Posted by hisdinner on February 25, 2005 at 19:36:28:
Marta’s eyes ran wild with her betrayal. She sobbed, her shoulders straining, feeling as if they were about to tear right out of their sockets. "I've given everything I had to him, why? Oh Mother, oh sisters, forgive me! Marta was struck hard by the realization that she was merely a means to an end. "He only wanted me to help him find his way in to—oh god no--to ruin Haven. It's my soul on fire, my name they'll burn in the garbage pile. I am the most evil thing. Oh gods, oh no." Marta was devastated.
She accepted each twig that whipped her, each branch that tore at her flesh as penance. The beatings became more severe as Michael drove deeper into the brush that hid the village. A sharp “Thwack” from a sturdy branch refusing to give way to the mechanized beast came across her face, and she felt her nose begin to run blood. Marta howled, almost convinced it could get no worse, until she was reminded of the sharp thorns of the rose bushes that were the last wall of defense. A hundred thorns sliced through Marta's skin and she could offer no resistance, but finally her head drooped. As they emerged into the clearing it was the screams of the village girls that awakened her from her private hell.
She watched as Michael methodically trapped girls and left them laying on the ground, trussed for his return. He was amazing, like a god sent to punish those that stood in his way. Her eyes were clouded by sweat and blood, like a ghost unable to do anything except watch events unfurl. Off in the distance she watched the younger girls herded away from the melee.
Michael had no interest in them; instead he focused on robust, full-bodied women. He harvested with stunning precision. Carl and Trevor stood motionless, overwhelmed by his skill. Marta moaned from the front of the hood, forgotten by her Master. Michael had turned, and she saw his eyes focus on Elder Catherine.
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Michael’s blood pulsed so loud that the screams were distant thunder. Stopping to survey his hunt, marveling at the girls laying trussed and struggling on the ground like bags of meat, congratulating himself on his masterful work. He almost missed the Elder running out of view, but the shawl she wore caught his eye. focusing in on the older meat, he quickly overtook her and brought her down to the ground with a resounding thud. He called out to Trevor and Carl, “Over here boys, I got one!”
Michael stared deep into the camera as if he was telling each viewer individually, “Elders, unseen, a myth some say.” He lifted her skirt, “They may be old, but that meat looks tasty to me!”
Michael smacked the Elder's thighs, grabbed her hair, held her face into the camera, and demanded “Tell me where the Lost go!”
Elder Catherine was in shock. “You’re not allowed here, we were promised…”
“Tell me where, Elder!”
“It was agreed…”
All around her, bound girls whimpered and struggled frantically to free themselves. Few heeded the shouting between the Hunter and Elder Catherine; they were more intent on escape. But a few girls lay slack and stunned in their nets, straining to understand. Their beloved Cook, what was she saying? Who agreed? Council with Men is forever Forbidden! Everyone knew that. What were they saying?
Michael pushed Catherine's head hard into the dirt, holding her legs apart he rammed himself inside her. She was dry at first, but dammit the old girl responded! Hell, forty wasn't bad at all. Michael chuckled. And here he was, in every sitting room in the City, raping the leader of the tribe. Fucking perfect. Who's the top dog now, Wally? He grinned and pounded harder. Elder Catherine tried to speak as he plowed her head into the camera a few times. She tried to hold herself in place, but his motions were too forceful and she found nothing to grab. After he came he threw her to the ground and began to kick at her. “Tell me where the Lost go!”
“How dare you break the agreement!” Elder Marian stood next to Elder Diane, staring at Michael like he was a child.
Marian! From her hiding place beneath a fallen tree, Megan peered out, ears open, eyes wide. Elder Marian and Mother Diane were so brave! Megan watched them as they strode right up to the Hunter. But why didn't they try to unbind the fallen ones, rescue them? What were they saying? Megan strained to hear.
Michael smirked at the two women, then with almost a gentle touch, he threw his leg out, and in one grand sweeping motion felled them like redwoods. He pressed
his foot into Diane’s face, deep into the dirt. “So you’ve made an agreement with a hunter? Means nothing to me.”
Diane groaned as his foot pressed her head tighter.
“Tell me where the Lost go or I’ll break her head open like a melon.”
Marian begged him, “Please. I will tell you everything, turn off your cameras.”
Megan had scrambled to the edge of the log, another inch and she'd be out and running to that hateful man to kick him back, to give him some of the pain, some of the humiliation he'd dealt the Mother. How dare he do this? But Elder Marian's words stopped Megan cold. How could she? Tell men the secrets of the Lost? Those poor fallen ones had nothing left, no sanctuary to protect them. "How dare she do this, even to protect Diane? She has to think of all of us, of Haven."
Megan pushed herself out from under the rotten log, humus clinging to her hair. She growled in wordless fury and ran at them, the Hunter and his sycophant.
"In the name of all that's soft and good!" She shouted as she flung herself at Michael's back. He was caught off-guard, but only for a moment. He lifted his foot from Diane's face, and the Mother scrambled up to join Marian, who was brushing dirt from her legs. Megan's arms wrapped around Michael's shoulders and her legs flailed out behind him as he grinned, braced himself and gripped her wrists. With a wrenching twist, Michael brought the sobbing, shrieking girl around to the front of him.
Michael twisted Megan's wrists until she shrieked in pain and then brought her thrashing body tight to his, facing outward. "You're raising vixens now, I see, Mothers," he sneered. He felt himself getting hard. This one's fresh, I can smell her virgin blood, he thought. Might be a keeper.
Megan's eyes flashed fury from her bonds in Michael's arms. "Mothers! How can you betray our home this way? How can you speak of deals with men? What does it all mean?" She sobbed as Michael wrenched back her hair and bit her neck, leaving deep purple bruises around his teethmarks.
Elder Marian and Mother Diane were speaking in hurried, muffled whispers as they watched the young girl attack the Hunter. The bound girls scattered on the ground had stilled themselves. All were quiet, watching the scene play out. Back on the grill of the massive truck, Marta's head lolled to one side and she moaned, "Not me.. not me!" The captured girls stared at the bloodied Lost One on the truck. They'd thought she was dead, another trophy displayed like Lucy, left to torment them. But then she spoke. "No..I never meant to.. No!"
Megan screamed, tried to point, but he'd pinioned her arms beneath his. "Save us! Save that poor thing tied there! Mothers! Please?"
Diane and Marian turned to face the Hunter and Megan. Diane felt triumph rising, the goddess delivering this Lost one just when they needed a savior.
She turned her back on Michael and called out to the girls bound on the ground, to the ones she knew lay concealed, to the little ones safely tucked out of sight.
"Hear me! Haven HAS been betrayed this day, but my sweet darlings, listen, learn. It was not your Elders, your guardians who caused this Day of Terror!"
Diane paused and considered the sound of her words, and she liked what she heard. Hm, Day of Terror, yes, I think that will serve as title for the legend of this mess. I'll sort it out later with my best songstress.
In the stillness of the clearing, her strong voice rang out again. "Sisters! Little ones, Elders, Lost and fallen—all of you heed this once and for all time. The one who betrayed you, the one who forged evil agreements—the one who held council with MEN?" Diane broke off to turn, extending her arm, pointing one long finger at Marta.
"Your betrayer? It is THAT one—That one tied there. Look on her shame, look on her now, before the Hunter tears her heart out. Or would you do it yourselves, girls? Would you tear out the heart of the one who betrayed you all?" Diane was panting, fervently willing her little sheep to fall on the hapless girl. Would they leave their shelters and destroy this girl before she spoke again? It would be that single moment of Goddesshood she craved. Diane was near shuddering release, just imagining the sight –Marta torn apart, the Elders' secret safe.
Marta could not find strength to lift her head. Around her, on the ground girls shrouded in the Hunter's nets called out curses on her. Some wept and asked her why, why she'd hurt them so dearly, the ones who were always soft and kind. Marta wept and said nothing. The Elder's words confused her, but they must be true.
Michael let go of Megan to applaud the Elder. He spoke quietly, out of camera range, too soft to let the bound ones hear. "Diane, masterful. Marian? You naughty girl, come here. Time for you to spill the beans. But wait. No."
He turned and surveyed the field littered with netted and trussed girls, his once-prize pig bound on his truck, the center of everyone's attention. Michael reached down and pulled Megan from the ground. "You heard your Mother. Go show your betrayer some vengeance, meatgirl. Now. Or you'll be riding out in the same place."
Megan shrank from Michael, horrified. "Mother?"
She stared at Diane who had resumed her whispering with Marian. Diane shook her head. "He releases you, girl. Raise a righteous blade to her, or run. The choice is yours. You're trembling. Go then--Join the little ones, tell them the story of the one who brought this terror into our sanctuary. Go."
Megan backed away from her, shaking her head. "But Mother.. the other girls.. can't we fight to set them free? I am sure we could.. he can't take them--not all of them, Mother! Please! All of us could.. we could—"
Elder Marion spoke scathingly. "What could we do, little fawn? Overpower the hunter and his minions? Free all the Lost? His bullets are much faster than you, silly, stupid one. Go! Go now while you have a chance, before he decides to net you, too."
Megan shrank away, shaking her head, not comprehending why the Elders moved among the bound girls as if— as if they were already dead! It was too much to comprehend. Hadn't Mother Diane actually invited them to hurt that bloodied one on the Hunter's vehicle? She had! Megan felt sick. But she ran, and plotted out a course. "Go to the little ones, find the others, the older ones who are hidden first—talk to them! A council of the ones who had escaped, yes! That's what we must do. Megan was resolved to save the soft, the good. She shook her head, and wondered at the Elders. So very, very strange today. Best to keep careful council, she thought. Back in the trees, just a few feet from the Hunter's entourage, she found Jamie.
Jamie shook her head and held Megan's hands. "Meggie? Bethany was right, wasn't she?" And the two embraced and made new vows, and began to gather the few remaining girls around them. From this day, they would teach the little ones new songs.
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Back in the village, Elder Diane walked slowly to her small roundhouse as the Hunter directed his eager helpers. More than a dozen girls were stuffed into the cargo hold as Trevor breathlessly summed up the adventure to date…all except the part he'd missed, when Megan had jumped Michael. Poor Trevor was the nervous type; he'd suffered from a dead faint.
Michael pulled Marian close. Another thirty-fortyish woman. And just as sleek and meatier than a young one. Hm. He might let that little thing run and just keep
this one, more to eat later, yeah. He made a show of pulling Marion by the scruff of her neck around the truck and out of sight of any suspicious eyes.
Grabbing her face in his hand, "I'll slit your throat right now unless you show me where the Lost go."
Marian’s eyes seemed to smile as she took his hand, staring deep into his eyes, directing his thumb into her mouth, her tongue wrapping itself around his finger as she began to suck. Michael smirked, “Good girl.”
Marian nodded and climbed into the front of the truck. Michael shook his head. Too easy. He'd have to experiment long and hard on this piece of traitorous flesh. But oh, brother! Michael grinned. Another one in the pot, and what a yield she'd bring before he cooked her. This day would go down for all time as the Best of Into the Wild. Now for a little finale to finish with a bang.
Michael waved Carl closer. The cameraman was exhausted, and his erection was so longstanding, he thought he'd turn completely blue. He had approached one of the bound girls, she had a fine mouth he held her face and stuck his throbbing member in her mouth, she weeped but knew what to do, god what a day for the show, for all the guys out there! Must be almost
twenty girls bagged and squirming in that carry-space! He finished quickly and heard Michael call, grabbed his camera and centered Michael in his lens. The Hunter stood in front of Marta, hoisting her head up by a handful of tangled blond hair.
"This one's plenty tenderized, right guys?"
"Sure she is, Michael!" Trevor giggled. "What's next for our viewers?"
Michael cocked his head to one side and nodded twice toward the girl as if to say, "Now, watch this." Carl understood and began closing in on the sight of the naked, tortured meat girl lashed to Michael's truck. Marta’s eyes looked towards Michael for understanding and just as the camera framed her upper body, his outside arm flashed in and his knife slashed deep through Marta's neck. He leapt aside as her blood sprayed, crying, "Dinner time! This one's roasting in five minutes. End the broadcast with a little singing around the campfire, whaddya say, boys?"
Trevor wiped his brow and wheezed, "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Carl snickered behind the camera and spoke, and 20 million viewers caught every word. "What's the matter, Trevor? Roasted girl give you a tummy ache?"
Michael roared laughter as Carl put the camera on the stand and helped him haul Marta's carcass to the fire.
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Bethany wandered and tried to sort things out. "Why did I do that, what was I thinking?" Bethany could not find an answer. Herbert and Cyndi had been good to her. Her face flushed hot and she frowned. Herbert had pushed her away, the evil man--They all were. Cyndi would discover that soon enough. Bethany trudged on through the thinning woods. No one wanted her, she belonged nowhere. She couldn't stay in the village. How could she eat their food, and take the baths at night, now knowing that it was all to fatten them up for Man’s bellies? She couldn't stay with Herbert and Cyndi. Her hands balled up in fists. They seemed so happy; how could that be? She shook her head and walked straight into a clearing.
She was hungry, remembering she had bolted before Cyndi had brought back breakfast, and where was she going? Finding herself outside the woods, she stopped. “Never be caught in the open!” The poem eluded her, but its message was made even clearer when two men joined her there.
Ron would never admit it was an accident; when they came across the girl wandering by herself he simply chalked it up to his unrecognized hunter skills. Like two foxes coming across a rabbit, they immediately began to chase their prey. Gob was hungry, and their “mission” was lost amidst the plight of his stomach. Ron admired Bethany from behind, as her meat taunted them. He retrieved his sling from his pocket. It had been his favorite toy as a child, and if he had not been sick at Competition, his future would have been altered greatly.
Gob could not imagine why Ron had stopped, but he was hungry and wasn’t going to ask. He heard the “whisk” noise and then the girl fell, rolling to a stop. She squinted in the sun, looking up at them as they circled her, “Please!”
“Dude that was amazing!” Gob smacked Ron on the arm, “Let's make some lunch!”
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Charles was good to Jeannie. Every night he would come to fetch her after the men were done with her. Holding her hand, he led her to the bathroom and cleaned her, dressed her for bed and left her to talk with the other girls. Tonight his hands seemed more…intent. He gently caressed her back, playing with her hair, coming around front he kissed her! This one was different, it was longer, more intense, she responded eagerly, placing her hands around his shoulders, trying to pull him on top of her.
Jeannie was warm, not just her skin, but her soul. Charles cared for all his girls, but he always steeled himself against the inevitable. Jeannie had gotten through, it had been a long time since that happened, she offered him everything, holding nothing back. When the time came he would take care of it personally, not allow her to suffer. For now he was lost in her kiss, holding her up, her soft tender flesh melting in his hands, he wanted to take her somewhere special, but that was a daydream. She was his responsibility, but she was not his.
He pulled away gently, smiling at her, caressing her hair away from her face, he loved how her black hair came down in strands and touched her lips, “Let’s finish up.”
Jeannie sat still, her hands at her side, loving the feel of Charles touching her. It was a hard life, the men could be brutal, but in the Dormitory she could sit up and talk with the other girls, they would talk about their village, the men they saw that night, and sometimes they would keep each other company through the night. Charles never frowned on this, whatever made his girls happy.
That night they veered away from the bathhouse. Jeanne knew better to question, but she couldn’t help feel concerned. When they arrived at Mr. Bruno’s room, she felt a cold chill run through her. Charles knocked, and a voice beckoned, “Enter!”
Mr. Bruno stood there in a dark red velvet robe, “You took your time Charles.”
“Sorry Boss, I came as soon as I could.”
”And who is this young sweetmeat?”
“Jeannie, say hello to Mr. Bruno.”
Eyes downcast, Jeannie remembered, “Hello, Sir.”
Charles offered, “She’s a good girl. Do you want to
see?”
Georgy waved his hand, “Another time. I thought all your girls were good, Charles?”
In the middle of the room, bound in a kneeling position was Erica, her face red and wet.
“I tell them to be, Boss.”
“Well this one didn’t listen. Jeannie? Do you know what happens to bad girls?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Anything we can dream of. Tonight I had a most delicious thought.” He pulled a chair up in front of the girl, she tried to plead, “Charles I’m so sorry-”
Charles quickly silenced her with a loud slap, the girl cried out.
Georgy explained, “You see Jeannie, all our customer wanted to do was enjoy her, and she resisted.”
”He was killing me,” Erica cried out. Charles smacked her again.
“What makes a girl think like this Jeannie? No idea? Well let’s see.” Georgy held her head tight between his knees, Erica stared straight at him, trying to prepare herself. He lifted a comb and pushed back her hair, wet with fear sweat. He rubbed the front of her temple. “Let’s see…”
Lifting a tiny chrome mallet in his hand he tapped repeatedly on her head, “Hello! Is there anybody in there?”, laughing at his own joke, soaking in her tears and whimpers. Then with a broad grin on his face he brought it down hard on the front of her skull, the girl shrieked as blood poured from the wound. Georgy whacked harder, revealing the bone beneath the flesh, he smiled at Charles, “Gonna crack it like an egg.” Smacking harder Erica screaming, bawling, pleading for her life he opened a slit in her bone and wedging his meaty fingers in pulled it open to reveal her brain. Jeannie felt woozy, she wanted to hold Charles, she tried to steel herself. Erica was drooling and mumbling, going into shock. Georgy stuck his hand in and like a child playing with clay, squeezed the girls brains within his hand. Her eyes rolled back, and he turned to Charles, “Just as I figured, nothing.” He stood up, wiping his hands on a towel, “I will take the cost of cleaning my rug out of your salary. Dismissed.”
Charles began to leave, and Jeannie quickly got in step, “Tommorow, Charles.”
“Excuse me Boss?”
“I will enjoy your young waif tomorrow.”
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Cyndi returned to Herbert with berries for lunch. She found him looking towards the horizon. “We will find it, Herbert.”
Herbert was toughening to the outdoor existence, but all he had to do was feel the tender spots on his hands and feet to know that he was ill-prepared for life in the wild. Cyndi's skills were second nature to her, and her body was prepared for the rough outdoor life they had now, but what about him? Herbert worried that he'd hold her back. His sleek huntress, bringing them small prey to eat, hunting, fishing. So beautiful and so sufficient. Herbert worried too much, and he knew it. Best to cherish what we have when we have it. He knew that. But what would happen when they found the others? He worried. Would they accept him, or would they all be like that Bethany, suspicious, mercurial, so hard to understand.
"And then what?" He knew he sounded like a Clerk then, he hated it, but --
“Then we will be happy.” She forced him to sit down, but he would not eat, so she placed the berries in her mouth and fed him, one by one. He smiled. “Herbert, are you happy with me?”
“Yes, Cyndi. I never knew I could be so happy.”
“Do you want another?”
He was startled by this question. “You mean did I want Bethany?”
She looked down, “Yes.”
“I told her to go away. I will not betray you, Cyndi. Did she tell you I pushed her? Well, I had no choice. You know I do not want to hurt anyone.”
Cyndi leaned in and kissed him, she had no idea what Bethany had told him. Why did the girl say what she did? Pulling Herbert on top of her, Cyndi kissed him hard.
“You and me, Herbert, no matter how this ends, it will be you and me.”
“Yes, my love.”
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Charles gently ran the washcloth along Jeannie’s body. He noticed the bruising, “Tough customer tonight?”
She tried to laugh it off, “Kicked me hard in my sex. He said the swelling would make me tighter.”
“Did you tell the Madame?”
Jeannie protested, “No Charles, I take whatever the customer wants, I would never disgrace you!”
Charles ran his hand along her cheek. “You’re a good girl Jeannie, I know. But the Madams have to know how to charge the customers account. They can do whatever they like, as long as they pay for it.”
Jeannie smiled, Charles was not upset with her. She couldn’t help but notice the slight grimace on his face, “Charles? Please don’t be cross, I’ll tell them next time.” Jeannie did not like the obese men in dresses that were referred to as the Madames, they were mean.
“I’m not cross with you, dear.” He gently kissed her mouth, aware of her arching up to kiss him ack, “You’ve been requested tonight.”
“Oh.”
The rest of the bath would be immersed in silence.
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Cyndi loved to stare deep into Herbert’s eyes when they made love. Their love making was so personal, so intense, so intoxicating. Each time, Cyndi tried to focus on just one sensation that she could try to describe to him later, just one moment out of the thousand that thrilled her. She wanted to remember every single one to tell the world. No one had ever loved like them, Cyndi knew it. Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms as if the world revolved around them now. Cyndi had begun to doubt they would ever find this land of the lost, but she would not let Herbert believe this. She kissed him gently, leaving him on the border of slumber as she went to the woods.
How long had they been watching? Did they stare in marvel as Cyndi and Herbert made love? Were they watching Cyndi when she urinated? There was no time to tell, for when the rough hands grabbed her body and muzzled her, Cyndi tried to scream and shake herself loose, but instead they hoisted her up and carried her away from her love, sleeping hard only a few feet away.
"Guess Vernon's in luck today, hey, boys."
Sarney stopped flicking his fingers off Cyndi's nipples to comment, "I ain't got no wife, Frank, you know that."
"Your Linda's still alive, least she was when we left this morning, Sarn. Don't be so covetous, Brother."
"Ain't getting another, neither, you break 'em too easy. 'Sides, Frank is right, it's Vernon's turn." Donald shook his head as the three men made their way back to camp.
They pulled a travois made of lodge pole pines lashed together and the girl lashed down on top. Cyndi squirmed, her hands and feet spread wide and high so that the whole of her formed an X against the pines. Sarney kept pace along side the travois, close enough to paw her constantly. Cyndi tried to undulate and press her hips and then her shoulders tight to the travois to loosen her bonds. They were starting to give way. "Herbert!" She thought. "He's got to waken soon—maybe he can follow our trail. This travois cuts a wide path. Cyndi's stomach clenched as she pictured Herbert, waking up alone. "He'll think I've left him for the Lost, for my sisters. Oh, Herbert, no. Find me!"
They pulled her over another mile of bumpy ground until they reached the river encampment. Frank lowered his side of the travois to the ground outside the centermost in a row of canvas tents, shaking his head as he looked at Cyndi. "My Emmie looks a little like you, girl. Maybe you ought to bunk with us."
Donald grunted as he put his carry-pole on the ground. "Little girl gets heavy as a horse after a two mile haul!" The tent flaps rustled, and a young blond girl emerged, pregnant and beaming.
"My husband! What did you bring us?" Frannie braced her back with her hands and waddle-walked as fast as she could to Donald's side. Her face clouded when she saw another woman there, and not a slain deer. Donald put an arm around her and patted her belly.
"Frannie? We caught this girl sneaking away from some fella. Don't know rightly what to make of her. Sings the same danged songs as you and the other girls, though."
Another girl emerged from the far tent, stumbled on a loose rock and fell, but did not right herself.
"Linda? Linda!" Frannie rushed over to the fallen girl who lay splayed out, her face in the loamy soil. Pine needles covered her hair, and her legs were bent slightly apart. Her skirt rucked up above her knees and streaks of red ran down the insides of her thighs, past purpling bruises.
Sarney wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt then took his time walking to his fallen bride. She still lay motionless on the ground. He stuck out a boot and prodded her side once, twice. Frannie reached out her arm and took a swing at him, nearly losing her balance. Donald rushed in to support her as gravity took hold. Frannie shrieked, "Sarney, by Jehosophat! You should be stoned!"
Sarney looked up, shrugged and pointed to the girl just emerging from the third tent. "You, Emmie girl, hep my wife here, she's feeling poorly agin."
He turned to Vernon and Frank. "What? You're giving me the creeps, staring like you seen a demon or something. She ain't tough enough to play rough, then she cooks, that's that. Right boys?"
Emily knelt close to Linda and brushed the hair from her face. "She's dead!" Emily cried. She began to hum and rock, one hand placed protectively on the still form.
"Oh Linda, I am so sorry," she whispered.
"So sorry. And she began the Lament, "Lay down, the fight is done. Close your eyes and welcome water, welcome night. Lay down, and let the Mother soothe…Close your eyes, the fight is done."
Cyndi's voice quavered from the travois, " Close your eyes and welcome water, welcome night. Lay down, and let the Mother soothe…Close your eyes, the fight is
done."
Emily looked up, startled. "Sister? Are you of—of Haven Home?"
Sarney snorted in disgust, toed the legs of his dead wife aside, and stomped into his tent. Emily ran to Cyndi and untied her, glancing over her shoulder and begging, "Please Frank, let her help me with Linda, please? She knows the Ways. I am so afraid."
Vernon knelt on the opposite side of the travois and brought out his hunting knife. "Ske-daddle, Emmie. This new one's mine, and she's gonna be mighty busy for a while. You get your man to help you hoist Linda up onto the bleedin' out tree. I reckon her meat's still passable."
Cyndi's worked her right hand free and clutched at Emily's. "Is this—Are you the Lost?"
Vernon chuckled as he pushed up Cyndi's skirts and pulled down her underthings.
"Don't you fret, honey." He waved Emily away and pulled Cyndi close, kneeling on the pine boughs atop the travois. His fingers dug into her sex and he frowned. This one's used goods! Figures! He didn't hesitate, he drove himself hard inside the girl. Cyndi yelped and he laughed and said, "Claiming this lil whore for myself, now, hear me, brothers!"
He rammed himself harder and harder into Cyndi as she struggled to work her bonds free. Vernon picked up his knife and tickled her chin with the tip, causing a small trickle of red to course down her throat. He laughed again when she sucked in a breath and stopped struggling.
"You ain't lost, whore. Vernon's found you!"
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Nude with her arms and legs bound, Bethany pleaded with Gob, “Please! Let me help you!”
“You are gonna help me,” running his hands down her full thighs, “Thigh meat is my favorite, dammit how tender!”
Ron called out, “No time to roast her, so I say we slice her up and take what we can.”
“I say we bag the whole hunt and just spend some time enjoying HER!” Gob sulked.
“Yes, enjoy me!” Bethany saw hope.
Ron laughed, “Easy girl, he's still talking about eating you. Although Gob, if we can get past your stomach, she’s got a real nice mouth.” Holding her face in his hand, running his thumb along her thick lower lip, admiring the dimple in the center, feeling himself getting aroused.
“I’m starving Ron! Tell you what, I’ll cut off her legs and you can have the front.”
Bethany tried to interject, “Please, I can show you the girl and the man you’re looking for! You can eat her!”
Ron unzipped his fly and Bethany eagerly took him into her mouth, “Oooh Gob, you gotta try this! She’s good. As good as any girl at the Palace. Come on Gob, oh, wow, she makes a good point!”
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Georgy made Jeannie sit in the same chair she had watched the girl die in. He held her chin up and ran his hands along her body, “Lean but meaty ribs…oh yes look at the definition on the back, the rump… you are a little girl but you would cook up well. Tell me Jeannie, do you love Charles?”
Jeannie was frightened by the question, “Love him sir? He is my handler.”
“I know who he is. Girls get very attached to their handlers, and some handlers to their girls. I saw the way he watches you, you are special to him.”
Inside Jeannie, heat fluttered, but she sensed danger as well, “Charles treats me like all the others.”
“We’ll see girl, we’ll see. Now hop up on all fours. Spread your legs, this will hurt.”
Jeannie squeezed her eyes tight, awaiting the whip, never anticipated the wooden bat that smacked against her backside sending her deeper into Georgy’s bed. She tried to get up, but her legs felt tingly. Georgy pushed and prodded her with the bat. “I love the sound of the flesh being tenderized."
He kicked her over as she moaned and cried from the first assault. He lifted her back into position with his foot. Taking notice of her trembling, he commanded, “Hold still." He brought the bat down hard on her rump again, this time, she cried louder crumbing into a ball, but she would not crawl away. Even as the bat came down on her arm, snapping it like a twig she cried out but she did not retreat. Georgy straddled her body with his legs and began to pound away at her, the tears streaming from her face, she did not flinch, accepting whatever he had to offer.
Her body overcome with pain, her voice hoarse from screaming she took his rape as an interlude in the violence. When he finished with her, he grabbed her by the hair and tossed her out the door. She could hear him call for Charles as the door slowly slid shut.
Charles found her broken and bleeding sitting up against the wall in the hallway. He crouched down beside her, “Jeannie?”
“I didn’t run. I didn’t fail you, Charles.”
“I know Jeannie. I knew you never could." He picked her up and brought her to the bathhouse. Holding her in his arms as the water began to fill the tub, rocking her like a baby.
“I can’t feel my legs Charles. Or my arm.”
“I know, Jeannie, I’ll make it all better. I always do.”
“I love you, Charles.”
“Yes Jeannie. I know." Gently he lowered her into the water, using a cup to clean her hair and remove the matted blood, finally able to see her face. She was all swollen and bruised, a few teeth missing, he kissed her gently on the mouth, “Drink this, it will help relax you.”
“Yes Charles.” It felt warm going down and it was from Charles.
He reached into the tub, feeling her body relax, watching her breathing quietly slow down, holding her tight as she drifted away. He did not want to let her go, not even to brush away the tear that ran down his cheek, but she was already gone.
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Bethany stumbled a half-step behind Ron as they made their way back through the woods. He'd fastened a heavy iron collar he had brought to capture the lovebirds around her neck and put matching manacles around each ankle, though he hadn't strung chain through them. After all, the girl needed to lead them on their merry hunt. Hunters, yeah! But Ron had attached a leash to Bethany's collar, and try as she might, she couldn't get across to the idiots that it was hard to lead when they made her follow! And leashed, to boot!
Bethany's lower lip was puffy and red where Ron's thrusts had abraded her skin. She felt exhilarated, as if she'd been given a whole new life. And oh, Bethany felt SO justified. First the Elders betrayed her, then that evil Herbert scorned her, and neither one of them believed her stories, no, they cast her out! And then these two strange bumbling hunters nearly cooked her for their lunch! It was the only way, she told herself, the only way to survive this—
"Ouch!" Ron yelped as he stopped at a natural fork in the path and Bethany trod on his heel. He yanked on her leash to reprimand her and she stepped on his heel again.
"Dammit, meat, don't follow me so close! Now which way?" Ron looked exasperated. Gob just looked starved. He stepped behind Bethany and began to run
his hands over her rump.
"Put some cinnamon on those buns," he murmured. "Hell, I'd eat 'em raw with a little sugar and spice."
"Knock it off, Goblin, you can cook her when we get there!" Ron hollered, then kicked himself.
Dammit! Now she was wise to his plan. Think fast, Ron told himself, wondering whether Wally or Michael ever had this sort of thing come up. Hell no, He and Gob were the first ones to have their own meatgirl bird dog! He was sure of it! They'd make every episode of Into the Wild for a week when they got back with the Runaways plus their own trained pet. Hell yeah, take her out hunting every weekend, they'd be millionaires! If he could just keep Goblin from eating up their meal ticket first.
"Shh!" Bethany touched Ron's shoulder. The three stood ten yards from where Herbert slept. "That's him!" Bethany motioned to Gob to stop pawing her and see for himself. That's the Clerk who ran away with his store bought meatgirl."
"So." Gob squinted into the shady grove. "Where's the meat?"
Herbert stirred in the shallow bed they'd made of meadow grass. He smiled, he stretched his arms and legs. He thought he finally might be getting used to this. He didn’t' have a single ache or pain. Cyndi. She'd taught him how to scoop out a shallow hip-space, a shoulder space, too, and to make pillows of the plundered grasses that grew so soft and tender by the riverbanks. He was so lucky, he—where was she? Herbert sat up, not frightened yet, just missing her. She liked to slip away while he slept sometimes, bring him back wild strawberries, or a fresh canteen of water.
He sat back against a pine tree to wait. He hummed one of Cyndi's happy little songs and closed his eyes again. All at once a thick leather band cut into his throat and pulled him tighter to the tree. He clawed at the hand and only got two fingers beneath it. A smelly cloth landed over his face, he could not free his arms to pull the cloth away—another band had pinned his arms at the elbows and something soft and heavy lay on his lower legs.
"What? Gaa!" The band around his throat had begun to choke him. Herbert retched.
"Gob, you idiot, we need this trophy alive! Let go of his throat and tie his hands."
Herbert coughed and swiveled his head, trying to throw off the smelly sack that covered his face. He heard a feminine giggling close up. The weight on his calves shifted and he recognized the feel and scent of Woman. But not Cyndi, no, coarser. At last he managed to shake off the cloth. It fell into his lap when he ducked his head as low as his bonds allowed. And he groaned.
"Bethany." Herbert frowned. "Please get off my legs, you're cutting off my circulation." Bethany smirked at him and bounced.
"Where's the girl, Clerk?" Ron leaned in, imagining the cameras rolling, using his best booming basso Hunter voice.
"What do you mean?" Herbert was honestly confused—where had these two guys come from? He'd heard no roaring motors, besides, these guys were wearing glorified clerk uniforms. They had no business outside City lines. Hunters owned the woods.
"Hey! What are you Recovery guys doing way out here?" Herbert asked. And then it downed on him. HE was the prime target. He and Cyndi, that is. Where was she? They'd asked him first, Herbert reminded himself. Stay calm. Don't let them know you've lost her too. Have I? Herbert's belly clenched. Cyndi? Where are you, my love?
Bethany was scrutinizing his face. "She went out hunting? For the Lost, or for food?"
Herbert answered, "Both. She's planning to be gone a couple days."
Ron hadn't planned on this. Hell, he hadn't really planned much at all. What to do? Gob was starving, and the Goblin had a point too. That ass was prime. Make some fine steaks. They could always find them another hunting pet. They were hunters now, after all. Maybe if they had to settle in and wait a couple days for their prize catch to return, maybe they oughta cook her after all—yeah. Why not? But he'd better be cagey about it. This girl was pretty damn sharp for meat.
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Ten miles from the Herbert's grove, Michael's entourage settled in to watch Marta roast. They'd taken her carcass down to the bottom of the meadow where Michael had spitted Lucy. The spit stood there still, the girls had been so thoughtful; he wouldn’t have to sacrifice one of his own.
Carl set the camera up and had his assistant monitor the scene; he wanted in on the action, and Michael needed a spare set of hands. Trevor? Forget about that weenie. As soon as he'd seen Marta's neck get the slash, that guy had turned five shades of green and vanished into the underbrush. Now he sat, pale and shakey by the camera. He'd murmur some quavery comment about outdoor barbecues once in awhile, but he was dog poo. Carl figured maybe the station manager would like what he saw-- Carl stepping into the breach.
Michael had just supervised the streamside cleaning and had Marta's carcass up on the ground, ready to drive the spit in. He'd chopped off her head and thrown it into the back of his truck. The closely packed girls had squealed and screamed, it was funny stuff, like Hot Potato! Games he remembered from childhood. He glanced towards Marion, biting her lip, unable to take her eyes off the processs.
"Carl, yeah, hold her shoulders back, that's the way—Ooof!" Michael thrust the spit into the girl, pouring on the muscle power. No need to finesse it, this one was dead already. Carl grunted empathetically as the Hunter rammed the spit through the girl's chest cavity and out her neatly shorn neck.
Michael lashed a couple cross-braces to the spit to secure her legs and shoulders, and ran sharp skewers through her ankles, then bound the girl to the braces, slapped her meaty ass and cried, "Hoist her up, let's get her roasting!"
Marta's golden body hair quickly singed off in the blazing heat. No one mentioned the burnt-hair smell. What Carl couldn't stop staring at was that gaping slash where her belly had been .. so deep, so cavernous now, he could see her ribs, see her back bone, he thought, each time they turned the spit. Her glorious ass and tits were already dripping fat and sizzling. Carl's belly rumbled.
From his seat at the edge of the fire, Trevor mumbled, "Live.. the first roast in the wild…urrrk!" Trevor's head ducked down between his knees. Luckily, the camera was still trained on Marta, turning golden brown.
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Ron waved Gob over and the two had a quick conference. Several times Gob clapped Ron on the back and shouted, "Dude!"
Meanwhile, Bethany had shifted from Herbert's calves and now she straddled him, hovering just above his rotch. "You pushed me away, you freak!" she leaned in close, rubbing her breasts against his face. Herbert tried to remain impassive, he willed himself away, but damn. She smelled so good.
"You want this, don't you, really? You just wanted to hurt me, you rotten man." Bethany had lifted up her skirts, she ran her hands over her sex and dipped a finger in.
"Let's just see how much you want me!" She cried, caressing Herbert until he stiffened under her hand. She grinned and nodded. "That's what I thought!" she said, taking his erection and wriggling down until she rode him, tight against his chest. Herbert could hardly breathe.
"Yeah! You really hate this, don't you! Don't you!" Bethany rocked and taunted him, and squeezed.
Herbert heard a dull "thwack!" and then the girl slumped heavy and limp against him. Ron rushed up and retrieved his favorite rock and pulled the stunned girl off Herbert.
"Cripes, can't have our meat all tainted with Clerk sperm! Ha ha ha!" Gob nodded.
Bethany was dizzy, scratching at the ground, calling out, “Ron I’m sorry, I was.. I’m your girl--“
Gob stood above her, drinking in his victory, “Oh no, you’re mine! Where to start, that ass is just calling out for me!” He kicked and prodded her with a stick, “I have to say those thighs make my mouth water, Whaddya think meat, what’s your best cut?”
“NO! Ron!!! Don’t let him, Ron NO!!!!” the terror in Bethany’s voice rang throughout the woods.
“Sorry girl, you promised and only half-delivered, and we’re getting hungry.” Ron chirped.
Gob pressed his foot into her back, holding Bethany in place, admiring her meaty ribs, he had no idea how to cut a girl and right now he didn’t care to learn. Plopping down on top of her, knocking her wind out he ran his hands up her thigh, but her rump was too tender to be ignored. Squeezing it in his hands, careful not to cut too close to the hole, he raised up his knife and sliced off a very healthy cut, making sure to include the prime meat at the base of the back.
Bethany’s screams hightened, she began to shake as Gob tossed the raw meat to Ron. “Drop that on the fire, you want the other half?”
“Sure, looks good. Slice some rib for the Clerk.”
Gob continued to randomly slice at the screaming Bethany, whose cries where now completely unrecognizable. As the meat sizzled and the smell of her roasting flesh filled the air, the two hoisted her on a sturdy tree limp, to let her bleed out.
Herbert stared at the girl, now coated in her own blood. These two boobs didn’t even know to slice the jugular and end her misery… or they didn’t care. She had stopped shaking and was now wimpering as she slowly weakened. The smell however was inviting and Herbert had to admit, he was hungry.
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Down by the river, the scent of roasting girlflesh was already infiltrating the thick canvas tent where Cyndi sat against the tent pole, rubbing her wrists. Vernon sat on the corner of the lumpy, makeshift bed they shared.
"Don’t see why you had to bite me, girl," Vernon sniffled, licking as his wrist.
"Don’t you ever hit me again!" Cyndi growled. She spat Vernon's blood into the dirt.
Vernon eyed her, his voice down low so the others outside wouldn't hear him. "There there now, I want you to like being my little wife. Don't you go telling the others nothing about this whole thing, and I won't hurt you no more. I was just trying to make you stop with that infernal chanting for one minute. While I tried to fuck you, dammit. Is that too much to ask?"
Cyndi knew she had to act like iron now, that this was no time to show her fear. "Vernon? If you ever hit me again, I swear, I will tell all those men and women out there-- that you couldn’t DO it. That Vernon can't fuck his own woman."
Vernon's face sagged and he pleaded, "Aw come on Cyndi girl, here! I give you this, here." He handed Cyndi a crumpled shirt. She smelled it, grimaced, and put it
on. She needed shoes, too, and a knife. She scanned the room.
"Dinner time! Now you best behave out side among the other wives as if I got you trained." Vernon stuck out his lower lip and glared at her. Outside, Linda's carcass nestled in a gigantic oval pan, the pride of this encampment. They'd chopped her at each joint and added field turnips and choice wild herbs. The scent was heavenly. Don and Frank and Sarney were chowing down, ripping big steaming handfuls of girlmeat from the bone. The wives sat outside the far tent, eating oats and greens. Emily soothed Frannie, and tried not to think.
Cyndi's stomach was queasy, but her anger made her actions stronger than she felt. "If I don't act like your little slave, then what?" She couldn’t stop thinking about how near she was to Herbert. She knew she could find him, she knew she could run there.
Tonight. She'd find a way.
Vernon's eyes narrowed, no trace of wheedling, no pleading now. He grabbed her chin and shook her as he spoke each word. "Girl? Now you listen good. If you can't mind me? I'll turn you right over to Sarney, there. He loves to train you ornery ones."
Cyndi glanced over and catch Sarney staring at her, his smile ominous as he slowly licked his lips. She watched as his thin pointy tongue cleaned the grease running down his chin. She felt a dark chill resonate through her bones.
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“Are you mad at me Charles?”, there wasn’t a trace of sincerity in anything Georgy said
“No boss, why?” Charles answered in his normal robotic state.
“I know how attached you get to them. Remember this one?” He pointed to a wall decoration. Charles remembered Kathy, now a beautiful decoration hanging amidst Georgy’s collection. “And this one-- she did you proud! Watch.”
Georgy pressed a button, a screen lowered and he watched as Jeannie was pummeled. He heard each brutal smack her body took, saw the acceptance in her eyes, then as Georgy mounted her and violated her poor broken body, even the sniffles as she held back tears came through on the speakers. Charles could not take his eyes off the screen, almost oblivious as Georgy began to undo his zipper, taking his limp member out and licking at it. He looked down at the caricature of a man smiling up at him and had to hold back the bile crawling up his gullet.
“Did I hurt you Charles?” Georgy mocked him.
“No. You could never hurt me, you fat fuck.”
Georgy grabbed his balls in his fist, “Who do you think you are? I found you as a busboy and made you a trainer!”
Charles could not help grimacing, but he refused to move, “What I gave you I can take away. All of it! Including your little pets!!”
Charles lashed out sending the obese velvet covered man into his velvet walls. Georgy stared at him in shock, no one had ever refused him.
Charles didn’t care, he looked deep into his eyes. “Take? There’s nothing else you can take from me.”
Georgy saw the gun and immediately felt his pants moisten. "Charles, what are you doing?”
“Fzp”, the gun answered, silently driving a bullet through Georgy’s shoulder, the red stain overtaking the white velvet. “Fzp” the other arm, then two more, one for each leg. The sound of Georgy’s whimpers and pleas made Charles’s want to lean in close and spit on him, instead he pulled up a chair. “Die you bastard, just die.” Georgy offered everything he had, unable to move as his life poured out from him, unable to change the resolve of the man who stared down with no emotion on his face.
He thought he would feel pleasure watching him die. He believed that each gurgle, each plea ignored would somehow justify the way Jeannie had to die. It brought him nothing, he was a void, numb to the suffering that surrounded him daily, even numb to the suffering bastard that lay at his feet. Charles wanted to feel something, anything. Slowly he raised the gun to his temple.