Caught ( A Serial ) by Reilly and Nan {Chapter Six}

Ron and his buddy Gob never missed a minute of “Into the Wild,” and lately it had been one amazing episode after another. Clerks throughout the City couldn’t stop talking about it. Wally vs. Michael, which Hunter could top the other? Last week Wally had taken the TV audience into his actual house and shown his trophy room! That guy must have had over a hundred Shells! Wow, there was a double row of girls lining his wide marble hallway, far as the eye could see. Lucite Ladies. What a life, damn.

Ron tossed Gob a beer, watching him fumble it as it fell between the cushions of the couch, he settled into his chair for this week’s broadcast. The AD Chan had been showing nonstop previews of tonight’s episode. Michael had been hinting that tonight he’d raise the bar all over again. The guys couldn’t wait –would he show a kill? Only five minutes to go. On the screen right now “Wheel of Torture” was just about over. The meatgirls pinned to the wheels were just about gone, good timing this week, the contestants got to throw a knife for each round of Hunter trivia questions they won. Each time a girl screamed the “Scream-o-Meter” increased points by the strength of the yell. Trouble was, sometimes they were lousy shots and the meatgirls were still moaning when it was cut-off time. Not tonight, as the announcer pointed out.

“And it’s a photo-finish folks; Clerk Thomas has just nailed the carotid artery as Clerk Foster’s slicing throat throw drains out his meatgirl’s blood. It’s going to the weight scale, now folks, it’s down to a matter of seconds and ounces unless we have a definite death! Viewers, send in your last wagers in five—four—three—two…Done! Wagering is finished! Now let’s sit back and watch the show.”

Two grey-suited clerks gripped their podiums on either side of the stage as the cameramen dollied in for twin close-ups of their target girls. They’d each thrown their last knives only moments ago. Clerk Foster’s girl was enrobed in blood, though her arms were white and bare, spread wide on the slowly revolving wheel. As her head faced three o’clock and then six, rivulets of blood from the gaping cut at her throat traveled down her shoulders and onto her arms, and even her face was masked with blood. The audience went wild—what artistry! Meanwhile Clerk Thomas’ girl was spurting blood, spraying the audience who wore it like a badge of honor. The folks in the first three rows blinded by the blood screamed and protested, they couldn’t see what was going on! Was she done? Was she jiggling? They needed to know!

A buzzer sounded and a red light flashed and swiveled over Clerk Foster’s girl. “This one’s a goner! Congratulations, Clerk Foster of Sector 9. You’re this week’s winner! Come on down and claim your credits!” the emcee appeared on one side of the dead girl, and Clerk Foster on the other. They shook hands, stretching their arms out in front of the girl. Her head drooping forward, her body completely painted garnet now. Foster reached out and tweaked one of her nipples.

He shouted, “I couldn’t have done it without you, honey!” He held his bloodied fingers up in a V, then licked them off and screamed, “Wheel of Torture! Yeah!”

The audience roared, the emcee pounded Foster on the back, and the credits rolled. Some lucky jerk in Sector 17 won the DeathTime bet. 50 credits, damn! He could almost buy a piece of that ass on the wheel there.

“Damn, I must have sent in a hundred applications to be on that show!” said Ron.

“Only a hundred? Hell, I think I sent four times that, already.” Gob shook his head. “You gotta know someone, I bet. I’m asking the supervisor to put in a good word.”

“You? Never happen, Goblinoski! Supervisor Morello hates us!” The Goblin sighed, mumbling, “Cause you always forget the damn receipts.” Ron protested, “The guy’s a paper pusher, screw him! I shoulda been a hunter.” They sighed in unison and drank their beer.

Both men leaned forward when the theme music to “Into the Wild” began. Hunters in their rides flashed across the screen, great shots of bound girls heading for the plants, quick shots of the best restaurants, the hunters swaggering in with their pets. The announcer brayed his classic line, “Out of the office, out of your uniform, and –Into the Wild!” Didn’t matter how many times he heard it, Gob always got wood. He leaned over and whacked Ron on the biceps. Ron grinned, but his eyes never left the screen.

Michael Boardman cruised into view in some pre-production sports car that no one had ever seen before, it looked like a rocket on wheels. The nervous man at the microphone cleared his throat and said, “Live from an undisclosed sector just inside the City limits, I’m Trevor Johnson for InSPIRE TV, and yes, folks, that is Michael Boardman himself behind the wheel. Let’s hope he stops outside his impressive gate to welcome us in!”

The camera zoomed in so that the TV audience could see Michael behind the wheel of the low, sleek car. Sure enough, he slowed and stopped, and bounded out of his car window. “Like a Jaguar he is!” cried Trevor, excited by the emergence of his hero, he felt his underwear slightly moisten. “Home viewers, you’re in for a treat. Michael! Michael! So good of you to have us over. What have you got in store for our viewers tonight?”

Michael canted his head to one side and snapped his fingers. The passenger door opened behind him and a sleek nude blond emerged. “Wow, Mr. Boardman, she just keeps on coming!” Michael allowed himself an acknowledging grin as they both watched Marta unfold from the low-slung car. She glowed golden in the twilight, her blond hair gleaming, a wild mane that flowed to her trim waist. She’d rouged her nipples; Marta had made the corral girls spend at least two hours perfecting her skin and nails. She walked forward on impossibly high heels. No one knew how many hours she’d practiced that! Marta giggled and smiled at the camera, but when she neared Boardman, her eyes fell and she knelt before him, her breasts pushed out, her hands behind her, her flawless back arched dramatically.

Ron and Gob sucked in a breath as they watched the blond vision kneel eye-level with Boardman’s crotch. “Do you think she’ll–?” Ron’s voice was hoarse with lust.

“Oh yeah, baby oh yeah.” Gob said, fighting the urge to get busy, himself. He already had a painful erection tenting his pants. That was the only trouble with watching at a friend’s house. Kind of embarrassing unless the guy was cool about it, but geez! Who wouldn’t be aroused? Damned if that golden girl wasn’t sucking Michael’s cock right now, out on the street, kneeling on gravel and taking his whole cock as he rammed her throat. And that idiot announcer trying to make lame chit chat. Michael controlled Marta’s head with one hand and used the other to gesture in response to the reporter’s silly questions.

“Your corral is on this property, Sir?”

“Yeah, out back past the kitchens.” Michael waved his hand toward the back of the estate. The house was huge, and the grounds were groomed but a thicket of hedge and trees blocked the TV camera’s view of Michael’s famous stable full of girls. Besides, the camera kept panning down to Marta’s lips, stretched wide around Michael’s cock as he made her moan and jerk.

“You think she’s gonna pass out?” Gob whispered, rubbing his crotch, this was unbearable.

“Look at that, her body’s slumping over but her mouth’s still sucking!” Ron didn’t care, he was going for it right now. Gob eyed Ron, they both cackled nervous laughter and then started to relieve their tensions. On screen, Michael’s eyes closed for only seconds as he used both hands to pull Marta’s head tight to his body. He mouthed something, and clerks all over the City would replay this section endlessly so they could mouth the words along with the Hunter, “Take it all, meat girl.”

Marta was so dizzy but the searing agony from her knees kept her from fainting, even when he suffocated her. She was on TV! She’d only heard of it before she came here. It was Slothful, the elders taught, an evil invention men designed to weaken girls, to make them forget the joys of running, of playing in the woods. TV glorified the Hunters. Marta stared up into Michael’s face, doing her best to glorify hers. Hers! She slurped and controlled her throat, couldn’t sputter, had to swallow every drop or he’d beat her later. If he did it on TV that would be so humiliating. Marta finished , her eyes locked onto Michael. Finally he glanced down and jerked his chin upward. The signal to stand. She knew she’d be hurt worse if she showed any reaction to the pain in her knees. As she rose, deep pockmarks from the gravel stippled her knees. The cameraman zoomed in on those, and then took in her glorious ass.

Michael frowned. This show was about him, not tonight’s dinner. He grinned. Yeah. That would make a great finale, wouldn’t it? Keep them talking for years. He cuffed Marta when she wobbled on her heels, and then shoved her back inside the car. “Follow me in for the grand tour,” he called to Trevor. Trevor scrambled the crew, and in they went. The scene dissolved for a quick preview of “Cooking with Jaques.” Today’s special? A famous French chef, cooking feet. Gob figured it was an acquired taste.

Gob and Ron were stretched out in their chairs, lazy smiles and new beers all around. “Into the Wild” came back from the break, and the cameras were shooting inside the estate. Trevor was standing on the drive, narrating when Michael roared out of the garage driving the Hunter 980T, the hottest capture vehicle ever made. Wally wanted one so bad, he could taste it, but Michael had signed to endorse it first. The truck had seats for six and cages for four, up to eight if you didn’t mind wedging those meatgirls together. Trevor tried to stand firm as the 980T rumbled forward, but at the last moment he flung his body sideways and rolled in the grass. The camera crew was loving this. Outtake for sure, but man, they enjoyed seeing that skinny wimp fuck up.

Michael roared laughter as Trevor scrambled up and asked “Aren’t we going to the corral?”

“Got all the time in the world for that. Those girls aren’t leaving here ‘til they’re dog food, man! Get in! We’re going hunting.”

Trevor leaped into the vehicle and panted into the cameras. “Folks at home, hang onto your hats! We are going into the woods for the real thing at last!” Trevor looked a little pale and shaky as the cameras zoomed in on his face.

“We’re gonna see him net one!” Ron slapped Gob’s back and spilled a little of his beer.

A commercial for Wally’s upcoming episode showed Michael’s rival giving another tour of his kitchen. There was a thick bodied brunette on the prep table, and two assistants wearing nothing but aprons about to slice her. “She’s chow, guys!” said Wally.

The 980T had an engine that roared, letting all who heard it know, this was a machine you didn’t fuck with. Michael loved the rumble of the engine massaging his butt and his ego at the same time. He gunned the engine as they burst past the city lines and into the forest, almost oblivious to his nauseous passenger.

Trevor tried to hold in his lunch, but he knew the camera was picking up on the green tint in his face. “We’ve entered the forest. Michael forgive my naiveté, but doesn’t the roar of the engine send an obvious warning to your prey?” Michael winked at the camera, flicking a switch, the word “stealth” lit up in fluorescent purple as the 980 immediately hushed. It was an eerie silence, Trevor could hear the ringing in his ears from the previous roar, “A-maze-ing! The beast has been muted!”

Ron laughed, “What a retard. Who the hell says muted?” Gob went to say something but then desperately raced through his mind to see if he was a person that had ever used that word.

Trevor continued, “Here amongst the trees, near the very home of our prey, we set…” Michael held out a hand, silencing him. Staring into a dashboard monitor he scanned the screen looking upon the infrared. He could see a figure shivering behind a tree, he smiled at the realization that he loved his job. Bringing the silent beast to a dead stop, he opened the roof, and lifted himself through the hole. “Hello! Come out and play!” He loved to taunt them. He lifted up a crossbow, taking time to load it making sure the camera got every ratchet as the bow tightened. Slowly he squeezed the trigger, stopping halfway to address the home audience, “Watch it run.” A sharp “Thwack” and then the arrow violated the tree, sending the girl screaming and running from her hiding spot.

“She’s a red-haired beauty eh?” Michael laughed to Trevor. Dropping down he engaged the engine, and they began to pursue the screaming girl. Michael eyes tightened as if by mere will he could bring her down. He grabbed a lever that held the steering wheel in position, yanking a net from the back seat he pulled himself above the vehicle and waited to pounce.

Tears were streaming from the girl as she raced as hard as she could, the look of fear, the exertion of running, and the strain so prominent on her face. She had gone walking just to clear her thoughts, unaware how far she had walked until she saw the Hunters vehicle and crouched behind the tree, praying he would not see her. “How did this demon see me through the tree? Why is this happening to me?” Her thoughts racing faster than she, she could hear him getting closer, she dared not look back.

Michael leaned out of the top of the beast, positioning himself to drop the net on his prey. He loved to watch them as they ran, eyeing their muscles as the contracted and jiggled. This one had a mighty rump, it’s like she was bred to grace a plate. Inside the vehicle Trevor began to get nervous, the truck was on some sort of auto-drive, but it was heading straight for that patch of trees! If Michael didn’t get back in soon they would all crash!

He turned to the camera, “I’m not sure if he knows how close we’re getting to those trees!? I hate to bother him but they’re getting closer!! If he doesn’t come in soon we won’t be able to stop, Carl, pull his leg, tell him to stop!!!” Carl the cameraman just shrugged, if they crashed it would definitely make the blooper reel. Michael casually dropped the net, simultaneously plopping back into his seat, grinning at the even moister Trevor while releasing the latch and slamming the brakes. The mighty beast came to rest within inches of the trees, Michael quipped, “Let’s take a closer look, boys.”

She was wrestling with the net that encased her, frantically trying to escape. Michael approached quickly, swooping her up and attaching her to the crane in the rear. Her tender flesh protruding from the holes, her eyes staring at her abductors, Michael running his hands along her bottom, “She’s a firm meaty girl, gonna wind up at one of your fancier restaurants, make a delicious meal.” She wailed, calling out, “Mothers!” Michael laughed, “I don’t know about those at home but I am starving, and we have a date with a blonde. Sorry Red.”

Carl let his camera rest for the first time, extending a hand to Michael. Trevor appeared to be relaxing, slightly. Hopping back into the vehicle, they sped back to the city. Their prey hung in her net, blown by the wind, with no idea of what was awaiting her. As Michael drove he decided to keep the girl.

Ron and Gob were exhausted, it was more than they ever could have dreamt. Yet Michael was far from done. He placed the girl in a special stable, “Gentlemen, friends at home, some are mere hunters. I, on the other hand, adore the meat.” As he spoke he removed his knife, slicing the clothes from the girl. She was trembling, her lower lip shaking, whining, he ran his hands along her, “Look at this. You cannot tell me that they do not crave us, as much as we crave the taste of them. She is a muscular girl, with thick creamy flesh, yet she has allowed herself to be plump enough so that when she cooks her fat will accent her tender meat.”

He paused to make this moment even more dramatic, draping the girl across a wood table, belly down, her rump facing the camera, “Tender. We use this word so casually to describe them. Their succulent flesh melting in our mouth, the flavor of their roasted bodies, ambrosia no wine can compete with.” He stuck his finger deep into her rump muscle, “See how tender?” The girl let out a deep low moan, “Yet I say not tender enough. I like to experiment with the meat, push the boundaries of what we know. I have been working on a project; do you want to see it?”

The camera bobbed up and down, Carl was so absorbed by the moment he forgot it was on. Trevor wiped the drool from his mouth, his head completely in sync with Carl. At home Ron and Gob nodded, Gob had even stopped rubbing himself. Michael brought forth a cart, rolling it up to the side of the shaking girl. Lifting up two long probes, he smiled at the camera. “These will release a steady flow of electricity through the pig, each hour the rate will increase, and by the third hour the meat will be so relaxed it will almost separate from the bone. Now watch.”

Lifting under her belly, propping her vagina up before the camera, he forced the first probe into her quivering sex. She moaned as the violation deepened within her. Michael smiled when he felt resistance, “Whaddya know folks, a virgin.” He pushed harder as the girl wept, pulling it back to show a small trace of blood on the shaft, then forcing it in until all that can be seen was its trail of wires. She was breathing heavily, moaning a chant as he opened her buttocks and inserted the next probe. He laughed as the girl made a silly “gacking” noise. “Showtime!” He flicked a switch on the device and it began to hum as the girl’s weeping became louder. “Let’s leave these two alone,” he joked.

Ron jumped up, “Shit! Our shift!!! Hit the recorder we’ll watch the rest later!” Gob zipped his fly, pushed the button and they were off into the night.

Amanda had heard the stories of man’s world, knew what a horrible fate had awaited the girls that disappeared, but they always seemed like stories. Lying on the wooden table a “thrum” coursing through her body, she heard her teeth rattling, felt herself becoming… a piece of meat. She knew she should fear the fires the most, but Amanda mourned for what she’d lost, first. She’d never had a First Night! Oh Mother, he’d taken her before any lover could, and how? With some horrible machine, cold evil metal making her whole being shake, not sweetly, no pleasure songs, no First Night kisses… nothing warm. He had taken her so callously, her virginity simply overlooked, her body nothing more than sustenance. She lay there and tried to will herself back to the woods.

“Sssing me to the fire warm, K-kiss me soft and love me long I—YI!!--welcome you with open arms Please—Oh god it hurts!— Please cherish this, my innocence.”

Marta entered the bedroom, looking around for Jeannie who was sleeping under the table again. She lightly petted the sleeping girl, “Jeannie?” Jeannie’s eyes popped open, like prey she knew the touch of the hunter well, but she was trapped, all she could do was try to find the Marta she had once known, “Good morning Marta.” Marta pulled hard on the leash, Jeannie could not respond fast enough as she awkwardly slid toward her mistress.

Marta eyed her little pet, playing with her mouth, “Did you have fun last night? You’re such a fun toy to play with Jeannie, I will miss you.”

Marta squeezed Jeannie’s lower lip tight, watching the girl wince. “I don’t want to leave you Marta,” Jeannie cried.

Marta chuckled, “Aw Jeannie, we always knew…”

Michael motioned for the camera to follow him to the master suite. There was Marta, clothed in gauzy stuff that only accentuated her luxurious curves. Jeannie knelt at her feet, eyes downcast, a thick iron collar attached to a steel leash. Marta sank to her knees in front of Michael and tugged her pet into position.

Michael turned to the camera and made a show of bringing Marta to her feet, smoothing back her hair, kissing her lips. He tilted up her chin and turned her into the bright lights. “This one’s the Mistress of the House,” he said. Marta could hear the capital letters as he spoke and she flushed with pride. Michael nodded as Trevor raised his eyebrows, asking permission, then fondled her breasts. Marta stood impassive, head high, ignoring the girl at her feet. Her nipples swelled almost as much as her heart. She felt she’d die of happiness in this moment.

“Marta, take our piglet to the car. We have a delivery to make.” Marta nodded and smiled, and the camera lovingly caught every movement of her backside as she left the room, the little dark haired girl scurrying along on all fours, scrambling to keep up.

When they had left, Michael turned to Trevor and said, “That piglet’s headed for the Palace. Want to come?”

Trevor gushed, “Michael you’ve already given us so much!”

Down in the car, Marta petted Jeannie’s head but would not allow her to sit. “You kneel ‘til your Master tells you otherwise, piglet!”

Jeannie nuzzled her face against Marta’s knee. She looked up at the blond, pleading with soft hurt eyes. “Marta, it’s me, your Jeannie. When are you going to tell him you’re tired of this game? I am so scared. He’s going to cook me for real pretty soon!”

Marta watched the door for the TV crew. “Naw! Don’t you know where we’re going? Silly gopher girl!”

Jeannie clutched at Marta’s legs, wrapped her arms around them in a panic. “Where?”

Marta smiled, and goosebumps raised on Jeannie’s skin. “We’re going to the Palace! You’re not cooking, sweet thing. You get to be a whore.”

Jeannie held tight to Marta’s legs and begged, sobbed, pleaded, but the blond would not be moved. Marta sat with Jeannie in the back seat, forcing her arms apart and into place behind her back when Michael reached the car. Carl and Trevor sandwiched Jeannie in the back, while Marta took the place of honor in front.

“Quick tour of the Palace, then we’re joining my posse for dinner.” Michael nodded to Trevor. “Club Chablis. They only serve blond, ya know.” As they drove Michael stroked Marta’s hair, then gripping it tight, he pulled her down to his crotch. Trevor and Carl could not help admire how eagerly the girl went to work. Trevor looked to the side at Jeannie, her arms beginning to sag. He reached over and touched her pearl white skin, admiring its softness, her nipples hardening in response to his touch. Running his fingers down her soft ribs, pushing her legs apart, he began to play with her sex, enjoying the embarrassment in her face. She had a proud mouth, he would have to come visit her once she was installed, the proud ones were always the best. Almost simultaneously Michael came and the little black haired girl gave up her juice, it was so cute to watch as she bit her lip and tried to fight her pleasure. There was still a spirit to break in her, yes he would have to visit her soon while it was still intact.

The palace was awash in bright, striking, neon colors. When it was named, “The Palace,” some had remarked the name was an understatement. It was where a tired man could find the strength he needed to keep going, and Georgy Bruno was its heart and soul. Georgy’s father, and his grandfather had both been master of ceremonies at The Palace, and if the Council so blessed him, later this year they would clone him a son.

Georgy liked to dress the role, a white velvet tuxedo was his calling card. Yet it could not mask his balding head, and his excessive acne. For that he never let himself be seen without his makeup on, and his hairpiece. The hair was taken from one of his favorite whores, Darlene, his stomach grumbled as if it too was remembering her. One last look in the mirror, everything looked perfect, looking up to say goodbye to the girl suspended above his bed, very malleable: not done with her yet, and off to meet and greet tonight’s visitors.

Walking the plush red hallway that led to his private bedroom, be paused and braced himself for what awaited him behind the giant oak door. Opening it with the panache reminiscent of a grand Dam’s entrance, he entered the lounge. As always very busy, he smiled and waved at the gentlemen, eyeing the bar, the bartenders pouring drinks, beer taps coming from the vaginas of Lucite women, most of which he remembered, their beauty never forgotten. His assistant Abner came into view, looking concerned. “Mr. Bruno! The gate just called, Michael Boardman is here, with a camera crew!”

Georgy smiled at him. “Remember our motto, Abner, ‘Always something different at The Palace!’ Come, let’s see what tonight has in store for us.”

“She is a tiny thing, but some of our men prefer the small, resilient type. Of course she is from the stable of Michael Boardman, we know she is quality!” Georgy exclaimed more for the camera than for Michael. He took control of Jeannie’s leash and smacked her ass for the camera, “Abner, give this one to Charles. Now Michael, will you be staying or should I just credit your account?”

“Credit me Georgy, we’ve got a reservation and I think these boys are hungry.” Trevor and Benny just nodded in agreement.

“Or course. Have a wonderful night, and don’t be a stranger.” With that he watched Michael’s party leave.

“You called, boss?”

“Charles, call me Mr. Bruno.”

“Sorry Boss.”

“This one is for you. Oh, look—it’s the Mayor’s son!” and with that Georgy and Abner shuffled off.

Jeannie stood on the middle of the room, noticing the tools that hung from the wall. The large man removed her collar, “My name is Charles. Tell me yours.”

“Jeannie,” she whispered. She was overwhelmed, almost ready to faint. Michael’s house had been the biggest place she’d ever seen, but this building, this Palace? They’d been walking for so long, and still she could not see the end of it, not see the windows, the kitchen, the way out. And everywhere was sweet perfume and thousands of people, more than she had imagined in the whole world. What was this place? Jeannie shook, but her fear had nearly transformed into fascination. Everyone was so beautiful here. Everyone smiled, and no one had kicked her.

“You are my girl, Jeannie. I will take care of you, anything you need I will get you.” He paused, evaluating her, “I like my girls Jeannie, I take good care of them. If you make me angry, I won’t like you. You will do whatever the client wants, if you question them or refuse I will beat you. If you are good, I will take care of you. This is the only time I tell you this, O.k. Jeannie.”

“Yes.” Her heart fell, and she wrapped her arms around herself and clutched at her elbows.

“Good girl. Now follow me, I’ll give you the tour and then get you ready.” Charles began to walk away, if Jeannie hesitated he didn’t notice, she followed him from behind, staying just a step back. Through all sorts of winding hallways and doorways they traveled, their first stop was a room with a sign that simply said, “Punishment.” Charles turned to her, “I just want you to observe as we walk through, I don’t have time to explain everything, but just know this, this is where the bad girls go.”

The room was adorned with women being tortured, a festival of misery. Jeannie wanted to turn away but she feared what Charles would think. At times she came almost to a stop watching some poor girl being filleted alive, or being slathered in sauce before being fed to wild animals, while men watched and cheered on their impending deaths. She was noticeably shaking when they exited the room, the next room however would be a stark contrast: the bath house.

Here was a bright lit room awash in the sound of running water. Charles took her to his section and began to run a bath. She watched as he tested the temperature, then added a myriad of oils to the water, he motioned to her, “Here, sit next to me Jeannie.” He began to brush back her hair. “I’m going to make you feel pretty again. You want to feel good again, don’t you?”

Suddenly Jeannie’s eyes welled up, and before she could think, tears were streaming down her eyes and she was shaking. Charles held her close, “I know. Let it all out dear, Charles is here now.” When she had calmed down, Charles helped her into the bath. The water so warm, its aroma so intoxicating, Charles told her to hold her breath and close her eyes as he lowered her completely into the womb of warm water and brought her up gently. He wiped her eyes with a soft towel; she opened them and sat quietly as he gently cleaned every part of her. Holding her feet up, he tickled her and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she laughed. She was so relaxed with him, she barely noticed him cleaning her sex, except that it was a bit raw. Charles noticed her wince, “I’ll take care of that, Jeannie. Have you been entered from behind also Jeannie? No? Good, I know someone who will make it easy for you.”

Everything Charles said seemed so… loving. Even the tone of his voice was like a blanket, and it warmed her soul. When they were done he dried her with soft warm towels, gently pried her legs and placed a balm inside her hurting sex, “This will help it not hurt.” He sat her on a small stool in front of a mirror and applied some makeup, “There see how beautiful you are, Jeannie?” She almost didn’t recognize the girl looking back at her.

Charles took her to another room filled with tiny little rooms, he opened a door. “This is your bedroom. When you are done working I will come get you, clean you up and bring you here. All the other girls are working now, so you’ll meet them later.” Jeannie felt exuberant, she couldn’t wait. “It’s your first night so we’re gonna stick to oral; come Jeannie, let’s go to work.” With that Jeannie knew that even heaven had a price to pay.

Club Chablis welcomed one of their favorite customers, Michael Boardman, with a flourish. Escorting him and his girl to his favorite table; a group of three friends awaited them. They hugged and shook hands while Michael did the intros, each one taking in the voluptuous blonde that Michael had brought. They each took turns stealing brief touches and squeezes, while Marta basked in the limelight. When the waiter came to the table, Michael signaled Carl to turn the camera on.

“Would you care to see tonight’s choice cows, Mr. Boardman?” the waiter inquired. He placed his arm around Marta, caressing her upper arm, “I peeked as we came in, and I have to say a delicious assortment as usual. However, and I think you guys will agree, there is nothing as sweet and prime as my Marta.”

They all chimed in and Marta’s smile for the first time in a long time, slipped. “Stand up Marta. Now turn around, bend over, good girl. Boys, that is a healthy rump. Plenty to go around, am I right?” The other men applauded and began to chant her name. The waiter grabbed her arm and began to lead her away, in the confusion she heard Michael call her. With relief she watched him approach. He kissed her long and hard, then he whispered in her ear, “See you soon.”

But I’m the Mistress of the House, Marta reminded herself, he elevated me above all others! As they placed the hose in her rectum and the cold water enlarged her belly, she remembered what he’d said. I am better than them, he’d told me! Even the sound of her bowels being emptied, even the horrible stench did not change her mind. As the brushes scrubbed her skin Marta stared straight ahead, conjuring up an image of the girls in the stable, and how they prepared her for today. She remembered smacking the silly girl who had smudged her lipstick—Marta smiled; that had felt so good.

As they rubbed the marinade into her skin, Marta’s sleek composure finally crumbled for a moment. “It’s like Jeannie, she remembered. Jeannie was so good at massage, she was so good at soothing me.” But then she stiffened her back and muttered, “As she should be, the piglet needs to be good at something!”

As they tightened her hair in a bun behind her head and covered it in foil she wondered about that little pig. How she was adapting to her new life as a whore? Marta barely noticed the tube inserted in her ass filling her up with flavored stuffing, and as they lifted her up and placed her into a pan she remembered how much Michael was relying on her to please his friends and how he had said she was the best. “I’m the best, I am best, I am—”

Sliding into the heat with an apple wedged into her sweet mouth she felt the heat, it surrounded her, and inside the oven she could see other girls in different states of cooking. But the heat made her eyes blurry, and the tears pouring out from were just a plain nuisance. How could she compare herself to these lesser roasters if she couldn’t even see them? She began to hum and rock, anything to drown out where she was. She wasn’t . He couldn’t ! Could he? The scent of roasting girlflesh surrounded her, and Marta began to feel a choking sob rise from her deepest core.

There was a buzz in the Club Chablis tonight, Michael was annoyed that it was taking his guests’ attention away from him. So he asked the waiter, and just then Trevor’s phone went off and Michael was getting downright agitated. The two spoke almost in unison, “We got lovebirds!”

Lovebirds on the Lam! God, remember that phrase, that was perfect for the teaser! Trevor shouted directions into the phone, they had to get on this, stat! Lovebirds, holy shit, this could take him to the BIG time, even guarantee (dare he think it?) a Half-year Wife?

Jeremiah stared at the TV screen, the veins in his neck bulging, his face a deep dark red. He had broken the glass he held in his hand, and didn’t even acknowledge the blood running down his fist. Slowly he stood up, lifting his chair and hurling it towards the television. His voice would echo through the entire complex as one word summed up all the rage he now could no longer contain, “NOODLEMAN!!!”

Michael was always thinking, “Trevor, Carl? What do you say we catch these two lovebirds live on TV?” They both smiled big and broad. They were slightly unnerved as Michael jumped up and ran to the kitchen. Grabbing a towel as he ran past the kitchen help, he grabbed a chef, “The blonde for Boardman’s table, where is she?” “Sir she has just gone in…” “Where?!”

Marta felt the cold air hit her hard. Through the blur she saw Michael, he had rescued her, he couldn’t live without her! She knew it! She felt his hands on her body, so delicately soothing. Oh, her Master taught such hard lessons! But oh, she was now even more deserving. A trial by fire, and then he rescued his one true love. Marta had really known it all along, she nodded, swooning, smiling around the steaming apple in her mouth.

Her skin was hot to the touch, a little scorched, but nothing a little lotion won’t help, Michael thought. If his plan was going to work he was going to need her, although damn, she did smell good!

“Hey Gob, we got two lovebirds on the run!”

“So what Ron? Out of our area of expertise,” Gob laughed back, he knew Ron dreamt about being a Hunter.

“So?! So we are going to change our area of expertise.”

Herbert could see the trees getting closer. He could smell the change in the air, and Cyndi could too. He noticed as they got closer she became more determined. As the gravel and asphalt changed to grass and twigs Cyndi tossed off her hat, letting her hair flow wild in the wind once more. It was freedom they both felt, invigorating, uplifting, life-affirming freedom. They ran past the trees, deep into the forest until they collapsed into the soft undergrowth. They kissed and held each other tight. They smiled at each other and knew their problems were in the past, and the future and all its promise awaited them. Cyndi laughed into Herbert’s chest and kissed his nose; she felt so light.

Back in Michael’s lab, soft moans mixed with an insistent thrumming buzz. The surge had become stronger and Amanda wondered if it would ever end. Her teeth were bleeding and her memories were of little comfort now. But still she tried to hang on, ride the pain, sing the soothing song. Until this morning, sweet songs were all she’d ever known. Outside the sun went down, but no one came. Amanda lay shuddering on the cart, forgotten for a wilder hunt. She wept. She didn’t want to die alone.