Posted by Puffy on January 30, 2009 at 22:54:40:
Please show your love by criticising. Just tell 2 things...1 you hate, 1 you love.
Synopsis: Canniland: How Esprin ended up delivered to Boxer’s door. Some thoughts on the sub-prime crisis.
Processing
By Puffy
Hello. My name is Esprin. Was Esprin, sorry.
I was in my second year at Canniland University when I won the lottery. Winning the lottery certainly was a life-changing experience – it ended up in our conversion to meat unless we got cold feet and opted out before the last minute.
I didn’t know what to do.
This would seem odd to anybody who knew a bit about me: the valedictorian at her high school, second-year pharmacology major was indecisive? No way! But being valedictorian is nothing special when you’re the only girl in your class who survived the year – as I was. And the only reason I survived was from pure luck. Smarter women than me were cooked that year.
And pharmacology? What was I doing in pharmacology? I didn’t enjoy pharmacology but people expected me to study it, so I did. It beat having to make choices for myself.
But now I had to make a choice for myself.
Winning the lottery meant that I was one of the women randomly selected for processing, to be packaged into meat and sold to those who can afford it. Only women could win the lottery: it was an artefact from the science of reincarnology, which discovered that only women were reincarnated as human beings. Men moved onto a different cycle of life. The powers that be figured that we should therefore make sure that one hundred thousand women were born for every man.
I’m not sure how cannibalism came into the picture – the historians would be able to tell you that. But nowadays, women of all sorts were being eaten, but males were off limits. It seemed fair, sort of. Men were at the end of their humanity.
My dilemma was that the lottery was not a strict law. Even if we won the lottery, we could choose not to be eaten. We could choose to opt out at any point up until we entered the butchering room.
Yes, some of you are thinking – that means women must voluntarily choose to be eaten! I have a vague notion that some people might find this idea strange. If that is the case for you, then to truly understand my dilemma, you need to understand that I find your point of view very unusual. To me, being eaten seemed completely natural. Everybody was OK with it. We would just come back as another person. What’s the big deal?
The big deal was that we were still humans. Death was still rather inconvenient.
Do you want to know what went through my head?
I was studying pharmacology – an important profession. Was it my duty to complete it and apply it to the benefit of the world? I didn’t enjoy it – but it was important! But I didn’t want to opt out of the lottery either, since I’d won it fair and square. I was a bit nervous about dying, but it had to happen eventually, and if I didn’t take this opportunity now, indecisive me would never volunteer on her own – so I would grow old and wrinkly and never get cooked! That would be so shameful. We were expected to put off being cooked while we were doing important jobs, but what would I do after my working days were over? Could I trust myself to volunteer?
I was one of the lucky women who’d had a taste of human flesh before. Not every woman gets to eat someone else during her lifetime – it doesn’t matter, you see. There’s always the next life. What does it matter when we’re going to die young? We can’t take our experiences with us. But I’d only had human flesh once, and for except for that one time I was actually a vegetarian.
Alright, I’ll admit it! My biggest concern was regarding my flavour. How was I going to taste? I’d graduated high school somewhat chubby and endeavoured to work off my excess fat in case I ever ended up like one of my class mates – I dreamed of being cooked with a nice figure.
Although I was studying pharmacology, aerobics remained the best way to get into shape. And my vegetarian diet. I slimmed down a lot – I had an OK figure when I received my lottery notice – but the spectre of my past body shape continued to haunt me.
It didn’t matter in the end – through my indecisiveness I ended up walking into the processing centre on the day without having made up my mind. As with the rest of my life, I was just drifting, going through the motions that others had set for me.
Indecisiveness isn’t as bad as I’m making it out to be – in the end all of my problems solved themselves. I was happy to let go and just be in for the ride.
Every women was entitled to one act of sexual intercourse at the processing centre prior to her conversion. Every processing centre hired an army of men – rare as they were – to satisfy this requirement. Anybody familiar with male physiology would know that they had difficulty servicing large numbers of consecutive women, hence they used a pill to maintain their erections to enable them to do their jobs. I am sorry I cannot tell you much about these pills – we were going to learn about them next semester.
The lady who manned – sorry, I just had to use that joke –the reception desk greeted me with a warm smile. She checked my papers and got me to hand over my clothes. When I walked into the next room, I was wearing nothing but Esprin.
There was an assortment of doors. When the receptionist had asked me for my preference in a man, and I said I didn’t care, she told me to pick any door that said it was available.
Do you remember what I said before about how indecisiveness doesn’t matter because matters always get resolved anyway? This was an exception. I know it sounds silly, but I couldn’t decide which door to enter! I stood there for absolutely too long trying to make up my mind.
In the end I picked the leftmost door because I was left-handed.
I was greeted by a man who looked like he was chiselled out of marble. By this stage I didn’t care about fine art, so I carefully stepped past the statue and turned the corner.
This room was a lot chillier than the last one. I started shivering and hugged myself. There was a man on a king-sized bed. He gestured me over. “Come over here, you can share my body heat,” he said.
It sounded like a good proposition to me!
He wrapped his arms around me. “The air conditioner’s pretty strong in here, isn’t it? That’s because we’re going to get really hot in a moment, and then you’ll be loving it darling. Tell me your name.”
“Esprin,” I said. I could feel his engorged penis against my back – he must still have been affected by a pill. I continued to hug myself, not because I was still cold, but because my nipples were hard and I found myself very embarrassed and trying to hide the bumps on my areolas. I had met men before – some of Canniland University’s lecturers were men – but I had never been naked in front of one before, nor had I gotten intimate with any. But I had been with other women before on occasion, so why was I reacting like this to this man? Was it a natural reaction around men?
“My name’s Jord.” He sniffed my neck. “You smell good, Esprin.”
“I’m not wearing any perfume,” I said.
“Your natural scent is all the perfume I need.” I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck with each word. I shuddered with pleasure.
“That’s good. You’re enjoying this already. And we haven’t even begun.”
“When do we begin?” I asked. I felt so calm, so relaxed by his manner that I allowed my arms to drop away from the protection of my breasts and to explore his body. I felt his sculpted thighs, his thick calves, his feet...
“When you’re ready. Just relax and get comfortable. Enjoy the process.”
One thing I noticed was how much hairy he was – were all men this hairy?
“Here are some socks,” he said.
“Thank you,” I put them on. I felt myself melting into the moment as my feet gradually warmed.
He ran his hands over my arms, tested my belly, and weighed my breasts. “Your body feels tight, Esprin. You must have taken great pains to look after it.”
“Oh!” I was touched. “I have. I have a strict diet and I do aerobics.”
“That’s a good girl. It really pays off. You’ll taste great. Let me get a better look at you.”
He lay me on my back and ran his paws – they really were paws, they were enormous! – over my thighs. “These are fit for a king,” he said. “Your skin is so taut. It will carve really well.” He studied my breasts. “These are nice too. Your nipples are so cute.” He pressed his mouth against one and sucked on it.
“I haven’t got any milk,” I gasped.
He simply slid his hand down my thighs and squeezed them in reply.
“Let me – oh! – let me examine you now,” I moaned.
“Of course.” He lay back and let me have my way.
His shoulders, they were so...wide! He had nipples too, which I found surprisingly – he just shrugged when I asked about them. But the real object of my fascination was his penis – I spent many minutes playing with his foreskin and juggling his testicles between my hands – “They keep slipping away!” I complained – and tried to peer down the hole leading down his shaft.
After I’d had my fill, I asked: “This is meant to fit inside me?” I found the idea dubious. There was no way it would fit.
“It will,” he said, “after some preparation. Just get on your back and spread your legs.”
I did as he ordered. He lowered his head right up to my vulva.
“I can see you are pretty turned on already,” he said after sliding a finger across my vagina. “And your clitoris is already sticking out.” He touched it and caused my legs to involuntarily close around his shoulders. “I see that you enjoy that,” he chortled. “There’s not much preparation we have to do here. Would you like to lick off my penis?” he asked.
“Yes. Please.”
He brought his penis up to my face. I tentatively grabbed it and brought my mouth up to it.
“Cover your teeth,” he ordered. “And move your head up and down along the shaft. Use your tongue a bit. There, that’s good. You’ve got it! How does it taste?”
I could hardly answer him during this act, now, could I?
“That’s good. Now, how would you like to have sex?”
“Umm.” Uh-oh. Indecisiveness again!
“Stay as you are and tell me how you like this.” I remained on my back and felt him enter me. “Does this feel good for you? Excellent.” He began with his slow thrusts. His massive body was above me, covering me up. I basked in the heat radiating from it. He brought his mouth next to my ear. “Do you want to try a kiss?”
I peered up into his eyes. I swear they saw right through me, that they dissected my soul, my entire being. I lowered my gaze to his lips. They looked inviting. I opened my mouth in desire. He brought himself down on me...
What can I say? Dildos don’t compare.
After it was over, he held me for a while. “It really touches me when a girl looks after herself as hard as you do,” he confided. “It makes the sex a lot better for me, and you enjoy it more as well.” He gave me a kiss. “And you will taste great as well.”
“When I go through that door,” I said, “what happens?”
“That’s the grading room.”
“Do you think I will grade well?”
“I am certain you will be one of the best-tasting women they will ever see.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I believe it’s true.”
“When will you have your next woman?”
“Whenever one walks through that door. It automatically locked after you went through. You see that button over there? That unlocks it. Every woman deserves a chance for sex before she goes, but the experience varies. You’re all unique, and I particularly enjoyed you.”
I felt my cheeks growing hot at his compliment.
“Here, I’ll introduce you to the girls in the next room.”
There was, in fact, only one girl. She was dressed casually and sported a measuring tape and clipboard.
“Esprin, I’d like you to meet Chelsea. Chelsea, this is Esprin.”
“Nice to meet you,” we said in unison.
“I’ll leave you in her capable hands.” Jord left with a smile.
“Did you have a good time in there, babe?” asked Chelsea.
“Yes. I enjoyed it.” It was so good, this was all I could say about the experience.
“And look at you! Baby, you are gorgeous! Here, let me take your measurements.”
As Chelsea fussed around with my body, she said to me: “I think you are good enough to be a whole roaster. Do you know the grading system we use? There’s prime, which most women fall into, naturally, because most people look after themselves. Then there’s sub-prime, which are the lower quality, and then there’s super premium, which is the cream of the crop. All super premium girls are whole roasted. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but we’ve been experiencing a sub-prime crisis recently. It’s horrible. Just too many of the women who have been processed are sub-prime. Anyway, I’m done. I’ve marked you down as a whole roaster.
“The procedure for you will be different. Do you know how your chance to opt out ends when you enter the butchering room because that’s when the women meet their demise? For you, it’s the same, except that won’t be where you meet your demise. So even though you won’t die any time soon after you enter the butchering room – you’ll most likely die over a fire – you still lose the chance to opt out the moment you step into the room. I need to make this very clear because you are going to be alive a lot longer than normal after you lose your right to walk away with your life. The reason this protocol is in place is for convenience. So that people can be sure that after they buy a whole roaster, she won’t suddenly change her mind and walk away from them. If you have any doubts at all, it’s best to leave now.”
How could I leave? I’m indecisive, you know. There was no way I was going to choose to leave. I might think about it and weigh up the options, but I would never be able to make up my mind and would end up allowing them to drag me along until before I knew it, I was golden brown on the outside and succulent and tender on the inside.
Confident in this knowledge, I walked through that door.
Chelsea rushed into the room and hastened to place a sticker on my arm before closing the door on her way out. One of the women in the room peeled off the sticker, looked at it – it said “Whole Roast” – and threw it away.
None of it was very interesting. They cleaned out my digestive tract and fed me a diet of nothing but flour and water for three days. In the meantime, I had a private room in a dormitory with some other whole roasters. The atmosphere was very relaxed, which I thought was good. Apparently, some women do get second thoughts, but they are sedated – it’s an unpleasant thought, but it’s the only system that works. In return for our inconveniently long length of time from the moment we lose our right to opt out to our death – which is mere minutes for other stock – whole roasters enjoy more prestige. I know it sounds silly on paper, but the atmosphere in that dorm was very upbeat, and I was surprised to learn that anybody ever got cold feet.
Sleeping was a strange experience – how many women had slept in this bed before me, you know? And they were all whole roasters, had all been cooked, and picked to the bone. They all slept in this same bed wondering the same thing I was, which was: “What did the women before me think about?”
We had all our meals of flour in the mess hall – even the women whose three days were up and had to fast until they were sold off. I met women from all sorts of different backgrounds and had never seen so many beautiful women in one place before. Some elitist cliques formed where the members turned their nose up at everybody else and tried to propagate jealousy among our ranks, but mostly everybody was nice to each other. Life was too short to worry about the petty games.
Allison was a nurse who came in three days before me, so she had only just begun her fast when I arrived. She was sold two days later, but made me feel at home. She also had the most sparkling blue eyes I had ever seen: I heard she was sold to an eccentric art collector and could only hope that he’d preserved her head. Al’ja was a tutor who came in on the same day I did. I spent most of my time with her: she too didn’t know where to go with her life and had drifted into tutoring since she had a degree and no plans. She was sold six days in to a meat exporter. I was sold the next day to a local restaurant.
The conditions at the restaurant were not as cosy as at the processing centre – they did not have the same facilities. It was not too bad, though, since they rarely held stock for longer than a day. They continued feeding me nothing but water.
Guess what interesting coincidence occurred at the restaurant?
There was a woman working there named Alicia, who was in my class at high school. She’d dropped out early – many girls dropped out before graduation, not seeing the point of education when they expected to live for five to ten years more at most. She was excited to see me, and the memories of her charm rushed back when I spoke with her.
“Esprin!” she exclaimed. “Is that you? Wow! It’s been so long. You long so...scrumptious!” She rapidly shook her head when she said this, as though trying to clear pixie dust from her hair. “How have you been? Congratulations on being a whole roaster!”
I learned that she was working as a delivery girl for the restaurant.
“Pharmacology?” she awed. “And you didn’t opt out? You must be real keen on being eaten, babe. I heard you got valedictorian too!”
I couldn’t tell her the truth: that I wasn’t keen on anything, and that was why I allowed myself to get here. I had nowhere that I wanted to with my life. But I couldn’t say that to her, you know? Nor could I tell her the real reason I got valedictorian. What she thought of me – even though we hadn’t met for years – what she thought of me suddenly meant a lot to me. While I was trudging along through school, she’d dropped out to do what she wanted with her life. She was the better woman in my eyes. And so at this stage, how she saw me was the most important thing in the world to me.
Naturally, she was curious about the rest of her former classmates. “Do you still keep in touch with them? That is, before, you know...”
“A few more dropped out after you. Rosie went off to do an apprenticeship at the Library of Classical Literature. Donna volunteered to roast for her boyfriend’s party. Rishita, Jenny and Gemma left because they no longer saw the point. I think you started a big trend, Allie – a lot of the girls dropped out. I’m afraid that those who didn’t all ended up on the menu one way or another.”
“All of them?” she was incredulous.
“Once I’m cooked, nobody from our class who graduated will still be alive.”
“Wow. It really puts life into perspective.”
The day after I arrived at the restaurant, I was ordered. Alicia was to handle my delivery. Before she got back from her last job, the manager took me aside.
“The gentleman who ordered you has an unusual request,” she said.
“Gentleman?” I was surprised.
“Yes, he’s a man,” she said impatiently. “He has hired Alicia’s services to help him cook you, but wants to play a little prank on her and you are to play along. She doesn’t know that he has hired her services, and he wants to surprise her with a little kidnapping ruse. Just help him along and make sure Alicia doesn’t get injured – tomorrow’s going to be a very busy night and I’m going to need her.”
“The kidnapping ruse sounds rather elaborate,” I said tentatively.
The manager chuckled. “I think this man has a soft spot for Alicia. He’s doing it as a treat for her.”
Was that true. Did that mean, then, that Alicia – darling Alicia – was into bondage? I know, I know, it seems very silly to be surprised at this – it’s Canniland, after all! Where every woman meets a delicious fate! But I had just never thought of Alicia in that way: she was the hard-working, quirky girl from class who seemed to have plain sexual tastes by virtue of being quirky. In the land of the strange, being normal was outstanding.
When Alicia returned, she prepared me for my delivery and popped me into the passenger seat of her car. She must have noticed that something was wrong because when she got in and started the engine, she looked at me, tilted her head and asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I said and turned away.
“If you’re worried about what’s awaiting you, don’t worry, this guy orders from us all the time and he seems kind of nice.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
When the car started rolling, I placed my hand on her knee. She didn’t brush it away.
It was a chilly night, but standing at the door to the man’s house I felt quite warm. Alicia reached out and knocked.
Do you want to know my thoughts later that night, when I was in the oven? Aside from the heat, I was thinking about how well that evening had gone. And I got to have sex with Boxer – that’s his name – although he wasn’t enthusiastic about it, that was because he had feelings for Alicia, so I can’t hold that against him. I still felt very lucky to be able to enjoy sex with a real man for a second time before I died. Not as lucky as Alicia, though – I had a feeling she would be enjoying a lot more of that than I had. But I didn’t feel jealous, you know? She was a woman who had made the most of her life while I just drifted along.
Just as I was still drifting along in the even, waiting it
out to see where the cooking took me. I was a bit frustrated because I
had become aroused again while Alicia was preparing me for the oven,
but my hands were bound too tight for me to reach my clitoris to get
myself over the top. I know, on paper this sounds like the most
horrible thing in the world – oh no! She didn’t get her last orgasm! –
but really, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I still died happy, and
that’s what matters, isn’t it? It could have been worse, you know? Like
if I had gotten that last orgasm like I wanted – because what then? I
wasn’t the type of woman who got multiples or remained aroused after
coming, so I would have lost that edge and what then? Then I would only
have the heat to keep me company. But the way I went out was reaching
for that peak just out of reach, and that lasting arousal was a far
better companion.