Double Roasted

By DX

Copyrighted, 2/2026, all rights reserved.

“47A3, you have arrived.”

Calli nodded awake, a little surprised she had fallen asleep on the most important day of her life.  

She peered around blearily at the interior of the auto-car before she focused on the control screen.

“47A3, you may exit the vehicle now.”  The auto-car said.

She looked around the auto-car wondering who 47A3 was.  She was alone.

In the quiet of the auto-car, she remembered.

Calli was now designated 47A3-PPS, Prime Protein Source.  

She was meat.

Almost giggling, she exited the vehicle and found herself on a hard-packed dirt road lined with aged trees burdened with hanging Spanish moss.  Before her was an intimidating, towering gate that completely blocked the road.  The gate was covered with bold printed signs.  She couldn’t read most of the words, but she clearly understood the pictographs.

Death awaited.

By lightning bolt, auto-cannon, or bees, beyond that point was a working farm, and farms by their nature were dangerous and smelly and, according to the pictographs, drowning or being trampled was a strong possibility.

To her right was a Carrier-House with a professional looking sign out front with the doctor symbol of two snakes curled around a staff with wings.  What that had to do with medicine was beyond her, but she knew it meant Doctor McCoy’s office.  

The ‘CLOSED’ sign was displayed, along with a sign indicating if there was an emergency to call the State.  There was also an arrow pointing to a red button, and Calli guessed if she pressed it, it would call the State for her.

But she wasn’t currently having an emergency, so she didn’t press it. 

Calli looked left and saw a tall fence.  It had a sign of a man being lightning bolted to death.  ‘Don’t touch the fence.’  She thought.  ‘Got it.’

She glanced behind her.

The auto-car was gone.  It had quietly turned itself around on its tri-axle wheels and motored away.

Calli was alone.  

She regretted not keeping her sandals.  That morning when she reported to the abattoir the attendant told her to keep her slippers on; but Calli felt they were superfluous and added them to the pile of her clothes.  She was meat.  Meat didn’t need shoes.

She got in line with other naked meat for processing and received her perma-tag and brand.  After they shaved her head and she waited for final designation, she overheard two techs say Doctor McCoy had ordered meat for a live spit roast.

Visions of Doctor McCoy filled Calli’s mind.  She was a beautiful woman, with saffire blue eyes and raven black hair.  She was a working hucow, and had undergone genetic modification so she would produce milk.  She also had a birthing module so she could be bred on a regular basis.

Weeks earlier, Doctor McCoy had come to give all the women their medical exam as part of their designation process.  During that time she gave a little pep-talk.

“You can be whatever you want to be.”  She said, as she demonstrated being locked into a milking stall and how the machine automatically attached nozzles to her teats.  “I work as a doctor, but I am also a Hucow, producing milk and occasionally, babies.  Ooo!”  She squealed as the nozzle began to pulse and pull on her nipple.  As the clear tubes filled with her warm milk, she looked to her audience, her eyes lidded with sensual joy.  As her breathing deepened, and her cheeks filled with blush, she seemed to enjoy the processes.

When the machine finished and released her, she stepped out of the stocks, a little unsteady on her feet, but very happy.  “See?  It is possible to be a productive member of society and still have a career.”  She brushed back her dark hair and regained her composure.  “Any questions?”

Calli raised her hand.    

The Doctor smiled, eager to engage.  “Yes?”

“I want to be meat.”  Calli said, excitedly.  “I’ve controlled my diet and exercise so I will be the best tasting meat possible.”  Her energy dimmed as she became a little sheepish.  “I only hope to meet the people I will feed, which is why I hope for the chance to be a live, slow roast.  I want know who my nutrients will soon sustain.”

Other women raised their hands.

Doctor McCoy scanned the attendees.  “Are there any questions about having a career?”

The hands went down.

The Doctor’s smile never faded, although it looked a little forced.  “Well, you have a few days to decide.  Please take an information brochure and read it over.  If you have any questions,”  She then stressed when hands went up.  “about a career,”  Hands went back down.  “you can contact me at any time by message and I will be happy to respond.”

Calli took a brochure just to be respectful, and did look carefully at the pictographs, but she knew all along, all her life for that matter, she was meat. 

And happy to be so.

Then she heard Doctor McCoy needed meat for a live roast.

Elated at the idea of being spitted and cooked live, slowly rotating on a spit, her skin crispy with rivulets of juices flowing like rain, Calli left the line and walked out of the abattoir and climbed into the first auto-car she found.  It was already occupied by an elegant, stately woman with heavy, pillowy breasts.  “I’m Calli.”  She introduced herself.  “I need to get to Doctor McCoy.  I’m to be her meat.”  Calli parted her knees and showed her new glistening silver tag dangling from a ring pierced through her labia majora.  “See?  I’m meat.”

The woman regarded her, confused and mildly annoyed, but softened as she took in the woman’s enthusiastic glow.  “Well, I wasn’t planning on sharing my auto-car, but Doctor McCoy is a good friend.”  She fanned her hand at the auto-car’s control panel and it started off.  “I’ve never known meat to arrive via auto-car, but there’s a first time for everything.”

As they drove, Calli happily talked about her specific training to ensure she would be the perfect meat.  “I know I’m a little underweight,”  She admitted.  “but I’m lean and tender.  Perfect for a nice slow roast.”

The woman smiled.  “Sounds delightful.”

“Will you be there?”  Calli asked hopefully.  “Will I be feeding you?”

The woman was taken back.  “Uh, I wasn’t…”  She thought, and her face brightened.  “Oh, wait!  I bet you’re for Farmer’s Brown’s Lodge.  Farmer Brown is Doctor McCoy’s husband, you know.”  She added.  “They do a live spit roast every year for a fund raiser.  I wasn’t going to get a ticket this year, but now that I’ve met you, I will.”

Calli brightened and her cheeks dimpled with joy.  “Oh, thank you so much!”

The woman looked out her window.  “This is me.”  She then looked to the control panel.  “Auto-Car,”  She commanded.  “take this woman to Doctor McCoy’s, please and thank you.”

“Doctor McCoy resides with Farmer Brown in a secure facility.”  The auto-car replied.  “I can take her to Doctor McCoy’s office which is a near-by location.”

“That will be fine.”  She said, then looked at Calli.  “I look forward to our next meeting.”

Calli rewarded the woman with a wide, brilliant smile.

Now, standing at the intimidating gate, Calli wondered her next move.  Amongst the signs of death and dismemberment, there was a button.  It didn’t appear to be an emergency button, so Calli reached for it.

Just as she was about to touch it, the gate silently swung open.

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Hucow Weddding

By DX

Copyrighted, 8/2025, all rights reserved.

 As the sky blushed with dawn, the auto-car rolled grouchily down the long, rough road to the little farm.  As the driverless auto-car made its way, I peered out the window and noted the lush green fields, trees, and giggling brook, as if I had never seen them before, even though I had.

 That moment, it was all new.  That moment, if all went according to my fantasy, everything would be new.

 “Hildy?”  I called my computer assistant.

 “Yes, Doctor McCoy?”

 “Stop the car.  I will walk from here.”

 “But Doctor, it is half a kilometer to the house from here.”  Hildy cautioned.

 “I know.”  I confirmed.  

 The auto-car rolled to a stop at the security gate.

 “I must warn you Doctor.”  Hildy went on.  You are about to enter a working farm.  A farm can be a very dangerous…”

 “I am aware of all danger.”  I stopped her routine speech, having heard it a thousand times before.  “Open the door, please.”

 “The road is suitable, and I can drive us to…”

 She was being overly impertinent.  “Open the door, Hildy.”  I ordered.

 “I am required to remind you that you will be unchaperoned and…”

 “Yes!  I know!”  I barked.  “I am aware of the three meter law.”  Chastised, Hildy unlocked door and I got out.  “You may discharge the car.  If I need one, I can call.”

 “The data-signal here is very poor, Doctor.  The car has a boosted…”

 I cut her off.  “How much time on the set alarm?”

 “You have one hour and twenty-three minutes before the new law takes affect.”

 “Thanks.”  I closed the door and walked to the gates.  Sensing me, they magically swung open.  From behind me, I heard the car start up, make a complicated U-turn, and drive away.

 I had been too nervous to sit in the car any longer, and Hildy was being… too Hildy.

 If all went well, I was going to be married to a wonderful man and live on a beautiful little farm and be a very happy woman.

 As I approached the barn, I watched as the Hucows slowly made their way to the field.  They were level four through six.  They were armless, a common practice to keep them out of trouble and save on superfluous calories.  They walked majestically, back arched, and shoulders rolled back so their bodies could support their massive breasts.  They were yawning, and blinking the sleep from their eyes as they stepped out of the milking stalls and toed into their slippers.  One saw me and ran over towards me, mooing happily.  She was level four and could speak, but chose not too, a common occurrence at that level.  As she advanced in levels, and her breasts grew larger, her Hucow brain would slowly take away her power of speech, and she would only moo.

 Like a cow.

 There was a time, before the eco-terrorist’s bio-manufactured plague killed the oceans, and the resulting storms blew the top-soil away, that there where actual cows, roaming around farms and giving us milk; but those days were long gone.  Instead we have chemically modified women, and some men, who have become Hucows.  With their mammaries massively enlarged, they lactate.  Their milk, harvested several times a day, would be processed into protein chains suitable to make, well, anything.

 To feed a planet with no food.   

 “How are you this morning?”  I asked her.

 “Mmm!”  She replied happily.

 A few other Hucows also wandered over, stopping just shy of the electric fence.  They were all beautiful, strong, and well exercised.  In the early morning light, I could see their bodies glisten from freshly applied sun-block.

 “Hello, Doctor.”  One said.

 “Hello, Mable.”  I replied.

 She turned and showed me her butt cheek.  There was a square self-adhesive bandage stuck there.  “Boo hurt.”  She said with a little pout.

 “I will look at it later.”  I told her, knowing it was a simple bug bite.  “Why don’t you go play?”

 She smiled, and walked off.  She would spend the day walking through the meadow with the other Hucows.  When she was ready to be milked, she would wander into the barn and stand in the stall were the auto-milker would attach hoses to her swelling teats and drain her.

 It was a most pleasurable experience; and I would know.  

 As a level two, my Hucow brain does make me a little slower mentally, but doesn’t impede my ability to be a licensed doctor and veterinarian.  I produce a good amount of milk from my heavy, sometimes too heavy, breasts.

 I watched the Hucows as they began to wander the field.  It was a good life for them, simple and quaint, an oasis in a world of horror and chaos.  The little farm was quiet and isolated.  One would never know out in the world there were cities of starving people willing to riot and kill for a bowl of rice.  We lived in a paradox of too many people, yet not enough population to sustain them.

 “Doctor McCoy!”  A man’s rumbling voice called out a greeting, and I watched Farmer Brown make his way out of the barn.  “Didn’t we just see you?  Is there a problem?”

 His baggy overalls couldn’t hide his powerful frame.  He was a bulk of a man, made hard from farming, and his arms were coiled with scars earned from the war when he was a soldier.

 Although his beard was greying, and his smile was warm and gentle, he moved like a predator.

 And my heart quickened.

 I had a speech prepared.  I had an entire plan carefully laid out that included a spreadsheet with data and precise calculations.  I had even practiced how I would turn, brush my scarlet hair back with a casual flick of my hand, bat my polar blue eyes, make sure the morning sunlight was on my face, and smile, knowing my dimpled cheeks would show.

 It all went out the window.

 In all my preparation for that moment, I had completely forgot to add: ‘milk myself’ to my checklist, and suddenly it rose to the forefront of my mind.  Seeing the other Hucows, my Hucow brain took over and I stammered like an idiot.

 He only stopped precisely three meters away and waited as if he had all the time in the world.

 I quit trying to talk, and instead, tried to hide my blushing face with my hand.  I decided to stop fighting it.  “May I borrow your stand-alone?”  I finally managed to ask.

 He gave a quiet laugh.  “Of course.”  He motioned with his head.  “Have at it.  It’s ready to go.”

 “Would you…”  I struggled to speak.  “install me in it?”

 He paused.  He knew I knew how to use the machine, I had done it a billion times before without any help, but he only nodded.  He knew something was off, but he didn’t ask.  

 “Sure.”  He said.  He reached into the front pocket of his overalls and took out his data-pad.  He tapped on it, held it up to catch my image, then tapped on it more.  

 My data-watch chirped and I tapped it without looking at it.  

 When his flashed green, he took a tentative step forward.  When no alarm sounded, he came over to me.

 I looked down at his mud splattered boots and I could feel his closeness.  At that moment I was not a doctor, I was not a woman, I was a Hucow, and he was not a man, but a Farmer, and as a Farmer could now come closer than three meters.

 “You want to follow me?”  He asked, confused over what was happening.

 I took his hand.  It felt like tree bark, and as hard as gravel.

 It was wonderful.

 Still looked down at our feet, I could see his face of utter surprise in the edge of my vision.  He didn’t know what I was doing.  Neither did I.

 We had never touched before.  It was illegal for a man and a woman to show any display of affection.  Although we both wore our State mandated chastities, standing close, or worse, touching, was a violation.

 But he wasn’t a man, and I wasn’t a woman.

 He was a Farmer, and I was a Hucow.

 “Are you okay?”  He asked.

 “Mmm.”  Was all my Hucow brain could manage.

 He lead me into the barn.  

 Along the far wall were the stalls for the level seven through nine Hucows.  Their breasts were several meters in diameter, and because of the magnificent weight, they could not walk.  For efficiency, their legs had been removed, and their bodies had been plumbed directly into the system so their milk could be continuously harvested.  They had stainless-steel plates permanently epoxied over their mouths connected to hoses so they could feed, and video goggles so they could watch cartoons or listen to music.

 Commercial farmers wouldn’t spend the money for such luxuries.  At level seven through nine the Hucow brain couldn’t process too much information, if any, so they often spent their lives staring at a blank wall—often in darkness.

 But that’s not how Farmer Brown did things.  He believed happy Hucows made happy milk.

 It was one of the reasons I loved him.

 These Hucows had become too old for profit and were designated for slaughter, but Farmer Brown rescued them, cared for them, and kept their brains working.  

 And their production and quality went up.

 Imagine that!

 He led me to the stand-alone.  Because the State accounted for every drop of precious milk, if I used one of his other stalls, my milk would be added to his production and the State would see an unexplained increase in his totals, and a suspicious deficit in mine.  To save a lot of brouhaha, it was easier to use a stand alone, account for my production, and then ‘sell’ my milk to Farmer Brown.  A slight hassle for him, but he seemed to welcome such things.

 As he programmed the machine and waited for State approval, I undid my blouse. 

 Slowly, so he could see.

 He didn’t look.  He was a professional.

 Another reason I loved him.

 When everything flashed green, the stocks on the stand alone opened like the petals of a flower.

 I held out my hand.  He looked at it confusedly before he took it, and helped me keep my balance.  I carefully stepped into the stocks, and as I found my position, the bar automatically swept up and locked my ankles in.  I then leaned forward and set my wrists and neck into the lunette.

 I shivered when they locked in place.

 The gag armature swiveled up, and I opened my mouth wide to get it in.  Farmer Brown then pulled the restraining strap around my head and it automatically tensioned for a snug fit.

 I was locked in, secured, helpless.

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Copyrighted, 8/2025, all rights reserved.

The Iessia 3000

By DX

Copyrighted 5/2025, all rights reserved

 In the morning light, the Adriatic laid before me like a lake of fire.  From the crest of my villa, I lazily cast my gaze up into the rich blue sky and watch the majestic airship Goliath, the size of a dragonfly in the distance, slowly sail into to the floating skyport, the attending workers on their sky sleds slewing around urgently like mosquitoes to get it tied off and secured.

 I drank deep, and let my coffee, black as oblivion, fill my soul with light.  Laying on my triclinium, I took my breakfast as my slave refilled my cup.  Her dark, succulent eyes searched for attention, but she knew better than ask.  My schedule for the day included a visit to the stables, and to ensure the best chance of breeding, I needed all my seed intact.

 I’m not as young as I once was.

 Back in the day I could dump a load down her throat and impregnate a half dozen hucows and still have enough to entertain the wife, but that was then.

 I still watched her as I ate, and thought about her fat, soft lips surrounding my turgid member.  I felt my body charge as her come hither eyes flicked at me.

 “Your Grace,”  Callias my servus coughed softly to gain my attention.  “Tesserarius Medusa is coming up the stairs.  I imagine she will announce Lord Pontis.”

 I inwardly moaned.  I held out my hands and shifted to sit up.  My slave quickly cleaned them.  She then chased after me as I walked to the crest of the hill and peered down into the valley.

 A long train of a dozen ponyboys at full gallop thundered down the smooth road up to the gates of my villa.  They were powerful and lean, their muscles oily and sheen.  Their tack was polished, and tight, holding their heads in strict pose.  They wore eye-shields that completely obscured their vision, leaving full trust in the sharp tug of the reigns.  It was an almost silly amount of horse power to haul such a tiny biga, and made sillier still by who drove them.

 Lord Pontis was as opulent as a full moon, and he liked his ponyboys big.  He always ran them at a full gallup, even through crowded streets.  He liked them intact, maintaining and showing off their boisterous, lustful energy; leaving them with their sacks swinging and painfully smacking around, but since he didn’t like any of his slaves to have a bigger phallus than him, he had them all snipped to the skin.

 He kept a trained eunuch slave in his stable who’s only job was to milk his dickless ponyboys prostates for their seed to sell at market.

 As my slave slipped my toga over my shoulder, I called to Callias.  “Get someone down to the gate immediately to welcome his lordship properly, and by properly I mean his dick sucked.  Whatever reason he’s got for pestering me, I want it blunted.”

 He smiled deeply.  “With your permission, I will see to it myself.”

 I waved dismissively and Callias dashed off.  I didn’t want him to go, but he had earned the honor of sucking off a noble.  I only wished it had been a better noble than Pontis.

 Callias only paused briefly at the top of the stair to allow Medusa and her milites to pass by, then quickly ushered down the stair.

 Medusa nodded when she saw I was getting dressed to receive a visitor.

 Medusa’s Nubian skin glowed like chocolate in the morning sun.  So strong!  Her broad shoulders and mighty arm, her gauntleted hand holding her spear, her flat stomach, muscled with river stones, she was majestic art.

 “Do we know why he’s here?”  I asked, my pain evident.

 “Begging your Grace’s forgiveness, Lord Pontis sent no forward word.”  She said, smartly.  “Request permission to speculate, your Grace.”

 “Please.”

 “Serevus the Younger, your Grace.”

 I paused as I thought.  “Oh, he’s of age?”

 “More than of age, your Grace.”  She said, knuckling her head.  “He should have been elevated three years past.  He has not been brought forth to the senate.”  She paused, hesitating, and I waved her on.  “Please, I again beg forgiveness, my words are nothing but conjecture and hearsay…”  She glanced at her milites, and the soldier picked up her shield and walked a few yards away.  “Permission to approach, your Grace?”

 I waved and she stepped over.  “His name has not been brought to senate for fear of a Pollice Verso.”  She whispered scandalously.

 Thumbs down.  

 Serevus the Younger came from a long lineage, traced back to the old republic.  His accession should have been guaranteed, not even brought to a vote.  I glanced at Medusa.  “Well?”

 Her face filled with shame.  “I am not in a place to share such gossip, your Grace.  Take my tongue from my mouth should I risk such slander.”

 “I’ll risk it.”

 She leaned closer.  “Perhaps, perhaps I say, Serevus the Younger prefers to be lorded over, than over lord.”  Her kissable lips curled in as if to shield her tongue.

 “What a supercilious allegation!”  I roared.  “Were your tongue any less valuable, I would certainly see it served to me with some nice cheese and crunchy bread, but you will have to settle on being flogged.”

 She smiled, her breath light.  “Thank you, your Grace!  Then after, might you let me attend you?”

 I winced.  There was nothing more I wanted than her attending me.  “I’m going to the stables this afternoon…”  I weakly explained.

 “After, your Grace?”  Her voice dripped with plea.  “To make sure you’re fully attended and thoroughly drained.”

 My heart and loins quivered.  “We’ll see.”

 She grinned, brightly.

 At the stair, Medusa’s milites made a noise.  She inadvertently, and with full intent, accidentally bumped her shield against a pillar.  When we looked, she tilted her head down the stairs.

 Inwardly I moaned.  “So soon?”

 Medusa confided.  “I’m certain Callias tried to preserve the moment, but Lord Pontis isn’t known for his endurance.”  She saluted.  “Permission to double my flogging for my impudence, your Grace?”

 I waved her away as I heard the laborious pant of Lord Pontis climb the stair.  I walked over and peered down.  Callias was holding onto Pontis’ arm, keeping him upright.  “Callias!  Did you not think to offer to carry Lord Pontis?  A flogging for you!”

 Before Callias could thank me, Pontis with heavy, dragging breath, interceded.  “A thousand pardons, your Grace.”  He wheezed.  “He had insisted, but I ignored him.  I thought I had the energy, but he overly attended to me, leaving me nothing to climb a simple flight of stairs.”

 I motioned with my head and my slave set down her tray, then dashed down the remaining steps to grab Pontis’ other arm and help him up.

 Callias and my slave led him over to the shaded couch and ensconced him there, where they immediately saw to him.  Callias pressed a goblet of wine into his hands and fanned him, while my slave lay on her back before him, removed his sandals, and began to clean the bottoms of his toes with her tongue.

 “Ah!”  Pontis breathed in deep before chugging his wine.  “Mmmm, so delicious!”  He drank more as Callias wiped the dribble from his face.  “The air here, clean of the city’s stink, such a repast for the lungs.”  He drank more and looked around.  “Magnificent!  Such a magical place you have here, your Grace.  I see clearly why you never leave it!”  He held out his glass insouciantly, and Callias quickly filled it.  “Would it be too presumptuous to ask when my time comes you’ll be so gracious as to allow my funeral pyre here?”  He pointed with a shaking finger.  “Right there, perhaps?”

 I tried to keep my face steady.  “While the thought is entertaining, I pray we have decades to consider your demise, Lord Pontis.  Meanwhile, my schedule is rather full today.”

 “Yes of course, your Grace!  And thank you so much for allowing this intrusion.”  His sipped more wine.  “Mmm, such fine grapes restores me.  I beg you, I’ll be brief.  “Serevus the Younger.”

 I shook my head dismissively.  “I do not know the man.”

 “And why should you?”  He responded.  “He has not impressed on the battlefield, as yourself, been a statesman representing the people, as you have, made any mark on the world what so ever.”  Pontis leaned forward slightly.  “He’s but a morsel of bread seeking a scrape of butter.”

 I nodded.  “Then you know I cannot put his name forward to the Emperor.”

 “You cannot!”  Pontis insisted.  “Nor would anyone with a pittance of intelligence expect you too.  You are honest, if that can be a fault.”  He sat back and sipped his wine.  “Which is why I have him coming here today to meet with you.”

 I balked.  “You impose too much, Lord Pontis.  I’ve a full schedule today.”

 He waved his meaty hand.  “He won’t be a bother.  He just needs to shadow you, get a feel for what the status of being a lord will bring.  To see a man such as yourself, of courage and action at work, would kindle the weakest spark to flame.” 

 I sighed tiredly.  “My patience is quickly dissolving, Lord Pontis.  Serevus the Older is an ass, and I am unsurprised and unconcerned that Serevus the Younger lacks support in the senate.  If Serevus the Younger wanted to be a lord, then he would be here with his own voice.  That you are here speaking on his behalf makes me think less of him.  You sir, on a good day, are a thieving, conniving, scoundrel.  Whenever I host an occasion where you are to attend, I include a percent of the budget to lost silverware.”

 He glanced at his goblet of wine.  “And all this time I thought his Grace was giving away souvenirs.”  He smiled like a cat.  “Forgive me your Grace, but not all of us have your intellect.  Imagine, generating revenue by simply thinking about it!  What an amazing ability you have!”

 “I do not make money simply by thinking.”

 He scoffed.  “Forgive me for streamlining the process.  Your complex inventions, innovative, ground breaking!  An incredible amount work goes into them.”  His eyes sparkled.  “The Iessia Trei Mii.  Is it true you went through two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine failed prototypes before you had a working model?”

 I shrugged.  “It was… a process.”

 He laughed.  “A process!  Such labor to only suffer defeat after defeat, but what a pay off!  Every fine household now has one!”  He closed his eyes as envisioned it.  “Appearing so simple, so elegant, Just a triangular prism frame, and yet such magic packed within.”  He licked his lips.  “I love to watch as the hucow approaches it, their eyes longing to please their master, and as they lay upon it, their belly to the peak of the long triangle and settling their chin in that little cup to hold their head at the right angle, their arms and legs on the unfolded ledges as the attending slaves strap the hucow down.  Then, once secured, the switch is thrown and the clockworks inside the frame begin to tick and tock.  The magic blade slices bloodlessly through the hucow’s abdomen, then the mechanics rake out the offal and clean the space before the coil track stitches the hucow back up and pumps them full of wonderful, tasty stuffing all within seconds!  They barely have time to whimper!  Then, the mechanical arm rises up to position, and the spit is threaded in, like a warrior, armed with a spear, before the little wheels in the arm slowly, slowly thread the sharp end of the spit into the rectum of the hucow, and push it up easily into the body, all the way through to the esophagus, then up the throat, before coming out the mouth.”  Lord Pontis licked his lips.  “And then it is done.  The hucow is spitted alive, and proud to serve their master in this wonderful way.  The slaves then carry them off to the burning pits to be slow roasted to a golden, crispy brown.”  Pontis opened his eyes and looked at me.  “I love watching their faces as they slowly rotate on the girarrosto; their eyes blinking, thanking me for the honor and privilege.”

 “Thank you for explaining to me how the Iessia works, Lord Pontis.”  I said, breaking his reverie.  “And to be clear, there is no magic involved.  The blade you refer too is bloodless because a piston vibrates it so fast that it generates enough heat to cauterize…”

 He held up his hand.  “Please, your Grace, do not ruin the magic with bothersome science.  My point being, your military successes and vast inventory of ingenious inventions have left you a tremendously wealthy, and generous man, leaving us plebs to scrounge for crumbs.”

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