The Moo Girls of Dolcettville Part 2


Posted by jackh on December 04, 2006 at 03:11:08:

As the last float passed by, spectators stepped in behind it until practically the entire population of the village was heading toward the fair grounds. Some in the crowd called out to the trailing float, engaging in the time honored ritual of teasing a moo girl on her final journey. Moo girls were taught that they should enjoy the teasing themselves, but they seldom did, so seldom in fact that the School Board once considered dropping a popular lab course in "Teasing Acceptance". Defenders pointed out that whatever the end result, the course instilled good moo girl values. Their argument had carried the day.

How the teased moo girl on the float felt about her situation was hard to tell in this case. The young woman was seated in a wood chair, ankles tied to the chair's front legs, arms wrapped behind the chair and tied to its back, a polished red apple jammed in her mouth. Her school desk was beside her as a prop. Until the day before she had been a tenth grade teacher at Dolcett Academy, adored by every child in her class for her sweet temper. Her last class was with her now, the boys in blue pants and white shirts marching single file on one side of the float, the girls in blue mini skirts and white blouses in double file on the other side. Debbie Williams was the teacher's name. She was twenty-four years old, a pretty blonde with a Miss America figure, and as her float bumped along she could be certain of just two things. When she reached the fair grounds she would be taken down and laid on a blanket for the boys and girls to enjoy as they would and then, starting around one in the afternoon whether the kids had finished with her or not, she would be prepared, put on a spit and roasted.

"Hey Miss Williams, gonna give all the kids and 'F' for fuck?," a teenage smart alec yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Na, she's only thinkin of the 'A' she's gonna give her spitter for shovin it up her asshole. Got it, 'A' for asshole," chimed in a second wit.

Becky Davis made a face. Boys are so dumb, she thought. Like her mom always said, just because boys could make you cum and roast you on a spit - a moo girl's highest callings, that didn't make them smart. Becky was one of the high schoolers strutting alongside the float. Now, for the umpteenth time, she burst into giggles.

Beside her, Allison Peters giggled, too. The girls had been that way all morning, and they had been the same the afternoon before when the lottery was held to pick the first ten moo girls for the roast and for the first time in their lives their names were in the silver box. Becky and Allison had turned sixteen in the spring. They were walking on air.

Not only for Becky and Allison, but for every well-adjusted moo girl, the lotteries were the thrill of thrills. Everyone said so. Schools conducted mock lotteries to give pre moo girls a taste of the excitement that lay ahead. Parents drummed the message home. Moo girls liked to say the excitement of the lottery was better than sex and nary a moo girl didn't like sex. It helped that the risk in any single drawing was less than one in three hundred. But sooner or later thirty-five percent of all moo girls could expect to hear their names called. The girls delighted in knowing this right up to the moment it happened to them.

Becky gave her girlfriend a pinch.

"I hope you get picked for the surprise roast. I want to see you on a spit!"

Allison squealed and pinched Becky back.

"Yeah, well I hope you get picked, Becky. I want to see you get stuffed and then put on the barbecue and get all brown and juicy."

The girls convulsed in silliness.

"Here come the new ones," Mrs. Mayor said.

Mayor Jim was already picking out girls with the red ribbons in their hair that marked them as entering members of the sorority of moo girls.

"Nice," the mayor murmured. He knew each by name, face and body. Still it was reassuring to watch the youngsters proudly marching along like the good moo girls they were brought up to be. The reviewing stand was emptying. Mayor Jim and his wife stepped down with the others and joined the parade, the front elements of which were beginning to reach the fair grounds.

On another day the fair grounds in Dolcettville might resemble the public space of any town. The grounds opened to a park of grass and trees. There were places for games, back to back basketball and tennis courts. There were fountains and benches and picnic areas - very extensive picnic areas. Beyond the park was an open field where the carnival set up every August and the fair was held in the fall. But on this day there were rows of spitted pigs bracketed over as yet unlit pits of coals, and there were other pits, still waiting to be occupied, individually placed about the grounds in order to accommodate the lawn chairs and blankets put out in front of them. The pigs would supplement the girl meat. Even with the addition of a surprise roast or two the number of cooked moo girls wouldn't be enough. Everyone would get a taste but only the mayor and other official guests and those who won moo meals in a draw to be held while the girls were cooking would receive full helpings.

Waiting for the incipient girl meat to arrive was a company of cooks, spitmen, meatmen and stuffing ladies. Crews of each assembled at the various cooking sites when the parade moved into the grounds. As the floats pulled up and parked, the meatmen went into action, hauling down their assigned moo girls and carrying them off. After the girls were dumped on their blankets, the stuffing ladies took over. Each girl received an injection to calm her down a notch from pure hysteria but no further. The ladies stayed by the girls, fanning them to keep away buzzing creatures of the summer air while the other villagers streamed to the north end of the grounds where the land fell off, forming a natural amphitheater. It was here, when the weather allowed, that the village conducted its community business. The lottery for the surprise roast was about to get underway.

The moo girls took up the first seventeen rows of the amphitheater's center section. The audience gathered at the sides and in the rows behind the moo girls. After a half dozen meatmen took up positions near the girls, who tittered and jiggled in mind numbing anticipation, Mr. Bob, the lottery chairperson, stepped to the mike. He brought with him a small wheeled platform on which rested the silver box of names.

Mr. Bob was popular even with the girls for his sunny disposition which he combined with a firm but fair manner.

"Mornin people, morning girls," Bob said. Without further ado he picked up the box, gave it a couple of shakes and then brought out in his clenched hand the fate of however many moo girls the council had voted.

"My, my don't we have a delicious selection of moo girls on this fine birthday of our nation. All these grade A thighs and shoulders and tits and cunts." Bob was into his routine, keeping for now the secret in his hand. "Show us your cunts, girls."

The girls stood as one and smartly lifted their skirts. Those at the ends of their rows turned to the audience across the aisle. The girls in the back did likewise for the audience behind them. They blushed and fluttered their eyes in true moo girl fashion.

"Give us a moo, girls."

"Moooo," the girls sang.

"Mmmm mmm," said Bob, shaking his head in mock wonder. "Like rows of fillets at Tom's meat counter. Prettiest damn sight this side of heaven."

The cunt display had been one of Bob's ideas, demonstrating that moo girls didn't need to shave. Hairs were plucked when the unwanted things first appeared. There had been other innovations during Bob's terms running the lotteries, such as the girls' matching yellow mini skirts and jerseys. Introduced as lottery uniforms, their popularity led the Council to adopt the outfits as official dress for all moo girl events or MGE's as the events were called. The jerseys featured an "M" just below the neck and two larger "O"s strategically situated across the chest. If girls showed up for an event in other clothes, as the eight graders had that morning in their school uniforms, the yellow outfits would be waiting for them. There was no need for dressing rooms. Moo girls were taught to think of themselves as being like any animal bred for meat when attending an MGE. They could talk to each other but, without permission, could say only moo to regular people. They dressed and went to the bathroom in the open.

Bob waited while a man with a video camera panned the rows and did a few zooms. Then he waved the girls down.

"All right, we got us two roasts right here," Bob said, waving his hand, "and afterward I got an announcement so people don't go runnin off."

"Two, that's nice," said Mrs. Mayor to her friend, Sally Jamison. The ladies, who had reached the theater late, were sitting in an upper row.

"Yes, I hoped there would be two," whispered Sally, her excitement quickened by the news that her daughters' chances had just doubled.

Bob held the moment. "Are we ready? I think we're ready! Okay, let's see who won these special tickets. See who's goin to get the big surprise."

The moo girls tensed, every eye on their leader and his upraised hand which now disclosed a pair of plastic discs the size of quarters. The discs would have the first name on one side and the last name on the other. Bob selected one. Behind the stage, the sound man turned up the speaker volume.

"Ava Jamison!"

When her name rang out, Sally's twenty-four year old daughter was bent forward, eyes shut, squeezing the hands of the girls beside her, Lynn, her younger sister, and Jennifer Rose, her sister-in-law. By Ava's right knee, velcroed to the front of the wood plank on which the girls sat, was a ball gag, one of many placed in the rows. Ava shot to her feet. Lynn and Jennifer pulled her back. Other girls joined to help. They pinned Ava to the plank while Jennifer freed the gag and shoved it where it belonged. The girls knew the drill by heart.

"Oh, Ava!, you lost!, you lost! you're meat now!," Lynn cried. "I can't believe it!"

Lynn put her hands under her big sister's jersey, roughly feeling up the tits she'd often thought about.

"Come on, Lynn, you can do that later," Jennifer shouted. "We both can!"

The girls stood Ava up, twisted her arms behind her and passed her down the row to the waiting meatmen.

"Okey dokey. Second ticket comin up girls. Get those cunts hummin," Bob bellowed.

Bob did a double take at the remaining disk. His ears went red.

"Damn, if this ain't somethin. I know the odds against it are bigger than a camel's balls but anything can happen, folks. I swear it's a coincidence. Lynn Jamison's the other surprise roast, by Jesus."

The audience howled in delight. Many had looked for Sally Jamison when Ava's name was called. Now everyone looked for her, sensing how Sally must feel - hugely proud, agog in the spotlight of sudden fame and, above all else, desperate for sex. Mrs. Mayor leaned into her friend. Her fingers found the point that one of Sally's hard nipples made in the Moo Girl Mom jersey. Mrs. Mayor ran her other hand under Sally's Moo Girl Mom skirt and slid her index finger into Sally's warmed up fuckhole.

"Perhaps the girls can be roasted at the same pit so you won't have to go back and forth," Mrs. Mayor purred.

"Mmmmmmm," Sally sighed, gratefully.

Over Mrs. Mayor's shoulder, Sally watched the moo girls transfer her youngest into the grasps of the meatmen. At the last instant, Lynn turned her head, searching the rows for her mother. Sally glimpsed the gagged mouth and stricken eyes. Then the men jerked the girl around and hustled her down the aisle.

"Oh God," Sally moaned, opening her legs.

"Geez, I don't know what to say," Bob said. "Anyway, the announcement is, and you probably already heard about it, that tomorrow mornin we got a delegation comin from Dolcett, to see how we do things round here. They got their own July Fourth party so they'll be here tomorrow instead of today and we're gonna have a nice brunch for em and that means we'll roast up another moo girl tonight. She'll be a mayor's choice, folks."

The audience buzzed at the words, "mayor's choice". Under extraordinary circumstances, the village charter permitted the Council to invoke the rule, bypassing the lottery to let the mayor choose the meat. Needless to say, the honor for the chosen girl and her family was great.

When the lottery ended, Councilwoman Brown strolled the grounds with Sally. They chatted with well wishers for Sally. They toured the cooking sites which, for the time being, were sex sites. At one, Sally's daughters were being fucked beneath a willow tree while two lines of men and boys waited turns. Sally paused there a few wistful moments, saying nothing, then moved on with Mrs. Brown. By and by, the women came upon the mayor fucking Julie Brown on a blanket. The sixteen-year-old had her legs wrapped around the mayor and was gasping impressively. She appeared not to notice her mother.

"Now don't spill all your seed in one place, James," Councilwoman Brown said going by. "You're right, dear, there hasn't been a mayor's choice in years. We thought this was the right occasion. We simply must have a proper roast for the brunch table".

Ms. Brown wondered if Julie might be earning a leg up in the mayor's selection process with the present comportment of those teenage legs. She couldn't decide if she hoped so or not.

"Mrs. Brown!, Mrs. Brown!!."

The boy ran a zig zag through the crowd coming up to them.

"What is it, Jeremy?"

"Mrs. Brown, there's an emergency meeting of the council. At the sheriff's office. The mayor sent me to tell you."

"A meeting for what?"

"I don't know."

"Thank you, Jeremy."

Mrs. Brown nodded to Sally and broke into a trot. In all likelihood an emergency meeting at the sheriff's office meant one thing: visitors.



They had left the hill behind and walked now through vineyards that stretched out on either side of the road as far as they could see. Ahead, becoming ever more prominent, stood the line of one last patch of woods. Then Ginny would see what passed for civilization in these boondocks.

"Tell me about the girls again," she said.

"Like what?"

"You know like what. Like what they do to them."

Henry told her about the girls. His memory was clearer than it had been even an hour ago. Suddenly, he stopped walking.

"Jesus. Sarah," he breathed.

"Tell me."

"She...she was my girlfriend. She was a senior in high school and she got picked for this party, a retirement party or something and they wanted a girl for a reception and she got picked and they roasted her and I knew about it and she didn't and I brought her there knowing what was going to happen. I was excited about it and she kept asking me what I was all hepped up about and I just laughed and didn't tell her and when we got there some guys grabbed her and stripped her and tied her up and put a gag in her mouth. She knew right away what they were doing and she gave me this look, like I had betrayed her, and I didn't give a damn. I only wanted to fuck her and watch the other guys fuck her and I wanted to be there when they spitted her and put her on the fire. Jesus!"

"Did you? Did you watch when they spit her?"

"Yeah. And I watched her roast for a while. And they let me come back that night to see her on the reception table, on this big silver platter they had and she was on it, on her back with her knees up and her hands tied to her ankles, like she was a turkey, and she was stuffed. You could see her belly was swollen and opening a little where it was stitched, and she had an apple in her mouth and she was totally cooked. She gleamed in her own gravy."

"Oh God."

"Horrible, isn't it?"

"Oh, Henry. It's a turn on! What about her eyes?"

"Her eyes were open. They use a kind of lens that keeps the heat away so the eyes don't cook and they take the lenses out afterward. Her eyes were wide open, like she was staring at the ceiling. The eyes were that way the whole time they carved her."

"Oh, my! Did you fuck her, Henry? Just for old times sake?"

"I did, but I don't know if it was for old times sake. Actually it's not that at all. It's for new times sake. It's like an initiation thing. We make them rut like pigs only for them it's sex instead of slop because they're good looking girls."

"And you guys rut right down there with them."

"Yeah. We're pigs, too, in a different way."

Ginny fastened him with her blue ribbon winner. Well, I'm glad I'm a girl because the girl pigs are obviously nicer than the boy pigs, and they sure have a more interesting time. Uh oh, what's this?!"

A car was coming toward them. It appeared to be white, but as it drew closer they saw it was pale blue, the color of the sheriff's car they had circled at the bridge.





Once the room had been an office. Now it was bare, its window nailed over with boards painted white like the walls. The door to the hallway had a glass knob that Councilwoman Brown still grasped as she studied the figure crouched in the corner. After a moment, she stepped inside and closed the door.

"Who are you?," Ginny said, sitting up.

"Iris Brown, dear. I'm a member of our village council. I'm here to welcome you. Sorry you've been cooped up in this room so long. Most of us were at the fairgrounds. It's the Fourth of July, you know."

"It's okay. I fell asleep. Is this your jail cell?"

"Not much of one, is it?"

"No."

"Well, you're not a prisoner. The sheriff just didn't know what to do with you. He'll take you back to your car when it's time for you go, but we want you to visit with us a little before you leave."

Ginny regarded the woman warily.

"It's Henry's car."

"Uh huh. Henry will drive you home. We do ask that you don't tell anyone that we cook girls here in Dolcettville and eat them."

Ginny blinked. "I...well, you don't really do that, do you?"

"Yes, we do. Henry told you all about it, didn't he?"

"Well yeah, but..."

"They're roasting eleven girls right now, dear. In a little while we'll start another one for the midnight snacks and later this evening we'll put on a girl for a brunch we're having tomorrow, a special brunch that calls for a special girl. You must not say anything about this when you get home."

Ginny took a deep breath. "Mrs. Brown, are you playing a game with me?"

"What do you mean, honey?"

"How can you trust a person not to say anything?"

"Then you do believe it."

"That you cook girls? Henry finally convinced me. Yes, I believe it."

"And the idea excites you, I understand."

Ginny reddened. "Yes, it....it does, a little."

"This is why we trust you."

"God, I can't believe this. If I really can go, I think I should leave now. I won't say a word, I promise."

"Oh my, not yet. We must give you a tour first. That's what will cement our trust, you see."

"Frankly, I don't see, Ms. Brown."

"You will, dear. Don't be concerned. No one is going to harm you. If we were going to harm you would I be talking to you like this, just the two of us chatting by ourselves like friends?"

"I really have no idea what you would do."

"Don't worry. We're not barbarians. Girls don't get cooked here willy nilly. Every one of the girls I mentioned was chosen by lottery, fair and square. We have rules, you see, and one of them is to be gracious to our guests, even uninvited ones. By the way, there's someone who wants to meet you. I think you'll be impressed."

"Who?"

"His name is Luke. He's the favorite of just about every girl in the village. They say he's awesome. I told him about you."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you're lovely and cultured and come from a pedigreed American family. He's pedigreed, too. An elitist, if you want my opinion. He's strong and single minded and handsome. The girls swoon at the sight of him."

"You do make him sound interesting, Mrs. Brown. But I'm with Henry, remember. Where is he? Is he okay?"

"Henry's fine. He has some catching up to do so. He'll meet up with us later."

"I'm so glad he's all right. Poor Henry. What made you say I was lovely? You never saw me before."

"The security cameras have you on tape, dear, almost from the minute you crossed the stream. Henry told us lots about you, too. He won't mind. Besides, it will give you a chance to see the festival. I think you'll find it stimulating. But first you need a shower and some cute clothes."

One block past the sheriff's office, they crossed onto Elm Street, as empty now as the road had been when Ginny and Henry trecked toward the village. Ginny felt comforted by the litter of confetti, candy wrappers, the occasional popped balloon left in the wake of the parade. It was good to see something normal. They came to a bathhouse walled by unpainted barn slats with inch wide spaces between. "SHOWERS" said a sign in flaking white paint above the door. Ginny had heard of public bath houses but never seen one.

"No, it's not a public bath," Mrs. Brown laughed. "It's for the moo girls. They live at home during the week but on weekends we put them up in barns. This is where they wash. We have it downtown to make it convenient for people to peek. The little boys love it. You'll see a rack in there with fresh skirts and jerseys. No undies, honey. And be sure to shave. You'll find what you'll need."

"I'm not a moo girl, Mrs. Brown."

"You're an honorary moo girl. Don't worry about it. You'll have fun. Nothing bad can happen to an honorary moo girl."

"Hmmm," Ginny said. It would be a relief to get out of her jeans and into something cooler, and it made her heart skip to be called a moo girl.