesn't like to get too close to any one
individual and doesn't let any one individual get too close to her.  She's
outgoing but part of that extroversion is a role she plays. I sense she does a
lot of role playing to cover up who she really is.  Inside she's a private
person, very reserved, often uncertain.

"Despite that control, I think there is a very deep and real hunger there, a
longing to experience, almost to consume her surroundings, to touch, taste, feel
everything. Any one who does break through that protective wall is going to have
their hands full." 

My god, thought Anneliese, who is this guy? Is he a stalker?  Has he been
following me? How does he know these things?

"I sense not quite emptiness," Sebastian went on all the while gauging her
reactions to his revelations with a penetrating eye, "but a waiting for
something, maybe a need to find a purpose in life, something bigger than herself
to believe in and to work toward. She's got real leadership qualities inside
her.  If she had been a male back in the 10th century she'd have been a crusader
with the Teutonic Knights. If she did have any previous lives she was probably a
suffragette in the 1910's.

"That's not to say she's perfect. Even with that sense of restraint sometimes
she wears her emotions a little too close to the skin, gets too agitated at the
little things too quickly. She has a tendency to pigeonhole people, more of that
'everything in it's place' syndrome but she's intelligent enough to recognize
this tendency and reevaluate based on new information. She doesn't suffer fools
gladly.

"Even though she tells herself she doesn't need anyone, she knows she lying.
She's looking for a partner, someone to have a relationship with that will be as
lasting as diamonds, someone who will help her get settled in the right place
like a pillow on a sofa. As independent as she is, there's a part of her that
wants to place herself under someone else's complete control. This part of her
wants to be mastered but only by someone with whom there is mutual love,
affection and emotional trust, who knows she's special and significant and who
respects and values her and the gift of her submission."

Anneliese began to feel like she was swaying on the edge of a promontory during
a raging storm, the beating in her chest imitating the thunder of the ocean
breaking on the rocks below. He's right. I'm like a story he knows by heart.

"There's really only one more thing I know for sure about Ann Dracon."

"What's that," asked Anneliese struggling mightily to maintain that reserve
Sebastian had so rightly identified.

"Her favourite food is shrimp."

That simple statement, "her favourite food is shrimp," jolted Anneliese from her
reverie like a shot of black expresso.

"Now how would you know that?"

Sebastian beamed like a little boy who had just found a red bicycle under the
Christmas tree.  He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a piece of paper
and handed it to Anneliese.  It was a half off coupon for the "all you can eat"
shrimp dinner at Captain Joe's Seafood Wharf.

"You dropped this when you bumped into me in the bathroom."

A month later, in a small room whose walls danced with the shimmering bands of
butterscotch and tortoiseshell luminescence cast by flickering candles, they
made love for the first time.

Tenderly, as though dealing with a wild and frightened animal, Sebastian set out
to calm Anneliese's disquiet. With slow, precise movements he underdressed her,
matching the removal of each layer of her clothing with the discarding of his
own, inviting but not commanding her participation in the unfolding of events.

Sebastian's unhurried demeanour demonstrated the consensual nature of their
undertaking, saying without words to Anneliese that we'll proceed at your pace,
act only when you are ready, go only as far as you want to go.

Her muscles, as tense as though stricken by tetanus, had relaxed and softened
under the delicate ministrations of his hands, their gentle kneading gradually
bringing out a more urgent needing in her.   The anxiety that had coursed
through her body like an electric current had changed as if it had been run
through a transformer, fear of what was about to happen converted into
anticipation.

Fingers pressed her flesh more firmly, their growing pressure communicating that
Sebastian shared in her spiralling excitement.  His lips descended on her open
mouth, bruising her lips against her teeth. Their tongues duelled like a pair of
lingual sabres; thrust, parry, counterthrust, surrender.

As the kiss was broken, Sebastian ran his hands in small circles down
Anneliese's chest until they reached her upthrust breasts, his teeth nibbling at
her ears and neck.  Anneliese moaned as he rasped his fingernails across her
erect nipples, their pebbled surface imitating crinkled thimbles. 

The young boy lowered his mouth to her tits, alternating sucking and chewing on
their heaving surface.  His hand moved down to toy with the hair above her
mound, a spicy smell emerging to perfume the air as his thumb rubbed vigorously
against her clitoris. Anneliese could feel the lips of her labia unfolding like
a chaise lounge on a warm summer afternoon. 

Arousal began to overwhelm the last remnants of Anneliese's reserve.  Her nails
dug into Sebastian's back, gouging their way south from shoulders to a tight
pair of buttocks, leaving bright red furrows in their wake. Then, with a move as
sudden as a salmon surmounting a dam, Anneliese body arched upward throwing
Sebastian back.

She grabbed Sebastian's face in both hands and peered intently into his eyes,
the green orbs reflecting back not only her own concupiscence , but a admixture
of compassion, concern and commitment.

"I'm a virgin," she said simply.

"So am I," replied Sebastian, his eyes growing serious as he bent his mouth
toward hers.

Releasing her hold, Anneliese laid back down on the mattress, her legs spreading
to make room between them for a knelling Sebastian.  Her arms reaching out for
him as he stretched his lanky body over hers.  Both bodies trembled as they made
contact.

With one hand Anneliese widened her already parted pussy, the other firmly
grasping Sebastian's pulsing manhood, hot and slick to the touch. Using her own
fingers she carefully slipped him inside her, like a boat gliding into its slip.

Gentle thrusting gave way to more forceful action as he battered against her
resistant hymen. She pushed back with equal vigour, wanting, needing to feel
fulfilment.  She felt the tear as he burst through, marking her passage from
maiden to woman.  Hearing her short, sharp exhalation of pain, he stopped,
unwilling to go on until her the movement of her hips reassured him, drawing him
deeper, urging faster and faster movement.

A sense of frenzy engulfed their lovemaking, the sheer eager excitement of their
first joining overcoming any clumsiness. Touching, stroking, devouring each
other, the sounds of their passion filled the air like a sensual symphony
composed for an orchestra of two.

Their orgasms came on them suddenly, an accident at the busy intersection of
their bodies. Sebastian felt as though he was exchanging his soul for another's
while Anneliese felt like her very body had burst into a rapturous bonfire, the
flames climbing to the highest heavens.

Savouring their newly created union, they came out of their mutual trance slowly
like skin divers pausing in their ascent to avoid the bends. No words passed
between them as they continued to caress each other with languorous feather
light touches. Words were unnecessary now and would even distract from the
moment. Their silence had a frequency all its own, the quiet broadcasting their
understanding of the true meaning of what had just happened.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, a pair of mummies entwined in the
wrappings of love,  the true murmuring of their hearts guiding their way into
their dreams.

Cannibal 4H Chapter 15: The Pinto Project by Eurytion

BY THE TIME HE ENTERED the breeding room, Hela and Luke had already immobilized
the young cow.  Although he could see from a distance that her skin was peppered
with coin-shaped fawn blotches the size of small strawberries, Joey walked over
to check the human  heifer's ear tag against his list. Carelessness and
complacency were the surest paths to catastrophe and Joey wanted everything this
new project to go as smoothly as possible. All the records for this undertaking
had to be precise and accurate. Every notation would be checked and
double-checked.

Like all young cattle ranchers, Joey had studied Mendel's laws regarding sexual
reproduction. Learning how to breed cattle to achieve desired characteristics
was one of the first things outside of how to care for human cattle that an
aspiring rancher learned.  Ranches that wanted to do more than just raise and
sell cattle turned to breeding. Creating a successful and accepted line of
cattle was far more rewarding, both to the reputation and the bank book, than
raising a line bred by someone else.

Joey's dad been the man who established the Coleman line of cattle that gave the
Geryon Cattle Farms its stature, even though it had required converting his girl
friend Marie Coleman to human cattle status.  While Joey's previous projects had
been successful and added some additional lustre to the ranch's prominence, they
fell short of his dad's achievement. That is until now.

Human cattle had a number of uses besides food. Certain glands and organs were
used to produce medicines. The offal and bones left after slaughtering made good
fertilizer. But next to food, human cattle were most highly prized for their
fine leathers. From white to yellow to red to black and all shades and
permutations in between, high quality leather from human cattle was sometimes
worth more than the finest meat. 

Although it would be a long-term procedure, Joey was turning his efforts toward
breeding a new line of human cattle, one whose skin would be dotted with patches
of different pigments, patches that would be almost totally contrasting and not
just variations of the same colour.  Joey called this new project "The Pinto
Project," after the horse of a number of different colours.

The young cow who was being prepared for breeding was the starting point for
Joey's genetic manipulations. She had a condition known as "chloasma" where
exposure to sunlight caused light brown spots to appear on the skin. These spots
did not fade with time but remained permanent as an ink stain on rayon.
Scientists had recently determined that the tendency to suffer from chloasma was
hereditary and not disease-based as originally believed. Joey hoped to take
advantage of this discovery.

He had purchased the human bovine at a livestock auction in a neighbouring
county. A small hard-scrabble farm had gone under and the few head of cattle it
possessed had been seized for auction. Unlike most ranches which assigned
numbers to their cows, this one had given them names. "Ruth" was the last, and
least, of the herd to be offered for sale.

She was descended from a line of cattle imported from Australia, a heritage that
showed very clearly. In addition to the discolouration, her skin was nubby and
marked by a number of scars both small and large, these having been brought
about by almost constant exposure to the weather. Her owners had kept this cow
in an outside pen for most of her life, the only shelter from the elements
coming from a small lean-to where she fought for space with other members of her
herd.

Her mid-length brown hair swept straight back from her brow to play around her
head in a Medusa's tangle of frizzy kinks. Her face was rectangular with a
broad, flat nose and a lower jaw that projected outward in a prognathous manner.
Bushy eyebrows loomed over a pair of dark, deep-set eyes. Only sign of softness
in her face was a set of bee stung lips. Joey was struck by the resemblance to a
bison he had once seen.

Overall, the human cattle's  body was muscular but unbalanced, as though she had
been put together from a kit with only mismatched pieces.  A s-curved neck
attached her head to an upper torso which barely narrowed at the waist. Her
breasts were hard and undersized when judged against her chest, their nipples
more like pimples than anything else. The stomach was flat and ridged, the
pockmark of her navel large enough to hold a small grape.

Her pudendum, covered with a woolly patch of bristly hair its colour more nutmeg
than that on her head, thrust forward like a game show attendant looking to be
picked from the crowd. Her labia were thick and folded, the clitoris jutting out
like a crooked piling at the end of a pier. Short bandy legs which ended in
thick soled feet whose toes resembled peanuts in the shell completed the
ensemble.

Despite the best efforts of the auctioneer, who used every means at his disposal
to wring a few more dollars out of the crowd, the cow had attracted little in
the ways of bids.  Ruth  was what they called a "carcass cull," meaning that
what meat she had on her was too poor quality to use for other than stews or
soup and even then a buyer would be lucky to turn a merger profit on his or her
purchase.

Most carcass culls at auction were sold either for use as pet food or for
"pleasure," a frowned upon but still permitted practice (particularly in the
case of lawbreakers who had been involuntarily converted as part of their
punishment) where the animal's ultimate demise was a source of entertainment for
their owner and invited spectators.  These deaths were always slow and usually
painful. Betting on how long an animal would last before expiring was common. 
It was the use of human livestock for these purposes that gave the cattle rights
activists a veneer of legitimacy. Joey's intervention saved Ruth from this fate.

"Sold and for cheaper than you can hook her and hide her and get out the back
way with her, provided you have any regard at all for the wear and tear of your
conscience which your bid makes me doubt," announced the disgruntled auctioneer
to the crowd as he gave the young rancher the bill of sale.

Hela stepped aside as Joey methodically checked Ruth's ear tag against his
record book.  At 6'3" the blonde towered over the rest of the farm hands. Of
unspecified Scandinavian background, she was all lines and angles, so thin as to
be almost cadaverous.

The best word to describe Hela was long; hair, legs, arms, even her fingers were
long.  Joey knew from personal experience that the old line about "all women
being the same height when you lay them on their back" didn't apply to Hela.

Mystery emanated from Hela like smoke from a barbecue.  No one really knew how
old she was, given her Nordic looks and her white skin as free of blemishes as
the finest porcelain, she could have run the gamut from 20 to 68 or maybe even
beyond. No one knew where she came from. Joey's dad had hired her years ago from
a work call at Rowena's.  And no one knew why she always wore dark glasses,
although some had made jokes about her really being a Swedish vampire. Hela
always took them in good stride but never would answer questions about her
origin.

For his part Joey didn't care. Hela was a good hand, hard working and someone
whose judgment around the ranch he could trust. She had proved that again today
with her choice of restraints for Ruth.

There were three options for restraining human cattle for live breeding. Which
one was used depended on which cow was being bred.  The simplest was the rack.
Made of iron piping it was shaped like an oversized "H" whose top was connected
to the ceiling with chains. The rack had connection points placed along both
sidebars to allow for the quick and easy use of wrist, ankle or knee cuffs.

 Cows ready for breeding or bulls ready for milking could attached to the rack
in a  spread eagle manner giving easy and safe access to their groins. Cows
could also be bent over the crossbar of the rack, which accentuated their
vaginal area and bred from that position.

The second method was the bench. A simple coffee table style structure with
detachable vertical arm poles it also allowed the cow to be bred in one of two
positions. If the cow was to be bred on her back, the legs were spread out and
up through the use of ankle cuffs attached to the ceiling with ropes while the
arms are secured underneath the bench. The cow could also be placed in a
knelling position on the bench, knee and ankle cuffs spreading her legs well
apart and holding them in position while her arms were again secured under the
table.  The bench could be used alone or, sometimes in combination with the
rack.

For Ruth's first breeding, Hela had rejected both the rack and the bench,
preferring to go with the sling.

The sling was a rectangular piece of leather the size of a small hammock which
was suspended by ropes and pulleys from the ceiling.  Ruth was lying on her back
in the sling, wrist cuffs attaching her arms to the ropes above her head.  The
end of the sling looked like a pair of pants which had been cut in half and
separated front and back with the half-legs of the pants ending at the knees.

This cutout in the swing would allow the bull free and easy access to Ruth's
vagina and enable deep penetration during the breeding. A small portion of the
young cow's buttocks hung over the edge of the sling. Her legs were spread wide
apart and secured in their position by leather straps. The sling's eight pulleys
allowed the cow to be lowered or raised according to need. It was even possible
to adjust the vertical angle. The sling would move easily during the breeding
process and, with more experienced cattle, the breeder could even make use of
the cow's mouth during the breeding if he so desired.

Out of force of habit, Joey walked around the sling to check Ruth's bindings.
Her dark eyes followed his movements and gave him a grateful look when he
stopped to stroke her frizzy hair. The auctioneer had assured Joey that,
although Ruth had been taken many times by the one bull on her farm, her former
owners had made sure to keep up her contraceptive injections.

When he reached the cutout, Hela handed Joey a jar of lubricant.  Because of the
forced nature of the breeding, some cows did not emit enough of their own
secretions to allow for easy penetration. The application of some type of cream
before the breeding started was common practice.

After dipping his fingers into the viscous ointment, he began to massage Ruth's
labia, spreading the gel on the inside of their wavy surface. As Ruth widened,
the fingers on Joey's right hand returned to the jar, which was now being held
by Hela, for a second helping of lubricant, while his left hand rested on Ruth's
public hairs, the thumb strumming her clitoris like an old banjo.  Ruth had not
been dipped in the depilatory tank nor had her hair been cut and styled into the
farm's trademark bun. To show that this project was different, Joey planned to
leave the cattle in their natural state. For the same reason he had allowed the
female cow to keep the name "Ruth" rather than assigning her a new number.

His fingers again covered in ointment, Joey began to gently coat the inside of
Ruth's vagina. He could feel her adding her own moisture to the mix and a
pleasant musky smell began to fill the air, intensifying as Joey increased his
efforts.

The young rancher glanced up at Hela, whose face remained dispassionate as
though carved from a glacier. Boy, at this point in the breeding, Ruth's breasts
would be red and sore from Linda Sue's fingers and we'd have to put a towel down
because Linda Sue would be starting to drip on the floor, he thought. This never
does seem to affect Hela though.

 I wish Linda Sue was here but she's out shopping with Terri. Said they're
buying me a little gift and I'll get it tonight. I guess I can keep my pants
zipped until then.

The sound of footsteps filled the breeding room. Luke had brought in the bull.

Bull 36M was a remarkable sight. Not because of his physique which was only
average or even because of his penis which was actually a little smaller than
the average for the Geryon Ranch. Linda Sue usually helped pick out the farm's
bulls and she liked them big. Said she liked when they had more meat on them.
Then after their usefulness as a stud was over, they went better with the beans.

What made Bull 36M extraordinary was his skin, a deep sooty black, almost like
an overripe eggplant but spotted throughout with patches of white almost as pale
as Hela's skin. This bull suffered from vitiligo, another hereditary condition
but unlike chloasma where extra pigment was added to the skin, vitiligo caused
the absence of any skin pigment.  It was these two conditions that Joey hoped
would create his new line of Pinto human cattle.

Hela set the jar down on a table next to the sling and stepped forward to help
Luke with the bull. The old farm hand stepped back as her long thin fingers
wrapped expertly around the bull's ebony rod looking like strips of vitiligo on
his penis. She began to masturbate the bull, coaxing him to a strong erection
while leading him toward the waiting cow. Once the bull was standing in the
cutout Hela attached his halter to the sling, restricting his ability to move
away.

Hela's fingers positioned the bull's penis at the aperture of Ruth's vagina.
Reaching around behind the stud animal she gave it a pinch on the buttocks. 36M
lunged forward burying a third of his penis into the cow.

The animal's natural instincts took over and the sling began to rock to and fro
with the force of the coupling. Hela made some adjustments to the tension to
prevent it from reaching an arc like a swing on a playground and separating the
two rutting animals.

Luke, who had seen this event hundreds of times in his career, ambled slowly
over to the coffee pot on the far wall for some java.  Joey eyed Hela with
curiosity, noting that even now the cotton tee shirt which fit snugly over
Hela's breasts betrayed no sign of excitement. 

Joey remembered that on those occasions when Hela had decided to make love with
the "young master" as she referred to him in the clinches her approach had been
almost clinical. It was clear that she had enjoyed herself, as had Joey. But he
always felt she viewed sex as some necessary but not particularly desirable
function and that she brought to lovemaking the same attitude she did to her
work.

"I believe in taking a job that needs to be done and doing it to the best of my
ability." she had told Joey early in her tenure with the ranch. "That's what
give me pleasure and satisfaction, the knowledge of a job well done." He had
never left her bed unsatisfied, she had certainly done her job well in that
regard but she would bring the same focus on performing well to tying her shoes.
In that regard, Hela was not at all like Linda Sue or even Terri both of whom
thought that sex was the most fun you could have with your clothes off or
sometimes with them on.

A sharp scream distracted Joey from his daydream. Worried that 36M had injured
Ruth, he was relieved to see that the exclamation had only punctuated the cow's
orgasm.  A series of grunts, followed by a slump in his body told Joey that the
bull had deposited his sperm into Ruth's vagina.

Luke set his coffee cup down on the table and unhooked the bull from the sling.
After 36M had been led away from the sling, Hela stepped into his place to
insert a vaginal plug into the newly bred cow. Satisfied that it wouldn't slide
out, she readjusted the sling to lower Ruth's head and raise her vagina. This
would aid the sperm in reaching the eggs waiting in the cow's uterus.

"Hey Joey," said Luke. "I know you've got other things to do and you probably
want to get ready to see Miss Linda Sue.  Why don't you go on up to the house
and get cleaned up. Hela and I can take it from here.

"Thanks Luke, I guess I could use a bath."

"You know boy, it's a good thing I'm not a few years younger," Luke said his
craggy face dancing with mischief, "or I'd give you a run for your money with
that gal."

"I give thanks for your age every night in my prayers," Joey teased back.  "If
you're sure you don't need me...."

"Go on son. Everything is under control here. Say hi to Miss Linda Sue for me,
tell her if she wants to sneak off tonight to be with a real man, I'll give be
glad to give her my love in person."

With a laugh and a wave of his hand, Joey left the breeding room.


Linda Sue had shown up at 7:00 pm sharp, a rarity for her since she always ran
at least 10 minutes late for everything. Tucked under her arm was an elongated
box measuring about 4 inches wide, two inches deep and two feet long, topped
with a bow made out of silk.  Linda Sue allowed Joey to hold the box but
wouldn't let him open it until later that night.

"Nine o'clock. That's when you can open your gift and not a minute before."

After the living room clock had sounded nine times, Joey found the box contained
two pieces of paper rolled into scrolls and tied it a ribbon of the same silk as
the bow. These papers rested on top of a cardboard insert.  With Linda Sue
watching carefully, her tongue popping out of her mouth to moisten her lips,
Joey unrolled the scrolls.

They were a pair of authorization covenants signed by Linda Sue and Terri and
notarized by Beth Hardie, which gave Joey the right to have both girls
temporarily converted into human equine for the purposes of competing in the
Chiron Cup races.

"Don't stop there Joey," said Linda Sue. "There's another gift for you in the
box."

Joey removed the cardboard to find a new, red leather riding crop it surface
glistening with freshly applied oil.

"If you want a chance to use that tonight," Linda Sue said. "Come on out with me
to the breeding room. Luke should have Terri on the rack by now and I'm more
than ready for the sling."

"You're sure you want to do this," he asked.

"More than sure," she replied. "Terri talked me into it, not that it was hard.
And she's right. This will not only be fun. We're going to win the Cup for you."

Cannibal 4H Chapter Sixteen: At The Stables by Eurytion

JOEY STEPPED DOWN FROM THE TRUCK, his boots skidding off the worn running board. 
One of these days I need to replace that, he chided himself as he regained his
balance.

Walking toward the offices of Kyner Stables he gave the operation a visual
inspection. His practiced eye liked what he saw.  The four outbuildings seemed
to be in good repair. The various personnel in his immediate view were
well-groomed and were working hard at various tasks, always a good sign in
Joey's mind.

A number of horses were being put through their paces on the track while others
were being exercised in the three smaller paddocks. The fence surrounding the
nearest paddock felt solid to his touch and all the fences appeared to have been
freshly painted. The entire operation seemed imbued with an air of competency
and purpose. So far I think I've made the right choice he thought as he entered
the office.

Minutes later Joey was sitting in front of a well polished mahogany desk, a mug
of coffee placed carefully to his right. A stand with several pipes adorned one
corner the ashtray built in, with only a two-line telephone, a maroon leather
cup filled with old-fashioned ink pens and a small pile of papers to keep them
company. Directly across the three and a half foot expanse sat the manager of
the stable, Mr. Dirks. 

Dirks set his tea down on a pink sandstone coaster, the cup fitting perfectly
into an dark ring where previous cups of  Oolong had deposited their
condensation. With a small "humph" he cleared his throat and began to address
Joey in a voice rich and dark like fine wine.

"Mr. Geryon," he said enunciating carefully.  "As you have requested we have our
best available trainer and rider under contract for your two ponies and we will
do our best to have your entries ready in time for the Chiron Cup races. But I
would be remiss in my duties to you and this stable I did not advise you that
you have set a difficult challenge before us."

"Mr. Dirks," Joey responded unconsciously trying to match the manager's plummy
inflection. "I came to Kyner Stables because of your reputation for meeting the
tough goals. Is there somewhere else I should have gone?"

"Mr. Geryon, I want you to fully understand the extent of the task we have
accepted on your behalf.  If any stable can help you to achieve your desired
result under these conditions, it is Kyner Stables." said Dirks, his old school
accent ever so slightly tinged with an undertone of asperity. "This office
speaks for itself in that regard."

Joey took a moment to examine his surroundings.  Three glass-fronted cases
filled with trophies of all shapes, sizes and hues stood against one
wood-paneled wall. Two other walls were speckled with photographs of human
equines. Some showed the horses in action, their bodies straining against taunt
harnesses, their feet kicking small clods of dirt back toward their drivers.
Others were taken in the winner's circle, wreaths around the horse's neck, their
drivers drinking sparkling wine from many of the same trophies now showcased in
the office. Framed clippings from newspapers and magazines detailing the
triumphs and victories enjoyed by the stable and its charges completed the
collage.

"Mr. Dirks. I don't doubt the ability of you or your people at all. " Joey
stated apologetically.  "I brought my ponies here precisely because of your past
accomplishments. This is all new to me. I'm a cattle rancher, not a horse
breeder or racer. Winning the Chiron Cup with these two ponies is important to
me. Please don't mistake my nervousness for disrespect. You're the best and I
know it. I'm grateful to you for taking this job on such short notice."

Dirks nodded his head in acknowledgment, his thinning hair revealing the
beginning of a monk's tonsure on its crown.

"Thank you. As I was saying, our preliminary evaluations indicate your second
pony, Linda Sue, is in excellent condition.  However, your lead pony, Terri, is
not.  We will have a fuller idea of what needs to be done once they reach the
stables. At this time we believe we are going to have to work her hard and fast
to have her ready on race day. This will not be any holiday at the shore for
her."

Joey laughed loudly. "That's exactly what I told her before she signed the
authorization covenant.  She knows what she's in for. Told me she wanted to be
and I quote '...just another farm animal forced to do whatever her master
wanted.'"

"I am not sure she really knew what she was getting into but I promise you, we
will have her tight on Cup Day."

Joey gave the manager a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. "Tight?"

"Forgive me Mr. Geryon, tight is simply another way of saying ready to race. We
all fall prey to the habit of using the distinctive terminology of our
professions while forgetting that others may not be as familiar as we ourselves
are. Since this is your first time out as an owner some of these terms will be
new to you. But if you decided to continue your involvement with us past these
races, you'll get to know the nomenclature without any difficulty.

"To continue, I have assigned Bevan Vass as her trainer and Cort Szeman as her
driver. Mr. Vass is our best trainer. Mr. Szeman is one of our top young drivers
with a bright future before him. I could have designated one of our more
experienced drivers but I think Mr. Szeman  is the perfect match for your
ponies."

"I trust your judgment in these matters."

"I can assure you, Mr. Geryon, that your confidence is not misplaced. Now there
are just a few matters that I need to review with you."

"Such as?"

"You have requested that your ponies be treated in all possible respects as
equine and not as human. But there are some areas where we will have to handle
them in a different manner. As an example, all our permanent stock are given a
laryngectomy to prevent them from speaking. Since your entries will regain their
human status after the races, we will not be doing this.

"However, their being able to speak around our other animals would cause some
difficulties we would prefer to avoid.  With your permission, we will be giving
your ponies a series of special injections that will deaden their vocal cords. I
promise you these injections will not hurt them and they will be timed to wear
off a day or so after the races."

"Go ahead, that won't be a problem."

"Now there is the issue of which races to run in?  We have already entered your
ponies in all the fledgling condition races they are eligible for.  The week
before the meet we will adjust their entries to match their capabilities. At
that point we will have a better idea of the maximal schedule they will need to
run to win the Cup.

"A side consideration is whether or not you want these ponies returned to you
after the races. Depending on how these ponies take to the tack, I might be able
to put one or both of them in a claiming race on Cup Day."

"I'm sorry to keep interrupting Mr. Dirks but I'm not sure what a claiming race
is."

Dirks smiled.  "In a claiming race, you enter your horse into the race at a
price that we will help you determine.  Then, regardless of how your horse
performs, another owner can 'claim' or buy your horse for that price. You would
get to keep all the winnings and trophies while the horse goes to a new stable.

"Claiming races are the racing industry's way of keeping horses of similar
abilities running against each other. If you enter a horse against inferior
competition it will wind up being sold for less than it is worth.  If you enter
it in a race where the competition is too keen for your horse's ability you will
not win any purses. This arrangement keeps things even and makes for more
interesting races."

"I'm a little confused here," said Joey. "Both Linda Sue and Terri are entered
in the fledgling company. Doesn't the authorization covenant contain a guarantee
that they'll return to their previous status as people once the races are over?"

The manager spoke in an avuncular manner as his thick fingers toyed with a pen,
snapping its metal cup on and off with a series of sharp clicks.

 "It is really not as much of a guarantee of regained stature as it is an
assurance that they will not undergo an involuntary conversion. We have actually
found that a number of these 'fledglings' opt for a permanent transformation,
particularly if they've enjoyed some success at the track. 

"Because they are fledglings they would, of course, be placed in the claiming
race on a provisional basis subject to their new owner being able to get them to
sign a consensual conversion certificate. If they do sign such a certificate
they move to the new stable, if they do not sign they go home. Either way you
still would get to keep the claiming price."

"Sorry Mr. Dirks but I've other plans for both these ponies. As tempting as it
is I'm going to pass on the claiming race."

"Certainly, that is your choice to make. I merely wanted to inform you of all of
the possibilities.  If it is not being too invasive of your privacy, might I
inquire if your future plans for these ponies include another form of
conversion, one more in line with your chosen occupation?"

Joey sat in silence, a Cheshire cat grin playing about his lips.

"I understand, discretion is a virtue," said Dirks sagely. "Still, should your
ponies at some time undergo a more lasting metamorphosis into cattle I would be
most appreciative of an opportunity to savour the results of such an occurrence. 
While horse meat has been a fashionable viand among some,  I personally find it
to be rather stringy and less than savory. And I have heard from people whose
opinion I respect that there is no higher quality meat than that which comes
from Geryon Cattle Farms."

A look passed between them like the silent exchange of two stockbrokers running
up the price of a penny stock. Joey gave the manager a discerning nod.

"Well, Mr. Geryon. We have covered my brief agenda. Perhaps you have some
matters you wish to discuss?"

Joey leaned away from the desk to take a sip of his coffee. A small grimace
passed over his face as the now tepid beverage crossed his tongue. Always alert
to the nuances of his clients, the manager picked up his phone and asked for a
fresh cup of coffee to be brought in for Joey.

"Thanks Mr. Dirks. As a farm kid you'd think I'd be used to drinking cold coffee
by now. No matter how hot it is when you start a chore, it's always lukewarm by
the time you finish. Maybe that's why I don't like to drink it cold when I don't
have to.

"I do have a couple of things I wanted to ask you about as well as a special
request."

"Please feel free. I am sure that we will be able to accommodate you."

"I'd like to take a tour of the grounds before I leave, just to get a better
feel for the place."

"Of course. Once we are done here I will see if Jemma is free. I am sure that
she will be more than happy to escort you on your visit. How else can I be of
service?"

Their discussion was briefly interrupted as Joey was served a new mug of coffee,
the steam rising lazily from its inky surface. Joey blew slowly on the hot brew
before taking a cautious sip.

"I'd like my entries to wear a specific set of colours."

"That will be no problem. If you would like to tell me what they are..."

Joey reached into his shirt pocket. "I have a sample right here...."

"Very good. You do not need to show them to me. Simply leave your sample with
Mrs. Higgins on the way out, she will see to the necessary tailoring."

"Thanks," said Joey putting the fabric back into his pocket.  "Look, I want to
let you know that I won't be in your hair.  We occasionally do conversions for
people.  Special orders type of stuff where they've bought at auction or found a
stray or even have a family member who's fallen out of favour they want
transformed into dinner.  We don't do a lot of these but every once in awhile we
dip our toes into that line of work.

"Anyway, I hate it when these clueless customers who think they know what they
are doing come to the farm and make idiotic suggestions.  I won't do that to
you.  My ponies are in your hands and I'm not going to be hanging around.  I
still have a cattle ranch to help run.  But I would appreciate getting progress
reports on a regular basis."

" I see no problem there. And you are always welcome to visit your ponies. We
only ask that you call first to allow us to make the proper arrangements.  Now,
Mr. Geryon, if there are no further matters," Dirks said rising from his chair.

"I'm sorry Mr. Dirks, there is one other thing, although I'm embarrassed to
bring it up."

Dirks sat back in his chair wondering what could possibly embarrass the young
cattle farmer. The lad had already indicated that he was content to allow the
stables to function as his agent without his hands on intervention so it was
unlikely that he wanted to do something as unwise as drive his own ponies. All
of the training, stabling and entry fees had been paid so it would not be about
money.  Unless he expected some sort of "kickback" of the fees.  But the client
investigation had shown that the Geryons, both father and son, were considered
to be honest and above board in their dealings. If it had been otherwise, Kyner
Stables would have passed on their trade.  If it was otherwise they still would. 
This should prove to be intriguing.

"Mr. Geryon, I assure you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about. We are
here to serve your needs to the fullest extent possible."

"It's about breeding my ponies."

The manager's left eyebrow went up like a furry caterpillar inching forward on a
leaf.  "Am I to understand that you want us to have your ponies bred while they
are in residence at the stables?  Are you looking to bring them to foal?  We may
be able to arrange that for you, even under the restrictions placed upon us by
the covenant.  There are a number of fine blood lines currently stabled here or
we could go outside of Kyner and order sperm for use with artificial
insemination. This would be a different matter than preparing them to race and
we would have to readjust your fees. But if that is your desire..." he said his
voice trailing off to await a response from the squirming youngster.

"No, no, no. I don't want them to get pregnant while they're here. That's not
what I mean," said Joey.  "Maybe it would help if I were more explicit?"

"Perhaps it would at that," said the manager, a small smile playing along the
edges of this mouth.
 
"These two ponies are "hot to trot" and I don't mean on the race track." Joey
noticed Dirks wincing at the word play. "Sorry, but I was raised on a diet of
the Marx Brothers. Both Linda Sue and Terri are extremely sexual individuals. 
They're used to having sex almost every day and some days more than once. It's
almost a case of 'they've gotta have it.'

"When we convert a human to cattle status, one of the techniques we use is sex.
The sexual satisfaction of the animal becomes a reward for proper behaviour. Do
the right thing, act in the proper manner and you can come.  We also use sex to
break down their mental processes.  When they have to service humans whether
they want to or not, it helps to reenforce the fact that they aren't human any
more; they're only livestock and subject to the whims of their masters. Of
course, there's much more to it than that. Drugs play a major role in
conversions along with other procedures. But then you probably know all of this
already because I imagine you're conversion process is similar."

The manager spread his hands upwards and out in a sign to continue.

"I just wanted to let you know that it's OK to use the reward of sex as a
motivational tool with both Linda Sue and Terri.  Lord knows they've both used
it often enough on men. It would be nice to see the tables turned on them for a
change. I wouldn't want them forced into having sex; we're not looking for a
permanent conversion here.  But letting them have an orgasm or two as an
incentive for extra effort.  I think that's a good way to go.

" Aahh, here I am giving you advice just like those clients of ours I complain
about. Mr. Dirks,  I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm really not. I just
wanted to let you know that I wouldn't have any problem if they got laid as a
reward for a good performance."

A smile stretched the manager's face like a rubber band. "Mr. Geryon, please do
not concern yourself about this matter. I am glad that you brought it up and I
want to assure you that I do value your counsel.  You know your ponies better
than anyone here and I can assure you that both Mr. Vass and Mr. Szeman will
benefit from what you have told me today.

"There's only one more particular that needs to be attended to and then you can
start your tour of the stables. Where should we pick up your ponies tomorrow?"

Cannibal 4H Chapter17: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion

Linda Sue tossed fitfully on her bed, sleep avoiding her like a vampire avoids
crosses. A satiated Joey slept limply on his side next to her, small
"wuff"sounds escaping his mouth with each exhalation of breath. Linda Sue moved
her loins eastward, attempting to roll away from the moisture left by their
recent coupling. Why is it that women always have to sleep in the wet spot, she
thought. But it wasn't the dampness that was keeping Linda Sue awake. Her mind
was spinning in circles like a hamster on a wheel and getting just about as far.

The morning, not all that far away now, would mark her debut as livestock. Even
after the vigourous carnal calisthenics that had capped off the night, the
thought of being treated as a human equine had her pussy dripping like an
overripe peach with a fresh bite taken out of it;  her sleepless nerves pulsing
with excitement at the upcoming loss of her human status, temporary though it
would be. Finally, the years of wondering, fantasizing and dreaming would become
reality. She would be no more than an animal; her thoughts and desires mattering
less than those of an ant at a picnic.

From an early age, Linda Sue knew that her life would not be a story whose
narrative would proceed from start to finish in a straight-forward and
deliberative manner; each chapter leading logically to the next with no
digressions from the main plot to divert the tale into tangled literary alleys.
Her life would be full of stylistic turnings, meandering from point to point,
brimming with experiments and attempts to be different, not just the same old
story of man meets girl, man sleeps with girl, man eats girl, man meets new
girl. Hopefully, at its close, there would be enough triumphs along the way to
justify her life's story. One thing she was sure of, at the end of its telling
would be Joey Geryon.

Well before she knew what sex was about, Linda Sue knew that her life was
unalterably intertwined with Joey's. She had no doubt that she was put on earth
to take care of Joey and to meet his needs in whatever way was necessary. Even
as a prepubescent child she recognized that Joey was meant to be her lord if not
quite her master.

This didn't mean she would give into Joey on every matter or that she would let
Joey boss her around.  She saw her duty as guiding and protecting Joey and if
that meant disobeying him at times so be it.  She wasn't going to be a stupid
bimbo, jumping every time he snapped his fingers. She was an individual who
would do her best to protect Joey from making major mistakes in life.

But what Linda Sue herself struggled with was how she could best serve Joey. 
Her indecision had started when she was 13.  One night that summer, she had
followed Joey and Billy to where they camped out under the stars of the Hewitts'
west meadow. They were always sneaking out there by themselves and she wanted to
see what they were up to.

Sliding through the tall grass on her belly, her pigtails full of burrs and weed
seeds, she got close enough to the campfire to hear them talking, talking about
her.

"Come on Joey, I told you who I want to see roasting on a spit. Tell me who
you'd want."

Joey didn't even pause before answering. "Linda Sue."

"Really?"

"Yeah, every time I see that little ass of hers running down the hall my mouth
starts to water. I can't make up my mind whether I want to cover her in barbecue
sauce or come. Eat her or screw her, screw her or eat her; it's a tough choice."

"So let's go get her and do both."

Joey laughed as he threw another stick on the campfire, red sparks rising up to
the night sky like a flight of miniature Phoenix seeking the stars. "Sure thing
Billy, we'll do it tonight, right here in the meadow."

Billy scowled. "No not tonight, next week.  Her folks aren't home next weekend. 
We can sneak over to her house and grab her. We'll bring her out here and make
her do a strip tease for us. If she doesn't want to we'll tear her clothes off
her ourselves. She won't have any use for them when we're done with her. She's
just meat, we can do anything we want with her.

"First we'll make her blow us both. Then we'll fuck her. Then we'll cook her.
It'll be great."

Joey felt a stirring in his loins, the vision of he and Billy hand-cranking a
spitted but still alive Linda Sue above a crackling fire sending a rush of blood
to his dick.  He could see her body writhing as it was caressed by the flames,
her eyes starring at him in supplication as the smaller circles made by his
hands and arms caused her to rotate in larger circles over the fire. In his mind
he could hear the sizzling of her hair burning off, smell the sharp tang of
flesh just starting to char and cook.  Even as his dick grew harder his mouth
filled with saliva at the thought of how Linda Sue would taste.

"Oh yeah," said Joey. "That would be great. She's a little cocktease anyhow, the
way she wears those tight white blouses over her tits, that middle button
unbuttoned just so guys can see her bra, like the coloured lace doesn't show
through already. And when she wears those tight pants she gets a definite case
of camel toe. I can see every lip line she has. It's about time she started
taking care of those hardons she's always giving me."

Joey unsnapped his pants and dropped them to the ground. Linda Sue got a brief
blurred glimpse of his rampant young prick before Joey's fist closed around it.
She thought briefly of trying to crawl closer to get a better look but decided
not to, consoling herself with the idea that before the week was out she would
make sure she not only got a closer look at it, she would feel, smell and taste
it.

"We'll bring out some sawhorses to tie her over. That way she can suck one of us
off while the other one fucks her in the ass," said Joey getting into the
fantasy, his hand rising and falling while he talked. "And then ... when we're
done..."

"We'll spit her," said Billy who had joined Joey in jacking off.

"We'll spit her," confirmed Joey.  "You can hold her head up so the spit will go
straight through.  We'll have to tie her tight because she's going to struggle.
We don't have any of the drugs they usually give meat being spitted so it's
gonna hurt her."

"We can hold her down. Maybe we could even have Royce out here with us. He's
helped cook enough young girls at the cannibal fair."

"Nope just you and me."

"OK Joey just you and me.  But we're going to have our hands full. Once that
spit starts in she'll be squirming like a fresh dipper of pancake batter on a
hot grill."

"I know. We'll grease it up so the first few inches will go in easy. After that,
well, I'll just have to push as hard as I can.  She's going to scream so we'll
have to gag her."

"I'll gag her with my cock," said Billy, his breath coming in shorter spurts as
his climax approached. "I'll shove it so far down her throat she can't make a
sound."

"Then you'll be the one making the sound when she bites off your cock. I've seen
cattle that were live-spitted bite clean through one of those rods they use to
keep their heads up and those things are made out of two inches of oak. She'll
treat your pecker like a Slim Jim."

Billy spurted onto the ground at the thought of Linda Sue chewing on his cock
while Joey continued to fist his own maypole.

"After she's spitted we'll put her on the fire. She'll still be alive but the
spit will have ruined her vocal cords so she won't be able to scream. She won't
even be able to whimper. And we'll turn her and watch her brown and smear her
with barbecue sauce until she's done.  And then we'll carve the meat from her
bones and..."

Joey's control and his balls burst at the same time, the stream of sperm jetting
from the tip of his prick almost reaching the fire two feet away.

The night meadow was quiet while the two boys regained their composure. Linda
Sue quivered in the shadows beyond the firelight, wanting and needing to go to
Joey but afraid of the consequences.

Ever since the great disaster and its attendant famine had struck 80 years ago,
a person's status as a human being was not guaranteed but had become a mutable
right. What had started as a last resort to conditions that threatened the
extinction of the species had become ingrained in society, first through custom
then through law. People could lose their position as human and become chattel.

Once the notion of people as chattel was accepted, the concept of a non-human
caste spread to other uses beyond physical labour. As the famine grew worse,
cannibalism became widespread.  By the time the crisis had ended, fifty years
ago, the social structure had permanently changed.

For many women two stark options presented themselves; they were either mate or
meat and, quite often both. Nor were men immune to the effects of the famine. 
The human cattle farms which sprang up were equal opportunity employers as
people were glad to eat any meat put on the table, be it male or female.

So Linda Sue had lived with, accepted and even embraced the possibility that her
ultimate fate would be to grace a supper table. And now, having heard Joey
proclaim his intentions to have her live-spitted, she felt like a doe who had
just spied a hunter creeping her way through the brush, rifle at the ready.

Tears began to puddle in the corner of her eyes as she contemplated her fate. 
Joey wants me as meat. He's going to take me next weekend. I'm not going to
marry Joey. We're not going to have children. We're not going to grow old
together. He'll do that with some one else. I'm dinner to him. Nothing more.

Finally, just as Linda Sue began to rise up out of the grass, intending to walk
into the camp and surrender herself to Joey, the two boys continued their
conversation.

"It's set then," said Billy pulling up his pants. "I'll get the sawhorses and
rope and you can bring the spit and y-poles from the farm."

"No Billy, it's not all set. We're not going to roast Linda Sue next weekend,"
responding Joey as he tucked his shirt into his pants.

"Why not? Don't you want to?"

"Why not? Well, for starters, how about the fact that it's illegal. Linda Sue is
a human, not human cattle. She hasn't been converted and you know the penalty
for involuntary conversion. You can't just go grabbing people and barbecuing
them. You know that as well as I do."

"OK, so we'll buy her from her parents and have her converted."

"And how are we going to pay her parents for her?"

"I don't know. Don't you have any money saved up."

Joey tossed his head in annoyance at his friend's thickness. "Sure I do but not
nearly enough to pay what her parents would want, assuming that they'd want to
sell her. And even if I did have enough money to buy her I'm not sure I would."

"What do you mean you wouldn't buy her? What have we been talking about here?"

"Don't be L-12, moron. All we've been doing is talking, not planning. Try not to
get your dick dreams confused with reality here."

Now Billy was getting annoyed at Joey's attitude. " Look dickweed, you can't
tell me you don't want to roast Linda Sue. I know better."

"Hey maybe I want to roast her, maybe I want to do something else."

"Yeah," Billy challenged, "what else?"

"I dunno, maybe marry her?"

Billy began to laugh.  Holding his sides, he rocked back and forth. "Oh that's
great. You want to marry a 13-year old."

"I didn't say I wanted to marry her," replied Joey somewhat embarrassed at his
friend's ridicule. "I said maybe I might want to marry her someday maybe."

'Hell, you don't want to marry her, you just want to slip her your Woodrow."

"Well, that too," said Joey a smile on his face.  "But there's something about
Linda Sue..."

"You mean besides those big tits and that tight ass?"

"Yeah, besides that.  I don't know Billy. Sure, she's only 13 and I'm only 14
but I think she's the girl for me. Besides it'll be years before I have to
decide whether to marry her or marinate her. Until then I think she and I can
have a lot of fun together."

"All right then.  So go ahead. Do what ever you want with Linda Sue. I don't
care. But if we're not going to roast her next weekend can we roast Alice Kipfer
instead?"

Joey chucked an empty beer can at Billy's head. 

Ever since she had overheard that conversation in the meadow, Linda Sue had
worked hard to prepare herself for either eventuality. She had dedicated herself
to pleasing him, no matter what her final end would turn out to be. Tomorrow
when she was delivered to Kyner Stables she would get her first real taste of
one of her possible destinies. Who knows, she thought to herself, perhaps
becoming a human horse, even on a temporary basis, would give her enough
experience to want to nudge Joey in one direction or another.

A moan turned her attentions away from her inner dialogue and toward the man
lying next to her in the bed. Joey had thrown his covers off and his male staff
was sticking almost straight up. Maybe I can wake him up for one more fuck
before morning she thought bending over to engulf its ruddy mushroom head in her
moist sucking mouth, her swirling tongue enjoying the tangy flavour of his dried
sperm mingled with the cardamon taste added by her own effusions.

Anneliese awoke with a shudder, the biting scent of a burning sulphur match
still in her nostrils, Sebastian's final cries still echoing in her head.  Her
rumpled sheets were soaked with moisture, not from sexual passion but rather the
cold sweat of nightmares. She'd had that dream again, the one that sat on her
shoulder like a carrion crow, its black presence a reminder of failure,
heartache, betrayal  and a harbinger of some yet unrealized doom.

Knowing there was no sense in trying to get back to sleep after the dream, she
drew her faded terry cloth robe tightly around her and went out to the kitchen
to brew some blackberry tea. At least that will help dispel some of the residual
horror from the dream even if it didn't keep the boogie man away. Besides she
needed to plan her next action.

The dream always started the same way. She is naked, walking down a dark
corridor, with only faint illumination coming from two small strips of light on
the floor. Some one's hand is guiding her way;  pushing from behind, hurrying
her along this stygian hallway. She bumps into the end of the path.  It is a
closed door.

A hand brushes past her ribs, pausing to cup a breast, lightly tug at a nipple.
Her flesh welcomes the contact, the nipple growing hard. Moisture trickles
between her legs.

The door is opened and she is blinded by brightness. Her sight is overloaded by
the sheer radiance ahead. Her hands try to go up to rub her eyes but they can't
move. They are tied behind her back.  She blinks. She blinks again. Her eyes
begin to adjust.

She's in a small room filled with people. They are watching her, their faces
twisted with emotion. Some are excited and happy. Some leer at her in a sexual
manner. These people are partially undressed and fondling each other. Only one
person, an older man, looks sad.

Vendors are going through the crowd. Some are dressed in clown outfits and are
selling balloons and cotton candy to children. Some are dressed in white
uniforms with white, pointed paper caps on their heads. They are selling
sausages with the cry "Get your Ann on a stick here."

People are lined up at a table located at the side of the stands. They are
writing on a life-sized diagram of a woman. The woman is nude with dotted lines
dividing the various areas of her body into portions. The people are writing
their names in the outlined areas.

A woman approaches her. The woman is dressed from head to toe in tight black
leather. The woman's large breasts strain against her top like a pair of
prisoners trying to escape a cell.  The woman is carrying an oversized fork in
one hand and a jar labelled "sauce." in the other. The woman's smile, seen
through a jet black mask, causes a wave of nausea to course through her body.

The crowd begins to chant. "Spit her, spit her." They wave pennants and stomp
their feet in time with the chant. "Spit her. Spit her."

The hand touches her spine below the shoulders. It pushes her forward toward an
old-fashioned loving seat.  She slumps over the seat, her bones turning to
water.  The woman in black puts down her fork and jar.  She picks up a long
piece of shiny pointed metal. A black fist carries the rod over her back. The
hand returns empty.

Anneliese feels a warm wetness spread over her groin. I've peed myself she
thinks.  But it is just vegetable oil. She is being prepared.

The guiding hand spreads the oil all over her crotch. It makes sure that plenty
is smeared on and in her pussy. The hand withdraws. It is replaced by the feel
of metal. The chant picks up in speed and volume. "Spit her. Spit Her."

Her pussy lips are pulled wide apart.  The gauntleted hands of the woman in
black tilts her head up. Their eyes meet.  Fear rises in her throat like a clot
of blood. The woman in black laughs. It sounds like malignant pestilence given
voice.

Her body erupts in pain. Sharp, piercing agony.  It moves through her like a
column of molten lead, hot and burning. The woman in black smiles satanically
and taps her fork against the seat. "Soon," the woman says.

Flashbulbs pop. The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles. The torment increases.
Her body shudders, twists, bucks but the movement of the rod is relentless. Her
throat stiffens. The spit passes across her tongue preceded by a gush of carmine
blood. A tooth is knocked loose as the metal column leaps from her mouth.

She feels herself being lifted up. Her body sags and twirls around the rod. Each
step brings new hurt.  As her vision dims she sees red flames beckoning her.
Hears the crowds chant switches to "Roast her. Roast Her." Flames lick lovingly
at her flesh.

Suddenly, the landscape changes. Cold replaces hot. Light replaces dark. Nude
but whole again. Standing on a plain as white as bleached cotton. It seems to go
on forever.

Her feet struggle through snow. Trees and bushes are coated with ice. The wind
howls savagely. Sleet stings her skin. Storm clouds roil across the horizon.

In the distance. People. A pile of wood. She trudges forward. Fights against the
wind. Progress is slow. Two steps forward. One step back. Ice crystals coat her
body. Light reflects off her like it was bouncing off diamonds.

Still she slogs on. Snow grows higher.  Wind fiercer.  Hears the people now.
Calling, calling her name. Too far away. Can't see who they are.

Wind shifts.  At her back now. A pair of skis appear. She straps them on. Good
fit.

Struggle ends. Glides effortlessly across the snow.  She sees a pack, lying on
its side.  Picks it up. Continues on her way.

People.  Mother and father. Sebastian. Aunt Vi. They wave. She waves back. Come
closer. She does.

Skis change to snowshoes. Running. Stumbles. Face buried in snow. Snowshoes are
awkward. Can't really run.  Too easy to trip.

Nearer to her family.  White snow vanishes. Dried brown earth takes its place. 
Desiccated and withered trees.  Leaves litter the ground like dead animals.
Discards the snowshoes. Runs barefoot.

She begins crying.  Hard, cracked ground welcomes the tears.

"Mommy, Daddy. Why did you go? Why did you leave me? I missed you so. Why didn't
you take me with you?"

Father turns a stern face to her. "We didn't want you. You were a bad girl.  You
wouldn't listen. You wouldn't behave. You cost too much to feed. You drove us
away."

Sobs grow in intensity. Steps toward her mother.  Mother turns away. "Just give
us the pack and go. We don't want you, just the pack. Give us the pack."

"But you loved me. All of you loved me."

"Not after what you did to me." says Sebastian. No warmth and love in those
eyes. Just cruelty and harshness. Flat as saucers. No depth.

 "We used you. And when we were done using you, we left you and went away. Now
give us the pack."

Turns to the aunt who saved her. "Aunt Vi, you loved me. I know you did."

"The pack child, give us the pack."

She throws the pack down on the ground. Runs. Left foot, right foot, left foot,
right foot.  Get away. Get away. But after a few steps she is grabbed by the
branches of a tree, as alive as though transplanted directly from Oz's Haunted
Forest.

The tree holds her tight against it. Her family piles wood around her feet. They
pour a liquid over the wood. Charcoal lighter.

Her mother opens the pack. Her father's hand reaches into its depths and draws
out a box of old-fashioned sulphur matches. Sebastian has his pants open. He is
masturbating. Her aunt is sharpening a knife on a whetstone. They came from
inside the pack too.

Her father strikes the match against the side of the box. It lights on the first
stroke. He throws the match onto the pile. Orange flames scoot across the
surface like a brace of anxious salamanders.
The flames grow higher. Sebastian masturbates faster. Her parents begin to set a
table. Her aunt tests the knife against her own arm drawing a thin line of ruby
fluid.

As the fire burns the life from her body, she hears Sebastian howl in orgasm
"Meat, Annie. That's all you are is meat."

Billy is also dreaming of meat. He's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, a
white cowboy hat tilted back on his head.  A young heifer is kneeling at his
feet, her mouth nursing at his pecker. Once she gets her morning ration of
protein she'll be back in the corral with the other cows.

As foreman of the ranch, Billy has his pick not only of the stock, but also of
the female hands. He doesn't hesitate to use his authority.  Last night Jemma
shared his bed, a reward to him for his hiring her away from Kyner Stables. She
was very inventive. Tonight they'll hold the customary "welcoming" barbecue for
her, roasting a whole carcass and drinking several kegs of beer in the process.
There won't be a lot of work done the next day.

Billy casts his eyes downward.  I could do worse than putting this cow over the
pit. She should brown up just fine.  Her fate sealed, Billy spills his seed into
the human cattle's mouth. With a wave of his arm he calls over a handler.  "Take
this one into town to Crenshaw's. Ask for Carl and tell him we need her prepped
for tonight. He'll know what to do."

Running a ranch takes a lot of hard work, Billy thinks to himself as he walks
away, twirling a small herding staff in his hands. But there sure are
compensations.

Terri can't feel the weight on her back but she knows someone is there. A child
possibly, the mother standing next to her offspring, holding the child in place.

Any moment now the music will start playing and she be moving again. Up and
down, around and around. Moving on a circular path to nowhere, running in a race
without a finish line. Hearing the brassy sound of the calliope piping out the
same tired tune over and over.

She can't move, not really, not like a human could.  The only direction she can
go in is up and down, that and around in a counterclockwise circle. To even go
into that limited range of motion the music has to be playing.

She's been fixed in place. Can't shrug, can't move her head, not even to blink.
All she can do is stare straight ahead and hope that something interesting
wanders into her field of vision.

She hears rather than feels the swack of a child banging a riding crop against
her flanks.  All tactile sensation is gone. Only her thoughts prove to her that
she still exists.

It was all her own fault. Really it was. If she just hadn't been so damn clumsy,
she wouldn't be in this predicament now. She might even have won the Cup. Well,
Andy always used to make fun of her saying she had the balance of a new born
puppy on a wet linoleum floor. He'd sure be laughing if he could see her now.
She probably owned the poor guy a few laughs anyhow.

She'd been coming around the far turn in full stride when her foot hit the hole.
Her ankle twisted and her knee locked up.  Down she went pulling the sulky and
driver on top of her. Her leg made a sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies being
topped off with fresh milk but magnified a hundredfold. White agony shot through
her and she passed out.

When she came to she was in the receiving barn, the track vet standing over her
looking as glum as a coroner examining a corpse a not unapt simile as it turned
out.  "She's got compound fractures at two places in her tibia. There's a
greenstick fracture in her femur. Her ACL looks like a plate of spaghetti.
Several ribs are cracked, one wrist is fractured and that nose is going be flat
for the rest of her days unless I reset it soon. I've given her a shot of
Demorol for the pain but it will be wearing off soon. I need to know what you
want me to do with her before then."

"Any chance she'll race again," asked a familiar voice. "Any chance at all?"

"Sorry, Joey. She's a permanent scratch. Even if she recovers, they don't let
many horses use canes to get around the track with."

"Well, I don't see we have any choice then. We'll have to carousel her."

The vet shook his head sadly.  "Damn, I hate doing that to a horse this young.
But you're right. If you want to get any value out of her at all she'll have to
be carouseled."

"Can you do it here or do you need to move her?"

"I could do it here but I'm afraid it would spook the other horses. It would be
better if I could go to hospital. It would be quicker there too. I can take her
there in the ambulance."

"Not a very merry way to go around, I'm afraid," quipped Joey.  "How long will
the procedure take?"

"She'll be ready for sale in about two or three weeks.  I'll euthanize her right
here. She won't feel a thing. Once we're at hospital we'll prepare her for the
taxidermist.  He'll need a few days to build a wire skeleton and stuff her.
After that, the body will need about a week of hardening treatments. Then she'll
be painted, mounted on a brass pole and ready to ride."

"I should give Andy a call."

"Family?"

"Andy Gudman, ex-husband. Sweet guy. Terri used to ride him real hard while they
were married, I'm sure he'd appreciate the chance to return the favour."

"yeah, my ex was like that too, right up until the time the oven door closed on
her.  Well, no sense in keeping the kids on the midway waiting any longer than
we need to. Hand me that bottle with the big black skull and crossbones on it
will you?"

"Sure, think we ought to send her family flowers?"

"Flowers are always appropriate," responds the vet,  billowing white fumes
pouring forth from the top of the bottle as he fills a syringe.

There are flowers in Joey's dream. Lots of flowers and organ music.  Lots of
flowers, organ music and a big crowd.  He's standing next to his father and
Billy. The mayor is there. It's his wedding day.

Two bridesmaids are standing across from him. Their faces are fuzzy, indistinct.
They're wearing two of the most ridiculous dresses he's ever seen. 

One looks like something out of a Shakespearean play with a high collar, winged
shoulders,  a doublet, hanging sleeves and trunk hose which come down to the
middle of her thighs. The material is a dark, red velvet piped with gold braid
and blue fluer-de-lis figures. The girl's legs below the trunk hose are bare. 
So are her feet. Her head is topped by a pink hennin hat. It looks like a dunce
cap that has been angled back with a tail stuck on the point.

The second bridesmaid is wearing a green and blue satin dress with crinoline. 
The dress is covered with name tags that say " Hi, my name is ??? and I slept
with the bridesmaid You can too. Ask me how."

The sleeves of the dress are longer than her arms. The dress is trailing on the
floor so Joey can't see her feet. But he can see that the bustle in the back
makes her butt stick out about two feet.  This bridesmaid is wearing a yellow
cloche hat. She is holding a grey cat in her arms.

A rock band strikes up "Here comes the Bride." And indeed here comes the bride.
The bride is  all dressed in white.  White high-heeled shoes, sheer white hose,
white bikini panties and a lacy white wasp-waisted corset covered in a pattern
of white leaves and flowers. The bride wears nothing else.

The corset's built-in bra pushes her breasts upward and forward with great
authority. A large white opal is lodged in her navel just below the centre cut
of the corset. Her nail polish, lipstick and eye shadow are all different shade
of off-white. Her skin has been dusted with white glitter. Even her hair has
been dyed platinum for the occasion.

The bride has eschewed the traditional white bridal veil. In its place she is
carrying a white mask on a stick. The mask, which looks like some sort of bird,
is made up entirely of long and short white feathers. She is holding the mask in
front of her face.

Joey knows he's seen this girl somewhere before but he's not sure who she is. He
knows he loves her though.

The ceremony is over. Joey and his bride are at the reception. She still holds
the mask in front of her.  They walk over to the table holding the wedding
gifts. Many have already been opened.  There are several full sets of knives
including cleavers, filleting, boning, carving and steak knives.  His bride lets
out a fluty dulcet laugh as she holds a filleting knife close to his crotch.
Other than to say "I do" his bride has been quiet.

They move on to the banquet. In the centre of the table is a whole, oven-roasted
girl, her golden-russet skin contrasting nicely with pale yellow of the platter.
She is presented in the formal manner, balanced on her shins and forearms, her
buttocks thrust high into the air, her breasts hanging freely, their nipples
almost but not quite touching the china.

The offering wears a tiara of peacock feathers perched just behind her ears. A
bright red apple rests in her mouth and a colourful garish of fruits and
vegetables on the platter's edge complete the display. She too looks familiar.
There's something about those breasts, the way they hang, the size of those
nipples, thinks Joey.  But, before he can get closer to see who it is, his new
bride pulls him towards the dance floor. They dance a waltz, then a quadrille
and finally a saraband. His bride keeps her face masked throughout.

Finally, they leave the reception. The long limo is white both outside and in. 
Joey leans back snuggling into the comfort of the cushy white leather seat.
Maybe now his bride will lower her mask and he can see who it is that he has
married.

His bride shifts from sitting next to him on the seat to kneeling in front of
him on the floor. Long white nails rake across his zipper, toying with him
before pulling it down. He springs out erect and ready. His bride lowers her
head and her mask in tandem.

Just as her face begins to come into focus, her hoar frost hair slides forward
like a curtain lowering at the end of a play. She buries her face in his groin,
her lips enveloping his manhood. She starts to bob up and down, sucking hard on
the upstroke, scraping him with her teeth on the downstroke.   Her visage
remains hidden from Joey's view. Frustrated at his failure to behold his
beloved's face, Joey closes his eyes, all the better to enjoy the head being
bestowed on him by his new bride.

A sharp pain snaps Joey's eyes open. She bit his dick, not soft nibbling bites
but a full-fledged chomp given hard enough to leave indentations.  He shakes his
head and looks around him. He's not in a limo, he's in bed. And he is not in bed
with his mystery bride, he's in bed with Linda Sue.

"If you thought you were going to get a nice juicy blow job from me while you
were sleeping and leave me to self-gratification, you've got another think
coming Joey Geryon," she said as she climbed astride the still groggy and very
confused rancher. "We're in this together, all the way to the very end."

Cannibal 4H Chapter 18: In Training by Eurytion

TERRI ARISES TO THE CREAKING of the neighbouring stall door as it slides open.
Stretching tender muscles, she stands to gaze through the bars on her window.
Outside the rising sun is just cresting over the horizon, its morning rays
painting the landscape with a palate of champagne and apricot hues.  Mist like
insubstantial tendrils of cigarette smoke waft from the fronds of reeds and
grass surrounding the small pond near the main house.  Already the air is alive
with the snapping of leather, the jingling of metal, the soft cries of the
ponies and the harder, more insistent commands of their trainers. Kyner Stables
is waking up.

Despite being more tired than she could ever remember, she had not slept well
the night before. Her rest had come in fits and starts, interrupted by the
thought of what now awaited her. After a week of demanding exercise, Terri would
be fitted with her tack. Her instruction as a pony was about to truly begin.

After their arrival, both she and Linda Sue had been weighed, measured and put
though a series of tests designed to establish a conditioning bench mark. Linda
Sue's work at the Geryon farm had stood her in good stead; she had been placed
on a different, less stringent training regimen than Terri.

Terri, who always thought that hot, sweaty, vigourous sex and plenty of it was
the best form of exercise, quickly learned different. The first week at the
stables had been spent in what her trainer called "extreme conditioning," and
she called torture.

Once at the stables, the new pony's regimen started before the dawn and lasted
well into the night. Five times a day she was fed a special diet designed to
quickly build muscle and endurance while lowering her body fat.  Consuming
creatine, HGH and selected psychoactive compounds, coupled with a series of
injections including insulin and a range of anabolic steroids became a daily
feature of her existence.

After each "meal" she was put through a short but intense workout. Each workout
was designed to sculpt a different body group. One session would work on muscles
that pulled. The next one muscles that pushed. The third on the upper body while
the fourth was dedicated to the lower body. The fifth session was given over to
priority training for stubborn and lagging muscles groups. Not a usable minute
was squandered on unproductive activity. Kyner Stables would have this pony
ready for the Chiron Cup.

Her existence became a recurring series of squats, thigh curls and extensions,
chest and incline presses, lumbar extensions, walking, jogging, riding and
rowing. She measured time not by minutes or hours but by the number of
repetitions left.

Between workouts and meals, the weary equine was massaged more often than Donald
Trump's latest wife. Ice, whirlpools and ultrasound were used to allow the
muscles to recover more quickly. Even a hyperbolic oxygen chamber was called
into play. The goal would be met.

And the goal was being met.

While it would never be thin, her rounded body was becoming more solid as layers
of adipose tissue melted away leaving firm muscle in its place. Softness was
being replaced by definition, strength supplanting frailty.  Even her breasts
had firmed, rising higher on her chest and, for the first time in years, leaving
room between their underside and her rib cage.

Nor was her body the only area where changes were occurring.  Her mind was
becoming adjusted to her new status as a pony; her already formidable will to
triumph growing stronger every day but now focused on a new objective, winning
the Chiron Cup. Terri the fledgling pony was developing the "look of the eagle"
seen in the eyes of winning horses.

As she has been trained, the young filly stands next to her door awaiting its
opening. She wears a simple outfit composed of loose fitting smock and shorts in
a drab shade of poppy, as unattractive as it is practical. This is the standard
livery for Kyner stables. Horses wear the livery for workouts, tack for training
and racing. Horses that aren't working out, training or racing wear nothing at
all.

Terri has grown used to that fact that there is no conversation to contribute
to, no choices to be considered. Her stay has already taught her there are only
commands to be obeyed. Still human and intending to stay that way, she is, none
the less,  well into the initial stage of the conversion process.

Although she was waiting expectantly, the sound of her stall door sliding open
causes her to start. Presenting a docile demeanour to her handler, she is led
out across the main area of the stable and toward the tack room.

Once in the tack room, Terri is stripped of her livery.  Nude, she is made to
sit on a small stool to one side of the room. The two grooms attend her, one on
each side, their role to help fit her and, if necessary, restrain her. At this
point in their training it is not unusual for the new ponies to panic.

A stable girl  brings out a rolling cart. Short and somewhat husky, she is not
beautiful or even conventionally attractive. But her squat  body exudes
sensuality like an expensive Parisian perfume.

Her nondescript brown hair is cut short but still feminine. A pair of cloisonne
earrings decorated with purple iris dangle against her squarish jaw.  The first
three buttons of her chambray shirt are undone revealing fleeting glimpses of a
pair of rosy conical tits unimpeded by a bra. Her blue denim pants are scuffed
and faded pressing tightly against a compact, muscular ass which rotates to and
fro as she strides across the floor.

The stable girl glances at the nude young pony and gives a quick smile like a
patient with a fever.  Her hand silkily brushes the crotch of the nearest groom
who grins back and says "Later, Lexie."

On the plastic trolley are a number of appurtenances made of apple green leather
studded with metallic hardware in shades of silver, pewter and blue.

The pony's outfitting begins with her brindle. A thick leather strap is placed
under her chin while the remainder of the device is set on top her head.  The
chin strap goes up several inches and then splits into two separate bands. One,
goes over her ears, then buckles into another band which encircles her brow.
This ear band has two rings attached to it, each facing toward the front of her
head.

The other belt reaches back toward the nape of her neck where it undergoes a
second bifurcation, one portion meeting a buckle at the point where her skull
attaches to her neck, the second climbing upward to meet with the brow band.
This arrangement is repeated on the other side of her cranium.

About two inches behind her ear, the brow band splits into twin straps,
separated by about a half inch of space. A thicker thong, with a buckle in the
middle, runs across the crown of her head.

Terri feels uncomfortable and a little apprehensive as the grooms tighten and
adjust the four buckles. Until now she has been able to think of herself as a
human at a very unique health spa. The reality of her situation, that, no matter
how temporarily, she is now just livestock, begins to sink in.

One of the grooms pulls Terri's head up while the other attaches a high and
rigid cervical collar to her neck.  The combination of brindle and collar
restricts her ability to turn her head. Any movements she makes will be slow and
awkward, demanding a great deal of effort.

Satisfied with their work thus far, the pair of grooms grab the young pony under
the armpits and force her to stand. Terri feels her legs being kicked apart and
then the cold contact of metal on her flesh as a spreader bar attaches to her
legs.

Next the stable girl hands the head groom the pony's waist belt. It looks like a
misshapen girdle, its top line rising smoothly up the pony's abdomen to just
astride the navel while its lower portion gradually curves down to a point just
inches above Terri's crotch.

Seven rings are attached to the waist belt. Three formed an inverted equilateral
triangle on the front with two rings at the top and one centred just above the
pony's exposed pubis.  One ring adorns each side of the belt just above the
waist while two rings are located on either side of the pony's spine about half
way up the belt. The back of the belt has yet another strap and buckle
arrangement which descends like a tail over the crack of the pony's buttocks.

The grooms fit the belt snugly around her middle.  The pony gasps for air. At
the sound of her strained breathing, one of the grooms makes adjustments to the
back.

"Can't have her passing out before she hits the yard, can we now," he asked his
compatriot.

The second groom knells down in front of the pony. Although her pussy lips are
glistening with the leaking of her cunt, the equerry pays them no attention. His
job is to ready this pony for race training, not to prepare her for breeding.
Besides, Lexie will pleasure them as soon as they are finished. It's part of
what she is hired for.

The squatting groom buckles two pairs of leather straps into place on each of
the pony's legs.  The initial set are secured to the pony's thighs about four
inches above her knees. A bright metal chain about eight inches in length links
the first set of straps together.  The second set, with a 12 inch chain are
attached just above the pony's ankles.

The inside of all the straps are lined to reduce unnecessary friction while the
outside are as smooth as the rest of the ensemble. These are the pony's hobbles,
designed to restrict her movement and to help her trainer establish the proper
gait.

Terri feels her pussy lips being pressed flat against the side of her groin as
her crotch strap is set into place, a sense of desire flooding through her body.
Since she has arrived at the stables, the only pleasure she has received has
been that she has given herself, a poor substitute for the touch of others.

The vee of the leather bikini is topped with two smaller straps, a ring attached
to each. A third ring, positioned in the centre of the bikini, is swiftly
snapped into the waist belt while the thinner straps encircling the bottom of
her buttocks are fastened into place.

The grooms now turn their attentions to the pony's upper torso.  The pony's
chest is encircled  by a tight leather jacket, her ample  breasts exposed by
large incisions in the material. More belts and buckles go under her armpits and
over her shoulders.   Again the garment is constricted until her breathing is
hampered.

Terri's arms are pulled behind her. She feels the cuffs being placed around her
wrists, hears first a "snick" then a metallic clanking, then another "snick" as
her arms are handcuffed behind her, the attaching chain passing through one of
the restraining rings on her waist belt.

Now the head groom brings forth the final piece of tack for this pony, her bit
and bit mount. Even as she opens her mouth for the bit, Terri closes her eyes,
unable to watch as this final symbol of her submission to ponydom violates her
mouth.

She feels the rounded plastic-covered bit roll over her lips, like a dick
sliding sideways through her mouth. Her teeth scrape on the soft bit which
settles to rest just behind her incisors.  Her mouth begins to fill
involuntarily with saliva. A brief moment of panic sets in and the newest pony
begins to gag.

One of the grooms tilts her head back and the choking stops as the moisture
rolls down her throat. She swallows convulsively.

 "Take it easy girl," he says trying to calm the frightened animal. "There's
nothing new here. Relax. Relax. That's a good girl.  I know you've swallowed a
lot of spit before when your mouth was full of cock. This isn't any different.
Just loosen up. You're going to be ok."

The head groom uses snaps to connect the bit mount to the front of the brindle
and to the neck collar.  Behind her the other groom fastens a series of belts,
buckles and snaps, turning the disparate pieces of the tack into a unified
whole. Thin leather reins are attached to the lower arms of the bit mounts and
then thrown back over her shoulders. As a final step, along leash is attached to
the centre ring of the pony's waist belt. The leash is allowed to drop to the
floor. Her eyes follow the leash.

"OK, we're about ready," says the head groom to the stable girl. "Why don't you
go get Bevan and Cort?"  Lexie gives a mocking " whinny" as she leaves the room.

The pony senses soft tugs as straps are adjusted. Although her collar makes it
difficult, her head is tilted down as far as possible, her eyes focused on the
floor. She knows that good ponies only look where they are told to look and she
knows first hand what happens to disobedient ponies.

She has no desire to again be placed over a bale of straw, switched with a
riding crop and left to spend the night naked, her hands strapped behind her, a
gag in her mouth, shackled to the wall by a short length of chain with just
enough slack to allow her to  lie down in a pile of loose straw, unable to
relieve the constant poking and itching or her bedding material. 

Her one experience with this form of discipline, which was mild compared to some
she had seen other ponies receive, was enough.  After her second night at the
stables she had changed her mind about wanting to be a pony.  The reality was
far less appealing than the fantasy that had precipitated it.  But, by this
point, her desires mattered not at all. Her rebellious attempt to run away
earned her first serious chastisement.

When she was unchained the next morning her body was lightly welted and covered
with hundreds of tiny cuts and gouges that stung and burned like the furies when
the antiseptic was poured over them.  The lesson that disobedience of any sort,
no matter how mild, would not be tolerated at Kyner Stables was well learned by
the young pony and would not have to be given again.

The pressure of a  crop moving upward under her chin causes her head to ascend. 
Two men are standing before her. One, rawboned yet whipcord thin, is wearing
black jean pants and a blue denim shirt. The shirt sleeves are rolled up above
his elbows exposing a small tattoo of a mermaid on a bulging bicep.  He wears
rimless wire glasses with gunmetal frames upon an angular face full of crags and
crannies.  A black baseball cap without any markings sits on the top of his
head, medium black hair poking out from under the edges.  This is the man
holding the crop.

The second man is smaller in statue and lighter in weight than the first but no
less muscular for being diminutive. His well tanned arms look like they were
carved from golden brown marble, every vein and muscle outlined in sinewy bas
relief, the result of his work with the reins.  He is wearing a simple pair of
off-white tennis shoes, tan shorts and a t-shirt bearing the legend "The only
time some people work like a horse is when the boss rides them."  His face is
rounded with a gentle cast, his eyes hidden by mirrored sun glasses. His light
brown hair is cut in a "fade."  Empty hands hang at his side as he contemplates
the fit of the tack on the new pony. Finally, satisfied at what he sees, he
gives a short nod and turns to leave the room.  "Good enough, Bevan, let's put
her through her paces and see what we've got."

He turns to the two male grooms. "Nice job here guys. Do me a favour and take
off the spreader bar will you?" The grooms rush to comply.

After the bar is removed, Beven picks up the leash and, with a short, sharp tug,
begins to guide the pony from the fitting room to the exercise yard, the crop
hanging from his right wrist.  The pony's movements are slow and deliberate, the
hobbles restricting the range of motion of her legs. 

On their way out they are passed by a returning Lexie who is cradling a soft
blanket in one arm.  Both men eye the stable girl with knowing smiles.  If the
blanket and the way her rock-solid nipples were pressing in arousal against the
pale lemon fabric of her blouse weren't enough to signal the tack room's next
use, the rustle and thump of clothing hitting the floor behind them tells the
rest of the tale.

The shorter man reaches out an arm, blocking Lexie's passage.  She stops
expectantly.  His hand reaches lazily through the unbuttoned top to cup her
right breast, strong square fingers rolling across a nubby nipple adding even
more distension to its out thrust dimension.  "Lexie, when you're done playing
doctor with the boys why don't you go wash up and then meet me at the sulky
shed."

"I'd love to Cort," she says her eyes aglow with passion as his hand abandons
its mammarial caress, brushing slowly against her tight little ass on its way
back to his side. "Just one other thing," he continues as a bemused Beven
listens in.  "Be sure to bring that new toy I bought you."

Lexie blushes as she nods in eager agreement, her cheek's carnation colouring
coming from a combination of excitement and embarrassment. "A new toy," quizzes
Beven as the trio moves toward the gate. Cort just laughs. "The only reason you
prefer Lexie is that you don't have to get up on a stool to fuck her like you do
Gin or Barb."  Cort just laughs harder, throwing a mock punch at Beven as they
walk along.

The disposition of the two men changes as they open the gate to enter the
exercise ring, their insouciant manner being replaced by a "no-nonsense, let's
get our work done and done right" attitude. The pony responds to Beven's use of
her leash and moves to the centre of the ring.  Cort leans against the railing,
his eyes missing nothing as he observes how the pony is walking. "Run her
through the usual sequence will you Bevan," he asks. "I'll stop you if I see any
problems or if I want anything repeated."

The young female equine stands stock still in the ring, her attention focused on
her trainer standing at her side. She not only knows she must obey his every
command, quickly and completely, she desires to do so. Her obedience will please
her as much as it does him.  He kneels down in front of her to unclip and remove
the chains from her hobbles then rises and backs away.

A slight tap from her trainer's crop starts her in motion. She is walking in a
tight circle about five foot in diameter with her trainer at its centre.  After
three revolutions she hears her first instruction. "Lift your legs higher. Keep
those calves and thighs straighter." A quick switch of the crop, one with just a
little bite in it, helps her to comply.

The pony lifts her legs as high as they will go, her tendons straining at the
effort.  "That's better." she hears her trainer say. " Now let's pick up the
pace." As she moves faster her trainer is playing out more leash, expanding the
diameter of the circle, making her walk farther to complete a circuit. "A little
faster now." The pony moves quicker, almost but not quite breaking into a trot.

As she circles the ring she is distracted by the activities around her. Two
rings over she thinks she sees Linda Sue in harness pulling a heavy cart behind
her. A sharp pain like a wasp's sting refocuses the pony's attention.
"Concentrate on what you're doing, not on what's going on around you," her
trainer orders, shortening her leash.  "I won't have you distracted when you
race. All you need to worry about is pulling the sulky as fast as you can. Your
driver will worry about the rest. Now get going. Put some speed into this." In
response the young pony breaks into a full-fledged trot hoping to gain a small
measure of redemption for her misconduct.

After an hour of strenuous exertion the pony's skin starts to resemble
well-weathered cedar, coated grey from the dust of the yard and deeply grained
where the rivulets of sweat are trickling down her body. Despite the previous
week's intensive conditioning every muscle burns as though an unseen flame is
continuously pulsing against them. Tendons stretched to near rupture scream for
a chance to recover. Beet red spots mark where her trainer's crop has kissed her
skin, gently at first but more resolutely as the session wore on. Still the pony
slogs on, obeying each command as best she can but it is clear to both her
trainer and her driver that they have taken her as far as they should today.

The pony is grateful when Beven calls the proceedings to a halt.  Her body,
drained of its physical strength, shakes in a series of random shivers as
muscles contract and expanded in unpatterned spasms. She longs to sit down, to
slide to the ground and lay there,  her lungs panting as they draw oxygen for
her blood. But despite its corporeal debility, her body retains its mental
toughness. She can't control the quivering of her skin, that is beyond her
ability. To give in any further to her weakness would shame her trainer. She
won't let this happen. And so she stands there straight as a newly planted tree,
her eyes again cast downwards awaiting further directives from her trainer.

Waving his hand in the air, Beven summons an equerry to the ring.  "Please walk
this pony 'til she cools down and then take her back to the stables. Have her
tack removed and cleaned. Store it in her stall.  Take her to the spa and ask
Gin to give her the full pamper treatment. Tell her to use the alpha wave
feedback box to see that she sleeps for a least an hour during the massage."

The groom took the leash from the trainer. "Yes sir, Mr. Vass.  Is there
anything else you'd like done?"

"Yeh, there is. I'm sorry I don't know your name?"

"It's Kim, Mr. Vass. Kim Dun."

"Well, Kim Dun, let Gin know that I'm going to be visiting this pony in her
stall tonight some time after 8:30. Make sure she understands I want her fully
prepared and ready to go.  That means a full seat of leathers, including the
ears, mane and tail. The red and blue set will do, the one with the thin reins.
No stirrups though. Also let her know I'll want this pony to get a
mini-treatment after I'm gone. I want her ready to resume training tomorrow
morning."

"Yes sir, Mr. Vass. I'll see to this at once."

Confident that his orders would be followed to the T, the trainer pats the young
hand on the back and walks over to Cort Szeman.  "So what do you think? Can we
pull it off?"

Squinting into the sun, Szeman sighs heavily and beings to walk toward the bunk
house. "When Dirks told us about this assignment, I thought we were being given
some kind of punishment, that we'd screwed up somehow and the old man was going
to make us pay for it. Then I saw the preliminary fitness evaluations on this
pony and I knew we were on his shit list. Now, well, now I'm not so sure.

"I mean she's not top grade yet but she's come a lot farther in the week we've
had her than I ever thought she would.  I'd have set the morning line on her at
100 to 1 against. Now, maybe I'd set it at 25 to 1 against. Still long odds but
they're getting better all the time."

They stop at a watering trough as the driver takes a long drink of water from a
tin ladle.  "Yeah, I'm amazed myself," says the trainer. "But seeing is
believing. I want her to keep this rate of progress up.That's why she's getting
a little reward tonight." Cort hands the ladle to the trainer.

"Well, if she's getting it from you there's no doubt whatsoever that it's going
to be a 'little' reward," jests Cort.  "Why don't you get one of the breeding
studs for her. That way she's have a chance to feel something." Bevan responds
by tossing the ladle of water at Cort.

"I don't know Bevan. I hate to go out on a limb but I think we've got a chance. 
Not much of a chance but a chance none the less. One thing she showed me today
is that she's got the will to succeed and that's half the battle. The only
question is if we'll have enough time before the race to get her into good
enough shape to win. I just wish we had another fortnight to work with her."

"Yeah and if wishes were fishes we'd never starve. What do you think about
Geryon's other pony? How's she look to you?"

"Who Linda Sue? She is sort of the forgotten one in all of this right now isn't
she," said Cort scratching his arm absentmindedly. Hell she'll be just fine. She
was in better shape than Terri in the first place and you sure didn't have any
trouble breaking her in. She took to the bit like she was born to it.  The
conversion may be temporary right now but I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that
before too many more years pass by she'll be a permanent conversion.  You can
just tell. I mean hell, how many human women do you know without any hair on
their body below their head? I'm looking forward to seeing her soon in a
supermarket near home."

Although she was waiting expectantly, the sound of her stall door sliding open
causes the pony to start. Her heart, already beating wildly with anticipation,
increases the tempo of its pounding.  Dressed in a set of breeding leathers she
is on her hands and knees facing away from the door awaiting the arrival of her
trainer.

She is wearing a different brindle than her training tack. This one is more of a
hat with ear flaps then a true brindle. The cap completely covers the top of her
head, no hair shows and her real ears are underneath the leather.  In their
place, two mock horse ears rise straight up and a mane of pure white hair
descends down from the crown of her skull along the line of her neck.

With the exception of her breasts, crotch and buttocks, her entire torso
including her arms and legs is encased in dark blue leather with red stitching. 
Her arms have cuffs located at the wrist. These cuffs are attached to bolts in
the floor.  Her legs also are attached to the floor, this time by the means of
straps that connect to floor-mounted rings. The straps originate at the back of
each calf just below the knee.

A tail of pure white hair is located just at her coccyx. The tail hangs over her
buttocks,tickling her as she moves form side to side in a vain attempt to get
more comfortable. A braided leather bit rests in her mouth, thin blue reins
flowing back from the bit mount to end just above her tail.

Bevan Vass strides into the stall and moves to stand in front of the pony's
face.  He squats down and tenderly takes the pony's face in his hands.  "My
little pony, that's what you are. You did well today my little pony, very well.
I'm quite pleased with you. Your owner said that you should be rewarded for good
performance so I'm here tonight to give you something you've earned. If you keep
progressing there will be more rewards for you. If you don't ... Well we don't
have to talk about that because I know you are going to excel."

Still in a squat, the trainer leans back and unzips his fly. Reaching into his
pants he brings out a short but thick cock covered with pulsing blue veins and a
large low hanging scrotum with ball the size of medium eggs lying hard in their
pouch.  He begins to rub the tip of his prick across the pony's face leaving a
trail of precum on her forehead. He circles each eye and then slides down the
bridge of her nose.  His hand strokes his dick across her upper lips, his
emissions dripping down into her mouth.

The pony stretches her neck forward and tries to open her mouth wider to engulf
his manhood but, with the bit in the way, all she can manage to do is force her
tongue over the top of the bit to lick frantically at his prick, like a dog
drinking from a faucet.  The trainer strokes the side of her cheek.

"Hungry my little pony, yes I imagine you are. This is probably the longest
you've gone without a cock in your mouth since you were 12. Well, I'm going to
take your bit out of your mouth but only for a little while and just so you can
show me how hungry you are."

Freed of its impediment, her mouth vacuums in his prick, nursing on it like a
starving baby. The force of her suction makes the trainer groan with pleasure
which makes his little pony suck all the harder. Even swallowing a rapidly as
she can, the pony's mouth begins to fill with saliva and precum, spilling out at
the corners.

A sudden popping noise marks his rapid and unexpected withdrawal from her oral
cavity. Within seconds she is sucking on the bit instead of his dick as the
trainer moves around behind her.

She shivers with pleasure as she feels the hair of her tail brush the lips of
her pussy while the trainer lifts it out of the way.  Three thin but talented
fingers begin to stroke against her already randy cunt paying special attention
to her throbbing clit.

"So, my little pony, I can see that I won't need to use any lubricant on you
tonight. You're already flowing like a waterfall back here." Steadying himself
with one hand on the small of the pony's back, the trainer slowly inserts the
head of his shaft into her pussy stopping when he feels her lips slip behind the
rim of his helmet-shaped glans. Satisfied with his positioning, he grabs the
reins with both hands and jerks them back. For the next several minutes he
concentrates on riding the living daylights out of his little pony, her cunt
convulsing around his thrusting cock.

For her part, the pony spears herself on his shaft, willingly and wantonly
rocking forward and back at faster and faster speeds, first a walking pace, then
a trot and finally a gallop.  She meets each returning insertion of his member
with a sheathing thrust of her own. Her cunt begins to tingle and the feeling
spreads throughout her body even as the trainer's taunt washboard stomach
collides with her rolling buttocks.

The trainer holds tighter to the reins with one hand while the other moves
forward to crush and maul her hanging tits.  Even the pain caused by his violent
twisting of her nipples is transformed into heightened passion. The intensity of
their coupling causes her tail to drop back down across her buttocks. Now the
white hairs are getting caught between his prick and her pussy, are being pulled
inside with every push, their rough scratchiness only adding to their mutual
pleasure.

The pony begins to orgasm,  shaking uncontrollably as though she was just
finishing a second hour of exercise in the ring. Semen begins to seep from the
tip of the trainer's dick like wax dripping from a melting candle. Still they
pound at each other. Giving a shout that awakes horses the few horses still
sleeping in the surrounding stalls, the trainer tugs hard on the reins, his body
rigid as the sperm flies from his dick into the depths of her cunt.  Slowly
turns loose the reins and slumps limply across her back, forcing her to bear his
weight while he recovers from their lovemaking.

As he withdraws from her, the trainer gently strokes her cheeks. "You a good
pony. Yes you are. And you're going to win the Cup aren't you my little pony.
Yes you are. You're going to run harder, and faster and stronger than any other
horse on the track.

"And after you win the Cup, well, we'll just have to see what come afterwards."

Cannibal 4H Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by Eurytion

"THE DEFENDANT WILL RISE and face the court!" Ashen faced, the young man at the
small oak table complied with the bailiff's order, his body stiff and trembling.
His court appointed lawyer also stood placing a comforting hand on his client's
shoulder. Guards posted at both ends of the table took a step closer to the
accused.

The case had captured the interest of the community.  The crowd in the courtroom
was heavier than normal, filling about one-third the room's capacity. When
viewed from the Judge's perspective, the first two rows of benches, with only a
few gaps in the seating, resembled a hockey player's smile.  The local press had
given extensive coverage to the proceedings, including interviews with Anneliese
Dracon. Anneliese had not hesitated in using the forum she was given to continue
her denunciation of human cattle farming.

Although the community overwhelmingly supported human cattle ranching, the
cattle rights activists generally being perceived as "wackos," even the
strongest advocates of the practice admitted, if true, the conduct of the
defendant was criminal. Anneliese rejoiced at what she saw as the first break in
the acceptance of this repugnant vice and planned to take full advantage of it.

"Madame foreman, has the jury reached a verdict," the Judge asked, silence
descending on the courtroom like a thick woolen blanket.

"We have your honour."

"Please read your verdict to the assembled court."

"On count one, misrepresentation, we the jury find the accused guilty as
charged. On count two, violation of privacy, we the jury find the accused guilty
as charged. On count three, impersonation of an individual, we the jury find the
accused guilty as charged. "

With each of the jury's pronouncements, the defendant slumped closer to the
floor, his courage deserting him like water pouring from a leaky bucket. Only
the strong arms of the guards prevented his total collapse.

"On count four attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury find the accused
guilty as charged. On count five attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury
find the accused guilty as charged."

Even though he knew the basic futility of the gesture, the defense lawyer
addressed the Judge. "Your honour, we respectfully request  the jury be polled."

One by one the members of the jury individually affirmed their combined
verdicts, each repetition of "guilty" taking on the cadence of drums played
during the march to the gallows.

The Judge looked sternly down at the now convicted felon. "Professor Cymbal," he
said his stentorian voice filling the farthest crannies of the courtroom. "A
jury of your peers has found you guilty on all counts. In accordance with our
laws, it is now my sworn duty to pronounce sentence upon you. In this I am left
with no discretion as the statute prescribes the punishment for your crime.

"Therefore, it is the order of the court  your status as a human is to be
terminated immediately. From this point forward you are cast from our society to
live out the remainder of your life as livestock, " Even as the judge was
speaking the guards began to bind and gag the sobbing felon.

"You are to be taken from this courtroom," continued the judge ignoring the weak
and useless struggle taking place in front of him,  "and transported to the
medical facilities at the county jail. There your vocal cords shall be severed.
You are to be tagged and marked with a cattle identification number.  On the
morrow you will be transported to the auction yard where you will be held until
you are offered for sale at the first regularly scheduled auction.

"Durum hoc est sed ita lex scripta est. This is harsh, but thus the law was
written."

The abrupt bang of the judge's gavel echoed off the walnut paneled walls as the
newly adjudicated animal was led from the courtroom. Too petrified to walk
without assistance, he was being half carried, half dragged by the pair of
guards, his feet scraping limply along the grey granite floor.

"This court shall stand in adjournment for one hour," said the Judge "at which
time we will reconvene to hear preliminary motions."

As he watched the proceedings, Hank Gyger found himself feeling both disdain and
pity for the defendant. What a dumb ass, he reflected.  There's all kinds of
ways he could have had those girls legally converted and he pulls a stupid move
like forging their quadcee forms. I'm glad I'm not the poor son of a bitch up
there but he deserves what he's going to get. I hope what he did doesn't affect
my case.

Hank felt a tap on his shoulder.  Turning he saw Mrs. Hardie.  "Mr. Gyger, the
judge has asked me to escort you to his chambers," she said kindly.  "He'll hear
your petition there." Rising from his seat on the bench, Hank followed the
Judge's factotum down the wide aisle and out through the swinging double doors
at the end of the room.

Hank didn't have long to wait before the Judge bustled into his chamber. As Hank
started to rise, the Judge waved a languid hand at him. "No, no, sit down. We're
not in the courtroom.  My chambers aren't formal."

"Beth, I'd like some lemonade please, if you would be so kind.  Mr. Gyger,
anything for you?" Hank shook his head no.  "Well, if you change your mind, just
let me know.

"Oh and Beth," he said as she started to leave the room, "please tell Allie  I
want to see the transcript of yesterday's Mullins' case as soon as I can. I
still can't believe that attorney asked our coroner how many autopsies she'd
performed on dead people. That's a question that's going straight into the
nominations list for the Bar's Cross Examination Hall of Shame Award."

Still chuckling, the Judge hung his robe on a coat tree by the desk. After
opening a desk drawer and putting on a pair of pince nez reading glasses, he 
picked up a folder from his desk and turned to Hank.  "Let's see what we have
here today. A petition from one Henry Austin Gyger asking the court to accede to
the conversion of one Janice Geralyn Gyger to cattle status."

The Judge looked up from his reading. "Wife, daughter, sister, mother," he asked
quizzically. "Wife," Hank replied. "Hum," intoned the Judge returning to his
reading. "Oh yes, here's a standard marriage contract executed on July 29, 1964,
includes the discretionary conversion codicil that was the norm at that time.
How old was she when you got married?"

"Seventeen, Judge. I was nineteen."

"So she's fifty-one now."

"Almost fifty-two."

"I see you have a nonrevocable assignment of power of attorney she signed four
years ago."

"That's right Judge. Our lawyer drew that up for us.  It's got the more modern
conversion language in it."

"Your lawyer is who?"

"It's Bill Jonston your honour. He was in a car accident last week and he's
still in hospital in intensive care. They don't know if he's going to pull
through or not. That's why he's not in with me now."

"That's ok. He doesn't need to be.  These documents look fine. Any children?"

"No sir."

"Does your wife know about this petition?"

"No sir. And I'd prefer  she didn't. I mean the law says I have the right to
have her converted if I want and that she doesn't have to give her consent. I
already got that when she signed the marriage contract and the attorney thing
didn't I?"

"That's right  Mr. Gyger you did. It's totally your choice whether to have her
converted or not. It's also up to you to tell her whether or not  you are having
her converted."

"That's what Bill told me before the accident but I just wanted to make sure."

"Well, Mr. Jonston was correct in his advice to you." The Judge paused in his
discussion as  Beth Hardie brought in a tall glass of lemonade, its sides
streaming with condensation. "Are you sure you wouldn't like anything, Mr.
Gyger? This is a mighty refreshing drink."
"Thank you your honour, but I'll pass. I've got a very tight schedule today."

"Ah, that was a very subtle and gracious way of telling me to get on with it."

Hank's face began to grow red with embarrassment. "No, no,  no your honour," he
said shaking his head frantically back and forth, "that's not what I meant at
all. It's just that I do want to . . . "

"Mr. Gyger," said the Judge smiling. "That's quite all right. Sometimes I am a
mite loquacious as Mrs. Hardie never tires of telling me.  If you would indulge
me with just a few more answers . . . "

"Ask anything you want your honour," answered Hank wondering where this
conversation was going and whether or not the Judge was going to sign the
conversion order.

The Judge examined Hank through steepled fingers. "Thank you Mr. Gyger. My next
question is why? Why do you want your wife converted? Has she been sick? Is
there an inheritance? Do you have a girlfriend on the side? Did you have a fight
and you're looking for revenge?  Please understand  you are exercising a legal
right  you have and that I am going to sign the conversion order no matter what
answer you give me. But as a student of human behaviour I'm always curious about
the reasons for having someone converted. At fifty-one . . . "

"Almost fifty-two," said Hank.

"I'm sorry almost 52," continued the Judge amusement showing on his face. "At
almost 52, even if your wife is in the greatest physical shape she won't bring 
much at market, even among the aficionados of well-aged meat. So why do you want
her converted?"

Hank paused to gather his thoughts.

"Does it really matter," he asked the Judge?

"No, as I said, I am going to sign the conversion order for you, in fact I'll do
it right now," he replied reaching for a pen. 

The pen made the sound of dead dry grass rustling in the wind as the Judge
affixed his signature to the decree. In the short time, less than two seconds,
it took for the Judge to inscribe his name Janice Geralyn Gyger had unknowingly
passed from being a human, a woman and a wife to being chattel marked for
slaughter.

Sliding the document across the desk to Hank, the Judge spoke.  "There you are
Mr. Gyger.  You needn't fear any longer  your answer will affect my decision.
That's the second conversion I've ordered in the last fifteen minutes. I know
why I ordered the first.  I'm still curious about the reasons for the second."

"I got tired of being insincere."

"An intriguing answer, if somewhat incomplete."

Hank paused for several seconds before answering, unwilling to reveal the whole
truth his response was given in a halting manner. "I don't know how much more
complete I can be, your honour.  It was just, ah just that, well in truth, I got
tired of saying things I didn't mean. It's tough pretending  things are all
right, making believe I didn't care.  And it's not like I didn't make an effort
to change things, to make things better, to solve the problems we were having.

Once he got started the words tumbled out of his mouth like puppies released
from a pen to play in the yard.

"But I was the only one trying.  We went to a marriage counsellor. And not just
one, we went to several of them. It didn't do any good.  She didn't admit there
were problems but if there were I was the cause. She didn't want to change, only
wanted me to change. After awhile there wasn't any sense in trying anymore.

"Fighting isn't the worse thing that can happen in a marriage. Indifference is.
There's no more passion in our relationship and I don't just mean sexual
passion. We're like the remains of last week's campfire. No matter how much you
stir those ashes, there's just no sparks left to reignite the fire.  I never
thought it would reach this stage but it has. What finally decided me is  she's
turned mean."

"Mean," the Judge queried, leaning forward in anticipation.

"Downright mean, your honour.  She does things, big things and little things, 
just in hopes of pissing me off.  But I refuse to let her get to me."

The Judge nodded judiciously. "Yet you had me sign this order. Ah, well," he
continued shaking his head sadly  "as the disticha moralia advises, 'Uxorem fuge
ne ducas sub nomine dotis, nec retinere velis, si coeperit esse molesta.' Avoid
taking a wife for the sake of her dowry, nor should you keep one when she grows
troublesome."

"Troublesome isn't the word for it your honour. A man can only take so much
before he has to do something. I was at that point and so I decided to have her
converted."

"Yes, I understand. Well  Mr. Gyger, I won't keep you any longer, I know you
have much to do as, I'm afraid,  do I. Preliminary motions await.  Thank you for
indulging an old man's curiosity. Please let Mrs. Hardie make a copy of the
order for our files on the way out," the jurist while standing up to stretch 
his arms and back before returning to court.

"No thank you, your honour," said Hank as he left the room, the conversion order
clutched tightly in his left hand.

Just after Hank had exited the room Mrs. Hardie hurried into the room with
another document in her hand.  "Judge, I think you need to look at this
petition.  It was just delivered by courier," she said with a disturbed tone in
her voice.

"My goodness Beth, you seem very flustered. What are you carrying there?  Is it
a declaration of war? You're holding it like it was a venomous snake," the Judge
joked.

"I'm sorry Judge but I've never had anything like this happen before. The
courier was coming in with this petition just as Mr. Gyger was leaving."

The Judge reached out and took the petition.  He gave it a slow and careful
examination, making notes as he turned the pages. When he was finished he sat in
his chair for several minutes, his right arm resting by its elbow on the desk
while his right hand rubbed his chin.  Standing up he walked over to a shelf of
law books and took two of them back to his desk with him.  Another ten minutes
passed as he reviewed the case law. Finally, with a sigh, he shut both the books
and reached for a pen.

"Your honour, I know it's none of my business but are you going to sign the
petition?"

The Judge looked up at his long time factotum, pen poised in midair.  "Beth, the
law on this is clear. It is unusual both in the content and the timing but this
petition is legally sufficient. I have no grounds not to sign this petition, in
fact I'm mandated to do so."  The pen descended and the Judge placed his
signature on the order.  "Please see  a copy of this is messengered over to the
law office, a copy is filed with the scrivner and a copy is put in our files."

Turning to carry out the Judge's instructions, Mrs. Hardie was stopped by the
sound of his voice. "Beth there is a large degree of irony in today's events. It
is as Livy wrote 'Ad id quod ne timeatur fortuna facit minime tuti sunt
homines.' Men are least safe from what success induces them not to fear."

As he stepped out of the dim entryway underneath the courthouse stairs into the
sunny outdoors,  Hank marvelled at his good fortune.  He felt like he had just
bought a winning ticket in the lottery. Once the blade fell, all his troubles
would be over and he could start out fresh. Maybe even start a new relationship,
if he could find the right woman, not someone like Jan but someone like Lari.

Hank smiled remembering Lari but it was a smile tinged with some grief. He'd met
Lari on the same day  he met Jan, not unusual when you considered  they were
sisters. While he had fallen in love with Jan, he always had a little something
for Lari and her for him. From the start they'd been a just bit closer than in
laws usually are. But nothing had ever happened between them until Jan had
started to change.

The worse Jan got, the more their marriage disintegrated, the more he turned to
Lari for comfort.  And, as Lari bounced from bad relationship to bad
relationship, he acted as her confidant and counsellor. They shared their
problems and emotions, laughed together, cried together, got angry with each
other and made up.

More and more Lari became Hank's sole source of warmth in an increasingly chilly
world, the person he turned to to talk things out, to get a positive affirmation
of his feelings. As Jan's bitterness increased the time he spent with Lari got
sweeter and more important to him.  She was his lodestar in an increasingly
uncertain universe and it was only natural  they gravitated together.

It was the evening of her father's funeral  the relationship changed from
friendship to something deeper.  Jan had had too much to drink at the wake.  It
was all  Hank could do to get her into the car before she passed out.  He had
barely managed for revive her enough to stagger through the motel door before
she collapsed again on the bed.

Seeking help in getting his wife undressed, Hank had opened the connecting door
between their room and Lari's with the intention of just sticking his head in
long enough to ask for assistance but what he saw captured his gaze as though it
had been caught in a trap. 

A full length mirror mounted in a stand had been turned during the cleaning of
the room, its new angle directly reflecting the interior of the bathroom on the
other side of the room. In the bathroom was Lari, freshly showered and towelling
her nude form which was still coated in places by a glistening combination of
oil and water. The mirror revealed her every action as though Hank was standing
in front of her.

Hank found himself entranced by the reflected vision. Lari's body was so
different from that of her sister.  Like her sister, she was no spring chicken.
This suited Hank fine since, unlike most men his age who sought to deny their
age by sleeping with ever younger women (after all you're only as old as the
women you feel) Hank had come to terms with who he was and preferred to look at
and be with women of his generation. But, in contrast to her sister she took
good care of herself, watching her diet and exercising regularly.  It showed.

Willowy and well textured, without a hint of fat, Lari's physique was taunt yet
soft. White bikini lines outlined by thin red, stripes of sunburn contrasted
with the light fawn colour of her skin which was dotted here and there with
darker freckles and small moles. Her breasts were large in circumference but
small in mass resembling a pair of inverted saucers. Just like those fancy
fashion models in Jan's magazine, thought Hank.

An inch of flesh at the top and bottom of each tit was brown, the remainder
milky white. Her nipples were hard cherry red buttons made more prominent by the
flatness of her tits. A small diagonal scar wove a dark two-inch path from the
middle of her sternum to just above her left breast. Her stomach was flat and
well defined.

Full black hair set around her skull like an ebony dandelion puff waiting for
just the right breeze to set it free; its southern cousin, a large spreading
thatch so thick in texture  the lips of her pussy were barely visible at its
outmost fringes, attested to the fact  her dark hair colour was indeed natural
and not the result of a bottled mix. 

Despite all its angularity her face, with its deep-set eyes set off by long
arching eyebrows and a smooth aquiline nose, was quite attractive although less
so when she put on her glasses, their large oversized ovals and black plastic
frames too at odds with the planes of her face to do anything but distract from
her charm. As he admired the full package, Hank thought to himself, if Lari was
a dog she'd be a greyhound, a smooth, sleek, swift racing greyhound, one that
could run with the very wind itself.

Done drying off, Lari put on her bathrobe its half arms reaching to just below
her elbows, its hem stopping only inches below her crotch.  Hank knew he should
move, that he couldn't let Lari see him but his muscles refused to answer his
commands.

As she stepped through the doorway  Lari saw Hank's reflection in the mirror,
his face seeming to shimmer with pent up longing. She paused in her dressing and
then walked boldly into the room to face Hank head on.  Leaving her pink satin
robe open to display her body directly to her brother-in-law without the
intervention of a looking glass, she moved both hands down to her pussy and,
with hands lightly wrinkled from her shower, pulled her hidden lips as far apart
as they would go revealing a soft coral-tinted tunnel. "Do you like what you see
Hank?"

Allowing the robe to close slightly, she moved back to sit on the edge of the
bed, the mattress depressing slightly allowing the white chenille bedspread to
gather around her legs.  With the palm of her right hand she patted the bed next
to her in invitation.
"Come in, Hank and close the door behind you," she said her voice catching in
her throat.  "It's time we stopped playing games with each other."

Hank felt like he was wading through waist deep mud as he entered the room, the
connecting door swinging shut behind him.  His feet shuffled slowly on the
threadbare carpet, their passage marked by discarded items of clothing.  Half
undressed by the time he reached the bed, Lari wasted no time in helping him
complete his disrobing. Their coupling was just as slow and sensual, the room's
silence broken only by the creaking of the bed, the whisper of flesh sliding
across flesh, breaths taken and expelled, moans and groans only semisuccessfully
stifled. 

They gloried in the feel of each other's bodies, their fingers acting as a
second set of tactile eyes exploring the hidden crannies of their anatomies.
Their lips and tongues drank ravenously of each other's moisture with the
fervour of two prospectors discovering a water hole in the deep dessert. Their
noses inhaled the bouquet of their mating as though all the oxygen was being
sucked from the room. 

It was the beginning of their eight-month affair.

The day after they had returned home from the funeral they had met for lunch
and, over drinks, apologized to each other for their actions, explaining it was
a mistake, a reaction to the stress of the funeral, their mutual sense of grief
and need overcoming their better judgment and vowing  it wouldn't happen again. 
A bottle of wine later,  room eight at the Apex Motel rang with the full
throated cries of their passion, all need to be quiet banished by the lack of
Jan's presence in the next room.

Cautious at first, the fact they hadn't been caught yet transformed itself into
the notion  they wouldn't be caught ever. Indiscretions mounted up. When Jan
found out "you've been boffing that slut sister of mine" she went into a fit the
likes of which Hank had never seen, even at her worst. "You're both going to pay
for this in ways you can't even start to imagine. When I'm through with you and
that bitch . . . "

Jan began her campaign of retribution by taking a lover of her own. And she made
sure  Hank knew all about her newfound lover even as she kept his identity a
secret.

"Lari's the town bicycle, every boy in town's had a ride with her," she said
contemptuously. " If you want to keep playing hide the salami in that fuzzy taco
of hers that's fine with me. It won't be too long before that little worm of
yours falls off anyhow if you keep fucking that diseased little twat.  But
you're never coming near me again." Since they had only slept together twice in
the year before her father's funeral, Jan's threat to withhold sex was less than
compelling to Hank.

"Besides Hankus-pankus, I have a real lover now and I let him do anything he
wants, even the  butter scene from Last Tango in Paris you always talked about
trying." Again, Hank didn't care. He was happy with Lari and the two of them
didn't need to do anything extraordinary to jazz up their sex life.

Several weeks went by and, as the time passed, Jan seemed to mellow, her
stridency and scorn being replaced with a sense of acceptance of the situation. 
Hank thought  she was almost happy.  Hank thought  maybe things were working
themselves out.  Hank thought  perhaps in a little while he and Jan could sit
down and talk about an amicable ending to their marriage, one that would be fair
to both parties and free them to live openly with their consorts. Hank thought
wrong.

Just home from a four-day business trip, Hank opened the front door to his house
only to be greeted by the sight of Lari's couch sitting in the living room, end
tables and lamps from Lari's apartment keeping it company.  Uneasy as to why
Lari's furniture was there, he made a circuit of the house and found a number of
other items that belonged to Lari.  As he was puzzling out the meaning of this
discovery he heard the back door slam shut. 

Jan had returned home from the market, her arms laden with shopping bags full of
white packages. Placing the bags on the table, she turned to Hank, smiled
sweetly and asked, "Hank, would you be a dear and get the rest of the bags out
the car for me while I put these packages in the freezer."

Still uncertain about what was happening, Hank complied.  It took three trips to
the car to bring all of the bags into the kitchen.  Meanwhile Jan was humming
happily to herself as she placed package after package into the chest freezer in
the utility room.

"Did they have a sale on meat at the market," asked Hank surprised at how happy
Jan was.

"Sort of. This is a special order I placed."

"Oh, hey look, I'm not trying to pick a fight," he said continuing to hand her
parcels of meat, "but I noticed a lot of Lari's furniture scattered around the
house."

"I know, one of the few things I've always admired about Lari is her taste in
furniture. And, since she doesn't need it anymore, I thought I'd put it to good
use."

Cold fear whistled through Hank like an Alberta Clipper blowing through an
abandoned barn.  "She's got new furniture," he asked inanely,  a fighter hoping
to slip a knockout blow.

"No. Lari doesn't need any furniture now.  While you were gone on your trip, I
went to court and had her converted to cattle. You're holding part of what's
left of her in your hand right now."

Hank began to tremble like an old car with a shimmy at 70 miles per hour. The
package dropped from his hand and he stared at his wife, hoping  what she said
wasn't true, that it was just a cruel attempt to cause him pain, yet knowing
that hope was forlorn.

Jan turned to him, her smile like a knife slash across her face, hatred and
contempt dripping from every word. "I told you you were going to pay for what
the two of you did to me. How do you like the first instalment?"

Rage bubbled through Hank's body like hot lava. For the first time in his life,
he struck a woman, his open hand cracking hard across her face, hoping with one
blow to cause her as much pain as possible. Jan crumpled to the floor and began
to laugh, cackling like a maddened witch in a grade-B horror film.

"Go ahead tough man, hit me again," she said sadistically, blood dripping from
her nose and mouth. "Hit me all you want.  It won't change a thing. Your
precious Lari is gone. The only thing left of her is steaks and chops." 

Hank stood above his wife, struggling to regain his control before her killed
her with his bare hands.  He wanted to crush her like an empty beer can; and
then leave her to die alone like a dog in an empty ditch. Let her encounter
darkness like a bride come to a wedding, he thought with Shakespearean wrath.
The need to take revenge, rough bloody revenge had fallen upon him like a
biblical plague. But even as he contemplated the woman lying on the floor
beneath him, his anger began to drain away leaving emptiness in its place. 
Without words, he turned and left the home.

Hank's first stop after leaving the house was Bill Jonston's law office. There
he learned  Lari had been a wild child who had gotten into some serious trouble. 
At the age of fifteen her father had successfully petitioned the court to allow
him to establish an optional conversion contract. The contract, which only Lari
and her father knew about, gave him the right to end Lari's human status at the
time of his choosing.

Although normally these contracts ended when the subject reached the age of
eighteen, this contract had been open ended becoming void only after Lari
married. Since the threat of conversion had been enough to straighten out Lari's
behaviour, the contract had remained untouched and uncancelled in a safety
deposit box until after the funeral. Even Lari had forgotten about its
existence.

Under both the terms of her father's will and the revised rule of primogeniture,
Jan had become the head of the family with full legal control over the family's
affairs, including Lari's conversion contract.  Jonston explained to Hank, since
Lari has never married, once the contract came into Jan's possession it could be
enacted at her bidding and she had done so just last week. Jonston insisted
there was nothing  he could do about it. Legally and ethically, he was obligated
to carry out Jan's wishes in the matter including her direct instruction that
Lari not be notified of the conversion.

For the next week, Hank dealt with his grief. Sorrow came at him in waves,
ebbing and flowing like the tides in the bay but always there. He felt as dead
and barren as a skeleton in the low dessert. But gradually and with a great deal
of effort, the lessons his father had taught him helped him to regain control of
his emotions, to put the past behind him and focus on the future.

A self-educated labourer who believed in giving a dollar and ten cents worth of
effort for a dollar's wages, Hank's dad always claimed the only school worth a
damn was the school of hard knocks. He had no time for self pity or worrying
about the past and what might have happened if only he had done something
different. Life wasn't, in his view, something you could change, just something
to get on with.

Even while he was dying from leukaemia, Hank's dad took a no nonsense approach
to life. "Son, too many people in this world waste their time pissing and
moaning about what's happened to them. 'Life's unfair . . .  I didn't get a fair
shake . . .  That's not fair.' Damn straight life's not fair. It's not supposed
to be fair. Life is about overcoming adversity, dealing with the hard times and
doing your best. Face it kid, life's tough and at the end, no matter what you
do, you don't get out of it alive.

"There are going to be days when you're going to want to give up; when it seems
easier to be a whiner than a winner; when hauling your ass out of bed one more
time seems like more trouble than its worth. It's no secret, bad things are
going to happen to you, things you don't deserve. You'll lose jobs, you'll be in
accidents, drunks may sue you because they slipped on your sidewalk, your house
may burn down, women will break your heart, friends will screw you, and people
you love are going to die like I am now. None of that changes anything.

"Hank, if you want to be a man, you can't give up. You have to deal with the
world like it is, not like you want it to be. You have to accept what's happened
and move on. If life gives you lemons you don't just make lemonade, you open a
whole damn chain of stands."

So Hank had buried his grief and got on with his life knowing  when the time was
right, he would avenge himself on his wife, no not his wife, she had forfeited
the right to that title, on Jan. He would avenge himself on Jan.

After a month  Hank returned home, presenting himself to Jan as a chastened
husband seeking forgiveness, counting on her desire to punish him further to
allow him inside the door. Outwardly he wore his regret for what had happened
like a penitent's hair shirt, inwardly he longed for the day he would send her
to Abraham's bosom.

He courted Jan all over again, showering her with small kindnesses, trying to
anticipate her needs before she could voice them, giving her no cause for
quarrel, the picture of a man on probation trying to win a full parole.  He
missed no opportunity to ingratiate himself with Jan, his newly honeyed tongue
hiding the dagger in his voice.

At times Hank hated himself, not for his duplicity which he saw as necessary to
gain his revenge, to him Jan deserved all the lies he was telling and more. No
what disgusted Hank were the actions he felt he had to take. Sleeping with Jan
was like selling his soul to the devil, a bargain he was more than willing to
make to satiate his need for retribution. And the dinners, the dinners were the
hardest of all to take.

Jan made quite a production of these dinners which she called "Lari's Blue Plate
Specials." It wasn't having to consume Lari's flesh that turned Hank's stomach.
There was nothing unusual or even particularly tragic about eating someone you
loved. That was just part and parcel of life since the great disaster.

Besides Lari was actually quite tasty, her meat nicely textured with a rich,
deep flavour. Sure he missed Lari, missed her deeply but who was to say she
wouldn't have wound up on his table anyway. Life had a funny way of playing
tricks on a person.  Hank could honestly say Lari had was as toothsome in the
serving dish as she was in bed.

The dinners were the hardest to take because of the remorseless jubilation Jan
took in them. Each meal was a reiteration of the fact  she had hated Hank
enough, despised his happiness so much, that she had had her sister slaughtered
just to cause him pain. Every time Lari was served Jan was saying "I won." And
so she had, but not for long. Before the week was out Jan would be joining her
sister as another set of white packages in the freezer.

Whistling at the thought of Jan reduced to single-sized servings, Hank opened
the door to The Stockyard to be greeted effusively by the owner, Martin Brune.
"Hank, I was just telling Shirley  you should be by soon," he said, holding a
sheaf of papers in one hand. "Are we going to do business?"

"Do you have everything ready," Hank asked the pudding-faced proprietor? Hank
really didn't like Marty, who he thought was just a little too sharp an operator
for his taste, never missing an opportunity to turn a buck, even if it meant
going outside the line. Not that he wasn't honest, if that had been the case he
would have been banished from the monthly poker game a long time ago. But Marty
had a reputation for being sharper than a guillotine blade. If it hadn't been
for their acquaintance at the card table, Hank might have gone to Crenshaw's for
this job but the monthly get together had to count for something.

"Yes sir, I surely do," Marty replied as enthusiastic as a used car salesman
spotting a family hitchhiking.  "Everything and I want to emphasize everything,
you requested is ready. All I need are a copy of the order and, of course, your
check.

"You know Hank," Marty went on as Hank took out his checkbook, "the way I see it
you are practically getting my services gratis. I mean all the money you have
taken off of me in just the past six months more than pays for this little job,
even with all the extras. You sure you don't have anyone else you want done? I'd
sure like to get a little closer to breaking even anyhow."

"Sorry, Marty," Hank replied handing over the check. "Just this job, at least
for the time being." While Marty was a cunning businessman his prowess at the
poker table was sorely lacking. Over the years Hank had learned to read his face
at the games like an open book, a skill that had landed him many a fine pot but
one that hadn't carried over to his business dealings with his card playing
adversary.  It was like Marty had two different personalities. His commercial
persona was shrewd and calculating, never giving away anything while his gaming
incarnation was reckless and less than inscrutable.

Folding the check twice, Marty placed it in the front pocket of his shirt. "Well
buddy, when do you want to do it?"

"I'll bring her by tomorrow at lunchtime."

"Great, perfect, no problemo big guy.  I'll have everyone primed and ready to
go. I figure three, three and a half hours for the preliminaries;  five-ten
minutes for the main event, fifteen at most; a day, day and a half for
processing; she should be ready for pickup by the weekend. If you want any
portions sooner than that we could cut some off special for you tomorrow.
Nothing really choice you understand, but enough to give you a little taste or
two."

"Thanks Marty but the weekend will do just fine. See you at noon."

"Righto Hank, noon it shall be. I know my guys are sure looking forward to it."

As Hank left The Stockyard, shaking his head at Marty, he thought of a
conversation from one of their games.

"You guys all remember my daughter Denise," asked Marty a cigar dangling out of
one corner of his mouth, the grey ash falling onto the dip on his snack plate as
he talked. "You know, the kid I had with my second wife, the one I was sending
to business school. The kid not the wife." Heads nodded in agreement.  "Well, it
seems  she had to take a course in 'business ethics' now there's an oxymoron if
I ever heard one.  In this class, which meets twice a week at 7:30 in the
morning, too early  for my taste I'll tell you . . .  Anyway, in this class
they'd give you these scenarios and ask you what ethical dilemma is posed and
what you'd do to solve it.

"Denise tells me about one where she and a friend own a business together. In
this little morality play a customer comes in to settle his account in cash and
pays Denise with a $100 bill. After he leaves Denise notices  there's a second
$100 bill stuck to the first one. Now remember this isn't really happening, this
is just make believe. So anyway Denise tells me the instructor gave her a
failing grade just because he didn't like her answer. The bastard didn't even
let her get to her solution."

"Ok Marty, I'll ask," said Bob Rickmund. "I know I'll regret it but I'll ask.
Why'd the instructor flunk her?"

"Cause Denise said the moral quandary was whether or not she should tell her
partner about the second $100 bill," reported Marty laughing so hard his cigar
dropped to the table. "Yep, that's my daughter all right. Make a buck any way
you can, a chip off the old block."

When Hank got home, Jan was in the living room sitting on the couch, a gothic
romance novel in her hand. She was wearing a sleek blue dress which did her no
favours by clinging so tightly to her body. Her lack of undergarments was
clearly visible as were an assortment of unsightly bulges and rolls. A matching
pair of patterned nylons surrounded her legs like blue sausage casings filled
almost to bursting. Her arms resembled the trunks of baby elephants, their
wrinkled flesh hanging loosely from the underside, a testimony to the inexorable
and unflattering combination of both aging and gravity.

A strand of inexpensive gold-coloured beads hung off her neck, their drop
reaching well below her pendulous breasts, a matching pair of large hoops
adorning her earlobes. Her peroxide blonde hair was set in a beehive hairstyle
while thin, plucked eyebrows stretched across her brow.

With a smile pasted to his face, Hank held out a bouquet of mixed flowers. "Why
are there for me," Jan simpered the freshwater pearl bracelet on her arm
rotating as she reached out for the vibrant blooms? "What's the occasion? Have
you been a naughty boy again?"

"No Jan, I got these just because you are you. By the way, I've got some free
time at lunch tomorrow and I'd like to take you out though it won't be to any
place fancy. Dress casually, maybe even something you wouldn't miss if it gets
torn off you.  I'll pick you up at about 11:30."

Jan pried herself up off the couch and walked toward the kitchen, carrying the
flowers in her hand. Hank watched as her buttocks jiggled like a gelatin desert
on a three-year old's plate.  Jan's voice came back to him over the sound of
running water as she filled a vase to receive his floral offering.  'So you're
going to tear my clothes off me are you? That sounds interesting. But why wait
until tomorrow. I'm not wearing all that much right now."

Since he had returned home, Hank had approached his carnal relations with Jan as
a duty he had to perform, like changing the oil in the car or taking out the
garbage.  He thought of himself as an actor in a porn film or a male gigolo
hired to service an aging dowager. No real involvement, just automated
precision, with enough variation thrown in to hide his indifference while still
keeping the client interested. He dredged up memories of what Jan liked in bed
to add verisimilitude to his role. And what performances he gave.

Ignore the white flesh the colour of library paste, the sour scent emanating
from a mouthful of crooked teeth, the smeared pink lipstick tasting of
strawberries, saliva dripping from slack lips he always told himself. Forget
about Lari and how much you wish it were her under you moaning and thrashing.
Concentrate on playing the part of the ardent lover to Jan. Your cock is a hoe,
her cunt the furrow. Weed her, plant your seed in that furrow.

He would send his fingers running through hair made wire brittle by chemical
rinses as though it was the softest golden down: his cock entering and exiting
her cunt with the even, measured strokes of a master carpenter sawing wood; his
fingers tweaking her nipples with the dispassion of an engineer tuning in a
distant station on an old AM radio.

He gave out cries of desire as false as a politician's smile; all pleasure
absent when he felt her rubbery pussy walls flutter against his dick;  his
orgasms sparked not by enjoyment or ecstasy but simple mechanical friction of
body parts running roughly against each other. Afterwards his murmured
assurances of his love and devotion were as empty as his heart, a simple device
to quell Jan's worries until he could act.

This bout in the bedroom with Jan was different.  Hank's cock was a stiff as a
tire iron, throbbing so hard it hurt as though he was a fifteen year old boy who
had taken an overdose of his father's  Viagra. Sexual hunger gripped his very
being, overriding his sense of detachment. The knowledge of what Jan would face
the next day only added to his excitement. For the first time since Lari's
butchering he wanted to fuck Jan, to lose himself in her doughy body, to match
her orgasm for orgasm. 

Hank stared at Jan lying on the bed, her back flat against the mattress. He
grabbed the top of her dress, ripping it quickly along one seam.  He reached
underneath Jan and, with some effort, half-lifted her off the mattress to remove
the rest of the dress then let her drop back to the bed. Breathing heavily he
gazed at the sprawl of her arms and legs, the way her breasts lay flattened and
flaccid against her rising and falling chest; the fur covering the bulge of her
pubic bone, smelled the odour of her cunt. He knelt between her spread legs,
teased her sex by slowly running his cock up and down its length, opening the
lips but never penetrating them, rubbing across her outthrust clit, pressing it
back into the tangle of hair and moistened flesh.

Reaching out with both hands, he grasped Jan's head and pulled it to him with a
hard yank, revelling in the gasp she made. He kissed her deeply and wetly, his
tongue circling her mouth, scraping against the rim of her teeth. Jan responded
by dropping her hands to his buttocks trying to force his dick into her. Still
Hank held off, content for the time to rub her heated cunt lips with his cock,
to stoke her needs to a higher level before fulfilling them.

His head dropped to her nipples biting each in turn, hard enough to hurt but not
to injure. His hands formed claws and squeezed her buttocks, the nails digging
into her skin. Jan began to rock, moaning inarticulately. Her knees curled
upwards seeking her chest, her eyes crying "fuck me, fuck me."

Hank moved upwards on Jan, his knees pinning her arms to the bed, his ass
grinding against her tits.  His cock bumped insistently against her mouth,
demanding her submission and worship.  Jan shook her head from side to side, her
jaws clamped tight against the invader, until another sharp tug on her hair
opened her mouth.  Hank's cock entered, stretching her mouth out of shape,
forcing her quivering lips tight against his manhood, her tongue tasting the
proofs of his passion. 

Despite her earlier protestations Jan began to suck, her mouth nursing at his
prick like a newborn.  Hank sawed in and out, going deep into her throat until
she choked and then pulling out to rest the head of his cock on the front end of
her tongue, enjoying the sputtering sound as Jan tried to take a breath around
his dick.  He thrust back in, beyond her palate, into the recess of her throat
not pulling out.  Jan started to gag, her convulsions tickling the sides of
Hank's cock. He waited until Jan begins to shake like an epileptic, then moved
totally out to allow sweet precious air to reach her lungs. As she panted
deeply, Hank released his hold on her head, moving downward, his weight leaving
her chest.

Hank's head burrowed between her legs into her already wet cunt, his saliva
adding to the libidinous humidity of her groin. Now Jan acted, her hands seized
Hank's hair, rubbing his face against her pussy like a dish rag on a platter,
while his hands cupped her asscheeks and pulled her closer, his tongue swirling
past her sensitive folds to scour the sides of her tunnel. She ground her cunt
onto Hank's lips and teeth, the contractions of her belly announcing her first
crescendo of the evening.

Jan brought her ass high up off of the bed to allow Hank to penetrate more
fully. She sucked at his dick with her vacuuming pussy, welcoming it past her
slickened portals. As he moved in and out she rotated her pelvis in short, quick
circles each movement heightening their pleasure. Hank felt his groin begin to
tighten and tingle, letting his weight drive him into her as far as he can. Jan
responded in kind, her breasts mashed against his chest, her fingers pulling his
hairs, her toes curling toward the ceiling, her total being centred on the
interlock of cock and cunt, all wet frothy ringlets of hair and slippery flesh.

Her pelvis jumped three times, four times, five times, ripples rolling across
her stomach, a high keening noise escaping her lips as her pussy contracted
spasmodically around the object of its desires. Still Hank pounded away,
ignoring her second series of orgasms, going deeper with each thrust until he
thought he's inside her cunt's cunt.

As Jan's nails raked his skin, visions filled his head like unwanted mescaline
flashbacks. Their first date, Jan as shy as the sheltered youngster she was.
Their wedding, he and Jan dancing. Their first fight as newlyweds, saying
hateful things they didn't mean. A later fight as an old married couple, meaning
every spiteful word they uttered. His desire for Lari and her's for him. Lari
caressing him during a stolen moment at a family gathering.  His grief at her
termination. Swearing revenge against Jan. Making the arrangements with Marty.

Hank threw his head back and bellowed like a hound howling at a red and gibbous
moon, a flow of molten lava exploding from his cock as he thought about what
would happen to Jan tomorrow after she stepped out of the car.

Water cascading down her body, Jan heard the phone ring. Let the machine pick it
up she thought to herself, luxuriating in the feel of the spray from the shower
head against her skin as damascened ribbons of translucent bubbles washed from
her body to course across the bottom of the tub before swirling down the drain.
For the first time in ages, she felt content and relaxed, almost at peace. 
Hank's behaviour these last few months had started to heal the breach between
them, his sexual gymnastics of the night before reminding her of their early
days of dating, the man had been practically insatiable. You'd have thought he'd
been a sailor who hadn't been given shore leave for five months.

As she towelled herself dry, Jan wondered if she shouldn't reconsider her
decision about Hank. He'd been so sweet lately, all apology and contriteness.
Maybe Hank had learned his lesson and things could go back to being the way they
were before he strayed.

Patting herself with a powder puff, her body enveloped in a murky cloud of
geranium-scented dust, the remembrance of how Hank had betrayed her with her
sister twisted Jan's face in anger, her heart growing as cold as the north side
of a gravestone in winter.  No, Hank had made his choice, as poor as it was. Now
he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions, at least for a little
while longer.

In any case, there was no reason why she couldn't continue to enjoy the fruits
of Hank's efforts to reingratiate himself with her, including today's lunch.
Having Hank trailing after her like a poodle who would do anything for even a
small sign of affection from its mistress was rather fun.  It would be
interesting to see what he would do next.

Now fully dressed, in an older outfit she didn't mind having torn off her, Jan
walked to the living room where the blinking green light on the answering
machine prompted her to play back the message that had come in while she was
showering.

"Jan, it's Hank.  I'm sorry but something has come up at work and I can't pick
you up. I'm not cancelling our outing. I've been looking forward to it for too
long to do that.  But I'm going to have to meet you there."

Jan frowned as she listened to the recording. Having to drive herself to their
lunch date certainly took some of the lustre from the occasion.

Almost as if he could read her mind Hank continued "It's not fair of me to ask
you out and then make you drive so I've arranged for a day coach to pick you up.
You won't have to worry about how you're going to get home. I'll see to that.
Just be ready when they come by. Oh, just one more thing, there'll be a little
surprise waiting for you in the coach.  Well, I've got to go.  I'll see you in a
little while."

So Hank was sending a coach for her. That was a nice touch.  "Madame, your
carriage awaits."  And not just a coach but a surprise too. Couldn't be flowers,
she just got those last night. Maybe a nice bottle of sparkling wine. Well, the
proper amount of anticipation just made things nicer and the twenty minutes left
before Hank was supposed to pick her up was just right.


The ringing of the doorbell coincided with the chiming of the clock on a living
room mantle. It was 11:30 and Jan's ride was here. She opened the door to be
greeted by a strapping young man in a conservative black suit set off with a
muted argent tie. One gnarled hand held a small, brightly wrapped box with a
dark red bow which he quickly handed to her.

"Good morning mam," he said politely, his rich voice matching the warm smile on
his face.  "My name is Thomas and I'm here to drive you to your final
destination. Mr. Gyger asked me to tell you,  you should open your gift before
you got into the coach."

Jan couldn't help smiling back at Thomas, even as her eyes took in his muscular
structure. Although the events of the evening just past had been delightful, she
admired the way filled out his suit. Maybe he'd be interested in really driving
her some night when Hank wasn't home.

A rattling sound from inside the box shifted her attention from the driver back
to Hank's surprise. Tearing off the wrapping like a five-year old opening
Christmas gifts, Jan opened the box to discover the source of the noise was a
thick silver choker. Jewelry, Hank got me a nice piece of jewelry, she thought
holding the necklace in her hand, the sun glinting off its shiny pebbled
surface.

"Mam, if you don't mind, I'll help you on with that," said Thomas gently taking
hold of her gift.  Wordlessly, Jan turned around as Thomas' strong hands placed
the choker around her neck. For just a moment Jan imagined his hands had
lingered on her neck, in a soft, sensuous invitation for more serious pleasures.
Chiding herself for the fantasy, after all he's less than half your age and
probably has more teenyboppers than he knows what to do with banging on his door
for a chance to bang him, she gave a small start as he moved his hands slowly
down the back of dress.

"I'm sorry mam. I didn't mean to make you jump like that. It's just the tag was
sticking up from the back of your dress. How's that necklace feel now," he
asked, his hands still kneading her shoulders?

"I think it's just a little too tight," Jan said hurriedly, his massaging
fingers bringing a tingle to her loins. "It's not laying quite right. The little
bumps are pressing into my throat and I can't get my finger underneath it."

"No mam, that's the way this piece is designed to be worn. It's supposed to
press firmly against the flesh of your neck. Why don't you turn around and let
me take a look at it from the front?"

As she turned Jan felt Thomas's fingers squeeze against her buttocks. He is
coming on to me, she told herself with excitement. We won't have time to do
anything on the ride over to lunch, I'd want to take my time with this hunk but
I've got to get his number for later.

Thomas reached up and adjusted the choker, his strong fingers stroking up and
down on Jan's neck and the underside of her chin.  "Looks good on you mam, just
the way it should.  Your skin is supposed to just peek over the top and bottom
edge of the necklace and that's what it's doing. But I tell you what, when we
get to where we are going if you still think it's too tight, I'll take it off
you and we can refit it. Deal?"

"Sure, it's a deal," said Jan. And that's not all I want you to take off me she
thought but didn't say.

Holding the back door of the day coach open for her, Thomas motioned her inside.
"I'm afraid we do have a schedule we need to keep to," he said regretfully. "So
if you don't mind . . . "

Jan entered the rear of the coach and sat down in the seat. Thomas reached over
and pulled her seat belt across her and fastened it,  his fingers smoothly
palming her braless breasts during both halves of their passage. I'm not
imagining things, I excite this young stud. Just look at the size of that lump
in his pants.

As they drove down the road, Thomas lowered the glass partition between the
front and back seats.  "I'm sorry mam but there's still  one more thing I need
to do before we get to our destination."

"By all means go ahead," said Jan graciously, already planning on how to best
enjoy her envisioned romp with the driver.

"Thank you mam. I hope you enjoy the ride."  As Thomas' finger depressed a large
red button on the dash, Jan felt a buzzing sensation run through her entire body
as though she was being buried under an avalanche of maddened hornets.

When she awoke, Jan found herself naked and lying on her back strapped to a
breeding bench. Her ass was hanging off the edge of the bench; her legs spread
wide between vertical bars. Her arms were stretched down and back and fastened
to the underside of the bench. Taking a breath, she tried to scream but the only
sound that exited her mouth was a muffled squeak, like a small mouse being
batted around by a cat.

With great effort she raised her head off the bench until her chin touched her
chest. Peering down her chest she saw Hank sitting calmly in a gunmetal chair.
On a small table to his right were six plates, each with a quarter stick of
butter. A thin black leather thong lay in a circle around the plates.

Seeing that Jan was awake, Hank stood up and walked over to stand next to her
head. Gently stroking her hair he smiled at her and began to talk.

"Hi Jan, glad to see you're back with us.  I know you're sore. That's what
happens when a blackout collar like the one you were wearing is triggered.  Of
course, that's not the only reason you're sore.  You were catheterized to get
all of the urine out of your bladder and I'm afraid they weren't as considerate
as they could have been. It took them several tries to get the tube placed
right." As he was talking Hank's hand slipped down from Jan's hair to rub
against the side of her face. "You were also on the receiving end of four
enemas, including a high colonic. Pretty rough I'll bet.  But it's just so messy
when a woman voids herself so we thought we'd get you cleaned up ahead of time."

Jan began to struggle against her bonds, only to have Hank's hand push her head
back down to the bench.  "If I were you Jan, I wouldn't waste my strength on
trying to get loose.  That's not going to happen and you're going to need your
strength later." Again Jan tried to talk but only a soft bleat escaped her
throat. 

"Oh, that's another thing. You've been given a temporary anesthetic to stop you
from screaming. That means you can't talk either.

"Now you're probably wondering where you are and why," said Hank after he moved
his chair around to allow him to sit next to Jan.  "Well as to where you are,
you're in a small room in The Stockyard. They use it for 'special order'
slaughterings, the kinds that don't use their assembly line methods. And since
you now know where you are, I'll bet you won't have any trouble guessing why
you're here."

Jan's lips moved forming the word "Lari."

"That's right Jan. You're here because of what you did to Lari. It could have
been so good for all of us, me, Lari, you and your mystery lover, if only you
had been adult about the whole thing.  But that wasn't your style was it Jan,"
asked Hank, emotion filling his voice. "You were jealous, couldn't stand the
fact that Lari and I were happy. So you had her converted. Well, yesterday the
Judge signed a conversion order for you and in just a little while you're going
to be reunited with Lari."

Methodically, Hank began to strip, carefully folding his clothes and placing
them on the chair. Jan watched her eyes wide and as filled with hate as a
bigot's mind. Hank walked to the table and returned with a stick of butter in
his hand.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen, Jan. I think you have a right to know. 
First I'm going to fuck that ass of yours, the one you wouldn't let me into the
whole time we've been screwing.  When I'm done, when my come is dripping from
your wide-open asshole, then I'm going to clean myself up, get dressed and push
that button on the wall."

Jan's gaze moved from Hank's face to follow his pointing finger. On the wall,
next to the door, was a bright green button.  "That button's going to tell Marty
that we're ready for the next step. You're going to pull a train for six guys
Jan, three at a time over and over again. They're going to fill every hole
you've got. Including your ass. That's what the extra butter is for. Just think
of it Jan, six of them moving constantly from cunt to ass to mouth.  And hon,
you don't have to worry, Thomas will be one of them.  He told me that you
practically dropped to your knees and gave him a blowjob right on the sidewalk
while he put the blackout collar on you."

Hank began to smear the butter on his rampant cock, pale yellow tallow oozing
between his fingers. "And when they're done, when they can't get one more
hard-on, when every last wiggling little spermatozoon has been drained from
twelve balls, Thomas is going to take that leather thong and use it to send you
on your way."

Hank's invading cock pushed insistently against Jan's anal rosebud, forcing its
way past her clenched tightness, ripping and tearing tender flesh as it moved
deeper into her bowels.  Rivers of black flame clouded Jan's sight as Hank
punished her ass with every stroke, his dick relentless and without pity in its
quest to embed itself in her until she was as raw as a scraped artichoke leaf.

Jan's tits bounced like half-filled water balloons on her chest, their gyrations
matching Hank's strokes. His hands reach out like the claws of a maddened animal
and begin to scour small strips of skin off Jan's stomach leaving red bleeding
troughs in their wake.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen when they're done fucking you," rasped
Hank between thrusts.  "First they're going to take a half-hour break to get
some of their strength back. Once they've recovered they'll turn you over on
your stomach but they're going to be sure they still have access to your pussy
and ass.  You arms will be spread out to your sides and tied down. Then while
the rest of them take turns fucking you, Thomas is going to sit on your back and
drive most of the air from your lungs. You'll still be able to breathe but it
will be hard, every breath you take will be a small torture.

"Thomas will take the cord and wrap it around your neck. If you're lucky he'll
let you take one more deep breath before he tightens the cord. You'll struggle.
It won't do you any good but it'll sure be stimulating for whoever is lucky
enough to be fucking you at the time.  He'll twist the thong tighter; it'll cut
into the flesh of your neck, maybe you'll even bleed a little but I bet you
won't bled as much as Lari did when they cut her head off."

Savage before, Hank's fucking took on a positively feral quality as he continued
to taunt Jan with her fate.  "Just before you pass out, Thomas will ease up and
let you have a little bit of air, just enough to keep things lively for awhile.
But, as I know only too well, all good things must come to an end.  You taught
me that lesson Jan and I've taken it to heart. With Bill in hospital, I've
deputized Thomas to act as my divorce attorney. When he tightens that cord for
the final time he'll end both your life and our marriage and I can, I can, I, I,
I . . ." With a shudder Hank slammed into Jan's ass, the tendons on his neck
stiff and quivering as he threw his head back, all the energy in his body
flowing through his cock to rest deep inside Jan's ass.

Marty escorted Hank down the hallway toward his office. "Hank are you sure you
don't want to see it happen? You're paying enough for it. You don't even have to
be in the room with her if you don't want to. We've got a one-way mirror you can
watch through. Those are pretty standard in my line of work. She'll never even
know you were there, not that it would matter in the end."

'Thanks Marty," said Hank as he shuffled down the hall like an old man beset
with arthritis. "Don't ask me why but I'd rather not. And I want you to go back
in and ask Thomas to make it quick. Never mind all that 'pulling a train' stuff
I asked for. Making Jan suffer won't bring Lari back. I guess I'm not really cut
out for revenge the way I thought I was."

"Jeeze, Hank, the guys sure will be disappointed. Are you sure you still want
Jan terminated?"

"Yeh, I owe Lari that much at least. And with Jan out of the way, maybe I can
start my life over again. Find somebody new, a second sunrise in my life, you
know all that 'new beginnings' stuff the radio shrink is always going on about."

Marty stopped before an unmarked grey door. "Hank there's something that's
bothering you. Tell brother Marty what it is."

"Man, you're going to think I'm nuts. Marty I swear that when we left the room
and I looked at Jan that one last time . . . Well, damn it I'd swear she was
laughing, laughing at me. After all that and with what she knew was going to
happen to her she was laughing at me."

"Naw, I don't think you're crazy at all. Come on in here with me for a minute,"
Marty said holding the door open for Hank to enter the darkened room, "and I'll
tell you why." Hank heard a "whoosh" near his right ear as he entered the room.
A pain blossomed in his head and the room grew even darker.

When Hank awoke he found himself naked and lying on his stomach bound to a
bench, his head held tightly in some sort of restraint.  Unable to look up, Hank
could only see a plastic crate from Teelucky's Dairy, its gridwork stained with
what looked like dried rust. My god, he thought, I'm tied on a guillotine.
"Marty," he croaked querulously, "hey, Marty are you there?"

"Yeah Hank, I'm here," replied a voice from behind him.

"Come on man, this isn't funny. Let me go. Get me off this fucking thing."

"Sorry Hanko, no can do big fellow."

"Marty quit screwing around and let me out of here. This joke isn't very funny."

"Hank, I hate to be the one to tell you but this isn't a joke."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Remember when I told the group about getting the contract with the country to
do conversions? Yeah, sure you do.  Well, my friend, the court ordered your
conversion> I'm supposed to have you chopped and packaged by tomorrow."

Hank felt his bladder give way, the warm puddle spreading beneath his stomach
and legs. "Marty, come on, you've got things all screwed up. Jan was the
conversion, not me. I brought you the order from the Judge. It was for Jan."

"Yep, Hank you're right. The order you brought me was for Jan but then, about an
hour later, I got another order and this one was for you.  Here's how it plays
out.  Remember you told all of us at the game that Jan had taken a lover but you
didn't know who it was. Well, it turns out that Bill Jonston was her lover. They
were in it together. I'll bet that they even forged that old contract about
Lari. I mean I don't know that for sure but it would fit.  Anyway,  they weren't
going to stop with Lari.  Bill was on his way to see the Judge with a conversion
petition about you when he had that car accident. The papers flew under the seat
and they didn't find them until the yard was doing the final clean out on the
car before it was scraped."

Hank began to panic, rocking from side to side in an attempt to get free of the
bench.  "Hey man, don't do that," Marty advised hurriedly. "You're not going to
get loose but you could make the blade slip. If that happens it might not kill
you cleanly. I've seen people with their heads still half-attached and breathing
after a blade slipped.You wouldn't want that to happen to you and I can't have
that happen here. I've got a rep you know. If you keep it up I'm going to have
to drop the blade now." Sobbing, Hank forced himself to lie still.

"That's better Hank, now where were we? Oh I know, the accident.  Well, after
the yard guys found the papers they took them to the Judge. I guess they got
there just a few minutes after you left. Since everything was in legal, they
used some sort of prior entrustment contract you made out when you went into the
hospital for that operation, I guess Bill might have added some extra language
or something, anyhow the main thing is the Judge signed the order and the job
came to me. And so here we are and now you know why Jan was laughing when you
left the room. She knew there was a contract out on you as well."

"Marty, man come on Marty, we're friends. You can't do this to a friend. Come on
Marty. Damn it. Listen to me. Marty I'll pay whatever you want," said Hank his
panic returning and his voice getting higher with each sentence. "Just tell me.
How much is it going to cost. Marty, talk to me. Tell me the price."

"Friendship is one thing Hank. Business is another. And this is just business.
Sorry but that's the way it is. Everything's automated in this room. I'm going
to turn off the light when I leave. The blade will drop quickly and I guarantee
you won't feel a thing. If you do just let me know and I'll give the county
their money back." As he left the room Marty heard Hank's scream come to a
sudden stop followed by a thud like wet dirt slapped with a spade.

The next morning Shirley stuck her head into Marty's office.  "Mr. Brune, what
should we do with the meat from the Gygers?  His order gave her meat to him and
her order gave his meat to her. Now who gets it?"

"Well, technically, I guess it belongs to The Stockyard now. I tell you what
though, call up the food bank and see if they have enough room in their freezers
for both Jan and Hank. That way, on top of the slaughtering and processing fees,
we can take a tax write-off for donating the meat. Since neither one of them was
in very good shape, the write-off will make us more money than we'd get if we
sold the meat to a store. It's even better than finding a second hundred dollar
bill in the till."

Hell, life is good thought Marty to himself as Shirley went to call the food
bank. And with Hank out of the way, I might even win a few hands at next month's
game.

Cannibal 4H Chapter Twenty: A Day at The Races by Eurytion

THE TREES WERE CLOTHED in a harlequin costume of terra-cotta, gold and umber
leaves, the occasional loden green needles of a pine or a spruce serving only to
emphasize fall's onslaught.  A handful of high chalky clouds danced their way
eastward in the wind as the sun continued to rise up the dome of a milk glass
sky.  The morning chill, more invigorating than a cup of black coffee from
Rowena's, had been replaced by a temperate breeze whose movement snapped the
pennants on the triple-spired red roof of the grandstand to and fro.

August's Cannibal Fair was a local event, attended mainly by local residents
since almost  every county in the country had their own version of that summer
festival. But the three days in October devoted to the Chiron Cup races were a
major regional event attracting spectators and competitors from beyond a
five-state area.

The substantial influx of outside money from the Cup festivities was a boon to
the community's economy, providing an appreciated cushion against the ups and
down of farming. Not all local residents welcomed out of town guests with open
arms. Dara Henderson and her clique, who aired their grievances like the weekend
wash, always groused loudly about the crowds, the noise, the difficulty of
getting a meal in the town's restaurants and the overwhelming volume of traffic.
Most of the business owners were too busy tallying up the day's receipts to take
notice of the complaints.

While the races were the main attraction, they were not the only inducement to
visit. For two days before the races the fairgrounds were filled with musical
acts, plays and other smaller entertainments such as acrobats, jongleurs,  and
illusionists. There were competitions for best musical group, theatre troupe,
saltimbanque show, and strolling player.

Meals were also the subject of competitions. The cuisine served at the Cup races
was more upscale and varied than at the fair, with dishes such as servelles au
berrenoir or beef en daube offered by the caterers to the owners in their
private dining area.  Pot-au-feu, cassoulets or lobscouse were available in the
clubhouse eatery while grandstand residents could dine on boiled dinners,
sausages and sauerbraten. Of course, as befits an area whose main industry was
human cattle ranching, excellent barbecue from the chuck wagons dotting the
grounds was available to all.  More than four dozen head of cattle, many from
the Geryon's ranch, would be spit-roasted to a dusky umber over open fires,
while another dozen would find their dismembered way into the broilers to be
served on a stick or as sandwiches.

Billing itself as "your guide to the nation's best fairs, festivals and other
celebrations," Callithump magazine did an annual feature on Chiron Cup cuisine
which rated the various offerings and included recipes for the most popular.
Rival restaurateurs jockeyed to appear between its covers. Ernst Grayh, who
together with his wife Mitzi, ran Procrustes' Carvery, a fashionable restaurant
in the next county, had raised the bar this year by running a series of
advertisements before the races promising a new specialty, one which would be "a
taste sensation unlike any ever offered before."

With all the attractions and the national publicity, the Chiron Cup races were
very well attended. Cars, campers, pickups and trailers of both the horse and
human kind loaded the parking lot and surrounding streets to capacity.  Long
queues of people waiting at each of the seven entrances for the festivities to
begin were common. Today had been no different.

To make sure they got a good seat, Dickie Peal and Ralph Levitt had arrived at
the southwest gate an hour before it was scheduled to open.  Seating in the
grandstand was at a premium and the pair of ranch hands wanted to get the best
spots possible.  While they were waiting they talked about the campaign of 
vandalism against human cattle ranching and what was being done, or to their way
of thinking, not being done about it. 

Since the initial occurrence at Shea's Butcher Shop and despite the efforts of
the sheriff's department the harassment had continued.  Several shops had been
defaced with blood-red "Stop the Murder" graffiti.  Roofing nails were scattered
in parking lots.  Fences at ranches were torn down and mailboxes smashed.
Repeated incidents of sugar in petrol tanks had led to Peter Barton's supply
store placing two reorders for locking caps. The latest attack, a serious
dustbin fire behind Crenshaw's, had moved the situation from one of
mosquito-like annoyance to one demanding action.

Assigned to crowd control duties at the races, deputies Wally Zehr and Stan
Triplett, were also engaged in heated conversation over the same subject. "Mutt,
I don't find this stuff fucking amusing anymore," the taller of the two lawmen
told his partner.  "This shit is going to stop before somebody gets hurt."

"OK, I'm with you on that but how?  We've stepped up patrols but we can't be
everywhere at once unless you want to deputize everyone in the county and
somehow I don't think the sheriff's going to buy that one.  Can you see Dickie
Peal running around with a badge, let alone a gun? That'd be a bigger threat to
public safety than anything that's happened so far."

Spitting a stream of umber tobacco juice onto the ground in disgust, Zehr
explained  "Don't need 'em.  You and I can do this ourselves."

"Wally, at the risk of being repetitive and repetitious let me once again pose
my original question of how?  How are you and I going to pull off this miracle
of law enforcement, I'd say singlehandedly but that wouldn't be quite right
since there are two of us, dual-handedly maybe?"

"We're going after Annelise Dracon, that's how. We both know that bitch is
behind all of this.  It started once she hit town.  It won't end until she's
caught."

Sighing heavily, Triplett stared directly at his partner.  "Look, I agree with
you  it probably is her.  Hell, Ev McAuliffe knows her as well as anyone and he
thinks she's behind it.  But thinking it, even knowing it, isn't the same as
proving it."

A second brown stream followed the first. "Only way to prove it is to catch her. 
Only way to catch her is to watch her.  That's what you and I are going to do,
watch her.  Nothing illegal.  We're not going to pull a black-bag job and toss
her house. We're not going to plant a bug on her.  Just going to keep a friendly
eye on her; make sure she's safe and all right 'cause ya know those letters of
hers have stirred up a real shit storm in town.  No telling who might have a
hard-on for her.  It's our job to make sure she's safe.  Serve and protect
that's us."

Running his hand across the bottom of his face, Mutt queried his partner, 
"Remember that scene in Bringing Up Baby where Katherine Hepburn is throwing the
rocks at the window and Cary Grant says 'I know I should run but somehow I just
can't move.' Just think of me as Cary Grant.  Aw hell, I'm just as tired of this
shit as you are. I guess somebody has to keep a closer eye on the lady.  If she
thinks we're stalking her she can always go to the Judge for a writ of
prevention."

Unaware a target had just been pinned to her back, Anneliese sat in her kitchen,
her left hand glistening, a tube of burn ointment lying half-crumpled on the
white wood table.  The lid of the dustbin had dropped down at the worst possible
time, just after the bottle full of petrol had shattered inside, trapping her
hand in the expanding flames for several seconds.  While it was happening,
Anneliese felt more fear than she did pain. 

Not a fear of dying, she knew the time left her was limited, soon she would be
caught and, once caught, her demise would be assured.  She wasn't afraid of how
she would die; she had resigned herself to her death being humiliating and
painful, one intended to serve as a warning to others. Her fear was of dying
before she had completed her life's mission, before she could redeem the
sacrifices Aunt Vi had made, before she could keep her final promise to
Sebastian.

Although her injuries weren't serious, mostly some redness and swelling with
only a couple of small second degree burns and a bruise where the lid had
landed, she knew  she couldn't be seen until they healed.  Too bad since she had
something very special planned for the races.  Still it probably wasn't a bad
idea to lie low for a while and let others aid the struggle.  Some one or ones
had rallied to the cause because she hadn't put sugar in anybody's petrol tank
and she sure hadn't gone riding around tearing down fences. For now she was
content to see what her mysterious allies came up with while she recuperated.

As an owner, even a temporary one,  Joey didn't have to wait in queue for the
gates to open.  The morning found him in the squire's parlour sharing a lavish
breakfast with the other owners, selected buyers, high rollers and the managers
of the stables involved in the day's competitions.  Despite his success as a
human cattle rancher, he felt awkward as the newest member of this society, a
dabbler among professionals and so he tried to stay on the fringes of the crowd,
quietly circling the edges of the room with his attention fixated on his plate
as though he was waiting for the peppered bacon to tell him who it had been in
its former incarnation.

His reticent behaviour was noticed by Edmund Dirks.  The lad is behaving like a
skittish colt afraid of its own shadow.  We will have to put that right and
bloody quickly too.  Stopping on the way to pick up a flute of sparkling wine
for his young charge, nothing like a little Dutch courage to stiffen the
backbone and loosen the tension he always felt, Dirks sauntered across to
literally take Joey in hand.

"Mitchell, I'd like you to meet Joseph Geryon," said Dirks addressing himself to
a tall man whose finely chiselled face was set off with a short-cropped black
beard.  "This is the first time out for Joseph.  He has a pair of horses running
in the fledgling races. Joseph, this is Mitchell MacHale, he runs the Diamond Z
Stables. Mitchell is both a dear friend and a fierce competitor of mine, which
will make beating him this year all the more enjoyable. "

The bearded man's eyes twinkled as the introductions were made.  "Glad to make
your acquaintance, Joseph.  Sorry to hear  you're hooked up with this old pirate
though," he said sticking out a right hand whose index finger stopped short at
the second knuckle.  "It's always sad when a man as distinguished as Edmund
slips away into a fantasy world.  I guess the ravages of old age are finally
catching up.  Well, it had to happen sometime but knowing  he's delusional makes
me a little ashamed of wagering with him again this year.  Not too ashamed to
take my winnings mind but still just a little guilty of taking advantage of an
old friend's troubles."

"I would hate to put temptation in your way Mitchell given your weak nature in
that regard but should we double our wager this year, two weeks instead of one?"

"Done and done, Edmund.  I can feel those tropical breezes now.  I'll be sure
and send you back a postcard."

"And I'll be sure and give Tansy your love."

As they walked away Edmund explained there was a standing bet between the two
stable managers.  Whoever scored the highest average of points per entry in the
Cup race was sent on a week's holiday to Tahiti at the other's expense.  Tansy
was the proprietor of the resort the winner stayed at.

Methodically, Edmund worked the room with Joey at his side, acquainting him with
all and sundry.  At every stop Edmund included Joey in a brief conversation,
helping to assuage the young man's nervousness.  "Yes, Mrs.  Applewhite, I do
think the track will be rather fast today and I could not agree with you more
that any mudders will come a cropper.  By the way do you know   . . .  William,
I want you to meet someone.  ...  Hello James, how is your wife?  I think you
may have already met   . . .  Mrs.  Satran, you are looking especially elegant
this morning.  Might I have the pleasure of introducing Joseph. . . "

Toward the end of their perambulations, a short, stout, hard built individual
stepped into their path, blocking their progress.  His skin was grey as though
it had been ever so slightly soiled with a clay which wouldn't wash out.  A
leonine head was framed by a fading black mane of tousled hair.  Dark brown eyes
set in deep sockets had the quickness of a hawk and showed as much warmth.  Here
and there on his face small patches of bristly whiskers interspersed with lines
of raw skin attested to a shaky hand holding a razor.

His attire, a single-breasted taupe linen jacket with dark brown pants, was
appropriate to the occasion but slightly shiny as though the clothes had been
ironed once too often.  Thin stray threads showed on the edges of his yellow
tie, held crookedly in place by a topaz tiepin.  A light patina of dust coated
the outside counters of his scuffed cordovan shoes.

"Hullo, Eddie.  I knew you wouldn't leave without at least passing a minute or
two of the time with me.  Are you going to introduce me to your friend here,"
the stranger asked in a voice that grated on the ears like a hinge in need of
oiling.

"Of course, this is Joseph Geryon.  Joseph, this is Travis Gordon." Joey could
hear a tinge of disquiet colour Dirk's rich diction.  Gordon held out a square
and stubby hand, nails cut unevenly and knuckles topped with wiry thick hairs. 
Forewarned by the tone of Dirk's response, Joey made certain to press the web of
flesh between his thumb and index finger as far back into Gordon's hand as it
would go.  The manoeuvre foiled Gordon's attempt to grind Joey's hand into
paste.

After a few seconds of fruitless effort, Gordon broke off the handshake.
"Pleased to meet you Joe.  I don't want to be rude, us having just met and all,
but I wonder if Trav could have a few moments alone with his old pal Eddie
here." Without waiting for an answer Gordon placed his hand in the small of
Dirk's back and began to steer him toward the corner.

The pair retreated, Gordon talking with his mouth close to Dirk's ear; Dirk
reacting by nodding or shaking his head.  Joey saw Dirks reach into his back
pocket, take out his wallet, count out several bills and hand them to the
shorter man who promptly stuck them in his front pocket.   As Joey and Edmund
left the owner's parlour to descend to trackside, his curiosity got the better
of him.

"Edmund, this is probably none of my business but are you in any sort of
trouble?  I mean is Gordon, does he have, is there something . . . " A mirthless
laugh escaped the stable manger's lips.  "Joseph, are you trying to ask if
Gordon is blackmailing me?  Or if perhaps he holds an old gambling debt of mine
and I need to pay it off before someone breaks my legs?  I assure you it is
nothing of the sort.  The truth is far more prosaic and much more boring
although in its own way just as distressing. However, today is not the day for
that melancholy  tale to be told. Today is a day for excitement, entertainment,
suspense and, if all goes well, celebration."

The brassy roar of bugles grabbed the attention of the crowd as the advance
guard of the Grand Promenade appeared in the arched wooden gateway, the gold and
silver piping on their smoky purple uniforms contesting with the polished
metallic surface of their instruments for the sun's blessing.  The first deep
crash of the kettle drums was countered by the sharp crack of feet hitting the
broad rose-red paving stones in unison as the band marched forward, playing
until they reached the joining of the pathway to the track.

There the musicians split into two branches, each arm of the Grenadier Legion
Drum and Bugle Corps facing the other across opposing sides of the pathway. Once
arrayed, the band fell silent, instruments at the ready. The hushed crowd
stirred with anticipation. A high, piercing whistle split the air and the Grand
Promenade was under way.

Grouped into their five divisions, the seventy-eight entries in the Chiron Cup
competitions pranced past the Corps to take the only unhurried circuit of the
track they would be allowed that day. The track was awash in a riot of colours
running the gamut from garish to muted, depending on the owner's taste. Nor did
any entry wear the same style of tack, that too being dependent on the owner's
inclinations.

Brightly dyed ostrich feathers doubling as faux-manes were popular as were long
"tails" made of real hair. Most of the tack was constructed of leather
ornamented by metal or glass studding although some nylon and canvas was also
used. The amount of torso covered varied. A large number of human equine were
nearly nude while at least two were covered from their ankles up to the crown of
their heads. Some entries wore full head masks, others only thin strapping.
Footwear ranged from nonexistent to thigh-high flat-soled boots. The only firm
rule regarding tack was the breasts of all fillies and mares entered in the
races be bared to public view.

From the owner's box at the edge of the track Joey marvelled at the sheer
variety of flesh on parade. As a human cattle rancher, nudity was nothing new to
Joey. His livestock were denied even the smallest scrap of clothing, save when
his cows menstruated and even then they were given only enough of a strap to
hold the pad in place. The naked state of his animals, and their constant
availability for the pleasure of their keepers and others, helped to reenforce
their conditioning and served as a constant reminder  they were no longer
citizens but merely future fare for the dinner table. But watching these human
horses parade, with the knowledge many were only temporarily livestock who would
rejoin the community after the races, excited Joey in a very different fashion
than watching his cattle romp did.

"Joseph, stop gawking and take a closer look at the number three and eight
horses in the fledgling division," Edmund gently chided as he passed over a pair
of black-pebbled binoculars. "Mr. Vass tells me he believes these are your main
competition for the Cup and I would agree."

Pressing the eyepieces to his face, Joey followed the directions from the
manager of Kyner Stables. The number three horse was a lanky, well-sculpted
brunette of medium height. Her hair was tied into a single ponytail at the top
of her head which then flowed down her back in a wide cascade until it reached
the middle of her buttocks.  Her tack was simple, consisting of a three-inch
wide neck collar and four one-inch wide belts all in white leather with silver
studs and connected by two-inch vertical strap in the front.  The top belt
accentuated her hard, conical tits, presenting them to the public as through
they were a set of matched pears, stem thrust forward and ripe for plucking.

The young filly  wore a white cotton G-string under the lower two belts and her
knees were protected by a pair of thin oval coverings, themselves decorated with
a circle of smaller studs with a larger, pointed stud in the middle of the pad.
Her racing ensemble was topped off with a austere fawn-coloured leather bridle
with double straps and a smooth grey rubber bit. She was unshod.

The number eight horse was a contrast in almost every way. Although a good
two-inches shorter, she seemed to loom over the number three horse by virtue of
a raspberry-hued plume almost two-foot in height. Her body was thick without the
definition of the number three horse.  Her tack was made of two broad nylon
bands arrayed in an x-shaped pattern which started to cross just above the upper
curve of her pendulous breasts, the same breasts which slapped against her with
every stride she took.

Her lower torso was covered by what in other circumstances would have been the
bottom half of a high cut bathing suit with a small excision of the fabric
around the navel.  High nylon boots, rolled into a cuff at the top and dyed the
same vivid cinnabar as the reminder of her tack, reached to the upper-third of
her ample thighs.

Where the number three horse was relatively unfettered, the eight horse was
attached to her sulky by three sets of chains, one each from her wrist cuffs
which merged with the handles of the sulky, the third from a ring set above her
navel tying into the crossbar between the handles. 

"The number three horse is Eugenia Ammons, the property  of Julien Gormick. 
She's nineteen. Julien has had her in training for the last six months with an
eye towards selling her in a claiming race if she does well today. Since we are
always in the market for new stock, Julien let Beven watch her work out on two
occasions," Dirks declaimed. "She is swift, likes to be the front runner. Her
speed will make her difficult, but not impossible, to beat in the sprint races.
The key would be to get a horse in front of her or at least close.

"From what he has seen Beven doesn't think she's much good coming from back in
the pack as a closer.  He also says if she is pushed near the end of the race
she loses stride and can become roughgaited. Her stamina over the long haul is
questionable. The distance circuits will very probably hurt her chances,
particularly if she's spent herself in the sprints."

"Edmund, I can understand why Beven thinks Eugenia is competition," asked Joey
turning away from the track to address his racing mentor. Joey had learned to
pay careful attention to Dirk's pronouncements. "She looks in very good shape.
But why the number eight horse?  If she were cattle, I'd be giving serious
consideration to tagging her for the smoker."

"That's Decima Reis. And I agree my boy she hardly has the look of a winner. But
she is the chalk in this race even though she does not want to be here."

Joey took another, longer look at Decima. Aside from her back being marked with
thin red and brown stripes, a sure sign she was no stranger to the whip, Joey
saw nothing that would lead him to believe she was the favourite for the Cup. 
"All right Edmund, I bow to your expertise. What is it about this horse  I'm not
seeing?"

Dirks chuckled. "It is not what you are not seeing Joseph. It is what you do not
know. Miss Reis is a three-time cross-country champion for her grange.
Underneath that dangling epidermis she is as strong as the summer sun in York
and as stubborn as the tide.  She certainly will not win all the races, she may
not even win any of the races she is entered in. But in almost every race, she
will be in the money. She has to be if she does not want to become a permanent
conversion."

The manager paused to straighten his derby.  "Decima is in very serious trouble.
She was apprehended embezzling from her employer. She has no money to pay back
her theft as all of her ill-gotten gains were used to finance her education
after she lost her scholarship. The happenstance of her case being heard before
that  liberal pillar of jurisprudence Seeyle rather than the Judge, saved her
from a more immediate and severe punishment. Instead she was offered out on a
temporary contract. The prize money for winning the Cup for the fledgling
division, coupled with the side bets that have been made on her, will amount to
enough to reimburse her employer and buy back her contract. If she loses the Cup
she becomes livestock on a permanent basis and the compensation for her
conversion will go to her ex-employer."

His face showing his perplexity Joey asked, "If all that's true Edmund, and I
know better than to doubt you, why doesn't she want to race? Seems like an easy
way out of all her troubles to me."

"Miss Reis is obdurate to a fault," Dirks replied, shaking his head sadly at the
foibles of human nature. "She believes her current circumstances are caused by
the actions of others, not her own. The incident that led to her scholarship
being cancelled was a result of her coach's shortcoming. She was forced to steal
by the inadequacy of the remuneration paid to her by her employer. She even
scorned the misplaced compassion which gave her this opportunity as unjustified
punishment for the sins of others. As you can see from her markings, it took
more than one chastisement to get her ready for today. Still even though she may
still blame someone else for her misfortune, she now understands winning the Cup
is her only way out and she is determined to prevail. We, of course, would
prefer to thwart her ambitions and see she pays the proper penalty for her
transgressions."

"So what are the odds of seeing justice triumph today," inquired Joey, his
uncertainty and concern almost tangible.

"Mr. Geryon," said Dirks, the twinkle of his eyes belying the solemn tone of his
voice, "I would most heartily advise you not to pursue a career as a
professional card player. I am afraid  your face shows more emotion than a
Zurbaran painting. Our odds are good, I would say eight to five. Your number
five horse, Terri, has done far better under Mr. Vass's tutelage than we had a
right to expect, given the short amount of time he was able to work with her.
Our strategy is a simple one not unlike that of Miss Reis but hopefully more
successful."

Of the seven races Joey's horse was entered in, her best chance to finish first
was in the mid-distance races. These were run to a distance of two furlongs. To
take home the Cup for her division, his equine would need to win at least one of
these races. Then, depending on what her competitors did, a combination of
placing and showing in three other races could "bestow fortune's smile upon us."
Although he spoke of the upcoming  races with a calm and measured tones, Joey
could sense an edge of excitement creeping into his mentor's voice. 

Before Joey could ask his next question, the crowd around him exploded into a
buzz.

Pulling not a sulky but a small wooden cart, the final participant in the Grand
Promenade had reached the track.  Standing upright in the cart was a driver
swathed entirely in black silks.  Even his eyes were hidden by a dark visor
built into his hood.  In place of the regular riding crop his black-gloved hand
held a sjambok cane, a vicious instrument capable of flaying the flesh from a
back with a single hard stroke.

Older than the other entries and of medium height the mare's slumping body was
softly rounded with a small pot belly.  She wore only the skimpiest of black
leather tack, exposing most of her body to public view.  Mousy brown air was
pulled back off of her head and secured with black bands into a shoulder length
mane.  Her brindle consisted of neck, forehead and chin straps connected to each
other by an "O" ring lying centred on each cheek.

Attached directly to the "O" ring was her bridle, the metal bit pulled as far
back into her mouth as it would go. This cruelty forced her upper lip down to
cover her top teeth while her lower lip was forced below the gum line of her
bottom teeth leaving them exposed.  The result was a pained grimace like the
sharp slash of  a jack 'o lantern smile.

Around her neck was a choker made of black silk about two inches in width.  This
neck band had a fabric loop at one end and a metal circle at the other.  The
metal ring had been threaded through the fabric loop to create a slipnoose which
could be tightened by pulling on the circle.  For now the ring lay slack against
her shoulder.

Her chest straps, arrayed in the normal "X" shape crossed in the centre of the
valley between her cupcake-sized breasts before ending in a broad belt at navel
level. Each nipple had been newly pierced, through the binoculars Joey could
still see small droplets of carmine blood oozing from the edges of the holes,
and three-inch rings thrust through the openings.  Three tiny silver bells hung
from the lower curve of each link.

 A "V" strap descended from the navel belt, crossing a second board belt located
just above the start of her public hairs becoming a single strap running between
her buttocks and back up to the public belt. The tightness of the tack forced
her reddened flesh to bulge slightly over the leather bindings.

 Her wrist bands were manacled to the handles of the cart.  Reins made of metal
chain were joined not to the brindle but first to the wrists then to a pair of
"O" rings positioned between the upper and lower body belts and finally into the
hands of the driver.

Midway up the grandstand, Marty Brune turned towards Peter Barton, spilling a
quarter of the beer he held in his hand in the process.  "Damn ole' Moondog was
right.  There's a black hood in this year's races."

Looking down in resignation, Barton watched as small rivulets of amber fluid
flowed across the concrete to dampen his program.  Having spotted the proprietor
of the Stockyard as he entered the grandstand, Peter had gone over to thank him
for the donation last month of the Gygers' meat to the local food bank.  The
last thing he had expected or wanted for that matter was to sit with the man. 
He had felt ambushed when Marty had extended his invitation and trapped when
even the explanation he had his step-daughter Patty in tow didn't allow him to
beg off, not that he had wanted to bring Patty in the first place; that had been
Marcia's idea, a little step-father and step-daughter outing.

Although Brune's slaughterhouse made frequent donations to the food bank, there
was still something slightly unsavory about the man that made Barton want to
keep his distance. But, as the saying goes,  "there is no such thing as a free
lunch," even when that lunch was intended for others and so Barton resigned
himself to spending a potion of the day in Brune's company, intent upon making
his escape as soon as possible.

"Mr.  Brune, who is Moondog and what's a black hood," asked Barton's
step-daughter, entranced by the activity below her.

"Well, sweetheart, Moondog is a person who knows a lot about horse racing,"
explained Brune his eyes travelling up and down Patty's thin body, "sort of like
a teacher. And if somebody wants to know which horse might win in a race, well
they ask Moondog. Of course, just like your teacher Moondog's got to eat and so
we all pay him for his answers."

Lifting her lanky horse-like face, Patty looked up at Brune to ask "and what's a
black hood?" He thought for a second before he answered.  Hell, Pete figured she
was old enough to bring her here.  I'm not going to candycoat life for her. 
Besides, there was a rumour going around about her already being slated for
conversion once she gets a little more meat on her bones.  Wonder if Pete'd
consider a feeder contract on her until then.

"Let me help you stand up on my lap honey, so you can see better and Uncle Marty
will tell you all about it," he promised, his hands running up Patty's skinny
thighs to cup a youthful buttock in each hand as she wriggled her way skyward.

Back bowed, Crowbait slowly made her way onto the track, her body quivering as
she strained to pull her burden forward.  Once she had been sleek and graceful,
more powerful than jealousy and swifter than the Niagara current, a steed fit
for Apollo's chariot. But these abilities had proven to be evanescent, subject
to the slow leak of time.  Her sinewy body had gradually softened, rounding like
a pat of butter left out to warm.  Injuries took longer to heal. Finish lines
seemed further away, her eyes filling more and more often with the dust of
passing horses. Her first owner sold her to a second who, in turn, sold her to a
third, the quality of the races she competed in declining with each succeeding
owner.  Finally, her glory days well past, she had been sold for service as a
brood mare.

Even here entropy made itself felt, her aging structure rejecting two embryos. 
After the second miscarriage she was sold to her fifth and final owner who had
intended to use her as a companion animal for his stable of racers.  Profit, in
the form of the purse available for black hood entries, had changed those
intentions.

Of all the conversions, human equines retained the greatest amount of their
previous awareness. Docility and submissiveness were key characteristics for
human cattle, whose only purpose was to be slaughtered; the more bovine in
nature an animal was the better. Any remnants of sapience were, if not entirely
burnt out by the process,  buried far below numerous layers of conditioning. 
Human horses were another matter.

With these conversions, certain characteristics from their human existence
needed to be maintained. Cattle were bred or conditioned to be dumb, dull and
obedient. Obedience was also a primary characteristic of human horses but,
unlike cattle, a moderately high level of intelligence was desirable. Human
horses needed, within limits, to be smart, spirited and competitive. To meet
these parameters required different conversion techniques, ones which left
tattered remnants of the old human psyche closer to the surface.

Those remnants now sent bubbles of fear and apprehension through Crowbait.  She
sensed something was different, wrong about this outing. In all the races she'd
run she'd never worn this style of trace before, so restricting and heavy.  And
she'd always pulled a sulky with the driver sitting, not a cart with the driver
standing up.  Near panic the aging horse stopped, only to be driven forward by
the sharp sting of the sjambok ripping a thin strip of skin from her back, red
blood welling up from the torn flesh to mark its point of contact.

Brune felt the young girl's ass cheeks flex under his fingers as she watched the
horse jump ahead.  "You know all about cows don't you Patty," asked Brune, "and
what happens to them don't you," feeling a small tremor run through the
prepubescent body as she nodded her head yes.

"My baby sitter Valerie became a cow and Peter took me to see her at the barn. 
He even cooked me some of her hamburgers after she was butchered." With a twist
of his head and a raised eyebrow, Brune shifted his gaze to the implement dealer
who just shrugged.

"Patty," explained Brune returning his attention to the young girl, "when a
horse gets too old, so old  it doesn't win any races and it costs too much to
feed it and keep it in a stable, it gets put down.  You know what I mean when I
say 'put down' don't you sweetie?"

"It means killed."

"That's right, it means killed.  Now sometimes, if the horse is young enough, we
eat parts of it, just like we do a cow.  But if a horse is old like that one out
there, well, nobody wants to eat meat that tough and stringy and so nobody would
buy that horse to eat.  And she's too old to win any more races.  But her owner
can still make money off her one more time by entering her in a race as a 'black
hood.' You're getting a little heavy girl, just sit down on my lap here, will
ya?"

After he had Patty situated sideways on his lap, her butt pressed firmly against
the top of his thighs, her legs dangling down to bounce against his right outer
calf, Brune wrapped his left arm loosely around her lower ribs while using his
right hand to raise her face toward his.  Brushing her shiny long brown hair
back toward her shoulders, he continued his explanation, all the while paying
close attention to the young girl's expressions.

"When a horse is entered as a 'black hood' it means, unless the horse wins the
race and believe me they make sure there's no chance of that, they sure don't
want a bunch of disappointed spectators, she's gonna be killed.  They don't take
her back into the stables to do it; they do it right out in public where
everyone can watch.  You can tell how there going to do it by what she's
wearing.  If she was wearing a red neck collar, they'd cut her head off either
with an axe or a guillotine.  Silver chains on her wrist and ankles means she'd
be drawn and quartered." The slaughterhouse owner paused to gauge Patty's
response, a mixture of intense interest, excitement and just a suggestion of
fear.

"A silver cap would mean the electric chair.  Boy,  I watched a horse fry on one
a couple of years ago.  He had smoke coming from every part of his body.  A blue
vest and she's gonna drown, orange and she's roasted alive."

Patty swallowed the saliva that had built up at the back of the mouth, her
throat undulating as the fluid slid down to her stomach.  "She's not wearing any
of those, Mr.  Brune.  All I can see is a black collar around her neck.  What's
that mean?"

Once again the uberbutcher carefully measured the young girl's reaction,
watching her slim salmon tongue tip unconsciously circle the rim of her mouth
leaving a glistening shine in its wake.  Her eyes seemed feverish, her legs
rhythmically squeezing then relaxing.

"That black collar means she's going to do the air mambo. Now dumpling, if it's
OK with Pete and if you want to see her dangle from the rope's end, I'll be glad
to buy an extra ticket and take you with me.  Whadda ya say Pete, mind if I take
your step-daughter along with me to the party?  Might be a good experience for
her."

With the grace of the animal she had become, Joey's entry surged forward her
feet pounding the track in a rapid, rhythmic stride.  This was her second short
race of the day and she was determined to cross the finish line ahead of her
competitors.  The last race she had been so close, just three strides away from
the lead horse and running step for step with the horse next to her.  Then she'd
gone just a little wide in the turn and that damned red horse with the raspberry
mane had pulled ahead of her. She'd learned her lesson and this time she
wouldn't disappoint her master.

She could smell the stink of the white horse next to her, hear the heavy
breathing of her foe in red just behind her. Her body felt consumed with fire,
her tack digging angrily into her flesh as she pulled the weight of her sulky
and driver onward. A flick of the whip stung her left buttock like an angry
yellowjacket bringing a muffled yelp from between her lips. The turn was just up
ahead. She felt the electricity of another sting along with a tug on her left
rein.

Damn it, thought Cort Szeman as his right wrist followed through with the second
whip stroke, get over. Don't go wide on me again. Move to the left, move, move.
Cut off the trailing horse damn you.

The human horse responded as she had been trained. Reflex taking the place of
conscious thought, she obeyed her driver's unspoken commands and moved to the
left. Now it was the other driver's turn to curse as the number eight horse went
wide to the right, her raspberry plume waving in the air, dropping back a stride
and a half in the process. This was now a two horse race.

Thundering out of the turn the horse from Kyner Stables found herself in
lockstep with the whiteclad filly. Stride for stride they approached the finish
line in tandem, neither horse giving an inch in their battle, each matching the
other's exertions. She felt the surface of the track crunch beneath her feet,
her soles burning with every contact; her throat was raw with the effort of
respiration; her chest constricted as though her tack was made of shrinking iron
bands.

Sounds receded, she could no longer hear the shouts of the crowd, only her
hoarse and tortured breathing echoed in her ears. Her vision narrowed as if she
were entering a tunnel whose edges were blackest night made solid. The throngs
in the grandstand no longer existed, the horse next to her no longer mattered,
even her driver had become insubstantial.  In her new universe, only the finish
line remained.

Not so for the number three horse. Throughout the race, she could see another
horse just hovering at the outer edge of her vision, never ahead but never far
behind. This horse was always there like a gnat buzzing next to her ear, one
which refused to go away no matter how hard or how fast she ran.  Irritated, the
19-year old filly twisted her head ever so slightly to the right to get a look
at this phantasm, this apparition who had haunted her every step in this race
and, in so doing, broke stride.

Joey's equine slowed her pace after crossing the finish line, her legs lifting
less and less high with each step. A sense of repose settled over her body,
overriding the pain. Her face was wet with salty water, a mixture of sweat and
tears. She could hear her own gasping sobs force their way around the bit as she
trotted towards the winner's circle. The traditional garland of mums and mallows
placed around her neck was as welcome as a warm cloak on a cold winter's night.
Equally as welcome were the gentle caresses and kind murmurings from her driver
and her trainer as, together with the young groom, they walked her back to the
barn to allow her to rest before the next race.

When Terri crossed the finish line Joey jumped to his feet as though he had been
propelled by a spring, his program flying from his hand to land several rows
behind him.  He turned exclaiming  "Edmund, she won.  My horse won.  My horse
beat both Eugenia and Decima. She beat all of the nine other entries and in a
short race too. Can you believe it Edmund? She won. Nothing's going to stop us
now. The Cup is as good as ours.  I just wish Billy was here to see all of
this."

Amusement and a sense of nostalgia brought a smile to the stable manager's face
as he watched Joey's antics. Was I like that when I won my first race, an
unleashed terrier ready to chase any squirrel in the neighbourhood back up the
tree, full of excitement, drinking in every experience like a fine Bordeaux?

For a brief moment the older man felt a bittersweet homesickness, not for a
place but a time, missing those young days when the future seemed to float
before him like a softly glowing firefly just beyond the edge of his reach, when
he was sure fame and fortune were waiting just around the next corner and that
each moment was certain to be better than the one before it.

But he'd learned, learned  life was a journey without a map, learned real
adulthood arrived not with triumphs but with loss. He knew now life was a series
of interconnected accidents whose only real value was in how you used it.  So
Edmund Dirks had determined to bring to his life the same principle he did his
wagering, raking in his winnings with a smile, leaving his losses on the table
with a rueful grin.

With a small shake of the head, Dirks returned to the present and addressed his
young charge.  "Joseph, while I do hate to be the 'old fogey' putting the damper
on youthful exuberance, I would advise you it is premature to begin building a
shelf to put the Cup on. The number three horse won the first race which gives
her three points and was the show horse in the second race which adds 1 point to
her total. The number six horse, which is to say your horse, won this race. This
gives her three points towards the Cup. She was the show horse in the first
race. That is one additional point on her tally sheet. The number eight horse
placed in both the first and the second race earning two points for each finish.
I believe you can do the math as well as I can and my calculus shows a three-way
tie for the Cup."

Unfazed the young cattle rancher continued "Sure, for right now. But we haven't
gotten to my horse's strengths yet. You said her best chance of a win was in the
mid-distance races and those haven't been run yet Edmund."

"Yes Joseph I did. And, at the time, I meant it.  In all honesty, I might add.
But you must remember we did not expect her to win one of the short races. The
concern now is whether or not she spent too much to win that last sprint. How
much energy and stamina is left in your horse? Will it be enough to see her
through the next five races or will she falter or fade? Remember my boy there is
a tremendous difference between training and actually racing. Your horse has
never been tested at the track and while she has acquitted herself nobly so far,
her greatest challenges lay ahead.

"Now, I think your horse has materially improved the chances of you winning the
Chiron Cup in the fledgling division. But it is by no means a 'sure thing' as
you put it. My advice to you is to go and get something to eat. Be back here in
one hour. Then we will go together and get a status report on your horse from
Bevan and Cort."

Her tack removed, Terri was flat on her back on an elevated table. Kim Dun, the
young groom who helped walk her back to her stall, was rubbing her skin with
ointment while Gin, the stable's physical therapist was using ultrasound to
drive the ointment well into her muscles. A biofeedback machine attached to
Terri's head had put her into a light torpor which would aid in her recovery.

Across the small stall Cort Szeman and Bevan Voss were deep in discussions over
their charge. Both agreed she had performed much better than expected, showing
not only the heart and desire of a champion in the last race but also the
ability to learn from her mistakes.

"I'll tell you Bevan," said the bronzed driver pausing to wipe the sweat and
dirt from his face with a blue-checked handkerchief, "I had an anxious moment
when we got to that turn. Figured for sure she was going to go wide on me again.
But she stuck to the course and made the other horse go wide. I wish she wasn't
a fledgling entry because I think we've got the makings of a damn fine horse
here."

"Hold that thought for a second will you Cort?" asked Voss pointing to the table
where the groom was massaging Terri. "I need to take care of something." Seeing
what Voss had noticed Szeman smiled and nodded his acquiesce.

Two short steps put the trainer directly behind the young stable hand who was
oblivious to his presence. Dun had reached the inside of Terri's thighs and,
fascinated by the small, black mole to the left of her clit, had stopped his
massaging to stare at her pussy.  "They call that a cunt, Mr. Dun. Or a pussy or
in highbrow circles a vagina. Every female has one, even your mom did. From the
way you're staring, a man might think this was the first one you've ever seen,
at least outside of photos in stroke magazines. Would that be right, Mr. Dun?"

His skin flushing as though hot liquid has been poured over his head and
shoulders, the embarrassed groom didn't know what to do. As he tried to stammer
out a reply, Voss held out a hand to stop him, the mermaid tattoo on his arm
doing an underwater hula as he did so. "My apologies, Mr. Dun, that's not the
kind of question one man should ask another, at least under these circumstances.
Please continue with your work, but we will talk about this later. Right now we
need to get this horse ready for the next race."

Sheepishly, his head lowered to avoid eye contact with anyone in the room, the
discomfited groom began to slather ointment on the horse's legs, an exercise
which placed more of the balm on the table than the thighs. A sharp tap on his
shoulder interrupted his efforts. "One more thing Mr. Dun" said Voss in a kinder
voice than he had previously used, "it's ok to look. You do need to know where
you're putting the ointment. It's ok to touch. You need to do that to put the
ointment on. Just keep it professional. This is a horse under your care, not a
playmate for you to party with." Dun nodded his understanding.  "Good. Come and
see me after the final race and we'll chat," said the trainer lightly slapping
the boy on the shoulder as he returned to his interrupted conversation.

Chewing the second bite of his steak in a contemplative manner, Joey puzzled
over the intriguing amalgam of scents and flavours emanating from the meat. 
Underneath the familiar tang of charred human flesh he could swear he caught
just a whiff of the odour of freshly baked bread.  And the taste, the taste was
really was unlike any meat he had ever eaten before.  Piquant without being
bitter, it danced on his taste buds filling his mouth with a rich and zesty
sensation that demanded to be savoured before swallowing.

Picking out his steak at the counter, Joey had marvelled at the leanness of the
meat.  The array of roasts, chops, steaks and other cuts in the case exhibited
no trace of fat whatsoever.  At first Joey thought someone had done an almost
perfect job of trimming but closer examination showed the meat was devoid of any
marbelling whatsoever.  Even the best of butchers couldn't trim away the
intramuscular fat, at least not without leaving some trace of the knife work. 
Somehow Ernst Grayh had found a way to remove all the fat from his meat.  But
even the absence of fat couldn't account for this wondrous flavour.  Could it be
spices?  Was Grayh using a special marinade?  And how would Linda Sue taste if
she was soaked in this mystery juice?

One unexpected consequence of  Linda Sue's becoming a human equine was a change
in how Joey regarded her.  Sure, he had often fantasised about the auburn haired
beauty turning on a spit, her skin darkening to match the coloration of her
hair.  The thought of his girlfriend being served on a pale yellow platter with
an apple in her mouth, hot steam rising from the cracks in her skin while her
succulent juices dripped slowly down to gather as an au jus sauce underneath was
mouthwatering but it had always been just a daydream, a flight of his
imagination. 

For Linda Sue, as with anyone, the possibility of becoming food was always there
but Joey had no real intentions of turning his lover into a two-legged roast. 
At least that's what he had always told himself. Now he wasn't so sure.

An invisible line had been crossed in his relationship with Linda Sue, one that
she had been edging up to for sometime.  First she had dipped herself in the
defoliating tank, just as though she had been a cow.  Then, for awhile, she had
taken to wearing what hair she did have on the top of her head in a bun very
similar to the trademark hairdo worn by all the cows on the farm.

The use of the sample Perro roasting spit from the restaurant supply tent at the
Cannibal Fair had become a semi-regular feature of their sex play.  Linda Sue
had advanced to the point where should could take all 12 inches of it in either
her pussy or her ass without the slightest problem. In fact she often begged for
more, screaming out loud to be spitted as orgasm after orgasm rocked her body. 
No doubt about it, inside Linda Sue the human was a cow crying to get out.

That's why he had insisted to Terri that Linda Sue go to the stables as well, to
give Linda Sue the opportunity to live the life of an animal, to let her put
aside her infatuation of ending up on his dinner table, to show her she was
meant for better things than lunch and left-overs.

It hadn't worked out that way. Joey now saw Linda Sue had great potential as an
animal and not as a horse but as a prized heifer, one which would yield a
spectacular array of meats capable of feeding a family of six for two months.

The point of demarcation had come the night he had visited the stables to watch
Linda Sue being bred.

Standing on the observation platform at the edge of the ring, Joey watched as
Linda Sue dropped onto her hands and knees, a thick bit in her mouth, long
traces lying across her back.  A groom, one who Joey didn't recognize,
approached Linda Sue from behind, his rampant prick jutting out from the fly of
his breeches.  Without any more lubrication than was dripping from the head of
his prick the groom thrust himself into her swaying roughly back and forth,
tugging on the traces to keep her tight against him.  Her initial cries of pain,
recognizable even around the hard rubber cylinder in her mouth, had quickly
turned to howls of pleasure.

Watching the groom in action, Joey's cock was so hard it hurt.  He thought it
was impossible to get any stiffer.  He had been wrong.  After the groom had
pleasured himself, a parade of stallions took his place, each brutishly mounting
Linda Sue in turn. The last stallion to couple with Linda Sue had leaned across
her back to bite the nape of her neck.  His yellowed teeth broke the skin and
brought small bubbles of blood to its surface, blood his long serpentine tongue
quickly  scooped up into his mouth.

In a culture where humans could become home cooking in the blink of an eye,
sexual mores were quite relaxed.  Youngsters were encouraged to experiment with
sex in a variety of flavours. Monogamy, at least before marriage and quite often
after, was considered to be a quaint notion while multiple partners, pairings
and positions were the norm. 

As with any society there were standards but these had more to do with issues of
etiquette and manners than moral judgments.  As an example, orgies beyond a
certain age or outside selected special occasions were seen, not as perversion,
but simply a sign of ill-breeding.  Pregnancies both in and out of wedlock were
encouraged with little attention paid to whom the progenitors might be.  After
the great disaster everyone knew an ample food supply should always be
maintained.

Like anyone his age, Joey had seen his girlfriends have sex with other people. 
It could be arousing, it could be depressing, it could even be boring.  He knew
Linda Sue shared her favours freely.  He'd seen her do so himself on many
occasions, sometimes as an active participant, sometimes as a spectator on the
sidelines. But whatever emotions those previous voyeuristic experiences had
stirred in him none affected him the way this encounter had.  Because on each of
those previous occasions it had been Linda Sue he had observed.  Not so this
time.

Her reactions to these repeated matings in the show ring were not those of an
aroused young woman but those of a wild and feral beast. All visible traces of
humanity had vanished to be replaced by the raw primitive instinct of an animal.
This wasn't the girl her grew up with down there making love, the one he had
always thought of as his future wife, it was just another head of livestock
rutting, indistinguishable from hundreds of other he had seen and later had
slaughtered.

Her temporary fledgling status, the guarantee against permanent conversion in
her contract were now no more than meaningless words on a piece of paper to the
young cattle rancher. In Joey's mind Linda Sue could no longer return to the
starting point and become fully human again.  Her unspoken wish to become a cow
might soon be granted.

The scraping sound of a chair being pulled out refocused Joey's attention away
from his musings.  A short, shout man had taken the seat across from Joey.  His
face was round and florid with shiny plump cheeks and a double chin dropping
onto a bull neck.  He wore a jaunty green felt alpine hat, with a single brown
and red feather at the back.  His blonde hair, at least the portion Joey could
see was cut short. Lederhosen over a white ruffled shirt decorated with
colourful embroidery completed the costume, giving the not totally inaccurate
impression the visitor was a well-off German burger.

"Hello, Mr.  Grayh," said Joey politely as he wiped his hand on a napkin before
extending it across the table.

In return, a fat but firm handclasp greeted Joey  "Hello, Joey," responded the
proprietor of Procrustes' Carvery.  "Mitz' said she saw you go through the line. 
How do you like your lunch," he asked nodding at Joey's plate.

"Your ads were right," Joey admitted.  "I've never had anything like this
before.  It's great.  I don't suppose you'd care to share your secret with me
would you?"

A canny grin like an August moon spread over the oval countenance.  "Oddly
enough Joey I'd like nothing better.  What you're eating right now is called
'verhungern fleisch' or in English 'starved flesh.' My cousin in Germany was
part of the consortium which holds the patent on the process to produce this. 
They're already producing verhungern fleisch in Germany and Poland.  They've got
locations lined up in Czechoslovakia, the Ukraine and Latvia.  However, being
family, he arranged for me to get the first license in this country to make this
delicacy.  Until I can find a supplier I can trust though, I have to import my
meat from Germany."

"That's got to be expensive."

"You have no idea how expensive.  You can't freeze verhungern fleisch.  If you
do it loses most of its taste so I'm having it brought over on refrigerated
carriers.  In the short term I'm actually losing money on every meal I serve. 
In the long-term this is a loss-leader to establish the domestic market.  I'd
like to contract with your dad and you to have the Geryon Farm become my first
supplier.  Interested?"

The young human cattle rancher didn't hesitate for a second.  Ever since his dad
had made him a partner in the farm he'd been on the lookout for ways to expand
the operation and the profits.  Now it seemed one had practically dropped into
his lap.  "Very interested, sir."

Grayh's grin grew even larger.  "That's what I wanted to hear.  I tell you what,
we're both going to be pretty busy for awhile.  Why don't you and your father
join us for dinner at the Carvery, say two weeks from this Wednesday around
7:30?"

"I thought you were closed on Wednesday?"

"We usually are but we'll open up for this meeting.  Check with your dad and
give us a call."

His craving both satiated by the verhungern fleisch he had consumed and
sharpened by visions of a trussed up Linda Sue live roasting in a glass-fronted
oven, her eyes staring into his as she slowly moved from existence to
subsistence, the young human cattle rancher walked briskly back to the owner's
boxes. As he made the journey he couldn't help thinking of what his dad would
say when he brought two prizes back to the farm, the Chiron Cup and a new
business opportunity.

If you are discovering C4H for the first time, please pay careful attention to
the following:

CANNIBAL 4H (C4H) IS A WORK OF FICTION AND IS FOR ADULTS ONLY. THIS IS AN
INTENSE STORY WHICH CONTAINS THE RAISING OF HUMANS AS LIVESTOCK. C4H CONTAINS
GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEX IN MANY AND VARIED FORMS, SOME OF WHICH SELECTED
PEOPLE MIGHT CONSIDER DEVIANT AND PERVERSE.

C4H CONTAINS VIOLENCE, DEATH AND, OF COURSE, CANNIBALISM.  CHILDREN ARE NOT
SPARED IN THIS TALE! THEY OFTEN MEET A GRISLY END.   C4H IS NOT WRITTEN FOR THE
SQUEAMISH OR THE PURITANICAL. NOR IS IT MEANT FOR MINORS.

MANY PEOPLE WOULD FIND THE CONTENTS OF THIS FICTIONAL TALE EXTREMELY DISTURBING.
IF YOU EVEN HAVE THE SLIGHTEST SUSPICION THAT YOU MAY BE ONE OF THEM READ NO
FURTHER.

THE AUTHOR DOES NOT ENDORSE OR ADVOCATE THE PRACTICES FOUND WITHIN C4H ANY MORE
THAN STEPHEN KING REALLY BELIEVES PEOPLE SHOULD MOVE THEIR FAMILIES INTO A
DESERTED HOTEL IN THE MOUNTAINS IN THE DEAD OF WINTER AND THEN TRY TO CHOP THEM
INTO KIBBLE WITH AN AXE. C4H IS FICTION, MAKE-BELIEVE, A FANTASY, A FABRICATION,
NOT A PROMOTION OF THE CULTURE IT DESCRIBES.

IF READING THIS STORY WOULD IN ANY WAY VIOLATE THE LOCAL LAWS, RULES,
REGULATIONS, MORALS OR CUSTOMS WHERE YOU LIVE GO AWAY.   THERE ARE MANY OTHER
MORE EDIFYING STORIES TO BE FOUND ELSEWHERE.

LET ME RESTATE THIS ONE MORE TIME: THE STORY WHICH FOLLOWS THIS CAUTION IS
INTENDED FOR MATURE, CONSENTING ADULTS ONLY AND SHOULD ONLY BE ACCESSED AND/OR
DOWNLOADED IF DOING SO WOULD NOT VIOLATE ANY LEGAL EDICTS ADHERED TO IN YOUR
LOCALE OR YOUR OWN PERSONAL TASTE.

IF YOU ARE A PARENT AND YOU FIND YOUR CHILD HAS DOWNLOADED THIS STORY OR OTHER
MATERIAL YOU FIND OBJECTIONABLE, SORRY BUT YOU NEED TO DO A BETTER JOB OF BEING
A PARENT.

CONSIDER MOVING THE COMPUTER INTO A ROOM WHERE YOU CAN SEE WHAT IS ON THE
SCREEN. ONLY LET YOUR CHILD GO ON-LINE WHILE YOU ARE AT HOME OR CHECK OUT THE
SERVICES LISTED BELOW:

www.cyberpatrol.com

www.surfwatch.com

www.safesurf.com

www.eff.org.

For the faithful readers of C4H, I'm sorry about the very, very long wait for
this story to continue. Writer's block can be a bitch. Please see the end of
this chapter for a question and an invitation.

For new readers I'd suggest you check out the first 20 chapters. Previous
chapters of Cannibal 4-H are available at www.asstr.org and www.bsdmlibrary.com.

Our story so far:

In Chapter One: A New Project by Neuralmancer --- we meet Joey who lives on a
human cattle ranch owned by his father. His girlfriend, Linda Sue, uses her
feminine charm to convince Joey's dad to allow Joey to raise and enter a human
cattle in the upcoming judging at the Cannibal 4H fair.

In Chapter Two: The Fair by Neuralmancer --- Joey and Linda Sue take their human
cow to the fair. Watching the activities in the butchering tent leads them to an
afternoon of carnal delight, followed by a repast of medium done portions of
human cattle thigh and rump well covered with barbecue sauce, onions and
mushrooms. Joey envisions Linda Sue rotating about a cooking flame.

In Chapter Three: The Slaughtering by Eurytion --- we find Joey and Linda Sue on
their way to Japan, reminiscing about their first Cannibal 4H fair. We meet Al
Crenshaw, owner of Crenshaw Superior Meats who has bought Joey's blue
ribbon-winning cow. Joey and Linda Sue lend a hand in the slaughtering.

In Chapter Four: A Maverick's Conversion by Eurytion --- Linda Sue catches
Valerie, Joey's thirteen year old neighbour who has a huge crush on Joey without
her identification badge. Under the fair's rules, that makes her a maverick to
be claimed by the first person who finds her. Linda Sue relinquishes her claim
to Joey who reluctantly decides to have the youngster converted by McCain's into
livestock for his new human veal venture.

In Chapter Five: A Brother's Visit by Eurytion --- Cow 701's former brother
Billy and Joey patch up a friendship strained by Valerie's conversion.  Billy,
acting on the advice of his grief counsellor, participates in the feeding of 701
and enjoys his former sister's oral ministrations. We learn, to achieve
"closure" his entire family has "to be there when they butcher her and then we
have to help eat her."

In Chapter Six: Evaluations and Judgements by Eurytion --- Linda Sue is sized up
by a professional and given a passing grade. Cow 701 passes a father's muster as
does her owner. And we learn of Joey's final promise to Valerie.

In Chapter Seven:  At the Fair by Eurytion --- Cow 701 arrives at the fair.
Linda Sue models spits for a special barbecue. And Joey tips his hand.

In Chapter Eight: A Fijian Feast by Eurytion  --- Cow 701 pleases the judges
while Linda Sue pleasures the cook.  Billy learns the true meaning of finger
licking good and a trip to the South Seas is contemplated.

In Chapter Nine: Patty's Lesson by Eurytion --- Another young girl learns a
valuable lesson and Joey is given an idea for a new branch of the business

In Chapter Ten: Reaching Closure by Eurytion --- Although it's hard, Joey keeps
his promise to Valerie. Linda Sue dispatches one adversary only to meet a more
formidable foe.  Despite the recovery of a missing item, Valerie loses her head.
Taking a cue from the rest of the family, Billy advances relations with his
cousin Terri.

In Chapter Eleven: The Sunday Dinner by Eurytion --- The Hewitts say good-bye to
Valerie while Linda Sue suggests a family replacement.

In Chapter Twelve: The Plot Advances by Eurytion --- Joey suggests Terri and
Linda Sue engage in a game of horse.  A sparkling new friendship is formed while
an almost cow plots revenge.

In Chapter Thirteen: The War Begins by Eurytion --- Anneliese strikes her first
blow against human cattle ranching while an old friend of her aunt's frets about
the future.

In Chapter Fourteen: The Eyes Have It by Eurytion --- A brush with incontinence
leads Anneliese to stumble upon her inamorata.

In Chapter Fifteen: The Pinto Project by Eurytion --- Joey goes dotty over a new
undertaking.

In Chapter Sixteen: At The Stables by Eurytion --- We visit Kyner Stables to
find a home for Terri and Linda Sue

In Chapter Seventeen: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion --- We look
at the hidden occurrences in the souls of our main characters.

In Chapter Eighteen: In Training by Eurytion --- A pair of new ponies are put
through their paces preparatory to the Chiron Cup races.

In Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by Eurytion --- We learn a little more
about the legal system and watch a marriage terminate.

In Chapter Twenty: Crossing the Finish Line by Eurytion --- Joey closes in on
the Cup.

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its authors unless explicitly indicated.


As always, my thanks to Neuralmancer for allowing me to take over the mortgage
on his farm.

	

Eurytion

And now Cannibal 4H Chapter Twenty-one: Crossing The Finish Line by Eurytion



THE LIGHTS HAD COME ON at the raceway, an illuminating diamond necklace circling
the dark throat of the sky, crystalline brilliance spilling downward to bathe
the track in a phosphorescent cloud of tamed fire.

Perched on the edge of his seat, Joey shook like a malaria victim, the fever of
success and the foreboding chill of failure alternately sweeping through his
body.  His quest for the Chiron Cup would be decided by this last fledgling
class race.

On his right, Edmund Dirks sat as relaxed as though he was sitting for a
portrait. His posture of repose was a well-practised cover. Within himself, the
manager of Kyner Stables was feeling a high sense of excitement. His entries had
run extremely well this meet, already garnering him enough points to require
Mitchell to finance this year's trip to Tahiti. A win by the number six horse
would be the proverbial frosting on the cake; assuring his young friend of
taking home the Chiron Cup he so coveted.

Over the past three weeks Dirks had come to be very found of Joey and not just
as a current and potentially continuing client. Joey had been unafraid to dive
head first into the deep waters of racing and, perhaps because of his initial
ignorance, had been a quick and avid pupil, one who could easily prosper in the
sport.

Despite his early shyness this morning, he had acquitted himself well in the
social jungle that was the Squire's Parlour, to the point that Mrs. Satran had
made certain discreet "inquiries" about Joey's "domestic situation" on behalf of
her daughter Sophia.

Even the failure of his other pony to perform in an adequate manner had done
little to alter Joey's expressed enjoyment of the day. But finally, and
understandably, his nerves were showing.

Wordlessly, the stable manager placed a calming hand on the shoulder of his
nervous charge, only to have it shook off as a horse shakes off a nagging fly.

"I'm fine Edmund. I'm not going to pass out or throw up. Well, at least I'm not
going to pass out," Joey said, a tense smile teasing its way across his face.

"Did you know, Joseph, that I did exactly that once," Dirks asked, smiling in
return.

"Did what?" 

"Regurgitate at an awkward moment.  It was more than 30 years ago, just before
the first horse I had ever trained on my own ran.  I was an eager apprentice
trainer with Pavicji's at the time.  The stewards were probably a minute from
bringing the horses out on to the track and I was needlessly giving final
instructions to the driver.  In the middle of warning him he needed to use a
light hand on the whip with this particular filly, the butterflies in my stomach
won their freedom and I vomited right onto the seat of the sulky."

Laughter burst out of Joey like a jack-in-the-box.

"Go right ahead and laugh young man. I can assure you that, at the time, I found
nothing humorous in the situation. And, since there was not enough time to clean
up my spewings before the race, well, let us just say that while he has forgiven
me, Mitchell has never forgotten the incident nor has he let me forget."

"The Mitchell MacHale you introduced me to this morning, that Mitchell? He used
to be a driver and you puked into his seat before a race.  Edmund, I can't
believe it.  You actually upchucked and he had to sit in it for the entire
race."

"It was worse than that.  Lev Pavicji was not going to trust his best prospect
to an untried team, so the filly he gave us was not particularly fast, although
in the class she was entered in she did not have to be. Despite the distracting
circumstances Mitchell found himself in, he did win the contest although it was
a very slow race. Mitchell was quite distressed at the end," continued Dirks,
noting to himself that the conversation was serving its purpose, as Joseph had
quit shaking and seemed to be regaining his composure.

"But your horse won, the one the two of you trained.  So what if he had to sit
in puke. He won right?"

"Ah Joseph, even though Mitchell and I were a team, during the months of
training of the filly we also became friendly competitors for the favours of a
young woman, the daughter of the horse's owner, Ami Raineau. Let us just say
that when the time came for Ami to drape the Mums and Mallows over Mitchell's
head his rather malodorous condition did nothing to commend him to her good
graces. Nor, once she became aware of it, did the fact that I was responsible
for Mitchell's less than savoury aroma as she bestowed his brow with a kiss, add
to my charm."

Even as he told his story, Edmund's mind called forth memories of the
Haitian-born scion of the French horse breeder. Her dark flashing eyes. The soft
dusky nape of her neck, always awash in yielding velvet brown curls, ringlets
sliding this way and that as she strode past the stalls. When she knew they were
watching, the way she adopted the firm carriage and gait of a military cadet,
shoulders thrown back to accentuate her small, pert breasts, an extra effort
made to call attention to the twin half moons of her rolling buttocks packed so
tightly into their denim covering.


How she looked at them, a heady mixture of affection and indifference, joy and
humour, innocence and concupiscence. The way she would smile at he and Mitchell,
always with a casual touch as she glided past. Sometimes, if there were no
observers, the touch would go beyond casual; a bolder, lingering brush with more
than a hint of promise to it. Promise that had never been redeemed.

Oh Ami, you deserved a better fate than the one which found you. Damn you
Travis, damn your soul and damn me for my weakness. We've all paid the bill for
my cowardice.


Returning to the present, Dirks chided himself for lapsing into melancholy. He'd
quit being mastered by his emotions years ago and had no desire to return to
that particular servitude.  Being around his young client had brought with it
the "gift"  of remembrance of things past, a very mixed blessing to say the
least. Best to concentrate on the next race and leave the past where it
belonged.


Back in the paddock, Cort Szeman busied himself in the corner making last moment
adjustments to the sulky.  That was his job, that and getting the most of of the
pony once they were on the track.  The task of getting the pony ready for this
final race belonged his partner, Beven Vass. 

Holding Terri's head in his hands, Bevan tilted her head upwards, forcing their
gazes to meet. "See my little pony, I told you that you would run harder and
faster and stronger than any other pony on the track and you have. You've done
well. But you're not done yet.  There's one more finish line to cross."

Determination burned in the filly's eyes like the fire of candles in a darkened
shrine. Cort wouldn't need to use his whip, Bevan judged, this pony's desire and
longing to prove her worth would be goad enough. Crouching down, the trainer
began a massage with the stable's own enervating gel, a combination of amino
acids, minerals and vitamins in a special, fast-penetrating base, his hands
rubbing her legs in an unconscious mimicry of a chef coating a piece of meat
with oil before placing it in the oven.

The yellow goo would give her a short-term energy boost by neutralising some of
the build-up of lactic acid and ketones during the race as well as replacing
lost potassium and magnesium. Kyner Stables believed in taking every advantage
they could get.

As he reached the top of her thighs, Bevan's craggy face was split by a small
smile. The new dark cotton knickers the pony was wearing to help prevent chafing
was already stained by a sharp, tangy dampness, a sure sign of her readiness for
the race and for other things as well. With a final slap on her ass, he turned
the pony over to her driver.

An allegro roll of the drums followed by an equally quick arpeggio from a
solitary bugle announced the final competition for the fledgling class. Nine
ponies were led to the starting line but Joey's attention was riveted on only
two entries, his pony and the cinnabar-clothed number eight pony. With the
withdrawal of the number three pony due to a pulled hamstring, the competition
for the Cup had come down to these two fillies. Whichever one won would win the
Cup.

Conscious thought had abandoned Terri, replaced by raw surging sensations. The
feel of the reins lying loosely against her back, the almost palpable presence
of the crowd, the tense breathing of the ponies and their drivers punctuated by
the creaking of the sulkies as the animals and drivers shifted for the best
advantage, the acrid putrescence of a nervous fart from the pony next to her.
These had become the boundaries of Terri's world.

At the centre of this world, the core of her being, was the need to achieve
victory over the red-hued pony, the pony that had already beaten her today, the
pony she couldn't lose to again.

For Decima Reis it was a different story. Alarm was cutting through her mind
like a knife through flesh. Her focus was not on the race, only the consequences
of losing it.  Unlike the other entries, she wasn't a "impermanent" with a
guaranteed right of reversion to human status when the race was done, she had to
win this race to do that. Lose and she would be a human equine for life. She
realised that now, realised it later than she should but not too late. She could
still get herself out of this. One last win, there was no other option.

Remember your manta, Cort told himself. The race doesn't begin at the starting
line. The race isn't won at the finish line. It's won somewhere along the
course. Look for the advantage and take it.

Your pony is spirited. She'll want the lead right way so keep her reined in. Get
her out well, but not too quickly. Get her comfortable and moving through the
field. Go with her strengths. And watch out for the number eight pony, she's
finally realised what's at stake, look at her eyes.

That number eight pony will need to get away or at least be within a length of
the leader to win. She lacks discipline otherwise she wouldn't be in this fix in
the first place. So she won't pace herself, she'll be flying from the start,
challenging the others to keep up. This is gonna be a frantic over-distance
sprint, can't get too far behind but gotta make sure my pony has something left
for the sixth lap at the end. And keep in tight on the curves.

Cort's mental instructions to himself ended with the sharp report of the
starting gun. Shoulder to shoulder the nine human fillies began their first
circuit of the track.

By second lap each slap of her feet on the cinders sent pain shooting through
Terri's arches, ankles and the bones of her shins. The pain didn't bother her,
it reminded her of the essence of her needs: breathe, stride, breathe, stride, a
comforting rhythm. When she needed to do something more her master would tell
her.

In the lead, Decima felt heady confidence rise in her like wine filling a
goblet. This was her race, easier to run than her last cross-country race when
she'd won her third championship, no hills here, just a nice flat surface. She'd
blow these other bitches off the track; they couldn't keep up with her on the
best day they ever had. 

A few more minutes and she'd be free. No more threat of conversion hanging over
her head; she'd be able to live her life again. She'd show them all; that prissy
cunt who called herself a coach, the one who'd pretended to be Decima's friend
and then gave her scholarship to another girl just because her grades slipped a
little. That fat foul-breathed bastard of a boss who's framed her and turned her
into the cops when she wouldn't put out for him. He wanted to be paid back.
She'd play him back plenty once this was over, just not in either of the
currencies he wanted. And that judge that had sentenced her. Butter wouldn't
melt in his mouth when he did this to her. Acted like he was doing her a favour
by sentencing her to this hell.  Well Decima Reis would have the last laugh on
all of them; she'd use their bloody precious Cup to store her tampons in, that'd
fix 'em.

Even as her driver yanked back on the reins to slow her down, Decima picked up
her pace. Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm even quicker than
the gingerbread man

By the fourth lap, muscles were turning to rubber. The distance between the
field had widened  On top by six lengths, seemingly unaffected by the pace she
had setting, was the number eight pony. Decima's thighs were scissoring past
each other like a finely tuned clockwork automaton. It was an illusion.

Her head restrained, Decima's field of view was limited to what was ahead of
her. She felt like the fox and the hound at same moment. So close to the end, so
near to winning but she couldn't tell where she stood in the race.  She tried to
ignore the feeling of anxiety that was watering her wine but her mind kept
focusing on what was behind her. Who is still with me? Who might make a break?
Should I give it all I've got left now or wait until the last lap? 

As they neared the backstretch of the fifth circuit, Cort noticed the lead
pony's strides were getting shorter, her feet coming off the track just a little
less with each step. She was beginning to falter. Time to go, Cort decided,
intuition supplanting planning. Come around the clubhouse turn on the rail and
take off like holy hell.  For the first time in the race he used the whip.

The bite of the whip jolted Terri like electricity, energising every fibre of
her being. Faintly she could her her master yelling, "This is it baby, Let's go.
One revolution left, one more time around the track, one more lap for it all.
The hay is in the barn. Come on, the hay is in the barn. Burn her up baby, make
that crimson bitch just another cinder on the track. Be tough now, be tough."
The whip cracked again.

Terri gathered herself together, drawing a rush of determination from deep
inside her. Sweat danced off her body, surrounding her with a salty fog of her
own making. Her pace increased, her strides grew longer and her senses began to
shut down. She felt nothing but her heartbeat, heard nothing but her breath, saw
nothing but the dancing raspberry plume growing larger in front of her with each
step.

The marathon had become a dash, one final revolution of merciless burning, a war
of sinew and nerves, a contest where runners never caught their breath and where
courage as much as strength would determine the winner.

Even as each breath she took laid heavy as cement on her lungs, even as streams
of pulsating fire flowed through every muscle, Terri pushed forward, slowly
closing the gap between her and her opponent. Pain didn't matter. Exhaustion
didn't matter. Crossing the finish line first was what mattered.

Horror was surging through Decima's mind like flood waters through a gorge,
drowning all her training. She didn't have to see, she could feel a pony coming
up behind her. Ignoring the shouts of her driver, the scorpion stings of the
crop, Decima began to panic.

She couldn't lose this race, she couldn't. She wanted to be a person, not a
horse. Oh please, she was sorry for all she'd done; sorry for not studying,
sorry for taking the money; she'd do anything, make amends to everyone, even let
her boss have his way with her and film it if she just won this race. Each
thought, each regret, each promise took the pony further off her pace. Decima's
very humanness was betraying her, sabotaging her frantic efforts to keep it.

Less than a length separated the two fillies as they boiled around the far turn.
The cinnabar entry gave up her attempt to maintain the racing pace she was
taught.  With a little leap, Decima went into her cross-country form, changing
her stride and swinging her arms in unison with her legs. As she did so the
sulky began to shudder.

The number eight pony's previous stubbornness had caused each of her wrist cuffs
to be tightly chained to the handles of the sulky, standard treatment for a hard
to control "hothead." There wasn't any slack to allow her arms to move freely.
She'd forgotten that. Her body thrown off kilter, Decima stumbled, her attempts
at recovery hindered by the chains that bound her. Her legs stretched backwards
in a attempt to stay vertical, her boots losing their purchase on the track. For
a second she was poised as though performing a classical arabesque for the
crowd. As it must, balance bowed to gravity and Decima crashed to the ground,
her knees digging furrows in the cinders as she dangled suspended from the sulky
by her chains.

Cort didn't even need to use the whip. As the cinnabar pony struggled to regain
her footing his filly surged forward as though her blood were pure adrenaline,
the race hers.

In the owner's box, Joey was as fired up as the main pit at a company barbecue. 
He'd won, he'd won the Chiron Cup.  But, even as he turned to Dirks, his
excitement proved to be as brittle as thin glass. For there was one horse
between Terri and the finish line, Crowbait.

The back of the "black hood" horse was covered with flowing red streams from the
vicious slashes of her driver's sjambok, each downward stroke having peeled off
another layer of skin and muscle. Never meant to win the race, the black silk
collar around her neck marked her to hang for the pleasure of the spectators at
the end of the event.  Already lapped twice by the rest of the field, Crowbait
was staggering, tasked beyond endurance by what would be her last race.

Every tug on the traces momentarily tightened the silk, asphyxiating a body
whose lungs were already fighting for each thin, whistling breath. Bitter tears
leaked from her eyes, descending like raindrops to bathe her crushed soul.
Crowbait was aware of what awaited her, each step taking her closer to the end.

In a way she welcomed it, the promise of surcease from a life gone dark and
decayed.  Once she had been a teacher in high school. Always good at running,
she had even coached the girls track team.  But teaching didn't pay very well
and her perennially out of work father had four other children to support. A
broker looking for talent had seen her at a meet. She made the mistake of
beating her all-state runner in a match race. A month later the offer he placed
before her father more than tripled what she would earn in a career of teaching. 
Two days for the paperwork to clear and she was in a stall, branded and
undergoing her first conversion treatment.

For a time some of her team and her students had come to her races.  She'd even
been bred by most of the boys from her English class while visiting her stable
as part of their senior class trip. By ones and twos they'd taken great delight
in violating every hole she had, several more than once. Some of her students,
much older now, were probably mixed in among the crowd eagerly anticipating her
providing them with a final entertainment, getting their long sought revenge for
her strict classroom discipline and grading, even if it was by proxy.

Flashes of that earlier existence still haunted her memories. Knowledge
inappropriate for a horse would impinge on her equine awareness. Even now,
slowly shuffling toward the end, her mind kept repeating a line from
Shakespeare's Anthony and Cleopatra "The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
which hurts, and is desired."

Irritated by her slow pace, her driver struck out with the sjambok, each blow
sending up a fountain of red, viscous blood, blood which flew into Terri's eyes
as she passed. Momentarily blinded by the burning of her eyes and unable to
clear them, it was Terri's turn to stumble.

The curses which came from Cort's mouth were both inventive and terrible. There
was little he could do to help. He was saddled with a pony who couldn't see to
run. "Don't worry about where you're going. I'll guide you. Just respond to the
reins. The reins," he yelled pulling her back to the right.

Other drivers besides Cort knew to look for the advantage and take it, including
the driver of the number two pony. Seeing Terri's trouble, he took his shot at
what might be his only win of the day.

Pulling out, he put his tired pony into a full flat-out sprint.  It would either
be feast or famine; the effort he was asking of his pony wouldn't leave her with
any reserves. If his pony didn't cross the finish line ahead of everyone else,
it would finish well out of the money. It was a gamble but sometimes chance
favours the audacious. 

The final half furlong of the race was the most exciting of the meet.

The cobalt blue livery of the number two pony pulled on top, first by a half and
then by a full length. Close behind Terri tried to let Cort's strong hands on
the reins guide her to victory. But she couldn't stop shaking her head to purify
her eyes, each twitch forcing a small course correction by Cort, each correction
costing them precious ground. 

For his part, Cort felt as though he had swallowed a handful of razor blades.
He'd never been faced with this situation before, driving a sightless pony down
the track. His filly was doing as much as he could ask of her, the key would be
whether her flowing tears diluted the blood enough to give her any vision, even
blurred, before the end of the race.

The two ponies thundered down the homestrech, unaware that Decima had recovered
and, her very existence at stake, was closing in on the leaders.  It was
suddenly a three-pony race.

Eyelids feeling as though they were held open by needles, Terri's sight had
begun to return, the pony in front of her represented by a smudge of blue, a
smudge that was becoming more distinct as the gap was closed.

The yells of the drivers in front and behind of him rang in Cort's ears. There
was nothing he could do now, no trick to pull out of his bag.  It was all
resting with his pony. 

A burst of light as bright as noon greeted Terri as she crossed the wire. The
tote board told the tale: INQUIRY, INQUIRY, INQUIRY running in a crawl across
its surface.

It took the judges fifteen minutes to decide the order of finishing; fifteen
minutes where the ponies couldn't leave the track; fifteen minutes that seemed
like fifty before the numbers bloomed incandescently for the crowd to see.

2 - 6 - 8     2 - 6 - 8     2 - 6 - 8     2 - 6 - 8

Working on a farm or a ranch was dangerous. Bad things happened with frequency
and not just to the livestock. Farmhands, at least the ones who wanted to stay
employed, quickly learned to shelve their emotions and calmly deal with whatever
situation presented itself.

As the blinking numbers seared his eyes, the young owner discarded his hopes
like letters from an old lover.  Commanding his churning stomach to behave, he
took a deep breath and accepted the truth the tote board revealed.


His pony had placed, just a hand's breadth behind the winning pony. The driver
of the blue pony had won his gamble and the race with it. Decima took the show
position, two feet out of second, two and a half feet away from continuing as a
human being.

Dirks turned to Joey who was still staring at the results.  "We could ask for an
another inquiry Joseph, even though it was accidental the blood from the black
hood entry did interfere with your pony.  The judges might be inclined to see it
that way."

With effort, Joey composed himself and turned to face the stable manager.
"Edmund, you've told me class is winning with a smile, losing with a grin.  I
admit it takes a little bit of doing," he said, the smile of a man with a
migraine plastered on his face, " more than it would if I had won. The fact is
that I didn't win. But I gave it my best effort and that's all I can do."

"Men are ever the sport of circumstance, Joseph. Fate is the helmsman of the
ship of life."

"It's funny, my dad says the very same thing although his version is a little
more compact and earthy."

"Really," asked Dirks, one eyebrow canted into a inverted V. "What is it your
father advises?"

"Shit happens," Joey responded with an almost straight face, coaxing a laugh
like a seal's bark out of his mentor."

"Your father is a wise man, Joseph. He has it exactly right. Shit does indeed
happen. I am just sorry it happened to you this time."

"Nothing to be sorry about.  Like I said, we gave it our best shot.  I just hope
I didn't cost you your bet with Mitchell. I'm sure Tansy'd be sorry if she
didn't see you in Tahiti this year."

"No worries mate, she'll be right," said Dirks, dropping into an Australian
accent.  "Mitchie had Buckley's Chance this year. It's his shout." 

"Edmund, I've never heard you speak anything other than the proper King's
English.  What was that?"

"Strine. Tansy's an expatriate shelia from Australia and even after all these
years on Tahiti she still speaks pure strine. When she feels herself slipping
she goes back to Kalgoorlie, her sister runs a hotel there.  It is impossible to
spend any significant amount of time with Tansy without slipping into the
vernacular. Both Mitchell and I speak fairly fluent strine."

This time Joey's smile was warmer and more natural.  "Well, I'm glad you'll have
the chance to renew your relationship with Tansy. I'm literally riding shank's
mare on the companion front for awhile.  If I remember right, you said it'd be a
day or so before my ponies would be able to talk again, about a week before most
of the conditioning wore off. That leaves me on my own until then."

An idea presented itself to Dirks, if Joseph was without company perhaps he
would be open to some socialising with the "horsey" set.

"Mr. Geryon, there is a traditional dinner and dance which takes place the
evening following the close of the races. For many years it was a black tie
affair as befits the sport of kings.  The less stuffy among us finally convinced
the celebration committee to adapt to our changing times. It is now a more
casual affair, although sports coats and slack are the minimum acceptable attire
for men.  I know there will be a number of unattached ladies at the event
tomorrow night. Perhaps even some semi-attached ladies without escorts. While it
is by invitation only, I can bring a guest.  Would you care to attend?"

"Mr. Dirks, I believe I would be delighted.  I won't lie to you.  It's been a
tense time and I could use a little relaxation."

"Good on ya, mate. That's bonzer. We'll crack a tinnie or two we will. Maybe
root a coupla sheilas too."

An hour after the race results were official Decima Reis' decent into madness
began.

Instead of being returned to the paddock, she was taken directly into the
stables. Already in restraints from the race there was little she could do to
prevent it.  Attempts to go limp were countered by the creative overuse of a
cattle prod, as her handlers found every excuse to wield the electric rod
against her moist flesh.

She found herself guided along a spalled cement passageway, its craters and
crevices filled with straw and dirt. Stalls lined either side.  Some of the
occupants turned their heads as she went by, their eyes full of apprehension and
pity. These were the impermanents, ponies who would regain their human status
now that the race was over and they knew what was awaiting her.

The other occupants paid her little heed. They were true human equine and had
little awareness of Decima's plight.

Two steel doors marked the end of the corridor, one painted white, the other
black.  Decima's groom unlocked the white door and, with a mocking flourish,
waved the terrorised girl through.

The entire room was made of concrete, blocks for the wall, smooth slabs for the
floor and ceiling. All were starkly painted in white as though the chamber had
been designed by the set director for THX 1138.  Failing florescent bulbs on the
ceiling gave off flickering illumination adding to the eeriness of the setting.

In the centre of the room was a waist high platform, its top about 18 inches
wide and four feet long.  The broad  sides of the platform sloped out from the
top some six or seven inches on their way to floor. A variety of stainless steel
rings were positioned in various locations along the  expanse of the sidewalls.

On one side of the platform stood a white enamelled cart of the kind often seen
in hospital. Its cold surface supported several jars, various metal and plastic
implements, towels and a box of tissues. On the other side of the platform was
an ordinary charcoal barbecue, the glowing coals inside its basin already coated
with grey.

There was no metal grill on the barbecue, simply a long metal rod with a
Bakelite handle on one end, the opposite end stuck deep into the coals.

Her face contorted into a devil's mask, Decima tried to scream but only noise
that passed through her vibrating throat sounded like the rattle of dead grass
rustling in a hot August wind. Her body began to thrash from side to side as she
engaged in a final, desperate attempts to alter her inescapable future.

Uncoiling himself from the corner where he was standing, Travis Gordon strode
over and stood before the struggling girl. Impassively he watched for a few
moments as she tried to tear herself from the grasp of her captors. At his nod
she was released.

Quick as a snake but with less warning, one stubby hand flew forward to
violently punch Decima in the stomach, his grunt of exertion matching hers as
the air exploded from her body. Even as the girl battled to fill her empty
lungs, Gordon's other hand grabbed a handful of the girl's hair, yanking her
head up with a force that rolled her eyes back in her head.

Without mercy he smashed his hand across her face, left cheek, right cheek, left
cheek, right cheek.  The four callous blows left Decima dazed, her ears ringing,
her mouth spewing out a mixture of blood and saliva. Releasing his prey, Gordon
stood back as she slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Using a towel from the cart to wipe the blood from his grey skin, Gordon nodded
to himself in satisfaction. This conversion was off to a good start.  He never
used drugs on the first day, that was for amateurs, people who didn't know what
they were doing and wouldn't have the spine to do it if they did.  Physical
punishment was the key to breaking their spirit. Beating them until they gave in
made for a better foundation for the conversion than chemicals did. Besides it
was more fun too.

Once again entangling his fingers in her hair, Gordon lifted upwards, the girl
rising like a broken marionette. As she neared the apogee of her ascent,
Gordon's hairy hand flew forward, burying itself in the folds of her abdomen.
With exquisite timing that bespoke much experience, Gordon dropped her to the
floor seconds before she began to vomit.

Lying in an acrid puddle, tears flowing from her eyes, pain as she had never
felt before coursing through her, Decima could hear someone droning on above. A
sharp kick to her ribs turned her over on her back, concentrating her attention
on the voice. She just wanted everything to stop.

"Here's the drill. Your days as a person are over. Get used to it. You're
chattel now, just another dumb animal. No rights whatsoever," he said stopping
to give her another kick, this time to the sole of her foot.

"You're no longer human, you lost that privilege when you lost the race. You are
a possession, mine now while I help you get your mind right, someone else's once
they buy you." He stopped his speech to place his foot firmly on her forehead.

"I could fracture your skull right now and no one would care.  I could turn you
over and hold your face in your puke until you died and no one would care.  You
live to obey and you obey to live. Your only value is in your obedience. If
you're disobedient, you have no value. If you have no value there's no reason to
keep you alive." Gordon took his foot off her face.

"You're lucky even if you don't know it. Things like you usually end up as meat
on someone's table, just another slaughtered cow that wasn't good for anything
else.  But you have a little talent. You can run. With the right training you
might make a halfway decent filly. You'd have to be a hell of a lot more
disciplined then you were today though. Well animal, you've got one more choice
to make, it's literally the last choice you'll make in your life.  Here it is.

"You're going to stand up and hold still while the groom cleans you up.  Then
you're going to walk over to the platform.  Once there you will spread your legs
and put a foot on each side.  The groom will chain your feet to the walls.  When
your feet are secured you're going lay face down on the platform.  The groom
will strap you down but your hands will still be free and your head will be
hanging off one end while your ass is hanging off the other.

"I will walk over and you will take my cock in your mouth. You'll want to get it
as wet as you can because when I take it out of your mouth I'm going to walk
behind you.  When I slap your ass you will reach back with your hands and spread
your ass cheeks apart. Then I'm going to ram my cock up your asshole as hard and
as fast as I can and the only lubrication on my dick will be what you've put
there with your mouth."

"Once I've shot my wad you will continue to hold those cheeks apart while I
brand you. You'll probably pass out once the iron hits your flesh and that's OK.
Flesh that burns when it's branded doesn't smell anywhere near as delicious as
flesh cooking in a hot oven. When you come to we'll pierce those nipples, put
rings though them, one will have your identity tag and then take you back to
your stall.

"Now you're probably thinking your choice is whether or not to do this.  That's
wrong, animal. You will do all of these things.  Your choice is to make things
easier on yourself by being a good, docile obedient animal the first time you're
told or to make me beat you until you become one.  Frankly, I hope you decide
not to obey right away.  Then I not only get the pleasure of butt-fucking you, I
can get my rocks off a couple of times while I'm punishing you. That way the
butt-fucking lasts even longer.

"Make your choice animal, you've got 30 seconds."

Alone, helpless Decima found her mind had turned to a frigid Arctic landscape
covered with fierce alabaster ice fields, pitiless whirling storms scouring her
identity clean leaving behind a blank waiting to be imprinted with a new
personality. Obedience would make the pain stop. And she was so tired, tired of
fighting with everyone and everything.

Shattered, the new chattel rose tremblingly to her feet, her time as a horse
truly beginning.

Humming through jaws clenching an evil smelling cigar, Marty Brune was a happy
man.  Not only had he won   a little at the window, that black hood horse had
put on one hell of a show twisting and jerking more more than 15 minutes at the
end of the rope as the triple silver bells attached to the silver links
puncturing each of her nipples tolled her death knell.

Even better, Barton let Marty use his extra ticket to take Pete's step-daughter
Patty to the hanging. She enjoyed herself too, squirming on his lap while
Crowbait did the air mambo. Patty was a cute kid. Thin and still too early for
her to have much in the tits department, although a little hormone-laced feed
would help with that. but that young firm ass of hers was sure sweet.

Best of all was the way she ground it against his crotch while she watched the
hanging.  He'd swear she got off a couple of times by the sounds she was making.
Marty knew he did, that pert butt rubbing on his cock was just too much.

Her step-father had to know Marty got off too. The twisted half-smile on Pete's
face when he saw the spreading stain on the front of Marty's pants told that
tale. 

Wonder if Pete's tapping Patty when his wife isn't around. It's not like she was
his real daughter after all. Then there's that conversion rumour. Have to
remember to pick up the phone next week and sound Barton out on a feeder
contract.  Could be a .....

Suddenly, with a thumping noise, Brune's car swerved to the right. Damn, I've
probably got a puncture he thought as he brought the car to a halt. One quick
glance was enough to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, the right front tire
was flatter than a fashion model's tits.

His pudding face red from the exertion of changing the tire, Brune resumed his
drive home. Within a few minutes the thumping sound returned.  The sight of his
second flat of the night affected the uber-butcher like a stone thrown into a
hornet's nest. 

He called down curses on the tire company for making shitty tires that blow out
if you even look at them; the auto manufacturer for only having one spare tire
for the car, didn't they know the cheap tires they put on the car demanded they
provide more than one spare and the phone company for not putting a phone box at
every crossroads.

Still muttering imprecations into the evening sky, Brune started the long walk
back to town.

Terri rose to the creaking of the neighbouring stall door as it slid open.
During her time at Kyner Stables the lubrication-deficient door had become her
morning alarm.  She went though her daily routine, stretching to relax stiff and
tender muscles, standing on tiptoe to gaze through the bars on her window.

Outside her stall the rising sun was just cresting over the horizon, a hint of
chilly dawn still lingering in the air. Clouds pink and dusty danced across the
sky.  Familiar sounds greeted her ears, the snapping of leather, the jingling of
metal, the soft cries of the ponies and the harder, more insistent commands of
their trainers. Kyner Stables was waking up.

As she had been trained, the young filly stood next to her door awaiting its
opening. She wore the standard workout livery for Kyner Stables, a simple outfit
composed of loose fitting smock and shorts in a drab shade of poppy.

But this day was different. On this day the door would not open with the others.
No handlers would come for Terri. There would be no morning workout in the
exercise yard, no soothing massage afterwards.

Standing there Terri was puzzled. Was her master mad at her?  Had she failed
him? What was wrong? How could she make it right?  Then she remembered, her time
as a horse was coming to a close. The question was, does it have to?

Searching her soul as she had never done before, Terri Gudman realised nothing
she has done in her life; nothing she has had done to her; has given her as much
pleasure, joy, and fulfilment as the last few weeks had.

For years, in situation after situation, she never really believed that she
belonged. Instead she thought of herself as a clown at the ballet, a jazz
clarinettist in a symphony orchestra, a shadow without a body.

Fragmentary, incomplete and unfinished, Terri had sought fulfilment through many
avenues, work, marriage, sport fucking.  Until now all had left her empty, kept
her yearning for something more, something solid and real.

This was that something.

Being under the guidance and protection of a strong master, one who saw her
beauty and worth, had made her complete. She would die before she gave that up.

Suffused with happiness, Terri choose her life as a horse.

---------------------------------

The question:  The "Our story so far" segment has become excessively long,
running almost two pages.  Should this feature be continued?

The invitation: Several secondary characters are based on readers of C4H. (You
all know who you are, both in real life and in the saga.) If you are interested
in appearing in fictional guise in a later episode of C4H, please drop me a line
to discuss it. (agp_millie, keep reading.)

Again, thanks to most of you for your patience and encouragement.

Review This Story || Email Author: Eurytion

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