"Graduating Some Cum Loud" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/4wu019Gz Created on: Sunday 5th of March 2017 06:45:11 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:23:13 AM UTC Graduating Some Cum Loud – Some go on to college, some go on to work, and some go on to cook for graduating last in their class. by Soupy Warning: Contains consensual female public snuff, knocking unconscious, decapitation, butchery, electrocution, and live spitting. Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and fantasy. Do not try this at home (or any other place for that matter). *** A valedictorian graduates at the top of the class, the salutatorian, second; but what do you call the two who graduate last? Lunch. That was the tease on Dolcett High School’s graduation announcements. This was the first class to graduate following passage of the new cannibal laws. At the beginning of the school year, parents and students had signed contracts agreeing to the new Excellence in Academic Training (EAT) initiative, which served to incentivize students to achieve high grades by threatening them with being served as lunch following graduation. The school even changed enrollment and the graduation date to assure that no minors were subject to this potentially tasty initiative. The program worked. Grades went up but, even so, somebody—two in this case—had to graduate last in the class. *** Lucy sat nervously in her chair surrounded by a sea of blue-robed classmates, forming several rows on the gymnasium floor in front of the stage. The bleachers and floor seats were packed with friends, family, and other spectators there to witness a conversion—two to be exact. Most citizens of Dolcett had embraced cannibalism; still, very few had seen their food being killed and butchered, be it chicken, beef, pork, or longpork. What sparked interest even more was that two slackers—having squandered the value of a public education paid for by hungry taxpayers in the audience—would be executed as a result of the new EAT initiative, a fat-trimming, cost-benefit improvement measure for public education. The night before, Heather and Lucy had discussed the possibility of dying at graduation while they helped each other with their bowel cleanse—required of all students who were notified that their GPA was below 3.0 (on a 4.0 scale). Both girls had partied a lot, goofed off a lot, and pretty much skated through school, but others had partied even more; so, they were certain that at least two others, out of their 97 classmates, would be lower. That night, dildos became spits being shoved deeper than ever before. With nervous anticipation, they held hands as the principal began calling names. First came the valedictorian, then came the salutatorian; then, name by name, right down the class-rank list he continued. Each student rose from their seat on the gym floor and walked up on stage to receive their diploma; however, because each student returned to their seat, it was nearly impossible to tell—unless you’d been counting—just how many names were left. Heather and Lucy were both relieved when their names were called one after the other. For 12 years, they had sat together in class, eaten together at lunch, played sports together after school, and did homework together; so, it was fitting that they would graduate together with nearly the same class rank. As they mounted the stairs to the stage, the applause and fox whistles seemed a little louder than some of the others had received. They drank it in, acting like the silly class clowns they were known to be. The principal handed each girl a rolled piece of parchment, just as he did with the others but, this time, he asked the girls to open them. Their comedic gestures of success ended when they both realized that the principal was no longer calling names. Instead, he introduced THEM as the “winners” of the 1st annual EAT initiative. The crowd roared as the girls stood, frozen in the moment, looking down at their conversion papers with mouths agape. Amid thunderous applause, cat calls, and fox whistles, a slow chant of, “Nom, nom, nom…” emerged and gained momentum. The girls looked into the audience, locking eyes with their parents; all four were shaking their heads in sad acknowledgement of all the wasted advice to study harder that had fallen on deaf ears. *** Taking advantage of the moment, the lunch lady—a middle-aged homely woman dressed all in white with a full-length apron, clear vinyl food-service gloves, and the classic hair-netted updo—snuck up silently behind the girls and whacked them both in the head with a large wooden mallet before any emotion, other than shock, had a chance to appear on their faces. The sound of the blows was lost to the noise of the crowd, but each body stiffened and stretched a little taller in turn before falling to the floor in a pile of twitching blue polyester. After another roar of approval from the crowd, the raucous noise filling the gymnasium was replaced with the low din of many people speaking softly as Mrs. J put down her mallet and went to work “skinning” the meatgirls she had served every weekday at lunch for the last four years. Today, she’d be serving them in a different way. She used heavy-duty shears to split the fabric, throwing pieces onto a scrap pile that grew slowly as the animals were stripped of gowns, dresses, bras, panties, and stockings… all vestiges of humanity. The din built a little as people eyed the two graduates, who now lay nude on their backs, bleeding slightly from head wounds. Heather was totally unconscious, twitching intermittently, and the other was dazed enough that she was drooling from her open mouth. A soft moan issued from Lucy, who was unable to fight back in any way, as she was thrown over the lunch lady’s shoulder and carried butt-first to a horizontal St. Andrew’s cross where her arms and legs were duct taped in a spread-eagle fashion to the X-shaped table. She was also taped to the table at her waistline, just above the little tuft of blond pubes that adorned her well-manicured pussy, which had been waxed in anticipation of some graduation party sex. Her firm B-cup titties stood tall, defying gravity, topped with areolae barely wider than her long pink nips, which were so long that Lucy’s mother had always joked to be careful not to put out someone’s eye with them. After electrodes were attached to each wrist and ankle, the X-shaped frame was rotated to a vertical position so the entire audience could see the captive meatgirl spread wide on display. They approved with another round of applause. The lunch lady flipped a switch on a control box, sending electricity through the tiny meatgirl. Lucy was instantly awakened from her somnolence as searing pain shot through her body. Every muscle contracted simultaneously, her chest wall forced a brief grunt of air across her vocal cords, and her bladder shot a stream of pee forcefully against the stage floor. Her nipples danced atop their firm mounds. Within moments, sweat glands had expelled their saline contents, causing her body to glisten from head to toe in the spot lighting that was aimed at her. A streamer of pussy juice made its way to the floor as pussy muscles tightened. Skin rippled with the underlying muscles as saliva foamed and steamed in her mouth. After 10 seconds, all shaking stopped, and her oxygen-starved lungs took advantage of the respite to suck in a deep breath of air. This electrical tenderizing device would shock the meat for 10 seconds every minute, driving off excess fluid from the tissues and, thereby, concentrating all the meaty flavors. Electro-tenderization resulted in better-tasting meat than even dry-aging could produce and without any of the trimming losses. *** While that animal was being tenderized, the lunch lady retrieved the other one, who was no longer twitching, and dragged her by one foot across the stage, leaving a trail of drool on the floor. Heather was much stouter than little Lucy—not fat, but borderline. For her age, she had large round breasts, which gravity flattened a little against her chest. Each was crowned with a 4-inch brown areola surrounding a nipple that was all but flat given the owner’s unconscious state. A mound of long pubes covered her snatch from leg to leg. Her belly appeared perfectly flat in that position but jiggled a little as the principal helped Mrs. J lift the body onto a heavy-duty wooden work table. The body was rolled onto its side facing the audience with the head dangling off the end of the table. A strip of tape was run around both the body and table at the hip and shoulder to keep the body in that position; wrists and ankles were taped together so the girl couldn’t fight back if she happened to awaken. The audience had a great view of this fine animal with her tits now stacked atop each other, her belly noticeably thicker near the table, and a bush straight out of the 60s. This girl was built to be stew. Placing a full-sized, 6-inch-deep food service pan on the floor below the animal’s head, and without any fanfare or sign that what she was about to do was, in any way, worthy of hesitation, the lunch lady grabbed a handful of brunette hair, pulled the head back to expose the neck, and ran a knife blade across it. Heather didn’t feel a thing. Blood rhythmically gushed from the severed vessels, falling into the hotel pan below. After less than a minute, it began to slow, and Mrs. J pulled the head back further and deepened the cut with her blade. Air escaped as the trachea was severed but, except for a few agonal gasps, there was no conscious effort to breathe. She finished cutting between the vertebrae and removed the head, setting it upright facing the audience on the table in front of the abdomen. The audience was silent—most had never witnessed this kind of butchery and were still mentally processing what they had just seen. The lunch lady cut the wrist and ankle tape but left the rest in place. She grabbed a propane torch and lit it. Lifting the girl’s top leg into the air, she waved the flame across the pubes covering the pussy and anus, igniting the tangled mess into wiry flames and smoke. She continued burning pubes until the thick, meaty labia were on full display, then went on dehairing the rest of the hide, including the fine vellus hairs all over the carcass. Finally, she touched the flame to Heather’s beautiful brunette mane, engulfing the entire head. The fire lasted only a few seconds until it self-extinguished, giving the former brunette a red head and face devoid of eyebrows and eyelashes. While the neck stump was giving up the last few drops of blood into one pan, another was placed on the floor in front of the table. The lunch lady moved the still-hot head—quickly like a hot potato—to finish cooling behind the body. With just a couple expert slices, Heather’s belly was open from chest to pubic bone, her intestines sliding off the table and dangling over the pan. After freeing up the stomach end of the intestines, Mrs. J once again lifted the upper leg and cut around the butthole to release the girl’s bowels into the pan. While there, she removed the filet and set it with the head. It wasn’t long before those parts were joined by the heart. Everything else went into the pan. A cheer arose when the lunch lady removed the breasts. The job should have required two hands to catch each jiggly mammary as it fell away from the chest, but this talented cook caught each in turn using only one hand; she was an expert at juggling jubblies. Last, she took apart the carcass by cutting around each joint to remove hands and feet, forearms and lower legs, then upper arms and thighs until a pile of extremities lay on the table behind a hollowed-out carcass of what used to be Heather. Even the carcass was cut in two just below the rib cage. Unlocking the wheels on the table, she pushed it over to a commercial pressure cooker, which was already filled with water, seasonings, and diced root vegetables. One by one, she picked up a piece of Heather and dropped it in the kettle. The head went in last, eliciting another round of applause as the cooker was sealed and turned on. *** During the 20 minutes it took to dispatch and dismantle one graduate, Lucy had received 20 shocks. She currently hung by her taped wrists, dripping with sweat. The faint aroma of cooking flesh was already wafting over the graduates, who—given the steam that was coming off the little body—were betting whether Lucy would catch fire with the next jolt of juice. Unfortunately, the lunch lady ruined their fun and switched off the tenderizing device before it fired again. The front-hanging head of the crucified girl fell backward as the whole X-frame was returned to its horizontal position and turned sideways so the audience could better see what came next. Mrs. J dipped behind the stage curtain and grabbed a 9-foot spit which was about an inch and a half wide and glistening with lube as much as the meatgirl was glistening with sweat. Oohs and aahs from the spectators melodically filled the air in a crescendo-decrescendo expression of wonder and realization about its use. The room quieted again as the tip of the spit was lowered, its sharp point aimed at the most tender parts of this tender waif, whose head dangled earthward; a slight rise of her breasts, the only evidence of remaining life. As the tip slipped past her labia and the fullness of the rod rubbed her G-spot, the tiny girl sparked to life, contracting her entire body, rhythmically this time, in cadence with an orgasm that caused all her thickened, remaining pussy juice to stringer to the floor. With every push of the spit, the orgasm grew. Such loud guttural moans coming from such a tiny girl left no doubt in the minds of spectators that the meat was suffering an orgasm more than she was suffering pain. The audience was on the edge of their seats as 3 feet of metal had already disappeared inside the girl. No one was sure where it would pop out with her body moving as much as it was. The lunch lady fished the rod in and out slightly and lifted up on it so it had better contact with the girl’s clitoris, which was almost as erect as her nipples. Lucy, whether gagging or orgasming harder, tilted her head back just enough that the spit could be advanced into her mouth. At that point in the process, it was instinctual for an animal to open her mouth and spit up some metal. The sight of almost 3 feet of bloody spit extending out of Lucy’s mouth and just as much coming out of her pussy drew a standing ovation. As the girl wiggled her head and ass, fighting like a fish on a hook, the ends of the spit alternated up and down a little. She looked like a sexy little shish kebabe. Mrs. J eased the animal’s struggle to breathe by cutting a hole in her trachea. Lucy started to settle down; she seemed to even accept her fate as her wrists were freed from the frame and wired in place against the rod. A stabilizer device was next threaded over the tail end of the spit. It had 3 foot-long tines that would keep the meat turning with the spit. When the center tine was aligned with Lucy’s anus and the outer two were touching her butt cheeks, Mrs. J drove it home with her wooden mallet. Three sharp blows, and it was seated deeply within pelvic flesh. After wiring the animal’s feet to the rod, she and the principal lifted the spitted girl from the St. Andrew’s cross and placed her on a mobile spit support that held her about 4 feet off the ground. As they slowly rotated the meatgirl to wrap her in chicken wire so her delicate tender meat wouldn’t fall off prematurely, the audience could see the outer tines of the stabilizer tenting the skin at the top of the girl’s butt cheeks, threatening to poke out at any moment. The lunch lady once again lit her propane torch. The pubic tuft disappeared in a fraction of a second. Lucy’s blond mane took longer, but the tiny meatgirl barely even reacted to the pain of her head being on fire. When the flames were out, the carcass was covered from head to toe with canola oil and rolled over to pair of commercial electric heating elements, one on the top and one on the bottom. The bottom one also collected any drippings to be used as basting liquid. Just before sending Lucy on her trips around the self-reversing spit, the lunch lady jabbed a meat thermometer into one ass cheek, flipped on the electro-tenderizer, and set it to cook mode, which would kill any internal pathogens and help cook the meat faster. Sounds of Lucy’s teeth chattering against the metal spit and steam escaping the pressure cooker became background noise as the graduation ceremony continued. *** Heather finished first, though she had finished last in class rank. Her fat had liquefied and flavored the stew, her connective tissue had turned into gelatin, and her meat had cooked to the perfect consistency, falling off the bones as they were fished out by the lunch lady. The remaining liquid was allowed to boil off and larger chunks of meat were cut into small bite-sized pieces to make the perfect Heather hash. When Lucy finished cooking, Mrs. J broke off a crispy nipple and taste-tested it—the cook always gets dibs on the best parts. It was perfect; the skin would add the perfect crunch to the tender meat. Using heat-proof gloves, the spitted girl was carried to a torso-sized serving platter where she was placed on her back. The chicken wire and wrist/ankle wires were carefully removed so as not to disturb the perfectly charred skin. One leg was pulled away from the spit; it separated like pulled longpork at the hip joint. The other extremities separated the same way and joined the leg on a separate serving tray. Finally, the carcass was gently held in place while the anal stabilizer and spit were slid out the ass end. All food was taken to the cafeteria to be served. Parents were the first to file through the lunch line, adding sides to their school lunch trays but saving the large tray compartment for a piece of progeny. Those who knew Lucy and Heather well, got to know them even better that day. Their parents were at least proud that the daughters tasted so good; for that, they received lots of compliments. And many thought the EAT initiative should be expanded the next year to include 3 or 4 of the delectable dregs of public education.