Posted by PK on April 17, 2003 at 14:46:35:
It was a contrite and calmer Nicole who came down to breakfast the next morning. Everyone
looked up warily as she and Lucy came to the table, Mr. Robinson looked as though he was
prepared to deal with any rebellion, but he needn't have worried.
"Sorry, everybody," Nicky said. "Sorry I've been such a pain in the...such a pain. Just nerves,
I guess."
"Stage fright," Joanne offered tentatively. Nicky gave her a wan smile. "I got nervous the first
time I did the reading at a school assembly," she went on. It was an evasion but kindly meant
to give Nicky an out. She took it.
"I guess so. Hey, do I smell waffles? Give me some of that."
The tension eased a bit after that and breakfast passed pleasantly enough, but they all knew
that Nicky wasn't really her old self again, she had just decided not to bring everybody else
down. She left the breakfast table early to general relief, saying she had things to do. It was
the weekend, her time was her own. By unspoken agreement, everybody else stayed for an
impromptu family meeting.
"She seemed okay last night," Lucy said when her father asked. "I think she's coming round."
She didn't sound very convinced.
"It's not fair," Katy said again, but for once it was not herself she was talking about. "I could
do it, I'm ready......yes, Mom, I know that's not how it works. I mean, we should get a choice,
right? I could do it and then she'd get a chance to," she gestured at her chest, "You know, fill
out a bit."
"I don't know what's the big deal," Bobbi said, "It's not like there's anything wrong with her
bod. Shit, there are chick's who'd kill for a tight butt like hers..." Bobbi was a little on the
plump side.
"I blame television," Joanne said, "And all those teen magazines. 'Spit Muffin of the Month',
all those articles about diets and the models. They just set impossible standards. All you
need to know about getting yourself ready is there in your school classes. It's just common
sense."
"Didn't do Bobsie much good," Tammi sniped.
"Tammi!" Joanne reproved.
"She's got a point," the patriarch finally put in. "Bobbi could stand to lose a little weight."
"Daddeee!"
None of this was helping. Lucy looked thoughtful. "Maybe we could get her implants."
She might as well have suggested invoking Satan.
"Now, dear," Joanne spoke gently into the shocked silence. "You know that's illegal."
This was true, of course. American women were not allowed to put inedible substances into
their bodies, or use toxic cosmetics. Part of the Pure Food and Drugs Act, now enshrined in
the "New Testament" of the modern Constitution.
"I don't know where she gets these ideas," Jack muttered to his wife. "I tried to bring her up
right, God only knows...."
"Silicone, yuck," Katy contributed, confident in the knowledge that her own rack was natural.
"Who'd want to be cooked with crap inside them?"
Lucy pressed on bravely. "That's not what I meant. I meant stuffing."
Jack sighed patiently. Apparently his daughter was not intent on subversion, merely
fantasising again. "We can't stuff her unless we slaughter her before she's cooked. That
wouldn't be any fun for her, would it? Anyway, we can't."
'It wouldn't look good' went unsaid. It wasn't illegal to present the guest of honour at the
Spring Feast already dead, but it was untraditional. All the fun of the prospective dinner being
presented to the guests, taking her bow, going to the spit alive and entertaining the guests
with her last motions would be lost. Worse than having a plastic Christmas tree.
"Yes we can," Lucy contradicted. "You can get organic implants. It's the latest thing in all the
smart places, I saw it on the Internet. Lots of models and actresses do it."
"Oh? So how come I never heard of it?" Katy was sceptical. "Who's done it, anyway?"
"They get it done privately. I don't suppose they want everybody to know, but you can find
out if you know where to look. Remember Cindy Foster?" Everybody did, the famous model
and actress had been served at a celebrity dinner only last month.
"Oh come on," Katy derided, "How would you know? It was a private party, no photographs."
"Yeah, but you saw them all going in on the news, remember? All those Hollywood big shots
in their dinner suits and designer dresses, just like at the Oscars? Didn't you notice her
cleavage? She wasn't that big before."
Adam's eyes glazed over as he pictured it. Naturally, he'd been watching. He'd wished to hell
he could have been there, he'd fantasised about eating Cindy for years. "You know, she
could be right? She did look a little...ah..juicier than usual." He shrugged. "I thought it was
just the dress." Hollywood stars, of course, could afford clothes that showed their assets to
best advantage. Cindy's had left none of hers in any doubt, it said 'I'm not wearing any
underwear' to the whole world. Well, Adam thought, it did to me. And then he thought, 'Oh
shit, I'd better not try to stand up any time soon.'
"I wonder what they did with the dress after?" Tammi mused dreamily. "Wouldn't it be cool to
go to Spring Feast in the dress Cindy Foster wore just before they ate her?"
"It would if you were three feet taller," said Kate.
"I think they auctioned it for charity," Lucy said. "Something to do with the 'Feed the World'
project the Brits started. Spits for Polynesia?"
"Just a minute," Joanne interjected, "We're getting off track. Lucy, are you serious? How
does it work?"
"I don't know," Mr Robinson grumbled. "It'll cost an arm and a leg, I bet."
"Daddy!" Lucy reproved. "It's not that much. Laser surgery, that new dermal regen gel, it's
done under local. In and out, all healed up in a day or two. Easier than getting a tooth pulled.
Anyway, it's not like we have to pay anything for Spring Feast. We're providing the meat,
everybody else has to bring the other stuff."
Mr Robinson shook his head dubiously but he didn't dismiss it out of hand. Joanne still
wanted to know: "Lucy, how does it work? What do they put in?"
"Oh, anything you like. Stuffing, just like you always have with pork or turkey or roast girl.
Anything you want. They put it in an organic bag..."
"Like Haggis?" Bobbi giggled. "Don't they use sheep's guts?"
"Eeeuw!" from Katy.
"Bobbi!" from Joanne.
"I don't know," Lucy said, "I think it's gelatin or something." She glared at her sisters. "You
want to know where that comes from?" There were no takers. "Okay. Anyway, it breaks down
when they cook you and you get seasoned from inside. It's all edible so it's legal. I bet they
could do it at the processing plant, real cheap." She addressed that to her father.
"I could ask," he said.
"They only stuff you after you're dead," Katy pointed out. "Better be sure she doesn't get in
the wrong line or she'll end up sausages, or shipped off to some fat cat party. Then we won't
have anything for the Feast."
"Sure we will," Lucy riposted. "We'll just cook you. You can't go in Nicky's place but if we lose
her nobody will mind if we offer you instead. Just so long as you volunteer and Dad lets you.
And the meat company will have to pay us compensation for fuck.. er..fouling up so we'll be
ahead anyway."
Katy imagined herself taking the place of honour at the year's first big Feast. She wouldn't
need any stuffing, she thought but tactfully didn't say. She nodded. "That works for me."
Everybody stared at the family's head. Jack Robinson frowned thoughtfully. It would be nice
if Nicky looked good at the Feast, and it would be even better if she went with the right
attitude. Besides, she was a good girl, he really didn't enjoy seeing her miserable. "I guess I
could look into it," he said. "Don't say anything to Nicky until I've checked it out, okay?"
At dinner that evening, everyone was expectant and a little wary. Nicole was still being brave
and wondered why everyone was acting like they had a secret. She supposed unhappily that
they were being careful with her. It was touching in a way, but also uncomfortable, she could
feel the tension. Then Jack came in looking pleased with himself.
"It's a go," he told Lucy. "I think we can swing it."
"What?" Nicky wanted to know. "What's going on?"
Every eye turned to Lucy, Nicky followed along. Lucy explained as Nicky listened with a
mixture of hope and doubt.
"Boob jobs you can eat? I don't know. Isn't that expensive?"
"We thought they could do it at the processing plant," Lucy said, turning to her father for
confirmation as Nicky protested.
"Don't they only stuff you after you're dead?"
"That's what I said," Katy put in.
Mr Robinson looked smug. "That's what I thought," he said, "But it turns out they get orders
for live roasts and some of 'em could use a little filling out. I talked to a guy, they can fit you
in, won't cost too much."
"Why not?" Nicky had an idea that cosmetic surgery of any sort cost a fortune.
Jack shrugged. "Most of the cost is the ripoff prices those fancy doctors screw out of the
Hollywood crowd. Part of it's the quality of the packaging."
"I don't want to go out with my tits looking like sacks of potatoes," Nicky said dubiously.
Jack shook his head. "That's not it. Those movie star types?" He looked at Lucy. "Guy I
talked to says you're right. They do it, but the jobs they get, they're legal 'cause they're edible
but they last. Only break down when you're cooked. You can have 'em in for months. Ones
they do at the plant, they're only good for a few days, maybe a week. After that, you have'ta
get cooked."
Lucy nodded enthusiastically. "Which is okay, because Nicky's getting cooked soon anyway."
NIcky turned to Lucy. "You really think that could work?"
"Don't see why not." She played her ace. "Cindy Foster did it."
"Really?" As Lucy well knew, Foster was one of Nicky's idols.
"She's right, Sis," Adam put in encouragingly. "I saw the bit where she went in, it was on TV."
seeing Nicky's sceptical look he admitted sheepishly. "I recorded it."
Which was how Nicky found herself in the car at the gates of the processing plant. She was
nervous. The building looked grim, stark, forbidding and not at all homelike. She wanted her
bed and her teddy bear. She wanted to be stuffed at home with her family around her,
smelling the familiar scents of the kitchen, hearing her parents and siblings chattering about
ordinary mundane affairs.
"Don't worry. sweetheart," her father said. "It's all arranged. Be Daddy's brave little girl." he
ruffled her hair. She managed a weak smile. "Do you want me to come in with you?"
"I'll be okay," she managed to say. Part of her wanted him to come with her, but she had
resolved to take charge of herself. She had to grow up.
"You don't have to do this," he said. "You'd be just fine as you are...."
"I'm okay, Daddy," she insisted, wondering why she was doing it. Did it really matter that
much? But she had set herself on this course and she would see it through. She got out of
the car and walked to the main entrance, her unease mounting but under control. She found
her way in and walked to what seemed to be a reception desk. A middle-aged black woman
was working at a computer terminal. How had she gotten so old? Nicky wondered. She
cleared her throat.
"Help you?" the woman asked boredly.
"I'm Nicole Robinson," Nicky said, trying not to sound apologetic. "I have an appointment."
"Wrong entrance," the woman said mechanically. "Culls go in the side door. Go back out..."
"I'm not a cull," Nicky said, anger mounting. "I told you, I have an appointment. Just look, will
you?" She was shaking.
The woman sighed wearily and did something at her keyboard. She looked and looked again.
Nicky wanted to hit her. Eventually she looked up and said without apology, "Level three,
look for 44b. Elevators over there." She flicked her hand in an indifferent gesture to her left.
It took Nicky some time to find the right room but she got there, suffering slightly from
adrenalin burnout. She wanted to be anywhere else.
"Nicole Jackson?"
"That's me." Nicky surveyed the room. It was an awkward cross between a dental surgery
and an abbatoir. The man in front of her wore a white coat stained with things she didn't want
to think about.
"Live stuffing?" He consulted a sheet of paper. "Which part? Nobody ever tells me
anything..."
Nicky took a deep breath and resisted the urge to close her eyes. "Edible breast stuffing," she
said. "I'm supposed to go home alive. It's for the Spring Feast."
The man gave her a brief appraisal. "I guess you could use it," he said. "Take all your clothes
off and lie down on the table."
"All of them?" Nicky didn't see why she had to take her jeans off to get her tits done. The lab
wretch peered at her over his glasses.
"Humour me," he said.
Nicky put down her shoulder bag and removed her trainers, jeans, socks, panties and finally
her short-sleeved cotton knit shirt. She had never needed to wear anything under it. Feeling
uncomfortably self-conscious, she eased herself onto the table and lay back. The surface
was some sort of spongy plastic, like cheap upholstery, it wasn't painfully hard but it felt cold
and slightly tacky. Igor, as she thought of him, was fiddling with his equipment. A fearsome
looking device on an articulated swinging arm slid into position over her. "I hope you've done
this before," she said nervously.
"Dozens of times," Igor assured her. "Some of them were even alive." He chuckled. "Most of
them were still breathing even after I was done."
Nicky started to rise in alarm, but Igor pushed her down again, not too roughly. "Relax, kid,
just joking. I started on stiffs, but I've been doing live roasters for weeks now. It's not that
dangerous. You'll live to see your family barbi pit hotting up. That's what it is, right?
Neighbourhood festival?"
"Yes," said Nicky, relaxing a bit. His offhand manner, alarming at first, just meant he was
used to it. He knew what he was doing. "Just a local Feast. Only me."
"Lucky you. What flavour?" He peered at her modestly proportioned mammaries with
professional interest.
Flavour? Oh, the stuffing mix. "It's a family recipe," she said. "Sorry, I forgot. There's a jar of
it in my bag."
"You don't want one of the standard mixes? I'd say you'd do fine with a number four..." He
pinched her left breast, tugging it slightly. "Good skin tone..."
"Please just use the stuff Mom made." Nicky insisted anxiously.
Igor looked dubious. "I'll have to fill the bags here then," he muttered, sounding a little
disgruntled. "Lucky for you we've got some blanks.Somebody shoulda told me." He
unscrewed the lid of the jar and sniffed warily. "I guess that's okay. Just for you, kid, I'll go the
extra yard. Custom job."
"Thank you," said Nicky humbly. She lay back and stared at the ceiling while Igor worked at a
nearby bench preparing her implants. It was not an inspiring view. The room wasn't cold but it
wasn't that warm either, she was getting gooseflesh and her nipples were hard.
"Don't expect too much, kid," he commented. "You're not gonna be huge, wouldn't fit without
stretching you too much. It'd look terrible."
"I don't want to be huge," Nicky said. "I just want to look like I've got SOMETHING up top."
Igor chuckled again. "Something a little bit plump and juicy. Something to make the guys lick
their lips when they see you, right?"
Nicky could feel herself blushing, but his tone wasn't nasty, he didn't really seem to be
mocking her. Anyway, he was dead right. "Yes," she said.
Igor was back with a small device in his hand. He sprayed her chest with something that
turned her breasts and the surrounding skin cold and then numb. "Local via hypospray," he
announced. "Now I'm going to put you out for a bit." He produced another gadget. "Don't
worry, you won't be far under, or for long. It's not the pain, we just can't have you moving
when the laser scalpel's on, okay?" Nicky felt something cold and sharp touch her arm. "Just
count to ten and....."
Nicky couldn't work out where she was. What time was it? She blinked, her vision was fuzzy.
"Whuh..?" Her chest felt stiff, sore and a little numb. She tried to sit up.
"Take it easy there. Give yourself a minute." The voice was a stranger's but not unfamiliar.
Who?
"Igor," she mumbled. The world was coming back into focus.
"What? Look, take it easy. When you can see straight, sit up slowly."
Nicky did as she was told. Igor, the implants...what had happened? Her front felt funny, her
nipples were aching. She looked down. Her breasts were covered in some sort of pink
rubbery stuff. "What?"
"Don't poke it. Pseudo-skin bandage. Leave it on until it starts to peel loose, it'll be a few
hours at least. Might be best to sleep in it. Sleep face up if you can. When it comes off, put
on a support bra for the next couple of days. Maybe until your Feast, but two days should see
you okay."
Bandage, bra, breasts.....Nicky felt heavy in front as she sat, still bemused. "It's done? That's
it?" She got off the table and stumbled slightly, Igor caught her arm.
"I said, easy. Yes, all done, you pulled through. Congratulations, kid, you're going to be the
Belle of the Ball." He smiled at her.
Nicky pulled on her pants and shoes, more gingerly her shirt. It felt tight. "What's your
name?" she asked. She couldn't go on calling him Igor, he wasn't so bad for a lab wretch.
The man made a grimace. "Boris, believe it or not. Terrible, huh?"
"Could be worse." Nicky grinned. "Could be Igor."
Boris laughed and then rubbed his chin, looking mock-thoughtful. "I don't know...Igor...it has
a ring to it."
"Tell me one thing, ah..... Boris." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Why all my
clothes?"
He shrugged. "Standard procedure. Hygiene. Can't have clients telling us which bits to take
off or we'd end up operating by sticking our hands up their shirts. Anyway, I'm used to it, I
started on stiffs."
"I think you just like looking at girls' pussies," Nicky teased.
"That too. You'd think I'd get enough of that here, but," he shrugged helplessly, "I'm a male,
sue me, I never get tired of it."
Nicky stuck out her hand. "Thanks for everything, Boris."
He took it. "No problem. Knock 'em dead, kid. And call me Igor."
Back at the entrance, her father was still waiting in the car, engrossed in the sports pages of
the paper and listening to a game on the radio. He seemed almost surprised to see her when
she tapped on the window. He opened the door.
"Done already?" He looked at his watch.
"All done, Dad. Let's go home."