"communion"

Posted by Menagerie on June 25, 2004 at 05:53:56:

COMMUNION
The courier was still standing in front of Sarah as if frozen in time, leaning forward slightly, rocking a little, holding the electronic notepad and its stylus out to her. Sarah, too, was almost frozen, her mouth half-ajar as she looked into his eyes. The reflected light within them was plaintive, peaceful; through his eyes, the courier seemed to shrug, to say, “Shall we?” She snapped out of it, hurriedly accepted the box, scratched her signature on it, handed it back, an earnest look on her face. He accepted it but stood for a while yet, still looking at her; she blushed. Then he put his hand to the bill of his cap. “I’m a Member, you know,” he said. She smiled. “Good,” she said, her voice just a little shaky. “We shall be free!” He nodded, and left.
The blue envelope still sat on her desk, unopened. She knew what it said; well, not every word. She knew what it meant. It had the seal bearing the insignia of the Congregation on it. It was her turn.
It had all started in the early part of the century, with the World Accord. The evidence of global warming had become overwhelming; the government had finally agreed to scale back the country’s use of fuels. Pressures on the economy followed; people went from prosperity to homelessness overnight. At the same time, policies adopted with the tight job market brought a flood of immigrants into the country. With demand growing, not shrinking, resources were tight and dear; many went back to rustic living, subsistence agriculture, wilderness dwelling.
The lack of desirable food—meat is a costly commodity to raise—had brought episodes of cannibalism, sometimes initiated by the desperation of hungry people, sometimes by the decadence of those who still had wealth and would pay for the privilege of again enjoying the fibers of flesh between their teeth. But there were also those who saw it as a higher calling, a way to preserve what they saw as their country’s divinely ordained station. Thus began the Congregation, the cult that believed it was saving the nation by sacrificing its females to the hunger of the many. At first just ritual and hidden, eventually out in the open—euthanasia laws, long resisted by the government, were adopted in the midst of the shortages and population surge. Women who voluntarily went to slaughter were within their rights. Still, the Congregation remained a peculiarity, a group on the edge, no solution to the real problems Society had thrust upon itself…
Then a Congregist was elected President.
Suddenly, euthanasia was no longer frowned upon, not even just tolerated, but cherished. The President himself had escorted his own daughter Kerry to the door of the Processor on national television; swallowing bravely, the young woman had been wearing an attractive white dress as she entered the Processor to meet her destiny, and the white “Kerry” dresses suddenly became the rage, young Congregist women donning them as an insignia of their faith and beliefs. Scores, hundreds, thousands of young women followed Kerry’s example, eagerly committing their all to saving their nation from itself. “We shall,” they chorused, stepping forward at the weekly selection of volunteers, “be free.”
The selection process became unwieldy; the Congregists had become the country’s biggest religion. They turned to a lottery, sanctioned by the government, to select that week’s sacrifices. Members were chosen randomly; they were officially registered, their DNA inscribed within the memories of government computers. They had no place else to go if the blue envelope arrived at their homes, their offices…
Sarah had no desire to go anywhere. She felt an unease, a distress, but she was a true Member; she had been too young to volunteer, but had seen family members step forward, herded into the trucks to the Processor, smiling and waving as they rode gaily to their dooms. Now that the lots were being drawn, women she had known, whose lives she had shared, had gone to feed the many, to save the nation…
There had been Mandi, she of the broad smile and hazel eyes; she had come eagerly to Sarah’s desk, proudly showed the envelope. “For a Gathering!” she said excitedly. “You will come, of course?” Sarah had nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it…” She had watched as Mandi’s bare body had slowly turned over the spit, juices dripping from her ample flanks and full breasts and hissing as they struck the embers in the pit, as the Elders had read the passages from the Congregation’s early days and Mandi’s family celebrated her sacrifice. She joined in the singing, the recitation of their vows: “We are flesh for the many…we will feed our Brothers and Sisters…that we shall be stronger…that our nation shall be stronger…that we shall throw off our burdens…that we shall be free!” And then there was Mandi, charred, lifeless, in a large, greasy aluminum pan, and slabs of her meat for all. It had been good; it had been sweet. Sarah had known it would be.
And there had been Brittany. She had not been as pleased, as eager. She had been nervous. She bit her lip, looked across the table at Sarah. Her eyes showed fear. “I never thought I’d be picked,” she said, her voice quavering. “The odds are so high…” Sarah reached out, clasped her wrist. Brittany had been persuaded to join the Congregation just last year, at the behest of a long-gone boyfriend. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m going to the Plant,” she said. “I’m to be turned into sausage. I’m just meat!” Sarah cooed sympathetically, and pictured Brittany nude, her slender frame being dissected by hard-eyed Plant workers, her muscles pared from her bones and shoved into a grinder the size of a wall, the pink-and-white mass emerging from the other end…undistinguishable from that of the other women; Sarah shuddered. Mandi’s lot had been so dignified, so proper. Sarah hoped that, if her time came…no, when her time came…
For there was a deliciousness about it, a dark desire that belied the sense of communion and sacrifice. Endlessly, Sarah had pictured herself at the plant; stripped, bound, waiting to be placed on the machine that would convert her from a vibrant young woman to a gutted, spitted carcass, ready to be roasted to serve friends and fellow worshippers. She had closed her eyes and imagined the long, steel pole coursing through her body, the emptiness as her bowels, no longer encumbered by her abdominal wall, fell into the shining trough. She had felt the heat as her body turned endless over the pit, the white hot coals draining her fluids, drawing the fat from her flesh, her skin hardening and yet becoming more fragile…the metamorphosis from woman to meat…
And so, she could not understand the fears of Brittany. Or of Tabetha. Tabetha had been a runner. She failed to show up at the Plant; her clothes were gone from her apartment. But the laws were strict; you could not be served a meal, you could not find lodging, you could not board a shuttle, without an Identifier, a test with the microscopic needle that penetrated your finger and revealed your DNA to the world…that told the clerk, the proprietor, the driver just who you were. And who was looking for you. Tabetha had hidden until she could no longer bear hunger; the operator of the soup kitchen, herself a Congregist, had scolded the tearful young woman and ignored her pleas as she notified the authorities. Tabetha was clapped in chains, held for the monthly Show.
The Show was a powerful disincentive for Congregists to abandon their commitments. Some of the runners were hanged and slowly strangled, their bare legs kicking as the cameras zoomed in. Some were chained to weights in an emptied pool, a pool that was then filled, their bodies rising until the weights no longer allowed them to remain above the water. And some would be roasted alive; Tabetha was among them, a dozen squealing, protesting women, struggling against their bonds as the coals tormented them. Runners had become fewer; perhaps it was the pain…perhaps, the ignominy. Sarah still couldn’t believe Tabetha had been a friend, to run like that. Why…didn’t she know they were saving the nation, saving their brethren? We shall, she thought as she stared vacantly at the envelope, be free.
Allison heard, heard quickly. “Congratulations,” she giggled; the strawberry blonde was wearing a skirt that barely concealed the point where her luscious thighs joined her torso. She had stood next to Sarah at Ceremony, proudly reciting their cant, the creed that gave them strength; she had devoured the flesh at Gatherings, shredding meat from bone she held with both hands, her head rearing back as an animal’s. She shared Sarah’s fantasies; they had talked them out, even played them out together, Sarah presiding over Allison’s naked body as her friend lay on the fold-out couch in her little apartment, pretending to season and to baste her…and finally, sinking her teeth into the dully shimmering skin, the soft curve of the buttock. Allison had gasped, and then come. “I wish it was me,” she purred; Sarah shook her head. “I waived my right to transfer,” she said. “My sacred duty.”
“Where will you be…” asked Allison—not the Plant!
Sarah shook her head; for the first time since the courier had arrived, a faint smile. “Tabernacle.” Allison’s hands flew to her face; her mouth made an O. “My goodness—what an honor!” Sarah was to roasted and served on the Highest Day; millions would be watching as they partook of their own ceremonies at home. Allison grinned in a lopsided fashion. “I could dye my hair, maybe lose a few pounds…no one would know the difference.” No; the honor would be Sarah’s, alone.
But that didn’t lessen the tension, and a little bit of gnawing fear. She got her belongings in order; bequeathed her trust, as so many faithful did, to the Congregation. She underwent the required medical test…to demonstrate her fertility; after all, that was what the ritual, the Ceremony, was meant to accomplish—to take one more female away, to remove the strains that overpopulation had brought. She indulged herself a little; rich meals, hot baths, a short trip to the Valley, just to meditate and to be a part of nature. We are all consumed, she had thought; it starts low, and moves up, and up…soon, we are all one…we will all be free!
He came the evening before. “Are you ready?” he asked; he had brought a valise, would stay the night.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Sarah confessed; he had said he would be there as one of her invited guests, would join in the feast as her roasted flesh was divided. They had shared the meat many times, laughing as they split in two a steak from the back or thigh of a female friend, that friend resting in her own juices in the large pan on the table, wisps of steam rising from her carcass…”But you’ve been such a help,” she said.
Their last night was one of unending joy; he probed every one of her orifices, filling each with his cock and his seed. She took it in hungrily, voraciously massaging the organ with her lips and tongue…and sucking it into her body with exaggerated hip thrusts, as if to draw his essence through the head with each motion…and even passively, his manhood embedded in her asshole, she clenched her sphincter as if to close it off between the buns, to prevent it from escaping, ever. In between, his mouth explored her entire body, her skin tingling as his hands ran over the smooth flesh as it rose and fell in the succulence of pure womanhood.
Each session brought from him as massive an orgasm as she’d ever seen him have, his face locked into the delirious pain of ecstasy…and for Sarah, it was explosion, then exhaustion…then building, explosion again…by the end of the night, she was totally spent. She couldn’t imagine they could have done more. She lay nude, watching as he dressed. He tightened the tie, grinned at her; she smiled sleepily, but ever diligent, ever committed, was mindful of the time. “Need a lift?” he asked. No, she said; “I’ve made arrangements; my car goes to the Congregation. They’ll pick it up.”
He nodded, stooped over her; they shared a final full, warm kiss, their lips as flush as if they were joined, the flavors of their mouths intermingling. He straightened, put a hand on her bare shoulder, a faint squeeze. “Then,” he said, “I’ll see you there…”
“Name?” said the official at the gate; he wore the insignia of the Congregation, clasped hands over a full dinner plate, on the lapel of his dark suit. Sarah told him; he looked down, then looked at her closely, peering at her trim figure for a moment. “Do you mind submitting to a test?” he asked, pointing to the Identifier; she did not—there had been those who’d tried to avoid making their sacrifice at the Plant, seeking instead to be among the relatively few whose bodies were destined to be exalted at Gatherings. She stuck a finger into the metal ring, felt the faint pressure as the microscopic needle drew blood. The data flew off and returned at light speed; the man read the screen, and his craggy face creased into a broad smile. “Congratulations, Sister Sarah,” he said softly as the printer chattered; he handed her the sheet. “Give this to the Brother at the desk. We shall be free!”
The main door led to an anteroom, harshly lit; there were boxes of clothes, and two women within were undressing under the watchful eye of a tall man in the white jacket and denim pants of the Processor worker. Sarah handed him the printout; he glanced at it. “The Tabernacle!” he exclaimed; the two half-naked women stopped in the midst of stripping and gaped at Sarah, open-mouthed. “Oh, wow!” said one, a dark-haired, pale, eager-looking girl barely out of her teens; her bra and panties bit into her chubby, soft flesh. The other, darker, thinner and older, stepped out of her skirt. “How wonderful for you!” she smiled. Sarah thanked them, slipped out of her shoes, fiddled with the zipper on her skirt. As the young girl unsnapped her brassiere she went on, “I’m Kelly. I’m going to Provisions; Dad is a Sexton and tried to…” She bit her lip, hooked her thumbs in the nylon print panties and wrestled them past her wide hips. “I understand, Kelly,” said Sarah as her own skirt slipped to the floor; the tall man glanced at Kelly’s pudenda—clean-shaven, as was expected. “We all do what we can for the Congregation. Your body—” she took in the chunky girl’s full breasts and round belly, her thickly fleshed thighs—“will bring us one step closer to our goals.” Kelly stood, her arms wrapped around her midsection, looking at the floor; she smiled. “Thank you,” she said softly; the man pushed a button, and as an automatic door slid open, the girl pushed through.
“Poor dear,” said the darker woman, pulling a shoulder free of her blouse. “I am going to a Ceremony—not such as yours, of course, but—” a smile flitted across her face, “Father is influential within the Congregation movement in my own country; he ensured that my sacrifice would be well respected by a distinguished Gathering. ‘Rika,’ he told me, ‘we must overcome prejudices within our movement, or we shall never be free!’”
Sarah understood; old barriers die hard, even in this difficult new world. There had been an embarrassment when her friend Alexis, gutted, spitted and still wriggling, had been delivered to a Gathering in a rural area; they had rejected her for no other reason than her dark skin, and Alexis’ beautiful carcass had been forlornly boned and turned into ground meat at the Plant. The local Chapter had been sternly reprimanded for its arrogant ways—wasting the meat of one of the loyal disciples of the Congregation!—and the wife of their leader had been committed to the Highest Day feast of an Afro Ceremony. The leader of the rural Chapter had attended, too; had renounced his shallowness, and joined his Brothers and Sisters as they celebrated with her meat their inclusion in the seamless society of the Congregation.
Rika dropped her undergarments into a box, turned to Sarah, her eyes shining. “We are all here for one purpose—to serve the Congregation,” she said, and Sarah nodded, felt her joy. “My Sister…we shall be free.” And proudly, the nude woman strode through the automated door.
Sarah, too, was nearly finished undressing; the tall man took in her voluptuous curves, her legs trim and yet full…a ripe posterior, the twin globes plump and a glossy rose in the bright fluorescence of the room. Her breasts, uncapped as she removed her bra, remained firm and high; her figure sloped seductively, from the chest burdened by the luscious teats, into a trim waist that then bloomed into wide, womanly hips. Her blonde hair framed rounded, attractive shoulders. He was approving. “I see so few that earn their way to the feast at the Tabernacle…” As Sarah shed her remaining garments, another rather plain-looking young woman entered and presented her paperwork, then gasped at the sight of Sarah, magnificent in her nudity. “Oh, my…” she gulped; the man looked at the paper, then at the woman. “She is going to the Tabernacle, Carol,” he said soothingly.
“How wonderful!” Carol cried, slipping out of her loafers. “I’m assigned to Kitchen; how I’d wished…” The man shook his head. He pressed the button; the door hummed open again. “The farthest door on the right, Sarah. We shall be free!”
There were three doors on the right; naked women stood in line before the first two, patiently waiting their turns to enter the food chain. One was marked, PROVISIONS; these were women destined to be butchered for parts and sold. Proceeds went to the Congregation; the wealthy, willing to substitute human flesh for animal in these times, would pay dearly for them, and the women considered it a point of pride that their bodies would so benefit their cause. From the front of the line, Kelly spotted her, waved timidly, then stumbled through as the door slid open. Sarah was tempted to look inside; she knew they used a guillotine, that Kelly’s headless body would quickly be hanging by its feet with a row of others, the conveyor carrying them to the room where they would be prepared for the marketplace…She kept walking, though, striding determinedly toward her destiny…
The second door read, KITCHEN. These women were to be processed for the Congregation’s own, those who had sacrificed and stood ready to give of their own flesh if called upon. Sarah saw an immediate difference; the plumpness, lushness of flesh present in Kelly and the other women whose bodies were marketed to support the Congregation was not as favorable in this group. They were leaner, less ripe, and—“Carole?”
“Sarah? Oh, my God!” The slender blonde was among those in the Kitchen line; the nude women embraced each other. “You, too? Well, surely not—” Carole looked at the sliding door before her; a skinny girl of Asian descent looked blankly at the two of them, then stepped through. It closed behind her.
“No,” said Sarah, a little embarrassed. “Gathering.” She looked into Carole’s eager face. “It’s so good to see you; I’d lost track—didn’t even know you were a Member!”
“Oh, sure,” Carole giggled, “and Chelsie, too; she went before me—we came down together. Both in the Kitchen, both to serve our Brothers and Sisters.” She looked down, regretfully, at her wispy frame. “Not much here, I’m afraid,” she said sadly. “But you—you look so wonderful. Why, they should deliver you to the Tabernacle!” The door opened; Carole padded inside. “Bye-bye!” she called, the sound echoing across the busy room she was entering, chains cranking, gears grinding…the sounds of saws, the clank of metal…Sarah paused for a moment, closed her eyes, and thought about it—Carole, and Chelsie, their heads lopped off with a practiced blade, their lean bodies split open, divided into cuts of meat—legs, loins, ribs, arms, shoulders, packaged and dated, distributed to Congregists who would praise the fresh meat as proof their way was the way, that by offering to sacrifice their own young women, they were able to share what most no longer had…
GATHERING was the door Sarah wanted; there was no line here—these women were specially selected for the Ceremonies, only a few of them, and the room was not filled with the shackles and conveyor belts of the first two. Each Member whose sacrifice ended here was handled as if she was a dainty for a king’s setting; Sarah knew she would just be meat, like the rest, but a sweet and delicate meat whose very appearance was emblematic to the core of the Congregist’s beliefs. She looked out; there were but a half dozen machines, and only one was occupied—two white-clad workers lifting the impaled body of an attractive young woman off its mount and carrying her to a waiting delivery truck. Sarah stood transfixed by the sheer simplicity of it all; in just moments, she would be pierced and hollowed, ready to become the main course of a grand and glorious banquet…“Hi,” said a voice beside her.
She hadn’t even noticed; another nude girl stood beside her, a girl’s whose ripe and abundant figure mirrored her own. “Are you going to the Tabernacle, too?” she asked breathlessly. “Isn’t it exciting? My whole family is so proud; they’re all going to be there.” Her name was Sue; she had brown hair, full breasts, long legs. The two of them teetered on bare feet on a steel platform, waited for direction; the door had coldly closed behind them. “Have you ever been to the Tabernacle?” she wondered; No, said Sarah, although she’d joined in Ceremonies on the Highest Day before. Her friend Julie had been roasted just the year before; Sarah had watched closely as Julie’s eyes wobbled, reflecting the delirium of all that had happened and was happening to her. Her slender body was dripping in its own sweat and juices; the moisture was bubbling out of her and was running in rivulets down her back and sides, drops falling one by one from her nipples into the gas-powered burner at the foot of the altar. Julie’s feet vainly wriggled back and forth against the bonds holding her legs to the spit; roasting took a few hours and Gatherings were lengthy affairs, with much ceremony, recitation and camaraderie.
When the actual hour of the feast arrived, Julie looked far different, blackened by the heat and smoke, her skin glistening with grease. Her eyes were closed, now, but her jaw remained half-open, as it had been while it was clenched tightly around the spit. She was still sizzling, laying on her belly in the pan, her flowing tresses dangling over its sides. The Priests told the story of the first Gathering, the women who had given of themselves to feed the Congregists…while the guests lined up with plates, and the Sexton carved liberal chunks off Julie’s butt, thighs and back, and served the still-steaming, pinkish meat to them. Sarah had gotten a slab from below the girl’s ribs; it had been so juicy, and tender…The aroma had filled her head, and she closed her eyes as she chewed the meat, letting the juices run down her throat a few drops at a time…
Hands on her backside brought Sarah out of that reverie; men were guiding Sue and her to the main floor. They bound the girls’ hands behind their backs in an efficient manner, gently locked them into the automated devices, side by side. Sarah felt clamps close over her heels, a strap fastened against her back; suddenly, cold steel was pressed against her rectum. Sue squealed; Sarah knew she’d felt the same. “This is it,” she panted; she glanced over at Sue as best she could, her head locked into place by the device. The other woman’s eyes were cast downward; she was breathing heavily…
It was so abrupt as to be more shocking than agonizing. The steel spear plunged through Sarah, violating her sphincter and making its deadly way through her torso. Meanwhile, the razor edge passed through her belly; Sarah felt her insides…disappear, not there anymore. She involuntarily lurched against her bindings; her fingers curled, uselessly. A cold from within; a jet was cleaning her abdominal wall; then, as if by an invisible granny’s hands, coarse twine was dragged through the open flaps of her belly with a skewer, and her tummy was closed up. Sarah’s chest was filling, then her throat…then, astonishingly, the metal tip protruded, dripping gore; it found the metal ring, locked into place. Sarah stared cross-eyed at it with dull surprise; she had been whole a moment ago, now, just…meat, just still-warm protein. For the fire, for the Gathering, for the Congregation…
Strong hands unlatched her ankles, then firmly crossed and tied them behind her to the pole. A man in a white, blood-spattered coat stood in front of her and did the same to her wrists; she rolled her eyes to look up at him, but he didn’t look down. His eyes were placid, peaceful…just like the courier. The courier delivered an envelope; the Processor worker would deliver…her…
He finished binding her; a gloved hand grabbed the end of the pole. Another was behind her; she was hoisted in the air, hanging helpless on the spit, being trundled to the waiting delivery truck. Sue was being carried in front of her; Sarah focused on Sue’s plump butt, the spit jutting from between her cheeks, the firm ass bouncing up and down with each set…and she heard it. “Mmmmmrf,” and again. It was Sue, still trying to communicate through the stainless steel that had permanently silenced her. Quiet, thought Sarah, and a tear trickled down her cheek…it will soon be done…
They were nestled together in the back of the truck, each on her right side, Sarah’s full breasts and empty belly against Sue’s back and buttocks. The brown haired girl squirmed, feebly; despite her agony, Sarah could still enjoy the warm flesh rubbing against her own, and thought ahead…she’d been to so many Ceremonies, so many Gatherings, had enjoyed the flesh and wondered what the woman had thought as she turned over the fire. Now, she would know, she would…would know…and a burst of passion overcame the pain, filled her with the triumph of the martyr, for her flesh would feed all, would satisfy all…
The twin spits were ready at the Altar; Sarah was becoming dizzier, more lightheaded, but still could make out the magnificence of the Tabernacle, the bright sun shining through the laser-etched glass paintings of past Gatherings, the founding of the Congregation, the persecutions and then the triumph; one depicted Kerry roasting on the spit, her white dress shimmering nearby. The heat of the brazier was just warming at first, for a young woman must be roasted slowly and with care; eventually, rotating once every 20 seconds, Sarah began to feel singed, then burned. Her breasts were on fire; her belly, shrinking with the heat, pulling at the strands that held it closed. Her skin felt dry, then wet; her juices were leaving her, she thought frantically, and momentarily panicked, trying to kick her bound feet against the spit. She heard a murmur; they were watching, family and friends, the man she loved…even Allison! “Is it too late to take your place?” the auburn haired girl cried out gaily, and Sarah closed her eyes for the last time…concentrated on her fate, and on the feast to come…
The sepia bodies were laid end to end in a large pan; their juices would mingle. Sarah’s and Sue’s faces were locked permanently in the expression of the spitted ones—head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth hanging open. As was traditional on the Highest Day, the priests accepted the right breasts of each, and severed from them a sliver. They ate it, then praised it: “Our Sisters who have given of themselves to feed us, let us give thanks…” Then the banquet began; steaks from the women’s backs and sides, the choicest cuts, to their family; slices of thigh meat, from their slender calves, the meat that covered their ribs. The murmur grew to a hubbub, then to a shout, as plates with the women’s flesh circulated the giant Tabernacle, and appreciative Congregists hollered their praise as they dug in. Meat came easily off the bones, leaving two empty vessels in which there had once been life; now, that life was in the bellies of those who had shared with them. They had been glorious in life, and were glorious as feasts. “We are flesh for the many…we will feed our Brothers and Sisters…that we shall be stronger…that our nation shall be stronger…that we shall throw off our burdens…”
Free.