Legacy 4


Posted by PK on April 22, 2003 at 15:11:55:

Round one: "Rock," Gina said, beating scissors.

"Best out of three," Petra said.

"My Sugar Daddy's bigger than your Daddy," Gina said in mockery. Then it really got silly.


Right now, in case you're losing track:

"Dear me," Gina said. "What a mouth. Do you kiss your mother with that?"

Petra bridled, then relented. "Okay, you want to hear me say it? I was scared shitless."

"And then you enjoyed it, right?"

Petra, as has previously been noted, was neither a prude nor a very good liar. In addition,
there was nothing to be gained from telling a palpable lie to someone who would know it as
such. "Yes," she said bluntly. "And that's why I'm not coming back. Don't you get it?"

"Okay," Gina said. "Good luck." She offered her hand.

"That's it?"

"That's it as far as I'm concerned."

This touching scene was interrupted rudely by the rest of the waitresses coming off duty. For
some inexplicable reason, Adrianne put her hand on Petra's shoulder and said, "Nice job.
Watch yourself, kid."

All three of the Asian girls had survived. Contrary to expectations, nobody had been killed.
One of the Asians had a wet stain on the crotch of her briefs. She looked shy and
embarrassed about it. Rosie was talking to one of the others in a language she didn't appear
to speak very well, nobody else understood any of it.

"Let's blow this popstand, " Gina suggested. "Want a drink?"


It took only two before Petra said what was on her mind. "Why are you doing this to me?"
They were back in Gina's hovel again. Her den, her pied-a-terre.

"Doing to you?" An ironic eyebrow. "Nothing that I'm aware of. If I recall correctly - and I do -
you got yourself into this. Let's see..." she closed her eyes (more for effect that for any real
purpose) "You said 'let's have Gina for dinner next week. I mean, why not? You ate your last
wife.' Anthony said 'What about a wager? If you win, we order Gina next week....assuming
she's still working there, that's up to her.' You said..."

"Sounds good to me," Petra had said, grinning at Gina.

"I know what I said." Petra flicked her head dismissively. She still felt that she'd been tricked
but she couldn't say how. "Daddy should have known he couldn't beat Uncle Tony.." She
shrugged.

"Maybe he did," Gina said wickedly. She couldn't resist it. Without pushing the point too hard,
she went on: "What am I doing to you?" She watched the girl trying to maintain two trains of
thought. Petra wasn't stupid, she had a brain. She just didn't feel the need to use it much. Her
body was fit the way a rich girl's is, all expensive gyms and exclusive tennis clubs. Her mind
was flaccid from underuse. She sipped her beer (imported and supplied courtesy of Petra's
generous allowance) and waited.

Making me like you, Petra thought. That's what you're trying to do. Dragging me into your
world. Instead of that, she said, "You think he..." Her father? No. Yes, maybe. No.

Gina shrugged. The hook had set, let it work its own way in. Besides..."I don't know," she
admitted quite truthfully. "I don't know Jerry at all."

"And Uncle Tony? He must have said something when he was fucking you." A note of envy
crept into her voice that Gina couldn't fail to notice.

"If he colluded with your father he didn't tell me," she said. "He did say I'm better in bed than
you are. Sorry, but you did ask."

"Did he," Petra said without an interrogative inflection.

"He said, and I quote, 'She's pretty. Not bad in bed, but not as good as you.' Of course, we'd
just fucked and we are married, men say things at times like that...routine courtesy."

Gina noted Petra's ever-present anger at the world find other targets than herself. Any
moment now she'd seek allies.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know this isn't your fault." Petra sighed, her body language was
submissive. Don't hurt me, I surrender. A dog would roll on her back with her paws in the air.

"Forget it." She wouldn't, of course. Neither of them would.

"So what's next?"

"We get drunk, or not, we go back to work tomorrow, or you don't..."

"But you will." It was barely a question.

"Yes."

"We could be...you could..."

"Yes."

Petra's frustration burst out. "What are you, some kind of alien out of Star Trek? Spock?
Ambassador Kosh? Yoda of the trailer trash?" She flushed. Caught out.

Gina ignored it. "Three days down, four to go, little grasshopper. You do it or you don't."

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"I could say, 'why should I?' but even if I wanted to, how could I?"

You could tell me it's okay. You could make it all right, child-Petra thought. Pathetic,
emergent-Petra commented. "I don't know," she said. She looked up. "Do you want it to
happen to me?"

"What, you get cooked?" Like Donna, Melanie, Tiffany, Helen...come and join us, kid.

"It's what you want, isn't it?"

"I'm just helping you get through the week," Gina said shortly. "You don't want my help, go
home. Door's not locked."

"But if it did happen..." Petra insisted. You wouldn't mind all that much. You'd serve me up.

"I could live with it," Gina said mildly. "So?"

Petra's shoulders slumped a little, a fleeting expression of - what, hurt or resignation? How
silly - passed across her face. She nodded, acquiescently. Of course, what else could she
have expected? "But would you - you know..?"

"What, eat you?" Gina grinned mischievously. "Of course I would. It's the least I could do.
Besides, I'm sure you'd taste great."

Petra didn't know whether she felt more horrified or pleased, offended or flattered. She took
another drink and decided to go for flattered. "Thanks, I think," she said wryly.

Gina smiled again. "Don't mention it," she replied in the same tone.

She had known all along, of course, that Gina would probably say yes to the cannibal
question - she'd already had Helen - but hearing it said out loud, and about her, had sent an
odd shock through her system. It was a disturbing sensation but not entirely unpleasant.
"What parts of me would you eat?" she heard herself say, and felt the thrill again. Did I just
say that? she wondered.

Gina pursed her lips and considered Petra, where she sat cross-legged and barefoot, as if
she were a menu or a prize heifer. "Not sure," she said. "Thigh or rump, probably, if there's
any left. Your tits and pussy would be gone, of course - well, your pussy anyway, they don't
chop you unless your filet and some prime cuts are ordered - but there should be some good
stuff left over. You're not big, but it's all lean meat. I suppose it depends what time it is, early
or late in the shift. Once you're chopped, your remainders will probably sell like hot cakes. I'll
be lucky to get scraps. Maybe your feet..."

Petra's toes curled involuntarily. Gina's casual verbal dissection and disposal of her had left
her feeling decidedly strange. Her heart was pounding and she felt uncomfortable and
constricted in her clothes. She wanted to take them off, but Gina might take that the wrong
way. "I meant if you had the choice," she said lightly. "First pick of the menu." Which could
happen, she realised. Suppose the family came in while she was still working there and
ordered her. Would they? Maybe. And would they ask Gina to join them if they did, as they
had when she'd served Helen? Very probably.

"Oh, your pussy of course, for starters," Gina responded blithely. If she was aware of the
girl's inner turmoil she gave no sign of it. "I mean, it's like caviare, isn't it? A rare delicacy. I'd
have to try it if I got the chance. Anyway, yours is cute. All plump and perky. Juicy too, I'd
bet."

It is now, Petra realised. Right there under my designer jeans. Oh my Gaaahhd. Don't tell
me...

Gina rattled on, obliviously. "Then rump or thigh steak. Which? Thigh's good, but I've had
that before." Helen, of course. "You've got a great little butt, I'd think I'd have some of that.."

It's official, Petra admitted to herself. She's telling me how she'd eat me and I'm getting off
on it. Or is it how she will eat me? The distinction was an important one, but in her arousal
she couldn't care as much as she knew she should. The fact that it was Gina doing this to her
hardly mattered either. She wasn't gay, but she wasn't that homophobic either. Besides, did it
really matter whose plate she ended up on? It was the whole outrageous idea of it that
fascinated her. Of course she'd wondered what it was like for the girls at the restaurants the
family dined at, without letting herself care about it too much. She'd even fantasised about
being eaten herself on occasion. But it hadn't been real. Since working at the restaurant she'd
been too busy, or too scared, to get turned on by it. Well, not too much and not that often. Or
maybe she simply hadn't wanted to let herself. Now, with Gina detailing her possibly
impending demise and consumption without either malice or noticeable regret, it was very
real, very scary and yet the arousal was back, stronger than ever.

"....maybe I'd take your liver for later," Gina said, winding down. "Go the old fava beans and
Chianti route. It's traditional. What part of me were you going to have, anyway?"

Or maybe it's just the drink, Petra thought. It's okay to feel like this because I'm safe here in
Gina's apartment and I've had too much to drink....but she wasn't that drunk, not really.

"Petra? You okay?" Gina sounded concerned. "You look a little.....ah..flushed. "

"I'm fine, just a little warm. Drank too fast. Got another cold one?" This just barely made
sense, she had been drinking wine. She took the beer Gina passed her and loosened her
shirt. Where were they anyway? Oh, yes. "Thanks. I don't think I'd made any definite plans,"
she said. "Not your pussy, anyway. One of the guys always gets that."

"They're paying," said Gina reasonably.

"I know," Petra shrugged, conceding the point. "Still, it might be nice just once. I might have
had one of your tits if they didn't get snapped up." By the pack elders, went unsaid. "You've
got a great rack."

"Well, thanks. But isn't that a bit fatty? I mean, they look nice, but..."

"It's very rich," Petra admitted. "But cooked and seasoned just right, it's really tasty. Almost a
dessert. But you're right, you don't want to eat too many if you're on a diet."

"I'll bear it in mind," Gina murmured.

"Unless they're my size," Petra added, smiling. Gina smiled back. "Anyway, probably I'd have
the usual, leg or rump. Or belly, for a change. Yeah, that's good. I'd have that." She noticed
Gina touching her stomach absently. And she realised that she felt better. She was still very
aroused but no longer dizzy or panicky, it was under control, a steady buzz. The alcohol,
doubtless, doing its time-honoured job of isolating her in space and time, insulating her from
past and future. There was only the warm and fuzzy here-and-now, just two friends having a
drink after work, amicably discussing how they'd choose to eat each other should the
occasion arise. She relaxed completely. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with tomorrow.

"I thought somebody was going to order that in my first week," Gina said.

"Oh yeah?"

The conversation rambled on a while longer, getting more expansive as the drinks went
down. All too soon Gina announced it was time for bed. "I'm ready to sack out," she said.
"You're welcome to stay if you like." She started to undress.

Petra wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't too drunk to walk but it was late and she didn't really
want to go out again. "Are you sure? I suppose I could sleep on the couch," but there wasn't a
couch, "...or the floor..."

"Don't be silly," Gina said, now naked and slipping under the covers. "The bed's no smaller
than it was last night."

Petra didn't have to be asked twice. "Well, if you really don't mind, sure, why not?" She
pulled off her clothes and got into bed next to Gina. She wasn't used to sleeping with people
unless she'd had sex with them, and even then it sometimes made her feel uncomfortable,
but she felt fine now. "Goodnight, Gina."

"Goodnight, Petra."

Sleep came easily and there were no nightmares.

At work the next day, the euphoria of the previous night had worn off. Stripped off to sandals
and bikini briefs, Petra was nervous. Ellie wasn't helping.

"Good crowd," she said. "Somebody's gonna get it tonight."

Which was good, Petra now knew, because that meant high rollers and hence bigger tips. At
this rate she'd soon be able to eat here herself, without Daddy or Uncle Tony paying. Of
course, it also meant it could be her. The fear came, and something else. "You won't make it
through the week unless you start to enjoy it," Gina repeated in her memory. "Nobody does
unless they're just too stupid to know they could be next. I'm not, and neither are you." Right.
Okay, she told herself, so I'm scared. Fight or flight. I can leave or not. If I'm not going to
leave, why worry about it? The argument didn't convince her, but debating the point with
herself kept her distracted enough not to panic. Problem is, she told memory-Gina, I'm not
here because I enjoy it. You are.

But, since you ARE here, why not enjoy it anyway? memory-Gina said.

Realtime Gina said, "Ready?" She was wearing a bikini top this time. Her delicious breasts
filled it.

"Ready," said Petra. Her labia pulsed in her pussy pouch. Packaged meat, they walked out
together. The team supreme.

Ellie was right, as it happened. Petra's first inkling of this was when she saw Amy taking
orders naked. Gina saw her take her briefs off to give the client who had ordered her filet an
unobstructed view of the merchandise. Instead of going straight to the kitchen, Amy went to
each of the other tables and conversed with the customers, noting things down on her pad.
Finally she left. Petra followed.

All I want is to lie in the ocean, Gina thought. Destressing.

All I want is to lie in the ocean, with you....

I keep pretending it's all right. Thorn in my side. Rosechild. Oh fuck it, I have to take care of
her...

Cluster in the corridor. "That's initiative," Eddie was saying. "That's what we need in this
country. This young lady," he put an arm about Amy's shoulders, "Sold herself. No need for a
menu for leftovers."

Amy did her best to look modest. It came naturally to her.

Gina touched Petra's shoulder. "What's up?" When the moon howls in the wind...bring it on....

Cool summer, blue sky.

Petra's senses were almost painfully acute. She could feel the weight of every finger where
Gina touched her, sense the flow of blood under her skin. She could run, or...

"I want to see it," she said.

"What?"

"I want to see what happens." Amy was heading for the kitchen. Eddie led her to the door and
she went in. Petra pulled away from Gina and followed.

"Pet..." The kitchen staff weren't going to like this. Gina sighed. "Hold on a minute. Eddie?"

The manager, on his way back to his office, turned around. "What?"

"Petra wants to see Amy get chopped," she explained briefly.

Eddie shook his head. "Not a good idea, babe. Forget it." He stuck his cigar back in his
mouth and turned back.

Gina wasn't sure it was a good idea either, she hadn't had time to think it through. Some
innate sense of fairness or responsibility had her persist. It was time to play a card she'd
have preferred not to use. It wasn't fair on the others. So much for egalitarianism. "She's my
niece," she said. "Do you remember who my husband is?"

Eddie, as has previously been noted, was not a man of great refinement or culture but he
had that shrewdness that is sometimes referred to as 'street smarts'. He had no idea what
Anthony and his elitist brood might or might not do if a scion of the Family was thwarted and
he had no desire to find out. Some battles aren't worth fighting. It would have been better if
Gina had left when she had gotten married, it would have been simpler if Petra hadn't come
to work here, but might-have-beens are a waste of time. "Your funeral," he said without any
sense of irony. "Let her watch."

Chef grumbled and muttered about it, but he didn't have time to argue the point. Petra
promised not to get in the way. In a breath, it was done. By the time she reached the
butchering room, Amy was lying on the table, washed and ready. Her face was composed
and calm, her eyes closed. When Petra arrived she opened them and turned her head as if
she sensed her presence. She smiled at her and gave a ghost of a nod and then closed them
again.

Petra watched them kill her. It wasn't deliberately cruel. She was decapitated cleanly and
without fuss. Her carcasse was dissected with care and attention to detail. She wasn't just
meat, she was girlmeat, presentation was everything. She came closer, careful not to get in
the way, as the Asian girl's cunt was excised. The workers used a special tool for that, a sort
of curved knife. They probably had a name for it. Somewhere in the Third World hellhole she
came from, the revenue from her sacrifice would feed her family, Petra guessed. She
watched on, part of her amazed at her own composure, as the girl's legs were sectioned into
steaks.

"Oh do come on," Gina had said, mocking Petra's mockery of a British accent. "One simply
hasn't lived until one partakes of a colleague. Join the Sistren of the Table."

"I'll take a couple of those," Petra said. No biggie, she'd eaten girls before. Amy smiled at
me, she thought. I owe it to her. Nobody knows her. Not even me. I am fucking insane. "My
credit card is in the locker room. I'll go get it if you..."

Chef knew which side his bread was buttered. Eddie had tipped him the wink. "Two thigh
steaks, compliments of the house," he said irritably. "They'll be ready for you when we close.
Now will you please get back to work and let us get on?"

Petra wasn't quite done. "I'd like to serve her," she said.

Chef's patience was almost at its limit. He glared at Petra intending to intimidate her and met
an implacable will. You know that when you see it or you don't get on in life. Privately he
hoped that the girl would be next on the table. "Fine," he said. "We'll send for you." Delicate
ingredients awaited his attention and he loved his art.