Linda

Originally posted by PK on October 14, 2001 at 18:52:35:

Continuation posted by PK on January 04, 20010 at 16:17:02:

Linda arrived at the party with her friends in a chauffeured limousine, like royalty. Four of them were candidates to be eaten, two of whom would be chosen at random during the party. The others from the Society were here as guests and observers. They might share in eating her, if she was picked, or just watch and enjoy vicariously as she was disposed of. She was wearing a robe over her shoulders and sandals. Nothing else. No jewelry or perfume - her only scent was that of warm, healthily aroused female flesh. She had made the robe herself. It was part of her preparation for the role she had chosen. Membership of the Society had changed her life in more ways than one.

She remembered the day she had joined. A scantily clad receptionist had ushered her into the office of the Secretary. It was as intimidating as going for a job interview.

The Secretary wore her hair in a severe bun and plain spectacles. She sat behind an oaken desk. "Why are you here?" she asked flatly. This was not what Linda had expected. She tried to compose herself.

"I...ah.. I don't know," she stammered.

"Try harder," the harridan suggested. Linda was too intimidated to notice that she was not bad looking beneath the businesslike facade. Her heart was threatening to burst.

"I saw your membership thing on the Net," she tried again. "I just wanted to find out..."

Oh, It had been seductive. It had taken her away from the four blank walls. She had shared fantasies by e-mail messages and on discussion boards. It had taken her a long time to decide to meet some of the people she had talked to, and about, in real life.

"Do you really want to be eaten?" the Secretary pressed. "Do you feel that as a woman you need to be eaten?"

Linda just wanted to look around. "I don't know," she repeated miserably. She wished she hadn't come. She recalled the commentary she had read on the Net, by some writer whose name she couldn't recall:

"The Society of Edible Women is a non-profit-making club existing on member subscription and donations from recipients of the members. Members don't have to get eaten, and rarely do so immediately. They have meetings, social function, discussion groups about their fantasies. Sometimes they discuss recipes and clothes. It's just a nice post-feminist consciousness-raising group. At the annual feast, one or two of the guests usually offer themselves as the main course. Consumption is not compulsory - some members are vegetarians, seeing themselves as food for high-order carnivores, others regard it as a form of communion. Many simply want to know what they will eventually taste like."

Another failed interview. She wanted to run away.

Unexpectedly, the Secretary smiled. "An honest answer," she said. She handed over a paper form. "Sign here for introductory membership. One month before you have to make a subscription. The first orientation classes are free."

Linda signed, leaving her name, address and e-mail. She fled. But she went back, as somewhere inside she'd known she would. It had started a few days after her first visit, days of indecision and denial. It was hard to say exactly when she decided to go for another look - just a little look - but it had probably started when she was listening to music, slightly stoned, and surfing the Net late at night. At that hour, and in that mood, anything seemed possible, even the wildest ideas seemed worth a try. Some little voice in the back of her mind kept nagging, go on, have another look around, you know you want to. The impulse frightened her, but it also aroused her.

"It's hard not to play when there are so many toys...." Linda pulled off the headphones and cut off the Net connection, she tried to sleep. Her blood pulsed in her ears, she felt it scratching her flesh, teasing her. She couldn't escape it, the idea had crept under her skin. Okay, already, she told herself. I'll go tomorrow, I'll even listen to one of their orientation classes, whatever they are. What can it hurt to just look and listen? That decision made, knowing she would dismiss it in the cold light of day, she was able to fall asleep.

The next day was taken up with the usual round of endless fun. Daytime TV, the routine tasks of keeping herself fed and alive, a fruitless hunt for another job. Between jobs, between boyfriends, between boredom and despair. Limbo. She wasn't starving yet, she had unemployment benefit and the occasional bout of part time work, but her life was going nowhere. In the evening she could look forward to more TV and solitary self indulgence or the pubs and wine bars where only the most desperate women turned up alone. Or she could visit the Society's little clubhouse. After another solitary meal she made her mind up and went out.

It was a different receptionist who received her. She was directed to the Secretary's office again. This time, she was not particularly nervous. As if in confirmation of her mood, the Secretary greeted her warmly.

"I rather thought you'd be back," she said, smiling.

Linda returned a noncommittal smile. "I just thought I'd have a look around, if that's all right?"

"Not a problem." The woman's stern demeanour seemed to have melted like snow. She handed Linda a card. "Your temporary membership pass. Valid for one month. That means you can use the gym, the baths and the bar. It doesn't get you free drinks, but the beer's cheap. Want to join me? I could do with a drink myself."

"Best offer I've had all day," said Linda.

Minutes later, they had their drinks - Linda opted for wine while the Secretary chose beer - and were ensconced in a rather cosy little lounge bar. The atmosphere was intimate, civilised but not stuffy. They might as well have been in the more salubrious sort of pub.

"I imagine you have a few questions you'd like to ask me," the Secretary suggested. "By the way, my name's Marianna. Mari, if you like."

Linda nodded acknowledgement. She did have a question or two. Of course, she'd read all the bumph on the website, but there was nothing like getting the inside dope from the horse's mouth. "Just a couple of things. Maybe you could tell me what this is about, you know, in your own words?"

Mari shrugged. "It's about liberation. It's about fun. It's a club for women who get excited by the idea of being eaten. It's a form of role playing. It's whatever you want it to be."

Linda gave a perfunctory nod. "Yes, but..."

"But?" Mari's smile was ironic. She expected Linda to work her way up to the point in her own time, she wasn't impatient.

"I mean, I don't actually have to get eaten, do I? Even when I become a full member? If I do..."

Mari had done this so many times she had reached the stage of trotting out the standard disclaimer and gone through it. "No," she said patiently. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Some people come here with a definite plan and a schedule. They've decided what they want to do and they use the facilities to prepare themselves, to get in condition. Sort of like joining a gym to lose weight before you go on holiday and have to wear a bikini. Some just come for the company. Some play games and take risks. They get off on the danger. For some it's a real life RPG, a role playing game. We have members come in whenever they want some fun, swapping fantasies and talking about it. I know a few who'll never actually do it."

"And that's okay?"

Mari nodded emphatically. "That's okay." She sipped her drink.

From her original encounter, Linda had expected a more evangelical approach. She was both relieved and paradoxically disappointed. "Do some of them really....do it?"

"Oh yes, quite a few." Mari confirmed. She gave no details. Linda would have to ask.

"What about you?" Linda pressed boldly, determined to draw her out. "Do you have any plans?" She wondered if she had gone too far. Perhaps this was something one didn't ask.

She needn't have worried. "I do," said Mari. "Nothing definite yet, but I plan to retire in the next year or so, when I can get somebody to take over. You know how it is with clubs, everybody wants to play, nobody wants to do the boring work of running things. You get stuck with keeping it going, everybody expects it of you." She made a face indicating long-suffering forbearance.

Linda nodded sympathetically, hoping she wouldn't be called on it. In fact, she'd never been an organiser. "Retire?" she noted.

"Oh, yes. I can't be doing this forever. I fancy an outdoor send off, myself," Mari mused dreamily. "A good old summer barbecue. You know, glass of wine, being spitted in the sunshine surrounded by a crowd of good old fashioned debauched revellers eager to eat me up." She smiled. "Roll on the day..."

Linda had expected something more intense. Mari's matter-of-fact manner was tantalising. Her companion caught the frustrated look easily.

"If you want the theory and philosophy stuff, hang around," she offered. "You'll get the full Monty in the orientation lectures and seminars. Some people love to spout in public, I'm sure you've met the type."

Linda nodded with more sincerity this time. She had.

"Take your own time," Mari advised. "Relax, have fun. That's all it's really about."

Fun? Again, Linda felt that something had slipped by her. But if not for fun, why was she here? To discover a sense of purpose? For somewhere to go on dull evenings? Or because of morbid curiosity perhaps. "I'd like to attend some of these orientation lectures," she said. "They're not compulsory either, I'd guess?"

Mari gave her a knowing but benevolent smile. The approval a teacher gives a student who has started to get the idea. "That's right. Nothing is compulsory, nothing is forbidden. Liberty Hall, if you will."

The first lecture Linda attended came a little closer to fulfilling Linda's expectations. The woman giving it, a dark-haired and voluptous type in a belly-dancer's costume, had the evangelical zeal that Mari lacked. "Look at this body," she invited her audience, running her hands over her own belly and flanks. "Look at your own. Feel it. It's designed to be alluring. It's made to be consumed. Your breasts are sources of food. Every woman knows, deep down, that she is prey, to be captured, taken, used....." She pulled herself together with a visible effort. "Of course," she continued, "Traditionalists will argue that the sole purpose of this sense is repoduction. In a sense they're right, or they would be if we were still living in caves. Recreational sex is more than that, it's an expression of both our animal natures and our questing imaginations. We know we are mortal, we know we are meat. We can choose to celebrate that or we can deny it. The religious taboos against contraception are outmoded, we don't have to worry about keeping the tribal numbers up, that battle is won. We're overpopulated. The taboos against homosexuality have gone the same way....."

And the taboo against cannibalism was gone since the libertarian revolution, Linda knew, or at least it was in legal terms.

The lecturer laboured her way through that point. To her own surprise, Linda put up her hand when questions were invited. "So being a member here is what?" she asked. "A lifestyle choice? A statement about something?"

"The first," said the dark-haired woman. "It's a choice. We are women who reject the false feminism that would have us pretend to be men in drag. We have power in our bodies, the power of the objects of desire that we are. We can use that power any way we like, and the more we're prepared to risk, the more we can gain."

Linda privately thought the woman had OD'd on the rhetoric of sexual politics. Too much Germaine Greer and Camille Paglia at an early age.

The girl sitting next to her, a tall redhead with long legs, made her own contribution. "Gain what?" she asked, without waiting to be called. "Money, fast cars? Sex'n'drugs'n'Rock'nRoll?"

The smile on the lecturer's face surprised Linda, it mirrored the look Mari had given her. "All that and more," she said. "Everything or nothing."

And that was that. The meeting broke up. The redhead accosted Linda on the way out. "Want to come back to my place?" she invited.

For what? Linda wondered. Coffee, a joint or two, some music, late night talks followed by clumsy passes and possibly sex? Did she have a boyfriend, was she being invited to an orgy or a Black Mass? It could prove embarrasing. It might be dangerous.

"Got anything to drink?" she asked. The redhead nodded. "I'm all yours," she said.

"I'm Jenna," the redhead explained, "Let's blow. It's not far."

Jenna's place was a wonderland of exuberant chaos. There were posters on the walls, most of them erotic and disturbing. Clothes lay where they had been discarded. Candles were stuck in empty wine bottles. Jenna turned on lights positioned in odd places, lit a couple of joss sticks and went in search of the promised drinks. She came up with two cans of terrible supermarket beer, a bottle of wine and some brandy in a pickle jar. Linda started with a glass of wine. It didn't come in a wineglass, but a half-pint beer mug. While she wondered where to sit, Jenna rolled a joint, turned on the sound system and booted up her computer.

"Be with you in a minute," she said, while she read her e-mail.

Linda noticed some obviously masculine items of clothing amonst the debris.

"Do you live here alone?" she asked. She imagined a strange and possibly dangerous man turning up unexpectedly. She wondered if that might not be exactly what Jenna had in mind. A threesome? Something more sinister? Her heartbeat picked up. Was this what she wanted?

"Sometimes," said Jenna offhandedly. She switched off the computer. "Shit, nothing. Oh well...how's the wine?"

"It's piss, but it's got alcohol in it," Linda said. Jenna laughed.

Linda woke the next day wondering where she was. First things first, she instructed herself. Who am I? It took a while but she got it. I'm Linda, right. I'm lying on the floor somewhere, covered by blankets. No, a fur coat. Not my place. Jenna's place, I'm still there. Here. Bits and pieces of the previous evening came back.

The wine had run out pretty quickly. The beer had gone next. Wild conversation. Then Jenna had demonstrated how she could eat a grape with her feet, she had long, prehensile toes. The brandy...oh God. They had tried mixing it with cold tea and then grapefruit juice. She didn't remember any lesbian orgies, maybe it hadn't happened.

It took her a while to find her clothes in her fuddled state. She found Jenna lying naked and face down on her unmade bed. She scrawled a note with a marker pen and left, vowing never to do this again. She wanted her own bed, a cup of tea, world peace but mostly sleep.

"There is no compulsory code of dress or behaviour but members often like to wear a short wraparound dress or sarong fastened with a loose sash at the front with no underwear, especially when going to the final appointment. This is ostensibly because it saves time during preparation, but its real function is suggestive, particularly on the wearer. It's a turn-on, feeling that you can be stripped to be food at the pull of a silk cord."

The lecturer this time was a willowy blonde. Her didactic manner was at odds with her appearance. She looked like a vulnerable elf who might be gobbled up by a troll or ogre at any moment. Linda wondered if she was quite sober yet. She wasn't quite sure why she had come back. Jenna hadn't called and wasn't here.

"The Society also researches and pioneers methods of roasting or eating women alive, as many like to share the experience for as long as possible. Combinations of anaesthetics and medical techniques may be involved. We collaborate with the cannibal societies on this...."

The Blonde Elf gave an outline of how society members might apply themselves to aiding and abetting their own demise in the most aesthetic way possible. She was good at it. Linda was put in mind of a TV cookery program where you really feel you could eat the dish being described. The dish being described, she realised, was herself. She felt delicious.

The changes that came over Linda in the next few days were subtle but profound. Her life seemed to be changing somehow, and for the better. It was hard to say why, but when she thought about it she had to attribute it at least in part to the Society. For one thing, she got a job. It was only part time to begin with, but it was a start. Secretarial temp work in offices, not exactly a plum appointment, but it was paying work and might lead to better things. She was at least well versed in the use of a computer, and there was a skills shortage at the lower end of the job market. Linda's problem had never been that she was stupid or lazy. She was reasonably well-educated and bright enough, but she had no great ambition. She lacked the intellectual drive of the academic and had never found a career that fired her enthusiasm. Similarly, she was attractive enough and liked sex but she didn't tend to make a success of relationships. She simply couldn't be bothered to work at achieving the cliched dream of home and family. She suffered from indecision, aimlessness, and a consequent sense of anomie. She had no purpose or place, and in a thriving society this labelled her as a drifter, powerless. The Society didn't exactly define her goals but it did give her a feeling of new possibilities. This elevated her mood and her confidence. She didn't have to go to the extreme if she didn't want to, but it was an option. She was no longer trapped. She had got the job, no vast achievement but a significant step, because she no longer felt defeated and helpless before she started. The interview was easy. She was desirable, if only as meat, if she chose to be. If she chose. She had dressed with care when going for the appointment, and left her knickers off. She didn't show herself - her skirt was long enough to cover her - but the sense of her power was there. All the self-help books she had ever read - usually up to the first chapter and a half - were right in one respect. If you want something, you can get it, as long as you don't show that you need it too much. Confidence is all.

She continued to be friends with Jenna, despite or because of the girl's chaotic lifestyle and boldness. Jenna had no ambition either, but it bothered her not at all. They met up at another orientation lecture. It seemed that Jenna had been with the society for some time (she didn't say or didn't know how long) but had never organised her attendance. She turned up when she felt like it. The next time they went out together followed another orientation seminar, for which Jenna turned up late. It was Mari herself this time. She was discoursing on the work of pre-reformation fantasists, comparing them to the situation in the modern world.

"In Dolcett's world, women who'd like to be eaten go out the minute the mood strikes them and get barbequed at a friend's party. In the 'normal' world, we just play with the idea. In the S.E.W., thing are somewhere in between. We as members play with the idea, but some of us eventually decide it's time to go through with it and do so. We may decide when, or we may play a sort of russian roulette with our bodies until chance catches up with us. For instance, you might offer to play a game of chess, or cards - strip poker? - by offering stakes like "If I win I get your car, if you win you can eat me". How much would you make them stake against your life? Bargaining, setting the stakes, is part of the game. You can play for wagers with much better than even odds in your favour, to make it last and to maximise your gains, and have a lot of fun with it until you get caught. Gambling establishments where women play this game get a lot of custom. The management will often pay you to come, as a draw. Members with a bit of skill and cunning can live a pretty high life, while it lasts....."

She smiled. "And, barring accidents, it can last as long as you want. You set the odds. The risk of miscalculation is alway there, of course. The danger adds to the thrill..."

Jenna turned to Linda. "Fancy a drink after?"

Linda had money, she had paying work. "Why not?" she whispered.

"Care to share it with us?" Mari asked.

Linda started and then settled in her seat. This wasn't school.

"Why, certainly, excellent preceptress," Jenna said archly. "I intend to put your principles into practice."

"Sad creature nailed upon the coloured doors of time.." Something like that, Linda thought fuzzily. Words from a half forgotten song, echoed in her brain in lieu of sense. She had done it again. The second pint of Theakston's Old Peculier had put her into a different dimension of perception. Stranger in some ways than being stoned. Jenna was holding court, her articulacy unimpaired by the drinks. She was auctioning herself.

"No deal," Jenna said. "I'm worth more than that."

It was hard keeping track. What deal? Oh yes, the saturnine guy in the suit had offered her a cut of the cards at odds of three to one in her favour, for one thousand pounds. In return, all he wanted was Jenna in bed. Piker, Linda thought. Jenna was playing him like a fish just for the fun of it.

The gambling club was genteel, no riffraff allowed in. Jenna had got them in by smiling at the bouncers. She either had magical powers or they knew her. The effect was the same. Magic, she recalled, is the Art and Science of causing change to occur in conformity with Will. Getting what you want. Politics without the bullshit. Jenna had it in spades.

"Let's up the ante. I want your car," Jenna said. "I've always fancied a Jensen. One cut of the cards. Pick one, name it first. If you lose, I get it."

The odds were fifty two to one. Linda wasn't so far gone she couldn't work it out. Jenna would almost certainly win.

"And if I win?"

Jenna smiled. "You can eat me." She threw a side comment to Linda. "Principles in practice." Linda woke up. Was she serious? "Jenna.." she slurred, nudging her friend, "You can't ..." Can't what? Be serious?

Jenna spared her a knowing smile before she turned back to her mark. Her eyes were shining, there was no restraint in her, no appealing to common sense, she had the bit between her teeth and she was running with it. The pack of cards was in her hands and she was shuffling them, doing tricks. Her costume, Linda realised, was only apparently modest. You could see her breasts moving under the blouse. The divided skirt showed her legs as she moved.

"Not up for it?" she teased. Her whole body challenged him, she had him nailed, she had raised the stakes and he couldn't get out of it without losing face. His friends made sure of that, they were watching. Peer pressure. Chances like this didn't come often.

"Your friend cuts," the man said finally. He wasn't about to get cheated by a card sharp.

"No problem," said Jenna and handed the pack to Linda.

Nice play, though Linda. She never meant to cheat on the cut, she let him win that point so he'd think he'd played it clever. She should be working for the UN.

The pack of cards was still warm from Jenna's hands. This was for real. "I need another drink," she said. Somebody she didn't know went to the bar and got her another pint of ale. The tension, the expectancy in the room was thick enough to breathe.

Jenna was the focus of every man's attention. In a minute she'd win or she'd be dead meat. Linda wondered why her own hands didn't shake. She actually stopped to look at them. Steady as a rock. The beer came and she inhaled its heady aroma. Well hopped, she thought, and full malted. She drank. Now all attention was on her.

She played it. "Nice pint," she said, nodding to her benefactor. She was suddenly focussed and in control. She looked the player in the eye, the man who wanted to kill and eat her friend. She didn't intent to cheat, even if she knew how. He was playing fair. "Call your card."

"Seven of diamonds," he said.

Linda split the pack and showed the card. "Five of clubs," she said.

The man shrugged, rummaged in his pocket and threw a set of car keys to Jenna.

Linda went to the toilet and stared at herself in the mirror. Her reflection held no answers.

The man who had just lost his car was chatting amicably to Jenna. Not a bad loser, it seemed.

"Want another gamble?" Linda heard herself saying.

"I'm out of cars," he said.

"One cut, even odds. If you win you can fuck me."

"If I lose?"

Linda wasn't feeling very clever. "You don't fuck me."

"Sounds like a deal to me."

Jenna cut the cards.

"Red," Linda said.

She got the nine of diamonds.

"Let's do it then," she said.

The next day, Linda went to meet Jenna by arrangement (over the phone while she was at work) in the lounge bar at the society's club. She more than half expected to be teased about her lack of bargaining skills. After all, she had practically given herself away. She didn't regret it. Jeremy, for such was his name, had indeed fucked her, and she had thoroughly enjoyed it. It had not exactly been the stuff of true romance, but neither had it been violent or crude. Jeremy was a hedonist and a voracious lover, she had felt that he was devouring her, but he hadn't hurt her and had pleasured her as well as himself. She could have qualified him for his Scout badge in oral sex. Afterwards she couldn't resist asking him if he would really have eaten Jenna if he'd won her.

"Certainly I would," he'd said mildly, kissing her nose. "She knew what she was doing, and she doesn't exactly come cheap. I've always wanted to eat a beautiful woman."

"Does that include me?"

He kissed her neck. Quite the sensual lover, she thought comfortably. "Of course. Any time her want to play me for it, we'll talk terms." There was no threat in the statement, it was just an honest answer.

It occurred to Linda later that a man who could gamble a vintage car for an outside chance of winning a bet could easily acquire a woman if he wanted to, one way or another. She was still wondering about that when Jenna arrived, only slightly late.

"How was it?" she asked without preamble. "Get laid okay?"

"Very thoroughly and very well," Linda told her. "And yes, I know..."

"What? That you practically fell over with your legs in the air?" Jenna grinned. "You're undercutting the market, kid. But you're getting into the spirit of it. You can work on technique later."

"Call it an introductory offer," said Linda airily. The truth was that Jenna's gamble had excited her, she had simply wanted to get laid and Jeremy was attractive. "You don't mind?"

Jenna laughed. "Why should I? There are no rules but what we make up. That's the fun of it."

"How's the car?"

"Okay. I nearly crashed it twice going home. Too eager for its own good."

Linda had to get the idea off her chest. "Why do they do it? I mean, why pay out that much money for the off chance of getting you or me? Wouldn't it be cheaper to fly to some third world country where life is cheap and..." She shrugged. The details shouldn't be hard to work out.

"You know the answer to that," Jenna said. "It's not the same, is it? Pick up some poor peasant wench for a bowl of rice? Sure he could, some of them do. But to meet an attractive woman in a bar, someone her can talk to, a prize her'd have to win...it's tantalising. It's personal. He wouldn't be eating a nameless victim, he'd be eating ME!" With a flourish of body language Jenna pantomimed personality, allure, charisma, vivacity. And, of course, legs to die for.

Linda laughed at the hint of self-mockery, but of course she was right. "Don't her ever wonder what would happen if her lost?" she had to ask.

"I know what would happen. I think about it all the time. Sooner or later it probably will. Right now I'm just playing it out for as long as it's fun, and as long as I can get away with it."

She meant it, Linda realised. Jenna was playing, yes, but she was playing for keeps. The question that implied was obvious. Am I?

"Earth to Linda?" Jenna waved a hand in front of her eyes.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I said, are you going to join? You know, after the trial month?"

"Probably," Linda said. "I mean, nothing's compulsory, right?"

"No, but if you're going to wear the badge you should..."

"Badge?"

"Membership badge. You don't have to wear it, but if you join you're entitled to. Which means you have to pass inspection."

"Inspection?"

Jenna sighed. "Which bit didn't you read? Somebody has to make sure you pass muster. Usually Her Highness. You've heard about the personal grooming classes, at least? We can't have people going out and getting contracts with the cannies with our seal of approval if they're not up to snuff. It's no big deal. Hey, Marcie?" She waved at another woman. "Over here." She turned back to Linda. "She's a hairdresser and beautician. You don't have to shave but some of us do."

Marcie sat down and introduced herself while visibly appraising Linda. "Nice hair," she decided. "You'll want it shorter if you get roasted, but they can do that on site, usually. Want your pubes off? I do members for free."

"I don't know," said Linda. This was a bit sudden. Did she really want herself prepared as a roast right away? But if she was going to be inspected she wanted to look neat. "Can you just trim it?" She suddenly thought her pubic hair might look a bit unruly.

"Absolutely," said Marcie in her rather cultured and archaic upper-class accent. "Excellent choice. Lots of people like to be prepared on-site, so to speak, but you don't want to be untidy when you strip, do you?"

"Heaven forfend," said Linda. She expected to have to make an appointment. No such luck. The club house had its own facilities and ten minutes later she was sitting in a barber chair, drink in hand and naked from the waist down, having her intimate foliage neatly clipped and styled.

"Would Madam care to look?" Marcie inquired, offering a view of a full-length mirror.

Linda looked. Affectations notwithstanding, Marcie had done a brilliant job. Her pubic hair had been trimmed into a neat vertical strip, tidy as cat's fur. She couldn't resist stroking it.

"Perfect," she said with unfeigned sincerity. "I don't suppose you could do anything about my hair?"

Jenna stifled a laugh. The floodgates were open. Marcie was on a mission, she scented a makeover.

"By all means, Madam," she said.

Linda was immediately wary. "Nothing drastic," she said quickly. "Just a bit shorter and tidier. Something easy to manage."

She got her haircut. She also got a manicure and a pedicure. Her feet were treated to a massage and the removal of all hard skin with the gentlest of abrasives, and all excess body hair was ruthlessly eliminated. There wasn't much, Linda was not particularly hirsute, but Marcie was a stickler for detail.

"Good skin," Marcie commented. "You don't need exfoliating, but a sauna wouldn't hurt..."

"Tomorrow, maybe," said Linda firmly. "Fine job, thank you very much."

The next day, at work, the boss called her into his private office for 'a quick word'. The old Linda would have felt a sinking in the stomach at the offhand summons. Was her part time job going to be terminated? She rather hoped not, she had settled in well enough, she enjoyed getting paid rather than the hopeless humiliation of unemployment benefit, but it wasn't the end of the world.

"Take a seat, Miss Carstairs," he invited. He peered at her over his glasses. Linda wondered idly if he liked her new hairstyle. If he did, he didn't say so. "You may have heard that Joan - Mrs Prescott - is leaving?"

Linda nodded. "Yes, sir." She would have to have been blind and deaf not to, everybody knew. Women working on the office floor know everything that goes on with each other before the management do.

"I have here the staff efficiency reports. Wonderful things, these modern databases, don't you think? Transaction logging, my consultant calls it."

"Ah, yes sir." Where was this going? Linda was a proficient computer user, not a programmer.

"It's not the usual procedure, but in view of the quality of your work, I have considered upgrading you to a full time job on staff and replacing you as junior temp rather than reinterviewing for another qualified applicant. How would you feel about that? It would mean more hours, of course, and a slight increase in the hourly rate, to be confirmed after a month's trial.. if you're interested."

"I would certainly be interested," said Linda, marvelling at the professional detachment she heard in her own voice. She was not superstitious, but it was hard not to associate this with her newly groomed body. Nonsense, of course. She was a good worker when she put her mind to it.

At the club that evening, Linda treated herself to a sauna before going to the bar. She followed that with a massage involving a good session with a strigil, Roman style. Might as well purify the flesh before she started polluting it again.

"How the fuck do we afford all this?" she asked Jenna later. "I'm not even a paying member yet and the subscription isn't that high."

Jenna quoted what Linda had already heard and not seriously considered. "The Society of Edible Women is a non-profit-making club existing on member subscription and donations from recipients of the members....you know?"

"But...oh. You mean they pay us?"

Jenna rolled her eyes heavenward. "What do you think happens to the wordly goods of members who graduate big time? All voluntary, of course. And if Jeremy would gamble a car for a fifty to one chance of munching me, what sort of 'donations' do you think we can get when a few of us attend one of their functions as guests of honour?"

"Oh..right.."

"Lin, there are places a high class whore can get a thousand a night. Work it out. What do you think you could get for what we offer?"

"Is that why you do it?" Linda blurted. "Sorry..."

"For the high life? Sure, why not? Beats working."

"Is that all?" Linda went into the 'in vino veritas' stage after the first two drinks.

"No, but until I get it, why not enjoy the perks? Come on, I thought you'd got the idea the other night."

Linda went blank. Jenna grinned. "Ever dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight?"

"What?"

"Some film. Oh yeah, want to see a home movie? Grab a refill. No, I'll get them. There's a training film on in the screening room . I've seen it before, but it's good."

It was graphic. The camera work was a bit cinema verite, but there was no mistaking what was going on.

"That's Constance," Jenna whispered as a naked woman got up on a table. The camera zoomed in on her posterior. "Watch her wiggle."

Linda watched in disbelief as a metal spit was inserted into the woman's vagina. She did indeed wiggle as it went in, and in, and in.....

"Oh my God," she muttered. She squirmed in her seat. Great special effects, a part of her insisted hysterically. The camera angle changed and the spit appeared in the woman's mouth. She gagged.

"Popcorn?" Jenna offered. "Oxygen?"

Linda shook her head. In all the time she had known Jenna, and let's face it it hadn't been that long, she had never really asked her about this. She knew about it in theory, but she had never seen it. The impact was devastating. She watched in rapt attention as the woman - Constance - was spitted with her full cooperation, bound and carried over to an indoor cooking pit. The people milling about or aiding in the operation were peripheral, she watched the willing victim as she began to be cooked alive. Reality seemed to come and go. She knew that you can do anything with film and computer generated effects. You can watch people being chopped up in horror movies or see the Earth invaded by aliens any time you liked. This could be something similar. Could be, but probably wasn't.

That could be me, she thought. The idea made her dizzy. She tore her eyes away from the screen and looked at Jenna. Her friend was watching with an avid smile on her face.

"Watch this next bit," she advised. She might have been watching a favourite performance in a sporting event. "Go for it, Connie!"

The body rotating on the spit was starting to convulse in the throes of some physical reaction. Linda didn't know how much time passed before the movement reached its peak and subsided. She was entranced.

"Nicely fucked, don't you think?" Jenna commented as the roasting woman's body moved less and less, eventually becoming quiescent. "Hell of an afterglow. I'll probably do it that way. Never fancied being boiled. How about you?"

"I think I'd like another drink," said Linda.

A visit to the toilet and two drinks later she was able to speak again. "Did you know her?" she asked.

"Connie? Not all that well, we spoke a few times. Nice enough, I quite liked her. We didn't have a lot in common, but she had a good sense of humour and some wild ideas. Tasted good, too."

They were back in the bar. Linda hadn't quite decided whether to get really drunk and pass out or go home and suck her thumb in bed.

"Tasted good? You were there?"

"Didn't you see me? I was in the crowd, you can just make me out on the far side when she comes for the last time. I'm the one with her fists in the air when she goes out. You know, like 'YES!"" Jenna mimed someone cheering a goal.

"You ate her?" No point asking 'did that actually happen?', it was redundant.

"Got a couple of toes," said Jenna with a modest shrug. "Crunchy and surprisingly tasty." Then she smirked. "And some of the juicier bits. Privilege of the guests of honour."

"Guests..." Linda digested the implications of that.

"Could have been me," Jenna explained. "We went together. One of two deal, we both turned up prepared, she won the draw."

It wasn't hard for Linda to imagine Jenna crunching her own toes and nibbling her juicy bits with equal relish. She glanced down at Jenna's sandalled feet. Or vice versa, she thought defiantly. Maybe I'll eat her...

"Penny for 'em?" Jenna inquired. The look on her face was knowing, almost smug.

Linda shook her head. She didn't want to say what was on her mind. She wasn't sure she knew herself. Jenna's nonchalance challenged her and she wasn't sure she liked it. Don't push me, she thought.

Jenna slipped off her right shoe. She put her bare foot on Linda's thigh. "Go ahead," she said. "Bite me."

"I'd rather have a nice big prick inside me," Linda blurted. She immediately felt stupid.

"Oh come on," Jenna teased. "I'm as straight as the next pervert. Didn't figure you for a homophobe, I was just playing. Want a prick on a plate? There are clubs for that..."

Linda pulled herself together. She hated feeling naive. She picked up Jenna's foot and licked her instep, then moved it gently back to the floor. "I think it's my round," she said and went to the bar. All the way there and back she had the taste of Jenna's skin in her mouth.

"Clubs for prick eaters?" she opened when she got back. As if nothing untoward had happened - which for her probably hadn't, Linda realised - Jenna nodded.

"Sure there are. Not many takers, though."

"Did you ever... I mean..."

Jenna shook her head. "Nope. I'd love to try it but there aren't that many men who'll do it."

*********************

Linda got home three parts drunk. She rooted out a file on her computer she'd stored months ago and reread it:

"as the man explains to me in detail what he will do to me later...such as removing certain delicacies from my body, and making me watch him devour me in pure ecstasy. I also enjoy the thought of consenting to my love, to give myself fully...and having him lovingly prepare me for roasting. I also love seeing myself in sacrificial situations, then cooked to feed my people. I have placed myself in many of Dolcett's artwork,dealing with being cooked. Because in realality I do not just broil..fry...roast...boil...I do not use one scenario in fantasy either when it's me as the sweet meat :-) And...I have also enjoyed the thought of when a man is about to make me his dinner, that I end up making him mine! So... guys watch it because I do have the recipe for Mountain Oysters :-) mmmmmmm now there's a thought... SweetAnna served with Mountain Oyster Dressing }:)"

It was all too much. Linda put the White Album on and passed out listening to the reassuring sanity of the classics.

Her sleep was disturbed towards morning by one of those vivid dreams that occur when you are almost awake. The details were confused and illogical, she started out reading or writing a story on her computer and ended up acting in it. One of those generic crowd scenes developed where she felt she was lost, had forgotten something or was improperly dressed. This didn't matter because it was not a street crowd but a party, a transition she failed to notice as one does in dreams until remembering them afterwards. The focus of the crowd's attention was the woman being roasted, so it didn't matter anyway. She was close enough to smell her. Would she get any? She hoped so. She wanted to eat the woman, she was the Holy Grail of banquets. Linda admired the curve of her belly, she wanted to bite it. The woman was almost cooked but, impossibly, she winked at Linda, causing an indefinable but powerful emotion to rise up in her. Somebody touched her shoulder, said her name. "Are you ready? You're next." Linda glanced down and noticed that she was naked below the waist, even shaved. So that was why, of course! She heard herself say "Yes," as if it were inevitable. She could almost feel the spit entering her already......

LInda woke, heart pounding. She was wet between the legs and strongly aroused, but she also felt an odd satisfaction. "Better watch yourself, Carstairs," she advised herself sternly, but she was humming brightly as she showered, dressed and ate a hearty breakfast before going to work.

Linda's life settled into a pleasant enough pattern over the next week or two. She handled the increased workload without difficulty. In the evenings she would drop in at the club more often than not to attend a lecture, do a little light toning in the gym, use the tanning machine or take a sauna before having a quick drink or two in the bar. Then it was home and eventually to bed. Television and her computer filled in the few empty hours remaining in the day. If she wanted a longer or wilder night out at the weekends, well, there was always Jenna. So far the gambling incident hadn't been repeated but with her there was always that sense that it might any time soon. Their conversation occasionally touched on the more extreme implications of the Society but Jenna usually kept it light.

"So, are you going to join?" Jenna asked one night, over a drink in the lounge. "You know, full membership? Your trial month is nearly up, isn't it?"

"Probably," Linda said noncommitally. "I mean, assuming I pass inspection." This conversation felt familiar. Hadn't they been through this...when? When she got her 'haircut'.

Jenna appraised her frankly. "Unless her've been hiding some gross deformity, I'd say you will. You look pretty edible to me."

By now Linda was getting used to Jenna's ambiguous innuendos and took them in stride. In fact, she was probably right. Linda had always been pretty healthy, her figure was quite good and she had been keeping in trim lately. She was no athlete, but she was fit enough and reasonably shapely.

"Thanks," she said. So far she had held off the decision but now - did she want to lose the club? No, she did not. And why not, anyway? She could afford the modest subscription on her new salary. She didn't have to do anything and she could even leave if she wanted to. It wasn't exactly a fateful decision. "You know, I think I will."

Although she spent the next couple of days viewing the upcoming inspection with all the enthusiasm of a dental checkup, when it came she was not all that nervous. She had of course made sure to be perfectly bathed, groomed and dressed, with clean underwear. On the appointed evening she went into the Secretary's office and reported for inspection.

"Ah, Miss Carstairs," the Secretary began in a busineslike but pleasant enough tone, "You've decided to take full membership?"

"If I pass, yes."

"Don't sit down, then. Remove your clothing, please. May as well get on with it." She stood up and came out from behind the desk, folding her arms and looking expectant.

There was no changing room. Linda wasn't surprised. If she was bashful about undressing in a private office, she really wasn't really cut out for this club. She undressed without fuss and piled her clothes on a nearby chair. Now that she was naked, she felt better, calmer. If she didn't pass muster, so be it, there was nothing to do but wait. The inspection was thorough but not unneccessarily protracted. Mari walked around her, appraising her body as meat. Occasionally she touched her, poking to determine muscle tone, pinching to evalute depth of fat, slapping or holding to get the weight and heft of her flesh. The Secretary's handling was firm but not rough, Linda found without shame that she enjoyed it: her nipples were tightly erect. The woman lifted her feet, feeling the soles and heels; ran her hands up her flanks, touched her neat pubic strip lightly. A quick inspection of her head showed clean hair, clear eyes and good teeth. Linda sensed approval, she was a good animal, a nice piece of livestock. She felt pleased. "You'll do just fine," said Mari at last with a friendly pat on the rump. "You'd make a good roaster. Have you made your choice yet?"

"Not really," said Linda frankly, "I may not do it at all, to be honest. Thanks all the same though, I'll bear it in mind. Does that mean I passed?"

"It does indeed," Mari confirmed. "You can get dressed now, I'll get your card and paperwork sorted out." She busied herself at her desk as Linda dressed. "Here's your badge and your card. You can choose a password for the members' area on the club site, if you like. Do you want to pay your next month's sub now?"

In a few minutes it was all sorted out. Just like that, Linda thought. On balance, a lot less stress than the dentist. She thanked Mari warmly and left.

"Oh, just one more thing," Mari called as she opened the door. Linda paused. "You're now entitled to wear the club badge as a brand or tattoo if you like. We do it in house, it's free."

"Thanks," said Linda, smiling. "I'll hold on that for now."

On the way to the lounge she examined the badge. It was of enamelled metal, the motif was a naked woman kneeling on a serving platter, hands bound behind her back to indicate submission. Around the edge was the legend "Society of Edible Women" in clear lettering. Simple but effective, Linda liked it. She felt light of foot and clean, the way she felt after passing a medical or an examination combined with a good long bath.

Jenna was waiting for her. She took one look at Linda's face and handed her a glass. "Congratulations," she said without asking. "School's out. Party time!"

Linda was welcomed and congratulated by people she didn't even know. She couldn't buy a drink all night, they just kept coming. Tribal initiation, she realised. Rite of passage. Do I really have to get the tattoo? I suppose it would be easier than being nailed to a tree for nine days or losing an eye. Her tolerance for intoxicants performed as usual, she was out of her box after one and a half, but her stamina cut in after that and she kept on ticking.

"We should get you branded," somebody told her. "I did it." Somebody pulled down her pants and treated Linda to a view of her buttocks. Sure enough, she bore a brand. It was less elaborate and more stylised than the badge but it was clearly an official SEW seal of approval.

"Very nice," said Linda, "But I'll pass..."

"Or you could have the tatt," somebody else said. She showed her shoulder. It was tastefully done, Linda had to admit.

"I give in," she told Jenna, "Where's yours?"

Jenna stood up and lifted her T-shirt with one hand while pulling her jeans down and unzipping them with the other. Linda's vision blurred for a moment and she leaned forward to see. The tattoo was on Jenna's lower belly, between her navel and her pubis. Linda could smell her. She was shaven and wore no underwear.

"Juicy, or not?" Jenna said.

"Juicy," Linda agreed.

An hour or so later the party had moved on. Linda wasn't sure how it had happened, her short term memory had decided to have an early night while she was nominally still awake. They were at a nightclub. Jenna was conducting an auction. Members of the Society she barely knew were playing along with it.

"What am I bid for a taste of this fine heifer?" Jenna called. A redhead (Debbie, Linda recalled) was standing naked on a bar table. "One hundred to lick her cunt. That's to start. Come on, kiddies, are there any MEN in here?"

Money flowed into her hands. Debbie ended up on a table being tasted by a dozen men. Well, more than three, Linda couldn't count accurately with her vision doubled. Next up was Arabella. Stripped, she revealed her tattoos or body paint to show herself marked out as a butchers diagram of cuts of meat. Linda knew this one, she had seen it before on graphic manipulations downloaded from the Net.

"Watch them drool," Jenna said, speaking aside. "Ara's gonna get fucked tonight. It never fails." As Arabella was led away by one of the punters, Jenna addressed the crowd again. "Next up is my own very dear friend Linda who just qualified as first grade womanflesh tonight."

What the Hell? "Jenna, I'm not doing this. Forget it. I'm not fucking a stranger and I'm not going to do that..." she glanced at Debbie who seemed to be enjoying her saliva bath. For a second she was tempted. "Sorry, nice party and all that, but no..."

Jenna raised her arm. "And here's LINDA!", she announced. "Round of applause, please."

Linda stood up, reluctantly accepting the cheers of the crowd with polite nods. "Jenn," she hissed, "I'm out of here.."

Jenna winked, "Don't worry," she said, "Trust me." Addressing the room, she said "How much to see her naked? I have and believe me, it's worth it."

Events at a party have their own momentum. You can go along or you can stand in the kitchen near the drinks table discussing philosophy or you can go home alone. That's how Linda ended up standing on a table naked and letting everybody present see everything she had.

That's the theory, anyway. It all seemed pretty harmless. Nobody was being raped or hurt, the club members treated the Society women with respect, there were rules. They have to or we won't come back, Linda realised. They won't take it any further than we let them or the fun's over. The realisation gave her a feeling of power and control and she revelled in it. She improvised an erotic dance, flaunting herself in front of a crowd of people she knew would love to fuck her or eat her or both. Not until I say so, her body language said. This is what you could have if I let you. She went with the feeling, pushing temptation to its limits. When she stepped down from the table, with remarkable grace considering how much she'd drunk, there was an uproar of applause. She held out her hand for her clothes and Jenna helped her dress.

"Very nice," her friend commented mildly, but her face showed respect and admiration. "I didn't know her had it in her. Well, I did, but I didn't expect to see it so soon..."

The party turned into something between a wild night out and an orgy. Linda refused to take it any further, even when she saw people screwing on the floor or committing less conventional erotic acts. She fielded offers of sex and more extreme proposals with polite aloofness. She couldn't be shocked into running away or seduced by facile chat-up lines. She was high on her power.

"Leave 'em drooling, eh?" Jenna said. She was, as usual, intoxicated but in command of herself. Her clothes were loosened but intact. "Let's blow."

"Going already? Barbi at my place next week," one of Linda's admirers said. He pressed a slip of paper into her hand. "Want to take place of honour?" He smirked suggestively.

"Not on your life," Linda replied, smiling brightly.

He shrugged. "Can't blame me for asking. Come anyway. There'll be steak, hot dogs, beer.. rather eat you but if not..."

"Very kind," said Linda. "I'll think about it."

"You''ll do it," Jenna said with that smug assurance Linda occasionally found irritating. She leaned back and inhaled the joint with the relaxed, sybaritic gusto she gave to all her indulgences. They were back in her flat, surrounded by the debris of her daily life and she had taken her jeans off. She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt. Her legs were sprawled apart, Linda wondered if she should look at her nudity. A twinge of her conventional upbringing said she shouldn't stare at another woman's cunt. The music was making her mind float, she tried to hold onto her recently won sense of empowerment.

"Like Hell I will," she said. "I'm not competing with hot dogs." The misunderstanding was deliberate.

Jenna gave her a Look. The conversation had drifted, as it does when her're stoned. Non- sequiturs were the norm, but underneath it they both knew what they were talking about. "You'll do it sometime," she said. "You're a natural."

"A natural what?"

"Spit muffin. Like me. Come on, admit it. It's not fun unless you know it's real. The difference between you and me is I know it."

"Know what?"

Jenna leaned forward, crossing her legs to support the change in position. She passed the joint. "One day," she confided with po-faced seriousness as if imparting some profound wisdom to a backward acolyte, "Your cunt will be on a plate. Accept it. You're gonna get et. You just get to choose when and where...shit, is all the wine gone?"

"Some here." Linda fished a half full bottle out of the debris and shared it out.

"You got that?" Jenna insisted. Her trigger had gone, she had the persistence of the seriously impaired.

"You first," Linda said.

"Bet you a fiver it's you," Jenna pressed on. She scooted up to Linda and lifted her legs, putting her feet on Linda's shoulders.

Linda didn't know where to look. She removed Jenna's feet one at a time. Right leg, left leg. Before she let go of Jenna's left leg she kissed her ankle. She was trying for affectionate and friendly but not up for it.

Jenna was undeterred. "Okay," she said. "Call it a night. You sleeping here? We can share the bed, I won't jump on you."

Linda was too stoned to contemplate walking home. She didn't want to wake up with cramp from sleeping on the couch. "Okay," she said.

Contrary to her expectations, sleeping with Jenna was comfortable and restful. She lay rigid in the bed until Jenna turned over and snuggled up to her, then she relaxed when she realised that she had fallen asleep. Linda drifted off into confusing dreams, a part of her conscious of the presence at her side. That was probably when it started to get out of hand, Linda remembered. Or possibly it was the cookery classes...

She was greeted warmly by the guests, and handed a glass of wine. She mingled with the crowd, talking to people, getting to know the ones who might soon be eating her. They were fully aware of what she was here for, she felt them evaluating her, speculating on what she would taste like. Their interest was friendly and open, there was no hypocrisy about it. Linda liked that. She felt delicious, she knew that this was the right venue for her denoument. She had done this before, gambled and survived, but she liked the guests here and hope she would win the draw this time.

She had never been so turned on in her life. Even the games hadn't taken her this high. The difference was that she was almost sure it would happen. She considered that if she was not chosen, she'd volunteer to be an extra, but she knew that would be bad manners - it would be an insult to the ones who'd won. She mentally crossed her fingers and took another glass of wine. It was heady, possibly strawberry and grass. Her insides were fizzing with excitement, but she continued to chat in an exuberant, slightly wild manner. Let it be me, she prayed. I want it. Jenna was right...

"Did we do anything we should have?" had been Jenna's first words when she woke up, Linda remembered.

"Not a thing," Linda told her. She felt remarkably comfortable. Okay, she had known for some time that Jenna was bisexual, and that she fancied her. So what?

"Bugger," said Jenna muzzily. "No, not bugger. If I ever fuck you I want to remember it."

"If you ever fuck me, you'll remember it," Linda said.

Over a breakfast of eggs, bacon, black pudding, grilled tomatoes and toast (Jenna wasn't of the orange juice and muesli persuasion) the subject of cookery came up.

"You should go to the classes," Jenna advised. "Get your marinade or whatever worked out. Chris is great with sauces and stuff. It's like chemistry but without all the confusing stuff about molecular weights and valencies. You just go with your nose."

Cookery classes were fun, once Linda got used to the idea that nudity was required.

"Okay", said Chris. "Those who haven't attended before, listen up. I see a few of you - what's your name?"

"Carina."

"You?"

"Linda."

One by one the neophytes were identified and greeted.

"Fine," Chris said. "Now we all know each other, I'll just run through the basics again. You are here because...why?" She pointed at a student she knew.

"Because we want to be prepared," said somebody Linda didn't know.

"Prepared for what?" Chris insisted.

"To be..er...eaten?"

Chris nodded. "And if you're going to be eaten you want to taste your best, right? And how do we determine that?"

Jenna gave Linda a look. Linda looked back.

"You," said Chris. Linda started.

"Um, we..." Linda recalled a conversation with Jenna about this. "We learn how to make our own sauces, dressings, so they'll go well with us?"

"Correct," Chris said. "Anybody here not know how to make a basic marinade?"

A few slow students were brought up to speed on the elements.

"We'll leave the complicated stuff till later," Chris said at last. "Once you have the basic idea, it's easy, the rest is just details. The point is to select your personal flavour. It has to complement you. Your body type is important but even more so is your scent. This can't be learned by reading about it, we have to do it." She produced a piece of raw meat. "This is venison," she said. "There is a complete complete collection of cooking oils and herbs. You will each decide how to cook your own piece of meat and you'll taste it."

The venue for the seminar was well equipped with cooking equipment. Everybody set about preparing and cooking their own piece. Linda cooked her slice of deermeat by flash-frying it in a pan with olive oil and a few basic seasonings. It wasn't bad, she thought.

"Crude, but passable," was Chris's verdict. "I'd have used horseradish rather than mustard. Would you like to be cooked like that?"

Linda didn't even think of saying she wasn't sure she wanted to be cooked at all, it would have been inappropriate in that context.

"I'm not venison," she hedged. To her surprise, Chris held up her hand and called the class to attention.

"Say that again."

"I'm not venison," Linda repeated dutifully.

"Exactly right," Chris said. "Well done, everybody, but now we get serious. All take your clothes off."

Linda looked at Jenna, who smiled and stripped off without hesitation.

"You are now meat," said Chris. "Pair up. Everybody choose a partner."

Linda would have felt more at ease with Jenna, but she had been picked by another. She ended up with a plump brunette she didn't know.

"Astarte," the girl said.

"Astarte?"

"Don't ask."

"Linda." They shook hands.

"Now," Chris announced, "You decide how you would cook your partner. We have a selection of prepared marinades you can use, try them on her skin, see how they go with her scent. Half an hour's free play, then..." she smirked evilly..

Then what? Linda wondered. One of us gets cooked? Can they do that? Her heartbeat went up a few notches.

"We get a drink break. See you in the bar in thirty."

Linda stared at her new partner hesitantly. Were they really supposed to smear herb scented oils on each other to determine what they'd be best cooked with, for all the world as if they were choosing a fragrance at a perfume counter for a night out on the town? It suddenly seemed bizarre. She imagined Jenna telling her not to be such a prig and looked around inadvertently to see if she was watching her. She wasn't, she was smiling and chatting easily with her own partner.

"Do you want to start?" Astarte prompted her a little shyly. "Oh, by the way, call me Star if her like." She shrugged, self-deprecation evident in her gesture. "Nearly as silly as Astarte but I'm used to it."

Why not? Linda thought. What's the big deal? She wasn't really a prude, she told herself, but she knew she was a bit fastidious, a bit wary of touching people. Her upbringing, she supposed. It's not as if they were going to grope each other in public view, not quite. "How would you like to be cooked?" she opened.

"I don't really know. I don't think I've got the right body type for spit roasting. Maybe a stew or something. How about you?"

"Everybody tells me I'm headed for the spit," Linda said wryly. "I'm beginning to think it's a conspiracy." It was a feeble joke but it helped break the ice.

Astarte nodded. "You've got the figure. You'd look great on a spit. Not for me, though."

"Why not?" Linda felt the need to boost the girl's confidence. "You look fine." She gave the other girl's body a serious appraisal. She wasn't obese or unattractive, just a little short and rounded, with a padding of puppy fat and a round, guilelessly cherubic face. Her hands and feet were small and shapely, her pinkish skin was smooth and clear. "You passed inspection, didn't you?"

"I suppose so.." A shrug and a shy smile. "What do you think would suit me?"

Linda gave it some thought. She couldn't help being reminded of a cute little piglet. Surprising herself, she moved closer and inspected her, touching and smelling her skin. She smelled like fresh pork and a little buttery. What went well with pork? Sage and onion? Apple sauce?

"Oh, by the way, call me Star if you like." Astarte shrugged again, self-deprecation evident in her gesture. "Nearly as silly as Astarte but I'm used to it."

"Why silly?" Linda asked absently. Well, how would she cook this girl? She began to take it seriously, it was obviously important to her and a glib answer wouldn't do.

"'Star' doesn't sound like a short, dark, fat girl," Star replied.

"You're not fat, you're nicely rounded. Self-basting, I'd say. We could oven roast you. On a nice big roasting tray. You'd have to shave of course, no way that would burn off in an oven." She flicked a finger down Star's pubic hair and imagined her kneeling down on a tray with an apple in her mouth. "I bet you'd taste great. You certainly do smell good. I'd eat you."

"Really?" Linda was looking at Star's smooth back and round buttocks, but she could hear the pleased smile in the girl's voice.

**********

"Definitely. We need something clean and sharp to balance the richness. Sage, rosemary, maybe something fruity but astringent...." Lemon? No, too much. Apples, it was obvious but none the less right for that. "Let's get a sniff of those scented oils, I'm sure we can find something for you."

The ice was broken, melted and poured down the drain. For the rest of the session they had fun trying on scents, tasting sauces and dressings, sniffing each other like animals. They were at ease with each other, a curious camaraderie arising from the unexamined but ever present extremity of what their activity implied. It was a much more relaxed Linda who went to the bar, not at all relieved when the session time ended. She'd had a nice time.

Chris was there already, and so was Jenna. Her partner had apparently left. Linda introduced Star and went to buy a round.

"So, how did it go?" Chris asked Star.

"Linda thinks oven roasting," Star said. "I don't know if anybody's got an oven big enough for a whole girl...?" She looked to Chris for approval.

Chris nodded. "Good choice, and yes they do. Stick to your guns, kid, if that's the way you want to do it, don't settle for less. There are people who'd buy the bloody thing just to get your juicy little bod on a platter."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Slow cooked until you get brown and your skin crisps a bit." Chris smacked her lips. "Definitely edible."

Linda handed out the drinks.

"How about you?" Chris asked her.

"The usual," Linda said, waiting for Jenna's 'I told her so'. "I'm for the spit, it seems. I think I'll take up politics or become a nun just to annoy you all." She took a long pull at her drink.

"No, you won't," said Jenna smugly.

Linda studiously ignored her. "Or maybe I'll be sausages..."

Star looked horrified. "No! You can't, you'd be wasted....." She did a double take as everybody was smirking. "Oh, all right, make fun..." But there was no bitterness in her rueful smile. It was just a gentle ribbing between friends.

"Do you fancy her?" Jenna asked. They had ended up back at her pit somehow. She passed the joint.

"Who?" Linda evaded. Bad move, she realised as soon as she'd said it.

"Miss Piggy."

There was no point trying to misunderstand that. "If you mean Star, that's not funny, and it's cruel. She's really sweet when you get to know her."

"Sweet on her, anyway. Bet she tasted good too. Don't hog it."

Linda passed the joint back. "Give it a rest. Okay, she smells nice, if you really want to know. And I like her, so what? She's a nice kid, that's all. We got on. Doesn't mean she wants to fuck me."

Jenna ignored that. "Good idea, though. Oven roast her. Slice her up, serve with stuffing and apple sauce. Perfect. I'd eat that." She took a contemplative drag. "Rather fuck her first, though."

"And there her were doing so well trying to convince me you prefer men."

Jenna shrugged. "I'm easy. Men are great but there's less baggage playing touchy-feely with another woman. No big ego thing, no hearts and flowers. It's fun, you should try it. What's the harm?"

What indeed? Linda really did prefer men, but would it hurt to let Jenna play with her? It might at least be easier than constantly fending her off, maybe if they just did it she wouldn't push so much. Still, a streak of stubbornness in her resisted it. "When are you going to stop trying to seduce me?"

"When you're dead or I am. Look, face it, we're both going to be eaten. What's the point hanging on to your inhibitions? I'm not going to rape you. If you want a little fun before it happens, I'm here. And yes, I am attracted to you. Most of the women into this scene are bisexual. Know why?"

Linda wasn't ready to answer that, so Jenna did it for her.

"Men aren't interested in each other's bodies unless they're actually gay. Women are. What do we see on the cover of a men's magazine? A good looking woman. What do we see on the cover of a woman's magazine? A good looking woman.We're more conscious of our bodies, of ourselves as sensual animals. We know we're flesh and blood. We're slaves to it, and we may as well admit it and use it."

"Oh, right. So we play with each other a little while until one day some guy decides he'd like to eat you and you just let him have it. One century of feminism out the window..."

"You haven't been paying attention. We got the vote, we won. Unchain yourself from the railings, girl, game over, forget it. Now we get to call the shots."

"Which we do by being cattle again?" Linda felt compelled to play Devil's advocate. She knew that wasn't quite the point but Jenna's sudden attack of evangelism had got her adversarial streak going.

"Choice, kid. We decide when and how. The idea of turns me on, and it does you or you wouldn't be here. Do what you like, but stop kidding yourself. Want to watch a video?"

"No." Linda felt a little cheated, she had geared up for a fight and Jenna just dropped it.

Jenna put it on anyway. She also changed the music. "One of my favourites," she said. As "Feel Flows" by the Beach Boys took over the air, Linda saw an obviously amateur recording of a woman laid out on a table. She watched as a man and a woman slit her belly open and pulled her entrails out. She seemed to be conscious throughout the operation. Jenna was touching her own belly, her fingers spread.

"They stuff her next..." She was enraptured. "Watch..."

Linda's stomach tensed as she saw the woman being disembowelled. Her insides were put in a bucket. She was doomed, still alive but there was no way she could survive what was being done to her. Jenna was masturbating openly under her skirt. "I'm going home," she said.

"Suit yourself." Jenna's tone was distracted, not angry.

LInda couldn't move. She didn't want to watch the video, but couldn't stop watching it either and she didn't feel entirely comfortable being there as her friend stroked herself. Which, she told herself sternly, really was priggish. "Why isn't she screaming or something?" she asked as levelly as she could. "That must hurt like Hell. Is she drugged?" The woman on the table was breathing shallowly in short, quick gasps.

"That or she's hypnotised," Jenna. Her own breathing sounded a bit laboured. "Or some electronic stuff. The Society's...ah...got people who know about all that. Medical tech, from surgery. No good unless the other guys know what they're doing but the cannies have their experts too. You not heard the talk on that yet?"

Linda noted with relief that Jenna had eased off on the autostimulation. Maybe she was just getting herself warmed up, in no hurry to reach a early conclusion. "No, just some bits and pieces from the website."

Incredibly, the woman on the video was still alive when they stitched her up. "Some techniques," Linda muttered.

"Imagine it," Jenna said dreamily. "She's really meat now, not just playing. She's still alive but she can't go back. Nowhere to go but the oven. Imagine what's going through her head..." She shuddered ecstatically.

"What's the last thing that goes through a fly's head when it hits a car's windscreen?" Linda heard herself say. The old joke had just popped up in there from nowhere.

"What?"

"Its arsehole."

Jenna threw a pillow at her. That started a play fight that left them both laughing and panting as Linda eventually pinned Jenna face down on the bed with one arm twisted behind her.

"That'll teach you to trifle with me," Linda intoned in mock-melodramatic fashion.

"You're a toughie, aren't you?" Jenna said archly. "What will you do with me now, O Mistress? I'm at your mercy. Are you going to ravish me? Kill me and eat me?" There was a hint of longing in her voice, feigned or not? Was Jenna a masochist?

"I'm thinking about it," Linda said ominously. So far it was just horseplay but it could easily go further and it seemed to her that Jenna wouldn't mind if it did. She'd read that some of the would- be victims of the gynophagia fantasy got off on the idea of torture. It was all over the Internet sites, particulary those dealing with the classic Dolcett scenarios:

["Personally, the fear involved can be quite overwhelming, very strong. But it also makes the fantasy more powerful, more involving. I know sometimes when I'm immersed in the fantasy, my hands are shaking a bit, and my mind is racing. I think the pain also is similar in this respect. It is formidable, overwhelming, incredible. Combining fear with pain makes for incredible sensations. I have fantasies about being eaten, among other things. Along the lines of this, my favorite fantasy would be a mix between Meredith's Last Interview and Club-X I guess. I'd be taken to a warehouse, unaware of my impending fate. While there, I'd be used by several men and women, while generally in bondage and helpless. Then, they'd take me into another part of the building, and force me onto a Jessica 3000. I wouldn't know what the machine was for though. After being prepared, they'd start the machine, and I'd go, pretty much like Meredith. I imagine being aware through being placed over the fire....."]

Had the woman who wrote that really wanted it to happen to her or was she just fantasising? Linda didn't know. The Society dealt in consensual submission, the members usually chose their own method of exit. They were rarely victims of crime as far as she knew. Though the law had legalised voluntary cannibalism (and voluntary everything else) the killing of an unwilling victim was no less a crime than ever before. Of course, there would be ways of setting oneself up to be killed so that it was painful and unexpected...

"Are you going to kill me or let me up?" Jenna complained. "Muck or nettles, kid, shit or get off the pot."

Linda snapped out of it. "Sorry." She was suddenly conscious of the warmth of Jenna's body, her legs were astride her firm rump. She dismounted and let go of Jenna's arm.

"Drat," Jenna said. "I was going for ravishment. You can eat me afterwards?" she added hopefully.

"So that's why you let me win."

"Like fuck I did, I'd at least have got your panties off if I'd won. You're bloody strong. That or you know how to wrestle. Care for a rematch?"

"Maybe later, I need a drink."

Drinks were found, they sat together on the bed in easy companionship, both a little dishevelled, as Jenna rolled another joint.

"Doesn't it worry you whether it will hurt?" Linda asked. "I mean, if you really are going to do it..." Jenna had always insisted she would, though Linda was never quite sure when she was serious, she was so adept at playing games.

"It might," Jenna said, flippancy discarded for a moment. "That's part of the kick. Past a certain point, you're helpless. That's why I like that video. However I do it, it's not going to be a quick knockout. I've done the guillotine fantasy - you know, you get your head chopped off first? That's fun, but it's too quick. When it's real, I'll only be able to do it once. I want the whole thing, like a ritual. I want to know what's going on until I die."

There was no 'if' in that speech, and the fact that Jenna hadn't tried to tie her own supposedly inevitable demise into it made it all the more convincing.

"You'll do it too," she added as an afterthought. "Sooner or later." She lit the joint and passed it. It didn't detract from her conviction.

"I will do what I bloody well choose to do," Linda said.

Jenna nodded wisely. "Yes, you will, little grasshopper."

Linda resisted the urge to pin her to the mat again. "Fuck you, Yoda."

"Please?"

She was impossible.

Linda got her tattoo more or less by accident. The lecture by a visiting member of the Cannibal Club had been on techniques of keeping women alive for as long as possible while preparing and cooking them. He was well informed, a witty speaker and quite good looking. Linda had been informed of the event by Jenna and was sitting between her and Star. The lecture room's lights were low as the talk was accompanied by an old-fashioned slide projector show.

"He can eat me if I can fuck him first," Jenna predictably commented.

"Say it a bit louder, I don't think everybody heard," Linda replied wryly. "I don't suppose he'll turn down an offer like that. It's a win-win situation for him. Get a grip."

Star seemed to be working up her courage for something. When the speaker turned up the lights and invited questions, she stuck up her hand.

"Yes?" He pointed at her.

"Ah.. I just wondered... about oven roasting? I mean, how long would I....somebody last?"

The man nodded acknowlegment and launched on a detailed exposition of the current state of the art.

"If you don't mind me saying so," he concluded courteously, "You'd make a very good oven roaster yourself. Have you considered..."

The majority of the audience had adjourned to the bar and the discussion continued there. Star and the visiting cannibal were getting on like a house on fire. How Linda ended up on a table upstairs having a tattoo on her bum while some of her friends looked on she couldn't quite remember afterwards. It was like something you say or do at a party that you hope everybody will conveniently forget.

The next day, she remembered. Tattoos last longer than hangovers. A sigil on her left buttock proudly proclaimed that she was prime SEW approved meat.

"Oh shit," she groaned. Well, at least she hadn't had it put anywhere it would be visible at the office. Any normal outfit involving a skirt or trousers would conceal it. That didn't stop her being conscious of it at work. Nobody commented because nobody could see it, but she knew it was there. It wasn't really very sore but it burned her like an invisible stigma, she felt that it showed through her clothes, marking her as meat, available, different...

It turned her on. She wondered if any of the other women at the office were branded too, she began to look at them differently. Their clothes concealed their bodies, their personas concealed themselves. Who were they really? What did they do when they were alone?

"You bitch," she announced to Jenna on the phone that evening.

"Hello, Linda, how are you?"

"You got me branded."

"I thought it was about time." Jenna didn't attempt to dissemble, she had been instrumental in getting Linda to do it and they both knew it. "You didn't object."

"I was fucking drunk, you cunt. You could have dyed my hair blue."

Brief pause. "I don't think that would suit you. I like your hair the colour it is."

"On my fucking bum!" It had occurred to Linda that summer was a'coming in. "I'll have to wear shorts on the beach! A bikini won't cover it. You've got yours where nobody can see it." Jenna's tattoo, she knew, was barely above her pubis.

"You haven't seen my beach gear, it doesn't go much north of the clit."

"You're kidding...." No, she thought, she wasn't. Rats.

"Nope. Three postage stamps - not celebration issues - and a couple of strings to stop them falling off. It's a masterpiece of engineering. Want me to model it for you?"

This was where Linda was expected to decline, she knew. "Yeah, show me," she said belligerently. "If I'm going to be stuck with this I want to know that you are....oh fuck." She had been derailed again. Jenna wasn't bluffing, she knew.

"Gotcha," Jenna said, amicably. There was no need to gloat. "Here's the punchline: the ink is degradable. The club's got the laser gear. You can get it removed. It'll smart a bit for a couple of hours, that's all. No scars, no charge, service free to full members which you now are, okay? Peace?"

As a prank it was harmless. The effect was all in her head. "All right," she said.

"All right! Now if we're friends again, how about joining me on a gig?"

"Gig?" Linda's voice acquired a sharp, suspicious tone. What was she trying to get her into now? Jenna wasn't a professional musician as far as she knew, and she certainly wasn't. "What gig? Wrestling alligators, loser gets eaten? S/M orgy?"

Jenna laughed. "Great ideas, you've got some imagination. No, nothing like that. Just a strip club, nothing heavy. We take our kit off and move about a bit, they pay us heaps of money. It's fun, it's easy and it we're quids in. How about it?"

Linda could hardly object on moral grounds, she'd already shown herself off to a roomful of strangers the day she qualified. "I don't know striptease," she pointed out. "There's more to it than just getting undressed."

"It helps if you dance," Jenna admitted, "But with a bod like yours there won't be any art critics asking for their money back. Just move around looking slinky, get your kit off a bit at a time, it's not quantum physics. Don't tell me you never danced on your own listening to music?"

"Well..." She had, who hadn't?

"Just do that, but with less on and people watching. That shouldn't bother you. You've done it before. Anyway, when you get cooked you're not going to get to keep your knickers on."

"IF I get cooked," Linda added automatically.

"Sure, if, whatever," Jenna said dismissively.

"What makes you think the club will take me on, anyway? I'm not a professional, why should they?"

"Earth to Linda, switch on brain. How many guys get to see SEW women strip? You've got the brand, it drives them crazy. They look at a stripper and half of them want to eat her alive, right? They see the mark and they're thinking, yeah, maybe I could. Use your imagination."

It was difficult to argue because she was getting aroused by the idea. Why else had she joined the Society if not to play out her fantasies? What better way to do it without actually getting cooked than striptease?

"I suppose you've done this before?" Stupid question.

"Yup. Did it from cold, I'm not trained either. It's not hard."

"This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

"Would I do that to you?" A hint of mockery in the voice, or reproach?

Linda started to say "In a second" but stopped herself. Jenna had played games with her but never anything serious or irrevocable, not against her will. Instead she said, "Is it safe?"

"Very expensive club. Professional bouncers. Nobody gets to the dancers, you're not going to be dragged off the stage and eaten alive, trust me. I wouldn't do it, I'm not going out like that."

Linda resistance was eroding. "I'll think about it. But I don't want to make a total prat of myself. I'm not doing it unless I can rehearse a bit, can we do that?"

"No problemo, amiga. Got a room at the Club with a sound system and a pole in it. We can give it a go tonight. Meet you in the bar?"

The gig was that weekend. Linda was nervous going out on stage, more about performance than actual nudity. She wasn't drunk enough for that, she hadn't wanted to fall over. Her heart was too high in her chest, the lights were too bright, her limbs felt stiff and unsteady at the same time. A night of playing about in a private room at her club hadn't prepared her for this. Jenna's distantly remembered assurances that she moved well no longer meant very much.

"....the adorable, edible Miss Linda Licious," the MC announced.

Linda could barely see the crowd as her eyes tried to adjust to the lights. She drew herself up and snapped her fingers at the DJ. As the music she'd chosen started she closed her eyes and stood still, listening for the movement in it, letting it force her to move. She began when she was ready. The voice in her head saying she would bomb faded out. Fuck it, if they don't like it, so what? She danced. She displayed herself. Her eyes opened somewhere along the way and she played to the audience to the music, to herself. She didn't notice when the piece she had selected segued into another track, the DJ knew his job, she just followed the rhythms.

"She's taking too long," one of the backstage assistants worried. "We should pull her. Put Jenna or Kitty on."

"Like fuck she is," Jenna said. "Look at the punters. Nobody's throwing tomatoes." The club's manager nodded. "Let it run." He signalled the DJ to keep it coming.

It was a long time before Linda took off the last scrap of cloth, her negligible G-string, but nobody stopped her so she kept on going. She came to rest at last wrapped around the pole. The crowd went wild.

"You're on next," the manager told Jenna.

"Screw that, I'm not following that act," Jenna told him. "I'll open tomorrow if you like..."

Linda came offstage after somebody turned the lights down. "Was that okay?" she asked. She seemed to be in a trance.

"You're a natural," Jenna assured her.

"I could feel them," Linda murmured. "Devouring me with their eyes..." She was naked and seemingly unconscious of it, stroking herself in full view of the manager, the technicians and the other girls. Her eyes were unfocussed.

"That'll have to do until we give them knives and forks," Jenna said sharply. "Snap out of it, kid."

"hmm?...oh..." Linda seemed to awaken. Suddenly she realised where she was.

"I'll need you to sign this," the manager told her. He held out a paper on a clipboard and a pen.

Linda was coming down. Sign what? Her eyes widened in alarm. A release form so they could cook her? Jenna read her mind.

"Don't worry, it's just a contract for the video. Everybody here will want a copy, the punters will snap 'em up. You get royalties, of course."

"I don't know...." They'd recorded it? Linda gathered her wits. "I'd have to see it first." She wanted to know what her improvised performance had looked like.

Jenna nodded approval. "Sounds fair to me. Jerry?"

The manager sighed. "All right. Joe, copy the disc."

"Already done." One of the technogeeks handed the video disc to Linda. He winked at her. "Nice stuff. You'll sell like hot cakes."

Despite Jenna's entreaties, the video went unseen that night. Linda took it with her when she came to the Club the following evening.

"Come on," Jenna urged her over the first drink. "Let's see it. We can go to the viewing room.." She was still pestering Linda about it when Star joined them. She had a dreamy, satisfied expression on her face that could only mean one thing.

"You've been bonking," Jenna diagnosed.

"Bonking?" Star looked nonplussed.

"You've had a good seeing to. You got laid, as our American cousins would say. Had your ashes hauled. Got pulled. Had it away. How was it? Who's the lucky boy, then?"

Star's cherubic face coloured slightly. "It was wonderful," she said defiantly. "He's such a gentleman..."

"Who? Don't tell me, let me guess. The guy from the cannibal club."

"Richard. His name is Richard. He was so sweet. We had dinner in this lovely little restaurant and then he took me back to his place. We had wine and music, it was so romantic...." She sighed.

"And now I suppose he's going to marry you?" Linda wished she hadn't said it, but Star was unaffected by the dig. Her smile was beatific.

"Oh, no. He wants to eat me. All of me. We talked about how to do it, after, you know? I've got you to thank, Linda. He liked your suggestions. I thought it might be nice to invite you." She shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, a private dinner would be more intimate but he'd want some company after. We haven't worked it all out yet. I wish I had something nicer to wear, you know? But he says he doesn't care about that. He just wants me."

"And until you do get cooked, he'll keep fucking you?" Jenna inquired innocently.

Star frowned and shook her head, then her face cleared of reproach. "You wouldn't understand," she said patiently. "It's love."

"Sorry," said Jenna contritely. "If I'm invited, I'd love a piece of your juicy arse. I've said so before, haven't I?" She looked to Linda.

"She did say that," Linda admitted. It was true enough. Star looked satisfied, irony was lost on her.

"Come on, Lin, let's see the video," Jenna said.

"What's that?" Star wondered.

Linda sighed. She'd been dreading this and looking forward to it in equal measure. She should have viewed it at home. Embarrassment loomed on the horizon. "Oh, alright then," she said.

Jenna and Star watched the show in respecful silence, Linda in wonder. Was that really her? The woman on the screen was selling herself, one step away from giving it away for free. Tantalising.

"Love the bit where you flaunt the tattoo," Jenna said afterwards. "Just before you take the G- string off. Hand on your butt, moving down, pulling the string away from your cunt. Masterful." She lifted her glass in salute.

"It's the pole that got me," was Star's opinion. "You made it look like you wanted it in you."

And out again, Linda thought. She remembered the video of Connie getting spitted. What stuck in her mind was the image of herself kissing the pole, juxtaposed with her memory of the spit coming out of Connie's mouth. Yes, she thought. I did want it in me. Or at least that's the fantasy I was playing with. "Thanks," she said. "I didn't know if it looked convincing."

"Convinced me," Jenna said. There was a hint of smugness in her tone, Linda knew what it implied and ignored her.

"What about you?" she asked, diverting attention from herself to Star. "Are you really going to do it?"

"Oh, yes," said Star, smiling happily. "It's going to be perfect." She hugged herself. "Perfect."

And for her, maybe it was, Linda reflected. We all have our fantasies, this was hers. Some of us want to be ravished, tortured, eaten by wild animals. Some of us want to play the sex goddess game, offering ourselves as the ultimate bodily sacrifice on our own terms. She wants to give herself to her 'lover'. Does he really care about her? There was no way of knowing. Should she try to break Star out of her dream? At one time she would have tried to. Now she didn't know if she should. Would it be kind or cruel? And who was she to judge?

"Back to the ant farm!" Jenna announced.

Star looked a question at Linda. "She means we're invited back to her place," she interpreted. "It's not far."

"Me too?"

"Yes, you."

And so it proved. Jenna had a multimedia event in mind, she reran Linda's performance on screen with the sound off, accompanying it with a soundtrack from her own music system, a bottle or three of wine and a few joints. She managed this with ease while talking them into a game of strip poker. As party animals go, Jenna was a tiger. She also cheated at cards. She had Star down to her knickers in double quick time, Linda had a shrewd idea why.

"Three aces," Jenna announced at last. The video screen was paused with Linda posed in a perverse relationship with a metal pole. "Get 'em off."

Star complied, a little shyly.

"Oh, tasty," Jenna said, licking her lips. "Want to stop over?"

Star was naive but not stupid. "I don't....I don't do that." She looked apologetic.

Jenna didn't let up. "So I can eat you but not fuck you? Oh come on, why not? You'll be leftovers inside a month. Or when is it? Have you named the day?"

"Leave her alone, Jen," Linda interrupted. "If it's not her thing, it's not."

Jenna looked the picture of wounded innocence. "I only offered. No pressure."

Star didn't want to be the cause of a conflict. "It's okay," she said. "It's just..." she shrugged modestly, "I'm not used to it."

"I don't think Richard would mind," Jenna offered hopefully.

Linda had had enough. "You just want to fuck her because she's going to get cooked soon," she said bluntly. "You get off on that."

Jenna considered that, or made a show of doing so. "Now you mention it, yes, I do. So what? If I get invited to, I'll eat her too. What's the harm?"

Star was starting to look uncomfortable and uncertain. Linda could read her mind on her face, no wonder she lost at poker. Was that the only reason she'd been invited here? Jenna didn't really like her, she just wanted to fuck her.

Linda reached out and touched her bare shoulder supportively. "You do what you want to do," she said. "You can walk home with me if you like."

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Lin, sometimes you can be a real pain. Star, okay, sorry, maybe I was pushing it a bit. Ever read Andrew Marvell? Yes, I thought we could have a little fun, I don't have time to be subtle about it. If you don't want to, that's cool. Peace?"

Star was mollified. "Okay, but who's this Marvell guy?

"Poet," Linda explained. "He wrote this thing to his mistress saying he'd really like to take a few years to describe her charms, woo her and all that, but life's too short so please just get yer knickers off."

Star giggled. "Too late," she said, indicating her nudity, less shyly this time.

"I'll make it up," said Jenna. She reset the video and started Linda's performance again. This time, instead of just watching, she stripped to the music. Linda relaxed and enjoyed the performance. Maybe she was being too uptight.

From there on it was a hop, skip and jump to all three of them playing twister in the nude.

"Who's licking my ankle?" Star asked with mock indignation.

"Just getting a foretaste," Jenna mumbled between slurps. "Don't worry, I won't bite. Yet."

And that, Linda remembered the next morning, was how they'd ended up on the bed previewing Star's flavour. She had actually licked the sweat off the girl's small tits and chewed her nipples while Jenna did the work lower down. It had been fun.

And Star had loved it, she had to admit. Jenna had been right, what was the harm? If the kid was going to get herself cooked because she lacked confidence in her own attractiveness, that could only have helped her. If she was going to do it anyway, no harm done, she'd had a good time.

Star was bubbly in the Club the next time they saw her. "I told Richard all about it," she admitted. "He just said 'did you enjoy it?' and I said yes, and he said well that's okay then. So it's still on. He said I could invite you to dinner and could he bring a friend too and I said yes. It's going to be early next month so will you come? Please?"

"Couldn't keep me away," Jenna said warmly.

"Of course I will," Linda said. She couldn't help adding, "I'll miss you."

Star hugged them both, knocking Jenna's drink over. "That's so great! Gotta go, I've got a date..." she winked archly.

"That's the spirit," Jenna cheered as she left.

Linda was pensive for a while after that. Jenna bought another round.

"Penny for 'em?"

Linda shrugged. "I don't know. She's going to be dead soon. I like her, Jen. Really."

"Bother you about eating her?"

"No....yes, I don't know. No. It's not that. I mean it, I like her."

Jenna nodded. "So do I. Okay, you were right, she's nice, point to you. So?"

Linda stared at her. "She's going to die. Soon. Doesn't it bother you?"

"No," Jenna said. "Because so am I. And - okay, probably - so are you."

"It wouldn't bother you to see me lying on a platter either, would it?"

"Only if I didn't get to fuck you first." Jenna shook her head. "Lin, maybe you're just playing at this, maybe not. Maybe I'm wrong, you're not going to do it. But I'm not going to make you do it, nobody is. And I'm not playing. Okay!" She put a hand up. "Well, yes, I am. But I'm not playing at playing, I'm playing for keeps. One day it'll be me on a plate and if I don't get you first I hope you're there and I hope you enjoy every bite of me, I won't grudge it you one bit. That's it, Lin, that's me. If you don't like it, sorry, but I'm not pretending, not to you. Or to her." She indicated the door Star had left through with a toss of the head. "Okay?"

"Okay." After all, Linda knew, Jenna had never been anything other than honest with her. She was always herself.

"So are you really going?"

Linda thought about it. "I promised," she said. "I'll have to."

"Bullshit," Jenna said. "Admit it to yourself, if you can't admit it to me. You want to."

A part of her did want to, and she had the perfect excuse. She wanted to know what it would feel like to eat someone she knew, and she had been invited and accepted. She could do it with a clear conscience. "I don't...." She stopped.

"Fine. Are you coming or not?"

Linda sighed and gave in. "Yes, okay, all right? I'll be there."

For the occasion, Linda bought a new outfit. With her additional sources of income, she realised, she could afford anything she wanted. In the intervening days she had received an advance on sales of her video, she had the fee for her original performance and of course her regular salary. To her own surprise, she continued to perform well at work. She turned up for the private dinner party wearing a backless blue dress that covered her buttocks and the first couple of inches of her legs, no underwear and a pair of the strapped sandals known as 'fuck me shoes'.

"Nice," was Jenna's appraisal. She was wearing denim shorts under an open leather blouson jacket. Her tits were visible as it shifted. It was a warm night. "I see you've come prepared."

Richard greeted them warmly and ushered them in. The house was pervaded by the savoury smell of cooking. "Perfect timing" he noted. "She'll be ready soon. Drinks?"

The other guest was waiting inside. It was Jeremy.

"Love the frock," he told Linda. "I was looking forward to seeing you again."

The conversation went through the awkward stages quickly, aided by a couple of glasses of the usual social lubricant. Linda was conscious throughout of Jeremy's attentiveness to her. It was hardly any time at all until Richard declared that dinner was ready. He went into the kitchen with Jeremy to collect the food, it would take both of them to get the roast on the table.

Linda's heart rate went up a notch. She felt high, nervous and excited.

Star emerged from the kitchen on an enormous serving dish. She was dead, of course, cooked in an oven like a roast turkey. She had been trussed with her legs under her and her hands tied behind her back. She smelled wonderful.

Linda had to sit down. She could hardly speak. She watched while Star was put on the table and Richard asked her what she wanted to eat. Only polite, she thought, to serve the guests first.

"Rump," she said, it was the first word that came to mind. Star's round backside seemed to be in her face.

"Good choice," said Richard cheerily. He began to carve. Linda's vision was tunneling, going in and out of focus. She was still staring at Star's feet (slighty crispy, she thought) when her plate came back filled. She felt a tension she recognised as the kind of pre-orgasmic urgency she had never before felt in company. Eyes down, she decided that eating would calm her stomach. She sliced off a nice piece of Star's meat and put it into her mouth. She was more than a little tripped out.

"How did you stuff her?" Jenna asked.

"Enema pump, sort of," Richard explained as he ate. "Cleaned her out and pumped in a little wine sauce. Had her in the bath for a bit, marinading. She liked that." He took another bite and swallowed with obvious satisfaction. "Then I tenderised her."

Jeremy raised a glass. ""I'll drink to that," he said.

"Tenderised?" Linda managed. The meat was delicious. She wanted to congratulate Star.

"In vulgar terms, I fucked her brains out," Richard explained.

Jenna was smirking. "Lucky you."

"How was she?" Jeremy wanted to know.

Linda focussed. She wanted to tell them that Star had been her friend. Parts of Star were now in her belly. She loved her, she almost said.

"She was good," Richard said. "She was a sweet kid and sexy as hell. Much better in bed than she thought she was."

"Did you tell her that?" Linda found her voice at last.

"Yes, I did," Richard told her.

"I hope she believed her."

Richard nodded. "So do I. Want some more?"

Linda's plate was empty. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room. Everything seemed different somehow, she was in another mental state. "Yes," she said. My cunt on a plate, she thought. That could happen. And suddenly she relaxed. The breath she hadn't known she'd been holding came out. "Yes, please," she repeated.

As she ate more of Star the last of her anxiety departed. It was an oft-repeated cliche when somebody died and you had a good time at the wake that 'they would have wanted it this way'. Well, in Star's case that was literally true. She had not only wanted it this way but had contrived it herself, planned the details and prepared herself for it.

"Was she alive when she went into the oven?" she enquired conversationally. She had to know.

Richard nodded emphatically while chewing and held a hand up until he swallowed. "Oh, absolutely," he said. "I did ask her if she'd rather be killed first, of course, only polite, but she wanted to feel herself cooking. No surprise there, that's the whole point. From the meat's point of view, I mean. The tricky bit is getting the programming right on the oven. Jeremy helped with that."

Jeremy made a modest gesture.

"What you have to do," Richard went on, "is warm the oven slowly so the meat - the woman being cooked, Star in this case - can feel herself heating up for a good while before the temperature gets lethal. I mean, if you just slammed on the microwaves right away her brain would overheat in seconds and bingo, she's gone. No fun at all. Once she's out of it, the rest of the program has to make sure she's properly cooked and a bit browned. Took us ages to get it right."

"Not that long," Jeremy interjected a little sharply.

"And how many badly cooked women?"

"Oh, not all that many," Richard said dismissively. "Some of them were bought from Eastern Foods, a few volunteers. We've been accumulating knowledge for years now. When we cook you, we do it right."

It sounded like a motto, a slogan from a website. Advertising. Linda had heard it before or thought she had. "Do you usually eat your girlfriends?" she asked lightly. She felt like a character in a French film where all the heroines die or go mad.

Jeremy stifled a laugh, Jenna didn't. She practically choked. Richard looked blank for a moment and then composed himself. He raised an eyebrow in the fashion popularised by Roger Moore. "Not at all," he said urbanely. "Eating one's own lover is a rare and special privilege. I count myself lucky to have met Star and consummated our relationship in this fashion. I hoped you would appreciate it."

Linda didn't like feeling out of her depth. She surfaced. "I do," she said. The irony of the role reversal wasn't lost on her. Star had seemed naive to her, but she had at least known what she was doing and perhaps had found her place. "I appreciate it very much." Star's body was still there, most of it still unused. "What happens to her now?"

"Don't worry about it," Jenna said before Richard could treat them to an exposition. "She won't be wasted, believe me." The men nodded assent.

Linda knew that both of them would like to eat her too. It wasn't a suspicion, it was a fact neither of them would even try to deny. She also knew what Jenna would try to get her into next. She wasn't going to be led into that. She stood up and pulled her dress off over her head.

"Anybody ready for a post-prandial orgy?" she invited. There were no refusals.

Linda awoke the next morning with that old 'Where the Hell am I?' feeling. Even before she opened her eyes she knew she wasn't at home. The bed was too large, the room too warm and there was somebody in here with her. She opened her eyes and pushed the covers back, the events of the previous night slowly coming into focus. The body next to her stirred and surfaced, the dishevelled red hair was a giveaway. Jenna, of course, and this was Richard's place.

"Morning," said Jenna, stretching luxuriously. "Great bed, huh? Room to move." She stretched again, spreading herself until her bare foot brushed Linda's leg.

Linda didn't flinch from the contact. "Morning, Jenna," she said. "Where are the guys?" The sequence of last night's activities wasn't too clear in her mind. She knew more or less what had happened but the details were fuzzy.

"Jeremy left last night, don't her remember? God knows where he got the energy. Richard got up early. Work." She made a face.

"On Saturday?"

"Bloody Yuppies," Jenna said and then grinned. "Bless 'em. Somebody's got to earn the money to keep us in the style we so richly deserve."

Linda couldn't help grinning back. "True." And it was, she admitted. She enjoyed the luxuries her new lifestyle afforded, and why shouldn't she? If the men were willing to indulge her because one day they might get to eat her, that was their choice. She doubted they needed even that inducement to treat her to dinner and bed. Her own sex appeal, she knew, was more than enough for that. Then she remembered the rest of it. "Star..." she uttered softly.

"Was delicious," said Jenna. "Come on, Lin, don't go all moody on me. She got what she wanted, and you can bet Richard made sure she felt appreciated."

I'll bet he did, Linda's residual cynicism nagged. Wouldn't want her changing her mind. Even as the thought surfaced she realised it was unfair. Richard had never been dishonest about what he wanted, nor had he forced any of them to do anything they didn't want to. He had also been pretty good in bed: like Jeremy he was an accomplished sensualist, voracious but not at all brutal. They like to eat us, not beat us, she thought. The thought made her tingle pleasantly. She felt luxuriously decadent. "I'm sure he did," she said. "Still..."

"Yes, I know, she was nice and you'll miss her. I'm sure she's happy on that great serving platter in the sky...." Jenna wasn't going to let her get maudlin. "We're all headed there some day. Until then," she leaned over on one elbow. "Let's have fun." She kissed Linda full on the mouth. "Breakfast or me? Or me for breakfast?"

After the previous night's orgy Linda's residual inhibitions had suffered heavy losses. She didn't mind Jenna's advances any more, but she still wanted to stay in charge of herself. "Maybe later," she said equably. "For now, you can be my body slave. Fetch me breakfast, wench. And a cup of tea." She slid her hand down and tried to slap Jenna's bottom, but the covers stifled the move and turned it into a pat.

"Will you spank me if I don't?"

"No."

"Drat. Oh, all right then. Your wish is my command, O Mistress." With easy grace, Jenna slid out of the rumpled bed and walked naked to the door, not bothering to put a robe on. Linda admired her figure, wondering as every woman does at such moments whether she looked that good herself.

While Jenna busied herself in the kitchen, Linda noticed that there was a computer terminal in the bedroom, at a small desk. She got up and switched it on, logging into the SEW site. There was a link on it she hadn't noticed before, to the Cannibal Club's private site. To her surprise, she was admitted on her SEW password. Of course, she realised, they must give us free access as a courtesy. Or a lure.

The CC site was quite extensive but had been well planned and was mercifully free of the unnecessary gimmicks and advertising banners that often made the Internet such a pain in the arse. There were the expected features on recipes and techniques, a discussion board, galleries, polls on the celebrities you'd most like to eat. She checked that out, there were a lot of the names she expected and a few she hadn't. Somewhere along the way she found a link to current events which had a review section labelled "Spit Muffin of the Month". What would that be, a picture of some girl being roasted? Would it be somebody she knew? Surely not, she didn't know anyone who'd been roasted lately, except Star and she hadn't been spitted.

The page loaded quickly, showing an article with a header picture. She froze as the picture downloaded to fill the frame. It was her, from an angle that would have been unfamiliar if she hadn't already seen it. It was a frame from the video of her performance at the strip club. Scrolling through the article, hands shaking slightly, she read a review of the film clip.

"..despite the indifferent camera work, the performance, supposedly by a gifted amateur, shines through...."

She skipped on to a drooling description of her own edibility and her allegedly obvious desire to be 'ultimately fucked by the spit' and eaten. The woman in the clip was given the corny 'Linda Licious' name she had been tagged with at the club. If anybody who actually knew her saw it , surely they woud recognise her. She scrolled back up to the picture. Her face was turned away. No, she thought with relief, they wouldn't. Not unless they bought the whole thing. If anyone in the club knew who she was, and surely they did, they had respected her request for anonymity

"Breakfast as ordered Mistress," Jenna announced.

Linda jumped. "Fucking Hell, Jen, you nearly gave me a heart attack." She composed herself. "Ah, I...nice outfit."

Jenna was wearing an apron and a maid's cap, nothing else. She carried a tray bearing a hot platter with sandwiches on and a pot of tea. Bacon sandwiches, from the smell.

"Thank you, Mistress, I live to serve. On the bed?"

The pair somehow arranged a picnic breakfast cross legged on the bed after Linda found herself a robe. The sandwiches were good, but they weren't any bacon Linda had eaten before. "What is this?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Star, of course. Thinly sliced and quick fried in her own dripping. It's a trick to cook it right so it doesn't dry out too much and you have to know which cuts. Bet you didn't know I was this good at domestic science. Good, huh?"

Linda smiled and took another bite. She nodded. "Excellent," she affirmed. Star would have approved. "Pour the tea."

"Tea coming up," Jenna announced. "And music." She manipulated a remote as she spoke. "And a joint." The sound system woke at her command. "Never too early to party."

Linda sipped the tea, stunned by the sudden onset of the music. "What is this?"

"Lapsang Souchong. Milk optional."

"Very nice, I meant the record."

"Just listen." She lit the joint, took a drag and offered it. Linda accepted. Three thousand years or possibly fourteen minutes later....

And you can fly High as a kite if you want to Faster than light if you want to...

"I don't get it," she said. "Who the hell is this?"

"Moody Blues," Jenna said. "Don't hog it."

"Moody Blues? Weren't they some old sixties band? Boring hippie stuff." Linda was floating.

"Boring? Sorry, I'll switch it off."

"Don't bother on my account." How did they manage to sound like an orchestra and a rock band at the same time? Linda pondered this, it seemed terribly important to work it out. Two months later Jenna passed her a new funny cigarette.

"Spice Girls or Led Zeppelin?" she asked solicitiously. "Your wish is my command. The Clash? Something more contemporary?" She poked around in the CD collection. "Might have some rap in here but I doubt it...."

Rap after that? Dogshit for dessert. Linda giggled. "Beatles, Bach or Beethoven," she managed. She might have gone for Kate Bush but it didn't alliterate.

"I'll put some Acid House music on," Jenna threatened. "Or some country and western..."

"No, please..." Linda was helpless. "Anything but that."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Jenna was merciful. As the comfortingly familiar opening to "Back in the USSR" came on, Linda hadn't the will to protest when Jenna started to lick her feet. She sprawled back on the bed and let her lick.

Jenna lifted her head. "Would her mind awfully if I ate you raw?" she asked politely, in the mannered accents British people only adopt when performing in American sitcoms.

Linda spread herself out. "Feel free," she said. It was only in fun, after all. For the next three years, or possibly half an hour, Linda was subjected to a taste test. Jenna sniffed, licked and gently bit her, occasionally interjecting comments on her flavour. Linda played the part of sacrificial victim, or possibly dominatrix/goddess allowing her slave to please her. The roles seemed to her new level of consciousness like two sides of the same coin.

"Barbecue sauce would be sacrilege," Jenna commented as she licked a trail from the delicate skin beneath Linda's hipbones to her ribs. "Only the most fragrant and delicate herbs..." Her mannerisms now aped a chef on a highbrow cookery programme. "Star was right about one thing." She pounced on Linda and stared her in the face.

"What?" Linda gasped.

"Definitely not sausages." She grinned. Linda could see all the detail in her green eyes. There was a jungle in there. "We gonna fuck or what?"

"I don't know how..." Linda could feel the heat of her body, she knew all she had to do was let it happen. Or she could leave. Somehow it didn't seem like a real option.

"Trust me, you'll pick it up." And then Jenna was gone, she had sprung up off the bed. "We need some fuck music. Beethoven's Ninth?"

What was Jenna playing at now? Linda was aroused, she wanted the heat and the touch back. "Huh?" She raised herself on her elbows and watched Jenna between her splayed legs. She was fiddling around with the sound system again.

"Stones, Brandenburg Concertos, Coltrane, Beethoven," Jenna muttered. ""What order? Hmmmm..."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Nope. Got it." Jenna touched a control and the Music started up again. "Banzai!" She leaped back onto the bed. She paused, poised over Linda's supine body. "You up for this, kid?"

Linda closed her eyes. "Go for it," she said.

Three hours later they were shopping. Jenna knew a lovely little herb shop in the market place where she insisted the fragrances were wonderful. Linda had woken up only half an hour ago and was still slightly stoned.

"Smell that," Jenna insisted, pinching a sample of the merchandise between her fingers. "Too subtle?"

"What are you going to use?"

"You'll laugh. I see myself as a bit gamey. I have a recipe worked out but I could use some seasoning, maybe French mustard."

Linda remembered the scent of Jenna's body vividly. "Bullshit," she said. "You don't need it."

Jenna looked at her, suddenly serious. "I'd like to be cooked with you," she said.

Linda didn't know what to say to that. A flippant remark seemed to be called for but she couldn't think of one. Besides, she didn't want to hurt Jenna's feelings. "Why?" she asked at last.

Jenna shrugged diffidently. It was unusual to see her looking awkward and embarrassed. "I'd just like you with me when I go," she said. "Look, it was just a thought. I mean, you know, do what you like, but if I go first...."

"I'll be there," Linda said. Impulsively she added "I promise."

"Thanks. Look, about being cooked with you, you know, forget I said it." She still seemed uncomfortable.

"Forget it? How could I?" Linda grinned. "Don't worry, nobody will hear it from me." Was Jenna trying to apologise for pressuring her or just embarrassed at expressing something perilously close to sentiment? The latter, she guessed. She decided not to press the point.

Jenna couldn't let it go. "I'd like you to be there because you're my friend," she said baldly.

You don't have any other friends? Linda didn't say. Instead: "I'm honoured," she said with what she hoped was the right hint of friendly mockery. "Don't worry, if you go first and guests are allowed, I'll be the first to bite your juicy bum. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Oh, they'll be allowed," Jenna said. "I'm not doing it unless I can invite guests."

Emotional crisis over, Linda thought. "What if you just lose the wrong bet or something?"

Jenna shrugged. "Easy. We set the terms, remember? They don't like it, I don't do it. They say 'you can't welch on a bet', I say 'I'm not, do it like I want and I'm there.' Who's going to argue?"

Linda didn't. The rest of the day passed in amiable companionship. They shopped, went to see a film, walked in a park, joined in a game of frisbee with complete strangers and even climbed trees. Jenna wasn't as good at it as Linda was. It didn't matter. Finally, Jenna suggested going to the pub.

"I'm hungry," Linda said. After some debate, they picked up essential supplies from a licenced supermarket and headed back to Jenna's place. Linda didn't want to go back to her own. Jenna saw to the entertainment while Linda cooked instant chili. Food for the stoned or impatient.

Recipe:

Take about half a pound of minced beef and one large or two small onions. Chop the onions and toss it all into a hot frying pan with olive oil and a pinch of tarragon. Stir it all about until the mince is browned and the onions transparent. Chuck in a few chopped bell peppers if you have any. Sprinkle on as much chili powder as you think you can stand. Add a can of baked beans. Yes, sacrilege, wrong kind of beans and you really should use fresh tomatoes. Canned Italian tomatoes with haricots would do but you don't have any....

Fuck that, it's Heinz baked beans, we're in a hurry, remember? Simmer the whole mess and splosh in some water if it looks like burning. Grill or microwave some oven chips. Rice sucks, right? By this time your friend should have rolled a joint and found some decent music. Shovel it all onto plates and eat between drags and gulps of beer or cheap wine.

"Cordon bleu," Jenna approved. She had her computer on and passed the spliff as she quoted:

"I prefer to be dead first, but might be open to the other if you have some strong wine. I have a fantasy of being roasted in an oven stuffed with a sweet potato stuffing mix in my pussy. I have large nipples would like a way for them to indicate I'm done cooking. Oh, a bag over my head to prevent my beautiful hair from burning while in the oven, please. I want to die by hanging near the oven to be used. I will provide a good time for all guest prior to preparation..."

Linda swallowed, choked and took a long drink of wine. Too much chili powder? "Dead?" she coughed. "Sweet potato??"

"American," Jenna explained.

"How would her nipples indicate she was 'done cooking'?"

"Fantasy," Jenna mumbled between mouthfuls. "In practice, can't see how it would work. Nice idea though, don't you think?" She put a hand on her right breast and squeezed it out as if milking herself. "Pop! Nipple stands up, you're nice and crispy."

"Like the microwave going 'ping'" Linda giggled.

Jenna finished her food. "Fucking excellent," she said. "She's right about the hair, though. Not the bag. I mean, you have to keep it oiled so it doesn't burn off."

Linda couldn't work out what the music was. She felt hot and sweaty, her legs fell apart. She wanted to lie down. Something to do with the spices or the dope. She didn't feel comfortable in her clothes and she started to loosen them.

"Are her all right?" Jenna asked, concern in her voice.

"They're going to eat us," Linda gasped.

"Yes," Jenna said. She didn't ask who.

Linda felt as if she was falling, going over the edge on a rollercoaster. Her stomach came up into her throat, not a comfortable feeling on a full belly. She wanted to throw up. The music made her nauseous and the light was too bright. Her hands shook. She grabbed for a lifeline, anything. Distract me, please, she thought. Out of the bottom of a well, she said "Turn it off."

Jenna nodded and Linda held on to herself. The sounds ceased for a moment, then another record came on. She hated it, then she started to listen. The songs were stark, harsh, uncompromising.

"Remedy against panic attacks," Jenna said.

"I tried hard to be useful, but no dice. With no spit left I couldn't soften leather. With these old hands I couldn't even sew So yesterday they left me on the ice, I could barely lift my head to watch them go. The sky grew white, my eyes grew full of snow and what thing reached me first, bears or the weather I just don't know..."

Linda breathed. "What just happened?"

"Satori," Jenna said. "You fell off the cliff. Now you know."

Linda was still jerky but she could talk. She had to talk. "Know what?"

Jenna shook her head. "I can't tell you that. I can tell you when it happened to me."

"Tell me," Linda asked, she couldn't demand and wouldn't beg. She felt weak.

"You've seen Dolcett art, right?"

"Right."

"So did I, when I was fourteen. It scared me shitless and it blew me away. I couldn't stop looking at it. I nearly came in my pants the first time. Then I got to the stories. Seen 'Feast Day'?"

Linda nodded wordlessly.

"I wanted to get to the good bits, you know? Where everybody gets cooked. Then I went back. I kept going back to it, the picture of the women undressing, chatting like they're just about to take a dip in a swimming pool. But you know and they know they're going to be cooked. Imagine that. This was before SEW and the other clubs, I was just a kid. But I never got it out of my head, what would it feel like in the last hour? It never went away. When I heard about the Society it was like coming home, I could be with people who understood how I felt. But when I was in it I knew it wouldn't be enough to just talk about it. I'd always be missing something."

Linda wanted to wake up in her own bed but she couldn't get up. "That's not me," she said.

"No, it's me," Jenna said. "You asked."

What would it feel like in the last hour? Linda understood. "The last hour," she echoed. "That's what you're doing. Over and over." It wasn't quite a question.

Jenna concurred. "That's right. Some of us do it knowing we might choose. That's you, I suppose. Some of us do it - the gambling and stuff - knowing we might lose...."

"But you do it knowing you will. Like striptease. You can delay it as long as you want, but sooner or later the knickers come off." Linda nodded. "I think I get it."

Jenna adopted a tone of pomposity wickedly mocked, like some stuffed shirt mouthing a platitude as if it were profundity. "Sooner or later the knickers come off us all," she intoned solemnly.

Linda started to giggle. The laughter grew until she was gasping for air, sobbing with tears running down her face. She let it go, fell over. Her breath came easier now. Jenna sprawled next to her and kissed her affectionately on the brow. "Feel better?"

"Much."

"Music?"

"Yes. Upbeat, fast. Whatever rocks."

Jenna slipped on "Physical Graffiti" and rolled another joint. Somewhere between "Custard Pie" and "Trampled Underfoot", Linda's cares went away.

Linda arrived at the party with her friends in a chauffeured limousine, like royalty. Or divine sacrifices, she thought. Four of them were candidates to be eaten, for the ultimate communion, two of them would be chosen at random during the party. Or not at random? She didn't really know. It seemed to her that she was fated, she was in a fey mood. The others from the Society, all known to her, were here as guests and observers. They had arrived earlier They might share in eating her, if she was picked, or just watch and enjoy vicariously as she was disposed of, perhaps imagining themselves in her place as she had done before. She was wearing a robe over her shoulders and sandals. Nothing else. No jewelery or perfume - her only scent was that of warm, healthy skin and aroused female flesh. She had made the robe herself. She remembered the classes where she had learned how to do it, the long hours of work, once she had decided to make her own ceremonial dress. Not everybody bothered to do this, but she felt she should. After all, it was the biggest day of her life, should she put less effort into planning it than any bride? She had decided on dark blue. It went well, she felt, with her chestnut hair and fair skin.

She was greeted warmly by the guests, led by the host, and offered a drink. She took a glass of wine. She mingled with the crowd, talking to people, getting to know the ones who might soon be eating her. They were all fully aware of what she was here for, she felt them evaluating her, speculating on what she would taste like. Their interest was friendly and open, there was no hypocrisy about it. Linda liked that. She looked delicious, she had intended to, and consequently she felt delicious too. She knew that this was the right venue for her denoument. She had done this before, gambled and survived, but that had been in play, she had taken no risks this great. She had learned from Jenna how to set the odds and choose when to play for keeps. It had been an interesting few months.

"Looking good," said a familiar voice at her shoulder.

"Hello Chris, glad you could make it."

Chris leaned forward, sniffed with professional interest. "Smell good too. You'll go great with the recipe we worked out."

"You brought it?"

Chris looked affronted. "Of course I did. You think after all the effort I put in...sorry, WE put in...? It's in the kitchen. If you get cooked you'll have all the right stuff."

"Well, if I do, you'll know how it worked out." Linda smiled. "Worried?"

"As if." Chris smiled sheepishly. "Oh, not really, you'd be great with anything, but you know me."

"Perfectionist," Linda mocked affectionately.

"Chef," Chris fretted. "I know, I know. They're good here, they know their stuff. But if they don't do you justice I'll have their balls for breakfast."

"Nice of you to take an interest. Do Robin and Charly get the same attention?"

Chris held her hands up. "Okay, okay, they're going with the house recipes. Which are fine, of course, but you..."

"Your protege? Bet you're hoping I get picked. Come on, admit it."

"Only if you want to," Chris protested, but her wry smile conceded the point. "Hell, yes, I want to see how you turn out. You do want to, don't you?"

Linda patted her shoulder. "Don't worry," she said. "I know what I'm doing. Let's mingle."

The truth was that she had never been so turned on in her life. Even the games hadn't taken her this high. The difference was that she was almost sure it would happen. She considered that if she was not chosen, she'd volunteer to be an extra, but she knew that would be bad manners - it would be an insult to the ones who'd won. She mentally crossed her fingers and took another glass of wine . It was heady, domestic stuff produced by the Club, possibly strawberry and grass. She was on fire with excitement, but she continued to chat in an exuberant, slightly wild manner. Let it be me, she prayed. I want it. Jenna was right...

Where was she anyway? Linda looked around and moved through the crowd. She caught sight of her other friends occasionally, exchanged a few slightly manic comments with the guests, and finally saw her. Jenna looked, as usual at these events, happy and confident, holding court with her admirers. Her dress was coming slightly loose, showing flashes of bare breast and loins. She had designed it to do that. Linda saw the people ogling her and wondered if she looked as tasty herself. Yes, she thought. I do. If I get it and she doesn't, she'll eat me. And if the converse, I'll eat her, as promised . Win-win situation. Or I'll go with her. Or neither of us? What were the odds? One in four it's Robin first, one in three Charly next, so one in twelve it's them. No, halve that because the order doesn't matter. One in six neither of us goes on the fire. Working this out she lost track of Jenna. She seemed to have vanished.

Someone touched her arm gently. It was the host. "You've been chosen", he says "You and Jen. She's being prepared. Are you ready?". His voice was solicitous and kind. Jenna smiled and nodded. It had worked out. She didn't have words enough for the "YES!" inside her, she just kicked off her sandals and slipped the robe off her shoulders, it fell easily away. At the edge of her senses she heard murmured appreciative remarks, encouragement. I won't disappoint you, she thought. She walked forward through the crowd. They parted around her and someone led a round of applause. She blew kisses and followed her host to the kitchen.

The preparation area was a roomy, well appointed kitchen. There were carving knives hanging neatly in racks, shelves full of herbs and seasonings, all the cooking implements you could expect or need. There were also a couple of spits, with various fittings. One of these would soon be hers. She could feel the heat from the roasting pits to her left, where she could see the frameworks that will hold her spit and Jenna's, after they'd been impaled and mounted.

"We'll open that serving door all the way once her start roasting" said the host. "We don't want the guests getting underfoot while we're preparing you, but they'll want to see you cook."

Nothing like seeing the roast to whet the appetite at a barbecue party. "Absolutely," Linda said. As she looked around the kitchen she saw two wooden butcher block tables over to her right. Jenna was lying face down on the further one, where a man and a woman were rubbing cooking oil into her body. Her hair had been clipped short so it wouldn't catch fire, Linda supposed they must already have shaved her. Trust Jenna to get started first. She always had been impetuous. There must be something wrong with her time sense, it didn't seem that long since she'd seen her in the crowd. That or they were quick workers.

The oil, she knew, would help her roast evenly and prevent the skin burning too quickly. It also contained a special mixture of herbal seasonings she had helped Jenna prepare. Jenna was obviously enjoying the treatment, as if she were at any massage parlour getting the full beauty treatment with skin toning oils. The cooks were in no hurry, rubbing the preparation well into her, making sure they didn't miss any of the folds or crevices of her anatomy. It looked inviting, Linda could hardly wait to get started herself.

The host introduced a pleasant looking woman with short, dark hair. "This is Jo", he says. "She and I will be herr cooks for tonight. I'm Paul, by the way."

Jo offered her hand. "Pleased to meet you! You look absolutely delicious, I'm really looking forward to eating you".

"Thank you" Linda replied, adding modestly, "Jenna looks very tasty too".

"Yes she does, but I'll be preparing you so you're the one I'd rather eat. I'd like to make it personal. It would be really rude to pass you up after the next bit, it gets pretty intimate. First we'd better trim you. I mean, you're very neat but you have to be really bare for this one. Sorry, I'm babbling, you know all this." She smiled apologetically.

"It's okay," said Linda, smiling back. "First time for me too."

"Don't worry," Paul put in. "None of us gets many goes with a live performance, but we've all done the grooming before."

Jo got her seated in a barber's chair with stirrups. Linda sat down and spread her legs comfortably. Her months with the club had inured her to the embarrassment she had once felt at intimate grooming, it was a pleasurable part of the ritual. She hadn't become so blase that she'd lost the sense of decadent luxury she always got from being attended to this way.

While Jo cut her hair into a short cap, Paul knelt between her thighs. Quickly clipping away the excess hair, he produced a safety razor and expertly shaved her clean. It was nerve tingling having the blade so close to her clit and labia. As always, the experience of being groomed made her feel special, she'd come to enjoy being handled. All part of the Society's sensuality training. She closed her eyes for a moment to savour it. Hell of a year, she thought. The social events, the classes, all the quiet evenings with Jenna flickered through her mind. The time she had gone to the office party wearing a 'Volunteer Pig' T-shirt Jenna had given her....

"It suits you," Jenna had insisted teasingly. "Not as subtle as the scene from 'Feast Day' but there's too much writing on that one. Anyway, I like the story. It's not as wholesale as Meredith or as savage as Club-X, but it has its charm."

"Straight to the point," Linda said. "Here I am, roast me."

"Hence ideal for a T-shirt."

"Just like a physicist wearing Einstein's equation..."

Jenna had dared her to wear it to the party and she had. What could happen, she'd be fired? The less she cared, the less threatened she felt. So, of course, nobody fired her. She did get propositioned several times, and she got laid. Her mind skipped back and forth, her time sense warping again. Infinity in a grain of sand, she thought, and eternity in an hour. Wonder what Blake was smoking when he wrote that. This is the last hour, this is my eternity.

Soon enough, Jo brushed the hair clippings away, while Paul wiped her loins with a warm, damp cloth. "Now we'll get you seasoned" he said, "It's your formula, I believe, so it should suit you." He grinned. "I certainly hope so, we won't be able to sue you if it doesn't"

Linda laughed. She climbed up and lay down on the table next to Jenna's. Her personal cooks got started immediately, working the oil into her thoroughly with both practised skill and evident enthusiasm. She relaxed into their capable hands, satisfied that this was going exactly as she'd envisaged it.

"Everything okay?" Paul asked.

"Fine," she said, "You guys do know your stuff."

"Of course, we put as much thought into this as you Society people do. We're hedonists, not savages. Most of us know quite a bit about sensual massage, and we're discerning gourmets, which means knowing something about cooking too. Anyone who doesn't, we don't allow anywhere near the kitchen. Don't worry, we'll take very good care of you."

Linda knew all this from her orientation courses but it was nice to know she was in good hands. She and Jenna had been very careful about who they'd choose for the big event. "I'm not worried," she said. She turned her head to see how Jenna was getting on.

******

It seemed that Jenna was done on one side, just as she looked up her roasting partner turned over and spreadeagled herself face up. Her cooks started working on her front side and it was clear that she was enormously aroused, she was having trouble keeping still, writhing visibly on the oil-slick table. It looked less like massage now than foreplay, as her helpers seemed to be enjoying this almost as much as she was. Linda felt Jo kneading the oil into her own feet and she couldn't help rubbing herself against the table. Jo was taking more time with her toes than was strictly necessary from a culinary standpoint, but she didn't feel inclined to complain. She drifted off into a sensual reverie for a while. After an indefinable time, Paul asked her to turn over and she slithered round on the smooth wood, offering her breasts and belly for their turn.

While her cooks started from her shoulders and lower legs (it was nice being worked on from both ends at once, decidedly sybaritic) Linda glanced over at Jenna again. She was sitting up on the table now, glistening in a film of oil, talking to her own team. They handed her a glass of something red, which she drank as they chatted in low voices. They laughed together, presumably at some light remark of Jenna's, Linda fancied. A cocktail party in miniature. She could hardly make out what they were saying, but they appeared at last to be asking her a question. With an affirmative gesture and a final comment, probably insouciant knowing her, Jenna turned over onto her hands and knees. She took hold of two hand grips which had been cunningly inset, carved into the wood of the table. The man fastens a leather strap across the tops of her calves, just inside her knees. Obviously, this was all designed to stop her slipping forward on the oily table when the spit was pushed in. The man picked up the spit as the woman stood in front of her, ready to brace her if necessary. In answer to a half heard question, Jenna looked over her shoulder and said, grinning, "In the cunt, of course, I'm not that kinky". The man laughed and gave her a kiss between the legs. Bet there was tongue in there, Linda thought. She doubted that the extra lubrication was actually necessary and reflected rather hazily that she was going to miss Jenna. Then she caught herself with a start and almost giggled. Silly! - Not for long, you aren't, my girl. By this time Jo and Paul were working rather closer to her soft centre, and was hard to think straight, but she craned her neck a little, wanting to watch the next part.

As the spit went in she saw Jenna take a deep breath and arch her back. She worked her body against and around the spit as it penetrated ever further. The expression on her face was intent, an odd mixture of ecstasy and concentration, like an impatient lover guiding her partner's penis into the right opening. Her tongue protruded slightly between her teeth. She was actually helping to guide the spit through her body, as they had both trained to do - a difficult task without the possibility of full dress rehearsal, but fun to try, Linda remembered. The process was fascinating to watch. Occasionally, Jenna let out a little grunt or gasp, which could mean any one of a number of things. Linda definitely getting high watching this, as if she wasn't already, while the oil kept on being rubbed into her breasts and thighs.

Finally, Jenna arched her neck and opened her mouth, and Linda saw the spit emerge. Rather like a magic trick - skewer the lady - except this was not an illusion. As the pole slid out and forward a couple of feet, the woman at her head had to brace her shoulders while avoiding getting the sharp end in her own face, not an easy job. Once the spit was properly through she picked up a crossbar, which she slipped onto the end and fastened into place. Jenna slithered carefully down to a prone position and lifted her hands forward and up. Jo tied her wrists are to the crossbar with what look like leather thongs. Looking down at her feet, Linda could see her ankles being secured in the same way. The cooks each picked up their end and shouldered Jenna on her spit. She was on the way to the roasting pit.

"See you later", Linda called and closed her eyes again, letting her head fall back. Jo and Paul continued to work on her, Paul giving herr breasts a rather thorough second seasoning, like a man with a personal stake in the job. Finally they pronounced her done, and ask her to sit up. Linda was quivering with anticipation. Jo handed her a glass of some sort of wine, presumably the same as they'd given Jenna.

"It's to help you get through the roasting", she said. "It won't knock you out, and you'll still feel the heat, but you should stay concious until you really start to cook through." Linda drank the wine. She'd known there'd be some sort of drug or medication available to get her through the roasting but she hadn't given much thought to how they'd administer it. A glass of wine, of course, very civilised. It was a deep, rich red, possibly burgundy, laced with something else she couldn't identify. "Not bad," she said. She was surprised she could speak. The potion glowed inside her.

"Actually, that should go quite well with you when you're done", Paul said. "Without the additives, of course". Linda nodded agreement and finished the glass.

Jo touched her foot companionably. "One last thing. Nothing we've done yet is irreversible, the next bit is. We know you've signed the release papers and legally we can do what we like with you, but that's just paper. We're not lawyers. If you want to stop now, It's okay. Nobody should get snuffed on a technicality, and none of us would blame you if you called it a day."

Paul nodded in acquiescence.

Linda smiled. "I really appreciate your asking, it means I picked the right people. But I know what I'm doing." She shook her head unable to explain the changes of the last few months, the path that had brought her here. She handed back the empty glass. "I've been looking forward to this for some time. It's been a quite a trip." A memory struck her and she nodded in the direction Jenna had gone. "Like she said, sooner or later the knickers have to come off."

Jo's eyebrows rose. Paul just nodded.

"Just promise me one thing, Okay?" Linda turned over and got up on her hands and knees. She looked at her hosts and grinned. "Enjoy me. Bon appetit". She presented her rump for the spit.

Linda waited for the point to touch her. Her knees were spread nicely, making her rear orifices accessible. Jo stood in front of her, ready to brace her shoulders against the thrust. She started as Paul's tongue touched her cunt and licked off some of the excess juice...

"Just testing," he said thickly. His hand braced her left ankle helpfully and she felt the point enter her. She looked up into Jo's eyes. They were dilated, dark as a hungry cat's. She took in details with surreal precision. Jo's tanned bare feet, the faint sweat on her midriff in the heat of the kitchen, the smell of her own body already redolent of the basting oils. The spit slid in and she gasped involuntarily and spasmed around it, her internal muscles trying to control it. No dice, it moved inward relentlessly, filling her. She had to work with it, not against it. She took a firmer grip on the table, thrusting herself back against the pole. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to wriggle -

The point moved up inside her. She breathed slowly, trying to remember the disciplines and channel the building wave of the final orgasm, like the Tantric discipline of Kundalini rising. There was no longer a question of turning back, she was completely committed to being turned into food, but at some level she still wanted to communicate this to the people who would eat her. They knew. She could feel it through the fingers on her ankle, in the gentle but steady pressure of Jo's hands. She closed her eyes as she worked with the spit and saw in her mind's eye herself being taken apart, laid out on a table, dissected into helpings of meat, eaten, destroyed. It was irresistible. The point of the spit broke through into her stomach, and she opened her mouth in readiness as it moved inexorably up towards her throat. She was possessed, helpless, taken.... free. The waiting was over. She remembered watching Connie on the video, wondering what it would feel like if it happened to her. Not if, as she later realised, but when. "Nicely fucked, don't you think?" Jenna commented in her memory. "Right, Jen," she said silently. "I'm nicely fucked. Be with you in a minute..."

"Oh shit," she gasped. "It's coming...."

Her eyes crossed watching the spit come out of her mouth, the magic trick seen from the inside.

She saw the spit being taken, her blood dripping off it, being licked and tasted. A hand brushed the sole of her foot, as Paul lifted her legs onto the crossbar and bound them at the ankles. She raised her hands in surrender, wrists open. Jo secured them with practised ease.

As Jo and Paul carred her to the pit she was acutely conscious of the weight of her body resting on the spit, all of it full of meat and juices. It was difficult to see past Jo's shoulder, but she could just see Jenna, already in place, being turned as she cooked. The heat increased as her hosts manoeuvred her into place. From the corner of her eye she could see her friend, and she could smell her. She was still alive - it was hard to tell sweat from basting fluids, but her body showed signs of breathing, and she was still writhing slowly, as if in the grip of a dream.

There was a wrenching a jolt as her own spit locked into place, and she shuddered involuntarily. She felt an urge to stretch, like a cat making itself comfortable. Already the spit felt like home.

Around, she could see the guests through a haze of heat and faint blue smoke. They were laughing and talking, occasionally glancing at the meal they anticipated. One of them gave her a drink earlier, he smiled and winked at her. She wondered dazedly how long she'd be aware of being cooked...

Was that Jeremy? When had he arrived? He gave her a 'thumbs up' sign. How nice of him to attend...

A brush of coolness flowed over her as Paul marinaded her with a glass of wine.

The heat and the drink she had taken worked together in her body and mind. There no longer seemed to be a separation between them. She became completely herself as she became food.

Linda dreamed.

She saw the dining tables and was no longer aware whether she was conscious or dreaming. She was lying on one of them, naked and cooked. At the same time, she saw herself from above. This should have been impossible, but she felt it, she could see the bowls of relish (as if her needed it) - condiments...cutlery...

She was surrounded by people talking, laughing, drinking and eating. Were they eating Jenna? (Jenna. Sweet prehensile toes. Smiling mouth. Scented hair and clever hands..)

A very sharp knife touched the skin between her thighs and her groin. Her most delicate flesh was about to be taken.. eaten. She looked up to see who would consume her...she saw nothing at all.