"Story: Meat « on: December 13, 2011, 07:21:42 AM » ReplyQuot" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/hfEyKi0s Created on: Monday 2nd of April 2018 07:28:17 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:15:02 AM UTC Story: Meat « on: December 13, 2011, 07:21:42 AM » ReplyQuote Wow, she thought, just wow. She cut another piece of meat off the steak on her plate and slowly chewed it, looking around. She shook her head. Corey hadn’t meant to be here, really. Yes, it was the major gynophagic event of the year, and she was in the business, and her office was a couple of blocks from the park, so it seemed like something she’d go to; but her company didn’t have a contract for the event -- hadn’t even bid; they specialized in boutique events, and this was scale all the way. She was here because she’d gone for a walk, hoping to clear her head and maybe to find that everything was OK again when she came back. Instead, she expected to find that she’d been fired; her boyfriend, who owned the company, had dumped her this morning, and she didn’t expect he’d want to be seeing her around the office after what she’d said to him. The “Cookout In the Park” was the event of the year; over a hundred thousand people would show up here today, including celebrities, politicians, and foreigners from places where gynophagia was still outlawed. Corey knew that the rule of thumb for planning an event like this was that everybody was going to eat a pound of meat at least, that the average woman yielded 80 pounds of meat; so there were going to be twelve hundred women impaled and cooked here today. Cooked well, too. She shook her head, chewing on another lovely bite. Delicious. Corey walked around a bit more, looking here and there, professional interest tingling her brain and personal interest tingling… elsewhere. She watched one of the impalement stations for a while, timing three in a row. Each woman in turn walked out onto the stage, squeaky clean and shaved from head to toe; she faced the audience behind an expensively stylized sawhorse. Two young women crouched by her feet zip-tied her ankles quickly to the legs of the sawhorse. The meat girl leaned forward, head out over the edge of the stage, tits hanging literally over the heads of the closest audience members, and a big, broad-shouldered woman, naked except for a hood, pushed a two inch thick steel spit into her cunt. The look on each woman’s face was amazing as the spit penetrated her body, culminating with a terrified, confused look that was universal and yet unique to each pretty face as the spit came up the woman’s throat and parted her lips. The two ankle-women clipped the zip ties and re-fastened her ankles to the spit. From start to finish, it took about three minutes; then the former woman, now meat, was lifted by her spit and carried over to a different station, where she was turned over, her belly slit open, her insides removed, and her body stuffed full of a bread stuffing, then stitched shut, before she was carried over to a holding rack and handed off to the pit crews. Three minutes, thought Corey; that meant that they could do twenty per hour per station. She looked around again, doing the math in her head; it would take a hundred women per hour at dinner peak, which, given a six hour cooking time, was what these women were being prepped for; so she should see ten stations. She stood briefly in line at a serving station and got another steak. She was behind a gaggle of secretaries, laughing and talking; she amused her self imagining them on the platter. At the head of the line was a set of banquet tables, each one covered with a huge platter containing a young woman’s roasted body, from which pieces of meat were being cut. Each table was attended by a pair of young women, one who did the cutting and one who did the serving. Corey smiled at them pleasantly, wondering at the all-female party staff. Walking around casually, she found eight stations located equidistantly around the perimeter of the park, plus one in the center. She mentally reviewed her math, then walked around again, looking for the missing station. She found it near the central station she’d seen earlier; she’d mistaken it for a bathroom or something, as the women standing in line were obviously picnickers, dressed for attending the cookout rather than… participating. She watched a little while as realization dawned: this would be the line for women who spontaneously decided to volunteer. They’d come to see the spectacle, have a taste of their fellow woman, and found themselves swept up in the excitement; or possibly they’d meant to do it but missed the registration deadine; or maybe they’d had a personal and professional setback during the morning, and didn’t see a way forward with their old life, and so they’d come here to… “Corey?” The voice at her elbow startled her out of her reverie. “Oh… Oh, hi Elizabeth.” Corey smiled at the young woman next to her. “Enjoying your Festival Day?” Elizabeth was a smart young woman Corey had gone to college with; her tailored suit and hand-made shoes spoke of a success beyond what Corey had achieved in the years since. She was holding a plate and fork, and was hastily chewing and swallowing a bite of what looked like a cunt. “Very much, actually. Thank you. I was just…” She motioned vaguely at the line of women with her plate. “Thinking of volunteering? Really?” Corey smiled incredulously. “I wouldn’t have thought…” Elizabeth blushed deeply. “I, uh… “ She made a motion indicating her plate. “This is… was… my assistant, Jen; she hadn’t said anything about it, she just showed up here first thing this morning and volunteered… left me voicemail saying that she was having her… uh… prime cut… set aside for me, if I wanted it…” She shook her head, and looked back at the line. “I was just standing here thinking how easy it would be to… how she…” The professional sounded part confused, part wistful, with not a little bit of lustful thrown in for good measure. She sighed. “Well,” Corey said, “It’s easy to find out for yourself…” They both laughed the laugh of professional people who’ve caught one another doing something… unprofessional. They caught up and talked about what they’d been doing since college, and then about college and that time that… Corey casually stepped out of someone’s way, and then Elizabeth moved around to get a better view of one of the stations, and they both sort moved as people move when they’re having a casual conversation at a picnic… “Excuse me, are you two in line?” A young, earnest looking woman motioned from the two women to the line that they were almost but not quite in. No, thought Corey, not really… “Yes,” said Elizabeth. She looked into Corey’s eyes, and Corey looked into hers, and they moved a little bit to the left to make the line straight. The young woman got in line behind them. She looked a lot more calm than Corey felt. Elizabeth reached out and took Corey’s hand, and they stood together in the line, watching it get shorter ahead of them and longer behind them. Elizabeth’s phone rang. She fished it out of her clutch and looked at the number, looking up at Corey with a stricken, panicked look, then looking at the line, at the whole setting, as though she was waking up from a trance. “I, uh, I have to take this,” she said. She hit Talk even as she stepped out of line, looked back once, then stepped into the crowd and was gone. Wow, thought Corey, ditched. “Wow,” said the young woman behind her, “Ditched.” Corey turned to her with an attempt at a smile which she expected probably looked somewhat horrific. “Well,” she said, “I suppose you can’t expect them to follow you everywhere…” She flashed a grin that was pure habit from years in sales. “I’m Corey,” she said, “I don’t really know why I’m in this line.” The girl -- she really was, Corey realized as she looked closer, a girl -- smiled back. “I understand that. I feel like I was born for this, it’s all I ever wanted to do, but I understand that others are more ambivalent about the prospect.” She spoke fast and flat -- not exactly monotone, but sort of off-tone and level, and her face didn’t seem to move enough. “I’m Grace.” They shook hands, almost formally. “You seem very young to be doing this,” said Corey. “And if you don’t mind me asking, why did you wait until the last minute, if this was the plan? I’d have expected that you’d get a time slot…” The girl laughed a weird braying laugh. “I just became eligible today. They wouldn’t pre-register me because I wasn’t old enough to volunteer, even though I was going to be when I actually cooked…” Corey winced. Cooked. You can’t just say it out loud like that, not when I still haven’t told parts of myself that that’s what we’re doing here. Not when I haven’t… decided. Not really. Grace was younger than Corey had even guessed. “Your parents could have gotten an exemption, done you earlier…” Grace grimaced. “My parents do not approve of my choice in this matter.” She looked away, angrily, Corey thought. The line, Corey couldn’t help noticing, had moved most of the way toward the intake table, and had grown behind Grace as women lined up to be cooked. She turned back to Grace, smile a little more brittle. “I’m not exactly sure I’m going to do this, I hope you don’t take it the wrong way if I don’t stay with you the whole…” “No, it’s OK,” said Grace, “Like I said, I know what I am, not everybody does.” The piece of Corey from which she’d been hiding her intentions, the piece of her where she kept her True Self, the part of her that Knew Her Ultimate Potential, seemed to wake up. She looked back at Grace, her mouth open, an amazed look on her face, as she thought, What Am I? She slowly turned, the whole world seeming to sparkle and dim at the same time, like the world had had vaseline smeared on the lens. The line had come out from behind a tent, and she could see the stage where her line ultimately ended. A plump, middle-aged woman who had probably been occupying a secretary’s desk at some nearby office walked out onto the stage. Her shaven head glistened with the oil she’d been rubbed with all over; her nipples stood hard out from her breasts. Her face was a window to her second thoughts, but when she stepped up to the saw-horse and the two girls each grabbed a foot and zip-tied them to the legs she visibly pulled herself together and let her nerves grin out of her as she leaned forward, her pendulous breasts hanging… The secretary’s mouth and eyes both opened wide, wide, as the point of the spit slid into her pussy. The muscular woman wielding the spit stopped what looked like just long enough to wriggle it around, the broad motions controlled by her powerful shoulders translating into small, probing motions inside the secretary’s body, seating the point in her cervix. The woman being spitted made it obvious when the spit jammed through, letting out a strangled sound halfway between a shriek and a gasp. Her face was amazing, a revelation in revelation; she looked for all the world like the Truth had just been revealed directly into her mind. Corey knew that in reality the transit of the cervix, the piercing of the uterine wall, and the passage of the spit through the abdominal cavity was a profoundly painful and penetrative experience; she had stood much closer than this when women were spitted; but right then, she really felt like that secretary had been imparted something, some piece of fundamental understanding, that Corey wanted. “She knows what she is,” said Grace. Corey glanced at her; the girl was looking oddly satisfied. Validated, Corey realized; this whole festival must be very validating, to someone who had always believed that she was meat. She knows she’s meat, thought Corey; the secretary knew she was meat. What am I? I’m meat, she thought. It was tentative, just… trying it on, just to see what it felt like. I’m meat. There were only four women between her and the registration desk, it was time to let her Inner Self tell her that this was a stupid fantasy, that she needed to get back to work. I’m meat. Somewhere deep inside her, something shifted, stirred, considered. Yes, It said, Yes, I’m Meat. Corey was left breathless. She looked down at her body, her tight, well-toned body, hidden in a work-appropriate A-line, and thought: I’m meat. She looked around her, at the beautiful sunny blue sky and the green grass and the people enjoying their day in the park, their day of celebrating the simple truth of the thought: I’m meat. She turned back toward her office, which she’d never go back to, and she thought, Goodbye, Tom, I’m meat. Goodbye, office, I’m meat. Her lips formed the words, once, twice, before she let her voice through them. “I’m meat,” she said. She had expected the words to have amazing timbre, some sort of echoing quality, but the simple sound of her own voice saying them was somehow more portentous. She turned to Grace. “I’m meat,” she said again. Grace’ expression was transcendent, an evangelist watching a conversion experience. She nodded dumbly, then reached out and took Corey’s hand. The stood there and watched as the secretary was carried down off the stage, to a pair of posts actually quite close to the line where a tall, statuesque redhead, muscled like a dancer, clothed only in blood, slit the woman’s belly open and let her insides fall into a large metal tub. By this time the expression on the secretary’s face could only be described as extremely concerned; she looked exactly like the reality of what was happening to her had caught up. Corey nodded to herself; yes, she thought, it would be seeming very real right about then. The redhead’s helpers, a pair of brunettes who looked to be twins, heaped stuffing into the secretary’s belly and the redhead sewed it quickly shut. The redhead noticed Corey and Grace staring and smiled at them, then made a motion with her finger, tracing a line in the blood spatter covering her belly from her pubes to her breastbone -- exactly the line along which she’d just slit the secretary open. She watched while the two women grasped her meaning, then she winked and blew them a kiss, turning her attention back to the impaled body of a barrista from a nearby coffee house. Corey was shocked to recognize the young woman who’d made her latte that morning. People, she thought, we’re all people who have lives and thoughts and fears and doubts, but we have all realized in the end that we share a common bond: we’re meat. I’m one of them, she thought; I’m one of us. I’m meat. “Corey! Thank God.” It was Elizabeth, grabbing her by the shoulder, taking her arm. “Corey, I’m so sorry, I put you in this position and then I abandoned you, I can’t imagine what came over me.” She stood in front of the two women, looking vulnerable but determined. “Come on, let’s go, we can get another plate full and then go get fucked at the orgy pits before we go back to work.” She looked into Corey’s eyes, biting her lip. “Better yet,” she said, “we’ll take the whole afternoon off, we’ll go to the salon and…” Corey’s head was shaking, her eyes soft and warm as she took Elizabeth’s hand and held it firmly. “I’m meat,” she said. “And so are you.” Elizabeth shook her head in denial and Corey gestured to the gap that had opened in the line as women had been processed ahead of them; only two now between her and the table, two lovely young women chatting amiably to cover their nerves. “I saved your place,” said Cory, tugging Elizabeth into the space. “No,” said Elizabeth, “No, Corey, I’ve got clients and a boyfriend, I’ve got… “ she gestured broadly, helplessly. “I’ve got a dentist’s appointment,” she finished lamely. She stepped back. “I’m sorry.” She turned and fled, down the line, past Grace and the three no-nonsense looking women, one younger and two older, standing behind her. Nurses, thought Corey. “Meat,” she said, quietly. Grace squeezed her hand. They stepped up to the registration table together.