Dolcett Wives

Posted by PK on January 01, 2005 at 16:53:51:

Dolcett Wives...

(A Thanksgiving Orgy)

by

Jim Robert Bader

So there I was standing naked before a room full of people, posing beside my
best friend and closest neighbor in the all-together like hogs at the
market, showing off our wares with pride and reveling in the hungry looks
being turned our way by the eager onlookers. We all good-naturedly posed
ourselves with chests out thrust and legs extended fetchingly to encourage
our patrons to have a good look at what we each had to offer, knowing full
well what the terms of this "beauty contest" were and what would happen to
the nominal "winner," which made the enthusiasm with which we were strutting
our stuff all the more ironic.

And yet we still played along with the game, surprisingly cooperative with
the whole concept that we were there for the pleasure of those who were
about to select us. It was strange and altogether bizarre to imagine me up
there on the stage parading my goods before those who were ogling me with an
appreciative air that had more behind it than the usual cause for which you
admire a naked woman. What they saw in me was something else that I was
only just beginning to appreciate, but it was the same as with the other
beautiful girls standing and posing right next to me, and each of us doing
our best to cultivate that appetite. Even stranger to think that my husband
was among those in the crowd cheering the loudest for my victory, and me
feeling oddly gratified at his support, which added to my lust to perform at
my best to win the crowd onto my favor.

You would think from our behavior that we wanted them to select us, and in a
curious weird sense I think that we did, even granted that the "winner" was
designated for a special fate that the rest of us (assuming it was not me)
would be the beneficiaries of, a fact we all knew in advance before
volunteering for the cat-walk.

Being up there I was forced to wonder at both my actions and my motivations,
but then again, in all honestly I would never have envisioned myself taking
part in an activity such as this on anything even closely approaching a
cooperative basis. When I think upon it now I have to concede how strange
it would sound to another, even allowing for the step-by-step means in which
I had been drawn into this circle.

It began some months ago when my promising career in an advertising firm got
shot down in flames after a client walked away from a lucrative deal and
left our company holding the bill for an expensive pre-production campaign
that I had authorized at the company's expense. This sort of thing happens
frequently in the industry, but since I had gone out on a limb to try and
entice the client with my fancy high-art gambit it was my neck on the
chopping block when the company cut expenses and cut me loose...admittedly
with some pretty fine references.

Looking back I suppose that I could have taken the matter in better grace,
but it sent me into a month long depression as I had to take my resume and
fish around for some other firm who might hire me back. As there were no
prospective employers who wanted to touch me after the rumors got out
(mostly false ones spread by jealous rivals) about the supposedly "real"
reasons for my termination I found myself effectively blacklisted, which
ended my career pretty thoroughly, something I was not psychologically that
well prepared to handle.

After all, I was the girl who always made good, who always got good grades
in school, who did what she was supposed to do and avoided hanging out with
the crowds that would lead most girls astray in their teenage and college
years. I was the type-A overachiever, the one who always got what she
wanted, who was captain of the debate team and Cheerleading squads
simultaneously, who was voted most likely to succeed, and thus was probably
hated by many of my jealous peers who could not compete with me and blamed
my success on factors other than my own hard-won efforts.

It's silly the things we take seriously when we are young, but going on to
my twenties I was still a relative virgin. I had waited until I was 22 and
no longer living with my folks before allowing my first boyfriend to have
his way with me, and when I found that I enjoyed sex with men I did not
immediately rush out to experiment but saved myself until my next serious
relationship, which happened only after I got my MBA in business. Going on
to become an intern with a firm I had waited to meet a nice guy and then had
several dates before allowing him to screw me. I was very career oriented
but I would not use my sex to get ahead, keeping to my pride and integrity
so that I won a place with the firm by impressing the senior members of my
abilities and creativity. Even then I dabbled with relationships before
getting serious with the man whom I was finally to marry, and by
twenty-eight I thought my search was over. No more frustrating dates and
disappointments for me, I found a man who seemed stable and I thought it was
for life...which is what brings me along to the next phase of my story.

I'd met my husband as a client with our firm, and at first I thought him
witty, charming and sophisticated but rather a bit on the dull side when it
came to sex appeal. He was handsome enough but not outrageously virile, and
he treated me with the most perfect respect, which of course made me think
he was gay since most of the men I meet try to hit on me within the first
five minutes.

But after a couple of meetings in my office he surprised me by asking me out
to dinner, and that led to a most interesting night of surprises since he
wined, dined and wooed me into his bed and then gave me the most memorable
night to remember, which got a bit on the kinky side since he blindfolded me
at one point them made he hold still while he did things with my skin that
brought me to ecstasy beyond pleasure.

That, of course, led to another night of passion, this time involving the
use of silken cords and light bondage, and much to my surprise I found the
sex was the more intense when I was under some form of restraint...quite
possibly because it was more uninhibited and I was under no compunction to
play the "nice girl." And, of course, once I trusted him enough, I let
myself be drawn into other more elaborate games of sexual dominance and
pleasure, usually resulting in me being tied down, tied up or in some other
way bound while he took his time and had his way with my body, always with
great care and sensitivity, never cruel or even brutal and very rarely even
painful.

I found myself living a kind of a double-life from that point onward,
outwardly prim and proper with my colleagues and closest friends while
behind closed doors enjoying a life of sin and debauchery with my boyfriend.
Not every night resulted in some form of B&D, however, and quite often we
would do romantic things like go to the movies together, or fancy
restaurants, or take in a show for some live-action quality performances.
But also, occasionally, he would bring me to seedier spots and expensive
hangouts where much kinkier pastimes were pursued, and in those places I
could let myself go without inhibitions or restraint, surrounded in an
atmosphere of hedonism with other men and women who were partaking just as
deeply as me in all sorts of "wicked" fancies.

It was at such a place that I found myself experimenting with alternate
forms of sexuality, and with the encouragement of my then-boyfriend I first
experienced a "lap-dance" that he paid for with his own money, nominally as
my "birthday present," which might seem odd to you in reading this, but read
on a bit further and you'll discover how things went even further into
strangeness between us.

As I was saying, it was at a club with exotic table dancers that I found
myself admiring one of the beauties performing an erotic dance on stage, and
when my companion caught me doing this he smiled and signified a request to
one of the waitresses, and before I knew it that very same exotic dancer was
coming over to our table. I found myself rather hastily drinking from my
glass while staring in amazement as the dancer smiled at me, and then went
into her act before I had time to think about declining the offer, and so I
found myself riveted to my chair watching this beautiful gyrate her hips and
thrust her perfect tits and ass in my direction, and met ogling her every
bit as much as if I were a guy, amazed at my own perversity as I admired her
completely and found myself possessed of an odd desire to do more than just
see her naked.

As you might suspect my future husband and I did not sleep alone that night,
nor did we get to sleep all that soon as there were three of us sharing that
bed, and doing plenty of stuff that kept us awake long past the point of
mutual exhaustion. It was my first time in a threesome, and with a woman as
our third partner at that, and I can tell you it was the most incredible
experience that I'd shared up until then, made all the more amazing as I
found myself diving into her muff and going crazy with my tongue all over
her body even as I spread my legs and encouraged both of my partners to take
turns screwing my brains out.

And that was far from the most exotic night that I had enjoyed up until the
time when Tom, my boyfriend, proposed to me across from the dinner table. I
found myself accepting at once and wore a ring both around one finger and in
a...very private place...the latter one he bought for me in a shop that
deals with special body piercing. Looking back I should have realized the
significance of him wanting me to get a ring through my labia, but at the
time I thought it was both sweetly romantic and altogether kinky to sign the
bond of love between us, and I even liked to stand before a mirror and
admire my second ring with a thought of how very special it was.

Naive I know, but I was a very naive girl before meeting him, and it took me
a while to get properly jaded about the whole kinky business.

Anyway, I was thrilled beyond measure to be married in a church one day and
then swept away on an exotic honey moon to a special island paradise that
hosted a club where we could indulge our passions and never feel guilty
about it. We spent most of the time totally naked and only wore swimsuits
for those few times when we needed to take photos to send home to our
friends and relatives, but the rest of it I was his personal love slave, and
I wore a collar and chains while doing his bidding, playing the sweet
submissive and relishing the fact that I was flaunting my public image back
home as a "stuck up bitch" and a "man hating lesbo."

I know, not a very liberated way of viewing myself, but the whole point of
sexual fantasies is to do something different from the ordinary, and by this
point I had been very thoroughly corrupted into a life of carnal sensuality,
which in some ways helped me to psychologically balance out the mental
toughness that I wore when around the office. I even rationalized it as a
kind of "safety valve" for all my stress and tensions of having to compete
for success in the cutthroat advertising business. I'm quite sure that I
was not all that popular among my peers because of the persona that I
projected, when in fact I thought of myself as a sweet girl at heart who had
all of the best intentions.

So losing my career meant losing my rational justification for being soft on
the inside while acting tough as nails on the outside. Thankfully Tom was
more than kind, supportive and understanding, he even backed off on the
kinky stuff for a bit to give me time to adjust to losing my primary means
of income. I was effectively rudderless after failing to win another
position, and my self-esteem plummeted to depths never known, for I was not
accustomed to failure and did not know what to do when left without a reason
to get up early every morning.

But then one day Tom approached me with a proposal and offered to spirit us
away from the "Rat Race" of high city living. As it turned out he had been
looking up some property to purchase in a fancy gated community that was
situated well away from the trappings of high-pressure modern living. He
offered it as a means for us to start over and deepen our relationship,
which had been strained by the near collapse into manic depression that I
was suffering from at the time, and so I took him up on the offer, which
brings us further along to the next phase of our story.

At first glance the place seemed innocuous enough, a community called
Dolcett, named after some artist fellow whom I had never heard of before we
arrived there, but which---I am told---had been founded a generations before
by people like us seeking to escape the heavy commute to and from the work
place. The population of this sleepy hamlet is around four or five thousand
total, making it small by even the modest standards of most modern suburbs,
and is highly selective about who they allow to settle there...for reasons
that will shortly become most apparent.

My first impression of Dolcett was that it was a remarkably clean community
with gated, fenced off yards that were almost palatial by the standards of
most suburbs. On the ride up to our new house I remembered gazing out the
window of our car and seeing well-sculpted yards lined up like a showpiece
for house and gardens, and I wondered at who was responsible for the
gardening here, one of many surprised in store for me as it would happen to
turn out.

The second thing that surprised me about the place was the discovery of our
next door neighbors, who were happy to introduce themselves shortly after
our arrival. Phillip and Martha were their names, and a very fit and
handsome couple they were, friendly and outgoing to a degree that I found
quite surprising. Martha especially impressed me, being a petite blonde
with a statuesque buxom figure and a smile that was as warm and inviting as
a promise.

Martha was a charming, vivacious and engaging person with a friendly
temperament and a sexually appealing manner about her that I felt almost
from the instant that I met her. In fact it was like a feeling of
electricity running down my spine to my pussy, as though I had been struck
by an instant lust spell that made me very aware of her on a physical level.
It helped a lot that the outfit that she was wearing seemed calculated to
produce such an effect on a first encounter, consisting of a one-piece
body-hugging thin silk dress that ended just about crotch level and had a
low cut circular cleavage that made your eyes focus immediately upon her
full breasts with the nipples just bare concealed, and the fact that she was
not wearing a bra very much in your face, which made it very hard not to
stare at them during the whole of our first meeting.

I warmed up to her immediately and once the boys started to chat she took me
off to the side and said how much she had been looking forward to meeting
their new neighbors, and how attractive I was, and what a nice figure I had,
and how she could easily understand why my husband would want me around him.
All spoken with a sultry purr that implied as much as the hungry look in
her eyes, and I found myself falling under the spell of her flattery, for I
had never felt this much attraction before towards another person of my own
gender. The fact that our husbands were in the next room was the only thing
that kept me from responding to her flirtatious entreaties, but I found it
difficult to resist returning her compliments with a more physical
demonstration of my own budding affection. She was neither coy nor overly
obvious in making clear her desire to seduce me, and I---all tongue-tied and
befuddled by her sweetness---was unable to respond in any other sense but to
adore her the way a kid adores candy behind a shop window.

Look but don't touch, and as loose as I was in the morals department I was
still pretty old fashioned about such things as adultery, and I wanted to
remain faithful to my Tom, reasoning that to give into temptation would be
to lose his trust forever.

Silly me now that I think back on it, but how was I to know that I was being
set up, or the diabolical cleverness with which Tom and Phil were conspiring
to open my horizons. But that would be getting ahead of myself in this
story, so let me return to the moment when I was standing within easy reach
of an entirely desirable woman and feeling like such a wretch for wanting
her, yet grateful just the same to be within her enchanting presence.

About this time when I was sizing up her good physical attributes I'd taken
notice of the fact that Martha was wearing a metal collar with a
heart-shaped pendant set at the front, and I mentioned this as a curiosity
and was surprised when she smiled and touched it, then undid a fastening to
reveal that the heart was actually a cleverly designed lock holding the
collar together. She explained to me that her husband had given it to her
as a present and that it was locked for a reason, and that he alone had the
key, which meant that she could not take it off for herself save with his
express permission.

"Tom carries the key on a bracelet, so it's never far from hand," she
cheerfully informed me, "But as long as he does I'm bound to wear it
constantly, and it really isn't any problem. I like wearing his collar...it
makes me feel much closer to my husband."

"But," I expressed in surprise, "Doesn't that make it seem as if he owns
you...like you were his pet and plaything, and that he holds that collar as
leverage against you?"

"Not against me," Martha insisted, "I wear it because I want to, because I
accepted it as a token from him, and because he does indeed own me. I gave
him that right, and I have no regrets about it."

That answer totally floored me, so I naturally came back with your typical
Liberated Housewife's standard line about how demeaning and degrading it was
to let any man have that sort of power over us, or even the illusion that we
belong to him as property. Even as I spoke those words I found that they
felt hollow to me, as if I were mouthing phrases that I didn't really
believe, just felt obligated to say as a defense of womanhood against the
threat of Male Chauvinist oppression.

Martha seemed to see right through my logic as she smiled at me a sultry,
knowing smile and said, "Maybe for some women that would be true, but it's
wrong to lump all women together in the same group and expect us all to
behave in exactly the same manner. There are women in this world who don't
like being hostile to men and who are not particularly well suited to
independence. I was once someone just like you, angry and bitter about
life, insisting on always having my way, a real type-A personality, and it
was slowly killing me inside because deep down I was just a little girl
pretending to act grown up as though I felt a need to impress on people that
I wasn't my mother."

That answer surprised me even more than the first, so I encouraged her to go
on and was astounded to discover that this warm and outgoing creature at one
time was a very different sort of individual, not at all a vivacious
bubblehead but rather an intelligent and thoughtful person who knew more
about life than I could have possibly imagined. In fact she used to be a
high-powered Real Estate agent before coming to live as a satisfied
housewife in the town of Dolcett, and that coming here opened her eyes in so
many respects that she could not imagine going back to live the old way any
more than she could stand the thought of leaving her husband.

"You see," she said, "Being aggressive and career minded put an unfair
strain on me and my relationship to Tom. I was constantly at work, coming
home tired, not doing the chores, not bothering to cook or clean, and
definitely not able to keep house. We had to hire a maid to do all of that,
and as busy as I was...we didn't have any time at all for Tom and me to have
children."

"But you have all of that now?" I asked, wondering if she were taking the
Phyllis Schaffley line of preaching the virtues of Domesticity and urging
all women to give up their careers for the sake of their husbands.

"Oh yes," she nodded enthusiastically, "I have two beautiful young girls
whom I'm raising to be much more stable and emotionally secure than I was
back when I was their age living with my parents. Most of the time I stay
at home and take care of the house, but I don't do all of the chores...I
still have a maid who helps me with that."

"Oh really?" I asked, wondering why her simple story was making me so
envious.

"Some people are just naturally suited to pursuing a career, loving the work
that they do, and spending more time out of the house than in it," she
informed me, "But I wasn't that kind of a person. I felt pressured to
conform to the demands of my job, and it was a pretty cut-throat business
where your bread and butter was made on commission. Me and my co-workers
were not so much on the same team as we were trying to compete to out-sell
one another, and having to fake enthusiasm for marketing houses that I knew
were in shoddy, used and second-hand condition was taking a toll on my
self-esteem. I needed to get out of that rat race and I did...and I don't
miss the life one tiny little bit. I find fulfillment in everything that I
do these days, and I take things one step at a time, never plotting too far
ahead...because you never know when your number might get called, and that
would tend to make everything else seem...academic."

"When your number gets called?" I asked, wondering how she could be thinking
of that, as young as she was and with as much going for her and to live for.

"Oh, you'll understand one day," she said with a sweetly evasive smile that
seemed to suggest at things that she did not feel like spelling outright,
"But for now just accept Dolcett on its own terms and take things in stride.
You'll be a lot happier if you do, and your husband won't feel quite so
neglected."

"Neglected?" I asked, wondering when I had ever neglected the needs of my
husband. But then again I wasn't really aware of how Tom felt in those
days, and the thought that he might be less than satisfied in our marriage
wasn't even occurring to me...though it would have a large impact on the
direction of affairs leading me up to the present moment.

We rejoined our men and spent the rest of the evening pleasantly chatting
away over trifles, answering questions about who did what for a career and
what part of the country they were from and all of that. But I couldn't
quite get my mind off of what Martha had been saying to me, and I kept
staring at her for the rest of the time that she and Phil were visiting, and
when the time came to leave I found that I was actually regretting their
going.

In fact I regretted it so much that when we walked them to the door I
couldn't help asking when the next time was that they could come over. That
was where Martha totally surprised me, turning around and throwing her arms
around me before planting a kiss on my lips that not only caught me by
surprise but startled me completely.

I was even more doubly surprised when I felt her tongue slide into my mouth,
and the more astonished when I found myself kissing her back, sliding my
arms around her waist and hugging her to me as if it were totally second
nature. More surprising still for me was that neither of our husbands
objected...in fact they just stood there watching us kiss as though admiring
the sight of the two of us together, our breasts mashing together with her
pointy little nipples teasing me from beneath both of our dresses.

And then Phil completed the surprise by turning to Tom and saying, "I guess
maybe we don't have to go home right away."

"I guess maybe you don't," Tom said with a smile in his voice that I was
only half paying attention to, and if I had I would have realized then and
there that I had been set up for precisely this moment, like the two of them
had planned it from the beginning.

But I didn't really notice, I just kept on kissing Martha and running my
hands over her taut body, and feeling her hands slide down to life the edges
of my dress so that she could pull down my panties and caress my ass-cheeks
between her fingers. When she squeezed my but I found myself drinking in
her tongue with a gasp that was momentarily stifled, and then I knew beyond
question that I had to make love to her, to go all the way, and if God
himself struck me dead for my impertinence it would be a very small price to
pay for the gift of making sweet love to that gorgeously perfect body.

Naturally enough our guests wound up spending the night, and the four of us
woke up the next morning together in positions that suggested that we had
passed out where we had given off stroking. I felt oddly satisfied and very
much at peace with myself in spite of it all, and I had no regrets when
Martha smiled at me and told me I was delicious.

As a matter of fact Phil had proven a very skilled and accomplished lover,
and riding his dick had been almost as good as ass-fucking Tom when he's
really horny. Even more amazing was how much I enjoyed watching Martha be
fucked by Tom with Phil raising no objections whatsoever, and I wasn't even
a tiny bit jealous but rather turned on by the memory, enough so that I
started to renew my assault on her body and spent the rest of that morning
clenched in a delicious sixty-nine sharing the mutual joys of eating each
other's nectar.

When we got up and showered together it was just more of the same love play,
and when Martha and I came out of the bathroom wearing matching terry-cloth
towels we found Phil in the kitchen was busy whipping us up a good
breakfast. A very good thing since I was starting and needed both the
protean and the calories, and having burned off a lot of excess energy by
this point my body was making my other requirements known in no uncertain
language.

I can truthfully say that it was the best breakfast that I could ever
remember having shared, and with the company adding to the sweetness my
morning was the first one without dark clouds and moody edges that I had
known in quite some time. I was very much grateful to Tom and Phil for
allowing me to experience my first real taste of full-fledged swapping, and
I hoped that it would not be the last time that we did this. I said as much
aloud and was confidently assured that it would not be the last, and that
this would only be the beginning of the fun that they had in store for me in
the very near future.

Bastards...but you've gotta love 'em for that. They may have played me like
a fiddle, but if they hadn't deceived me the way they did then I would never
have agreed to come along this far, and wouldn't be finding myself now
parading on a stage trying to encourage our neighbors to put a bid in for
succulent parts of my anatomy either.

The one curious thing that I've been skipping over in my narrative here was
a fact that I discovered early on during our love making when I was peeling
away Martha's dress and running my hands over her creamy skin. In doing so
I discovered that she had no bush hair down below, that her pelvis was
smooth and as hairless as if it had been shaved bald that very evening, and
yet when my hands encountered her pelvis there was something down there that
surprised me. I found that she was wearing a ring almost identical to mine
save for the fact that there was a metal tag attached to it, and on it was
inscribed a six digit number.

It was not so much the piercing or the ring through one of her labia lips
that caught my attention...it was the tag itself with the number. I asked
Martha about this and she just smiled back at me and said, "That's my
number...669507, and if it gets called one day..." she let her voice trail
off and just smiled a strangely sweet smile full of eagerness and a curious
anticipation.

Anyway, when they left this time for real there was an invitation from
Martha for me to come over any time and be entertained within their house
like a family member. I decided to take her up on this and went over the
next day, only to find Martha was stretched out on a lawn chair that was set
in the front of the house, and that she was sunbathing in the nude with
nothing but the collar and the ring-tag in her crotch distinguishing her as
anything less than fully naked.

As I stood there gawking I was reminded again of how absolutely stunning she
was, her body lithe and tanned with hardly a blemish to her skin, and her
breasts obeying the pull of gravity by spreading out to each side with lithe
firmness that you only get with young teenaged girls...if they're lucky.
Long legs ending in perfectly well formed feet with toes worth sucking upon,
and a clean shaven pussy that had that curious metal tag pierced through one
parted labia lip, her sex on display as if she had been fingering herself
quietly the whole morning.

She did have a pair of sunshades on, though, and lifted them when she saw me
standing there gaping at her brazenness in amazement. She smiled at me and
said, "Like what you're seeing?"

Despite what we had done the night before I still found myself blushing as
though I were a virgin, and I replied, "Sure...I mean...of
course...but...why are you doing this in the front yard? Wouldn't it be
better to tan yourself in back?"

"Oh, I could do that, but why bother?" she replied, setting her shades back
in place and resuming her suntan, "The sun's angle is at a better position
on this side, and besides...why not flaunt it if you've got it?"

"But..." stammered, "...Won't people see you like this?"

"That's the idea," Martha purred, "I want them to get a good look at the
goods...the better to whet their appetite and know what they're in for."

I didn't then understand what she meant and said as much, and she lifted her
shades once again and gave me a look as if I were a small child who needed
things to be explained to her, so she gave me a more general reason.

"I'm not ashamed of my body...in fact I'm very proud of my looks, and I want
people to know what a lucky man Phil is to have me. It reflects good on
him, while is why he lets me do this. I've always been a bit of an
exhibitionist at heart, and I like it when people appreciate what I have to
offer. I get off on imagining how they drool at me and I love to see the
lust in their faces, just like I enjoyed it when you looked at me last night
as though I were the best thing on the menu."

I flushed crimson from toes to cheeks and found myself reluctantly admitting
my guild in that department. In fact I was feeling strong amounts of lust
right there and then and wanted to do her while she was stretched out on
that lawn chair. But at heart I was still a bit shy and so I just held my
grounds and contented myself with being lustful, wishing that I could be so
uninhibited, so ready to drop it all and bare my body without a thought or
concern about who might see me.

Eventually Martha took pity on me and got up with a sigh saying, "All right,
we'll go inside, but you must let me treat you like a guest and show you
everything, so consider me your naked tour guide."

"Naked?" I asked in guilty wonder, "You're not putting anything on?"

"Why should I?" she asked practically, taking me by the hand and leading the
way towards the front door of her spacious house, "I never wear anything
when I'm inside, not unless Phil makes me do so, and I only wear clothes
when I visit a new guest, or when I go shopping in the market. Any other
time I adhere to my husband's strict dress code."

"Which is?" I asked as we entered through the front door, pausing only when
she pointed down at my feet.

"Shoes off," she urged pleasantly, "Phil never allows footwear on the
indoors. Besides, the carpet's shag, and you'll enjoy walking on it
barefoot."

"Oh," I responded, and promptly complied with her request, shedding my shoes
and leaving them on the front porch as I followed her into the house, which
was spacious and well decorated with lots of room to adorn with various bits
of conversational (and expensive looking) artwork.

The rug did indeed feel good and soft beneath my toes as I followed my naked
friend (and lover from the previous evening) from the living room to the den
to a surprisingly spacious kitchen that looked fully stocked with enough
supplies to keep a four star restaurant happy. There was a large "cutting
board" table in the center with enough room to dine upon (if one felt so
inclined). I remarked that the refrigerator appeared much larger than was
usual and jokingly asked if she had a full cow stored away in there.

To my surprise Martha just smiled and said, "Not quite...but some choice
bits of the cow are stored away in the freezer just in case we'd fancy her
leftovers. We had a whole roast just the other day in the back and much of
her was gone before the evening was over."

"What, you mean you threw a Texas style barbecue?" I asked half-facetiously.

But to my surprise she just gave me a charming grin of impish mischief and
said, "Exactly."

Just then a beautiful full-breasted girl of obviously Latin descent
appeared, startling me as she was as naked as Martha herself but wore not
only a collar but a set of matching chains that connected to leather cuffs
about her wrists and ankles. She also had a ring with a tag piercing her
left side labia with a number inscribed upon it, exactly like Martha's,
which led me to wonder if it were some kind of a cult fetish.

"Good day to you, Mistress," she said most politely, "Would the Senorita
prefer to serviced?"

"Not just yet, Juanita," Martha replied with a surprisingly intimate leer,
"She's our guest so treat her nicely, because it's only her first time, if
you take my meaning."

"I do indeed comprende, Mistress," the Latin beauty acknowledged with a bow,
"But if either you or your guest have need for my services..."

"We'll call upon you if we feel in the mood for a Mexican dish, Juanita
dear," Martha smiled, "In the meantime would you look after my daughters
while I show my guest to the Master's bedroom?"

"But of course, Mistress," Juanita smiled, "They are sleeping peacefully now
like little angels."

She turned and sauntered away to the tinkling sound of the chains strung
between her ankles, while I caught myself admiring the sway of her ass and
the firmness of her butt cheeks, which prompted me to ask, "She's your
maid?"

"Among other things," Martha smiled coyly, having watched for my reaction,
"We bought her at the market for a good price, and she's an indispensable
dear, to say nothing of a tasty piece of ass on the hooves if you take my
meaning."

I thought, naturally enough, that she was being facetious rather than
literal, but while I tried to ponder it out something else Martha had said
began to filter down to my consciousness, prompting me to turn to her and
ask, "Did you say that you were showing me to the bedroom?"

"Our nest big stop on our little tour," she assured me sensuously, "And the
place where I intend to show you one of the best aspects to living in
Dolcett."

"In the bedroom?" I asked a bit too eagerly and promptly, wondering if we
were going to skip the small talk and go right to the chase of spending the
rest of my visit between the sheets with my vivacious new sex-partner.

To my surprise, when we arrived at a room so huge that it could have been
adequately described as 'Palatial,' Martha led us right past the four-corner
poster bed and took me out towards the adjoining rear patio that overlooked
a well-sculpted Japanese-style garden. I marveled at the expansive view
from our second-floor height, but what really caught my attention was the
sight of a large object that occupied one corner of the wooden deck and was
difficult to miss on even the most casual inspection.

It was roughly four feet tall and circular with a five-foot wide mouth and a
rough black metal outer surface. It rested upon ceramic logs that resembled
real wood but had that glazed surface effect that you only get through
fireproofing. The lower half was spherical and formed a "fish bowl" effect
that was blotted out by the opaque black-as-charcoal exterior, yet the
inside part of the upper lip was also ceramic colored as though to provide
the interior surface with an added layer for comfort insulation.

"What is that?" I automatically asked like a tourist being introduced to the
native customs of a tropical desert island.

"That's a Jacuzzi, specially made," Martha supplied brightly.

"A Jacuzzi?" I numbly repeated, "Then...why is it shaped like a big black
metal cooking pot?"
"Oh, it's just a fancy of Phil's that I'm sometimes happy to indulge," she
said with a dreamy look of contentment, "He starts it up and I climb in and
set to simmer. It's really a fantastic feeling and I wanted you to share it
with me since this is one of my favorite places to relax around here."

"Share it with you?" I asked naively, not immediately catching on until I
saw the lustful expression that she had turned in my direction, "Oh."

"Take your clothes off," she instructed, "We'll soak together, and you'll
find out for yourself why I enjoy making out here with my favorite house
guests."

"But..." I fumbled around in argument, "Phil...your husband...?"

"Oh, not to worry," she said sweetly, "I'm sure we'll be well done by the
time he gets home for dinner..."

Well, what else could I say to that but to ask her where I should go to
change, and she pointed me to the bathroom at the far end of the bedroom,
which turned out to be as large and comfortable a place to get naked as
anywhere else in the house. To my surprise, however, Martha insisted on
undressing me herself and took her time peeling away my clothing as though
she were unwrapping her Christmas presents...but once she got me as naked as
herself she then surprised me by insisting that we both use the toilet to
empty out our mutual bladders of their contents. She insisted on us staying
until we both had finished up our business, then had us briefly step into
the shower for some pre-coital sudsing down that serves to whet the appetite
and get us horny and frisky.

Once scrubbed of body oils we thus emerged in matching bath towels, and then
proceeded to the patio once again even as I took notice of a set of gas jets
that had appeared around the edge of the curiously shaped "hot tub," giving
it the added resemblance to a cooking pot prepared by savage natives for a
couple of randy girls like us. There were even a conveniently placed set of
steps at the rear that enabled us to mount to the edge of the pot without
having to touch the sides before we entered.

Just as Martha had assured me, I found stepping into the pot a strangely
rewarding experience since it was nicely warmed without being too
uncomfortable, neither too hot nor two cold (though that would change
gradually when she set the flames around the pot to a slow boiling simmer).
It was a deliciously sensuous experience to wade around inside with my
sensuous new companion, and I could not help but feel as if we were a pair
of juicy birds being broiled up for someone's dinner. Surprisingly enough
this thought did not disturb me so much as give me a guilty little sense of
glee as I could pretend to be a helpless victim in one of my favorite
"naughty" fantasies, and having someone as desirable as Martha to do it with
just added to the pleasure of the experience as we settled into that pot and
prepared to be stewed to death in the slow broiling broth that supported us
in passing.

In fact I was surprised to discover that the tub water did indeed smell like
broth, and I asked Martha about this only to hear her reply, "Special herbs
and spices to enhance our flavor. It's very good for the skin, and it soaks
out the poisons that clog our pores and make us seem so nasty."

Yes, I know I was being foolish to accept such a simple explanation on the
surface, but by now I was fully into my "fantasy mode" and just took things
naturally in stride without question. I was further distracted from asking
any more inconvenient questions as Martha approached me from the rear and
put her hands around my body, then started to cup and toy with my breasts
while I felt the pointy nipples of her own breasts pressed up against my
shoulder blades, and in my ear I heard her murmur, "Let's cook together into
a blissful broth, shall we? We'll flavor the stew with our juices and mix
our meat together so that Phil can enjoy our tasty soup and maybe share a
bowl or two with your own husband."

Well, what would you say if approached like that by somebody you were
seriously intending to screw in the tub? Needless to say I melted into her
arms and raised not the lease little fuss as we prepared to go at it,
enjoying each other while the brew slowly warmed up all around us...and soon
we were to add to the flavoring of the broth as we stroked and fondled each
other into adding our own sweet pussy-juices to the mixture.

Well, to make the long matter into a short one, it was a very nice
bath...one to die for as a matter of fact, though I was not the least
suspicious at the time...right up until Juanita appeared with a tray of
vegetable and a very long knife with which to cut them into bite-sized
little pieces.

I was feeling both lazy and contented at this point, so heavily into the sex
that I actually was hoping that the maid would climb in and join us for a
spell. Instead she remained on the outside and started to pare some carrots
into the tub while I gazed stupidly up at her and murmured faintly,
"What...what are you doing?"

"Don't worry, relax," Martha urged, turning my attention back towards her
instead of Juanita, "Everything will be all right, you'll see."

I trusted her implicitly at that point and so all I did was ask what the
vegetables were for, and I never did get a satisfying answer because she
kissed me at that point and started to finger me like crazy, giving me very
little chance to form a coherent thought about her evasiveness to a simple
direct question. I was vaguely aware of how the heat was causing me to lose
all sense of coherence, but I what didn't take into consideration was how
gradually the broth in the pot had been heating up, and like that old saying
regarding frogs in a pot I was rapidly becoming that frog, and had long
since passed the point at which I would care about what was happening since
all I knew was that I was cumming like mad and groaning pleasurably as I
experienced my last orgasm.

I don't really remember much beyond that, only that I woke up a short time
later in my own bed, wondering if I had dreamed the whole thing and feeling
wonderfully tired...yet somehow perversely elated. I stretched and cooed
contentedly and wondered if the whole experience had been an intensely
personal wet dream, or if any of it had actually happened when I chanced to
reach down to finger my own pussy...

And found my gold ring there now had an additional adornment, a circular tag
exactly like the ones worn by Juanita and Martha.

I got up out of bed and went to the full-length mirror next to my dresser to
examine my new adornment, and that's where I got my second surprise of the
morning, taking a good long look at myself in full nude profile. To my
surprise I seemed...better than I was the last time I checked
myself...leaner, more well toned with better hips and firmer thighs, and
staring me in the face were a set of firm, perky breasts that I hadn't worn
since high school...and much fuller than I could ever remember.

There were no signs of age or wear and to all appearance I seemed at least
ten years younger and in the prime of my health. I felt fantastic with more
energy than I knew what to do with, and just looking at myself I felt
aroused as though I wanted to fuck myself on the spot. I could not remember
ever feeling this randy since I was a teenager, and when I fingered myself
and fondled my boobs experimentally I was surprised at how responsive I was,
as though the merest caress could send waves of sexual desire coursing
through every nerve of my body.

Just then I heard Phil rattling around downstairs and decided to
investigate. At first I tried to put on a bathrobe only to find the soft
chemise affected my skin in an almost electric kind of way. For some reason
the idea came to me that I didn't need to wear any clothing inside my own
house, so I descended the stairs as naked as Martha and sought out my
husband, whom I found busying himself around inside the kitchen.

The first words out of his mouth when he turned and saw me standing there in
the frame of the door was, "My, don't you look good enough to eat."

To my own considerable surprise I found myself blushing at the compliment,
but I asked him, "What are you doing?"

"Preparing lunch," he replied, "Actually...it's a pot luck stew that Tom
sent over to me to share. It's quite good, I've sampled a bowl, and I think
you'll enjoy it just as much as me since I understand you helped Martha to
make it."

"Martha?" my mind instantly recalled flashes and bits of my last conscious
moments with her, when the two of us were simmering beautifully entwined in
each other's arms, and the warmth of the stew pot-shaped jacuzzi all around
us, filling our nostrils with the sweet aroma of something cooking that was
not and spicy with a flavor enhancement that was entirely organic.

Of course I instantly rejected the next logical thought as irrational, an
impossibility on the face of it all, that the experience could have been
real and the two of us really had expired together floating among the
chopped vegetables that Juanita had thoughtfully added to thicken the brew.
But I was alive, so it obviously could not have taken place...or could it?
My imagination started to wander, then balked at the absurdity of it all.
To have really gone through with that, only to awake alive in my bed in a
body that looked better than I could remember? Such patent nonsense...and
yet the thought stirred me strangely, and I found myself flushing beat red
at the level of erotic desire that came over me as I indulged in the fantasy
of what it would have been like to really be cooked into a stew while making
tasty love to another bodacious woman.

Erotic imagery like that? My reaction was predictable and automatic. What
the heck was wrong with me to be thinking that way, or to find myself turned
on by the thought of dying in such a blissfully non-violent manner? I'm not
suicidal by nature, and I have no real desire to wind up dead, but I could
not stop blushing and feeling my nipples harden. I felt my cheeks with both
hands and discovered the warmth of my own pulse, then stared wondering at
Tom, who was smiling back at me as if enjoying the sight of my naked
reactions.

At his urging I sat down at the table and allowed my husband to wait on me
for a change, and he put before me a bowl of something I knew to be a
reheated pot of stew, innocent enough by itself but for what my gut was
telling me that defied the logic that denied the possibility that I was
feeling. I remember hesitating just a bit before picking up the spoon and
trying out a sample...

And when I did take a sip of the broth the memories came back to me in full,
how it felt to be warmed in that pot, to be surrounded by the love and
affection that Martha and I had shared together, and the flavorful taste of
our own sweet cum juices mixed with spices and vegetables, The flavor was
even sweeter than I could possibly have imagined, like the best bowl of beef
bullion that I could ever have tasted, and with a quality and tenderness to
the meat that made it all but melt in my mouth as I savored each chewy
little bite-full, sensing somehow that it was my meat I was tasting...or
maybe it was Martha's. I couldn't tell the difference, and somehow that
made it even better and more romantic.

I marveled that such a thing was even possible, and while I did technically
feel a bit of queasiness bordering on revulsion at the concept of
cannibalism, I found the context here strangely intriguing, and it helped me
to swallow my moral and ethical reservations so that I could consume that
whole bowl without choking and even ask my husband if there were any
seconds.

Of course I wanted to know how such a thing was even possible, but after
finishing that bowl I found that the first and only thing that I had on my
mind was to immediately pounce on my husband and demand he satisfy the
curious sexual urges that I found virtually overwhelming. We made love
right there in the dining room with me spread out on a clear space of the
table as if I were a feast to delight upon, and Tom went down on me and
"devoured me" with his mouth before stuffing my mouth with his sausage, and
subsequently plugging my other hole when it was properly moisture slickened
and could fit inside without my even wincing.

But after I bathed I felt the need to visit the neighbors and confirm for
myself that what Martha and me had done was something more than just a
fantasy wish fulfillment. I had to know if that so-called "Jacuzzi"
upstairs really had been the scene of a mutual snuff engagement, and I also
wanted answers about how I could be walking around in my own body if I had,
indeed, expired within a stew pot. I didn't bother to dress up much, just
threw on a set of silk panties, a pair of old shorts and a tank-top (I
couldn't wear my old bras, they no longer fit me for some very odd reason).

But what I found when I arrived there was a different kind of surprise, for
the person who greeted me at the door was neither Martha nor Juanita.
Instead she turned out to be a very tall and statuesque redhead with a
bright and pleasant smile...and not much else on worth mentioning (other
than the peculiar 'crotch tags' that Martha and now I were wearing, and her
number went something like 069407 I remember memorizing after observing).

I hardly got the chance to say a word, let alone explain what I was doing
there, when she said, "Oh, you must be the new neighbor. Martha told me all
about you, and I can see she wasn't exaggerating how sexy you look. Come on
and join us in the kitchen, you're just in time to help us put the finishing
touches on the Turkey."

"Turkey?" I asked, reflexively remembering that it was still weeks away
until Thanksgiving, and who was this stunning beauty with a perfect smile
and a perfect body to match who was so magnificently well proportioned that
I found myself staring at her as though my mouth were watering for the taste
of her breast meat?

When I got to the kitchen my suspicions were confirmed, for there was
Martha, as perfectly blonde and bodacious as ever, accompanied by two other
girls as the three of them busied themself with a fifth girl who was laying
on her back with hands and feet tied together. To my considerable surprise
the lady in the "Turkey" pose was none other than Juanita, who seemed to be
enjoying herself thoroughly as the other girls stroked and fondled her naked
body and one girl was pushing hand fulls of stuffing mix right into her
crotch, with Juanita groaning as though being filled like that were entirely
to her approval.

At once the lady of the house turned and grinned at me, then waved me over
to join her and the rest of her crew as they had their way with the bound
and helpless maid, whom I observed was also resting squarely in the middle
of a large cooking pan that perfect fit her petite dimensions.

"How nice of you to join us," she said cheerfully, "I see you've met
Jesse...and these are our friends Tammy and Su An Wong, who's the wife of
our gardener and will be joining us for the evening."

I exchanged pleasantries with the other girls and then turned my focus upon
the main subject of the evening, asking, "Are you...preparing to cook her?"

"That's right," Martha replied as if it were the most natural thing in the
world, "Phil's having some important guests over and I wanted them to share
a good home-cooked meal...so I opted for something spicy and will be serving
Mexican food for the evening."

"You're going to cook your maid like she was a turkey?" my voice squeaked
incredulously.

"Of course," Martha replied, "I own her, she's my property and I can do
anything with her that I like. Isn't that so, Juanita darling?"

I noticed for the first time that Juanita had been prevented from saying
anything until now because of a juicy ripe apple that had been stuffed into
her mouth, but now her Mistress took the apple from her lips and permitted
her to speak in her own defense. I half-expected something like babbling
incoherence from a frightened young lady who was scared out of her wits, but
to my vast surprise Juanita spoke plainly and as calmly as she had the night
before:

"Si, Mistress...I am your property and you may cook me if you so wish it. I
only hope that I am found satisfying and tasty to everyone's agreement, and
I do hope that there will be enough of me to fulfill everyone's appetites,
just as I know that the experience of cooking for you will give me great
satisfaction. I do hope that the Senorita of last night will be staying to
share a bit of me for her dinner?"

I found myself babbling something on the level of not having made any plans,
but before I could complete my evasive response I heard Jesse say, "Of
course she'll be staying. She and her husband, Tom is it? They are
definitely on the invite list, right Martha dear?"

"But of course," Martha assured, giving me a pleading look of entreaty,
"Won't you stay and join us. I know how much Juanita here would enjoy us
both taking a bite out of her flesh after she did such a magnificent job
with the both of us in the Pot last night."

"Last night?" I said, wondering where the day had gone between our cooking
together and my waking up in my bed...obviously on the next morning.

"Si, I most definitely would like that," Juanita smiled, "I enjoyed so much
watching the both of you simmer together in each others arms...it give me
such excitement, and when I sampled your meat it was as if Love itself had
been stirred into the bowl. I only wish that I could be half as tasty as
the both of you when the time comes to serve me."

"That's enough talking out of you," Martha cheerfully said before thrusting
the apple back between the lips of the unprotesting Juanita, "From now until
you're served you're just meat to be roasted, so lay back and enjoy the ride
because we're all working up a fine appetite just preparing you to slide
into my ovens."

"No doubt about that one, Love," the girl named Tammy cooed, "You are
definitely going to make everyone a delicious feast, you hot Enchilada,
right An?"

"Oh yes," said the beautiful oriental girl who was busy stuffing the batter
mix into the crotch of the helpless Juanita, "Especially when we get you
into the oven and set you to broil. This will be the best banquet since the
one last month when they made me into a Sushi tray and spread sliced meats
all over my body."

"You are delicious, you know that, An," Jesse assured, "And everybody loves
it when your husband serves you Mongolian Barbecued."

"Yeah, but the only problem is, thirty minutes after eating you, you're
still hungry," Tammy fretted, running an affectionate hand through the long
strands of hair on the shorter An, "And there's only so much of you to go
around."

The Asian-American girl just arched her back and thrust her chest forward,
displaying a fine set of ripe breasts that had big aureoles and nipples that
all but cried to be suckled upon, and then she said, "Maybe so, but you can
always order me for seconds."

"Which reminds me," Jesse fingered her crotch and displayed her labia tag,
"I got the call just this morning...I'm up for a harvest, so anyone wants to
put in an order in advance, now's the time to reserve my best pieces."

"Oh wow, Harvest Day?" Tammy remarked, "You just got back from the Dairy
farm. You think they'd give you more of a break before calling you into the
shop."

"Maybe so, Girls," Jesse cupped her massive breasts with both of her hands
and squeezed them together, "But these babies are good for more than just a
good milking you know, and it'd be a crime to deprive someone of ordering up
a ripe pair like mine. And then there's my thighs, which are especially
meaty, and my ass which is particularly tender..."

"Are you asking us to jump you already?" An chuckled, then to me as an aside
she said, "Don't mind this big blow hard preening herself like a hen, she's
just meat like the rest of us, even if there's more of her on the bone, and
her ass is a lot plumper and juicier to the taste..."

"You want my ass, just say so," Jesse purred, "You're is hardly more than a
couple of bite fulls, but I think I could make you into something as tender
as a nice game pheasant."

I looked back and forth at these naked women, amazed at how casual they were
in describing each other in such terms, as though they accepted themselves
as little more than produce. Martha herself was evidencing no shame or
regret about what had transpired between us the day before as she and the
other girls finished up working over Juanita, then An stuffed an another
apple into the girl's crotch and pressed it firmly down to hold it in place,
and then they all stepped back to admire their handiwork as Juanita was
coated in a honey glaze with special seasonings applied to her whole body.

I could not help but stare in wonder at how absolutely mouth watering
Juanita was with her hands and feet up in the air and her breasts pressed
together with hardened nipples squeezed between her upper arms, the whole
effect calculated to make the girl seem as beautiful as she was desirable
and tasty. Despite my qualms and mystification over what was happening I
just stood there like one entranced as Juanita was picked up and carried
over to a very large preheated oven, then pushed inside before it was closed
on her altogether.

"There," Tammy said with satisfaction, "She ought to cook in about three and
a half hours, giving us plenty of time to make up the rest of the feast."

"Ah..." I spoke up, "Before you do that...could somebody please tell me what
the hell is going on here?"
The body was hoisted from the floor by the feet and left to dangle there
while the blood drained out of the corpse into a basin. The head was picked
up and casually tossed into a chute that seemed designed to receive such
items...and I felt myself becoming a bit ill even while I squirmed and found
my hands of their own accord were seeking out my sex to pleasure. This was
turning me on in spite of everything that I knew I should be feeling, and
the more Martha and Merle went on about the virtues of his business the
hornier I got until I was all but crying with the need for a good fucking.

Merle seemed pleased enough to give me the grand tour and showed me back to
the "business section" of his shop where he displayed a number of stalls in
which a line of naked women were presently waiting. Each woman had a collar
around her neck and a chain linking her to a hook within her stall, and
every one of them had their hands bound behind their backs while their Labia
Tags were on display and their numbers were easily read as though they had
no other identity but as Meat Items fit of the market.

I next saw a room where headless bodies were being gutted and carved up into
individual pieces, and I recalled vividly Jesse's earlier comments about
herself undergoing such a fate. Following this Merle displayed to me
proudly a device he called the '"Jessica 3000," which he claimed he used on
his own wife during the testing phase, and to make its usefulness plain to
me he called for the help of an assistant.

To my surprise the young girl who presented herself was no more than a
teenager, possibly eighteen at the oldest, who was cheerfully naked and
seemed readily pleased to be summoned up for this assignment.

I was also rather flabbergasted to discover that she was none other than
Merle's own daughter.

"Yeah Dad?" she asked as brightly as any puppy might respond to a dog
whistle.

"Why don't you strap yourself down and show the little lady here how your
Mom's favorite sex toy works, why don't you, Julie?"

"Sure thing, Dad," the girl replied, then added, "By the way...have you
looked at my report card?"

"Sure have," Merle replied, "Why else did you think I wanted you on duty
today? Just what were you thinking flunking Algebra anyway?"

"The stuff's boring, Dad," the girl shrugged, "And besides, why do I have to
learn numbers when I'm working here in the plant? All a Spit Muffin has to
do is look pretty and smile for the customers who order her up, right?"

"That ain't the point and you know it, Girl," her father sand in gentle
reprimand, "So strap on down and I'll set the Jess to give you full gutting.
You need to learn patience and to study hard to get smart like your momma,
and if it takes a good evisceration to make you pay notice..."

"I follow you, Dad," the girl sighed as she moved to the device and knelt
down over the harness end, "Just spare me the lecture, you're spoiling the
moment."

"No back talk out of you," Merle scolded as he knelt down and began
strapping the girl in place with a number of Velcro straps that seemed
designed to hold her firmly to the harness without causing the least bit of
discomfort, "You should try to be more like your older sister. The last
time she came home with a bad report card we hung her out back by the old
Gallows tree until she got the message."

"Lizzie's two years older than me and has a husband already," the girl named
Julia responded, "Oh...ah...and in case this isn't a good time to bring this
up, Dad...some friends of mine are thinking of going camping in the hills,
and they need a good roaster..."

"You're too young to be thinking about such things, Jules," Merle said while
adjusting the device to the rear of his daughter's exposed fanny, and to my
dismay I saw him fetch a pole down from the wall and slide it in until he
had it inserted a few inches into the girl's ready vagina, "Now hold on
tight...this will sting a little..."

"I know that already, Dad," the girl replied, "I've done this before plenty
of times, remember?"

"What was that I told you about talking back to your elders?" he snapped.

"Sorry," the now helpless girl said meekly, "Go ahead whenever you're ready,
Dad...I'm ready."

Well, to make a long story short I stood there with rounded eyes and watched
as the man turned on his device and sent an eight-foot-long pole pushing
slowly into the body of his own daughter...and I watched in growing
amazement as more and more of the pole vanished into her vagina...only to
watch her part her lips as it emerged from the other side, pushing out a
full two feet before stopping, at which point the girl was totally impaled
and could do little more than squirm from her position.

And then I heard a faint buzzing sound and glanced down at the bottom of the
harness supporting the girl's weight...and to my horror I saw a miniature
saw blade opening her up by slicing through her belly to expose the hot
entrails that came tumbling out and down a chute to the sideline...the
girl's entire stomach and intestines, which were automatically snipped away
to leave her empty down below...and I heard her grunt and groan a little,
but otherwise was grinding at the pole as though she were experiencing a
massive orgasm.

The device continued to astonish me as it stapled the girl's belly back up
while filling her cavity with a special stuffing mix that it squeezed in
through a nozzle before the rupture was sealed up altogether. Merle next
bent down and slide a second rod into her rectum and affixed it to the pole,
then found the girl's hands behind her back and tied her feet to the pole,
and then she was ready for immediate roasting.

"There," he pronounced while snapping his fingers and summoning up two more
naked women, who were obviously acting the part of assistant butchers, "Easy
as sin and clean as a whistle. Julie's ready to go over the coals now,
girls, so be sure to give her a good basting, and if any part of her gets
burned then you'll be the next ones that I carve up for sausage makings."

I could not help myself for blurting out right then and there, "How can you
do such a thing...to your own daughter?" I was both aghast and intrigued for
reasons that escaped me.

"Not anymore," Merle replied, "I'm proud as sin of my little girl growing up
and accepting her responsibilities as a contributing member to society...but
she gets no special favoritism around here, and meat is just meat as far as
it goes in this business," he added while indicating his "little girl" to
his two generously endowed lovely assistants.

The two girls complied with the man's request and lifted the pole bearing
his daughter before carrying her away towards a waiting roasting bed f hot
coals...and they stretched Julie out there to cook while they fetched the
special barbecue sauces to apply with long-handled ladles.

"Hmmm...she does look tasty," Martha admired, "Any chance you could sell me
her Cult Steak? You know how much my husband loves to eat pussy."

"Sure enough, I'll reserve it for you promptly," Merle said, then produced a
device that looked like a standard issue scanning device and waved it over
Martha's labia tag, obtaining a beep which he nodded to with great
satisfaction.

"Um...excuse me?" I asked, indicating what had just happened.

"He's putting the meat on my tab," Martha explained for me, "We don't carry
credit cards or cash around here...here in Dolcett the commodity is meat,
and we each have a value based on our rating as Meat. The computers here
keep a count of how much we earn every time we get Harvested and it goes
into a separate account that is credited to our husbands, so when we charge
against our credit we pay for it the next time we sell ourselves to the
Harvest."

"A good system, insures that everybody pays what they're worth," Merle noted
with complete satisfaction, "And every time someone goes over their limit
they get immediately called to the shop to make their payment in flesh,
after which I send them home with complimentary sections until the next time
they go over their limit."

I have to admit the knowledge that these tags we were using served as both
Credit cards and Lottery List numbers did cause me to ponder the whole crazy
business for a moment, and then I reluctantly glanced down, wondering just
what sort of "credit score" they gave me here since it was plain enough that
the only good thing to eat in this town was each other...and sooner or later
I was going to have to feed both myself and my husband.

I looked up with a start when I suddenly heard Merle turn to Martha and say,
"By the way, since you are here, I was meaning to ask...we're kind of short
for the day, and I was wondering if your friend and you could..."

"Help fill in for the slack?" Martha smiled back with a knowing look that I
swear was one of actual anticipation, "Well...Phil does need a new set of
clubs, so I guess he'll be able to afford them after all. You will call my
husband and inform him that I'll be a bit late getting home to dinner, and
that he's to start without me once Juanita's goose is properly cooked...and
please ask him to save some part of her for me when I do get back."

"Sure thing," Merle nodded, "You can count on me to cover all your bases."

Martha then turned to me again and with a conspiratorial wink asked, "So how
about it? Care to try yourself out? After all, you're going to be seeing a
lot of this place in the very near future..."

By all rights I should have hit the door running and never looked back, but
by now I was perversely intrigued with the whole bizarre show, and that shop
that could have rightfully been called a place of horrors were it not for
the cheerfully amiable atmosphere with which everyone went about with their
"business." The girls did not seem to mind being treated like cattle, and
Merle did not strike me as all that bad a sort (for a homicidal maniac he
had the southern charm of a true born Texan), so what can I say? I let
myself get talked into being hung for someone's dinner. It was really all
pleasantly civilized and all the way they stripped me down and bathed me
over, then got me fixed up in a display booth at the front end of the shop
where me and a bunch of other girls were left standing around on specially
rigged platforms with ropes tied about our necks and hands behind our backs,
preparing to have our necks be casually stretched at the whim of our
"customers," who were picking us out as if we were lobsters in a fish bowl.

Perhaps I should explain here that the idea of being hung has never before
even occurred to me, let alone as a nominally "consensual" exercise where
Martha and I were positioned side-by-side as naked as two Cornish game hens
preparing to meet our fate at the end of a rope like cattle rustlers of old,
and me without so much as a parking ticket against me. It really was
bizarrely casual as we stood there in a row upon a stage while customers
pointed in our directions and paid the requisite fee with a "Clit-tag"
credit card, which sealed the fate of whichever girl was selected.

The feeling of the silken rope around my neck was not an altogether
unpleasant expression. They chose to use something much softer than hemp so
as to minimize the uncomfortable bruise that the rope would be dealing to us
when it tightened around us. I felt as nervous as a cat on a griddle in a
Chinese restaurant standing there while they slipped it around me, all the
time my mind screaming "WHAT AM I DOING?!?" for going along with this whole
thing, knowing full well that they were planning to kill me (well, at least
temporarily, that is) and eat my body after I was dead. You can't imagine
how terrified I was of the whole idea of dying under these bizarre
circumstances. I kept expecting Tom to burst in there to rescue me at any
moment, but nothing of the sort was fated to happen as I was lifted up onto
the platform with the chord dangling with just a little slack, supported to
the bar over our heads with nothing between us and our impending execution
but the trigger finger of the man behind the counter negotiating with the
customers for the price of their "dinner."

And what kind of woman subjects herself to a thing like this you ask? Aside
from Martha? Read on, my friend, and you'll shortly uncover the answer to
that question.

For when I turned my head uneasily to see how the other girls in the row
were taking this whole thing I discovered to my right side, the one opposite
to Martha, a very attractive young black woman who was standing there on her
circular platform acting as though she were at a photo shoot, and as I
scrutinized her more closely I could swear that there was something familiar
about her face, as though I had seen her before on the cover of a magazine,
and with a start I recognized her as a beauty known simply as "Niobe."

I asked if it were her and she turned to smile to me and affirmed that it
was. I next asked the predictable question, "What are you doing here? I
thought you had a successful modeling career, and you were starting to
become an actress!"

"Starting to be," Niobe said back, "Didn't quite make the 'A'-list. I
burned out early and got hooked on drugs, then my career was shot to hell
after the pavaratzi got a-hold of some photos and...well...I came and made a
new life here, and now I'm happy."

"Happy?" I gasped, unable to help myself for looking her over, and admiring
her stunning profile which was absolute perfection.

"Compared to what I went through in the Modeling world?" she replied with a
knowing shrug, "Trust me, this is a cake walk, as opposed to a cat-walk."

I found it surprising to hear her say that, and I was very impressed at her
calm and confident demeanor, but still I had not convinced myself as yet
that a stretch on the ropes was anything but a one-way ticket to oblivion.
I said as much to her and received another one of those knowing looks that
people give you when they're humoring you for being a bit slow by their
standards.

"Believe it," she assured me, "If it comes down to being eaten alive by
friends and getting eaten alive by the critics, I'll take this gig any day.
Of course I had ancestors in my family tree who were lynched with far less
reason, but I'm sure my husband won't mind my boosting his account a little
so he won't be too upset at the other things that I purchased early today
using his credit."

"His" credit? I almost laughed bitterly at that notion, for the credit that
she was speaking about was none other than ourselves since Merle's business
was paying each of us a hefty sum for the privilege of killing us. That our
husbands should benefit from our ritual demise seemed hardly all that
reasonable, let alone sporting, but just as I was about to say as much I saw
a customer pointing to the tube beside me, and all at once the platform fell
out from under Martha.

She fell maybe a foot or two at the most and had her momentum halt abruptly
as the silken chords tightened around her and all at once her feet were
dangling over empty space as she reflexively kicked for a few moments then
ceased to struggle and just wiggled there, eyes bulging as she tried to gasp
for air, putting on quite a show by her struggles as they slowly died down
to a pause, and all at once she was ceased struggling altogether and just
hung there, slowly becoming utterly motionless.

I stared in dismay as Martha died before my eyes, and then I nearly wept
tears for her and myself since I had begun to care about her in spite of
myself...and I also knew that I would be next unless I found a way to
convince these people that it was all a mistake and that I was not intended
to be on the menu.

"Oh, don't worry," Niobe said from beside me, "She's not permanently gone,
and you can look her up later, after we all take a trip to the clone banks."

"Clone banks?" I gasped, "You mean...you don't mind the idea of people
taking a part of you and growing a whole new body?"

"Why should I mind?" my new friend asked as if suprised by the question, "In
a way it's a kind of immortality that we've been granted...and better still,
to always be young, healthy, beautiful and at the prime of our lives and
sexual performance? It's a model's dream come to life, and I for one am
grateful to be granted this opportunity. So what if the price is to
occasionally have to give up an old shell for a new one? It's only slightly
more complex than changing out of a wardrobe that you've outgrown...and see
these?" she indicated her mouth-watering breasts, "Don't even have to use
plastics to enhance them. They're one hundred percent natural and function
even better than my old ones and...ooops! Rime to go, got to cut this
short. Hope to see you later."

As she said this I saw that someone on the other side of the counter was
concluding their transaction with the clerk, and the man smiled and nodded
in Niobe's direction, then pushed the fateful button that caused the
platform to give out from under her, dropping her weight a foot and a half,
which was not enough to break her neck but it caused the rope to tighten up
around her, cutting her off from further speaking.

I stared in dismay down at the warm and vibrant woman as she kicked for a
bit then grew still. It took at least a full minute for her to fully expire
and then she just dangled there like a limp piece of meet, no longer alive,
no longer fully with us...and yet somehow not tragically gone either. I
knew intellectually that she would survive this experience and so did not
feel so much like grieving as perversely curious about what would happen
next in the process.

But then helpful attendants appeared to lower her body down onto a mobile
table, one of them slipping the noose off of her neck (with a bit of prying)
then they wheeled her carcass over to the counter and presented her to the
client for packaging and wrapping since these people obviously ordered her
whole rather than butchered up into meat parts (which is what I later
learned was done with Martha).

That left me and some of the other girls on the line, and one by one the
customers came by to purchase us, with new girls being brought in to replace
the ones who were dropped and taken. I knew that my turn would be coming up
at any moment and I was more than a bit worked up over the matter. I felt
more than merely naked, I felt exposed, raw and helpless with just a bit of
wood under my feet keeping the rope around my neck from spelling my doom. I
really was not so much enjoying the experience as I felt keenly aware of how
near to death I stood, that at any moment some customer could purchase me
and then I'd just be sold as meat with a bit of show-style entertainment to
provide by the means of my demise. Most strangely that actually added an
element of excitement to the whole perilous situation, and I marveled at my
own perversity that I could be sexually aroused by the tension, as though
standing there as potential food were some kind of kinky foreplay.

I guess my conflicted attitudes were more than apparent because all at once
I found a naked girl attendant positioning herself in front of me on the
platform, and smiling up with a cheerful expression as if to say "We're all
meat here," which is the camaraderie of a sisterhood to which I never
imagined belonging to, let alone embracing.

"Hi there," she said in a pleasantly sexy voice that---under different
circumstances---would have made me want to guy her a drink and possibly
order take out...on the breakfast menu later, "You look kind of tense, and
since this is your first time with us, I was instructed to try and help ease
you into your transition to meat. After all, you should be enjoying
yourself while you can, just like the rest of us."

"And how do you plan to do that?" I asked naively, as if the answer were not
obvious enough as she moved her face down to my crotch level and began to
put her tongue to a different use than common speech...or rather, she began
to communicate in a language that required no verbal sounds, other than the
slurping noises she made, and the grunting and groaning noises I made, which
were partially encumbered by when I inadvertently bent my knees and caused
the rope to tighten around my vocal chords.

To put it mildly I got heavily distracted by her efforts, and I only avoided
hanging myself by learning to bent my feet and stand on my toes rather than
put all my weight onto the rope. By that means I could tighten it to a
point where it was uncomfortable but not too constricting and still enjoy
the delights of a skillful cunnalingas as I waited around for my moment to
come, and when it finally did I hardly even noticed it as I was too far gone
into orgasm to feel the platform give out from under me as I dropped a foot
or so, still caught up in the moment, even wrapping my legs around that
girl's head so that I could enjoy a few more moments of delirious ecstasy
before the rope took my breath away altogether.
I can't say that I remember anything about the transition point that
followed my demise, but I do recall waking up inside a rich warm environment
with a breathing mask over my nose and mouth, and then I looked around and
found myself floating inside some sort of aqueous chamber, like a fish on a
line only nothing remotely uncomfortable about it.

The technicians saw that I had revived and got me out of there. Apparently
waking up in a clone that was just barely matured isn't usually a part of
the general program. To put it simple, I felt a bit disoriented as I
glanced around at concerned faces---mostly clothed female I realized with a
start---and then at the rows of tubes similar to the one that I had just
occupied, and the naked female forms hovering in their chambers waiting for
activation, and feeling as though someone had directed me to the wrong
version of the afterlife. Is was neither hell nor heaven, but I was alive
and that was there, so best make the most of the issue and keep on
breathing.

Well, I got the grant tour of the place shortly after my revival, and then I
hooked up with Martha again, who had been revived in the "Recovery Room"
where already grown and waiting clones are stored. Out of curiosity I
looked up Niobe and found her similarly hale, hardy and as vivacious as
before her hanging. It was truly striking and exhilarating at one and the
same moment, and I felt the sudden urge to screw come over me like a tingle
that grew into a flame of desire, so at Niobe's suggestion we retired to a
room reserved for the purpose of helping clones to "work it off" and set to
serious business screwing one another until we'd thoroughly sated our
awakened libidos.

And you know, it's true what they say...Dark Meat tastes just as good as the
White kind, when it's properly basted...

In a way it was like celebrating life itself, of reminding us that we were
alive and that being so was a cause to celebrate, so we took it up with
great gusto and had a great time, then got dressed in casual wear that was
provided to us and went our separate ways, Niobe rejoining some friends who
were hosting a dinner in her honor...some modeling thing called a "Cattle
Call," to which Martha and me were cheerfully invited (and yes, as you might
guess, it was a cookout).

So here I am brining my story around to where it started out, with me and
some other new friends that I've made in the months since coming to Dolcett
parading ourselves on the stage for the honor of being this year's
celebrated "Corn Maiden," which I think is based on an Aztec ritual of some
sort. Probably nothing more than just another kinky excuse to cook and eat
women...but by this point I don't mind that a bit. I've turned thoroughly
cannibal and delight in eating my fellow woman when she's properly prepared
and tasty. I've even been to a few "man roasts," but I think I prefer to
eat my own kind for the most part since Fem meat is lighter and tastier
without all that Testosterone to mess up the flavor of the spices.

I still have occasional qualms about the whole scene and what I'm doing in
it, and sometimes stuff can be carried pretty far to the point where it
hardly seems as much like a game as a way of deliberately unleashing the
dark side of one's libido, indulging in every quirky perversion you can
imagine without fear of consequences since everyone else is doing the same
thing, and nobody really gets hurt in any permanent sense...aside from the
occasional "accidents" and glitches that randomly occur within the otherwise
perfect system.

And want to you know something? I don't mind at all being a part of the
menu here. There's something deliriously sexy about ingesting the flesh of
a lover, and being ingested by a lover is also just as good, especially
since I've learned all kinds of interesting recipes to try out...and me
never before the domestic sort before discovering myself in a place that
they call Dolcett.

So if you stop by and want to have a slice of heaven on your platter, be
sure to look me up at Jake's Local Hog Farm since I'll be doing a tour there
by next month (Tom bog a good deal and I consider it a vacation, and I've
already picked out a prized slave girl for him to screw while I'm
away...somebody I've gotten rather fond of myself, nearly as much as I love
sharing "meat" with my neighbor, Martha).

Ciao for now, I think I'm about to be selected. Hope it doesn't hurt too
much when they sacrifice me on that altar...they say obsidian knives are as
sharp as the real kind, but you never know...and anyway, I'll be tongued by
the runner ups so I won't have time to really notice. Enjoy the feast that
follows, and I'll be seeing our around somewhere...on or off the dinner
table, wearing a smile (and little else), quite happy with my new existence
since I have more fun than I ever did before coming here...and if you try
the lifestyle you might even find you like it...

To be Continued.