Posted by PK on February 03, 2006 at 07:07:18:
Somebody on another group pointed out that I never finished posting this. The first part is in the archive.
Gina watched the newly shaven Helen lie down on the butcher's table. Chef had ordered her to
return to work, but Helen had insisted on her staying 'to keep her company' and when Helen
insisted, the matter was closed. After a brief discussion on the matter of her preparation, she
decided to leave it to the experts.
"I'm sure you know your business," she said. "Perhaps my friend here...." she looked discomfited
as she remembered that she hadn't asked the girl's name. How gauche. Oh, the Chef had said it:
" - Gina - might have a suggestion?"
"Like Donna?" Gina offered tentatively.
Chef looked annoyed. He wasn't about to be dictated to by a waitress, an ingredient. On the other
hand, it wasn't a bad idea. "That could work," he admitted grudgingly.
Gina was surprised he even remembered her. "It was one of your best," she said smarmily. "A
masterpiece." Her almost total recall meant that she could never forget it.
"Sounds fascinating," said Helen drily. "Exactly what is a 'Donna?'"
Chef explained in florid detail, replete with recondite culinary jargon.
"Gina?"
"They cut your tits off and serve them garnished on a plate. It looks good, trust me. Your cunt
gets done medium rare with your butt steaks. It's good."
Chef overlooked the vulgarity of the exposition. "How many people?" he asked Gina. She told
him.
"It needs something else." He ran a hand over Helens elegant right leg. "A thigh roast as a
centerpiece, something they can carve off the bone..."
"Wonderful," Helen said. "Let's do that. She fingered herself delicately. "Can I watch you dissect
me?"
"Ah, up to a point," Chef said, "The breasts, I suppose. After that it gets a little messy if you
still.....well, we usually..."
"I'm sure you'll do your best," Helen said. "Lay on, MacDuff. Oh, the rest of me?"
"Normally, we'd serve you to the other customers, but...."
"Fine, go ahead."
Gina watched as Chef took a very sharp, very broad knife and separated Helen's breasts from her
ribcage, sliding them expertly onto a tray. Helen gasped and panted a little. She was bleeding but
not spurting.
"I'm afraid we need your legs and filet next, and that's a bit too much unless we...ah.."
"Kill me?" Helen gasped. "Well, par for the course. Not entirely unexpected." She leaned upward
with an effort and regarded her detached mammaries critically. "Don't they look nice? Do treat
them gently or I shall haunt you. One more thing..."
"Yes?"
"My husband gets my 'filet' as you have it. The rest, as you like. I want Gina to have a souvenir. A
place at the table or takeaway, her choice." She smiled at Gina. "Call it a tip."
Gina watched as Chef took a large cleaver and cut Helen's head off. She didn't know if Helen
came as she was killed, she only knew that she did. Just a minor orgasm, not enough to diminish
her arousal at all. A teaser. Chef didn't notice, he was busy. Helen had barely stopped twitching
before he started to cut her up, using a variety of lethal implements. Gina was fascinated. This
was what had happened to Donna. Of course, she might have been delegated to a subordinate,
Mrs Mansfield demanded personal attention even now.
"You still here?" Chef said, noticing her at last when the back of the job was broken. "Get back to
work. She won't be needing you any more until she's ready."
Gina spared a last glance at the dark, sightless eyes in Helen's detached head, recording the
image in her photographic memory. How much had she seen? "She said.."
"I know what she said. You'll serve her to the table when she's ready to serve. If they want you to
join them, they'll ask. If not..." he sighed impatiently, "You can have a piece of what's left if you
like, okay? Now if you don't mind.."
Gina got back to work. She politely informed the table that their meal was on the way and busied
herself with the trivial tasks that kept the place running, staving off boredom and tension by
replaying music in her head. She could recall anything she'd ever heard almost as vividly as if
she was actually hearing it She had less control over what would appeal to her mood, it was no
use invoking Mozart when she wanted Led Zeppelin. Lack of self discipline, she chided herself. It
didn't help. She worked her way through a selection from 'Physical Graffiti' with an ironic
excursion to 'Won't Get Fooled Again' before becoming mired in the oddly dark textures of 'In
Through the Out Door'. That left her mind's multitasking capacity for self examination running on
slow, but it came in between time slices of distracted attention.
"Gina?"
Should she eat Helen? Why not, the woman had wanted her to. Some of the others did that
when there were leftovers, as there usually were. A melange of reasons for and against fought it
out in her mind.
"Gina!" Melanie hissed, looking impatient. "You're wanted. Your table's meal is ready. You know,
the rich bitch." For fashion fans, Melanie was wearing one of those lacy, transparent bras that
didn't so much conceal the breasts as package and display them.
The rich bitch had touched her, empathic, touchy-feely, warm and fuzzy Gina thought. "Okay,
dammit, I'll do it," she said. Part of that was 'okay, I'll do my job'. Part of it wasn't. Switch to
'Trampled Underfoot'. Go.
Table eight's party was in full swing, and a different time zone. Alcoholic relativity. For them, little
time had passed at all before the waitress came back bearing food. She ferried platters of Helen,
prepared a la Donna, as the conversation staggered on.
Anthony wasn't drunk enough to fail to recognise that this was the waitress who had served them
first, the one who had left with his wife. He was on his second wind, way past the confusion of the
first drink and on the plateau. If she was here, the steaming meat being served really was Helen.
"What's bothering you is that you won't be fucking her tonight," Michael teased him. Michael
didn't have a plateau, he was all on one level. Before drinking, he was an asshole. After drinking,
he was an asshole who slurred. Of course, even assholes may speak truth on occasion. Not the
whole truth, but a little bit of it. The truth was that Helen was - had been - great in bed. A perfect
lady in public and a whore in the bedroom. And after this sort of meal she was always just a little
bit wilder, more passionate. Dammit, she was the best lay he'd ever had. He'd had a few
mistresses while they were married - for a man of his status in America it was practically required
- but none for long because they just weren't as good as his wife. Helen had been perfectly
aware of this, she hadn't cared because she hadn't perceived them as credible rivals. When his
last mistress was injured in a traffic accident, Helen had visited her in hospital with flowers and
grapes. They had got on like a house on fire. Anthony never asked if they got it on in other ways
but he had his suspicions.
"Oh, poor Uncle Tony," Petra teased. "Marry me, darling! I've always had a thing for older men.
Boys just don't know how to be truly decadent."
Gina reverted to Zep's 'Custard Pie' as she served Helen's filet to her husband. It looked and
smelled delicious.
He raised his head and their eyes met. Volumes of information exchanged in an eyeblink. Gina
switched to "The Sensual World". Love and Anger, thank you Kate.
"Or you could ask the waitress for a date," Petra went on. "Now we're not going to eat her, she's
free. Well, not tonight, anyway. You here next week?" This addressed to Gina.
{When it's so deep that you don't think that you can talk about it
Don't ever think that you can't change the past and the future..Cue guitar by Dave Gilmour,
splitting the skies : What would we do without you? Kate inquired urgently...]
"Possibly," Gina's social persona fielded for her. If I'm still here by then. Eat Helen. Then I'll know
what I'll taste like when they cook me. And when had it turned into 'when' and not 'if', she
wondered? "Was there anything else?" Talk about asking for it. Suppose he likes the Chef's
recipe for filet de femme so much he wants another one?
"This really is Helen, isn't it?" Anthony asked her plainly. No affectation of sophisticated
indifference there, it mattered to him. Despite herself, Gina rather liked him for that.
"Yes Sir, it is. I saw her..." Being killed, she didn't say aloud, she didn't have to. "To the kitchen.
She wanted....she chose the, ah, presentation."
Anthony nodded acknowledgement. "With your help, I presume?"
"Yes," Gina admitted. I cannot tell a lie. I'm toast. She knew from the non-verbal contact that he
wanted something from her. Her loins tingled. Her previous minor orgasm made them glisten,
she imagined, she could feel the sticky moisture as it cooled from small air currents and pulled
subtly at her tissues. Her pubic hair was a spider's web. She wanted contact.
"Exquisite taste," Cleonie confirmed through a mouthful of Helen's breast. She deigned to notice
Gina for the purpose of the quip: "Both of you." She didn't need to stress the double entendre.
Now and Zen again, Gina : With your head, hands, heart and arms wrapped around my family
pride, she paraphrased. She had the odd and irrational conviction that Anthony was hearing the
same music, contact-tripping.
But then I suppose that anything goes. I've got a fire in my eyes, I've got a date with delight.
Anthony .....You're hot and you tease..I'm your tall cool one and I'm built to please..
"Would you like to join us?" Anthony said in the way that involves actual words. You know, sonic
vibrations, structured language, all that civilised stuff. Angelic propaganda. His eyes veered
downward.
Which was what Helen had wanted, wasn't it? "I'd love to." Animal Gina sat down next to him,
cutting off his view of her furry cunt. A doe feasting with tigers? Helen's seat. She started to get
back up. "Sorry, should I get dressed?" She wondered if she would be invited to reuse Helen's
clothes, still on the table but bundled up.
"Dressed for dinner?" somebody said.
"Up to you," Anthony said. "But you can come as you are if you like."
Could she do this? Chef might be furious. Golly gee, she might get fired. Be still my trembling
heart. But no, she reminded herself. The customer is always right.
"I'm fine," she said, helping herself to a Helen-steak from a hot platter without asking. "It's a
legacy," she explained minimally and apologised not at all. Hello again, she told Helen as she cut
a piece and put it in her mouth. Woman's flesh. Devil food. Bees buzzed in her blood as her
heart rate accelerated. She bit and chewed.
Helen tasted wonderful. She swallowed, cut another piece and reached for a glass of wine.
"Hey, that's mine!" Petra protested.
Don't let that brat give you any lip, Helen told her.
Gina swallowed it and handed the empty glass back. "Terribly sorry," she lied and filled another
one.
Petra glared at her. Rivals again, Gina's alcohol-cooled intuitive supercomputer (the portion of the
brain most of us strive desperately not to use) informed her. All that banter about her uncle,
getting Helen killed. She wanted him for herself. Gina bared her teeth in a smile the girl couldn't
misinterpret. Petra's responding smile was glacial.
Anthony spared them a minimally raised eyebrow before addressing himself to his food. Gina
watched him surreptitiously while eating her own portion, a thick, medium-rare slice of Helen's
upper thigh. He ate with concentration, doing his unique meal justice - one doesn't eat one's own
wife and lover every day - without being theatrical about it. Gina didn't want to disturb him, it
would have been rude to interrupt such a deeply personal moment.
If the rest of the group saw anything untoward about dining with a naked waitress in Helen's
place, they weren't about to object overtly until they caught which way the wind was blowing.
Whatever they might think (or say when they thought they could get away with it) Anthony was
clearly the alpha male in this little wolfpack. After a brief hiatus, normal behaviour reasserted
itself. Gina didn't know them, so she bided her time and ate, listening to the interplay without
intruding. Eating Helen was an experience she wanted to savour fully now she had brought
herself to it: it was an enormously satisfying one, unmarred by any personal animosity. Despite
the unexpected role-reversal, she wasn't inclined to gloat over the fact that the woman had met
the end she had anticipated for herself. This wasn't revenge, it was nothing like that. Her
excitement remained, banked like a fire contained by her new equilibrium.
The first throes of the feeding frenzy passed, conversation gradually replaced grunts of
satisfaction. Gina ignored it until she was addressed directly.
"So, was Aunt Helen a star or not?" Petra exhorted the crowd. "Was I right or was I right?"
"Stellar," Cleonie opined. "At least."
"Excellent, as the Bard has it."
"Delicious."
"Compliments to the Chef.."
Jerry exchanged a meaningful glance with his wife. Gina smiled privately. Barriers had gone
down, Helen had set a new standard and Anthony had tacitly approved it. Not everybody grasped
this yet, but Jerry's wife seemed to have the first inkling and the rest would follow at their own
pace.
Slowly in Petra's case, she was oblivious. "I like this place," she mused, letting her eyes rove over
the room and then over Gina speculatively. "We should come back next week."
[Gina looked back, put Led Zep back on. Early. "Your time is going to come". She didn't say it
aloud but the music fuelled projective empathy. Pointing the bone. Hex.]
"Great idea," Michael said. "We could have you."
Petra actually looked taken aback, Gina noted. Had she really not seen it coming? For herself,
she was a little surprised how quickly witchcraft worked. Instant karma, indeed. Always reflect,
she told herself. Besides, I have allies. Helen is with me, and she has heavy connections. Always
connect. Note to self. She composed a haiku mantra based on that structured around the
rhythms of 'How Many More Times', it seemed appropriate.
"We could do something different," somebody else said. "I mean, this is superb, but one doesn't
want to get in a rut."
"I don't want to sound sentimental, but I've always hankered after a whole roast. A lean little
lamb."
"Maybe an outdoor picnic. Open skies under the stars, running water, wind in the trees,
woodsmoke, young girl roasting on an open fire.."
"Idyllic."
"Would you like to come? Er, Miss?"
Gina started, realising she had been addressed directly, breaching the magickal formula of her
self-imposed shields. Before she could formulate a reply, her mouth went ahead and said: "Gina.
Sure, why not?" And if it's me...oh, throw the dice...
"Anybody got a recipe for redheads?"
"You don't mind, Jerry? Save on college fees."
Anthony descended from somewhere near the Oort Cloud, grazing Jupiter on the last leg.
Coming down is a bugger. "Let's eat Aunt Helen," Petra had said, some inconsiderable time
since, and he had. Not that it had been a bad idea. Been there, done that. Still hungry.
"That's my daughter you're talking about," Jerry said, good humouredly.
Petra was getting as edgy as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. She didn't know her
parents any more.
Poor baby, Gina thought, with an odd mixture of triumph and a soupcon of genuine sympathy.
Welcome to growing up. Poor baby. Not that she had to do anything she didn't want to. Neither
had Tiffany, waiting for her father to notice her. And neither do I.
She assessed Petra as Chef might. Yes, lean little lamb. Sweet meat near the bone....
She chuckled aloud. "Isn't this fun?" she said, parodying Petra's mock-English accent. "I mean,
really, isn't it?" She addressed this to the whole table, but its target was obvious at least to the
target herself. Had she gone too far?
Somebody else chuckled, the pack caught the mood. Hail Eris, all hail Discordia, Gina thought.
Bite that apple. She tuned herself out, toning her presence down and out of the group dynamic,
becoming a watcher again All part of the training. Cue Robert Plant again, from 'Fate of Nations' :
- 'Calling to You'. Her fear and excitement, her sexual arousal, even the formless shade of her
anger wove a new mental state, heedless and wild.
Picture Petra spitted and turning over a fire. Pretty. Did her daddy want to do that? Was that
what Tiffany's father had always intended when he drove her to seek his approval? Gina
remembered:
"What happens if he comes in for a meal again?"
"Daddy? He'd probably order my ass just to teach me a lesson. He's been hoping Cody will crap
out just so he can see her waiting tables in her skin. "
A fool in love,
A crazy situation
Her moves looked good
A kind of desperation
From where I stood
She turned my head around.
But the King had returned for the sacrifice. Electra's hopeless passion consummated the only
way it could be.
Recoup, rerun:
Picture Petra spitted and turning over a fire. Did she want to do that? Would she want to see it?
She didn't really hate the girl. It was really just a game.
Barbaric, her reason told her. Fat lot of use you were when I needed you, reason, she replied.
Because you didn't LISTEN, reason sighed. You never do. Fuck off, reason. She poured more
wine.
A hand on her bare right thigh earthed her like a thunderbolt. A male hand. She could feel every
strong finger. Go higher, slut-Gina urged. I'm dripping, she realised.
"Are you busy tonight?" Tony asked politely.
Gina regrouped again. "Busy for what?" Brilliant. Where's my grammar? Gone to the flicks with
grandad. And in the mirror I can see The man who came from Hell. "Sorry...."
"I just wondered if you were free," Tony said.
Hit me on the head with a brick, Gina thought. I wonder if he's going to offer money. "Not with
every packet of cornflakes," she said, testing. Up the ante, just lay out the bait and see. Some of
the girls did that, it wasn't her style.
He laughed. He actually laughed. "No, I wasn't proposing to buy your services. That was what
you thought, wasn't it?"
"It did cross my mind," Gina admitted. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
"A late date. Nightcap, good music, fucking your brains out," Tony said. He shrugged casually.
"The usual. Why not? We've already had dinner together." A wry, charming smile.
Sounds good to me so far, Gina had to admit. "Because Helen is gone, I suppose." Horny as Hell
and nowhere to put it, poor guy. She sympathised.
"Correct." He didn't seem inclined to say any more about that and Gina wasn't inclined to pursue
it.
"And next week, you'll order me for dinner and eat me?" she probed.
"Possibly." Tony shrugged. It was dismissive, not apologetic. "That's really up to you as much as
me, isn't it?"
He had a point there. Gina let it lie. "You silver tongued Devil," she said mock-coquettishly. "And
if I don't?" The shift wasn't quite over, she was still under contract. If she turned him down, he
could have her sent to the kitchen. Pussy for dessert. Tits for takeout. Was this an offer she
couldn't refuse? She had to know.
Tony looked nonplussed for a moment then he got it. "If you don't, what? Oh, I see. No, I won't
have you killed if you decline. Not tonight, certainly, and not for that." He made a slight grimace of
distaste at the suggestion of such boorish tactics. "No threats, no promises. You can come with
me if you'd like to, or not, nobody's forcing you. That wouldn't be much fun, would it?"
Sceptical Gina made a half-hearted effort to doubt this, but it carried no weight. She believed
him. He wouldn't have had to force Helen, she had no doubt of that. She glanced around the
table, the other guests were involved in a lively discussion of where, how and who to eat next
week. Apart from the odd sideways glance from Petra, they were leaving the two of them alone.
She looked back at Tony. He had removed his hand from her thigh some time ago but she could
feel the place he had touched tingling. He just wanted to screw her, couldn't blame him for that.
Next week....a week is a long time in politics, they say, and in this game it could be forever. Who
was she trying to kid? A classical pure fuck, no strings. Did she want it?
"Sure, why not?" she said. Lead me to it. I helped finish off your wife, only fair I stand in for her.
That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. "Let's blow this popstand."
There's a cool breeze blowing, blowing down the track
That's where I'm going and I'm never coming back.
Gina stretched out on the bed, supine and comfortably sated, beaded with sweat. Tony passed
her a glass of champagne. "Not bad," she said. "Dare I say 'how was it for you?'?"
"I sincerely hope not." Tony traced a finger down her belly, twining it in her wet pubic hair. "But if
you really want to know, and I'm sure you do, you were very good."
Good as Helen? Dream on. Oh, buck up kid, you're doing fine, Helen told her. Just find the
rhythm, you're getting there. Gina had memorised her moves and mannerisms, a trick of recall,
all she had to do was assimilate them. She's Hell incarnate just walking down your street...
"Marry me," Tony suggested.
Call it RNA transfer, memorising behavioural patterns or witchcraft. I've devoured her, she was
willing, it's cannibalism, it's white magick, it's a legacy.
How long will your love hold on,
stay strong enough...
Gina woke up. "What?"
"Marry me."
Gina stared at him. A thousand questions and smartass remarks boiled down in an instant to
"Why?" She leaned up on her elbows.
"You're intelligent, beautiful and good in bed. I like that in a woman. Besides that, I rather like
you."
And you were planning to have me for dinner, Gina's mental commentary ran on. It was
redundant, they both knew that before. "Why not Petra? You do know..."
Tony smiled waggishly. "Could it BE any more obvious?" Gina smirked.
"So why...." Apart from the fact that she's your niece, of course. Incest taboos?
"She's pretty. Not bad in bed,"
(scratch the last thought, Gina noted without surprise)
"But not as good as you..."
Yaay!
"And she's irritating. Fun for a while but after that...." Tony somehow conveyed weary
exasperation. Anthony Head playing Rupert Giles in 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' could hardly have
done it better.
Gina lay back on the bed and digested. Assimilation continued. Suppose Helen possessed her?
Who would she be? "If I do, will you give up eating girls?"
"No," Anthony said.
"And me?"
"Up to you. Not that the idea hadn't occurred to me..."
"I can still work?"
"Anywhere you like. Of course, if you continue in your current employment, it may be a short
marriage. I can't guarantee I'll get you, unless you insist....."
"Go to college?"
"Of course. I'll pay your fees or you can earn them yourself. Your choice."
Everything was possible. Everything she had worked so hard for. Money does that. That and an
understanding husband. She wouldn't have to do anything she didn't want to do.
Gina remembered the camaraderie of the dressing room. Donna's underwear. The scents and
sense of fear and excitement, not knowing what would happen next. The perverse sense of
power. Seeing her short, intense friendships terminated. Wondering who would be next, when
she would be next, nothing left of her but a lingering scent on her discarded clothes....give up all
that?
I'll think about it, she almost said. She stored it up for later. She was tingling again at the
memories she'd invoked.
Helen-Gina looked up with doe-brown eyes. She spread her legs and wrapped them around him.
"What big teeth you have, Mr Wolf," she said.