The Letter

By DX

Inspired by Dolcett and Pero Loco!  
In the future, human cattle, hucows, have become the norm.
A woman receives notice to report to the Butchery to be a hucow for slaughter, but she has a better plan!  Will she wind up on the menu?
Cannibal, Dolcett, hucow EXTREME!

Copyrighted 2/10/2002, 12/2023, all rights reserved.  

Christy looked up as the autonav of her hover-car beeped to announce she was home. She set aside her book and touched the acknowledge button and took hold of the yoke. Usually the autonav could park the car in the driveway, but Alexa had blocked the driveway last night with her car and still hadn't moved it. Christy sighed angrily as she squeezed her little one seater through the driveway and parked it on the charger.

"Didn't go to work today?" Christy asked testily as she stepped into the house.

Alexa was laid back on the sofa with a half package of cookie dough in her lap and watching the tri-vid. She didn't look up. "I got up late so I called in sick."

Christy shook her head as she maneuvered around the cluttered room and sat down at the data terminal. "Alexa, if you lose this job you're gonna be meat." She said logging on.

Alexa snorted. "Hardly." She changed channels.

Christy downloaded the news and e-mail. "Yeah, and you still owe me rent. Any chance of that?"

Alexa made a face. "Soon as I get my workman's comp settlement."

Christy rubbed her temples tiredly. "You threw yourself down a flight of stairs in front of witnesses. They're not going to pay." The data term beeped and Christy scrolled through the mail, her face aglow with cathode light. "You got mail."

Alexa pointed the remote and changed channels. "What is it?"

"Don't know. It’s from the State. I can't open it."

Alexa sprang off the couch and the cookie dough rolled to the floor. "That's my settlement!” She pushed her way to the key board. "Move."

"Hey, I'm sitting here." Christy complained.

"You're the one bitching about the rent." Alexa reached over Christy's shoulder and typed in her el-sig then put her thumb on the reader for her print scan.

"Just print it out and go away."

Alexa snatched the static sheet from the printer. "Be nice to me, I'm gonna be rich." She headed back to the couch.

Christy shook her head. "Sign over your half of the lease and you can keep the three months rent you owe me.  How’s that for a deal?” Christy continued to sort through her mail. "Well, are you gonna keep me in suspense? Are they gonna pay out for your obviously false claim, or arrest you for fraud?” Christy turned around and looked at Alexa. "Well?"

Alexa was sitting up, the letter hanging loosely from her fingers. Her face was blank and her jaw slack. 

Christy cocked her head. “So, I guess I'm not getting any rent money."

Alexa looked up, her blue eyes wide and quickly filling with tears. "It's the letter." She said with a whisper.

Christy turned back to the data term. "Took a trip down the stairs for nothing, huh?" She logged off the term. "I told you they wouldn't pay."

Alexa pleaded, her voice like a little girl. "It's the letter." She repeated. "I have to report to the Butchery." A tear trickled down her cheek. "To be slaughtered."

Christy leaned back in the chair. "When?"

"Wednesday." She said, whipping away her tear.

Christy nodded, thinking. "I can call the lawyer and you can sign over the lease on Monday."

Alexa's eyes grew round as plates. "How can you talk about the stupid house? I'm going to be carved up into steaks!"

Christy scoffed. "Burger is more like it."

Alexa threw her hands up and leapt off the couch. "How can you joke at a time like this?" She waved the letter at Christy. "It's the letter!"

Christy rolled her eyes. "What are you getting so mad at? You've been on the list ever since you flunked high-school. Why are you surprised?"

Alexa stood in the middle of the room with the letter crumpled in her hand. "I thought I made it." She said quietly. "I'm twenty one. I'm too old."

“You're not twenty-one for another month."

"It doesn't matter!" She turned, her hackles raising. “It's close enough! It isn't fair!"

"Don't yell at me." Christy matched her anger. "You've always known that if you fail the final exams you can get sent to the Butchery. And with your work record, I'm surprised they didn't call you sooner." Christy stood up and headed to the kitchen. "So what? You're meat? Thousands of people a day get butchered. Why are you so special?"

Alexa watched as Christy took a Meal Pack from the fridge and dropped it in the steamer to cook. Her mind flashed back with the image of her first day of senior year. All the students of adult age were given the tour of the Butchery, to inspire them to study hard and get good grades. They all stood trembling and watched from the darkened catwalk as the cattle, hucows, human cows for slaughter, were lead into the room.  They were naked, their heads already shaved. Their grade, fresh and angry branded on one hip. They wore heavy obedience collars about their necks. They didn't fight. They didn't talk. They knew better. They sobbed and shivered in the cold air and clung to each other for warmth and support. There, they waited.

Alexa remembered the greasy feel to the floor. She stood beside Christy, hugging herself in the gloomy shadow of the catwalk. The air was filled with a nauseating, unplaceable stench. All the witnesses fought from retching and gagging. The teacher had everyone take a pill to keep them from vomiting. 

It wasn't working.

Below, an attendant with a Hypogun walked up the line of cattle and pressed the tip to the meaty part of the shoulder of each hucow. With a quick hiss, each one was given a stimulant to help keep them alive and breathing during the entire process. It was marketing ploy; to guarantee freshness, the hucows had to be alive and well for most of the process. If they were conscious, it meant they were alive and well and very fresh. They implied it improved the taste. People swore by it, even though there was no proof, and paid big bucks for a live slaughtered hucow.

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Copyrighted 12/2023, all rights reserved
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Long Pig Café (teaser)

By DX

 

DX’s tribute to Dolcett!  The Jessica 3000!  In a world where Long Pig is the height of fashion, a young executive tells of her first time down at the meat market!

 

 

(Teaser)Get the whole story here:

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Copyrighted 01/05/03  4/2023 All rights reserved.

 

 

I was nervous the first time I went down to the meat market. I never thought I would have to do it… to choose between the gathered long pigs and pick one out like a lobster from a tank, but the new job came with its perks.  As the new woman on the block, I got to host the monthly gaiety, a broiling shark pit of networking and hobnobbing, pinnacled by a live roast. A succulent long pig, served in all its splendor; golden brown, and rivulets of juices and steam springing from cracks in the crispy skin. 

 

Delicious.

 

So my first real assignment as the Chief Senior Executive Assistant to the Vice Deputy Under Secretary, was to take the company credit voucher, pick up a long pig, and serve it piping hot to all the big wigs and not fuck it up.

 

No pressure.

 

I brought Alice with me. Although she's a pain in the ass, she's hosted several of her own long pig parties and was more than happy to help me look for a good pig. I mean after all, how do you look at someone and know they'll be tasty? 

 

We headed down to the Eastside and the Neo-clubs.  The streets were filled with brilliant, myopic colors of neon, and bass pounding in your chest from blocks away. They used to be slaughterhouses back in the day, before the eco-terrorists and radical animal rights activists, before the topsoil blew away, before the tailored viruses, back when meat came from animals. 

 

"Don't look eager." She coached as we pulled up in the taxi.  "Don't be afraid to say no, they're meat, who gives a shit about their feelings?"  She picked a dark watering hole. The tourists went to the flashy, the rejects went to skanky, and the in the know went here. 

 

The Long Pig Café was sprawled in distinct, yet understated neon script.  "Don't pick up any tab older than a month.  She's a Skipper." Alice tipped the bouncer for a good table in the back with the rest of the predators, but with a good view.  "And why did you wear that?  Could you find anything more garish?  You'll pick up a Skipper for sure."

 

Long Pigs have to be ready to go at a moments notice.  Since the abolishment of welfare, everyone, even Long Pigs, had to support themselves; but because a Long Pig could be picked up to be lunch meat at anytime the Predator had to pick up the tab.  Last month's rent, phone, cable, sundry bills and costs, sometimes a dowry.  A Skipper lines up with the Long Pigs and when you pick one up and pay her tab, she skips out on you, runs up another tab and does it again. They eventually get caught, but you'll never see your money and her meat is given away by lottery. 

 

"Watch out for the Wasters." Alice pointed out a girl by the bar.  "See that hair doo?  If you planned to be meat in a couple days would you spend that much on beauty salon treatment?"  Wasters chickened out at the last minute.  They'd get their neck in the yoke and declare they couldn't go through with it, re-imburse the tab and go on with their lives.  Some got off on it.  It was a kick.  A Fetish.  Problem was you'd be left sucking up for all the time wasted, ruined plans and your guests go home hungry because your main course just changed her mind.  Major social calamity.

 

Too skinny, too fatty, too ugly, too stringy, too old, too young, too much make up.

 

I bet you thought this would be easy.

 

The Long Pigs, male, female, unassigned, wore gossamer togas and wandered around from table to table showing off their wares.  Alice waved them along.  "Don't expect to find anything on your first time out."  She assured me.  "You have to be patient. Remember you want something good for the party."

 

I watched a sweet young thing sipping a soda at the bar.  Alice shook her head.  "She's showing.  You don't want to deal with a preger on your first time."  She checked her watch.  "I say we call it a night."

 

As I looked for a waiter, I watched a girl enter the din of the bar.  Her sexy, squinty eyes propped on her cob apple checks scanned the room.  Her long lashes flashed over her star filled eyes as they adjusted to the dim.  Her sweet succulent lips were almost a permanent pucker, her tiny, almost non-existent pug nose crinkled as she smiled.  I could see her eyes sparkle from across the room as our gazes met.

 

Her toga draped across her massive breasts and clung to her curvy hip. I watched as she got a meat tag from the registrar and stick it to her butt. It flashed the moment it touched indicating that she was already getting offers. 

 

Alice finally noticed what I was looking at.  "Forget it."  She dismissed her with a shake of her head.  "She is far too cute.  With that face and body she'd make a mint as a Temple Priestess.  She doesn't want to be meat.  She just wants a kinky time.  She's a Waster for sure."

 

I was riveted as she slowly made her way over to our table, ignoring her flashing meat tag.  She slowly turned with professional poise.  She was lean, yet curvy.  Baby fat cheeks, yet a hint of underlying muscle.  Adorable dimples, top and bottom.

 

Alice leaned across the table, shooing her away.  "We're not looking, sweetheart.  Thank you." 

 

Her eyes, flicking mica watched me.  Her sweet lips turned in a Mona Lisa smile.  She looked as hungry for me as I was for her.

 

"What's your name?" I asked.

 

Alice spoke up quickly.  "We don't want to know, we're not interested."  She dismissed her with a wave.  "Good day."

 

Her dimples deepened as her eyes flashed their smiles.  She only raised her chin slightly. 

 

I wondered what she was doing when I noticed a small dark dot in the center of her throat.  I peered at it.

 

"It's a trachea shunt."  Alice explained.  "Used in live spits.  It allows her to breathe with a spit running out of her mouth.  It also makes in very tough to talk."  She looked at the girl.  "You're being a little pretentious.  What makes you think your good for roast?  I'm thinking hotdog and burger meat at best."  She said with a snub.

 

The girl's glow never faltered as she hiked up her toga and showed her brand burned into her hip.  She was certified prime.

 

I could feel Alice's hackles bristle.  "Oh come now."  She tisked.  "We're not bumpkins.  You run along before we call the cops."  Alice leaned towards me.  "She's a professional Skipper.  I bet she's wanted in twelve states."

 

She pulled off her tag and slid it on the table.

 

Alice froze.  The tag had been DNA coded when she registered at the bar, a perfect ID.  If she was wanted it would show.  The gamble was that in the Predator's exuberance, they wouldn't check the tag.  Alice tightened her lips and took up the tag and slipped it into the reader. 

 

Her file scrolled up.  It was a hefty tab, almost two months, but clean without warrants.  As I looked it over, offers from around the room were coming in and pushing up her dowry.  If she wanted, she could take back her tag and walk over to the highest bidder and leave her next of kin a good chunk of change.  She didn't move.

 

Alice shook her head and pulled the tag.  "Your tab is too high."  She dismissed.

 

I took the tag from Alice's outreached hand and put it back in the reader. 

 

I clicked on buy.

 

Alice threw up her hands.  "Why am I here?  You're not listening to a word I'm saying.  Just because the cops haven't caught on to her yet does not mean she isn't a Skipper or a Waster."  She shook her head.  "Well, at least cuff her."

 

The girl turned and put her hands behind her.  She looked back at me, smiled, and waited.  I took out the cuffs from my purse.  

 

Butcher's cuffs are high quality Chromoli Ceramic alloy; unbreakable and non-heat conductive.  Twin bands 5 cm wide held apart by a ridged 15cm bar.  They come without keys and once double locked, they cannot be removed except by cutting off her hands.  They were rare to see on the street.  Expensive toys on loan from the corporation. 

 

I felt my heart pounding as I held them up.  She looked at them and knew what they were.  I suddenly thought she was going to bolt.  Even if she was a Waster, once the cuffs were on, they would be on her for the rest of her life.

 

Her smile never faltered.  She turned her head slowly and faced away, her hands still behind her back. 

 

I glanced around.  Every eye in the club, predator and meat alike, were watching.  My hands were shaking badly as I slipped the cuff over her hand.  I fumbled and nearly dropped them, but she caught them, and calmly snapped one over her wrist.  She slipped her free wrist in the other cuff and waited, unable to do it herself.

 

With sweaty palms and my heart pounding, I locked the second cuff on her wrist.  Her body stiffened and shuddered.  She looked back, her smile, her sweet, kissable smile, congratulated me.

 

I think the rest of the club cheered and applauded, but I’m not sure.  I could hear nothing save the tremendous roar of my heart.

 

 

Copyrighted 01/05/03  4/2023 All rights reserved.

 
 

I was nervous the first time I went down to the meat market. I never thought I would have to do it… to choose between the gathered long pigs and pick one out like a lobster from a tank, but the new job came with its perks.  As the new woman on the block, I got to host the monthly gaiety, a broiling shark pit of networking and hobnobbing, pinnacled by a live roast. A succulent long pig, served in all its splendor; golden brown, and rivulets of juices and steam springing from cracks in the crispy skin. 

 

Delicious.

 

So my first real assignment as the Chief Senior Executive Assistant to the Vice Deputy Under Secretary, was to take the company credit voucher, pick up a long pig, and serve it piping hot to all the big wigs and not fuck it up.

 

No pressure.

 

I brought Alice with me. Although she's a pain in the ass, she's hosted several of her own long pig parties and was more than happy to help me look for a good pig. I mean after all, how do you look at someone and know they'll be tasty? 

 

We headed down to the Eastside and the Neo-clubs.  The streets were filled with brilliant, myopic colors of neon, and bass pounding in your chest from blocks away. They used to be slaughterhouses back in the day, before the eco-terrorists and radical animal rights activists, before the topsoil blew away, before the tailored viruses, back when meat came from animals. 

 

"Don't look eager." She coached as we pulled up in the taxi.  "Don't be afraid to say no, they're meat, who gives a shit about their feelings?"  She picked a dark watering hole. The tourists went to the flashy, the rejects went to skanky, and the in the know went here. 

 

The Long Pig Café was sprawled in distinct, yet understated neon script.  "Don't pick up any tab older than a month.  She's a Skipper." Alice tipped the bouncer for a good table in the back with the rest of the predators, but with a good view.  "And why did you wear that?  Could you find anything more garish?  You'll pick up a Skipper for sure."

 

Long Pigs have to be ready to go at a moments notice.  Since the abolishment of welfare, everyone, even Long Pigs, had to support themselves; but because a Long Pig could be picked up to be lunch meat at anytime the Predator had to pick up the tab.  Last month's rent, phone, cable, sundry bills and costs, sometimes a dowry.  A Skipper lines up with the Long Pigs and when you pick one up and pay her tab, she skips out on you, runs up another tab and does it again. They eventually get caught, but you'll never see your money and her meat is given away by lottery. 

 

"Watch out for the Wasters." Alice pointed out a girl by the bar.  "See that hair doo?  If you planned to be meat in a couple days would you spend that much on beauty salon treatment?"  Wasters chickened out at the last minute.  They'd get their neck in the yoke and declare they couldn't go through with it, re-imburse the tab and go on with their lives.  Some got off on it.  It was a kick.  A Fetish.  Problem was you'd be left sucking up for all the time wasted, ruined plans and your guests go home hungry because your main course just changed her mind.  Major social calamity.

 

Too skinny, too fatty, too ugly, too stringy, too old, too young, too much make up.

 

I bet you thought this would be easy.

 

The Long Pigs, male, female, unassigned, wore gossamer togas and wandered around from table to table showing off their wares.  Alice waved them along.  "Don't expect to find anything on your first time out."  She assured me.  "You have to be patient. Remember you want something good for the party."

 

I watched a sweet young thing sipping a soda at the bar.  Alice shook her head.  "She's showing.  You don't want to deal with a preger on your first time."  She checked her watch.  "I say we call it a night."

 

As I looked for a waiter, I watched a girl enter the din of the bar.  Her sexy, squinty eyes propped on her cob apple checks scanned the room.  Her long lashes flashed over her star filled eyes as they adjusted to the dim.  Her sweet succulent lips were almost a permanent pucker, her tiny, almost non-existent pug nose crinkled as she smiled.  I could see her eyes sparkle from across the room as our gazes met.

 

Her toga draped across her massive breasts and clung to her curvy hip. I watched as she got a meat tag from the registrar and stick it to her butt. It flashed the moment it touched indicating that she was already getting offers. 

 

Alice finally noticed what I was looking at.  "Forget it."  She dismissed her with a shake of her head.  "She is far too cute.  With that face and body she'd make a mint as a Temple Priestess.  She doesn't want to be meat.  She just wants a kinky time.  She's a Waster for sure."

 

I was riveted as she slowly made her way over to our table, ignoring her flashing meat tag.  She slowly turned with professional poise.  She was lean, yet curvy.  Baby fat cheeks, yet a hint of underlying muscle.  Adorable dimples, top and bottom.

 

Alice leaned across the table, shooing her away.  "We're not looking, sweetheart.  Thank you." 

 

Her eyes, flicking mica watched me.  Her sweet lips turned in a Mona Lisa smile.  She looked as hungry for me as I was for her.

 

"What's your name?" I asked.

 

Alice spoke up quickly.  "We don't want to know, we're not interested."  She dismissed her with a wave.  "Good day."

 

Her dimples deepened as her eyes flashed their smiles.  She only raised her chin slightly. 

 

I wondered what she was doing when I noticed a small dark dot in the center of her throat.  I peered at it.

 

"It's a trachea shunt."  Alice explained.  "Used in live spits.  It allows her to breathe with a spit running out of her mouth.  It also makes in very tough to talk."  She looked at the girl.  "You're being a little pretentious.  What makes you think your good for roast?  I'm thinking hotdog and burger meat at best."  She said with a snub.

 

The girl's glow never faltered as she hiked up her toga and showed her brand burned into her hip.  She was certified prime.

 

I could feel Alice's hackles bristle.  "Oh come now."  She tisked.  "We're not bumpkins.  You run along before we call the cops."  Alice leaned towards me.  "She's a professional Skipper.  I bet she's wanted in twelve states."

 

She pulled off her tag and slid it on the table.

 

Alice froze.  The tag had been DNA coded when she registered at the bar, a perfect ID.  If she was wanted it would show.  The gamble was that in the Predator's exuberance, they wouldn't check the tag.  Alice tightened her lips and took up the tag and slipped it into the reader. 

 

Her file scrolled up.  It was a hefty tab, almost two months, but clean without warrants.  As I looked it over, offers from around the room were coming in and pushing up her dowry.  If she wanted, she could take back her tag and walk over to the highest bidder and leave her next of kin a good chunk of change.  She didn't move.

 

Alice shook her head and pulled the tag.  "Your tab is too high."  She dismissed.

 

I took the tag from Alice's outreached hand and put it back in the reader. 

 

I clicked on buy.

 

Alice threw up her hands.  "Why am I here?  You're not listening to a word I'm saying.  Just because the cops haven't caught on to her yet does not mean she isn't a Skipper or a Waster."  She shook her head.  "Well, at least cuff her."

 

The girl turned and put her hands behind her.  She looked back at me, smiled, and waited.  I took out the cuffs from my purse.  

 

Butcher's cuffs are high quality Chromoli Ceramic alloy; unbreakable and non-heat conductive.  Twin bands 5 cm wide held apart by a ridged 15cm bar.  They come without keys and once double locked, they cannot be removed except by cutting off her hands.  They were rare to see on the street.  Expensive toys on loan from the corporation. 

 

I felt my heart pounding as I held them up.  She looked at them and knew what they were.  I suddenly thought she was going to bolt.  Even if she was a Waster, once the cuffs were on, they would be on her for the rest of her life.

 

Her smile never faltered.  She turned her head slowly and faced away, her hands still behind her back. 

 

I glanced around.  Every eye in the club, predator and meat alike, were watching.  My hands were shaking badly as I slipped the cuff over her hand.  I fumbled and nearly dropped them, but she caught them, and calmly snapped one over her wrist.  She slipped her free wrist in the other cuff and waited, unable to do it herself.

 

With sweaty palms and my heart pounding, I locked the second cuff on her wrist.  Her body stiffened and shuddered.  She looked back, her smile, her sweet, kissable smile, congratulated me.

 

I think the rest of the club cheered and applauded, but I’m not sure.  I could hear nothing save the tremendous roar of my heart.

 

Outside, a cab rolled up and the driver secured her in the front passenger seat while Alice and I climbed in back.

 

"It think the hardest part, for me at least..."  Alice began as the cab pulled away from the curb.  "will be resisting the urge to say 'I told you so' when she screws on you."

 

I said nothing, and only watched her from behind; her profile as she looked out the window watching traffic as we made our way through the streets.

 

Alice sighed heavily and slid closer to me.  "Listen to me,"  She said quietly.  "ignore all my good advice if you want, but hear me when I say this."  Her eyes were steady and her voice was uncharacteristically without out scorn or sarcasm.  "Don't sleep with her."

 

My head jerked.  "Excuse me?"

 

"All bullshit aside.  You haven't taken your eyes off her since moment one.  She's meat and don't you forget that."  She sniffed as she thought.  "I bet that's how she's getting away with it.  If you don't cook her, she's off the hook, her rent’s paid and she can do it again."

 

"She's got the Butcher's cuffs on."  I reminded her.

 

Alice conceded.  "Well, there is that."  She sighed.  "Just trust me on this one.  Don't sleep with her.  Don't make the mistake and think you're in love."

 

I studied her for a moment.  "Voice of experience?"

 

Her lips tightened.  "Just promise me."

 

"Promise." I said. "I won't sleep with her."

 

And I meant it.

 

At my flat, I pointed to the futon I had set up in the corner.  She looked at it, and then lowered herself down.  She shuffled over and sat up, looking over her surroundings.  She nodded.  I took her toga away and took a soft, Llama's wool poncho and pulled it over her head.  As I did, I stared stupidly at her perfect, heaving breasts, her flat tummy, and her smooth, shaved snatch.  I could smell her; delicate, clean and fresh.  I pulled the poncho down only to find her staring at me.  Her eyes, dark and mysterious, hid behind her delicate lashes.  

 

"Why are you..."  My voice was loud across my dry lips. "Why are you meat?"  I whispered.  Her eyes only smiled, their sparkle never fading.  "You won't talk to me?"

 

She leaned forward and her lips softly, like falling leaves, met mine.  How I wanted her!  I tried to restrain my passion, but I suckled her tongue as I held her and pulled her to me, feeling her wonderful warmth.  I pulled off her poncho and she offered her breasts to me and I latched onto her large nipple and felt the electric pulse flow through her into me.  She nipped at my shirt with her teeth and I sat up, fumbling with the buttons.  She knocked me over with a soft heave with her head and straddled me.  She began to bite of  my buttons, spat them across the room.

 

Her hot tongue tickled my neck as she planted hickeys.  Feeling her breasts against mine, our legs intertwined, her passion, I couldn't bear it!  I pushed her back and rolled her on her side as I swung around and buried my face in between her legs.  Her womanhood spread open like a flower and glistened with succulent juices.  

 

I feasted!  Her body writhed and trembled as I held onto her.  I could feel her steaming tongue enter me, boring into me as I suckled her, but she was overcome with passion and succumbed to my onslaught.  She quickly stiffened with a trembling orgasm.  Panting, she resumed her licking, slowly, taking her time, delicately driving me wild.  I spoke in tongues as I played with my little nipples, twisting them, turning up the volume on my thunderous orgasm.

 

Shivering with passion, we snuggled together.  I grabbed the poncho and wrapped us both in it, and there we slept until she woke me with her sweet kisses.  She lapped my pussy as I called in a Personal Day, fighting to keep my voice steady, claiming I had last minute party details to work out.  I spent the entire day in bed with her, only taking a break for toilet and to grab a quick meal.  She was only allowed fortified water as part of her fast to clean out her system.  

 

That night I let her use the toilet again and then took her into the tiny shower with me and gave her a wonderful sponge bath, which quickly turned into another six hour love making session.

 

I went to work the next morning, leaving her cable shackled to the radiator with enough feed to make it to the toilet and back.  I began to miss her the moment I left the flat, dizzily pushing my way through the day and desperately avoiding Alice.  I punched out on the dot.

 

I ran from the elevator like a giddy school girl to my flat and burst in, flushed, panting, ready to rip off my clothes and leap into the sack.

 

I stopped dead in the doorway.

 

It had been delivered when I was out. 

 

The most revolutionary home appliance since the inception of the Excess Population Disposal Law.  

 

The Jessica 2000. 

 

The Long Pig was placed across the machine face down, and after secured in place, a lever was thrown.  A Teflon coated spit was then slowly inserted into the vagina or rectum, then slowly pushed into the body.  A laser scalpel from below made an incision from cervix to sternum and gutted the Long Pig.  It automatically retracts the abdominal wall and allows the organs and entrails to fall out into a basin.  Another laser then cuts the kidneys free, letting them drop into the basin.  A pressure jet sprays the area free of debris with a saline solution before the incision is closed with gross staples. 

 

Some enthusiasts can then take the organ meat and grind them up to make a stuffing.  This is then pumped into the rectum and into the now empty abdominal cavity.  Her stomach would show a slight bulge when done. 

 

I was going to use store bought.

 

At this point, the ever moving spit would be making its way further into the Long Pig until it finds its way into the detached esophagus, then snake its way further until it comes out of the mouth. 

 

About 80% of the time, if everything is lined up right, the spit will miss the heart and she will survive the painful process.  She will live like this for only a few hours, but by then, she will be over the coals.

 

It was bigger than I had imagined, dominating the room.  It was spotless, but adorned with chips, nicks and scratches from years of use.  A work horse.  Reliable, easy to use and with smooth casters it was easily portable.

 

She was lying across it, her legs straddled over, and her neck in the yoke to check for fit.  She was practicing for tomorrow.

 

She looked back at me, her eyes giggling with delight.

 

I couldn't breathe as I heard Alice's voice as if she had been standing behind me.  Don't sleep with her.  

 

That bitch.

 

My Long Pig sat up as I stepped over and nuzzled my perky breast, trying to suckle me through my shirt.  Her warmth, her passion called my attention from the hard, cold machine between her legs.  Our lips locked, our tongues danced, and a moan of joy rumbled up from out of me.  My hands on their own opened my shirt and she went for my nipple.

 

My eyes caught sight of the machine again.

 

I hated it.

 

I pulled her from it and down to the futon, peeling off my shirt.  We kissed, and licked and touched each other like the first time all over again.

 

Then I noticed as we lay there, thrashing in each other’s grip, her leg was extended.  Her foot was stroking the machine.

 

She was a Waster!  Totally turned on by the fantasy.  Her fetish, her sexual thrill was being strapped to the Jessica 3000.  She wasn't going to go through with it.  At the last minute she would chicken out.  Yes, her hands would be permanently cuffed behind her, but that would only be a souvenir.

 

I had time.  If I went back to the Long Pig Café, I could find another Long Pig.  There would be no time to fast, but I would at least have a Long Pig for tomorrow's feast.

 

I couldn't leave her arms, her lips, her body. 

 

There we spent the night, clinging to each other, her body against mine, her breath against my breast, so wonderful, so natural.

 

Her kisses woke me.  Blearily I checked the clock.  Crack of Dawn.  It was time to start. 

 

As I prepared her enema, I wondered how much longer the charade would go on before she pulled out of the deal.  I wondered if I could convince her to stay with me.  I wasn't into Long Pig kink, but it was a small nuance I was willing to pay to keep her in my life.

 

I was okay with the idea of her forever shackled to my radiator pretending that she would soon be my meal.

 

She made no indications as I lathered up her hair in Clairdent, a flame retardant.  It was a great sculpting mousse and kept your hair from flaring up during cooking, but very bad for conditioning.  

 

Once it was done, I gave her a final rub down and coated her with olive oil, crushed Bay, and Kosher Salt. 

 

Shivering, smiling she straddled the machine.

 

Fumbling like a clutz I strapped down her legs, then another across her back.  I then lined up the laser and set up the basin.  I kissed her, then watched as she settled her neck into the yoke. 

 

My heart thrashed within my chest as I strapped her down.

 

To fit everything in my tiny apartment, I had to open the front door so the end of the spit had room. The pointed end was threaded into the back of the machine, lined up with her blossoming, glistening, quivering pussy.  I then took the fat anal hose, and with a little lube, slipped it easily up into her bum.

 

I took hold of the activator handle and released the safety.  From where I stood, I could see her magnificent ass, gleaming with oil.  It was time, she had to make some sort of indication that she wanted out, but her hands were only tiny fists in their manacles.  I leaned over to see her face.  Her eyes were only tight slits, clenched, waiting for the torment of gutting and spitting to begin.

 

She wasn't a Waster. She was ready.

 

My hands, dripping with sweat, re-gripped the lever.

 

"I can't do it."  I announced with a gasp.  "I can't do it!"  I unstrapped her back and then released her from the neck yoke.  She slowly sat up with confusion on her face.  I kissed her.  "I can't go through with it. I love you."  I blurted.  "I don't even know your name.  I don't even know you."  I kissed her again.  "I just want you."  I whispered.

 

She looked sympathetic, then mouthed: I love you.

 

I trembled as I looked into her starry eyes.  "Let me get you off this thing.  I can call the Butchery and they can send someone over for me to cook.  It'll cost, but..."  I unbuckled her leg and stepped over to the other side.  She watched me, her eyes for the first time ever, were sad.

 

I love you. She said again.

 

"I love you too." I bent to undo her other leg.

 

With her free leg, she reached back and kicked the start lever.  She suddenly threw herself down on the machine and clenched it with her legs.  She hiked her ass back and lined herself up with the spit slowly moving forward, while the laser flashed across her belly.  Her head arched as her mouth stretched in a silent scream.

 

She was in agony, shaking as she tried to hold herself still while the retractors pulled her open.  I stood paralyzed in horror, dumbfounded.  It had all happened so fast!  Her guts vomited from within her, a steaming, pile of throbbing pink and red hoses.  I wanted to pull her off the machine, somehow put her intestines back, but I knew it was too late. 

 

Quickly I strapped her down to stop her thrashing, and help her control the overwhelming pain.  I kissed her salty tears as the machine stapled her closed with a hideous ratcheting noise. 

 

Slowly she mastered the pain and regained her focus.  The hot stuffing was already being pumped into her empty abdomen, returning warmth to her body.  She bit her lip as I connected the hypo needles to her teats.  I then massaged her wonderful breasts as the gelatin that was to keep her breasts nice and plump during  cooking was injected. 

 

Her bleary eyes looked up at me as her smile slowly returned, her lip in a slight quiver. 

 

A little concern flashed across her face. 

 

It was then I realized that I was crying.  She was worried about me!  I wiped my tears with the backs of my hands and returned a proud smile.  "You look so wonderful!"  I cooed, and cupped her apple cheek in my hand. 

 

Kiss me. She said.

 

Her warm lips were delicious and her tongue was scorching hot.  So passionate!  So tender!  I could feel the vibration of the machine purring within her as the spit bored its way slowly through her.  I felt her body stiffen as it entered her throat but she made no motion to break the kiss.  Her gag reflex had been disabled in anticipation for this moment.  She trained to focus through pain, endured hours of low impact exercise to ensure lean, yet tender meat, carefully maintained her diet to be the highest quality.   

 

She was to be the perfect Long Pig. 

 

I felt the spit sliding across her tongue and on to mine.  I envisioned us a strange, double headed roast, forever kissing as we went across the fire.  When the spit touched the back of my throat, I pulled back.  I wasn't ready to be meat. 

 

"Unbelievable." Alice said from the doorway.

 

I stumbled back, startled from her appearance.  I forgot the door was open.  I found myself and set my attention back to my Long Pig.  The machine had finished its cycle and turned itself off.  I brushed her hair, damp with sweat, from her face with my fingers.  She blinked her happiness, her pride of surviving her spitting.

 

Alice stepped in, a dark hair girl in a Long Pig toga followed.  "You have ice water in your veins."  She smiled.  "I thought for sure you weren't going to go through with it."  She nodded.  "You not only proved me wrong, but you kissed the meat.  I'm impressed."  She motioned to the other girl who seemed fascinated by the spitted girl.  "I brought a back up just in case."

 

"She won't be needed."  I said as steadily as I could muster.

 

Alice shook her head. "I signed a contract.  I'll need the Butcher's Cuffs.  Are you going to leave them on?"

 

I looked at Long Pig and she blinked.  I knew her answer.  "We'll cut her hands off now." I said, trying to hide my pain.

 

Alice nodded approvingly.  "That's the best way.  They'll only dry up during the roasting."  Her eyes followed me as I reached over to the carving kit I had borrowed from work.  "I have a great recipe for soup.  The hands and feet make great stock."  Alice was actually excited, chatty.  I could only focus on the grim task at hand as I took cooking bands and looped her elbows and arms and pulled them tight.  Another went around her chest and over her arms.  When I cinched it tight, it pulled her arms snugly against her body.  Not a comfortable position to say the least.  

 

I then flipped on the battery switch for the Vibro-Blade and felt it's hum in my hand. 

 

Long Pig's hands were balled in tight fists.  She held her breath as I brought the blade to her wrists, right at the joint.  The blade passed through sinew and tissue without resistance and cauterized in its wake.  I made the cuts fast, but it did nothing to ease pain.  I could feel the tightness of her body from the strain.  I caressed her back, trying to alleviate her tremendous agony. 

 

I waited for her spasms to subside before I pulled the cuffs off her wrists.  I then handed them to Alice.  I adjusted my position and prepared to do the legs.  I unstrapped her from the machine and Re-strapped her to the pole.  I made quick work of her feet, trying desperately to ignore the waves of pain that filled her, filled me. 

 

Alice was not having an easy time with her Long Pig.  "These are for you.  Put them on."  She commanded, and held out the Butcher's Cuffs to the girl.

 

Watching the spitting and prep, she blanched.  "Uh, wait a second... Shouldn't you wash them or something?"

 

Alice tisked.  "They're anti bacterial coated and don't need to be sanitized between uses."  Alice took the girl's wrist.  "We have a contract.  Now you be a good girl."

 

"Wait a minute."  She sputtered and tried to pull back, but Alice quickly muscled the girl and cuffed her wrist.  "Ow! Stop it!"  She cried as Alice quickly spun her around, cranked her cuffed wrist into a chicken wing hold and pinned her.  When the girl squealed in protest, Alice grabbed the other wrist and pulled it behind the girl's back and trapped her against the wall.  Alice had her where she wanted her.  She quickly slipped the other cuff on and locked it tight. 

 

"No!"  She cried.  "I've changed my mind!"

 

Alice scolded her. "A little late for that!  Now behave yourself.  The Butcher's Cuffs are on and they won't come off so you might as well go easy."

 

She thrashed in Alice's grip.  "I have the right to change my mi..."  Alice expertly stuffed a Ratchet Gag Ball in the girl's open, pleading mouth, and let it spring open to its max and lock her jaw open. 

 

Alice sighed looking down at me.  "You think you give me a hand, dear?"

 

I took several cooking bands and cinched the girl's legs together.  Alice eased her to the floor and we cable leashed her to the radiator.

 

I stood up and caught my breath, ignoring the squeaks of the girl lying on my futon.  I had no sympathy for her.  She was a Waster, not like my Long Pig.

 

I stepped to the front of the machine and looked at my Long Pig's sweet face.  She was breathing easier, her eyes sparkling brighter.  She had made it this far so bravely, yet the worst was yet to come.  I extended the handle of the machine so I could pull it and wheel it around.  I carefully maneuvered in my cramped apartment and pulled her out the door towards the elevator.  Alice locked my door behind us.

 

In the courtyard, the communal fire pit was already burning.  I had invited my neighbor Susan in exchange for taking care of that detail.  She was stripped to the waist, her larger than life breasts threatening to be scorched, as she leaned close to the bed of coals and stirred them with a rod.  She stood up, pulled a bandana from her pocket, and wiped the sweat from her eyes.  Her face lit up as she saw us approaching.  She called to the early guests hovering by the buffet table.  "Here we go!"

 

They cheered and came over, ooh-ing and ah-ing over what a spectacular sight my Long Pig was.  Susan took up a bowl of honey butter and basil sauce and began to oil her down.  

 

I only watched with sadness and pride. 

 

My Long Pig looked up, and winked at me.

 

She started to grind.

 

To everyone's amazement she started to bring herself off on the spit, sliding back and forth ever so slightly. Her eyes were tight with pain and ecstasy as her breathing quickened. 

 

I only stared until Alice nudged me from behind.  "Help her out."  She whispered.

 

I knelt beside her and reached under to her dripping pussy.  Softly, I touched the clit that I had grown to know so well in the past few days.  I could feel the trembling of her approaching orgasm, the climb, the balance on the precipice, and I let it linger there until her wreathing became thrashing and she threatened to rip her stitches before I let her go into joyful spasms.

 

The audience applauded.

 

Susan took one end of the spit and I the other, and we lifted my Long Pig up over the coals.  Susan expertly connected the motor and slowly my Long Pig began to rotate.  The flames suddenly flared as the hot butter splashed into the fire.  Susan swathed her down quickly, making sure she didn't burn, but the meat would be seared and the flavor locked in.  I could see Long Pig's face of pain.  I could feel it.  The torrid agony she was in was worse than anything so far. 

 

Alice was beside me.  She gently draped a comforting arm across my shoulders.  "The one thing I failed to warn you about."  She said quietly.  "Don't fall in love."

 

Through the flames and smoke I suddenly realized that Long Pig was determined to bring herself off again.  I took a long handled brush and carefully dabbed her clit each time she spun around.  I didn't let her linger, I worked her and let her come easily.

 

She was happy.  She was fulfilling her desires, and surprising me that they were mine as well. 

 

Watching her cook I realized that she not only let me taste her sexuality, but she made me hunger for her body, making her one with me forever.  As I caught a whiff of her succulent body, I so much wanted to strip her from the pole and devour her whole.

 

More guests soon arrived and I had to play the host.  I chatted casually, all the while I glanced back at her, watching her, and knowing she was watching me.  I could feel her passing out and her spirit flittering away.  I stopped the spit and cut a small patch from her calf.  I held it up for her to see, steaming and hot, and popped it into my mouth.  My eyes rolled as the wonderful taste flooded my senses. I wanted her to know how wonderful she tasted, how we would enjoy her.

 

When she was finally done and brought to the table, everyone agreed she was the best they had ever had.

 

I've hosted many Long Pigs parties since then, some were easy, others took a little persuasion to go over the coals.  None were like her. 

 

Alice was wrong about one thing: It’s alright to fall in love. 

 
 

Copyright 01/05/2003 04/01/23, all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.