The Feast of Purim

Please wait...

by Grim Williams

EXTREME WARNING. This is intended for persons of 18 years of age or above. If you are not 18 then go away.

EXTREME WARNING. This story contains descriptions of violence, snuff, eroto-cannibalism and sexual acts. Do not read if these subjects are likely to offend.

EXTREME WARNING. In no way do I condone any of the anti-social behavior described in the story. This is an erotic fantasy, not to be confused with reality.

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Series One, Part One: The Way Women Are Made

Guy Nyrian lifted the Libran stun gun to his good eye and took careful aim.

His younger sister peered anxiously over his shoulder. "Get the blonde," she whispered breathlessly. "The greedy one. The one with the big tits."

She could see five of them, all Aquarians, crawling about on their hands and knees, sifting through the cooling embers of the abandoned Arian campfire for traces of carrion.

They could be no more than fifty yards away.

Esther held her breath, waiting anxiously for her brother to shoot. With five to aim at, surely he must hit one of them! Please! Don't let him miss! They'd eat on it for a week. God, how she needed to eat. Esther was hungry. They both were.

Guy's hands were sweating, his heart thumping: so much voluptuous female flesh, all of it so available. He could see the small red infra dot flickering in front of him, wandering from girl to girl. He imagined he was God, watching, choosing, the power of life and death in his hands. Whom should he shoot? Whom should he let go? They were so close, so attractive, so beautiful, all so totally unaware. Come on now, such choice, which of them would be his.

The red dot came to rest on the blonde, the one that Esther had suggested. She was the closest to them, a big girl with large tits and an attractive ass. She was on all fours, feverously trawling though the ash of the fire, picking out the odd half-eaten morsel and devouring it as if it were her last meal. Maybe it was, if he could hit her. Her tits hung low inside her shirt, swaying from side to side in time with her movements. Her fat ass was pointing high into the air, a sweet full moon, begging, pleading for attention.

It made a wonderful target.

Guy traced the line of her crack, up, down, imagining where her anus would be. The red dot settled. He locked on. A wonderful target. He pulled the trigger.

At once the pellet exploded down the barrel towards its target. There was a mighty earsplitting retort. Guy recoiled under the force of it. It echoed sharply around the barren valley, reverberating off the rocks and the dunes. In a scurry of panic and commotion, the Aquarians looked up startled, and then darted to their parked hover bikes, firing them up. In a matter of seconds they were fleeing for the hills, trailing behind them a rusty cloud of dust, debris and dirt.

Esther strained to count them. How many? That was the big question. How many were getting away? She saw one, two, three, yes, four fiery red tails blowing from their exhausts. But where was the fifth? Her heart soared with delight. She couldn't see number five.

Then Guy must have hit her.

She leaped to her feet, her short skirt flapping over her large black briefs, her sharp skinning knife open and ready for action. Guy was up too. He quickly jammed the stun gun into its holster and was sprinting at her side, the hunting bag on his back barely slowing him at all.

"You got her," Esther screamed out in joy, running as fast as she could towards the erupting sandstorm that had ballooned up in front of them. She could hardly contain her elation. "You got the bitch! I know you did!"

Guy was equally ecstatic. "I did! I got her!" he returned, stumbling through the sand as one drunk with delight. "We did it. At long last! We got ourselves a meal!"

He got there first. Of course he did. He fought his way through the soft windswept dunes, through the debris and the hills of dust to the creaking embers of the abandoned fire.

Where was she? Where was the blonde Aquarian with her wonderful butt?

Guy couldn't see her. But he did see a skull, picked clean, half buried, the eye sockets staring up at him, the young mouth parted and open in a terrible grin.

Guy ignored it. He scanned all around for his Aquarian. He couldn't see her.

He saw bones, plenty of them, a tibia, a shoulder blade, a small pile of gristly vertebrae. If he collected them together, then he would have an entire skeleton, of that he had no doubt.

The Aquarian?

There was something half buried at his feet. He bent down and picked it up. It was a bra, a dirty white lace bra. He emptied its cups of sand and held them obscenely to his chest. "They left her clothes," he exclaimed, looking down again at the grinning skull. "Poor cunt! She won't need them now. Just another Aquarian, I guess."

"I'll have that," Esther snapped moodily, snatching the bra from out of his hands. She'd never owned a bra, and so, of course, she wanted to try it. She grabbed her black halter top at the bottom, hauling it up over her bust, letting her bare tits bounce free. She had hard, firm breasts, not large but attractive, without even an ounce of sag.

Guy watched her lecherously, his cock jumping to attention inside his pants. He liked his sister. He had a secret fantasy that one day he would come into a position of influence that he could use to expose her as a secret Aquarian and thereby spit and eat her. For despite their tags and their papers, they were both Aquarians by birth. They both lived a very dangerous lie.

Of course, Esther would need fattening up first. Right now she had a boyish wiry shape with barely a trace of fat. Not good enough at all.

She had short spiky hair and narrow hips. Having removed her top, Guy saw the small little bullets that she called nipples clearly. They were brown to the point of being almost black. He wondered how they would taste. Shit, she was sexy. She made him hard. If it weren't for the Aquarian, he'd fuck her here and now.

Where was that fucking Aquarian?

Esther placed the lace cups upon her bosom, one over each of her breasts. The bra was intended for a woman at least two sizes larger than she was, and allowed plenty of room for expansion. Esther didn't care. It was a bra, and Esther was proud to own it.

She fiddled with the clasp until she had it fastened, and then pulled her top back on. "Where's the dam?" she snapped, now straightening her clothes. The bra made her bust seem bigger, but it also gave her a strange unnatural shape.

Guy stared at her dubiously. "Hmmm," he muttered, screwing up his face. He preferred the way she'd been before.

Esther ignored him, looking round once more for their meal.

They found her lying face down, where she'd been thrown by the force of the stun pellet. They weren't disappointed. The dam was as young and as ample up close as she had appeared through the sight of the stun gun. Guy grabbed her shoulder and rolled her onto her back.

Her face was covered in sand: her cheeks, her mouth, and her nose.

"Is she alive?" Esther queried testily, rather hoping that she wasn't.

They would eat much sooner if the Aquarian was dead, she reflected, watching Guy bend down and put his ear to the dam's plentiful bosom. That, she pondered, with a greedy eye on the other woman's clothing, was just the inevitable way of things. The woman was only wearing a shirt and a pair of shorts - even her feet were bare - but, even so, Esther was pleased. This was a swell way to enlarge one's wardrobe, she reflected. First a bra, and now two more garments. And why not? This cunt wouldn't need her clothes any more.

"She's breathing," Guy replied softly, pulling his hunting bag from off his back. "Quick! While I prepare her, go get the van."

Their motor was on the other side of a steep rise, a good mile away, maybe even two. They'd left it there after Esther had spotted disturbances in the sand that she had guessed might be footprints. Guy had cut the engine and had suggested that they follow on foot.

"You never know," he'd said. "We may get lucky. Who knows? We may actually catch a meal by ourselves."

Esther was not happy. It was a long trek back to the motor, retracing their footprints. But she knew better than to complain. There was a very good reason why it must be her and not Guy who must go. He had to fuck the Aquarian before slaughtering her.

As everyone knows, orgasmic meat is the meat of choice. Any gourmet cookbook will tell you that. Two 'comes' prior to slaughtering produces a darker, stronger flavor to the meat; three 'comes' and you have a meat of distinction.

Esther considered the grading system for meat pure nonsense. As far as she was concerned, meat is meat. Connoisseurs went on and on about their supposed delicacies: bi-orgasmic thigh joints, tri-orgasmic cunt, but it was all snobbish baloney, intended to impress those that didn't know any better. It was ridiculous. Esther didn't believe a word of it. What possible difference could a couple of climaxes make to the condition of the meat?

But Guy thought otherwise, and so who was she to argue? A good fucking wouldn't do the meat any harm. And that was what mattered. She watched distractedly as Guy unfastened the buttons down the front of the unconscious girl's shirt. His fingers were nervous and trembling as he pulled the gray muslin from off her breasts.

He cupped them, feeling their weight and their texture. He squeezed them.

Oh God, Esther thought. How can I wait? How can he do this to me? She was drooling, the saliva leaking from out of the corner of her mouth. How long since she had last eaten? Oh how long?

Her brother unfastened the metal stud holding the Aquarian's khaki shorts, and lowered the zip. Already, Esther could see a little of the fuzzy blonde snatch through the open vee. She was wearing nothing underneath those shorts. Nothing. Guy took hold of the bottom of each leg and yanked them down her long bronzed legs, over her knees and then off her bare calloused feet.

Esther stared at her nakedness with idle curiosity. Guy was less restrained. He leaned forward and kissed her pussy meat, right between the lips.

"Be careful," Esther warned. "The cunt will be coming round soon. The stun pellet only lasts for ten minutes. She'll be mad. Real mad. And then there's the rest of her pack... They won't be far away. If they come back..."

He lifted the sleeping Aquarian to a sitting position, easing the sleeves of her open shirt down her arms. "They won't come back," he bragged, tapping the girl-hide holster around his waist. "And if they do, great! We'll have meat not only to eat but also to sell."

Esther didn't share his confidence. "Be careful," she repeated, turning reluctantly to leave. "The Aquarian's are at home out here. They'll be on you in a moment. They're on hover bikes, remember. Watch your back."

He had the dam stripped now. She was totally naked, her big breasts sticking high into the air. "I'd rather watch her," Guy jested, grabbing hold of one of the dam's great tits and fondling it suggestively. He threw the discarded shirt and shorts at his young sister.

Neither reached her. They fell into the sand by her feet. " What's up with you, sis?" he added cheerily. "Look what you've forgotten! I'm not the only one to receive free perks. Or don't you want the clothes?"

Esther scooped the filthy garments from the dirt. It wasn't fair. Why should this pathetic Aquarian get to be rogered by her brother's big cock while she traipsed through this hot stinking desert searching for the motor? She didn't want to admit it but she was annoyed, jealous.

The cunt didn't deserve such a reward. There were too many women and too few men. So why should tonight's roast be pleasured by one of the few men around?

The Aquarian would be surprised when she awoke. By that time Guy would have her spread eagled, her arms and legs tightly bound to iron stakes driven into the ground.

The thought made Esther feel a little better.

The sun would be hot on the bitch's front, tickling her breasts and burning her pussy. The sand would be roasting her back, the small irregular grains easing their inevitable way into the crack separating her two ass cheeks.

Shit. The woman was probably a virgin. Most Aquarians technically are. After all, it's a matter of statistics. With one male baby being born for every twenty-five females, the odds stack up pretty heavily in a woman's disfavor. And out here, amongst the treacherous dunes of the Hitimana, the odds grow even longer. Where would a miserable cunt like this one find a man to satisfy her animal urges?

Esther's clit began to burn as she visualized what would happen. Through her own eyes she saw the scene. Guy naked. His gorgeous prick, hard and swollen, foreskin pulled back, the tip twitching eagerly.

Esther's legs began to weaken.

The Aquarian would become insane in her lust. She would strain on the ropes. She would beg. She would plead. She would become violent. She would promise him anything, absolutely anything at all. Her hormones would take over, controlling her. They would consume her being, defying her reason and her caution.

Esther had seen it so often before. A man thinks, someone once said. But a woman feels. It's the undoing of many a young woman. Her passions, her unfulfilled sexuality force her to act recklessly, to say absolutely anything in her desperate need for satisfaction.

And Guy would know this, Esther reasoned. He knew well enough the way women are made. He knew her well enough. He would tease the bitch. He would arouse her. He would tempt her to the very brink, and only then he would drive his terrible bargain. Only then would he tell her what he wanted: that same horrific bargain doubtless negotiated by the owner of the smiling skull, the tibia and the pile of gristly vertebrae.

He would sit on her chest, her head between his legs, his thighs framing her face. "If I fuck you," he would say, rubbing the end of his thing across her soft sallow cheeks. "Then I will have to kill you. You know that, don't you? For whoever heard of a Leo going with an Aquarian. Can you imagine if there were a son? What would it be? That can't be. We must ensure that there's no possibility of a son."

The longhaired Aquarian would gaze longingly at his cock, her insides in turmoil, doubtless never having seen one before.

And his next words would arouse him even further. "If I fuck you, then I'll have to kill you."

Esther had been there herself. She knew what it was like to be tied naked and helpless, and for a man to stare with dark burning eyes at those bare secret places. She knew the humiliation of having someone look deep inside her pussy, examining its every detail and not being able to hide her arousal. From those dark days when she had still lived as an Aquarian, she both remembered and understood how a woman could become fascinated by the spit, could even desire it, yearn for it, while at the same time feeling unspeakable fear. To her these were not contradictions, they were simply the ambiguities of a woman's sexuality.

Of course, she had been lucky. She had been rescued. Guy had been there for her. She had been pleading to be roasted, for her assailant to drive his spit from her anus to her mouth. She had been hot for it, had really craved it, when at the last possible moment Guy had plucked her screaming, fighting and kicking from danger. He'd done it in the nick of time. Her skin had already been shaved and coated with a spicy orange marinade. Her hair had been greased to protect it from burning in the flames. Her cunt had been stuffed with onions and herbs. She'd been given a large apple to bite upon for when the spit penetrated her ass. Even now it affected her. She couldn't look at a roasting dam without imagining it was her there, stuffed and sizzling, her fat spitting in the flames.

That experience gave her an empathy that nobody else could possibly have. She knew how the woman's pussy would moisten and how her juices would drip involuntarily into her cunt stuffing as she was prepared. That's what gives cunt stuffing its special flavor. Her insides would tighten into an unbearable knot of passion. One part of her brain would be screaming at her to resist, to fight, while the rest would be telling her that the price was worth it. Fuck tomorrow it would cry, because this moment is everything.

God. It was hot. A long trail of disturbed sand stretched endlessly into the distance. Esther wiped her brow and her cheeks with her new shirt. Instead of making her feel better, however, it made her feel even hotter. How much further had she to walk? Too far. She had barely started. She dabbed her neck and her shoulders, down to the neckline of her halter.

This was silly.

With a cry of pure elation, Esther pulled off her halter - her new bra too - and swabbed her tiny breasts with the other woman's clothes. She could smell the scent of her on the clothes. It was soaked into the shirt and the crotch of her shorts. Esther found the aroma fantastically arousing. It was such a turn on. She wanted to smell like that woman, to be dressed as she had been dressed, to experience all that she was experiencing right now, to have her terrible fate hanging over her. God, if only it were her that Guy were fucking right now.

Esther shook her head, pinching the teats of her small dark nipples as hard as she could bear. What a blind idiot evolution is, what a pathetic designer, to have messed so disastrously with women's sexuality. It must be having a right laugh, up there on its throne of Chance.

But Esther couldn't do anything to change the way that she was made, and neither could the Aquarian.

Only a few yards away, at the abandoned campfire, Guy had quickly removed all his clothes, laying them neatly upon his hunting bag. He hadn't tied the young dam. Neither had he staked her to the ground as Esther had imagined. He hadn't needed to. Upon wakening, she'd become like the deer frozen by the approaching headlights, paralyzed, unable to move. Her hover bike remained parked within easy reach.

That was the way that she was made.

She'd been groggy at first, confused, not quite sure what had happened to her. She'd rubbed her head. She'd looked round for her clothes, and then she'd seen him.

Guy.

He was tall, nearly six feet six, with a weight lifter's physique. He had curly black hair and a full black beard. And he was naked. Very naked. God. The blood rushed to the young Aquarian's face when she saw the state of his cock and how it was lifted obscenely in her honor, the foreskin pulled back from the tip.

She placed an arm self-consciously across her breasts and a hand over her pussy to shield herself from his attention.

She'd never seen a man before in her life. She'd heard stories about them, of course. She wasn't stupid. Her mother and grandmother had told her the facts of life.

She knew that men existed and she knew about sex. For instance, she knew that when it's aroused by the presence of a man, the female body produces special hormones that are almost hypnotic in their effect, making a woman act submissively.

"It's nature's way," her grandmother had once said. You may not like it, but nature knows best."

She knew that those hormones were at work within her right then.

She knew it when Guy forced her back, pressing her shoulder blades onto the sand. He spread her legs, pulling them wide apart. She tried to resist, she tried to get away, but she couldn't.

Hormones.

She meekly let him position her limbs, allowed him to touch her breasts, squeezing them. And although the palm of her hand remained stubbornly pressed against her slit, shielding it from his sharp gaze, she knew that the only reason for this was that he hadn't yet chosen to remove it.

When he chose to look at her properly, she had no doubt but that she would meekly allow him to move her hand and let him gloat over her humiliation.

Instead, Guy unzipped his hunting bag and pulled out a small knife. The blonde gazed at it's gleaming blade with wide, frightened eyes.

God. She had to get away from here.

Next he took out a can of shaving cream. Fuck. That could only mean one thing.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, shivering now with cold fear. He gently moved her hand away from her blonde snatch as she'd known that he would, and, very deliberately, he began to cover it with the cream.

She knew what he would say. The shaving cream said it all, but somehow she needed to hear him say it.

But he didn't reply. Instead, he took the knife and beginning to shave the hair from her mound, concentrating carefully. He started at the edges and gradually cut in towards her slit.

Only when he got to the hair on her cunt lips did he answer. "Of course," he said, being careful to avoid giving her the slightest nick. "What else is there to do with an Aquarian?"

The small skinning knife slid gently and quickly along the gash of her secret flesh. Feeling the blade down there was an absolutely terrifying experience.

She couldn't breathe. "I don't want to die," she said weakly, her voice faltering.

"But I'm hungry," he responded, tickling her with his knife. "Very hungry. And so is my sister. What else are you good for? We're going to cook you and then we're going to eat you."

She shivered from the fear of it. He was still touching her pussy, holding it still while he shaved her.

"What part will you eat first?" she stammered, wanting to flee, but knowing that she couldn't. She needed to keep him talking. If she was to stand any chance, then she had to buy some time. "Whenever I have a special meal, I always eat my favorite parts before the rest. What will you eat first?"

He paused, staring once again at her nakedness, at her large udder like breasts and her broad muscled thighs. She knew how he was seeing her: as food, imagining the juicy flesh of her tits between his teeth, or the more tender, sweet meat of her cunt and how it would fall from off the bone in his mouth.

God. Her hormones. Her grandmother had never warned her about this. She fought back her orgasm. "Will you spit me?" she asked quickly, just as he opened his mouth to answer her previous question. "If you do, please will you grease me well, especially my hair. I've seen meat that wasn't greased properly. It shrivels and blackens and tastes horrible. Ungreased hair burns to stubble. It looks disgusting. I wouldn't want to put you off. Let me both look and taste my best."

She bit her lip.

"We have a spit," Guy acceded, returning to the work of removing the woman's pubic hair. The blade of his knife grazed along the slippery edges of her outer cunt lips. "It's a new spit. An eight footer. It's never been used."

This was too much for her. The prospect of being both fucked and then roasted sent her spiraling into the most earth-shattering climax. She squeezed her cunt lips together, bearing down upon her clit.

These hormones were destroying her. She knew it. Whatever chance she may have had was fast disappearing.

"Oh shit!" she cried, twisting her hips from side to side and pressing her ass into the hot dusty sand. "Shit. It's coming. I'm coming. Fuck me. Oh fuck me. Please fuck me now!"

He cleaned her twitching pudenda, wiping away the soap and the hair with a damp cloth. Her cunt was now as bare and pristine as a newborn baby, exposing the smile of her slit and her open gaping hole.

Obligingly, he rolled on top of her sacrificial body. "You want me to fuck you?" he asked, pressing the end of his hard dick against her smooth bare cunt lips. Her legs were still as he'd positioned them: wide, wide apart.

She swallowed hard.

"Shit, yes," she prayed incessantly. "You know that I want it. I beg you. Please fuck me!" She lifted her pelvis high into the air to meet him, trying to force him to take her, to rape her. "It's what every Aquarian wants! You know that. Fuck me, damn you. Fuck me!"

He slid the eye of his cock along her smooth pussy crack. "You want me to take your cherry?"

She could barely stand this torture. What was he waiting for? Her whole body was on fire, demanding his penis. "Damn you! Take it," she implored him. "I can't bear this. Take it. Take my cherry. I don't want it! Take it and fuck my brains out."

He pressed gently against her young maidenhead, easing rather than hammering at it. This patience and compassion wasn't appreciated. She wanted him inside her and she wanted him now. Desperately, she thrust her cunt up to meet him, impaling herself on his long, swollen tool. His long dick disappeared completely, slowly sinking into her aching pussy, all the way to the hilt, lubricated by a thick mix of mucus and fresh blood. Her face froze with the expression of a fallen gladiator, changing abruptly from one of sublime ecstasy to one of pain. Her hymen was smashed apart and this man's penis was savaging her insides.

"Oh God," she whimpered, falling back, using the slippery walls of her pussy to cling on to his mammoth cock. Still falling, she squeezed harder. "I didn't know," she gasped, her back slapping against the sand. "I didn't know."

"That it would hurt?" he growled, settling into a steady rhythm. "You think this is pain? Then imagine the sharp point of an eight foot spit, tearing apart your flesh, passing through your insides, ripping its way from your cunt to exit by your mouth."

"Oh God," she repeated, gasping, holding tightly to his strong bare heavily biceped arms, wrapping her legs around his and pulling him down, pulling him into her, deeper and deeper into her cunt, deeper and deeper. "I don't think I could bear such agony. I couldn't. I know that I couldn't."

So this was what it was all about. This was sex, real sex, with a man. Her body wanted it, demanded it. Her hormones craved it, and she couldn't resist. How could she? This was the way she was made, the way that evolution had decreed that she should respond.

Certainly there was no doubt now. She was his. There was no way that she could resist.

But still he kept thrusting against her, driving his tool into her deepest crevices, exploring, feeling. He was so strong, so virile in the face of her weakness. She could smell his desire; feel his need and she couldn't help but respond.

"Oh God!" she cried.

Her face was stained red with the dust that had dissolved in her tears. Her large udder like breasts beat against his chest, her nipples hard and angry, aching for release.

He cupped her face with his hands, kissing her on the mouth, probing with his tongue, pushing her lips apart. She was surprised, because it was a strange thing for a Leo to do.

She tried to speak, but instantly his tongue had darted inside her mouth, killing her words. Her eyes opened wide, white and alarmed. God. It was as though there were a nerve between her mouth and her cunt. The caresses of his tongue were filling her pussy with yet more lust, opening up to her another unknown level of desire.

And still he fucked her, slapping her bare sensitive pussy lips with the weight of his heavy swinging balls.

But it was the threat of the spit that filled her mind. It wouldn't be long now before he would be tickling between her legs with the tip of his shiny eight-foot spit.

He would then ask that question. It had become a terrible cliché, known and dreaded by every Aquarian above the age of five. For it had become the custom to give the victim the choice of which of her two holes should be used for the spitting.

"Up the cunt, dear? Or in the ass?"

What would she say? Oh God! What would she say?

He was coming. She could feel the approach of his orgasm in her belly, could feel the pressure building in his balls and spreading down his penis to the knob. She could see it in his eyes, in the rasp of his breath and in the way he gripped her.

He slammed into her again, his penis twitching as it thundered down her love tube, striking the back of her cervix with a mighty crash.

He was coming. He was coming inside of her. Oh God. How many Aquarians had ever said that?

Suddenly, her own climax hit her. It rose from deep within her bowels, funneling through her pussy and up through her breasts. She couldn't prevent it, didn't even want to, despite what she knew that it portended. It was the most powerful sensation she had ever experienced and the most wonderful, perhaps because she knew what was to come.

She writhed in the sand in her ecstasy, welcoming and delighting in each stab of his manly knife.

Oh God.

And then suddenly, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. She lay satiated, barely able to move as he lifted himself from her, looking down at her spent body with a curious lust measured with pity.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Her heart leaped, and she was convinced that he must hear it. She saw the pack, returned to rescue her. There were four girls: three brunettes and a red head, all of similar age and beauty and with only the essentials of clothing between them. They moved closer, slowly, silent, unseen, catlike.

A smile broke involuntarily on the blonde Aquarian woman's face. It was the smile of the cat that had the cream. She purred with satisfaction, kissing Guy's chest.

She had her man.

In her mind she was picturing his cock hanging obscenely around her neck. It had been dried in the hot sand and then painted with bright vivid colors. Guy would be sitting in his regular place at her feet, a chain fastened around his sturdy bronzed neck. He would be naked so that all would see that his masculinity has been removed, cut away. Occasionally, when she had a mind, she would remove the painted penis from around her neck and make him watch while she used it to pleasure herself.

This was her fantasy.

But it wasn't to be, none of it. Out of victory and the stuff of dreams came sorrow and defeat. It came suddenly, abruptly, unexpectedly.

"Well, what have we here?" came a not so feminine voice.

It was Esther, topless, legs parted, her short black hair sticking up in long sharp spikes. Her gun was raised, the barrel aimed squarely at the pack. "I warned you, brother," she mocked jubilantly, pinching her own nipples to make them stand up. "I told you they'd come back. Now," she said to the Aquarians. "Keep still. Keep very still. I'm pretty excited and I won't hesitate to shoot."

She couldn't help laughing. "Now brother," she jibed, shaking her small boyish breasts. "If you've quite finished, then let's herd this meat to the motor."

 

Series One, Part Two: The Danse Macabre

Guy and Esther Nyrian were somewhat undecided as they parked their rusty motor outside the Gates of Shushan.

They needed feed. They had four dams cooped up in the back of their motor and these were eating them out of house and home. Trading in human cargo is an expensive business. But what could they do? They could hardly starve the Aquarian cunts without risking their health, and the fucking Aquarians knew it. Any sign of an illness and they'd be impossible to sell, which would mean keeping them for longer, giving them more feed, and on and on would go the vicious cycle.

Guy sighed, clambering out of the motor. At least they had a little money from the sale of the dead Aquarian's hair. They'd sold her scalp to a passing caravan of Piscean peddlers on the long desert road.

"A good scalp fetches a good price in the harems at Ahas," the peddlers had said, examining the blonde hair carefully. Esther had already washed out the heavy grease and the white traces of semen. "Those girls are into the bizarre. We always sell them a trinket or two. And why not? What else do they have to think about? When there's fifty wives for the one man, the prize goes to her that's the most inventive."

Esther's mind boggled. What did they mean? What could you possibly do with a wig of blonde hair apart from wear it?

They had parked by a dusty water pool. Guy slowly amhemorrhage across to it and looked down. It was surrounded by large numbers of women who were busying themselves with all manner of tasks. Some were fetching large jars of water for their Masters, others were washing clothes and yet others had partially disrobed and were bathing their bodies in the warm morning sunshine.

One or two looked up curiously from their chores at this dark haired stranger. Perhaps they noticed the motor with its Aquarian skull proudly on display on the dashboard. Perhaps they heard the groans of female discomfort from the back. But most of them concentrated on what they were doing, showing neither interest nor excitement.

It wasn't so very bad, Guy considered, idly watching a young Virgo as she bathed. The girl smiled at him.

He wasn't hungry any more, that was a gain. He remembered that first day, ripping into the blonde Aquarian's juicy thighs, that wonderful first taste of her, enjoying her, staring into the open eyes of her beautiful face, so erotic, frozen with fear, lifeless in front of him on a silver platter.

God, he'd been hungry.

"I want her head," he'd said to Esther, gnawing greedily on the meat. "That's mine. Brother's privilege. We get one tit each and her cunt also splits down her slit. But I want the head."

Esther had been in no mood to argue. They had five dams and food in abundance. What reason was there to argue?

It was also pointless. When her brother was in this kind of mood, he would take a knife to her rather than give in. Not that this always made a difference, because she had a fiery temper and sometimes it was fun to annoy him.

But who ate the young Aquarian's brains wasn't an issue that bothered her. Esther wasn't overly fond of brain.

And so, while she went and pleasured herself on one of the remaining dams, Guy had taken the blonde woman's head to his room. He'd stripped off, and had then taken the Aquarian for one last time, sticking his long thick penis into her dead lifeless mouth.

"Come on, bitch," he'd moaned, staring into her eyes, those focused, staring eyes. "Fuck me! Come on. Fuck me!"

It made him feel good, it made him feel powerful, like a man. Holding her at the back of the neck, just where he'd snapped her head from her spine, he was able to force her to caress his manhood with her soft lips. He was able to force it into her luscious young mouth. He was able to force it all the way to the hilt.

"Fuck me, bitch!"

Faster and faster he got, and never once did her blue eyes flinch, never once did she gag, never once did she pause for breath.

"Fuck me!" he cried, thrusting himself into her, deep into her very soul. He grabbed hold of her cheeks, her ears, gripping them tightly, squeezing her, with a savage animal intensity.

He danced round the room, naked, making her lick him, make her jig, yelling out freely, obscenely.

"Fuck me!" he screamed, the taste of her meat fresh in his mouth. "Fuck me, you bitch. I want you to make me come!"

And she did. She had no choice. She danced his macabre dance and she fucked him hard until he came. She made him spurt his hot sticky come into her smooth dry mouth, filling her, raping her. He rammed his cock deeper into her gullet than he'd ever done before, shoving it down her short severed throat and then scrutinizing the trickle of white gism that dribhemorrhage from the other end.

He smiled, holding himself inside her, catching the dripping come with the palm of one hand and wiping it into her greasy hair. He was happy. He could keep his cock in her mouth all day if he wanted. She wouldn't stop him. God. She was his.

Things were looking up. The young Virgo was washing herself in the muddy pool. She had a bright blue shawl, an open blue gown and an expensive looking undergarment. She had pretty legs. Very pretty legs. No. He wasn't hungry now. They'd had one hell of a feast!

"Look after the dams!" he ordered Esther, gazing lustfully at the blue nymph in front of him. "Let me find where we can buy some feed."

Esther saw where he was looking. She was jealous. "Why should I look after your fucking dams?" she screamed at him. She was furious. The nubile Virgo had pulled the hoops of cloth away from her breasts with a warm inviting smile and stood upright, unashamed, letting him look at her pretty firm tits.

She cupped them for him.

Esther was mad with anger. She grabbed the skull from off the dashboard and threw it at him. She missed. It splashed into the water.

"Look after them, yourself!" she screamed. "I'm going to find myself a real man!"

God. He was helping that brazen bitch out of the pool. He was putting his arm around her.

Fuck him!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Damn it. Men!

 

Series One, Part Three: Tagging Esther

Neither of them were speaking.

Guy. Esther. Both were silent.

Guy was mad. Esther was mad. He felt he had a right to be mad. Why should he need to seek Esther's approval for anything? He was the man around here. And she, on the other hand, was jealous.

And so, neither of them were speaking.

Guy was fuming. How dare she! Esther was his sister, not his wife. He was a free man. He could do as he liked. Why shouldn't he walk with another woman if he wanted?

Neither of them spoke.

Esther wouldn't tell him, because she wasn't speaking, but she was aching inside. She loved him with a passion that wasn't proper for a sister. She always had done.

And so they both sat in silence. Fidgeting.

Guy smiled smugly to himself. That Virgo had certainly been something else. He remembered the absolute vision of her breasts, and how she'd smiled invitingly, uncovering them so sensuously and presenting them for him to see.

Esther sat sulkily in the front of the motor. She sat still and stony faced, her body averted, glowering over her shoulder.

She defied him to speak.

She watched him place the Aquarian skull back where it belonged on the dashboard. He'd trawled through the mud of the pool until he'd found it, the very pool where that wonderful girl had exposed herself so prettily for him. The turn of her breast and the flutter of her eye was still so vivid in his mind.

Esther had watched him carefully, paddling in the water. And her heart ached. God help her!

"So why is this woman going to help us?" she asked reluctantly, cutting into the silence with a knife.

"Pardon?"

She frowned. "What's her name? I don't know: the bitch with the tits. Why does she want to help us? What's her reason?"

Guy threw spit and venom at her. Fuck it, he thought. The bitch with the tits! He jumped out of the motor and slammed the door shut. God. He threw his hands into the air. "Why does there always have to be a reason?" he barked through the open window. "Why can't you just accept the way things are?"

"Of course there's a reason," Esther screamed back, storming out, following him to the back of the motor. She wanted to hurt him, to kiss him, to love him, to hit him. God! "Fuck it, Guy. People don't help strangers out of the goodness of their heart. They have an angle."

He bristled with frustration and ire. "Very clever," he snapped, hoisting a bag of feed into the back of the motor. He was seething with bad emotion. The bag flew like it was full of feathers. He stopped, his body sweating. "But hasn't it occurred to you that what's good for her, may also be good for us."

Esther shook her head slowly, pouting at him, folding her arms expectantly. "Go on. Tell me how if you're so clever!"

He picked up a second big sack of feed, flicking it across to the far corner of the motor and dropping it with a thump.

He had bought three sacks of it, enough to feed both Esther and himself for several weeks if only they could get rid of those shitty dams.

They were screaming at each other again back there in their cage. He could hear their shrill, raucous voices. But they wouldn't continue for much longer. He'd bought himself a remedy. If they didn't stop soon, he had tags in his pocket that would bring them to their senses. He smiled viciously to himself, quite hoping that they would keep up their noise.

Esther too. Especially Esther. He'd do her too. Keep it up, Esther, he thought to himself. Keep it up. You deserve everything that's coming to you.

"There's a chap up by the Castle," he said indifferently, carefully disguising what he was planning. He stepped forward, advancing casually upon his young sister. "Ruth, that Virgo, she's a Carcass of Fortune, a mercenary. She works there, by the Castle. The chap that sold her the contract runs a big butchery, all very posh and high class. Ruth says he pays top dollar for quality meat, no questions asked."

He took another step forward.

"Ruth, eh?" Esther repeated jealously, retreating warily, keeping at a healthy distance.

Now he was really annoyed. Suddenly, he sprung forward, pouncing with all the athleticism of an angry cat. He grabbed hold of her retreating arm, pulling her into him. "That' right," he returned belligerently. "Ruth said it. Ruth. Ruth. Ruth. Is that what this is all about? What's wrong with me speaking to Ruth? Why shouldn't I go out with an attractive woman? It's not as though she's got a future. She's living meat and she knows and accepts it. Why do you have a problem with that?"

She fought to escape him.

"What's wrong with you, Esther?" he cried, full of frustrated passion. They scuffled, their bodies rubbing against each other. "Why can't you accept a gift horse in the mouth? If I can get the dams to him tonight, then he'll take them at 125 shekels per kilo. 125 shekels, Esther. Now shove that up your skinny little ass and eat it!"

She pushed against his chest, trembling, her breathing heavy. "125 shekels?" she scoffed contemptuously, hiding the tremor in her voice. "You're a fool, Guy Nyrian. You thought she was serious? You're a stupid fool and I'm telling you, before long you're going to get us both sold to a butchery too!"

Her heart was thumping and there was a terrible crushing sensation in her stomach. He was a volcano about to erupt. He was so angry. What was he going to do? She stared at him defiantly, playing Carmen to his Don Jose. She knew exactly what she was doing. "You're a stupid fool!" she taunted. "A fool, Guy. A fool!"

His eyes closed to slits and his nostrils flared. "Fuck it, Esther. I've had enough of you. You're so stubborn. If I'm a fool, then you're an ass!"

"You're the ass!" she goaded mercilessly. "And a real stupid ass at that!"

He snapped, twisting her over his knee. Her head went down, and her legs swung up helplessly into the air. "I'll show you who's the stupid ass!" he menaced, pinning her down.

She screamed, kicking and shouting. She felt his rough hand at the top of shorts and suddenly they were tearing. He'd pulled them down, her briefs too, over her hips and down to her knees. He had her butt quivering on his lap, naked and vulnerable to his hand. "How can you say no to 125 shekels?" he yelled, slapping her hard on her bare boyish ass. She kicked out at him, but her legs only connected with an old broom, sending it flying. He struck her again and again, venting his anger and frustration on her reddening buttocks, enjoying the sound of his hand whacking her quivering flesh. He kept going even after her ass cheeks bloomed and turned bright crimson. "Do you realize how much that works out?" he snarled at her. Whack! Whack! "If those dams come in at a weight of 250 kilos, that gives us a profit of over 30000 shekels!"

"Stop it!" Esther yelled, pretending to cry. "Stop it, Guy. Can't you see what you're doing? You're hurting me."

She could feel his firm cock pressing against her stomach and her heart sang. She was arousing him. It was working. Although it was embarrassing to have her clothes lowered to half-mast and to be at his mercy, it was also exciting. Just like the old days. He liked to smack her. He always had. She was making him hard.

He struck her lower down, deliberately catching the sensitive purse of her pussy. It stung so much that she kicked out again.

"Fuck you, Guy. Ouch! Nobody is going to pay us 125 shekels for those women! Nobody," she fought, wrestling with him, punching, trying to get up. You're just a stupid fool! Oh God!"

He'd managed to get between her legs, striking her pussy lips just as she'd kicked. The pain radiated out from her cunt. How could he possibly do this to her? It was so humiliating. But her teats were rock hard and aching inside her ill-fitting bra, yearning for his touch.

He stopped. "Have you had enough?" he queried at last.

In reply, she slammed her fist into his jaw. Not yet, she thought. She wanted more. "People don't pay over the odds without good reason," she muttered through gritted teeth, crashing her elbow into his rib cage. "Why is this man offering so much, Guy? Why? Come on! Tell me. What were we always taught? If something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. Ouch! Oh God! Why would anyone pay us 125 shekels when they can buy girls from the market for half that. It stinks."

She hit him again. She caught him on the face. That hurt. In response, he rolled her over so that her front was upmost, facing him. There was a cold, icy expression on his eyes.

He was wondering whether he dared. Esther spat at him.

He grinned, and it made her shiver with expectation. "You'll regret that," he promised, pinning both of her arms with one of his own and then wrapping his strong leg around hers. She struggled to escape, but she couldn't now, and when finally gave up, breathless, he grinned again.

"Are you ready?" he teased, staring suggestively at the trembling space between her legs.

"Fuck you!" she retaliated, vainly trying to get away from him.

So then he hit her. He slapped her hard across her mound, catching her full on her most sensitive parts. She wailed in agony, trying to double up, to protect herself, but prevented by his enormous strength.

He slapped her again, and again she screamed. "Have you been down to the market?" he asked, laying his palm more gently, and yet also somehow more threateningly across her throbbing aching cunt, feeling her silky black hair. "No? Of course, you haven't. But I have. Ruth took me. And do you know what I found, sis? There were only two dams there: two. And they were both ugly hags." His fingers wandered inside her tender slit. She gasped. "Looked like they were breeders. Both of them, huge pot bellied cows with tits that drooped to their navels."

He lifted his hand; Esther tensed, prepared for the blow. Her cunt was quivering, ready to explode into the most beautiful of orgasms. "They were the pits," he said, watching her, his hand hovering. God, this was awful. When was he going to strike? How long was he going to make her wait? "Ruth told me that her owner - his name is Hegai - the one up by the Castle, he has a big order that he needs to fill. There's going to be an important feast in six weeks time. Ruth says that unless her number comes up in the lottery, that's where she'll end up. Don't you see, sis? Hegai needs dams! It's a seller's market. He's snapping up every dam under the age of thirty that he can get his hands on."

Then he slapped her. It came. She came. She screamed, squeezing her legs tightly together. "God," she moaned. "Oh God. And you want to leave me here and go with your Virgo bitch, taking our dams into the Casbah! You're a fool. You are. You're a fool. A real fool, Guy Nyrian."

She howled in anguish as he struck her again, forcing open her legs so that he could beat her open pussy with the full weight of his hand.

He stared inside her, at her open wet cunt. "You'll change your mind
when I come back rich," he growled, striking her right between the
lips. She was so wet now, so very wet. The palm of his hand was
dripping with her juices. She gasped, her mouth wide open and her eyes staring into the distance. "I've been there, Esther. It's a butcher's
paradise. They have a stage, with an oven and a spit and a huge glass cooking pot. You've never seen anything like it. And there's a lottery, and the girl that loses the lottery has to get up on the stage and strut her stuff for the men sitting at the tables. She has to show them everything, absolutely everything. She does this sexy striptease, removing all her clothes, and much more. You wouldn't believe what those girls have to do: it's obscene! And then when she's naked and everyone's real excited, she has to arouse their appetites in another way, by preparing herself to be cooked. They grease their own hair and hose out their own insides. Some of them even have lines painted on their bodies so the punters know where to cut after the cooking. It's on the level, Esther. It really is. We're going to be alright."

Esther spread her legs for him as open as she could. In her mind, she could see herself there on the stage, lying on a platter, prepared and ready for the oven, watched by dozens of men, all whispering, greedily making claim to the parts of her they fancied. "I want to come," she gasped, her eyes now closed. She shuddered. "I want to come. Please let me come."

He pulled one of the tags that he had bought from his pocket. It was a small piece of solid-state about the size of a thumbnail.

Her legs were wide open. The pink flesh of her pussy gaping its open invitation. His sister was destined for the oven, of that Guy had no doubt. He wasn't blind; she always reacted this way whenever the subject was mentioned. The prospect of being cooked excited and fulfilled her. She was just a little frightened; that was understandable. She just needed his help; that was all.

He didn't disappoint. He plunged his finger deep inside her and at the end of it there was the deadly tag.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, closing her legs around his fingers, panting from her orgasm. "Oh, God. What have you done?" But she was already too late. At the very moment that she realized that he'd tagged her, her juices were already dissolving the special coating around the device, activating its epoxy glue. It would set within seconds, fixing it firmly and forever to the soft slippery lining of her cunt.

He grinned. Now she was truly his. Never again would they argue like today.

"Yes," he said, kissing her tenderly. "You may come now. You may also come with me to see Ruth's owner. I'd like that. You may come with me to the butchery."

She sighed, purring softly, recovering her breath. It wasn't so bad. Perhaps they had both got their way, after all.

Series One, Part Four: Esther's First Taste of the Barbeque

Guy watched the sun descend behind the Castle, perched precariously on the steep, imposing hill in front of him. It had turned golden, shedding a deep reddish hue over the entire city. The whitewashed buildings of old Shushan were now rich in color, a sepia montage of assorted styles, built piecemeal over nearly two hundred years.

He sighed.

A black crow sat perched on the lip of a tall chimney just inside the city wall, swiveling its watchful head through several full turns. Guy admired it for a while, silent, thinking.

Ruth would be here a little later. She would help him sell the dams for a good price, a very good price. Then there would be enough money... for a while. He was in no doubt that it wouldn't last, that he would soon spend it: he always did.

He wondered how it felt to be rich, not to have to worry about the next meal, to have a real home rather than just the motor.

Maybe if he were rich, he might even buy Ruth. His cock stirred. What a fine meal she would make!

Or Esther...

His mind blurred.

Indeed. Esther.

What was he going to do about Esther? His thoughts there were in some disarray. Could he really sell her to a Butchery and abandon her to be eaten? What kind of person was he? Of course he wouldn't abandon her literally, he told himself. He would be there until the very end. He would hold her hand. He would be a shoulder for her to cry on during any moments of regret. After all, she was his sister.

But God. How his conscience bothered him! How could he actually sell his own sister to a Butchery! What kind of man was he?

But it was what she wanted, came the immediate answer. How could it be any other way? After all, when all said and done, under those newfound clothes and fancy manners she was still an Aquarian. She could never be anything else. How can any of us ever escape our destiny?

We may fight it; or we may take flight; but it will catch us in the end.

Esther might fight; oh yes, Esther might flee; but sooner or later she would resume her naked, greased acquaintance with the spit, her legs would part, welcoming its final embrace. It was inevitable.

So what was the point in running?

Esther wanted it.

So where was the point in fighting?

Esther lusted for it.

He stared up at the crow, as it gazed silently back at him.

Perhaps, if they'd not been born Aquarian, then things would have been different.

Perhaps. If...

Maybe.

Such are the words of dreamers.

They had both been damned from the moment of their birth, from the instant of their conception, to struggle, to fight against their destiny.

"I don't understand," Guy had asked his mother just a few days after his sixth birthday. He'd been puzzled. Why did they have to live hidden in the caves of the desert, forever in fear of these mythical strange men with their guns? For although his mother often spoke of men, he'd never actually seen one. He'd sat down, naked in the hot sand; his sun parched body as blistered and burnt as wood charred by the fire.

"How is it that the Zodiac knows I'm going to be bad?" he'd asked irritably. "How can it know before I've even been born?"

His mother had corrected him. She wasn't his real mother, of course. He knew that. His real mother had been Capricorn and had abandoned him at birth. "The Zodiac didn't know before you were born, Guy," she'd said kindly. He still remembered the tired sigh in her voice, her long red hair, and those huge pendulous breasts. "It only knows when you come into the world, at the moment of your birth. From that instant nothing can be changed. It's all there, written in the stars."

The next few nights he'd spent outside, looking up at the sky, looking for all these things that were written in the stars.

"But how, mamma?" he'd asked a little later. "How does it get up there in the stars? Who puts it there?"

Of course, his mother hadn't known about that. It was the first of many questions she hadn't been able to answer.

He remembered another one. "Why am I so different?" he'd asked, holding his cock. "Why is it that I'm the only one with a penis?"

"Because you're special," his mother had told him solemnly. "Very special. As you grow older you'll be taller and stronger than any of the girls. The source of that power is down here," she'd gently pushed his hand away from his soft naked dick, caressing it herself. Even then it had been big. "Remember, Guy. This is your power. Be careful with it. Don't damage it. Never do that."

And so he'd been careful. He'd looked after it well, for another ten years. But at the age of sixteen, he'd been out hunting for wild snakes in the early morning gloom. At that time of day, the snakes are still half-asleep. He'd gone with Esther, as was his custom. She was four years younger than he was, but she was already a genius when it came to catching breakfast. That day, she'd snared them a monster.

She'd called for him to come and see it.

"Look, Guy! Come look what I've caught!"

He'd come running, and when he'd arrived, he'd discovered that she had a constrictor: green, black and brown, and the colors all mixed up.

He'd stared incredulously, because she'd let the thing wrap itself around her body.

She knew what she was doing, of course. It was a game to her. It was still early morning and so playing with snakes wasn't so very dangerous.

He still remembered her face, that sly smile, her lanky arms and legs, her short black spiky hair sticking out in a thousand different directions.

Of course, she'd been nude. Like him, she hadn't any clothes. The snake had slid around her bare flat chest. She'd let it, wriggling from side to side because it tickled. And then it had hooped her again, this time hugging her boyish stomach, caressing her. Her face had been a picture; so much excitement, so much unadulterated joy, And then the snake had done it again. It had made its final coil, looping round her sun scorched back for a third final time. It had gently hugged her ass, cupping her sand-covered buttocks, its head appearing from around her narrow little hips, suddenly attracted by something musky. What was it? Ah yes! It had found and was sniffing her cute little pussy.

It had shown quaint interest; watching, waiting, and then its tongue had darted out towards her smooth, bare slit, slithering across it. It had touched her one, two, even three times. She'd let it, unselfconsciously opening her legs to let it feel her, allowing it to dart inside.

"Look what it's doing," she'd said excitedly, staring at him with a sly contented expression filling her face. "Isn't it rude, Guy! Isn't it bad! Look where it's going! Ooh, it tickles! It tickles, Guy!"

He'd watched, transfixed, and suddenly he'd felt very strange. His cock had begun to harden and swell. Of course, she'd noticed that. She'd noticed it at once, and that had made his young cock grow even more.

"It's as large as this shitty snake", she'd laughed in that old familiar way, touching the twin lumps on her chest with her hands, pinching them, while the snake continued to tickle between her open legs with its darting tongue. He'd felt funny, awkward. His face had flushed red. And his embarrassment had made her laugh even more.

And so he'd turned tail and come running home, unable to escape the haunting image of her teasing face and the snake amusing itself between her naked cunt lips. "She isn't my sister," he'd announced to his mother, hiding in a crevice at the back of their cave. "She can't be! How can she be my sister? She's taking my strength. She wants my power. And not only that, how can she be my sister when she doesn't look like me at all?"

All his doubts, all his concerns had come flooding out at once.

"Well of course she isn't your real sister," his mother had said, noticing the hardness of his cock. She pushed her lank, dusty hair out of her eyes and had sat beside him. Those breasts. He still remembered the freckles on her big sagging breasts as she'd cuddled him. "Esther is an Aquarian," his mother had gently explained, stroking his balls to make him feel better. "She's an Aquarian just as you're an Aquarian. And so her mother abandoned her, just as yours abandoned you. But she'll always be your sister. Don't you see? You've been reared together. Whatever else happens, she'll always be there for you. And you must be there for her. And you must never, ever waste your power on your sister. You must save it for when you need it. You're Aquarian. You must think ahead. One day this thing will save your life. It will. But until that day, you must look after it. You must save its power."

Guy had swallowed hard. He'd loved his mother. And so he'd tried to listen carefully to her words. It hadn't been easy. Sometimes, it seemed as though his cock had a mind of its own. It seemed that just being with a girl, looking at her pert young breasts as she reached up for something high; or her cute pretty ass as she bent over for something low; or her sweet shy pussy whatever the provocation, would make it grow large and thick and angry.

But he'd done it. Yes, he had. He'd controlled himself, until the day the Librans had come in their big, fancy motor. That was the day. That was the big red-letter day for Destiny.

They'd come when he'd been out scavenging for food. He was always scavenging for food, because food was scarce and had to be found.

There had been many women they could have picked, but for one reason or another the Librans had chosen his mother from the rest. Maybe they liked her red hair; maybe they liked her huge pendulous breasts. Hmmm. Yes. That was probably it.

Destiny.

They'd climbed into their expensive motor and then had chased her across the desert for nearly five miles. Five miles. It had been a one sided contest from the very beginning. Esther had run too. The Librans hadn't been after her, of course, but how could she desert the one that had raised her?

That's what she'd said afterwards. That's what she had told him.

They'd both been naked, of course. His mother and Esther. Scared and naked. His mother's big floppy breasts would have bounced painfully as she'd run. Up and down, up and down, jerking into the air, slapping against her stomach. Up and down: hurting, painful. They would have been the butt of so many Libran jokes and ridicule. Because for them it was just a game: fun, entertainment.

They'd fired little barbed darts from an air pistol to slow and weaken her. Esther had tried to get in the way, to prevent the darts from reaching their target, but they'd easily been able to avoid her, driving around in their motor to the side or to the front where they would get a perfect view of their real target.

Each hit was met with a huge cheer from the Librans, and a gasp of agony from his mother. She would yelp, and skip and cry out in pain, feeling desperately with her fingers for the little sliver of twisted steel, sometimes able to tease out the hook, sometimes not so lucky, tearing chunks of flesh in the process.

On and on they'd chased them. On and on until his mother had been broken and exhausted, until she'd fallen beaten and bleeding to the earth.

She'd only had Esther to protect her, to help her. Esther had stood there, firm, between them and her mother, defending, defying.

"Let's eat them," they'd said, forming a circle around them both. "What about the young one? I like her. She's cute."

"Let's fuck them," they'd said, steadily closing in, closer and closer. "Let's rape them both. Dick's real hard and hurting."

"Let's kill them," they'd said, grabbing Esther and throwing her to the ground beside her mother. "Painfully. Let's cook them slowly and make them watch as we eat their choicest cuts."

By the time Guy had finally tracked them down it was after dark and the fire had already been lit. The scaffolds had been erected. His mother was fastened to an A-Frame. She hung by her feet, with her long red hair almost trailing in the hard dusty dirt, her hands bound helplessly behind her back.

Esther was standing a little distance away, her hands and arms also bound tightly behind her back, from her wrists to her elbows. One of the Librans held a large iron spit, while another opened a tub of marinade.

Guy watched in horror from the darkness, from the safety of a large granite boulder.

He counted them. There were four of them. Four against one.

His sister stood still, trembling, the dark black nubs of her small inadequate breasts quite visible in the flickering orange light of the fire.

They'd already shaved her mound. Guy could see that. The light fluff that had so recently started to grow there was now quite gone. Her pussy was as bare and slippery as the day that big constrictor had made love to it.

Now they were greasing her hair. They used their hands, grabbing great handfuls of the heavy grease from the tub, then massaging it into her short, untidy spikes; kneading it in, making sure it went down to the roots. Her hair, normally so bristly and alive, now lay heavy and plastered to her head.

And she'd let them. Her feet hadn't been tied. She could have run if she'd wanted. She could have struggled and fought. But she hadn't done any of those things. She'd stood perfectly still, allowing them to prepare her for the roast.

Because she was an Aquarian. It was what she wanted. It's the way she was made.

Next came the marinade. Again they used their bare hands to apply the prepared spicy barbecue, rubbing it into her skin, into every inch and pore of her, between her toes, her fingers, inside her ears, into every secret place. There were hands touching her breasts, her nipples, fingers massaging the sauce into the inner sanctum of her shaved pussy, spreading her ass and rubbing it there, working it deep into her anus.

Guy had watched, enthralled, aggressively rubbing his cock.

God. He couldn't help it.

His sister had stood so tall, so proud, allowing them to touch her, accepting her fate without a murmur. She had wanted to die, to be cooked and eaten by these men. She had yearned for the spit. To feel a hunting knife ripping open her stomach.

He knew that now.

But why? God, why? He didn't understand.

And there was his mother, broad-assed, naked, swinging slowly on the light breeze by the ropes binding her ankles.

The Librans had pushed Esther onto her back. She'd been lying on a large platter. One of them approached, greasing the huge iron spit. He'd told Esther what he wanted her to do, and very submissively, very obediently, she'd lifted her legs and had held them open, her knees pulled right back to her shoulders. She'd muttered something, and two of them had stepped forward to help her, each of them taking an ankle and holding it still.

Guy hadn't heard, but he knew what she'd said. However willing, she would find it impossible to hold that pose once the spit began to puncture her insides. And he'd felt the pressure building at the base of his penis. He held it firmly, rubbing it hard.

And here it came. The man with the spit had pressed gently, pushing the sharp point against her flesh, half way between her two holes.

They were talking to her, asking her the question. This was it, the one they always asked. Did she want it up the ass, or in the cunt?

They were going to spit her; they were going to spit his young sister.

Any moment. Any moment.

He was about to come. His penis was shaking and about to explode.

How would she answer?

And suddenly he could hear his mother talking, talking in his head. Only it wasn't his mother, it was his conscience speaking with his Mother's voice.

"She'll always be there for you," she'd said. "And you must always be there for her."

But he'd wanted to come. He'd wanted to shoot his load over this big ugly boulder and be done with it.

"You must never waste it," his mother had said, stroking his cock. "Not on your sister. Never on your sister."

He'd leaned back. It was building inside him. There was so much jism inside him he was gong to burst.

"How can you stand there and let them do that to your sister?" his mother called out to him. "Shame on you, Guy. Shame on you."

Screaming, he'd launched himself from behind the boulder, hurling himself upon them like a mad spirit from another world, trying to shut out that persistent, droning voice. He'd hurdled the fire and thrown himself upon the two men holding Esther's legs. What happened next was a blur. He remembered being hit, lashing out, Esther screaming abuse. What had happened?

He didn't know.

But suddenly he had the spit in his hand and he was driving it into some man's stomach. There was a gasp, a gurgle of death, and the man sank weakly to his knees.

Guy had pulled out the spit, swirling it round. Did it hit someone else? He rather thought it did.

God. He'd been hit too. Never mind, it was only a scratch. He'd yelled out again. He felt fury, rage, lust: it was all in that cry. He'd cried like one possessed, and perhaps he was.

For when he had finished, Esther was on the ground sobbing, shaking with emotion and rage. Her skin was bright orange, her hair lacquered to her head.

She'd been angry. "Don't you understand?" she'd screamed, furiously rubbing her barbecue-covered slit, trying to come, trying to make happen what the flames would have accomplished. It was slimy and wet. "I wanted them to do it. I wanted it. I wanted them to roast me. Look what you've done. Oh, God, how could you!"

Right then he should have known that there was only one way to truly please her. At that moment he should have done it. He should have done it himself. She'd already been prepared; her wrists were bound behind her back. It would have been so easy to finish the job. He should have listened to her and roasted her as she wanted.

He knew that there was no one else in the world that she'd rather have eat her meat than him.

But he hadn't done it. He'd been a coward. He'd ignored her, walking instead to where their mother hung. He'd turned his mother around so that he could see her face, and had lifted her head fondly, caressing it in his lap.

She'd been dead. She'd been dead for some time. They'd severed off her breasts with a portable guillotine, and where her big sagging tits should have been, there was just a bloody mess. The blood ran slowly across her chest and dripped off her shoulders.

And all over her body were the places where the darts had shredded her flesh.

The Librans had left her hanging upside down while they'd sat in a circle surrounding Esther, chewing upon freckled tit flesh, making her watch, offering her the raw meat, all the time talking about what they were going to do to her.

He'd cried then. His body had heaved with those tears. He'd cried as he'd never cried, either before or since. But when the tears had been shed, he'd gone back to the fire and had icily collected more wood, stoking it up.

He was the head of this family now. He had to think ahead.

The Librans were still lying where they'd fallen in the dirt; their large motor parked a short distance away.

He'd checked that they were dead, and when he'd discovered that one wasn't, he'd completed the task.

Then, he'd cut down his mother from the A-frame and prepared her in the way he'd seen Esther being prepared.

He'd shaved her tenderly, greased her, tended her wounds, and then had coated her with marinade.

Esther had kept sobbing. All the time she'd cried. She was still bound and clothed in that ghastly marinade herself. Guy had not spoken to her, neither had he comforted her. He'd just got on with what he'd needed to do.

He couldn't speak. He was too frightened of what she might persuade him to do.

He'd taken the spit, cleaned it of the Libran's blood, greased it, and then held it between his mother's parted legs.

"I'm sorry, mamma," he'd cried. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you the choice, the one you said they always give you..."

** ** **

Guy Nyrian looked up at the black ugly crow, sitting on the chimney. It was still there, awaiting its moment, swiveling its head, waiting, watching.

He sighed. Even now, despite the fact that she was dead, he somehow felt that his mother was with him.

He looked up to the heavens, to the stars and the almighty Zodiac. "Help me, mamma," he moaned. "Help me do what's right by Esther." He took hold of his long, fat penis and began to stroke it with slow regular strokes. "Help me to be strong. I need my power. I need it all. Help me give Esther what she needs."

 

Series One, Part Five: Making a Dam of Esther

"Go and stand by the pool."

"Please, Guy. Don't do this thing."

Esther backed away from her older brother nervously. She had dressed in a green top and black shorts courtesy of one of their dams, and they were now ready to accompany Ruth to the butchery. The dams had been herded into a line; eight naked tits all strung out in a row, three brunettes, and one redhead.

Of course they were also now tagged, just as Esther was tagged. Guy had taken them from the cage one by one, and had laid them over his thighs, pinning them down, and then, spreading their legs, had mercilessly inserted one of his little devices into them, pushing it deep into their cunts.

It was a job he'd enjoyed doing. It had taken his mind from the awfulness of the task ahead of him. Especially the redhead, he'd enjoyed her. He'd left her until last, and then with the tag inside her, he'd turned her over, laid her on the floor, and holding her down, he'd taken her hard.

He'd enjoyed that; and she'd enjoyed it too, he thought. Of course she'd enjoyed it. She was Aquarian: that was the way they were made. Aquarian's always enjoy being fucked.

"Sister," he repeated with an icy bite. "Go, stand by the pool."

Esther wasn't looking so smug and haughty now, Guy observed with wry satisfaction. She was nervous, scared. He could read it in her eyes.

Ruth stepped up to his side, taking his arm possessively within her own. She leaned against him demurely, pushing her long brown hair back from off her face. "Guy," she said softly, shifting from one bare foot to the other. "Give your sister a break. I'm sure it can't be easy, readjusting to being a dam."

"Fuck, easy," Guy snapped back, shaking off her arm. "She was born an Aquarian, she grew up and Aquarian, how can she ever be anything else? It's in her nature! It's what she is!" Then to Esther, anxious little Esther, he growled, more menacingly: "Get over by the fucking pool or I'll zap you. Do it, Esther. You know what I can if I have to. Now. Do it! Move!"

"Please, Guy," his young sister begged him again, beseeching him, pleading from the depths of her being.

She'd guessed as soon as Guy had tagged her what he was planning to do, but the thought was impossible to accept. He was going to sell her to the Butchery along with the others, betray her for a handful of shekels. After all these years, she was no more than a piece of meat to him, just one more dam.

That hurt. It really did.

She'd sat down on her own in a corner behind a wall and had balled her eyes out. She felt betrayed, humiliated, dishonored. He was going to sell her for money, as food. God. She didn't understand what she could possibly have done to deserve this, how she could have offended him so.

To be hunted down in the desert by strangers was one thing, but to be betrayed by her very own brother was quite another.

And yet, when she'd finished crying, with her emotions spent, when she'd had no more left to give, she'd come to an unshakable conclusion. She'd decided that, if this was what Guy wanted for her, if this really was what he thought was in her best interest, then she couldn't resist him. She couldn't fight.

And so she'd bathed and perfumed. She'd washed her hair in the pool, allowing it to dry naturally to its great untidy spikes.

And she'd dressed. Just in case.

He was a man, her man. Despite all their teasing and taunting through the years, she'd spent her whole life listening to her older brother, following his direction. He was her life. So how could she fight him now? It was no more possible than her left hand stabbing the right.

She was prepared to go with him wherever he might take her, to be sold by him to the Butchery, if that were truly his desire. But was it? How could it be? After all they'd been through together, a lifetime of joys and challenges, how could it have come to this?

"Please Guy!" she begged for a final time, her palms coming together in prayer.

It was so unnecessary. It was so embarrassing: to be treated as of no account, to be ordered around as if she were the lowest of dams.

Did he have to take her dignity too?

And yet even now, she couldn't fight him, couldn't curse him. Even with Ruth watching on, and their dams enjoying her humiliation, she couldn't do it. For she was Aquarian. It was in her, deep down, somewhere. Perhaps, he really did know best. She could feel the familiar twinges in her nipples and in her groin as he ordered her about. That, surely, was her Aquarian heritage.

Anxiously, she twisted the material of her top into a tight knot, stretching it across her small little breasts.

His voice hardened. "You heard what I said, sis. Do I have to get nasty?

There were still a few women around, filling their jars with water. But it was now almost dark, and most had now gone their way back to their masters.

Esther tremhemorrhage. She walked over and then stood self-consciously with her back to the pool, her hands by her sides. "I don't understand," she implored with wild agitation. "What have I done? How have I upset you? Why have you tagged me? Why?"

Guy turned towards his sister with a lascivious smile. "Esther," he said maliciously, remembering the way she used to be before she started wearing clothes. "I don't care any more what you do or don't understand. It isn't important. I don't even care overly much to look at you. After all, your body sucks."

The lie rankled and cut her deep inside. He knew that that it would. Her whole body drooped under the weight of the insult.

"What are you? How old?" he continued viciously, wrapping his arm around Ruth's lithe little waist and holding her tight. "Nineteen? But look at you! You've got the breasts of a twelve-year-old! They're so small you need a magnifying glass to see them!"

Esther's bottom lip was quivering with bewildered humiliation. Her fists were clenched tight. Why was he doing this? What reason could there be?

She watched enviously as he reached inside the gown of the young Virgo and cupped her breast with his free hand. She saw the surprise when his hand settled upon bare flesh. At once she realized that Ruth wasn't wearing the undergarment that had covered her bosom that morning.

Such jealousy she felt.

"Guy!" Ruth protested with firmness, removing his hand from inside her gown. Yet her expression told Esther that she was quietly delighted that he had discovered her surprise. "Guy. This isn't right. Poor Esther. This isn't fair."

Poor Esther.

"So let's see them!" Guy jeered, ignoring Ruth's rebuke. "Undress! Come on, you bitch! Take off your things. I want to see you naked. I want to compare you with the rest of my dams! Come on. We want a laugh!"

There were tears in Esther's eyes. "Guy! Please!"

"Come on. Get 'em off! Do it sexy. Do it now!"

Esther was very conscious of the tag and what it could do. She'd been told that it was the worst pain imaginable. Dams could easily be driven to the point of suicide simply through their Master playing with the settings on a tag. Her hands fingered the front of her shirt. She saw the dams, staring at her, sullen, gloating, and unsympathetic. God. The degradation she felt. She would soon be as naked as they were.

It made her tremble.

"Off, off, off," Guy chanted. Yet despite his outward cruelty, he was forcing the words across his lips. They didn't want to come. There were unseen tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he jeered her, but he hardened his heart to them. Affection and compassion were his enemies now. She wouldn't thank him for it; he was doing this for her.

Slowly, she undressed. She pulled off her cotton top, and then, self- consciously, she unfastened and lowered her tight little shorts. Her bra came next, ill fitting, overly large - it never had been a good idea - and then her briefs: well worn, cotton, the deepest red.

She pulled them off, dropping the crimson undergarment onto the hard, solid soil near the water's edge and there she stood, shaking visibly, her hand shyly covering her pussy, with its thick spike of short black hair, and her arm drawn awkwardly across her breast.

God, Guy thought with a start, surveying her voyeuristically. Where the devil had this modesty sprung from? Esther had never been one to be coy. Was this simply a reaction to the wearing of clothes? She had changed! She had changed a lot. She would never have tried to cover herself like that in the old days. He recalled one or two of the countless times she'd stood and let him look at her, quite unashamed. He remembered her with the snake, smiling provocatively, with her legs parted and her puffy young cunt gaping open, while that hideous beast wrapped her in its coils, squeezing, tightening its grip, poking its long dry tongue into her most secret parts.

He was hurt, disappointed. She had changed. She had changed a lot.

But he would remind her of what she was, that she was nothing but a shitty Aquarian. She was nothing. Less than nothing. A nonbeing.

He placed his hand into his pocket, his fingers trembling, and touched the controller. He pressed it. This would teach her. This would be a lesson that she'd never forget.

The result was instantaneous. Immediately, she douhemorrhage over, her arms clutching her stomach, creased up in pain. "Oh God!" she gasped, sinking to her knees.

Her focus jerked to infinity. "Shit. Oh, Shit!"

Her hands held her belly, praying for the misery to cease. Her mouth was open, drawn into a prayer of silent anguish.

He zapped her again, doubling the wattage.

"Ughh!" she grunted, collapsing into an inarticulate shaking jelly. It was as though someone had struck her with a hammer in the groin. She rolled around on the ground, sobbing, grinding tits and suffering pussy against the soil, a pitiable, degraded mess.

"St.. Stop! Stop it!" she finally managed to beg. "G... God. Please. F... For fuck's sake!"

"Guy!" Ruth interceded quietly, tugging at his arm, assuming the role of his frippery. "That's enough, Guy. Enough."

Guy ignored her, watching his little sister with quiet amusement. Her boyish little butt cheeks were quivering with her pain. Her legs were slightly spread. She wasn't concerned about modesty now. No, that had been quickly and easily forgotten, he observed wryly. Tags were created for Aquarians, and this tag was certainly bringing out the Aquarian in Esther.

"So who wants to be next?" he said harshly, turning to address his anxious dams. They stood in a line facing Esther, their heads all bowed impressively low, watching with a worried tremor in their own bellies, coming from deep within their cunts where their tags forever lingered.

"Nobody?" Guy taunted, wandering along their line, fixing each in turn a steady glare. The one at the far end, one of the brunettes, began to weep uncontrollably. She was shaking with fear. Indeed, all four were frightened and shaking.

"Then you'd better behave," Guy continued freely. "Hadn't you? Because this is just a little demonstration of what happens to those that upset me. Do you hear? Any little protests, then I will zap you." He paused, and then spoke directly to the brunette who was crying. Her face was red and blotchy. "If you don't keep up with me, then, again, I'll zap you." He began to walk back down the line. "If I don't like the expression on your face, same goes. You've seen me zap my own sister, Esther. I'm just itching to do the same to every one of you. Does everyone understand that? Is it clear?"

No one answered. Instead they looked down at Esther, curled up now into a ball and moaning on the ground, twisting and turning in her efforts to escape the never-ending pain.

It was clear. They had learned the lesson. He wouldn't need to bind any of them. They wouldn't fuss or try to escape. They would follow his every command to the letter. Guy nodded to himself, satisfied. He touched the controller again in his pocket, releasing Esther from her agony.

It took several minutes for her to recover. And even then she was still quietly whimpering with a confused, humhemorrhage posture. She kept her head bowed, unable to look at anyone directly.

"Stand over there, with them," Guy said brutally when she was back on her feet, pointing at the dams. "And keep your hands at the back of your neck like the bitch you are. You're a lousy dam. Not a woman. A nobody. Never forget that."

Heaving with misery and despair, Esther dragged herself across to join the end of the line, sobbing quietly, wanting to hold herself where it still hurt, and yet too fearful to do it. She placed her hands reluctantly behind her head, at the base of her neck, clasping them together, her fingers entwined.

She was bewildered and confused, and yes, now somewhat embittered. She felt the beginnings of hate as poison in her belly. If only he would reach out and comfort her, then these feelings would evaporate in an instant. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"Okay, let's go," he said, addressing them all, but with his heart reaching out desperately towards his sister. Her breasts and her stomach were stained with dirt. Tears dripped from her chin and snot from her nose. He wanted to take her in his arms, to love her and then to fuck her. She was so incredibly sexy. His cock ached with lust.

But he couldn't, he mustn't, he knew that. He must be strong: for Esther.

"You must never waste it," his mother had said, stroking his cock. "Not on your sister. Never on your sister."

Those words haunted him now.

Series One, Part Six: A Woman in the Casbah

Guy herded Esther and his dams forward. They had left the motor behind outside the city and were traveling on foot. The streets of the Casbah were narrow and crowded, its steep hills covered with uneven stone steps.

They moved sluggishly, although steadily. Ruth led this shackle of disgraced Aquarian women, their heads bowed to the earth, their hands clasped behind their heads. Guy followed the slow moving train, watching closely, his hand poised in his pocket, ready in case one of them broke from the line.

Each dam knew her fate, that this was it, a march to her execution and death. They were going to be killed and then eaten. This was the end.

One of the brunettes was crying, unable to deal with the idea that tomorrow she might be no more, that she might already have been consumed by some ugly, perspiring man. She sobbed quietly, her nude young body racked by her tears.

"Come on," Guy called icily, pressing them forward. "Stop dawdling. We haven't all day."

He reached into his pocket and marginally increased the juice on their tags. It caught the redhead by surprise, and also the smallest of the brunettes. Both pelvises jerked forward, and the redhead cried out, her hands dropping immediately from her head to her belly.

Guy stepped in at once. "On your head," he growled, zapping her a little harder. "Clasp your hands to your head."

The girl winced with the renewed pain emanating from high up in her cunt. She was caught in indecision. She knew what she must do, that she must resume the correct posture, but her hands wouldn't obey. They were locked in mid air, fighting to hold and protect her suffering belly.

"Do it," Guy screamed at her, stepping ever closer. "Or shall I do it again? Is that what you're after? That dose was nothing. Do you want more? Shall I show you what a tag really feels like?"

"No," the woman howled pitiably, falling to her knees in misery, finally managing to get her hands to her head. She kept her head bowed, hiding her suffering and her heartache. Her long brown hair cascaded from her shoulders onto the rise of her shivering pale breasts.

She groveled in despair. "Please. Please. No. I beg you. You'll kill me with that thing!"

"You worthless cunt!" Guy retaliated. "I know what you're doing. You think you can fuck with me, that you can make me pity you and be soft on you. But you're mistaken. I'm not standing for it. Now get back on your feet and into line!"

"Yes, sir," the young brunette cowered. "I'm sorry, sir."

Still fighting her emotions and the pain filling her belly, she hastily, she got back to her feet and assumed her place in the line. However frightened she might be of the Butchery, it was nothing compared to her fear of the tag and how Guy might use it.

But even as he got them on the move again, heading towards the approach to the Gate of the old city, Guy's bluster hid his own anxiety. He was still in two minds about what he was doing. There was a job to be done and while he wanted it done and complete, his heart was elsewhere. His heart urged him to find another way. There had to be an alternative.

He'd ordered Esther into the middle of the line, two dams in front of her, two behind. He checked quickly on how she was coping. Her head was bowed. She was still shuddering with emotion, embarrassed and humiliated at being publicly naked but very careful to keep her hands and arms behind her head, well away from her pussy and breasts. She was determined not to be zapped again on that count.

She stood out from the rest in one important respect, making everyone passing look twice. She was a dam with cunt hair. It caught the attention of every passerby. Her little triangle, openly displayed, was so familiar to Guy. It's silly little tufts that stuck out like spines along the line of her slit was part of her character now, just as much as the untidy spikes adorning her head.

God. This aching. His groin! What was he going to do?

The idea of eating his sister, of having her on his plate, cutting into her tiny boobs, and chewing her pussy, had always been a secret fantasy ever since he was small. He'd eaten a number of women in his life, but had always dreamt that someday it would be Esther. But was he really prepared to bring this fantasy finally to a reality? Could he actually do it?

Guy pushed his way through the bustling market streets of the old city, trailing in the wake of Ruth's long flowing blue gown. He kept the dams bunched together and stayed close to them. This wasn't easy because naked dams attract plenty of unwanted attention. Men were constantly taking liberties, groping their asses and spitting at their breasts. For them it was good sport, it was a laugh. But it made Guy anxious. The law could be a perverted bitch around here. Ruth had told him stories of dams being stolen or confiscated on little or no pretext, and never was there any compensation.

They were approaching a white wall now with a narrow iron gate covered with a rounded arch. This was the entrance to the Casbah, the inner city.

Ruth hurried to one side of the street, pulling her shawl close, bidding that the others follow her into the blackness.

For, neither she, nor the dams could go through that gate as they were. According to the unchangeable law of the Persians, any free woman found in the Casbah after sundown is to be taken to the public pillory where her head is to be sliced from her shoulders.

"You must bind my wrists," Ruth said. "And the others. Esther's too. None of us may go through that gate after dark unbound."

That is the law.

It has always been the law, for as long as anyone could remember. A cruel law perhaps. But one decreed for good reason. Twenty-five women to every man creates an atmosphere of suspicion and distrust within the male community. When a girl realizes that she has no realistic prospect of ever finding a man for herself, most find themselves a pretty lady and make do, getting on with their lives. It may not be perfect, but what else can they do?

But there are a small band of women, mainly Saggitarian, whose powerful hormones and greater sexual frustration drives them into a whirlpool of brutal jealousies and anger, sometimes taking matters into their own hands.

Rumors abound of men who have disappeared, kidnapped by gangs of aggressive women determined to milk every last drop of come from their cocks. They're held captive in the desert, the stories go, with nothing to do all day but pander to the needs of these well built, beefy women.

And so men feel threatened.

The Casbah is the last sanctuary in all Persia where men know they are truly safe and where they sleep soundly in their beds.

Ruth handed Guy several yards of clean white rope. "You must start at my wrists," she fussed anxiously, for she had no desire to be beheaded. Where is the reward in that? "And then you must bind by arms all the way to the top. It is the law."

The blood flooded to Esther's cheeks and her mouth opened wide as she saw what Guy was doing to Ruth. Her arms had dropped from her head and hung loose by her sides. "Please. I won't do anything silly! You can't mean to do that to me!"

Guy grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her around so that her back was facing him. "It's not about doing anything silly," he declared roughly, pushing her forward and reaching for her hands. "We either bind you or we pick your head from a basket. Now which is it to be?"

Reluctantly, Esther placed her wrists in the small at the center of her back, one atop the other, so that he could bind her. "You're enjoying this," she accused bitterly, with a flutter in her voice.

Little did she know, he thought. Enjoy it? Maybe later. He hoped so. But not now. He had cramps in his stomach, and his conscience wouldn't leave him alone.

"Seeing you bound and naked?" he lied bravely, forcing a smirk. He pulled the knots around her wrists and made them as tight as he could. "Of course I'm enjoying it. But not as much as seeing you perform for me in the Butchery! You know when those girls get inside the oven they get so hot that it makes them want to come. I'm aching to see you trussed up on a roasting tray, jerking around, trying to give yourself a climax. That's what I'll enjoy!"

Esther sank emotionally at this outburst, her shoulders drooping. That hurt. It was with great relief to them both that he moved on to bind the next of his dams, covering his own sentiment much better than Esther had covered hers.

When he had all six girls bound in the manner prescribed, he herded them through the Gate into the Casbah.

"Come on!" he cried for the benefit of the Arian guards standing on guard at the gate. "There's a frying pan waiting for each of you. Get moving, you stupid mother-fuckers! Get in line!"

He juiced them a little to keep them frightened, while a tall Arian wearing a regal sash across his bare hairy chest checked the girls' bindings.

He checked them thoroughly, somehow managing a few sly touches in the process, but finally he was happy that all was well.

"This way," Ruth urged, once they were through the border control, leading the way up the steep hill towards both the Castle and Hegai's Butchery. "Keep moving. For heaven's sake don't stop. Someone is bound to think we're street girls and for sale."

Guy followed with Esther and the other dams, prodding them forward, keeping them together.

All around the aroma of sweet oriental spices filled the night air, burning in flickering oil lamps. They could also hear, from behind tightly drawn curtains, the strains of strident, raucous music and the noise of men having a good time.

This was the rich part of town; this was where the affluent lived. In these noisy streets, eating and drinking was more than a human necessity; it had become a science of entertainment. This was where you could find people rich enough to pay top dollar for the odd wild dam. Here, men paid fantastic prices not to be able to remember tomorrow what they had done tonight.

Here was where...

Guy saw a nobleman approaching. There was a large group of people bobbling steadily towards them. A slave was at the front of the group, bearing the standard of his Master, and thrusting people out of the way with a sharp pole, striking first to the left and then to the right. Guy moved immediately to one side, helping his dams to do likewise, hurrying them into the dirt of the gutter. As he pushed her, Esther stumhemorrhage against the wall and grazed her thigh. With her arms bound behind her back, she was unable to save herself and she then fell sprawling, legs akimbo and her bare boobs bobbing, to the ground in an undignified heap.

As Guy lifted her to her feet, she started on him, angry, her black eyes blazing with suppressed fury. The fire had returned. She swore and cursed, half sobbing, half ranting; Feelings of betrayal and humiliation, of being unable even to rub her side, where her bare skin had been grazed, of fear and despair, desire and frustration, it all exploded from her lips in a jumble of tangled spleen.

Instantly, Guy reacted. He had to. He reached into his pocket and turned up the juice on her tag, correcting her. He couldn't afford any trouble. He couldn't afford this. These people would confiscate his dams as soon as look at them. He couldn't afford to draw the wrong kind of attention to himself, or to Esther.

At once, she creased over in pain, her lower belly rippling with unbelievable agony. She bellowed at once in anguish, her howls billowing along narrow street and causing every eye to turn.

The passing nobleman, surrounded by a small army of armed bodyguards and slaves, nodded imperceptibly in Guy's direction, acknowledging the small courtesy that Guy had paid him in controlling his troublesome dam. He frowned at Esther, noticing the unshaved triangle of her crotch. He had seen the incident in its entirety. Such fire!

And then he had passed them, sauntering down the cobhemorrhage street, his head held high and aloof, showing off his jewels and his wealth, his vividly embroidered gowns and brightly colored shawl.

Esther continued to sob and to weep well after the entourage had passed. The pain coming from deep within her cunt was unbearable. She wanted to touch herself, to comfort her poor aching belly, to soothe the anguish that extended down towards the entrance of her cunt. But she couldn't. She had no use of her hands.

"Hurry up!" Guy hissed to Ruth, searching along the row of gaudy shop signs. It was difficult to see where they were in the poor light of the oil lamps. They needed to get moving. A large assembly was gathering just ahead of them. Some were running up the hill to join it, bringing with them lamps so that they might see. There was much excitement and joviality. What now? He needed to get them all away from such danger.

Where was the Butchery, Guy thought. Hegai's Butchery. God. Where? And then he saw it. "I thought it was supposed to be safe in the Casbah!" he whispered to Ruth with one watchful eye on the mob, pushing the girls forward. "No women and all that. It's a farce. It's worse here than in the desert! Let's get away from here. Let's get them inside."

The crowds were massing around a shop window to a great deal of noise and agitation. There was much pushing and shoving by those on the outside as everyone tried to get closer to whatever was happening at the center. There was a sudden brilliant flash of a yellow light, and then it was gone.

What was that?

Suddenly, a woman screamed. It was an intense, piercing scream that became a gurgle of accusation. There was a huge jeer.

"You cut me!"

The words carried easily on the night breeze. "What?"

"Traitor! Haman! You cut my bonds!"

Then, suddenly there was mayhem, yelling and chanting and jeering. More people were running up the hill, while the throng itself was in chaos.

"She's free! Vashti's free! A free woman inside the Casbah!"

Guy moved his dams quickly towards the door of the Butchery, under cover of the anarchy all about him. Hegai's Butchery was a large new building, stone built, with the Crest of Ahas above the door. Below the crest were the words, 'Hegai, Supplier of Dams to His Excellency, the King."

The scuffle was extending along the road now. People were running up the road to see what was going on. Heads popped out of windows, or appeared from behind drawn curtains, curious to see what was going on.

Guy was fast beginning to panic. "Fuck! Get in! Get in quick!" he yelled, pushing his dams towards the open door.

"Call for Ahas!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Where's Ahas? His wife is free in the Casbah!"

A laugh. A horrible perverted laugh.

The woman was still screaming, shouting. She was angry and abusive.

"The Queen!" someone cried.

There was pandemonium everywhere outside: noise, fire, color, laughing, wrath, movement.

Guy pushed the dams through the door, first Ruth, followed by Esther, then the rest.

"God, what is all this?" he exclaimed, grateful to be entering the sanctuary of the Butchery at last. "What's going on tonight? Who is Vashti? What's happening out there?"

 

Series One, Part Seven: Hegai's Butchery

Guy found himself in a dimly lit room, full of rich red tapestries and lush corded carpets. Broad-leafed plants filled the center, watered by the continual trickle of a small, relaxing fountain. From the white decorative ceiling came the calming strains of piped music, delicate and fragrant.

"God!" Guy muttered, closing the outer door and staring back through a chink in the blinds at the near riot that was continuing unabated outside.

A naked man tapped him gently on his shoulder. He was tall and muscular, with a red bow tied around the base of his cock.

"I'm Teresh," the man said with a slight lisp and a dip of his head. "I'm your head waiter tonight. May I welcome you to Hegai's Modern Butchery!"

Guy took one look at him, and then turned back to the window. "Yeah, fine," he mumhemorrhage, for the mob was now surging back down the hill towards the Butchery. It was difficult for him to make out exactly what was going on in the darkness. He saw excited faces in the glow of the shaky lamps, and subtle movements in the shadows. Shit! Those were rats!

The headwaiter coughed politely. "Shall I check your dams into the kitchen, sir," he asked patiently, opening a drawer and pulling out a small knife. "They're not really allowed in the vestibule, sir. The food comes in through the back entrance."

"Yeah, yeah," Guy mumhemorrhage absently, rubbing the dirt off the window pane so that he could see better. The waiter sliced through the knots binding Ruth's wrists and, thanking him, she stepped across to Guy, rubbing her arms ruefully.

The crowd surged towards them a little, and Guy could make out for the first time the woman at the center of the fuss. Screaming and struggling, she was being carried by a large number of jubilant men. Several of them had manhandled her onto their shoulders and were conveying her down the hill. A couple had hold of her jerking ankles and calves, while others grasped her arms. She bucked and fought, yelling and blaspheming.

"Fuck, what is that?" Guy asked wondrously, watching the intemperate procession carry her past. The woman had long black hair tied into a bun with an expensive ruby tiara and hand embroidered gowns. She had shoes too. This was obviously a woman of power, of influence. Guy was incredulous. She looked for all the world like a Gemini, a real living Gemini. God. What was going on?

"It would appear," Ruth said simply, glancing through the window, while pulling at the loose strands of rope encircling her upper arms, handing them to a young waiter who had appeared from out of the shadows. "It would seem that Ahas has decided to dispose of his wife. That is Vashti, his Queen. I'd recognize her anywhere. You can't miss that tiara. It's the one he gave her on their wedding day. I guess he's found someone he likes better or else he's grown tired of her. It's an old trick. A bodyguard cuts the rope bindings; another discovers the crime. The rest, as they say, is history."

Guy swallowed hard. He strained his neck to see the kicking, humiliated Queen disappearing down the hill lost now within the chanting mass of humanity. "God! So they're taking her to the pillory?"

"Of course," Ruth said flatly, turning from the window. "They'll leave her there for a day or two until the nobles and grandees have had their chance to fuck her. And then they'll tighten the screw and do the dastardly deed."

"God," Guy exclaimed again. "And Ahas won't lift a finger to help her?"

"Quite so," Ruth declared, finally managing to disentangle her arms from the ropes. She handed the remnants to the young waiter, adding diplomatically: "So what about Esther? Do you want Teresh to free her or would you rather keep her bound? You can free her if you like. This is a licensed Butchery. The law about women in the Casbah doesn't apply here, only outside."

Guy went quite white. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, twisting around suddenly, his mouth wide open, searching for his sister. "I'd quite forgotten! Esther! God. She'll kill me!"

But he looked without success. Esther was no longer in the vestibule, and neither were the other dams. Teresh had already taken them to the kitchen.

Guy's heart missed a beat. God. Where was she? Where was Esther? This may be what his sister wanted, but hell, he wanted at least to be able to say goodbye. And maybe more. Maybe much more. God. He didn't know what he wanted. "Where is she?" he demanded vehemently, moving away from the window. "Where have they taken her?"

"She's waiting for you in the larder," Ruth replied, coyly straightening her blue shawl and her satin gown. She brushed a fleck of invisible dirt from her breast. "Would you like to see her?"

"Yes. I mean..." Guy stopped for a moment and pondered yet again how his sister would react to being prepared for dinner. He remembered how she had been that time in the desert when the Librans had got hold of her and had basted her from head to foot. He hesitated. "I don't know. I mean, what will happen to her there?"

He already had a good idea of the answer. They would prepare her. She would be bathed and scrubbed. Her insides would be washed out and her hair would be fixed. They would shave off her body hair, leaving her juicy slit bare and silky and smooth. Her nails would be painted and so would her face. Then they would paint body hair on her pubis to replace the real hair that they'd shaved away. That would tickle. It would tickle a lot.

Ruth took his hand and led him out of the vestibule and into the main foyer. There were men there talking and drinking mulled vinegar. Bookings were being taken and slaves signed in.

"You mustn't worry," Ruth reassured with a wry grin, sensing what Guy was thinking. "No harm will come to her there. In fact, it's very pleasant, very sensual, if you get my meaning. For a dam, an Aquarian especially, the larder is a place of discovery, where we come face to face with our destiny, perhaps for the first time, and realize for truth our place in the grand order of the Zodiac. I have been there myself. I know. Leave her for a while. Trust me. Allow the maids there to help her discover her real sexuality, her real purpose. When she knows this for herself, I believe your mind will settle. Am I not right?"

"Yes," Guy agreed with an audible sigh. "You're right. I know that there's nothing we can do to change what's written in the stars, but sometimes I fight destiny, I know I do, for both myself and for Esther. I think we all do. We postpone the inevitable. And to what purpose? Has the struggle made my Esther any happier? No, it hasn't. Indeed the very opposite. She fights what her heart secretly desires and the struggle makes her tetchy and bitter."

"Then why don't you come with me into the dining room, and let nature find its way of showing her who she is? There's no need to worry. The waiters will tell M. Hegai where we are. Relax. You can catch up with Esther and the others later."

She tightened her grip on his hand and led him through the foyer and up a wide flight of stairs to the back of a big amphitheater. But even as they climbed the stairs, Guy could hear the raucous music and the continual noise of the Butchery. Everything was so loud.

"Enjoy yourself!" Ruth, yelled, laughing, as they got to the top, pulling his arm. By now she had to shout just to be heard. "This is a place where you forget who you are and just go with the flow. Relax! Chill out!"

Guy screwed up his face and pointed to his ears. "But it's so loud! I can barely hear!"

"It doesn't matter," she yelled back, pulling him through a rich dralon curtain and into a much darker area. "You'll get used to it. The noise is part of the atmosphere of a good restaurant. It's tradition. The customers expect it. M. Hegai told me that originally the music was used to drown out the sounds of the butchering. There were folk that thought it wrong to frighten the girls imprisoned downstairs. But ever since they started using prospective dams as waitresses, well, there's no part of the butchering process that we don't see. We have to deal with it, for better or worse."

Guy looked around curiously.

The theatre was truly a challenge to the senses. So much noise, so many things to see. They'd come in at the back, at the very top. The stage was far below them, in the center of the amphitheater. Surrounding it, completely encircling the stage, there were twelve rows of tables, with soft leather sofas at which customers could recline. Each table curved in a full circle about the stage, with gaps at the gangways for access. With the tables arranged as they were, everyone had a perfect view of what was cooking on the stage.

The restaurant tonight was about one quarter full. Guy could see the shadows of customers and staff, all having a good time. In some places, clients reclined in small groups, whilst others were alone, or with their a personal waitress, if they could afford one.

Guy could just discern the waitresses, some clothed in not much more than a bra and briefs, many not even wearing that. They would lie in the bosom of their client whilst he ate and was entertained, and, for a modest consideration, they would serve him in whatever way he desired.

And on the stage, at its heart, were the ovens. Guy looked at them closely. They were arranged in pairs: two electric powered furnaces, at present empty, their glass doors slung open; two roasting spits, also empty; two vats of oil, one for deep pan frying, the other for shallow frying, neither in use; and at the back, in the glare of the lights that flooded the stage, there were two large glass cooking-pots. These were not empty. No, not empty at all.

Above each was a specially built chair with a hinge at the back, allowing it to be tipped, plummeting its occupant into the waters of the pot beneath.

One of the chairs was already empty, its occupant already dead and cooking, her naked body floating limply in the boiling waters of the pot beneath, swaying to the tune of its agitation. She had short auburn hair and a round, pretty face. The girl's eyes were wide open and glassy and stared vacantly at her audience. She had small hard breasts and a beautiful velvety snatch.

The woman had obviously been in the water for some time. Her skin was pink and puffy, and she was looking decidedly tender. Guy's cock perked up at once because, her hair color apart, she was the spitting image of Esther.

Esther.

He wondered idly what they were doing to his young sister in the larder downstairs. The preparation would take a little while, an hour or two, maybe. Would she enjoy being tied down while her naked body was examined, criticized and graded, or would she find the experience humiliating? He thought she might. Indeed he was sure that she would. But then, on the other hand, as Ruth had said, it would give her the chance to discover for herself... to find her own sexuality... He determined to go and check up on Esther.

Ruth tugged him forward, ever onward; down the stairs towards a row of tables half way between the front and the back. He couldn't believe the plush carpet, the rich tapestries, the sense of opulence and luxury. "It's quiet tonight," Ruth yelled over the intensity of the beat of the music, straight into his ear. "We often have two, maybe three times as many customers as this. I think the whisper was out about Vashti. I'm sure it was. That would explain the crowds outside, how come so many people were in the right place just as it all started."

She found them a vacant area, and pulled off her shawl, tossing it onto the cool black leather of the sofa. "Lie down," she yelled, pointing to a space on one of the sofas. "Make yourself comfortable! You're here to enjoy yourself!"

Guy felt slightly self-conscious as he put his feet onto the sofa, staring again at the woman boiling away in the huge glass pot. "Doesn't that ever frighten you?" he asked, nodding towards the food bubbling away in the water. "Don't you ever look at the women as they're cooking and think, Christ, tomorrow that may be me?"

Ruth nodded energetically, unfastening the top button on her robe. A buxom waitress in a tight yellow bikini came across to them, carrying a bowl of warm water, a cloth and a small towel. She handed them to Ruth, and then she left.

Ruth placed the bowl very deliberately on the floor, then unfastening the second button of her robe. She leaned forward intentionally so that he would remember that she wasn't wearing her undergarment tonight. "Of course," she agreed, picking up the cloth and dipping it into the bowl. She took hold of one of his feet and began to wash it, wiping away the dirt and the sweat, massaging it with her soap. "But I won't we eaten tonight, or tomorrow night either. At least, I think not. My price goes down by five shekels a day until someone is willing to pay my price. There are girls here that are much cheaper than I am. I may even escape the menu until the big feast at the Castle. But that'll be my lot I think. None of us will survive that. Ahas is taking every dam that M. Hegai can lay his hands on."

"So..." Guy paused, hesitating. She was kneeling in front of him, her top buttons undone, kneading his feet with her fingers, rinsing them with the cloth. He was finding it difficult to concentrate, very difficult. He peered down at the firm rise of her breast, and the expanding valley of Virgo flesh emerging from between the soft blue folds of her gown. He coughed. God. "So, how much are you at present? Is that a rude question for a man to ask a lady?"

She shrugged awkwardly. The way that he was looking at her, it was making her horny too. Her breasts were tingling with desire. "It's not a rude question to ask a mercenary," she said respectfully, rinsing between his toes. "After all, I'm here for the money. The sooner I'm sold, the more money there'll be for my shefriend."

He waited while she dried off his feet with the towel, rubbing firmly, demurely. When she had finished, she folded the towel and then kissed each of his feet with her soft ruby lips.

Guy was entranced. "Is that why you sold yourself?" he asked.

She nodded, pushing the bowl to one side and sitting down upon the sofa beside him, laying a not so casual hand upon his thigh, close to his groin. She left it there. "It was either me or Deborah. We were in debt. We couldn't pay. Deborah has extravagant tastes, she loves the exotic: foreign things, expensive things. It was getting nasty, what with the warnings, and the threats. They would have come for her, I know they would, because she owed the money. But I couldn't allow that. How could I let her work in a place like this? How could I? I couldn't. So I volunteered first. I had to. It was the only way." She shrugged. "Would you like a drink?"

The waitress in the bikini had returned and was lingering patiently by their table. Now that Guy was more relaxed, he was able to admire her better. She was blonde, long straight hair, five feet seven inches, blue eyes. Her bikini was a tight yellow miniscule affair that covered her nipples and her pussy slit, but very little else.

Ruth leaned back into her reclining escort. "You can tip her if you like her," she whispered over her shoulder, taking hold of his hand and slipping it inside her gown, onto her bare hard breast. She gasped, dissolving into his embrace, as his fingers found her sensitive teat. Her bosom burned at his touch. "But you don't have to" she sighed, closing her eyes. "It's not necessary when you have your own personal waitress. It's not necessary at all."

Series One, Part Eight: The Blonde Waitress

Guy swallowed hard, barely able to believe his good fortune at having
two beautiful women on whom to focus his attention.

"What will she do if I tip her?" he stammered, gazing longingly at the
blonde waitress's huge breasts, while his fingers rubbed Ruth's aching
nipple aggressively, pinching it to attention.

He could think of lots of things that he would like her to do. A little
stretching for a start, he thought hopefully. For there was no way that
her fragile bikini could resist such pressure. He could imagine the
straps snapping apart, and her heavy grateful bosoms tumbling loose.
God. What a wonderful mental picture! If only...

The woman stood still and waited passively, her hands behind her back,
accepting his hungry lascivious looks without any sign of a negative
reaction. Her large breasts strained against the strings of the bikini
top, the tiny yellow triangles fighting valiantly to carry their
considerable burden.

"What would you like her to do?" Ruth purred, slipping her own hand
inside his shirt, reciprocating, feeling his strength and the bulk of
his muscles. "She will do whatever you ask, for the right
consideration. Anything. Nothing is out of bounds. What sort of things
do you like? For a couple of shekels she would remove her top and serve
us with her mammoth boobies swinging bare. You would like that, yes?
I'm sure you would. For ten shekels you can order her to undress
completely. Everything is for sale within the Butchery. Absolutely
everything, if the price is right. For instance, what about her
boobies? You could ask for her to be taken down to the stage, where
they'll slice those beauties from her chest and cook them to whatever
recipe you desire. Do you want them fried or broiled or roasted? You
could even ask that she serve them to us herself. Anything is possible.
Do you like her? What do you think? Would you like her to undress? Does
she turn you on?"

She did. Very much so.

His eyes were flame with his lust. "Ten shekels," he groaned
impetuously, reaching into his pockets and slamming the coins onto the
table. "Ten shekels. Do it! I want her! Tell her to undress!"

Ruth fell back against him, finding his hardening cock with one hand
and gripping it at its base, over his trousers. She pressed the fingers
of her other hand against her own aching mound. Her eyes fluttered.
"You tell her!" she breathed softly. "You're the boss now. In the
Butchery the customer is king. His word is law. His slave girls must do
whatever he orders. You tell her. You make her do it."

Guy bit his lip, enjoying the wonderful sensation of Ruth's fingers
playing with his erection. He looked sternly at the blonde. She stood
trembling, waiting, nervous.

Shouting over the beat of the music, he commanded: "Take it off. Give
me your bikini! Take it off, take it all off and give it to me. I want
your clothes. I want them all."

The blonde had no choice but to obey. The punishment for disobeying the
direct order of a paying customer was too calamitous to contemplate.
First, she untied the little bow holding the string of her bikini top,
and then, before dropping the tiny cups from her breasts, she undid the
bow on her hips. She pulled both parts of the bikini from her body at
virtually the same time, tossing them to the table, and then stood up
straight, arching her back slightly, accepting the intensity of his
gaze without a murmur.

Ruth's fingers slipped inside his trousers. They found his hot cock and
closed over it fondly, stroking it gently. "God!" Guy muttered, his
cock jerking upright.

He stared greedily at this woman's straining bosoms. Everything was
possible, that's what Ruth had said. This was certainly the place to
be. The young blonde had big, firm bazookas that were as large as
Esther's were small and puny. Fuck. These were tits. These were real,
living tits. God Almighty. What he would give to be able to spear them
through. Being in a Butchery was arousing within him those baser human
emotions, magnifying and distorting them. God, how he wanted those
breasts! He wanted to see this bitch bound and then prepared, cooked
for his satisfaction, screaming in agony, begging for her orgasm.

His cock ached for it to happen. Ruth unfastened his trousers and
gently extracted it, showing it to the blonde.

"How much?" he gasped. "How much does she cost?"

Seeing the desire in his face, the blonde flushed and immediately
dropped her head. She'd seen that look before and knew exactly what it
meant. She had also seen the huge erection emerge from his trousers,
encouraged by the young mercenary. She wondered with a sharp shiver
whether he could see her own excitement. She was sure that he must. She
was bare now and had no way of hiding those signals that her body
exuded. No way at all.

But Ruth knew her secret. She had been in the blonde's position herself
so many times herself and knew how arousing it was to stand naked in
front of a man, completely open for his inspection and command. This
woman's pussy lips would be hard and swollen and bulging with need,
sweating with desire.

"Smell her panties," Ruth said malevolently, whipping the small yellow
garment from off the table and pressing it against his nose. He sniffed
the crotch, inhaling deeply, suddenly looking at the blonde with a
completely new light.

She blushed. Now he knew. He knew. "See how much she yearns to be eaten
by a man," Ruth purred seductively, rubbing herself against him,
kissing his shirt. "It's the way we are, us ladies. It's the way all
women are. Something snaps within us as soon as we enter the Butchery.
We can't help it. We yearn so much to be stripped naked and then cooked
and eaten, to feel the heat of the flames and the gutting knife
penetrating our bellies, twisting in our gut. It's the way the Great
Zodiac made us. It made us to be abused by man."

"God!" Guy muttered, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensations
coming from his dick, inciting them further by thrusting his mighty
pole against her. Ruth whimpered softly, lifting his shirt with her
free hand, kissing his chest and his stomach.

In the shadows of the darkness of his mind he saw that something was
moving. What was it? Was it a dream, or was it real? He saw a woman's
slender neck lying prostrate across a bloodstained log, and a mighty
man holding a lifted sword. The man's top was bare and broad and hairy
and his lower half bulged from his tight black trousers. His face was
masked with a black hood and his muscles rippled in waves. Guy couldn't
see the woman properly, only the back of her head, her hair pulled into
an untidy bun, and her lily white neck, stretched and still, waiting
for the sword to strike.

All around, there were people: expectant, watchful.

"Esther!" Guy exclaimed aloud, opening his eyes as if startled from a
trance. The naked blonde waitress was no longer in front of him. She
had gone to fetch the drinks, leaving her string bikini discarded on
the table.

Ruth moaned suggestively, rubbing her front against his muscular
stomach. "You mustn't worry your head about Esther," she sighed
languidly, licking each of his nipples in turn, while continuing to
fondle his great, thick angry piece of meat. "Esther will love it here,
in the kitchen. I know she will. All women do. It's the way we are.
It's a place of ultimate fulfillment."

But Esther's familiar disapproving face was haunting Guy's overwrought
imagination, pricking his conscience.

He screwed up his face in alarm. "But I do worry... How can I not?"

"Then don't."

"But what about your shefriend? Doesn't she worry? I'm sure she must
also worry..."

"She doesn't know," Ruth replied simply, sitting up. "You see, I
haven't told her. Would you like me to undress?"

"Doesn't know?" Guy exclaimed wondrously, hypnotized by the
repetitious, overpowering drumbeat. "How can you keep from her that
you're a Carcass of Fortune? It isn't something you can exactly hide!
What will she think the night you don't come home?"

"M. Hegai will tell her," Ruth replied easily, facing him, rubbing her
breasts through the satin of her gown with the palms of her hands. She
shuddered with arousal. "It's all part of the arrangement," she
continued, becoming a little agitated. "I've written a farewell letter
to her, and M. Hegai will deliver it for me. It says how much I've
enjoyed my time here. How I long to feel the spit penetrating my ass.
Every night before coming to work, I clean myself out. I go to the
kitchen and ask for the enema. You see, I don't want anything to
interfere with the satisfaction of that final moment. Would you like to
buy me? It would give me such a wonderful climax to know that I was
going to be served at your table, to know that your strong masculine
hands would rip my tender titties from my chest. That my sweet flesh
would be teased and stretched within your firm mouth..."

Guy swallowed hard. The woman was so appetizing, he could swear that he
could smell her aroma: roasted and sizzling and ready for eating. "So
how much are you?" he gulped. He was sure that even after the sale of
the dams, he wouldn't have enough.

"Let's not talk about money," she cooed suggestively. "This is not the
moment. The question is: would you like me?"

"Of course."

How could he not?

She tipped her head slightly to the side. "Truly?"

Taking her hand, he guided her slender fingers back to his throbbing
tool. "Feel me," he said hoarsely, scuffing her fingertips over his
foreskin. "Feel that! A hard cock never lies."

She pinched the tip of his knob gently, leaning forward to rub herself
against him again. "Then I am yours," she declared. "I give myself.
Please. Take me."

Before Guy could respond, one way or the other, the blonde returned
with the drinks: three whiskey glasses, each filled to about an inch
with amber fluid. She had also found some pearls from somewhere.
They were fake, obviously. There were several strands hanging over
her breasts to her waist. She reached across the table, her
beautiful bare hooters almost falling into Guy's face the pearls
dropping into his lap. For the first time he noticed that her
two pink nipples were each very hard and long.

And her hands were shaking.

Carefully, she took one glass from her silver tray and placed it in
front of Guy and a second she placed in front of Ruth.

Guy thanked her, staring greedily at her wonderful naked titties, decorated so beautifully by the strings of ivory. He picked up the drink and drained it.

"Pheww!" he spluttered, beginning to cough. "That was strong! What is it?"

Neither girl answered. Instead, Ruth drank her drink, and as soon as it
was gone, the waitress handed her the third and final glass from the
tray. Ruth took it gratefully, and lifting her graceful neck, swallowed
it down.

Guy looked with consternation from one woman to the other. What was
going on here? "Would you like another?" the waitress asked solemnly.

She spoke with great earnestness, her nipples dancing in little figures
of eight. "Yes, please." Ruth replied nervously. "A double. Dutch
courage, eh?"

"And one for me, too," Guy added, with great sarcasm, irritated. "If
that's okay with everyone? Am I allowed a drink too?"

The blonde blushed bright red at once. She nodded quickly, nervously,
and then left, her bare butt swaying anxiously.

"You mustn't judge her too harshly," Ruth reassured him, fondling his
balls lovingly, teasing him, making him guess a little. "She's new
here. Okay, she slipped up. We all do it from time to time. But that's
not so very terrible. You see, she'll want to make up for her mistake,
she'll want to do her best now to please you, and you will like that.
You'll like it a lot. Yes?"

Guy scowled at her dubiously. Maybe.

On the stage, the second dam was now to be cooked.

The chef announced on the public address system that her name was
Annie, and that she was just sixteen years of age. All four limbs were
still available at five hundred and fifty shekels per kilo. She was a
snip, he said, because Annie was going to be butchered organically,
without the aid of drugs.

There was an audible murmur of approval, followed by applause.

Annie didn't seem to appreciate the privilege of being butchered
organically. She was sobbing hysterically in the second chair, begging
for a draft, just one small one to help with the pain.

Ruth winced. "God! That's cheap! Five hundred and fifty shekels! I hope
I don't have to wait until I'm that cheap. It would be so embarrassing.
How come she's so cheap? Where are the buyers? Why are there no buyers?
Doesn't anyone eat meat anymore?"

The blonde waitress returned, and quietly slid another glass in
front of Ruth, a bigger glass this time, almost filled to the brim
with the familiar amber liquid.

And one for Guy.

"She looks good to me," Guy decreed, joining in the general applause.
He watched with unashamed voyeurism as their waitress walked shyly from
their table. She would want to make good, eh? He followed the crack of
her butt to where it joined the vee of her legs. Maybe things weren't
so bad.

"What do you reckon?" he asked. "Should I buy in for a couple of kilos?
Annie's legs maybe. I really fancy a bit of that thigh!"

Ruth drained her glass, making sure she'd imbibed down to the very last
drop. "If you do," she said darkly as her body began to lubricate.
"Then you must use my belly as your dinner plate." She kissed him
urgently and repeatedly on the neck. "And my cunt must be your cup. You
must fill my vagina with your wine and then lick Annie's gravy from the
crevice of my belly button. Make me feel your hunger, kind master, and
your desire. Can you do that?"

She had his cock once again and held it firmly, rubbing at it urgently.
It bucked in her grip, jerking with excitement.

On the stage, the chef was dancing towards Annie to the ironic thump of
the drums. The young dam's grip upon her chair became frenzied and
desperate. She'd already seen the suffering of her companion and heard
those horrible inhuman cries before she'd died. She wailed horribly as
he waved an ironic goodbye to her, pulling the lever controlling the
fatal mechanism. The chair jerked forward, throwing Annie sprawling
into the waters of the cooking pot.

There was a splash as she hit the surface and then submerged beneath
it, little bubbles racing from her skin to the surface, clouding the
crystal clear water for a moment. She touched the bottom and then
struck out, her head bobbing up out of the water. She came up
screaming, yelling, panicking. But this was blind fear expressing its
instinctive voice. Her conscious mind had still to realize that the
water was cold, not hot. Boiling water is not a good crowd pleaser. Her
job was to entertain the customers, to tease and to tempt. This water
was being brought to the boil from cold and it wasn't even steaming
yet.

Her long brown hair clung to her face and shoulders. Her painted lips
and eyes glistened with the sparkle of the water.

Ruth's face had flushed bright red by now. Her fingers were shaking and
her eyes were downcast.

"If that were me up there," she said, her voice crackling with
intensity, barely able to control her emotions. "If it were me being
cooked tonight, then how would you like me cooked? Would you like me
boiled like that, like Annie, or would you choose another way?"

Guy regarded her darkly, feeling her yearning and her fear. His face
clouded over and became black with menace. His eyes closed to slits.
His cock was so hard. He felt such an animal passion. "I would like to
see you roasted," he hissed, with an audible intensity that made her
quiver with excitement. "I would like to see you trussed on a platter,
well stuffed, and with a garnish of watercress peeking from your pussy.
That's what I would like."

She pushed away her empty glass. Her hand was shaking. "Come," she
said, letting go of Guy's cock and jumping to her feet. Her legs were
as jelly; they would barely carry her. She pulled him after her. His
cock sprang to the vertical in front of him, bouncing around like an
insane jack in the box.

"What? Where are we going?" he cried, following her reluctantly,
hastily pressing his unwieldy penis back into his trousers before
anyone else could see. He cursed her under his breath for exciting him
so much and then leaving him unfulfilled.

"We must buy you dinner!" she stuttered hoarsely. "God! Roast dam!
You're hungry. You must eat!"

Series One, Part Nine: Choosing a Recipe

She pulled him down the steep dark gangway with its shadowy secrets on
either side, towards the brightly lit stage. "I have a buyer!" she
called out to the chef, her arm raised, loping down the stairs two at a
time.

Guy came stumbling after, fumbling with his trousers.

"Ruth! Couldn't this have waited?" he complained in disarray, finally
getting his cock back behind its inadequate constraint and his trousers
zipped up. He hated being in front of a crowd, the center of attention.
It wasn't his scene, it really wasn't. It made him uncomfortable. He
was a desert animal; that was his true habitat. "Ruth! What's the rush?
Annie's not even hot yet! Ruth!"

"A buyer!" Ruth repeated as they reached the narrow well between the
first table and the raised stage. She rushed around, trying to attract
the attention of the chef up above.

Guy was bewildered. What was Ruth doing? He was about to follow her
when, suddenly, a hand grabbed hold of his shoulder and swiveled him
round.

He was confronted by two heavily built men, bouncers. They looked mean
and ferocious, and their eyes were like arrows.

"If you wouldn't mind sitting down, sir," one of them said, pushing him
back roughly. "Customers aren't allowed beyond this point. It's not
allowed."

"It's all right. He's with me! He's with me!" Ruth called out
excitedly, moving along the service well, away from him, waving at the
chef.

"Ruth!"

Finally she caught the chef's attention and he came over, walking
slowly, leaning over the edge of the stage. He was a short man, very
stocky, with a fat face and a black oily toupee. He was wearing a
striped apron, navy, and his knives were strapped to his side, like
swords dangling on his leg.

The bouncers pressed Guy to the front table and forced him down. There
was a young man next to him who was busily fucking his overweight
waitresses' ass.

Guy muttered an awkward apology and sidled away, sliding along the
leather sofa of the very first row, leaving the writhing pair of lovers
in peace.

In front of him, Guy could see Ruth whispering something into the
chef's ear. She was talking, agitated, but he couldn't determine what
she was saying, not above the cacophony and the continual beat of the
discordant music.

The chef was on his knees, bent down, listening. Ruth, on tiptoes, had
her head stretched up, and was crimson with excitement. She had a
plan... a scheme of some kind... But would it work?

She was so keyed up.

What was she saying?

Whatever it was, it resulted in the chef reaching down and helping her
up onto the stage. She clambered up, somewhat inelegantly, holding
tightly to his wrists.

She lifted her leg to get her foot up onto the floor of the
stage. "Nice lady!" one of the bouncers exclaimed with a leer, as her
gown rode up her legs to the knee, and then beyond.

"What?" Guy asked. He didn't understand.

There was a murmur of applause from the customers all around. They
liked the look of this new unadvertised dam.

"You're a lousy mother fucker!" observed the other bouncer jealously,
speaking to Guy. He watched Ruth being led by the chef to the center of
the stage. "What a dam! Look at that arm! Beautiful! I'd eat some of
that! And the rest of her! Like fuck I would!"

Guy read the lust and the hunger in the faces of both men with a
dreadful pang. "Ruth!" he screamed, jumping up, suddenly realizing the
awful truth. "What are you doing? It's Annie's legs I fancied. Not
yours."

But she couldn't hear him. There was just too much noise. The bouncers
pushed him back down lazily into his sitting position.

"But, Ruth!" Guy yelled again, screaming to be heard over the strains
of the music. "Ruth! Let's not be stupid about this. Just because I
said that I'd like to see you roasted, that doesn't mean that I want to
eat you! Ruth!"

He tried to get up again, but the bouncers just kept pushing him right
back down.

He was being totally ignored. All the attention was on Ruth, not on
him. The chef was introducing her to the audience. "This is Ruth," he
said sensationally. "She's our next dam of the evening! A genuine
Virgo, and what's more she's a Carcass of Fortune, a mercenary. Look at
those curves! Admire that ass! Imagine your teeth gnawing at those
ribs, sweet and succulent! This bit of crackling is under butcher's
contract! She's being cooked of her own free will and volition. Come
on, guys! What do you say to that?"

The applause from the secret voyeurs hiding in the darkness was more
enthusiastic this time. They liked what they could see.

One of the bouncers waved up to the young blonde waitress who had
served Guy the drinks, beckoning her down to the front. She was at
Guy's old table, having just retrieved her bikini, putting it back on.
But now that she saw that it was Guy she was being asked to serve,
recognized him, she quickly unfastened the strings and removed it
again, dropping it back on the table.

"I should think so too!" the chef teased, mocking his audience. His
voice carried throughout the whole amphitheater, up through the
chimneys, seeping along the heating ducts, through the serving hatches
and into the kitchens. There was a small microphone pinned to his
apron, which was picking up his words and amplifying them, distorting
them.

He was talking about Ruth, of course, not the blonde.

"This lady's under the hammer at a massive 1065 shekels," he continued,
pinching Ruth's butt. "1065 shekels a kilo, my friends. At that price
anybody deserves your appreciation. For that kind of money this beauty
shall be cooked like a queen."

There was a little sniggering, a joke, laughter, drowned out under the
intensity of the music. Guy thought at first that they were laughing at
Ruth, at her being cooked like a queen. But apparently not so. It
seemed that news about Vashti had somehow made it through the grapevine
and was filtering into the amphitheater. The reference to a queen was
therefore quite piquant.

Guy tried to listen to what the people around him were saying. He
caught the odd sentence, "serves her right", "bitch", "should have done
as her man asked...", "saw it coming...".

The blonde waitress arrived at the front. She was nude and attracting
lots of attention. Hands appeared from nowhere, out of the darkness,
waving, searching: squeezing her butt, probing between her legs,
pinching her mercilessly. She wanted to push the hands away, to escape
them, but she daren't.

That would be another faux pas.

She was still terribly conscience of her first when she had asked Ruth
whether she wanted another drink, but had overlooked to ask Guy. She
was new here and was still overawed at being in the presence of so many
men, for them to be looking, touching, caressing...

The bouncers indicated that she should take a seat next to Guy,
pointing to the cold leather at his side. She didn't need asking twice.
Here was a chance to put matters right in a way that would please
everyone: the management, the customer, and yes, herself especially.

Her mammoth breasts had grown swollen with desire and her pink nipples
were hard little pencils. Yes, she was a woman, and this was a man. She
couldn't control her reaction. It was the way she was made.

"May I?" she asked politely, in the manner that she'd been taught,
slipping down at Guy's side, feeling his warmth against her body, his
breath upon her swollen tits. She was shivering, and not because she
was cold.

God!

"I've been asked to look after you now that your waitress is
unavailable," she stammered awkwardly. She could also still feel where
dozens of hands had been roaming, teasing, caressing, only seconds
before. Christ. There were so many men here! "Is there... Is there
anything I can do?"

But Guy wasn't really listening. He was more concerned about what was
happening on the stage.

Ruth, a picture of beauty and self-assurance in her bright blue gown,
stood in the middle, towards the front bathed in the floodlight. Her
long brown hair lay in a loose pile upon her shoulders, and she would
occasionally push it back. Behind her were the two cooking pots, the
unknown carcass in one, Annie in the other. Annie was still alive, but
she was beginning to tire. Unable to reach the bottom of the glass pot
with her feet, and the sides towering at least three feet above the
surface of the water, she had to keep treading water or else drown.
There was just nothing she could grasp and hang on to. She was hoarse
from screaming, from crying, but she had nothing else that she knew to
do.

But now something new. Guy felt a huge swell of adrenaline surging
within him. He leaned forward in his chair, pulling away from the eager
pampering of his naked waitress, the touch of her naked caress.
Something was happening. What now? Three kitchen maids were coming out
onto the stage, dancing seductively, suggestively, wearing little black
uniforms bordered with white lace. The uniforms accentuated their
figures, of course. They were low at the top, thrusting up their
bosoms; and high at the bottom, hugging their bodies like a second
skin. Their hair was tied high upon their heads, each one plaited into
a bun and covered in a tiny white cap. The smiles on their faces were
broad, although forced and nervous, painted in place with heavily
daubed lip-gloss.

These had appeared wheeling a long butcher's table. It was made of
stainless steel with heavy clamps at either end for restraining a dam's
arms and legs. They parked it immediately in front of Ruth, dancing
around her carelessly with elaborate rehearsed pirouettes, leaning
against her, tugging playfully at her gown, eventually moving off to
the side when their routine was complete. A warm chorus of approval
from all round the auditorium greeted their appearance.

The blonde waitress played shyly with Guy's trousers, searching for the
zip. She concentrated hard. She had done this many times in practice
with the dummy, but never with a client. Her fingers moved slowly, her
long pink nails almost not shifting at all as she touched his groin.
She didn't want to alarm him or put him off by making another mistake.

"How long since you've eaten?" the chef asked Ruth, walking around her,
sizing up her height and build. His booming voice filled the hall,
amplified to a maximum, echoing and booming. Stroking the back of her
thigh through her gown, he pinched it in several places, nodding
approvingly at the ampleness of her meat.

Ruth squirmed a little, but otherwise she seemed unfazed. "I haven't
eaten since after work last night," she said earnestly, boastfully,
pushing her brown hair back from her face. "I never eat during the day.
Never. Just imagine: it would be just too humiliating to be gutted and
still be half full."

There was a murmur of approval from all round the hall at this, heard
even above the music.

The chef also made small sympathetic clucking noises. "You see," he
said triumphantly as the applause died away, taking his big shiny knife
from its belt and sharpening it energetically on a special strap. "See
how devoted this dam is to her contract! A true harlot if ever there
was one! How could we possibly let her down?"

"Oh God!" Guy grunted. The blonde had just lowered his zip and had
fished his cock from inside his trousers. She had discovered a
leviathan contained there, a real angry monster, purple and long and
hissing with rage. In retaliation, Guy grabbed hold of her by the
breast, one of those huge swinging monstrosities dangling from her
chest. He gripped it at the base and squeezed it mercilessly.

"Oh Fuck!" the waitress cried at once. She fell to her knees
whimpering. He was using her tit to coerce her down, directing her
head, her mouth, her lips, towards the tip of that beastly erection she
had discovered. Closer and closer it got.

"So how would you like to be cooked?" the chef asked Ruth
indifferently, playing with the generous folds of her gown. He walked
freely around her, the knife in his hand, waving it melodramatically in
short, deadly thrusts. "You can choose any way you like. Any way at
all."

"I don't know..." Ruth stuttered, looking up, blushing. She stared
wide-
eyed at the long, evil knife, at its sharp, vicious tip. "I'm not
sure..."

"...that you know all the recipes? Quite so," the chef nodded,
finishing her sentence for her, poking the air emphatically with his
knife as he spoke. He spun around her to her rear, leaning his chin
weightily upon her shoulder. "Most men have no imagination," he hissed
thoughtfully, his words sibilating across the sound system. "Sad, but
true. They think only of the old missionary style. Perhaps: Girl In A
Cooking Pot, or, maybe, if they're extremely adventurous, Roast On A
Spit, piggy style. Here at Hegai's," he said, casting a disdainful
glance towards the hysterical woman warming up nicely in the glass pot
behind him, "although, of course, we have to pander to plainer tastes,
we also get to experiment with nouveau cuisine. In a gourmand butchery
there are beautiful recipes that will make the eyes pop and pappy cunts
explode."

The woman in the glass pot, Annie, was gasping, spluttering, struggling
to keep her nose and her mouth above water. The chef placed his arm
sympathetically around Ruth's shoulder and guided her firmly but slowly
across to the glass. They peered through it together, at the screaming
girl's kicking legs and glistening cunt, at her jigging breasts and
flailing arms. They watched together as she thrashed about desperately,
pleading for someone to let her out.

The chef sighed. "It's fun food," he said sadly, gawping through the
glass, poking his tongue out and mocking Annie's desperate pleas. "It
pulls the punters off the street, but where's the style? It's safe.
It's dull. It's boring. You don't want to be cooked like that!"

"I don't?" Ruth exclaimed hopefully, shocked at the way the girl's cunt
gaped open and close as she struggled. It reminded her of a goldfish in
a goldfish bowl. She tried to imagine herself helpless in that enormous
pot, and how she would feel as the water grew hotter and hotter,
suffocating, with two strangers staring at her most secret places,
seeing deep inside.

No. Perhaps she didn't want to be cooked like that.

Steam was beginning to rise from above the surface of the water and the
girl was now in considerable distress. "I'm sorry, dear," the chef said
apologetically to Ruth, reluctantly turning away from the glass. "I'm
becoming forgetful. The sight of dams cooking does that do me. What
were we saying? Ah, yes. We want a more exciting recipe, exotic, but
practical. I must kill you slowly, of course, so that our customers
have plenty of time to jerk off, but also with flair, with a touch of
panache. Let me see, now."

He led her back to the front of the stage and stood with her behind the
butchering table. The atmosphere around them was carnal, orgiastic.
Neither the chef nor Ruth could see any detail, but both knew what was
going on out there. Men were either eating and drinking in the semi-
darkness of the amphitheater, or playing lewdly with their personal
waitresses. Shadows of naked girls swayed sensuously in private dances,
or moaned theatrically through hidden microphones to encourage
generosity in tipping.

Guy still had his waitress's huge tit in his grasp. He was squeezing
it, hurting it, making her snivel and sob. "Kiss me," Guy commanded,
forcing her painted lips to finally caress the eye of his tool. He was
hard, his foreskin fully retracted, a faint whiff of pre-come lining
his knob.

She had never been so close to a man's cock before. Not a real living
man: a real angry cock. Her lips slowly parted. Her tongue floated
across it, touched it. It tasted nice, very nice. Her mouth opened a
little wider. She was looking at its enormous length, thinking about
it, smelling, tasting, and imagining it inside her.

"Go on!" he barked frenziedly. "Suck it! Suck it all!"

And so gradually she did. She took his monster into her mouth, shutting
it in, holding it between her lips, sensing his passion, tasting the
salt, feeling her own arousal beginning to rise.

It tasted nice, very nice.

Back on the stage, the chef was still considering how best to cook the
beautiful Virgo at his side. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had
Guy on the edge of his seat, listening to every word. "At first I
thought Bird in a Cage," he sighed. "But now I'm not so sure. You're a
little too tall and slender for that delicacy. What about the Bed of
Nails? I haven't done that for a while?"

Ruth glanced nervously at her fingers. "Well, I have painted them," she
admitted with a faint quiver in her voice, for Bed of Nails is supposed
to be particularly painful for the dam. She smiled weakly,
hopefully. "But I always think that works best with long manicured
nails, don't you think? And mine are quite short."

The chef glanced down at Ruth's feet, and then checked her fingers with
a regretful sigh, lifting her hands and examining her nails
carefully. "Perhaps you're right," he concluded reluctantly. "A shame.
It's such a crowd pleaser."

He paused. "Maybe if you undress," he suggested, reaching forward and
squeezing her breasts gently through material of her gown, gauging
their quality and their weight. "Perhaps if I can see you in the
fullness of your flesh, if I can see all of you, it'll give me a better
idea how best to proceed."

Ruth swallowed hard, brushing the hair once again off her shoulders
with her hand, bowing her head submissively. "You would like me to
undress?" she repeated quietly, hiding an almost sonish
innocence. "Now? Everything? In front of all these people? You think
that I should?"

"It would help," the chef replied quickly, glad that his apron was able
to conceal the state of his erection.

She bit her lip rather anxiously. The top buttons of her gown were
already undone, revealing the deep valley of her bust. She was
prepared, but it was still embarrassing to undress in front of all
these men, in the glare and the harshness of the floodlights. She
unfastened the remaining buttons, doing so slowly, her fingers
trembling as she slipped each button undone, revealing more and more of
her front. Her head remained bowed, hung low, a mask, hiding the
deepest of emotions.

She would look good on a platter, this one, the chef considered,
shifting awkwardly from one leg to the other. It was a shame that he
could cook her but once. There are just so many possible options when
given a dam as attractive as this one. He hardly trusted himself to
speak.

Ruth had the bright blue garment unbuttoned to her waist now. Shyly,
she shrugged it from her shoulders, letting it fall away, revealing
pure white flesh, clean, wholesome, and appetizing. She let the gown
drop to the floor, sticking out her breasts bravely, exposing her bare,
firm bust and her hard brown nipples. She had been wearing nothing
underneath the gown apart from a long length of satin, wrapped twice
around her lower regions as an undergarment; its ends tied into a bulky
knot.

"This has served me well," she stuttered, stepping out of the folds of
her gown. Hesitantly, she stooped to pick it up, her voice quiet and
strained, dignified but regretful.

"I won't be needing my clothes again," she said, folding her gown into
a neat blue square. "Please hand this to my buyer. It should belong to
him now. For him to do with as he chooses."

The chef took it from her without a word.

Guy was entranced. He pinched the blonde waitress's big tit, searching
for hard lumps within it and squeezing these hard between his fingers,
wanting to hurt her, to punish her, yet not really sure why. She howled
in silent anguish, her body twisting around the fulcrum of that
squashed, suffering tit. Her mouth fell involuntarily from his cock,
blabbering, leaving it wet and slippery and angry and hard.

It jerked in a tremulous spasm as, with a noticeable shudder, Ruth
untied the knot holding together her undergarment. Her long slender
fingers with their red painted nails tugged at the material, finally
loosening and releasing it. Her fingers were trembling, for she was
nervous as to the reaction she would receive from the male audience.
She held the satin to her hips for a moment before allowing it to fall,
exposing to everyone: to the chef and to Guy, to all the customers and
the members of staff; her loveliness and beauty, her shaved, powdered
pussy, gaping teasingly.

The undergarment slid across her skin, spinning, falling, floating,
like the hand of a lover, caressing her flesh: tickling, stroking.

She had no reason to be worried, no reason at all. She was a stunner.

"Wow!" Guy gasped, staring at her silky womanly gash. The mouth of his
blonde waitress groped for his cock like a baby for the teat,
eventually finding it, licking it, feeding, sucking upon it greedily.

Ruth could neither hear nor see his response, had no way of knowing
what Guy thought of her, but she both heard and saw the general
reaction, the wolf whistles and the chants, and she blushed prettily.
She could imagine the words, what these men must be thinking.
Embarrassed and a little overawed, she picked up her undergarment,
looking down at the fresh dark stain of womanly juices that marked it.

Behind her, the three kitchen maids had busily begun to work, wheeling
out their utensils on two little side tables that they sited at either
end of the butchering table.

Ruth knew what this must mean. The time had come for her preparation.
They would want to get on.

Quickly, and with shaking fingers, she folded her undergarment into
four, to hide the revealing stain from prying eyes, before handing it
to the chef. She was scared at the ambivalence of her own emotions. She
had always believed that she would enjoy these moments leading up to
her final sacrifice, but now her end was here, she was confused. It
wasn't that she was frightened at the prospect of pain, or of being
gutted, or even of being nothing but Guy Nyrian's meal tonight.

Rather, she was scared that she wouldn't be able to come in the oven.
That thought petrified her. It consumed her with fear.

It didn't take a lot to excite her, it never had, but she couldn't turn
herself on at will. She needed the right stimulation. What if it wasn't
there in the oven?

In her young life, she had faked many orgasms, for a great number of
lovers. She was a wonderful fraud. She was an expert at it. But for
every real orgasm, she might fake another two. However, this was one
orgasm that couldn't be faked. The evidence would be there, one way or
another in her meat, in its color and its taste. It would be just as
obvious as the stain saturating her blue satin undergarment.

What if she couldn't quite make it before the end? She was a Carcass of
Fortune. An orgasm was part of the contract, required. It was part of
what she was expected to do in order to get her money...

The maids helped her up onto the steel table, reminding her how she
should kneel, on all fours, with her legs slightly apart.

They were calm, kind, and considerate as they positioned her, pushing
her forward, parting her legs when slowly these slid shut. One day soon
it would be their turn. They would be on the table. They would be on
show then, naked, for all the customers to see. And so they treated
Ruth as they wanted to be treated themselves, with compassion and much
empathy.

What if I'm in so much pain that it stops me feeling what I should
be feeling, Ruth thought in rising panic. A dam is supposed to get
excited and sexually aroused as her end approaches, but what if I
don't? Oh God. What then?

Meanwhile, the chef had stepped forward towards the edge of the stage,
and with a great flourish had revealed to the diners how the young
Virgo was to be cooked.

"Roast dam," he announced with a bow, awaiting his applause. "Stuffed,
and garnished with water cress."

 

Series One, Part Ten: Gutted

Roasted, stuffed and garnished with water-cress!

The words took Guy's breath away. That was exactly what he'd told Ruth when she'd inquired how he would like to see her cooked. Was it coincidence, or had Ruth told the chef what he'd said to her? He didn't like coincidences. They made him suspicious. Guy wondered how much of the extravaganza and the spectacle of the Butchery for real, and how much was just show, stage-managed to keep the punters amused and excited.

Annie, for instance, who was fast losing her fight for life. The water in her pot was hot now. In fact, it was scalding her. Her skin was red and blotchy, with a broad patchwork of little white blisters. Her back was bent forward, curved, with her head uppermost, and she was sliding down into the water. She was no longer fighting, no longer resisting. But had her struggle been for real? Or had she simply been playing a part for monetary reward? Screaming and hollering just to keep the customers engrossed? Guy no longer knew.

He watched her suspiciously. The water was now at crisis point, and Annie seemed more concerned with jerking herself off one final time than in staying afloat. Her hand was buried inside her bare painted cunt and she was fisting herself to a climax, slipping away, dying, no longer caring for anything but her own pleasure.

But of course, this was hardly surprising for a dam nearing her end. After all, she was a woman, and we all know what women are like...

"Roast Dam," the chef repeated dramatically, accepting the cheers and the whistles of all around him. "With bread, gravy, chips and salad. How does that sound? Who's hungry?"

"I am," Ruth quipped feistily, but sadly, kneeling on all fours on the steel table, her legs spread apart the regulation distance. One of the maids attached a black, plastic hose to Ruth's anus, greasing the nozzle and carefully pushing it in. Ruth grimaced, catching her breath. "I wish I could try a little," she continued, wincing. "It would be nice to know that my meat is tender. I would hate for anyone to think me fatty, or tough or gristly."

She left out the one concern that really bothered her, that she would hate for anyone to think that she hadn't been orgasmic...

The maid turned on the tap. She pumped several liters of warm, soapy water into Ruth's bowels, cleaning out her insides and making her flinch. Ruth had already done this herself before meeting Guy at his motor, but, even so, it would be done again. The chef was a great lover of show, and the enema pleased his customers.

In fact, they kept swiveling the table back and forth so that clients sitting on the opposite side of the amphitheater wouldn't miss out. Ruth's belly had swollen visibly, making her appear several months pregnant. "The best view is from the rear," the chef said, sharpening his knives once more on his heavy strap. They made a serrated rasping sound each time he drew the blade across the strap that went right through Ruth, making her shiver. "Don't be shy. Take a good look, everyone. Use your binoculars, it's what they're there for. After all, she's only meat now."

The second maid was patiently braiding Ruth's hair. She plaited it into a hundred tiny tresses, sealing the end of each with a ribbon of girl gut taken from a bowl. Gut is generally viewed as a waste product in a Butchery: every cooked dam produces half a bucket of the stuff, and chefs are always inventing novel ways of disposing of it. This had been cut in the kitchen into six-inch lengths, dried, and then dyed seven different colors. This decoration gave Ruth the peculiar appearance of a tamed Medusa, suddenly plucked from a carnival at which she'd been performing and deposited upon the table.

Her gorgeous breasts hung down under her body, swinging jerkily as the maid pulled the plug from her ass. Ruth gasped from thankful relief, and her swollen torso now emptied itself of the soapy liquid that had cramped her lower body. It squirted from her ass hole in a high-pressure stream, gushing out in a flood and splashing noisily into a steel bucket prudently sited between Ruth's thighs.

She was a picture, beautiful, sexy, and exotic.

"That's how I want to go," exclaimed the blonde waitress xcitedly. "Not screaming and shouting like some I could mention, but a lady, a performer, a star!"

She moved onto her haunches, kneeling on all fours upon the leather sofa, carefully mirroring Ruth's obscene pose on the butcher's table. "I'm technically a virgin, sir," she said invitingly, facing Guy and sucking lustily upon his rock hard cock, slurping over it as she spoke. "If you wish to use me in any other way, in any way at all, front or back, sir, then I would feel greatly privileged. I'm most particular. My ass is clean enough to eat; so it's certainly clean enough to accept your manly seed. I would be most honored if you would fuck it, sir. Please. I'm sure I won't disappoint."

Guy wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepted her invitation at once. After all the stimulation of Ruth and now this girl, his cock was aching for release. He moved round the waitress to her rear, spreading her tight cheeks, searching for her hole in the dim shadows of the floodlights illuminating the stage. He found it and pressed his knob firmly against the sphincter.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you, sir!" she gasped, feeling such strange erotic sensations, all new and uncharted.

She couldn't wait.

She pushed her buttocks back, spearing herself on Guy's hot, boiling truncheon, panting as he slowly stretched her insides with it, wider and wider, filling the whole of her rectum, stretching her wide.

"Please sir," she muttered deliriously, taking her weight on one hand and using the other to stroke her underbelly, finding her mound, pressing a single digit hard against her clit, rubbing it ruthlessly.

"Oh, God, sir. If I may so bold... You don't know... you don't know what that does to me..."

She looked up. Her eyes were moist and glazed over. On the stage, the first maid had waited until the river spurting from Ruth's behind had slowed to a trickle. She had then reinserted it, hosing out Ruth's insides for a second time, filling her yet again. At the other end, the second maid continued to attend upon Ruth's hair, while the third now stepped forward and began applying copious quantities of makeup to Ruth's fresh face: bright pinks and blues; whites and dusky browns.

"Once more," the chef told the maid with the hose, examining the effluent filling the bucket. "Rinse her out one more time, please. The water should come out quite clear, no hint of color. This is a quality establishment after all."

The second girl, the one who had braided Ruth's hair was now greasing it, gently massaging her head, working the heavy oil into her scalp, into the tens of tiny plaits.

"I want a last fuck," Ruth said uncertainly, still worrying about the oven. She fell from her hands to her forearms. The tips of her breasts touched the stainless steel of the table, her nipples freezing and swelling at the contact. "Who'll fuck me? Somebody, please! I want to be orgasmic when the flames roast my flesh. I have to be. Everyone knows that orgasmic meat is best. But I need to be in the right mood, I need someone to help me get in the mood..."

She wriggled uncomfortably as the maid took a firm grip of her ass, and inserted the pointed nozzle into its hole for a third and final time, doing so roughly, awkwardly. This time the water wasn't just warm when the tap was turned on: it was hot. Ruth winced as it blasted her insides, cleaning out the very last vestiges of her dirt and her shit.

It was a fire within her, hot, burning, swelling her up until she was at the point of bursting.

"Oh God!" she cried, biting into her wrist to control the pain.

"I have the perfect lover to arouse your lust," said the chef, stepping forward into her line of sight, carefully hiding his callous smile. "Not a man, and not a woman either."

He had two large carrots in his hand, two long, thick, ugly vegetables! They were washed, but still had their green, bushy tops intact. He held them out for her to see.

"These will stay harder much longer than any man's dong," he smirked.

Ruth groaned. "But I don't want a dildo!" she exclaimed frenziedly, suddenly sighing with frustrated relief as the maid released the nozzle from her anus and all the hot burning water flooded out into the bucket. She fought herself for control. "Not a dildo. And not a man either. Not for my final fuck. Please, sir. I think I'm going to need some help. Since it isn't possible to have the one I would prefer, Deborah, my shefriend - I know that would be impossible - what about one of these maids? Any of them could help me."

The maid waited for Ruth's ass to stop dripping and then held the bucket for the chef to examine. The water was steaming and soapy, but otherwise clear. The chef looked inside, examined it, and then nodded with approval.

"But you're rather presumptuous," he said coldly, moving back to stand by Ruth's ass, inspecting it carefully. It was wet from all the water, soapy bubbles running across her cheeks. He placed a hand at the base of her spine, holding her steady, examining her puffy vaginal purse.

"I understand that girl's sometimes feel the need of a little friction," he observed absently. "Something to rub against. But I see no reason why I should corrupt these maids by allowing them to serve your petty whims. My vegetables are quite adequate I think you'll find."

So saying, he slammed one of the two carrots up Ruth's ass, twisting it as he did so, forcing it in, pushing it until nothing remained but its lush green foliage, poking cheekily from between her two buttocks.

The abruptness of his action caused Ruth to howl out in pain. She tried to reach behind herself to pull out the phallic invader. Her groping hand grasped for the carrot, groped for it, but neither the chef nor the maids would allow her to remove it, slapping away her hand.

"Now, now!" the chef declared icily slapping her with the flat of his knife. "An orgasm is an orgasm. Man, woman, vegetable, whatever its inspiration, where's the difference? Whatever its cause, the effect is the same, a darker meat with a stronger flavor. No, my dear. We shall not pleasure you by hand. You will do it for yourself in the oven, as dams have done before you for time immemorial. As your flesh roasts, your juices will run and your clit will burn with desire, compelling you to perform your danse macabre for us.

He thrust the other carrot into her pussy, again leaving the greenery to protrude from the hole. On an impulse, he pushed it in and out a couple of times, slowly, teasing her, making sure that it couldn't go any deeper. Each time it came out, he noticed that it was coated ever more abundantly with her wetness.

This amused him. "In fact," he observed wryly, continuing to manipulate the carrot within her cunt, seeing how moist she was becoming. "I see that your juices are already running. Your buyer, I believe, has bought himself a bargain. I wonder if he knows it yet."

As an aside to the maids, he added, "Turn her over. Let's not waste any more time. Get her ready for the oven."

Ruth groaned as she was forced onto her back and maneuvered into the center of the butchering table. Very quickly, without comment, the maids began fastening her arms and legs to the corners of the table in the manner they had been trained.

"I bet she screams when they open her up," the blonde waitress moaned contentedly, the words syrupy with desire. Guy's cock was deep within her ass, lighting the fuse paper of her passion. She held him there, very slowly squeezing, shuffling to pull him even deeper.

He pulled away.

"I will scream," she added, furiously stroking underneath the hood of her clit with her wet finger. "When they do it to me." She pushed her butt gingerly backwards, trying to impale herself yet again on Guy's manhood, needing him to fill her clean ass to the brim. "I know I'll scream when I lie on that table, when the knife punctures my belly and opens me as wide as a blue shark's grin."

She shuddered. At that moment she would gladly have swapped places with the beautiful Virgo on the stage. The thought of them butchering her: stripping her, preparing her, cooking her; all in front of so many men, was blowing her mind.

God. They had tied Ruth now. She lay spread-eagled and helpless in the center of the steel table, occasionally testing her bonds, feeling their tightness, knowing full well that shortly she would test these knots to the limit. She would. She knew that she would. It was inevitable: when they cut her open.

The carrot protruded uncomfortably from her ass, its greenery sandwiched between her butt and the icy cold table. It was pressing painfully into her rectum. The other carrot didn't hurt as much, but was more embarrassing. She knew how she must look with it sticking out like that, cheap and obscene, the green shoots poking suggestively out of her pussy. How the customers would like that, looking at her through their binoculars! How it would turn them on!

The carrots tickled. Ruth squirmed awkwardly, trying to make herself more comfortable, but if anything this made the itch ten times worse. It wasn't unpleasant, no, not at all. It was just...

God. How humiliating. She could see herself in her mind's eye, lying on a cooking tray in the oven, using the carrots to bring herself to a climax; wriggling about like a demon, perspiring, sweating, desperate for a climax, just one, please, one, before the end. The thought made her blush. God. Would she really do that? Could she?

But she knew that she would. Dams always did. She had seen them often, watched their moment of ultimate fulfillment, seconds before they expired.

The idea made her embarrassed. But at least her embarrassment was hidden from the crowd by her makeup. If only she could be similarly spared in the oven, instead of being so lewdly on display. When cooking, there is no place for a dam to hide.

"You look wonderful!" exclaimed the chef, standing over her. His big butcher's knife was in his hand and a maid stood by his side with an empty bucket at the ready. The music suddenly got louder, more strident, more raucous, anticipating what he was about to do.

Ruth squeezed hard on the carrots between her legs. It brought a little comfort, somehow. She was frightened, scared, with the blade of the knife hovering above her stomach, preparing for work.

"Please," she begged, shutting her eyes, gripping the ropes, bearing down shamelessly upon the carrots. "Please..."

"Please?" he asked with a sly grin. "Please, what?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't. She was a mercenary, a Carcass of Fortune. She was being paid for this. Deborah would be free of money worries. She would never have to worry again. The man, Guy, would pay with the money from his dams...

Her contract was about to be kept. This was it. So frightened. She shouldn't be, but she was. This, this, this, was finally it. God. What was he waiting for? But she was glad that he was. May he wait forever. May he never do it. May a savior pluck her from the table and whisk her to safety. May he wait until the great Zodiac ceased revolving! May he...

Fuck.

The knife plunged into Ruth's middle with a deftness that came from years of experience. One moment, her stomach was sound and whole and supple, the next it had been ripped apart from diaphragm to within a mere centimeter of the puffiness of her mound. The cut zigzagged about her navel, forming the angular shape of a large bold '<'.

Almost before Ruth had realized that it had happened, one of the maids had pulled open the loose flap of skin and muscle, plunging her hands inside the opening. A moment later out came a handful of Ruth's intestine, red, bloody tripe, and the maid was tossing it into a bucket.

Ruth felt shock, but no pain. Her endorphins and the drugged cocktail given her earlier by the blonde waitress combined to suppress the immediate misery. Ruth gazed at the horror of her own stomach in disbelief, unable to mentally accept the bloody mess that she saw.

Then she looked down at the bucket. Was that really her, quivering in that bloody, watery pile? After all the anticipation and the preparation, had it really been accomplished? Had it?

And the answer, of course, was yes, that it had.

She had to repeat that thought several times before she could finally believe it. She had been gutted. Actually gutted. Like a dumb pig!

The maid's hands were bloody too, red from her complicity in this awful deed, dripping scarlet. She picked up a small pair of scissors and cut the thin cord that connected the contents of her bucket to Ruth's belly, like a midwife delivering a baby, freeing either end of Ruth's gut from its attachment.

"Oh God!" Ruth gasped, gripping her restraints, and forcing into them the agony and the fire now building within her stomach. Her brow was burning, the sweat sitting upon her face, flooding her cheeks. She forced the pain into her groin, into the unyielding vegetables filling her abdomen, squeezing them, gripping them tight. "God. Oh God. I'm history," she panicked. "I'm dead. I'm breathing but I'm dead. There's no point in worrying now. No hope. I'm already as good as on the plate."

 

Series One, Part Eleven: Into the Oven

The atmosphere within the Butchery was now becoming truly orgiastic.
The scent of myrrh and frankincense burning upon the smoky oil lamps
combined with the aroma of cooking flesh and the fresh salty smell of
sex.

Occasionally, a woman would run along the gangways, screaming
hysterically, chased either by a naked man or by a group of men. She
would jump across the soft leather sofas and the tables, hurdling from
one row to the next; her tits bouncing and her heart thumping,
stumbling, oblivious of how her feet were gate crashing furtive
gropings and liaisons.

Generally chases such as these are staged. They're set up beforehand by
the establishment. It's all part of the entertainment, part of the
thrill of being at a Butchery.

But occasionally, just occasionally, they're for real. Maybe one or two
of those that evening were for real: who knows? It can be a great
strain for a new waitress, brought fresh from the solitude of her
desert home, and then thrust into the bedlam of the amphitheater,
required to be constantly obedient, subservient, and sexy, in the face
of sometimes impossible demands. All around her is horror and mayhem,
the deathly pall of the roasted dam as it's brought out to the table
and is then ripped to pieces by hungry, apelike men. This is a girl
that she knew, that welcomed her, was kind to her, that she sees being
dismembered and apportioned around the tables. Through it all she must
be calm and enthusiastic, seductive and sensual. And so, occasionally,
in the face of such pressure, a dam just snaps, she can't take any
more, and so she makes a break for it.

The chase is usually accompanied by cheers and by chants. A floodlight
will search round and pick her out. Suddenly she becomes the center of
attention, all eyes are upon her, until finally she's caught and pinned
down by her pursuers, their cocks obscene to the point of being
vertical. She will then face summary punishment, sometimes lethal,
administered at the hand of her customer.

For everything has its price, everything, within a Butchery, and if a
customer decides he wants to see his waitress blinded, or maimed, or
crucified, what of it? Who will deny him? The Butchery is home to the
ultimate fantasy. Shekels talk.

On the stage, Ruth's preparation was continuing apace. The second maid
was laying rashers of bacon upon Ruth's breasts, from the center of
each nipple out towards the base. She placed about ten rashers on each
of her two beautiful tits, and then fixed them firmly in place with
fine steel wire, tying the wire as tight as she could manage. She wound
three lengths around each breast: a long piece at the base, a much
shorter length at the nipple, and one centrally between the two. She
pulled each length of wire tight, squeezing the bacon tight against the
pulpy tit meat, squashing it, finally giving Ruth's breasts the
appearance of elongated fatty sausages.

"We now take three pounds of good quality rump steak," the chef was
saying to his audience. He uncovered a large metal bowl, three quarters
full of fresh, red meat. "This is prime buttock and comes from the
young dam you saw cooking in the glass pot earlier."

Hearing this, Guy lifted his head, gazing abruptly towards the glass
cooking pots. He'd forgotten about the other dams, the two that had
been broiling away. One of the pots was now empty, its occupant taken
as meat for the table. He'd missed that. When had that happened? This
was the girl with the small breasts, the one that had reminded him so
much of Esther.

God, he thought suddenly, in panic. Esther! He'd forgotten Esther, poor
Esther, being prepared somewhere downstairs in the larder.

He was tired, confused, dizzy.

Annie still cavorted in the other glass pot. She did so even though she
was now quite dead. Her struggle was over, although her movements were
not. She was lifeless and simmering away stiffly, her naked body
rotating to a string of rising bubbles constantly striking and
pummeling her deep pink flesh. Her fist was still inserted stoically
within her cunt hole, a touching reminder of her final moments of
ecstasy. Guy was gladdened to see that there was a sly smile upon the
dead girl's face. Thank goodness! At least she had died happy. So the
heat of her cooking had done as it was supposed to do; it had brought
her to her climax.

The chef grabbed a big handful of the other dam's diced posterior. He
thrust it into Ruth's belly, scattering it across her body organs,
pushing it deep inside her. "The steak keeps the dam's meat nice and
moist," he explained, for the benefit of the crowd, compressing the
rich red steak with his thumb. Ruth howled and squirmed in unimaginable
pain, arching her back and bearing down hard on the comforting carrots.

There was a man, a hand, inside her! Inside her belly! God! The pain!

"We've seasoned the steak with freshly ground black pepper and a little
garlic," the chef continued, very matter of fact. "Just a little, not
too much. After all, we don't want to mask the flavor of the meat."

Ruth could barely take the pain. The draft of drugs she'd taken seemed
to be doing nothing to ease it. The chef's hand kept disappearing
inside her, filling her, and turning the screw. Three, four, five times
he did it, stuffing her young belly full with the other dam's butt
meat, compressing it down, stretching and filling her to the brim.

When it was done, and Ruth was convinced that she hadn't another cry in
her body, he turned her over to one of the maids, who sowed up her
front, big ugly stitches that criss-crossed from side to side all the
way along the painful incision. The maid closed her up, pulling the
thread tight, reducing Ruth to insane hysterical tears.

"Oh, God, sir," moaned the blonde, shaking her butt vigorously,
groaning under the intensity of her passion. "Fuck me, sir. Fill me
with your meat. Don't be gentle. I'm only a stupid dam. Please sir.
Fuck me hard. My ass is on fire. Please sir. Make it burn. Please. Make
me... Make me come."

All around them was the amplified noise of Ruth's misery, her sobbing
and crying, broadcast through the amphitheater at a deafening
intensity. It was music to the ears of the patrons, a strident yet
erotic melody. They loved it.

Guy slapped the blonde woman's buttocks hard, alternating, first with
his palm, then with his balls, swinging them against her, slapping her,
then sliding in and out of her back passage with long powerful strokes.

It was impossible for him to say which was arousing him the most, his
waitress's tight ass or what they were doing to Ruth on the stage. They
were basting her now, brushing melted butter across her naked skin with
small basting brushes, paying particular attention to all those little
hidden places that so easily get missed: under the arms, in the ears,
between the toes, all those secret crevices around the crotch.

"Look at her, sir. Look at your dam. They're trussing her up, ready for
the oven. She'll taste good, real good. Oh, god, sir. Squeeze by
breasts, hurt them! Please sir. Show me who's boss."

And Guy did. He made his waitress scream; he made her howl. She was
ecstatic: so much pain, so much pleasure.

"A little seasoned flour," said the chef, standing at the front of the
stage, showing another large bowl to the audience. "I've added one or
two herbs, fresh, of course, also a touch of aniseed. Just what we need
for the perfect roast."

Guy could feel himself about to come. His big dong was aching to the
point of bursting; the pressure of his semen was building within his
balls, almost to the point of exploding.

His breaths came in heavy irregular bursts. The moment was approaching.
He could feel it approaching. Getting nearer. Approaching. Approaching.
The waitress was moaning, delirious, whimpering for him to come inside
her and not to pull out, pleading with him to allow her to come once
more.

She loved it. She wanted it.

The maids, dressed in their sexy little uniforms, untied Ruth's arms
and legs so that they could finish basting her. She could barely move
now, with her stomach gutted and swollen with diced buttock, the ugly
stitches laddering her stomach.

The carrots were inside her pussy and ass, and the cones of bacon
covered her delicate breasts, adorning and protecting them from the
fierce drying heat of the oven.

Once they'd finished basting, the maids tossed handfuls of the herbed
flour mixture onto Ruth's skin. It became dust in the air that lingered
in a hazy white cloud, falling gently back onto Ruth's naked flesh. The
maids slapped the fine flour against her, against her skin and the
melted butter, coating her with the ghostly white makeup. Only her face
and her hair they left, to the extent that they were able, because her
face was already painted and prepared with the pinks and the blues, the
whites and the dusky browns. And her hair was also prepared, lacquered
with grease, her braided tresses decorated with the small ribbons of
dyed girl gut.

She was a wonderful sight, an erotic sight, a beautiful picture of all
that a woman should be. There wasn't a limp cock in the house. Ruth
owned them all, every penis in that Butchery belonged to her. She had
them all on the point of spurting: a poignant tribute to a fantastic
dam.

The chef carefully lifted her and carried her to the baking tray. He
lay her on her front, and then coerced her wrists to her ankles,
pulling up her legs, stretching back her arms, tying them together with
trussing string so that she resemhemorrhage the shape of a giant crab.

"Oh, God!" Ruth groaned miserably, unable to hide the searing pain of
her belly. "What have you done to me? What have you done?"

She rocked back and forth in great agony. Her shoulders had lifted a
good four inches off the baking tray, bowing to the will of her arms
and legs. These were fastened together above her ass in a great tangle
of string, pulling the whole of her torso taut. Her bacon-covered
breasts were lifted from the surface of the tray; her gutted belly was
stretched beneath her, tugging on the untidy stitches, almost pulling
her apart.

"Beautiful," the chef exclaimed, pressing home the end of both carrots
to ensure that neither had come loose. "Absolutely beautiful. I'm
placing you in a cold oven, Ruth, not hot, so that you will have plenty
of time to become orgasmic. I know that you're anxious, but don't
worry. These carrots will make excellent lovers. So enjoy them, dear
Ruth. Fuck them well. You will suffer many comes before these boys
soften, I promise you that. Cook well, my dear. Cook well."

And then Guy came. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. One moment
his climax was coming, and the next it was here, and he was over the
top, dumping his seed, filling his waitress, pumping semen into the
sublime ass of this sexy blonde bombshell and, yes, she was coming as
well. They sang together their sweet duet of ultimate ecstasy, and
danced their sticky cocktail of lust and passion. He pumped her ass,
pumped it, pumped it hard; filling her; using her; taking her.

"Oh God!" Ruth cried. The glass door of the oven had swung open and she
was being wheeled inside by the three scantily clad maids. Twisting her
head around, she cast one last look at the outside, one last look at
the world of the living. She saw bright lights, darkness, the
lascivious gaze of the chef. "Tell Deborah," she begged to whoever was
listening. "Tell her... Tell her that in the oven, my final come, tell
her that I was thinking of her."

Those were Ruth's last words. As soon as she'd spoken, one of the maids
opened her mouth and inserted a large raw potato into the cavity. It
tasted vile, dirty and earthy. Ruth bit down upon it as she was
supposed to and closed her eyes, imagining she was in bed with Deborah,
imagining that Deborah was naked and covering her with tiny kisses from
head to toe. She imagined that Deborah had two large carrots topped
with green frothy bushes and that she wanted to play.

The door slammed shut.

Oh God. This was it. The customers were right now watching her,
anticipating a show. Her final come would not be a private affair.
Every movement would be examined and enjoyed through high magnification
binoculars. Ruth was a mercenary: she couldn't complain. This was what
Carcasses of Fortune were paid for. She heard the big burners ignite
beneath her and wiggled her butt, squeezing down upon the top of the
long hard vegetable that now penetrated her cunt. Amidst all the pain
there was yet a little pleasure, just a little, but it was there.

She set herself a goal, two climaxes, maybe she might even make three,
and then she would rest. She would enjoy the wonderful pleasure of
perfect sexual gratification, of being replete. And then she would
sleep. Yes, then she would rest. Lulled by the heat of the oven and the
hot air caressing her skin, she would sleep.

But not yet. She had a little matter to sort out first with a couple of
carrots, two enormous monstrosities that were filling her and
stretching her. She squeezed them a little.

It felt nice, very nice.

Um. Well, three climaxes would do for starters. She mustn't be greedy.
After that, well, she would have to see...

 

Series One, Part Twelve: Carving Up Ruth

Later that evening, the chef transferred Ruth to a warm serving dish and brought her to Guy's table. She steamed and sweated, her juices mixing with the pigments of her face, running down her cheeks and across her pink chin. The rest of her was a golden brown, darkened by the crisp coating of flour cooked with butter.

The chef untied the trussing string binding Ruth's ankles and wrists, carefully turning her over and posing her on the plate. The carrot tops had withered and browned. He removed the dead foliage and replaced it with a few sprigs of watercress that he stuck along the slit of her cunt, pressing the stems into the gap between her pussy and the soft pulverized carrot.

"Did you enjoy the show?" the chef asked Guy casually, making conversation.

Guy nodded dumbly.

"They're all the same," the chef declared, arranging Ruth's hair delicately, kindly. "Dams! You get them in the oven and they can't help themselves. Right little nympho, eh?" and then, the coup de gras, he unfurled the coils of wire binding the bacon to Ruth's breasts, first from around each nipple, and then the longer, tighter lengths.

He pulled the bacon from off her breasts. Underneath, Ruth's tits, although cooked, remained as white, as firm and as beautiful as they'd been that morning when Guy had seen her bathing in the pool, when she'd exposed herself so provocatively. Her nipples were hard and prolonged and stuck out from her breasts by almost half an inch.

The whiteness of her breasts, contrasting with the golden brown of her flesh and the variegated hues of hair and face made her a vision of exquisite loveliness and beauty.

"Would you like some wine, sir?" Guy's attention was taken by one of a team of four waitresses setting his table. A Negro, naked apart from a little white sash hanging from around her waist and just covering her pussy was speaking to him. She had large black udder-like breasts and deep sultry eyes. In her hand was a carafe, three quarters full, containing the very best house wine.

"Thank you," Guy mumhemorrhage, gulping hard. At once, the waitress leaned across him, reaching for his glass, deliberately pushing her soft black tits against his face, squeezing them against him, and then, with him blinded and securely nestled between her gorgeous mammaries, she filled his glass.

"Would you like me to carve?" the chef asked politely, waiting patiently for the waitress to finish. He pulled a carving knife from his belt and waited expectantly.

Guy thanked the waitress again, and picked up his wine. He shrugged dreamily. "Why not? She does look beautiful. Almost perfect."

The chef nodded, smiling wanly. He cut a long incision along Ruth's thigh, and then carved several large thin slices, laying them neatly on one side of a large oval plate.

"There is something very erotic about a well-cooked woman," the chef agreed. He paused. "I guess you would like a little breast meat as well?"

Guy agreed that he would. All around him the four waitresses continued to fuss, laying the table, arranging several plates around Guy's place setting in a big semi-circle. Guy examined what they had brought, breadcrumbs for sprinkling upon the meat, gravy, chips, salad, a rich red sauce. Just behind the neat arrangement of dishes was a flesh colored candle. It had been molded into the design of an erect, spurting penis. One of the waitresses nervously lit its knob.

She was also topless, as were each of the other table waitresses. In fact, the combined effect of so many wobbling bosoms was to make Guy's tummy rumble with hunger. It was a long time since he'd eaten.

And Ruth smelt so delicious: musky, herby and exotic.

The chef carved a little from the outside of one of her breasts, slicing from top to bottom.

"You'll enjoy this," he said, neatly laying the meat on the other side of the plate. This was a paler meat compared with the slices he'd cut from Ruth's thigh, softer and more moist. "The bacon really does bring out the flavor of the meat. You'll be surprised."

He placed the plate in front of Guy, and stood back.

"Enjoy your meal, sir!" he said, discreetly pulling a slip of paper from his pocket and slipping it under one of the serving dishes.

It was the bill.

The bill.

Ah, yes. The bill.

Guy picked it up and read it in disbelief. It was printed in dark red ink, handwritten using old gothic characters. As Guy discovered the total at the bottom, he knew at once that he'd been set up! Trapped. He looked at it once more. The figures remained the same, blood red. In disbelief, he looked back at Ruth, so gorgeous, so appetizing, and he could swear that on her silent, unmoving face there was the remnant of a smile.

"You got me, didn't you, you bitch!" he cursed aloud. "You saw me at the pool and you knew that you'd found the one. Here, you decided, walks a right sucker! That's why you smiled and showed me your breasts. You seduced me, eh? Very clever! Winner takes all!"

He was broke.

Ruth's shefriend, Deborah, was rich, and he was broke. There was nothing left. Nothing at all. The dams, the motor, Esther too, it would all go to finance this debt. And still it wouldn't be enough.

1065 shekels! 1065 shekels per kilo! What a fantastic price! He would never have dreamed that Ruth could have weighed so much.

He sighed, for he had suddenly remembered his sister. Poor Esther. Indeed. Well there was nothing he could do for her now. The die was cast. Her fate was sealed. But then it always had been, he concluded, ever since the moment of her birth. The almighty Zodiac had seen to that. Her destiny had finally found her out.

He poured himself another glass of wine.

And what about the rest of the money? How would he pay off such a debt? He doubted that Hegai would be patient. But is this too, maybe the great Zodiac had spoken, for Guy Nyrian had also been born in the sign of Aquarius.

He glanced again at the duplicitous Virgo, the multi-colored ribbons of gut forming a rainbow in her hair, her breasts white and soft, contrasting with the crisp brownness of the rest of her.

Such a strange little smile. Almost de Vinci.

He toasted her, lifting his glass in wry congratulation, draining the brilliant red liquid in a single gulp. Next, he picked up his knife and fork, and smiled right back.

For even a condemned man is allowed one last meal. Is that not so?

 

End of Series One

For those that are interested, found this recipe for Roast Dam in an
Arian cookbook. Although it differs in a number of details, it's pretty
close to that used in cooking Ruth.

Enjoy.

Roast Dam [Catering Recipe]

1 Dam (young for preference) plucked, drawn and trussed.
1 Kg/ 2lb rump steak
25 rashers streaky bacon
1 Kg/ 3lb butter, melted
Plain flour

Garnish
Watercress
2 or 3 tail feathers (optional)

Accompaniments
1Kg/ 2lb fresh breadcrumbs fried in 1Kg / 2lb butter
Bread Sauce (page 145)
Thin Gravy (page 124)
Thin chips
Green salad (see salad section, page 203)

1) Stand dam in roasting tin. Place steak inside belly (this helps
keep it moist during cooking)
2) Cover breast with bacon rashers
3) Coat with melted butter
4) Roast just above center of moderately hot oven (200C/400F) for 2
hrs, basting frequently.
5) Remove from oven, lift off bacon and 'froth' the breast. (To do
this, baste breast well with butter, dredge with flour, and baste
again)
6) Return to oven for a further 30 to 45 minutes (or until golden
brown and frothy)
7) Transfer to warm serving platter. Remove trussing string. Garnish
cunt with sprigs of watercress (and insert feathers, if used,
into the anus)
8) Accompany with small dish of fried breadcrumbs (for sprinkling
upon each portion), Bread, Sauce, Gravy, chips and salad.

Serves 40

AFTERWORD TO SERIES ONE

I'd like to relate the following anecdote as an afterword. It provides
a little teaser, a clue, as to what happens next, where this story is
heading in Series Two.

I'm sure you will be clever enough to relate the events I describe to
our current story...

So. Let me see now...

Once upon a time, there was a young king whose name was Ahas. He was
rich and powerful and ruled over the mighty empire of Persia. His
kingdom was a superpower, broad in dominion, extending from the Ganges
in India to the East, to Macedonia in the West.

But he was a mean man, a small man, superstitious and arrogant. It's
said that he doesn't have two brain cells to rub together. Of course, I
could never say that, not of a king.

Now Ahas was a man who enjoyed his women, many women, pretty women.
This isn't a problem in a land that's almost devoid of men. The women
are very grateful. But of his many wives, there was one that had made
herself the most prominent in his Kingdom, had forced greatness upon
herself, even if she wasn't in any way the King's favorite. Her name
was Vashti. She was a tall and slender woman, with the grace of a young
swan and the lips of a fresh rose, blood red, and sprinkled with
morning dew.

Vashti had been born in privilege. She had been raised as a princess in
the small, seemingly insignificant Kingdom of Phoenicia. Yet this
Kingdom has an importance that far exceeds its size. For it stands on
the major trade route between the powers of Persia and Egypt, and the
many passing merchants provide it with prosperity and riches.

Vshti's father, Erus foresaw that Persia, smelling weakness in Egypt,
its greatest adversary, would soon be pushing at his borders. Both
empires were hungry to expand and to extend their influence. He was
sadly sandwiched in the middle. And so, to ward off the danger, Erus
decided to trade his beautiful daughter, Vashti, in a marriage alliance
with the young King Ahas.

This marriage of convenience, would, he hoped, in time give him
influence with the most powerful man in all the Zodiac. His daughter
would, at the very least, become his permanent ambassador pleading his
case, and, perhaps, if his stars were truly favorable, she might even
end up dictating his terms.

And so the contract had been signed, and Vashti had been dutifully
dispatched. She'd arrived in Persia with a great deal of pomp. Erus was
a master statesman. There had been an enormous caravan of possessions,
as befits a princess of Royal blood. He had spared nothing, bestowing
upon his daughter a dowry of precious jewels, of gowns and of imported
lingerie. There had been dams and working dams, gifts for the king and
for his greatest nobles. There had been female companions, maidservants
and even the odd manservant. Apparently, it was nothing less than the
beautiful Princess Vashti deserved.

And everyone had been extremely impressed, including Ahas.

The wedding, that night of her arrival, had been a formality, as Royal
weddings always are in Modern times. Ahas had taken Vashti to his room
and, having undressed her, had consummated the union. The deed was
done. The marriage was secure.

And for the next seven days, the days of the Honey Moon, Ahas had
dutifully called Vashti to his chamber, as a Royal husband ought, but
with increasing frustration. Vashti was beautiful, certainly. She was
glamorous, to be sure. But she was an inadequate wife. She lay on his
bed, lifeless and still, docile, and simply allowed him to fuck her
body while she remained shut off in her mind, unresponsive, scheming
her intrigues and planning her moves.

It wasn't right. This wasn't the way a woman should be. It's not the
way that they're made.

And so Ahas gradually began to see her as nothing but a piece of skin,
plenty of surface, but no body: all glitz and fancy clothes, but no
soul. She promised the world, yet delivered nothing.

He found her boring, dull, lifeless. He would rather fuck his food
taster or one of the slaves that bathed him of a morning than this so-
called sex goddess, his wife.

And so his roving eye remained itinerant; he remained restless, fucking
and enjoying large numbers of women. After that first week, Ahas
refused to call Vashti to his chamber. Instead, he'd sown his oats
elsewhere.

And there our story would have remained, had it not been for the
insistence and the consuming ambition of Vashti. Ahas could never
remember the names of his wives. He wasn't clever. He certainly would
have soon forgotten this insignificant being from Phoenicia. If Vashti
had simply allowed herself to fade into the background, to find her
place within the King's harem, then she would doubtless have grown old
gracefully, would have been well cared for, and would have eventually
become a Persian matron.

But Vashti hadn't come to Persia to be forgotten. Her father had
assigned her to be his spokesperson, his ambassador, and so she'd
continued to push herself forward, to make the King's officials notice
her, even if the King no longer would.

First, she wasted no opportunity in lifting herself above Ahas' other
wives, proclaiming herself to be his Queen. There was some fuss, of
course, and much bitchiness, but the title stuck. She was the Queen.

Next, she set about winning the King's ministers. She would invite them
to her chamber, fluttering her eyelashes, lifting her bosom.

And they came: all of them. Men fell at her feet, flattering her and
offering their lifelong obedience. There were countless rumors of her
infidelity, but nothing was ever proven. But if she did fuck around,
then her paramours were obviously more impressed by her than the King,
for somehow, steadily, she grew in stature and influence.

But this prominence increasingly became an irritation and a frustration
to the King. His ministers would speak of what Vashti had said, or of
Vashti's considered opinion, even, when at times it contradicted the
King's own. They would talk with a glow in their cheeks, with fire in
their eyes, with lust in their groins.

Remember, I'm describing here a man of limited intellect and
confidence, not a clever man.

Ahas was also a superstitious man. He couldn't forget what had happened
that first week in his bedchamber. Soon, he began to suspect that
Vashti was the devil incarnate, or a sprite, sent by Erus to rob him of
his Kingdom. For whoever has heard of a woman that doesn't worship
cock? How can a woman take a man's penis into her body and not be
aroused by it? It's unheard of!

And so, he grew first to be suspicious of his wife, and then to fear
her, and finally, to hate her. He viewed her, rightly or wrongly, as a
threat, his enemy. And he determined to be rid of her.

Thus we come at last to the crux of our story.

A year and a day after the wedding, Ahas invited his nobility to a
feast. Of course, being king, no expense was spared.

There was caviar and venison and lashings of wine. There were carcasses
of beef, stuffed salmon and speared crocodile. But center stage, above
the table were a dozen young dams hanging by their hocks.

"Five days," Ahas decreed. "They must hang for five full days before
the flame can touch their flesh."

The dams were skinned alive before an invited audience. A master
butcher cut their legs, just below the knee, and also around the neck
just where it meets the shoulder, and he then tugged firmly and boldly,
ripping skin from flesh to the accompaniment of the most terrible
screams. From knee to neck they were skinned, stripped in the most
terrible of ways.

"Five days," Ahas said drunkenly, stoking a young serving wench with
his kingly cock. "Five days they must hang there. And then we shall
cook them, and then we shall party."

Ahas invited all the nobility to this event. He ate and drank and got
very drunk and at the end, for the first time in nearly a year, he sent
for his wife, for Vashti. There was no obvious reason for it. Her name
hadn't been mentioned, nor her opinions extolled.

I would have surmised, if we were talking of anyone else, that he had
some master plan in mind, some great scheme to finally bring Vashti to
book. But, since we're talking of Ahas, well, I'm not convinced that he
has enough intellect for such a thing.

Maybe it was simply the screams of the dams and the sight of their
skinned bodies, shuddering with pain and from the physical shock of it
all; some still screaming and blaspheming, others simply groaning,
dying in agony. MAybe it was this that aroused him, that reminded him
of what he would so like to do with his Phoenician wife.

He called her to attend upon him.

And she came. Vashti came, as everyone knew that she would and that she
must. She'd stood before her Royal husband in all her jewels and her
silks, with her hair decorations and her great extravaganza of
maidservants.

She looked nervously about her, at the dams, stripped and skinned, all
dead now, hanging by their hocks.

"I'm bored," Ahas said dully, enjoying his wife's anxiety. "I want you
to entertain me. I want you to entertain us all."

He sat upon his throne, leaning upon his arm, a sonish disgruntled
air clouding his countenance, daring her to defy him.

"Of course, my lord. What would you like?" Vashti asked him anxiously,
pondering the least she could get away with. She very deliberately kept
her back to the dead women, but their image was fixed firmly within her
mind, unsettling her. She knew that her husband was aware of them too,
that he was enjoying the horror. What was he up to? She didn't know.
"Would you like me to tell you a story? A sexy story? A story of brave
men and lusty dams, perhaps?"

But Ahas wasn't in the mood for a story. He was after something much
stronger. "What about a song?" he suggested moodily. "Sing me a song. A
raunchy song about a Queen who gets speared in the butt with a spit!"

But Vashti wasn't willing to sing. She had the voice of a frog, she
complained. She begged to be excused.

This had seemed unlikely to the king, but he graciously accepted what
she told him at face value.

"Then how about a dance?"

"But sire, you know well. I've never been good at dancing. Perhaps I
can offer you one of my maids, to please you in my stead."

But the king didn't like that idea at all. "I don't want to be
entertained by a maid," he complained. "If I'd wanted to be entertained
by a maid, then I would have married a maid. The kind of dance I have
in mind is not difficult. Any woman can do it. It simply involves
removing the clothes. It would please me, it would please us all, if
you would perform a striptease. For what is a wife for, if not to
undress and plug in one or other of her holes?"

Vashti blushed prettily hiding her face behind her fan and declared
that she couldn't possibly take off her clothes in public. After all,
she was Queen and had her dignity to think of. But again, if Ahas cared
to take her to his chamber, then of course she would oblige. Or if he
wished for a maid, then certainly a striptease could be arranged...

At this Ahas was visibly furious. It confirmed all his worst
suspicions. This woman was more concerned with her own dignity and
position than in pleasing her master and husband. He hadn't made her
Queen. She had given herself that title. How dare she!

His nobles were equally as shocked. If the Queen could freely ignore
the will of the King, dishonoring him, then what hope was there for a
mere noble? Their wives were sure to hear of it and respond: 'As Vashti
rebukes Ahas, I rebuke you!'"

"Get out of here!" Ahas roared suddenly, jumping up from his throne,
picking up a chair and throwing it across the room. It clattered into a
wall, the noise echoing through the large banqueting hall. Apart from
that single noise, there was now complete silence. A pin could have
dropped.

"Take her away!" Ahas raged. "Get rid of her! Get her out of my sight!"

Vashti tried to argue. She didn't want to go. But her own attendants,
sensing the fickle mood of the King and Vashti's peril, whisked her
away for her own good. In this frame of mind, Ahas was completely
unreasoning and capable of anything.

Ahas strode up and down. "She is an offense to my harem," he roared at
his advisors, pointing a shaking finger at the doorway through which
Vashti had been scurried. He was in a vile mood, viscous, enraged. "I
want her replaced. What kind of wife lies in her husband's bed,
lifeless, a piece of meat? She's garbage! She's an insult to all women.
I would rather have raw meat in my bed than her. It couldn't serve me
worse."

"But Erus..." one of the counselors mumhemorrhage unadvisedly. "You shouldn't
upset him... If you offend him..."

"Fuck, Erus!" Ahas returned in his rage. "He's nothing. I'll overrun
Phoenicia and hang his cock on the wall of my bedchamber. I'll show you
what I think of Erus. Get me a scribe! Get one! Write down my words! I
want some dams brought to my room. You! Write this down! Even a fucking
piece of meat can fuck better than that Phoenician shit! You! Go down
to Hegai's and bring me half a dozen of his best carcasses. Let me
choose between them. Then you can send to that fox, to Erus, telling
him that I've replaced his daughter with a piece of meat from the
Butchery! Ha! Let him put that in his peace pipe and smoke it! Ha!
Write it down and I'll sign my name! And whatever you do, get rid of
that cunt, Vashti! Send Erus a present with my regards! Send him...
send him a nice juicy kebab!"

Then he sat back down on his throne and smiled, relaxing, and suddenly,
he wasn't angry at all.

 

AFTERWORD TO SERIES ONE: Ahas and Vashti

 

 

I'd like to relate the following anecdote as an afterword. It provides
a little teaser, a clue, as to what happens next, where this story is
heading in Series Two.

I'm sure you will be clever enough to relate the events I describe to
our current story...

So. Let me see now...

Once upon a time, there was a young king whose name was Ahas. He was
rich and powerful and ruled over the mighty empire of Persia. His
kingdom was a superpower, broad in dominion, extending from the Ganges
in India to the East, to Macedonia in the West.

But he was a mean man, a small man, superstitious and arrogant. It's
said that he doesn't have two brain cells to rub together. Of course, I
could never say that, not of a king.

Now Ahas was a man who enjoyed his women, many women, pretty women.
This isn't a problem in a land that's almost devoid of men. The women
are very grateful. But of his many wives, there was one that had made
herself the most prominent in his Kingdom, had forced greatness upon
herself, even if she wasn't in any way the King's favorite. Her name
was Vashti. She was a tall and slender woman, with the grace of a young
swan and the lips of a fresh rose, blood red, and sprinkled with
morning dew.

Vashti had been born in privilege. She had been raised as a princess in
the small, seemingly insignificant Kingdom of Phoenicia. Yet this
Kingdom has an importance that far exceeds its size. For it stands on
the major trade route between the powers of Persia and Egypt, and the
many passing merchants provide it with prosperity and riches.

Vshti's father, Erus foresaw that Persia, smelling weakness in Egypt,
its greatest adversary, would soon be pushing at his borders. Both
empires were hungry to expand and to extend their influence. He was
sadly sandwiched in the middle. And so, to ward off the danger, Erus
decided to trade his beautiful daughter, Vashti, in a marriage alliance
with the young King Ahas.

This marriage of convenience, would, he hoped, in time give him
influence with the most powerful man in all the Zodiac. His daughter
would, at the very least, become his permanent ambassador pleading his
case, and, perhaps, if his stars were truly favorable, she might even
end up dictating his terms.

And so the contract had been signed, and Vashti had been dutifully
dispatched. She'd arrived in Persia with a great deal of pomp. Erus was
a master statesman. There had been an enormous caravan of possessions,
as befits a princess of Royal blood. He had spared nothing, bestowing
upon his daughter a dowry of precious jewels, of gowns and of imported
lingerie. There had been dams and working dams, gifts for the king and
for his greatest nobles. There had been female companions, maidservants
and even the odd manservant. Apparently, it was nothing less than the
beautiful Princess Vashti deserved.

And everyone had been extremely impressed, including Ahas.

The wedding, that night of her arrival, had been a formality, as Royal
weddings always are in Modern times. Ahas had taken Vashti to his room
and, having undressed her, had consummated the union. The deed was
done. The marriage was secure.

And for the next seven days, the days of the Honey Moon, Ahas had
dutifully called Vashti to his chamber, as a Royal husband ought, but
with increasing frustration. Vashti was beautiful, certainly. She was
glamorous, to be sure. But she was an inadequate wife. She lay on his
bed, lifeless and still, docile, and simply allowed him to fuck her
body while she remained shut off in her mind, unresponsive, scheming
her intrigues and planning her moves.

It wasn't right. This wasn't the way a woman should be. It's not the
way that they're made.

And so Ahas gradually began to see her as nothing but a piece of skin,
plenty of surface, but no body: all glitz and fancy clothes, but no
soul. She promised the world, yet delivered nothing.

He found her boring, dull, lifeless. He would rather fuck his food
taster or one of the slaves that bathed him of a morning than this so-
called sex goddess, his wife.

And so his roving eye remained itinerant; he remained restless, fucking
and enjoying large numbers of women. After that first week, Ahas
refused to call Vashti to his chamber. Instead, he'd sown his oats
elsewhere.

And there our story would have remained, had it not been for the
insistence and the consuming ambition of Vashti. Ahas could never
remember the names of his wives. He wasn't clever. He certainly would
have soon forgotten this insignificant being from Phoenicia. If Vashti
had simply allowed herself to fade into the background, to find her
place within the King's harem, then she would doubtless have grown old
gracefully, would have been well cared for, and would have eventually
become a Persian matron.

But Vashti hadn't come to Persia to be forgotten. Her father had
assigned her to be his spokesperson, his ambassador, and so she'd
continued to push herself forward, to make the King's officials notice
her, even if the King no longer would.

First, she wasted no opportunity in lifting herself above Ahas' other
wives, proclaiming herself to be his Queen. There was some fuss, of
course, and much bitchiness, but the title stuck. She was the Queen.

Next, she set about winning the King's ministers. She would invite them
to her chamber, fluttering her eyelashes, lifting her bosom.

And they came: all of them. Men fell at her feet, flattering her and
offering their lifelong obedience. There were countless rumors of her
infidelity, but nothing was ever proven. But if she did fuck around,
then her paramours were obviously more impressed by her than the King,
for somehow, steadily, she grew in stature and influence.

But this prominence increasingly became an irritation and a frustration
to the King. His ministers would speak of what Vashti had said, or of
Vashti's considered opinion, even, when at times it contradicted the
King's own. They would talk with a glow in their cheeks, with fire in
their eyes, with lust in their groins.

Remember, I'm describing here a man of limited intellect and
confidence, not a clever man.

Ahas was also a superstitious man. He couldn't forget what had happened
that first week in his bedchamber. Soon, he began to suspect that
Vashti was the devil incarnate, or a sprite, sent by Erus to rob him of
his Kingdom. For whoever has heard of a woman that doesn't worship
cock? How can a woman take a man's penis into her body and not be
aroused by it? It's unheard of!

And so, he grew first to be suspicious of his wife, and then to fear
her, and finally, to hate her. He viewed her, rightly or wrongly, as a
threat, his enemy. And he determined to be rid of her.

Thus we come at last to the crux of our story.

A year and a day after the wedding, Ahas invited his nobility to a
feast. Of course, being king, no expense was spared.

There was caviar and venison and lashings of wine. There were carcasses
of beef, stuffed salmon and speared crocodile. But center stage, above
the table were a dozen young dams hanging by their hocks.

"Five days," Ahas decreed. "They must hang for five full days before
the flame can touch their flesh."

The dams were skinned alive before an invited audience. A master
butcher cut their legs, just below the knee, and also around the neck
just where it meets the shoulder, and he then tugged firmly and boldly,
ripping skin from flesh to the accompaniment of the most terrible
screams. From knee to neck they were skinned, stripped in the most
terrible of ways.

"Five days," Ahas said drunkenly, stoking a young serving wench with
his kingly cock. "Five days they must hang there. And then we shall
cook them, and then we shall party."

Ahas invited all the nobility to this event. He ate and drank and got
very drunk and at the end, for the first time in nearly a year, he sent
for his wife, for Vashti. There was no obvious reason for it. Her name
hadn't been mentioned, nor her opinions extolled.

I would have surmised, if we were talking of anyone else, that he had
some master plan in mind, some great scheme to finally bring Vashti to
book. But, since we're talking of Ahas, well, I'm not convinced that he
has enough intellect for such a thing.

Maybe it was simply the screams of the dams and the sight of their
skinned bodies, shuddering with pain and from the physical shock of it
all; some still screaming and blaspheming, others simply groaning,
dying in agony. MAybe it was this that aroused him, that reminded him
of what he would so like to do with his Phoenician wife.

He called her to attend upon him.

And she came. Vashti came, as everyone knew that she would and that she
must. She'd stood before her Royal husband in all her jewels and her
silks, with her hair decorations and her great extravaganza of
maidservants.

She looked nervously about her, at the dams, stripped and skinned, all
dead now, hanging by their hocks.

"I'm bored," Ahas said dully, enjoying his wife's anxiety. "I want you
to entertain me. I want you to entertain us all."

He sat upon his throne, leaning upon his arm, a sonish disgruntled
air clouding his countenance, daring her to defy him.

"Of course, my lord. What would you like?" Vashti asked him anxiously,
pondering the least she could get away with. She very deliberately kept
her back to the dead women, but their image was fixed firmly within her
mind, unsettling her. She knew that her husband was aware of them too,
that he was enjoying the horror. What was he up to? She didn't know.
"Would you like me to tell you a story? A sexy story? A story of brave
men and lusty dams, perhaps?"

But Ahas wasn't in the mood for a story. He was after something much
stronger. "What about a song?" he suggested moodily. "Sing me a song. A
raunchy song about a Queen who gets speared in the butt with a spit!"

But Vashti wasn't willing to sing. She had the voice of a frog, she
complained. She begged to be excused.

This had seemed unlikely to the king, but he graciously accepted what
she told him at face value.

"Then how about a dance?"

"But sire, you know well. I've never been good at dancing. Perhaps I
can offer you one of my maids, to please you in my stead."

But the king didn't like that idea at all. "I don't want to be
entertained by a maid," he complained. "If I'd wanted to be entertained
by a maid, then I would have married a maid. The kind of dance I have
in mind is not difficult. Any woman can do it. It simply involves
removing the clothes. It would please me, it would please us all, if
you would perform a striptease. For what is a wife for, if not to
undress and plug in one or other of her holes?"

Vashti blushed prettily hiding her face behind her fan and declared
that she couldn't possibly take off her clothes in public. After all,
she was Queen and had her dignity to think of. But again, if Ahas cared
to take her to his chamber, then of course she would oblige. Or if he
wished for a maid, then certainly a striptease could be arranged...

At this Ahas was visibly furious. It confirmed all his worst
suspicions. This woman was more concerned with her own dignity and
position than in pleasing her master and husband. He hadn't made her
Queen. She had given herself that title. How dare she!

His nobles were equally as shocked. If the Queen could freely ignore
the will of the King, dishonoring him, then what hope was there for a
mere noble? Their wives were sure to hear of it and respond: 'As Vashti
rebukes Ahas, I rebuke you!'"

"Get out of here!" Ahas roared suddenly, jumping up from his throne,
picking up a chair and throwing it across the room. It clattered into a
wall, the noise echoing through the large banqueting hall. Apart from
that single noise, there was now complete silence. A pin could have
dropped.

"Take her away!" Ahas raged. "Get rid of her! Get her out of my sight!"

Vashti tried to argue. She didn't want to go. But her own attendants,
sensing the fickle mood of the King and Vashti's peril, whisked her
away for her own good. In this frame of mind, Ahas was completely
unreasoning and capable of anything.

Ahas strode up and down. "She is an offense to my harem," he roared at
his advisors, pointing a shaking finger at the doorway through which
Vashti had been scurried. He was in a vile mood, viscous, enraged. "I
want her replaced. What kind of wife lies in her husband's bed,
lifeless, a piece of meat? She's garbage! She's an insult to all women.
I would rather have raw meat in my bed than her. It couldn't serve me
worse."

"But Erus..." one of the counselors mumhemorrhage unadvisedly. "You shouldn't
upset him... If you offend him..."

"Fuck, Erus!" Ahas returned in his rage. "He's nothing. I'll overrun
Phoenicia and hang his cock on the wall of my bedchamber. I'll show you
what I think of Erus. Get me a scribe! Get one! Write down my words! I
want some dams brought to my room. You! Write this down! Even a fucking
piece of meat can fuck better than that Phoenician shit! You! Go down
to Hegai's and bring me half a dozen of his best carcasses. Let me
choose between them. Then you can send to that fox, to Erus, telling
him that I've replaced his daughter with a piece of meat from the
Butchery! Ha! Let him put that in his peace pipe and smoke it! Ha!
Write it down and I'll sign my name! And whatever you do, get rid of
that cunt, Vashti! Send Erus a present with my regards! Send him...
send him a nice juicy kebab!"

Then he sat back down on his throne and smiled, relaxing, and suddenly,
he wasn't angry at all.

Until Series Two...

 

 

 

--------------------------

HOW TO ROAST A DAM

For those that are interested, found this recipe for Roast Dam in an Arian cookbook. Although it differs in a number of details, it's pretty close to that used in cooking Ruth in The Feast of Purim.

Enjoy.

 

Ingredients

1 Dam (young for preference) plucked, drawn and trussed.
1 Kg/ 2lb rump steak
25 rashers streaky bacon
1 Kg/ 3lb butter, melted
Plain flour

Garnish

Watercress
2 or 3 tail feathers (optional)

Accompaniments

1Kg/ 2lb fresh breadcrumbs fried in 1Kg / 2lb butter
Bread Sauce (page 145)
Thin Gravy (page 124)
Thin chips
Green salad (see salad section, page 203)

 

Method

1) Stand dam in roasting tin. Place steak inside belly (this helps
keep it moist during cooking)
2) Cover breast with bacon rashers
3) Coat with melted butter
4) Roast just above center of moderately hot oven (200C/400F) for 2 hrs, basting frequently.
5) Remove from oven, lift off bacon and 'froth' the breast. (To do
this, baste breast well with butter, dredge with flour, and baste
again)
6) Return to oven for a further 30 to 45 minutes (or until golden
brown and frothy)
7) Transfer to warm serving platter. Remove trussing string. Garnish cunt with sprigs of watercress (and insert feathers, if used, into the anus)
8) Accompany with small dish of fried breadcrumbs (for sprinkling upon each portion), Bread, Sauce, Gravy, chips and salad.

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