Checkout

Checkout - © Spitman September / October 2002

Chapter 1

Beth kicked her high-heeled shoes under the table and lifted the spare Melon Breezer that waited invitingly.

'Cheers girls! God, I was ready to get out of those,' she managed to say between gulps.

A pleasant warmth began to pervade her body in spite of the drink's deliciously icy temperature. Even better, she felt like a compact, neat parcel in her tight-fitting, perfectly tailored leather catsuit. She loved its comforting, powerful but clingy feel, especially the way it imprisoned her breasts. She felt so secure in it. It was as if nothing outside could touch her. People could look all they wanted, but she was safe inside. Sometimes she naughtily, secretly inserted a dildo. It felt incredible while she walked. The first and last time she had tried a staircase like that, she had begun to climax, and almost fell over an utterly mystified man in the process.

'Hi Beth,' the others chorused as they sipped at their own alcopops.

Dolly's Bar was usually heaving on Friday Night, and this was no exception. Sue must have escaped early to get the table, Beth thought as her eyes flicked over her companions. Jenny's breasts were struggling to stay within their scanty covering, as usual. She was always an attention-getter. She had nice shapely breasts though - not excessive, just firm, with the kind of 'in your face' curvature that could not quite be conveyed by a photograph, or even a painting. What made her stand out in a crowd though, was the way she managed to get into bras that were little more than strips of cloth, and looked at least two sizes too small to keep them in. Men ogled her for hours, as if expecting those fantastic globes to pop out at any moment. And her hot pants might as well have been painted on, pulling so tightly into the crotch that she could barely sit down in them. With startling makeup and spiky black hair, she made a perfect vamp.

Sue could hardly have looked more different. Amusing though, Beth decided. Sue was fair haired, and her knee length dress was so sheer that if she took it off it would probably take forever to float to the ground. At least, it was knee length at the front. At the back, it tended to float up and expose generous glimpses of her delightful bottom, with one of those fashionable imitation meat brands she liked to wear. 'You should be so lucky' and 'Hartlepool Prime' were her favourites. Men looked with sinful fascination at the elusive revelation of her breasts moving underneath their filmy covering, a varnished nipple occasionally tenting the fabric. She loved to tantalise men by turning between them and the light, revealing even the shadowy crevice of her smoothly shaved sex. She made a picture that would have justified a preservation order, had she been some artificial creation.

Hi girls,' Beth responded. She was feeling more relaxed already. 'Let's see what you've got,' she demanded with a grin.

Jenny stood up and turned, much to the delight of the men. Beth laughed. Her brand read 'Top Quality Bottom'. Beth turned to display her own imitation brand, displayed through a large cutout in her catsuit. It said simply 'Fresh'. Then it was Sue's turn, causing gasps from nearby groups of men as her dress floated up to her waist. Cheekily she waited a few seconds before she pulled it down again. Beth doubted if anyone had noticed her brand as she turned, all eyes on her casually revealed, smoothly shaved and prettily neat slit, but Beth laughed. The brand said 'Ready for Market'. She supposed Sue thought that meant the marriage market, but it was also nicely ambiguous. Occasionally she had seen a girl with a real brand. Those just made you juice at the sight of them. You could always tell by the way they were burned in.

Beth had always wondered what it must feel like to be regarded as little more than a living, walking piece of meat, but somehow animal livestock on farms in Great Britain had escaped the depradations of the disease that had ravaged stock in America and spread to the continent of Europe, leaving governments little choice but to follow America's lead and breed human stock, all female of course. As usual, Holland had been the first to pass the necessary legislation, adding a new dimension to its already thriving sex industry. Being outside the affected area, tough new agricultural controls at all its customs barriers had enabled Britain to survive the epidemic unscathed, but the world outside had changed forever. Being forced to opt out of Federal Europe for obvious reasons, Britain had also found itself obliged to separate from Ireland.

Beth grinned. The best part was the way it had all affected British fashion and culture. Girls were not eaten in Britain, certainly not publicly or in the home, but they loved to imitate the fashions elsewhere. Imitation brands were a part of it, as were fashions that encouraged the close visual inspection of edible parts of the female anatomy, all of which were a lot of fun for the girls, as well as being as great a turnon for the men as for the girls themselves. Even if girls were not officially on the menu in Britain, you did hear things. As ever, the privileged could do pretty well what they wanted. There were rumours of breeding farms in Wales, and expensive clubs where rich gourmets could indulge in kinds of meat that were not strictly legal in Britain, and tasted suspiciously like pork.

'Well girls, what's on the menu?' Beth demanded with a smile.

'How about, the three of us?' Sue suggested cheekily. They all laughed.

'Well, Jenny,what have you got for us?'

It was Jenny's turn to organise their holiday. Every year they did something different for a week or so in late July, and they took turns to arrange it.

'Surprise, girls!'

'Come on, Jenny! Tell us,' Sue demanded.

'All I'm telling you is that we are going on a tour.'

'But where,' Beth insisted.

'I'm not telling you,' Jenny answered with a cheeky grin

Beth and Sue looked at one another. She was asking for it. A moment later the unfortunate Jenny was gasping as they tickled her mercilessly, much to the amusement of the other customers of the bar.

'We're not going to stop until you tell us,' Beth told her.

'All right, I give up,' Jenny blurted between gasps.

'Well?' Beth demanded, keeping her fingers where she could start again in a moment.

'It's Amsterdam,' she told them.

'Amsterdam? But that's crazy,' Sue protested. 'They eat girls over there!'

'Of course they do, Sue. I know that. They do it pretty well everywhere except here. But this is a tour. We can get to actually see those barbecues and stuff. Everybody says it's a fantastic turnon to actually see it right up close. Anyway, I've organised the whole thing. It's too late to change it now. And it was my turn.'

Sue was right, Beth thought. Jenny was crazy. But they all knew that anyway. It was part of the fun to do whatever this year's organiser came up with. And Jenny was right too. Beth had often dreamed of seeing that stuff up close, but she would never have dared to suggest something like this. It was better to do it this way, when you couldn't really get out of it. It was a delicious feeling.

'It's all right,' Jenny continued. 'Lots of girls go there on holiday. All we have to be careful about is the hygiene inspection when we go over there, but it's quite easy really. All we have do do is eat this diet stuff for a few days before we go over. It's like those diet milk shakes. It's silly, but we have to comply with their food hygiene regulations. There's a blood test too, when we pick up the food packs at the Federation Embassy. But that's it.'

Beth shivered with excitement. It sounded as if they were going to be treated like real meatgirls. It was utterly mad. Jenny had really done it this time.

'But what will happen if I fail,' Sue demanded.

'All that happens is that you lose three days or so of your holiday in quarantine, and join the others later,' Jenny answered. "As long as you eat that diet stuff and nothing else, they say you can't fail. Apart from the blood test, of course. If anyone fails that we can cancel the whole thing, as we're booked as a group.'

'Oh,' Sue answered, a jumble of erotic images filling her mind. 'I see.'

Before she could finish, Jenny continued brightly. 'Don't think about it too much, Sue. You'll be with us. It will be terrific fun!'

'As always,' Beth added with a grin. Jenny was right. It was going to be wild, damnably irresistible fun, and there was no way she was going to miss it. She looked around at the smart young men drinking Bud Ice, with absolutely no idea what Beth, Sue and Jenny were planning. She wondered how many of them had actually been to one of those barbecues, and tasted girlmeat. They said it was almost cheaper than eating beef in London, including the air ticket. All her life she had wanted to see something like that. All she had managed to see was a few pictures on the internet, and that was not quite the same thing.

Sometimes Beth could tell that a man was sizing her up as a meatgirl, his eyes pausing to assess her more succulently edible parts, rather than dwelling on her more obvious female attributes. It was disconcerting to be looked at in that particular way. Images like that were forbidden, at least in Britain, but she saw them in their eyes. Erotic images, of the things they did to meatgirls elsewhere.

Suddenly she had a thought. 'When do we leave?' She asked

'Next Saturday morning. I've booked us in at the Embassy at eleven tomorrow morning for the formalities, so we can meet up Harrods at ten for a coffee. It's right next door.I'll pick up the visas on Wednesday, if everything goes OK.'

'Great,' Sue answered. 'I'll be there.'

'Me too,' Beth followed.

After a few more drinks Sue caught a man's eye, and he brought his companion over to the table. He was obviously very taken with Jenny, and suddenly Beth felt superfluous. She made her excuses and left to spend an evening at home. Maybe there would be something decent to watch on TV, she thought.

As agreed, they met at Harrods in the morning and walked over to the Dutch embassy together. It was a fine warm day and they wore only tee shirts and short skirts, with nothing underneath. Being inspected was sure to involve undressing at some stage. There was a long queue at the embassy. Half the girls in London seemed to be lining up for visas.

Finally they arrived at a long counter where a series of officials gave them forms to sign, with their details already completed. It came as no surprise when Beth was asked to sign a complicated looking legal document. What surprised her was that it was called an Export Permit, officially drawn up by the CRMPA.

- - - - -

The previous evening, Beth had watched a fascinating documentary programme on the California Real Meat Processing Authority, usually abbreviated to the CRMPA, which ran a lot of the girlmeat processing plants in the USA and Europe, some of them using ingenious technology to attract volunteers. Knowing that she was booked on a trip to Amsterdam, Beth was even more curious to see what went on. It was fascinating to watch girls actually being processed on camera. Some of the meatgirls were slaughtered just like cattle, the technicians using bolt guns or slitting their throats, while they hung by their ankles from an overhead conveyor. What Beth found so shocking was not the method. It was that those were not cattle, they were real live people, girls looking very much like Beth herself. She shuddered at the thought of being so casually killed.

Some of the girls were volunteers, some farm bred for meat, and others sold to the processing plant for cash. It was extraordinary to listen to a pretty, naked girl called Vera cheerfully telling the interviewer that meat was all she had ever wanted to be, and admitting that she had always hoped to become a spitroast. Beth had watched in fascination as Vera meekly knelt over what the interviewer described as one of the new generation, smart spitting machines, called a Jessica Interactive Model 3. As he explained, it was completely automated, and programmed to give the girl maximum pleasure during the process. Beth squirmed as the commentator told them that girlmeat was particularly succulent when it was prepared this way.

Beth watched fascinated as Vera pressed her limbs into position. Automatic clamps locked over her wrists and forearms, clamped her neck down and a pad lifted her chin. An array of neural sensors lowered over her head. Beth's eyes widened as the spitting mechanism rotated a giant spit into position, and up to the perfect height between Vera's legs, ready and in perfect alignment with her cunt, which was already glistening with her juices.

Beth squirmed, her own slit juicing rapidly as she watched that incredible sight. There was no doubt about it, the girl who had been smiling so cheerfully in theat interview moments before was going to be spitted, right in front of the camera. Beth's hand went down and pressed hard between her legs, but that only made it worse. She stripped the catsuit off and then her fingers were able to caress the slippery folds of her sex, seeking the source of her pleasure.

As she watched, a tiny arm rose up over Vera's smoothly shaved mound to the little disc that hung from a thick golden ring that pierced her pussy lip. Snipped free, the ring and disc dropped into a receptacle under the machine. This was getting serious. The arm retracted, and then, from between her legs on either side of her slit, the camera closed in to show long flexible feelers slipping into the folds of Vera's slit, vibrating gently. She could hear the girl gasping as the feelers aroused her clitoris, helpless to resist the stimulation. The commentator explained that the neural sensors on her head fed back her pleasure response to the controller, which adjusted the stimulation to increase her response.

Vera bucked as hot sweet pleasure gripped her tender clitoris, mild electrical currents adding to the effect of those damnably efficient feelers, the controller increasing her level of pleasure until she exploded in a violent orgasm, then again and again until her writhing, bucking, screaming excitement reached its peak. The awesome sharp point of the spit moved slowly into her glistening, pulsing vulva. It entered her easily, and Beth watched fascinated as the girl's plump lips parted and her vulva stretched around the thick steel shaft that slid smoothly, relentlessly forward into her body.

The cameras switched to show her breasts from underneath. They hung down into depressions in the machine. She was absolutely superb, but then Beth saw needles advancing up towards her nipples, guided, the commentator said, by infra-red sensors. The needles penetrated deep, and plungers moved to fill her breasts. The commentator said that the special blend of edible oils, herbs and semi-polymerised sugars would keep her breasts firm while she roasted.

By this time the Vera's wriggling was somewhat dampened. The deeper the spit penetrated, the more its rigidity immobilised her, but obviously the intensity of her orgasms was undiminished, even enhanced by the steady progress of the spit through the clinging, sensitive, silky tunnel of her cunt. It was amazing, according to the commentator, that millions of women used EZ-Glide™ daily to lubricate their cunts, just to enhance the sensation of being spitted. He also described its other advantages.

As the programme revealed, the average yield of fillet had more than doubled since EZ-Glide™ was introduced. It contained a special skin-absorbing catalytic steroid. Over time it built a girl's vulva muscles into a solid mass of firm, delicious meat. Beth gasped when the commentator referred to EZ-Glide™ as one of the best veterinary products on the market. Veterinary indeed! The idea was utterly shocking, but it brought home to Beth that girlmeat production must be a very big business indeed. It must be a lot like cattle farming, from that point of view. Increasing the yield of the more expensive cuts sounded like the kind of thing a cattle farmer would think of.

As Beth returned her attention to the screen, the spit emerged smoothly from Vera's open mouth. Suddenly her screams were silenced. She was a helpless, wriggling girl, beautifully impaled on that giant barbecue spit. After her arms were banded tight to her body, and her legs to the shaft, a chain drive moved her up to an overhead conveyor that took her quickly, smoothly away. By the time the camera focused back on that extraordinary Jessica machine, another smiling girl was already neatly clamped into position. The plant must have had quite a throughput, Beth realised as the camera moved back to show the other machines in a row, side by side. There were at least ten of them working as fast as they possibly could. At least a girl didn't have to wait long for her turn, Beth told herself ruefully, as another girl's wriggling spitted body rose up to follow Vera. There were so many of those girls, and they were processed so fast, that there was little point in knowing their names, Beth realised.

Over the roasting pit Vera was an incredibly erotic sight, probably the most erotic thing Beth had ever seen. The most distracting thing though, was the way chefs bustled about, basting the spitted girls as they cooked. Suddenly Beth understood. To them, a spitroast was simply meat to be prepared for the table. What it might have been before it was spitted was irrelevant. Even if it was a particularly appealing, succulent kind of meat, that was all it was. Girls were just a natural resource to be farmed, bought, sold and consumed. That realisation was even more shocking than seeing them slaughtered like cattle.

In the final part of the programme they showed production lines elsewhere in the plant, with other specially designed mechanisms. Guillotines were popular, and there were other devices with sawteeth and wicked blades, and purposes impossible to imagine without seeing them in operation, and that seemed to go beyond the permissible limits for live broadcasting. One thing was certain; the comfort of a girl was the last thing anybody was concerned with, in a typical CRMPA plant. They only cared about getting the meat packaged ready for cooking as quickly as possible. Their efficiency was simply awesome. Beth's heart thudded at the thought of it.

By the time the programme finished Beth needed a bath, and not just to calm her trembling nerves. She had climaxed twice and her pussy hair was matted with her juices. Her mind was full of images of endless lines of girls eagerly going forward to be slaughtered and then butchered, and those packages of meat looking so tempting, so much like any other kind of meat.

As Beth relaxed in her bath, images of Vera would not leave her mind; Vera cheerful in that interview, Vera overwhelmed by pleasure as that awful machine ran the spit through her body, and the erotic image of Vera roasting over the barbecue pit. Would she look as good in Vera's place, Beth wondered?

She didn't dare to admit the answer even to herself, but it kept jumping back into her mind. Actually she would look pretty good on one of those giant spits. She shivered. This was not a game. Taking another girl's place could only happen in a fantasy. Stark CRMPA reality was one girl following another, a succession of girls, thousands, millions following millions to be butchered, spitroasted or whatever, all reduced to tasty, nutritious meat. All those millions of girls in America and Europe just accepted that as the normal way. Thank God Britain was an island, she decided. At least here girls could have normal relationships, enjoy sex, get married and even see their grandchildren. Over there, the most any of them could look forward to, was how and when they were going to become somebody else's dinner.

- - - - -

She looked at the CRMPA form, trying to work out what she was agreeing to. If she knew the CRMPA, they wanted her ass!

'Excuse me,' she asked the official in an innocent tone, 'What's this for?'

'It's a disclaimer,' he answered cheerfully. 'Your country doesn't allow anyone to export females for the purpose of human consumption in another country, but if you agree to waive your rights under British law, you can go wherever you like.'

'Let me get this straight,' Beth demanded. 'This is to legalise my export for the purpose of human consumption? But I don't want to be consumed. I just want to go on holiday.'

'My dear young lady, that is precisely the point. You want to travel to a country where eating girls of your age is perfectly legal, from a country where it is not. We don't ask why you want to go, or what you want to do, but as it is legal for you to enter the foodchain, we have to make sure that you meet the quality standards. Don't worry though. I'm sure you'll pass.'

'But I have no intention of entering the foodchain, as you put it. I have to be back to work next week.' Beth suddenly realised how weak an argument this was, but she decided to have one more try anyway. 'We're just going to have some fun and enjoy the atmosphere,' she argued.

'I'm sure you are, Miss.' He continued cheerfully. 'But you see, a lot of girls who travel to Holland enjoy the idea so much that they finish up wanting to try it for themselves. It's not our business what you do on your holiday. You are free to do absolutely anything you like, but people over there will see you as meat, and if I may say so, you would make a perfect spitroast! If you want to offer yourself, nobody will stop you. Your ID will be valid for processing anywhere in Holland. There are exciting games most girls can't resist trying at least once, with the risk that one of them might get roasted, or harvested in sme other way. I've seen girls go back again and again until their own turn came. Most girls love the buzz it gives them. That's why we get so many female visitors. But you can still decide to spend your time on the canals, or even on the beach.'

Beth felt reassured. There were obviously risks, but at least he had warned her about getting involved in risky games. After that CRMPA documentary she knew exactly how they would see her. It sounded even more exciting than she had imagined. It was understandable that girls were tempted to take risks like that. A buzz, he had called it. He was right there, she thought. Still, it was going to be exciting enough seeing what was going on. Beth couldn't wait to see a real live spitroasting up close. It must be awesome. But if he thought she was going to finish up on a spit like that, he was seriously mistaken!

There was another thing though. 'But if we decide to be careful and avoid those risky games, why do we need this special diet, and the blood tests and stuff?'

'For the same reason, Miss. We can't allow substandard meat to enter the country, and whether you see it that way or not, in Holland you will be legally meat. Even if you are not designated for consumption, we must insist that you have a proper export permit, and meet our quality standards.' He smiled. 'Some girls see it as part of the fun, and I'm told the diet is very pleasant.'

That was encouraging, but something he had said bothered her astute mind.

'Designated?' Beth insisted, knowing that she might be pushing him a little too far. 'What do you mean, designated?'

'If you were bred in Holland, you would automatically be designated as suitable for harvesting at your age, or you would go into breeding stock. A female visitor is only designated for harvesting if she commits a serious breach of the law, or volunteers,' he told her.

'I see,' Beth replied as she filled in the form. 'And why do I have to put the date when my next period is due,' she asked.

'Let me see, I make that eighteen days away. That's fine. We don't allow girls on a tour within twelve days of their next period.'

'But why?'

'We want to be sure that you can enjoy your visit to Amsterdam with nothing to cause inconvenience or discomfort,' he told her. 'And especially, we don't want anyone to hold up the tour when everybody else wants to have fun.'

'I see.'

He had made his point, Beth decided. She finished completing the form with her next of kin and address details, signed it quickly and handed it back. He fed the form into a slot, and a moment later a card popped out.

'Give that to the nurse,' he told her.

The others were laughing as they waited for her. They had both completed the form and signed it, without looking at the details, as usual. Beth often argued over seemingly minor details like that, but the others couldn't see that it was always those very details that jumped up and bit you in the ass! Or in this case, got you spitroasted, and that wasn't funny. Of course, there was a funny side to it. If the others got into trouble it might be due to naivity or ignorance, but Beth could not give that excuse. In her case it would be stupidity, suicidal recklessness, or worse, complicity! And if, as the official had suggested, suicidal recklessness was the most common reason for a girl getting roasted, she was even more at risk than the others! She could see the funny side of that.

'Come on, Beth! Through here!' Jenny called impatiently.

The changing room had rows of benches with numbered boxes for their clothes. Seconds later Beth had kicked off her shoes, stripped off her clothes and joined the other naked girls in line. There were at least thirty girls ahead, and more behind, and they all looked absolutely stunning. Beth wondered if the standard was as high in Holland. If the meatgirls over there were anything like the ones she had seen on the CRMPA programme, beauty was a big part of it, but if yield was so important, that had to be a factor too.

One by one the girls were being ushered into individual treatment rooms along the corridor. Soon enough it was Beth's turn.

She gave the nurse the card. The nurse looked up brightly. 'Be a dear and hop up there,' she said.

It was something like a dentist's chair, as high as a stool, with leg straps and supports that the nurse adjusted to keep her knees bent and her thighs apart.

'I'm just going to shave you, dear,' she said.

The nurse chatted amiably as she shaved Beth's pussy. She had never had it done before. It seemed like a cool thing to do, especially when the nurse applied a gel based depilatory to remove even the stubble.

'You can see how it feels now, Beth!' She suggested.

Beth reached down between her legs. Her slit felt incredibly smooth.

'Wow, that's unbelievable,' she said.

'Now rest your hands there for a moment, Beth!' She ordered. A moment later she had strapped Beth's wrists tightly to the arms of the chair.

Beth wondered what she was going to do next. The nurse reached down with some kind of implement. She felt a sharp pain in her right pussy lip, then felt a weight. She looked down. The nurse was holding a mirror to give a perfect view of her sex. Oh no! It was a ring and disc, connected by short links, exactly like the one Vera was wearing before she was processed in that CRMPA plant.

'There you are, all fixed up. Now you can say you're a genuine meatgirl!'

Beth suddenly felt herself juicing terribly. It was terribly embarrassing, but the nurse just laughed. 'Don't worry, lots of girls do that. I've even had a girl orgasm the moment she saw herself with a meatgirl ring and disc. I think they look great. Don't you, Beth?'

'Er, yes, I suppose they do, but I'm only going on holiday, you know.'

'It doesn't really matter, Beth. Look, I'm wearing one too.' She lifted her skirt to reveal a very similar ring and disc. 'You'll soon get used to it.'

'But doesn't it mean that I can be harvested?' Beth trembled at the thought.

'Of course, and so can I. All the girls have them. It just saves us carrying stuff around when we're naked, and that's pretty often,' the girl said with a laugh. '

That seemed reasonable enough, Beth thought. But there was something . . . .

'How does it work then? Do I have to show it to people wherever I go?'

'Of course not. It's a smart chip thing. They keep track of us with them. It's a great help if you get into any trouble,' the nurse assured her cheerfully. 'They can update the details on your disc remotely, just like sending a text message on a phone.' She paused. 'Now I'm going to take a little of your blood for testing, just to make sure you are clear of nasty bugs.'

Beth braced herself, but she felt little more than a pinprick in her arm. Then the chair extended and the arms raised up and wide apart, stretching her limbs out into a spreadeagled position. The machine mounted on rails set into the ceiling above her looked just like an X-Ray machine.

'What's that,' Beth asked, trembling.

'Don't worry, it's a meat densitometer. It's quite painless. It just measures your muscle tone and computes your yield,' the nurse assured her.

Beth remembered the bit in that programme about cuntlube, or something like that. EZ-Glide™, that's what it was. Girls used it to lubricate their cunts in case they got spitted, but it also increased their yield of pussy meat. She shivered at the thought of being reduced to meat quality and yield, but after all, that was the system. It was shocking to have become so resigned to the idea so quickly.

The machine lowered itself and scanned her body at very close range. After she thought it had finished, she felt a sudden coldness as a slender, round tipped, smooth object pushed deep into her cunt, but just as quickly it retracted.

'I suppose that's measuring the yield of my fillet,' she said, feeling very clever to have remembered.

'Well done, Beth. That's exactly what it was doing. And since you know all about it, you won't be surprised to hear that your fillet is a little underdeveloped by our standards. Of course, most of us use . . . '

'EZ-Glide™,' Beth interrupted.

'Exactly,' the nurse continued. 'They say you can double your yield of fillet over a month or two, but if you apply it twice a day your yield should be up to standard by the time you arrive in Holland. I will give you some to take with you today.'

'That's very kind of you, but as I'm just going on holiday, and I'm not going to be processed, the yield of my fillet can't possibly matter, can it?'

The nurse smiled. 'Perhaps not, from that point of view,' she admitted. 'There is the matter of sex though, It's a lot more fun if your inner muscles are properly developed. Most British girls don't know what they're missing.'

'I see,' Beth pondered. Maybe she had a point. Sex was something the CRMPA documentary hadn't mentioned, but it made a lot of sense. 'Well, perhaps I should try it,' she said nervously.

'I have an applicator here,' the nurse replied with a smile. She took a thick cylinder from a drawer and removed it from its cover. She showed it to Beth. It was like a rather thick dildo, rather long and rounded at one end, with a small turning handle at the other. Grease was oozing from small holes all over it, including the tip.

'You use it like this,' the nurse continued as she pushed it into Beth's exposed vagina. 'First push it in as far as it will go, then turn this handle one complete turn to squirt the lube.' She paused to turn the handle.

Beth felt a sudden tingling inside her cunt. She had never felt anything like it.

'Then you will feel a click as the handle locks. Carry on turning the whole thing for another complete turn to spread the EZ-Glide™ properly. When you take it out, press the handle in to reset it.' She removed the applicator, showing Beth how to reset the handle.

Beth felt a warmth permeating her inner flesh. It was an extraordinary feeling.

'Good, isn't it?' the nurse asked her.'

'Wow, it's amazing,' Beth answered.

'They started using EZ-Glide™ as a lubricant. It does help a girl when she gets spitted. It really does work. The best part is that tingly feeling as the spit runs through you. It's a wild sensation. Nothing else can do that for you. The fillet yield is obviously desirable, but its the sensation that makes it so popular.'

The nurse was making it sound as if Beth was going to be spitted in the next few minutes! There was no point in arguing though. This had gone far beyond that. She could feel the heat as her cunt absorbed the EZ-Glide™. Suddenly dimensions of all this were appearing that she had never expected.

The nurse was busy releasing the cuffs and straps.

'Right, that's it, Beth. Good luck. And you can take this applicator. It will last you a month or so. Use it morning and evening every day, and you'll soon notice the difference. Any time you want more, just ask. They keep a stock in reception. The CRMPA pays for it.' She laughed. 'I suppose they get their money back, one way or another.'

The others were waiting for Beth back at the reception desk.

'Congratulations, young ladies! You've all passed our screening with excellent grades. Now there's only the blood test to wait for. We should have the results by Tuesday, and you can pick up your permits any time after that. Meanwhile, here are three boxes of Fibre-Floss™. Please read the instructions carefully. You should start taking it instead of your regular meals from Wednesday morning. Just be sure you don't consume anything else while you are using the diet, or you might fail the pre-boarding test. Don't drink anything except water with the diet, or you could fail the boarding check.' He smiled. 'I see you ladies came without underwear today. May I suggest you do the same for the flight.'

'Thank you, Sir,' Jenny answered. 'Can I pick up the permits during my lunch hour on Wednesday?'

'Certainly, Miss. We are open from ten until four on weekdays. Just ask at this desk. They should be ready by then.'

'Excuse me, Sir,' Beth asked. 'Can my friends have some of this too?' She held up her box of EZ-Glide™.

'Of course, Miss. Do you know how to use it?'

'Yes, the nurse showed me,' Beth answered.

'Right, that's fine then. You can show your friends what to do.'

'Certainly, Sir.'

'Here you are, Miss,' he added, passing Beth the boxes. 'I expect you will want some carrier bags.' He passed over three neutral looking bags.

'Thank you, Sir,' Beth replied.

'There's just one more thing I should mention,' he said, as they turned to leave.

'Yes?' Jenny answered.

'Our report says that you are all wearing fashion messages. I suggest you clean those off before you travel.'

'Yes, Sir. We will,' Jenny answered.

'What was that extra stuff you got for us,' Sue asked curiously as they left.

'I'll tell you later. Right now I'm ready for another coffee.'

'Me too,' Sue added with a laugh. 'That was fun!'

Laughing was not quite what was on Beth's mind. She would never have guessed a day ago that she would be walking down the street with a box of Fibre-Floss™ and a tube of EZ-Glide™, her pussy shaved smooth, and a meatgirl identity disc dangling from a permanently welded ring through her pussy lip. Worse was the disturbing, knee-weakening feeling that things were suddenly hurtling out of control, and the gentle, but very pleasant tingling deep in her cunt that made it impossible to pretend this was not really happening.

Sitting with a coffee in front of her, Beth felt a peculiar detachment from her surroundings. Around her was the normal everyday world, with ordinary people doing ordinary things. Anyone watching them would see only three attractive girls relaxing at the table. Nobody would know what they were feeling, what was going through their minds. As if they ever did! Beth smiled.

'Jenny, you are absolutely mad,' she said.

'That's the idea,' Jenny answered, 'isn't it? Aren't I supposed to think of some wicked, tasty adventure when it's my turn?'

'I felt like doing something mad,' Sue added.

'Anyway, I think it's going to be wild, lots more exciting than anything we could do here in Britain,' Jenny continued.

'It's more than wild, it's absolutely outrageous,' Sue added, not to be outdone.

'It's certainly that,' Beth answered. 'Do you have any idea what you've got us into?'

Jenny grinned. 'They do put on a good show, don't they!'

'Show? You think all that was just a show?'

'Of course it was. That's why they get so many girls on these tours. By the time they have seen a few girls roasted, most British girls will be so turned on they will do almost anything. It will be better than the scariest roller-coaster. Trust me!'

'It's scary all right,' Beth told her, 'especially now that we're on their books as legal Dutch girlmeat. That's the really scary part.'

'I'm scared too,' Sue interjected, 'but that's what I like about it. It's so exciting.'

'Everything will be fine as long as we're careful.' Jenny said.

Beth laughed. 'When was the last time we were careful, Jenny?'

'True,' Jenny admitted.

'This is the scariest thing we've done by far.' Beth told her.'

'So what do you think, Beth,' Jenny asked seriously. 'Should we just forget the whole thing?'

Beth shivered. 'It's a bit too late for that now, Jenny. We're on their books and they have us monitored. I wouldn't be surprised if there's some clause that lets them extradite us if we don't turn up!'

'Oh!' Jenny answered. 'I didn't think of that.'

'And they did say that if we break any of the rules we can be designated for immediate processing. I don't fancy risking that, either.'

It was Sue's turn to shiver. 'Nor do I. I would never have thought of that, Beth.'

'It's all right, girls. I expect nothing will happen as long as we just turn up and act normally. And Jenny, it's OK. It was a great idea. I would never have dared to sign up for this on my own,' Beth said reassuringly, her heart pounding.

'Neither would I,' Sue said.

'I still think we're all completely mad, but what's new! Let's do it!'

Jenny and Sue quickly agreed, and that was the end of it.

'What's in those extra boxes, Beth?' Sue asked.

Beth laughed. 'It's a kind of lubricant. They call it EZ-Glide™. There's a vaginal applicator with it. You put it in your cunt, and it makes you feel all warm and tingly. It's nice.'

'But what does it do,' Sue asked curiously.

'Well, it's a thing meatgirls use over there, kind of a pre-spitting cunt-lube. That's what some of them call it, anyway. It lubricates your cunt for the spit, so it goes through you more easily, and makes you super-sensitive so the spit feels sensational as it goes through you.'

'I don't want anything going through my cunt,' Sue said, trembling.

'It's not the lubrication part that gives that tingly feeling. There's something in EZ-Glide™ to stimulate muscle growth. It makes your vulva muscles grow much thicker and stronger. When they harvest a girl they call that part the fillet, and guess what, it's the most expensive cut. The more of it you have, the more you are worth. By increasing the yield of fillet they can double their profits.'

'I'm not terribly keen on that,' Jenny told her, 'even if it does feel nice. I really don't fancy having someone cut out my fillet, as you call it. I'm rather attached to my pussy, and I think I'll hang on to it.'

Beth laughed. 'I'd rather hang on to mine too! Still, it does feel nice, and they say sex is terrific with muscles like that.'

'Oooh!' Sue said. Beth could see her trembling. 'I like the sound of that.'

'I suppose it can't do any harm,' Jenny said.

'They say not, but I heard that there's some kind of preservative in it to make the spits last longer. It's edible though, so it doesn't spoil the meat.'

'I don't think I want to know about that,' Jenny told her. 'The idea of being spitted once is bad enough, but the idea of using the same spit again and again - that's just gross.'

'You wouldn't know anything about it being used either before, or after,' Beth argued.

Jenny laughed. 'You have a point there!'

'Anyway,' she continued, 'the spit is worth a lot more than one girl's meat, so they have to use them lots of times.'

'How do you know so much about all this stuff, Beth?'

'I watched this programme on TV about the CRMPA. It was amazing.' Beth answered. 'They interviewed a meatgirl called Vera. She was so cheerful that I could hardly believe she actually wanted to be spitted and roasted, but then they did it, right in front of the cameras and she was definitely enjoying it.'

'Wow!' Jenny said.

'It was while you were out last night, with the guys you picked up in Dolly's.'

'Is that why you asked all those questions about that form,' Jenny asked.

'Yes. I still can't believe the programme was real, but it looked real enough. I don't see how they could have faked any of it, especially that girl being spitted and all those girls I saw roasting,' Beth told them, 'They definitely couldn't have faked those girls having their throats slit and bleeding out. You could see right into the cut when they did it.'

'Oh my God,' Sue said.

'It gave me a very strange feeling to watch them do that to girls who all looked a lot like us.'

'I still can't believe that anything will happen to us on this tour,' Jenny argued.

'Look at it this way,' Beth answered. 'Why would the CRMPA import so much valuable meat without processing any of it? Girlmeat is worth more over there than beef is here. Here they can't touch our meat, and it doesn't belong to anybody. Over there, now that we've signed away our rights, there's nothing much to keep their hands off us. All they have to do is set up those games and wait for the girls to roll up in their hundreds. The British Government can't complain, because we've all signed the waiver, and it's all perfectly legal.'

'I see,' Jenny said thoughtfully. 'I suppose that makes sense. But that means we will have to watch out for things like that.'

'There's still a risk, whatever we do,' Beth answered. 'I think the best thing is to have fun, and not worry too much, but keep an eye out for anything obvious.'

'Yes, you're right,' Sue said eagerly. 'We ought to just have fun. If they want to do stuff to us they can anyway, so we shouldn't worry.'

That seemed to wind up the discussion. They all felt a lot better for it.

Back at the flat, Jenny and Sue couldn't wait to try the EZ-Glide™.

'Jenny, I'll do you first so I can show Sue, then you can watch while I do Sue.'

'OK. I'm ready,' Jenny said. She lay on the floor and lifted her legs wide apart. Will this do?'

Jenny was displaying a fine view of her slit, and the disc, dangling on a couple of golden links from the ring through her pussy lip, looked incredibly erotic.

'That's fine, Jenny. First take the cover off then push it in like this, Sue, as far as it will go. One full turn of the handle, and when you hear the click as it locks, keep on turning like this for another complete turn. How does it feel, Jenny?'

'Oooooh! I can feel the heat, and I see what you mean about tingling. Its simply awesome!'

Beth removed the applicator. 'To reset it for the next time, you just push the handle in until it clicks,' she told them. She replaced the cover. Jenny sat up, visibly trembling. Beth handed her the applicator. 'This is yours, now,' she said.

'Wow! I'm definitely using this every day,' Jenny said happily. 'It's your turn now, Sue, while I watch.'

'Why don't you do it to Sue, Jenny? It's fun,' Beth offered.

'Oh, thanks. I'm a bit distracted, that's all.'

Sue had taken a similar position, her own disc jiggling prettily. Beth could just see the chip embedded in the middle of its flat surface.

Jenny removed the cover from Sue's applicator and pushed it in to her cunt, impressed by how far it went in. Sue took virtually the whole length of it. Jenny followed the procedure, enjoying Sue's reaction. As usual, whatever most girls found exciting, Sue found orgasmic. She was famous for it.

'Oh my God, Jenny! I can feel it! Damn, I'm coming! Ooooooh! I can't help it! Please take it out! It's incredible! Oooooh!'

Beth and Jenny were amused at Sue's convulsions. She was so, so easy.

- - - - -

Going back to work seemed just mundane after all that had happened to Beth, apart for the constant presence of the ring and disc. By Monday she was a bit more used to it, but she was terrified that someone would hear them chink together and get curious. Her colleagues had no idea what she intended to do on her holiday. She told them it was a working holiday, helping friends to decorate a farmhouse. Fortunately nobody bothered to question her further. The ring and disc were a major problem though. Of course in Holland everybody would be used to them, but here it was another matter. Her colleagues would never let her forget if they ever found out.

By lunchtime it got so bad that she was desperate. She went to the loo, and managed to wrap a couple of hair bands around the chain. That seemed to stop it, fortunately. It was a bit awkward sitting down, but it was only for the rest of the week, she told herself.

Wednesday came quickly. By then the girls were getting impatient. The special Fibre-Floss™ diet drinks came in daily packs, in an assortment of flavours. They didn't taste too bad. It was hard at first to remember not to eat anything else.

Beth was the only one who bothered read the information leaflet that came in the Fibre-Floss™ box. Fibre-Floss™ was originally invented as an alternative to removing the girl's guts before cooking. It was a mixture of soluble, residue free nutrients, an indigestible cellulose fibre, and an antibiotic. The nutrients kept you going, the fibre cleaned you out and gave your bowels some bulk to work on, and the antibiotic sterilised your gut. After three days on the Fibre-Floss™ diet, every part of you was completely safe to eat. Apparently there were far less cases of food poisoning than they had when girls were gutted instead.

Beth swallowed, trembling as she read about the procedures for gutting, rather like what they had done to girls in that CRMPA plant, after slitting their throats. It was obvious really. You just slit the girl open from ribcage to pubis, reached in and pulled out yards of it, together with her internal organs. It was a messy, unpleasant business and she couldn't imagine them doing it to a girl while she was still alive, but apparently that had been only too common in the past.

There were some pictures from an illustrated story by an artist called Dolcett, showing an old type of spitting machine called a Jessica 3000. They strapped a girl onto it, moved the spit forward into her cunt and once the spit was through a knife slit her open from underneath. Her guts cascaded down a chute, and then an attendant had to flush her insides with water before it sewed her up.

Beth could imagine the trauma of being treated like that, without anaesthetic. According to the leaflet, the idea that a girl might still be conscious while she was roasted was a myth, propogated mainly to encourage the unfortunate girls to volunteer, in those early days. Of course, once the spit was right through the girl and out of her mouth, she could hardly protest at the pain and discomfort.

The most shocking thing was to discover that the reason for introducing new technology had nothing to do with the awful inhumanity of the process. It was for purely commercial reasons. As the leaflet said, after the girl was processed it hardly mattered if the process had been uncomfortable. The most important thing at the time was the quality of the meat.

Experts had studied the efficiency of the process. It took a full time attendant, a mechanic and a fully equipped workshop to run those Jessica 3000 machines, which were constantly breaking down. This was extremely inefficient, when the maximum throughput was only about 3-4 gph (girls per hour).

The fact that the girl had to wait, half spitted or worse, half gutted, while they fixed the machine, did not seem an issue. A key factor was the complexity of the gutting mechanism. It had far too many moving parts, and couldn't cope with girls of even slightly different sizes and shapes without tricky adjustments. By the time a spit had been used three or four times it became so rough that motors strained and often burned out, and that was even more expensive.

Veterinary research was immediately set up to solve these problems. The first recommendation was to find an alternative to gutting. The result of research was Fibre-Floss™. After successful testing it was widely introduced. Engineers then began to design simpler, more efficient spitting machines that required virtually no maintenance.

Another major cost factor was the spit itself. What was needed was a better design, better materials and an extended life. They tried introducing greases to extend the life of the spit but these were messy and unsightly, and not very effective. What was needed was something that would wipe small amounts of protective material onto the shaft while it was running through the girl. It took a while before someone thought of using the girl's cunt, obvious though it was. The cunt needed to be thoroughly impregnated with the grease before the spit was run, so the girl would have to apply the grease regularly over a period of time. The problem was motivating the girls to apply it regularly. The veterinary team came up with the answer, which was to incorporate something that gave the girl a pleasant sensation. Applying something regularly to the cunt gave someone the idea of trying to increase the yield of fillet by using an additive to stimulate muscle growth. The end result was EZ-Glide™. Girls loved it, and it did everything the engineers and vets had wanted.

Once it became possible to use a spit hundreds of times, a more advanced design was introduced, with a new kind of tip that slipped easily between the internal organs, while piercing only where it encountered a firm obstruction.

With spitting machines becoming more reliable, and throughput increased to as much as 6-7 gph, a greater emphasis was placed on modifying the process to improve meat quality. Sexual stimulation was found to be the most effective method of achieving this, with the added benefit of attracting more girls to be harvested on a voluntary basis. With interactive software, the latest machines could bring any girl to orgasm in under a minute, increasing throughput to 12-15 gph, the intensity of orgasms further improving the tenderness of the meat.

Reading this, Beth found herself juicing again. The last part was a very different story from the very squirmy, old technology stuff at the beginning. They made it seem like a privilege to be spitted, like Vera, on one of those new machines.

The Jessica Interactive Model remained totally inert until it detected the warm contact of a girl's limbs pressing firmly into every one of its clamps. It locked the clamps instantly, with no sound or movement to alert the girl, until it was far too late. She had no time for regrets or second thoughts until it delivered her, a perfect spitroast ready for roasting, helplessly wriggling on her spit. It was so tempting to get onto that gleaming, beautiful machine designed so perfectly to accommodate a girl. Even if she had seen other girls spitted many times before, she could not resist the temptation to feel its cool steel against her body. She might tell herself, as her heart pounded with excitement, that it was just for a moment, to see how it felt. She would move her beautiful bare limbs into place one by one, the machine seemingly harmless, inert. Its smooth embrace would feel so utterly right that rashly she would be tempted to move her last limb just to touch the clamp and a moment later, CLICK, it would be far too late and the chance of escape totally lost. It was insidiously, almost irresistibly enticing to a girl whose thoughts kept straying to the ultimate inevitability of being roasted.

The leaflet went on to conclude that Fibre-Floss™ was probably the single most important development in technology since the Jessica 3000 was invented. The consequent improvements in technology had made spitting the ultimate erotic experience for a girl. She would reach levels of ecstasy that were previously unimaginable, enjoying every kind of sensation while she was transformed into a beautiful, succulent and tender spitroast, while the process itself was both humane and efficient. Financially, the girlmeat production business had never been so healthy.

- - - - -

All this had a certain impact on Beth, who could see the way a girl might feel in that peculiar environment, when she was conditioned from birth to accept her status as girlmeat stock. Those machines were impressively erotic all right. She had not stopped juicing and tingling all the time she had been reading about it.

That leaflet was probably only included in Fibre-Floss™ packs supplied to Britain and other tourist countries outside the girlmeat zone, she decided. They must want to condition the more suggestible girls to be more receptive to the idea, to see it as an erotic experience, and to dismiss the obvious finality of it. Beth was lucky to be able to see through their trickery. She had far too much sense to give in to that kind of temptation, but it had certainly had an impact on her, enough that she couldn't wait to see one of those machines up close, and watch it in action. That would be erotic enough for her, she told herself!

At lunchtime on Wednesday, Jenny went to get the permits from the Embassy.

The official at reception was friendly.

'Good afternoon, Miss. How can I help you?'

'I - we're going on a tour on Saturday and I've come to collect the permits.'

'Fine Miss . . . let me just interrogate your disc . . . this won't take a moment . . . Jenny?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Right.' He pressed more keys and Sue's and Beth's names came up.

'I'm pleased to say that you've all passed the blood tests without problems. We found no infections, and you are all excellent meat stock, from your genetic profiles. I can update your discs straight away.'

He pressed more keys. Jenny felt a slight buzzing sensation in her disc. The man smiled. 'I expect you felt that. There's always a slight buzz when your chip responds to an update,' he told her helpfully. 'I expect your friends felt it too. According to my system, you were all updated successfully with your meat grades and permit details.'

'Is that all,' she asked.

'No, just a moment,' he told her, pressing more keys. Papers emerged from his printer and he put them into folders. 'Present these at the check-in desk when you get to the airport. You should be there two hours before your departure time. Please don't be late. They will give you boarding cards, and then you go through the final check before boarding. I hope you enjoy your visit to Holland.'

'Thank you, Sir,' she answered. 'I'm sure we will.' And I hope we come safely back again, Jenny told herself, feeling responsible for getting them all into this situation.

Back at work Jenny couldn't wait to get back home and see the others.

'Oh hi Jenny,' Sue said. 'My disc thing did something around lunchtime. Do you know what it was?'

'It's when I was at the Embassy. They updated our chips by some sort of radio message, like sending a text to a mobile phone. Apparently the chip vibrates to tell you that it's been updated.'

'Oh, so it's all right then?'

'Yes, everything's fine. I've got the documents for us to check in at the airport. We all passed everything,' Jenny told her.

'What did he say,' Beth asked.

'Apparently they did some kind of genetic test. We all passed,' Jenny answered. 'He said we are excellent meat stock.'

'Oh,' Beth answered, that maddening tingling starting again. Now they have us down as 'excellent meat stock', she thought, we are bound to get harvested. It was all she could do to keep her trembling under control.

By the time Friday night came, the girls could hardly wait to leave. It had been a frenetic week at work, with the added unaccustomed distraction of their rings. It felt strange too, to eat nothing but that Fibre-Floss™ stuff, even though it tasted OK. The first couple of days a girl definitely knew she was being cleaned out. They had all seemed to spend the whole day in the loo, but it settled down by Friday, when they felt a lot more normal.

The EZ-Glide™ was another matter. It was addictive stuff. They all agreed that those guys had got the formula right. You could feel that tingling sensation all day long. Beth's cunt felt silky soft, slippery and incredibly sensitive.

They didn't dare to pick up any boys though, wearing those discs. It would arouse far too much comment if they met the same guy at one of the usual venues, after the holiday. In no time everyone would know. They would never live it down in their close-knit circle. First it would be boyfriends, then people at work. Before long they would not be able to go anywhere without taunts of 'meatgirl', and stupid spitroast jokes.

On Saturday morning they left early for Stanstead. The new satellite terminal was reserved for Schiphol flights. They could hardly believe the number of girls in the terminal queuing for flights, but of course it was the busiest time. There were men too, businessmen with their elegant leather briefcases and bags, and other men in casual dress, mostly unashamedly ogling the girls. At least that was not a new experience, Beth reflected, chuckling to herself. It was odd to be travelling half naked. She wondered if the men who were ogling them knew what they had under their skirts; bare shaved pussies pierced with gold rings and meatgirl tags!

When they finally reached the check-in desk the attendant gave Jenny a pretty smile as she took the tickets and other documents and checked their soft bags.

'Looking forward to the trip?' She asked in a friendly tone.

'Oh yes!' Jenny answered.

'I'm sure you'll have a great time. Here are your boarding documents. Keep the export permit ready for Immigration and Customs,' she said cheerily. 'Now just follow the others through the CRMPA Channel.'

Sue eagerly followed Jenny, but Beth's heart was pounding as she kept up with them. CRMPA again. Every time they mentioned the CRMPA she could think of nothing but that damned girlmeat production plant. It was just as well the others had missed that programme. It would have scared Sue shitless!

The Channel opened up at a row of doors with girls queueing up in front of each door. Every few seconds a door opened and another girl went through.

When Beth's turn came she went through the door. It closed behind her. An attendant held a meter attached to a wire that led to a long thin probe in his other hand. In front of her was a padded counter.

'Lean over there please, Miss, while I check you!' He told her.

'Yes, Sir,' she answered obediently.

He lifted her skirt and before she knew it the probe was deep in her bottom. A green light glowed on the meter.

'Thanks, Miss,' he told her. 'Just go on through that door and board the plane.

As she passed the door she felt a brief buzz as the controller updated her disc. Apparently she had passed. Relieved, she carried on through.

Jenny gave her a hug. 'Well, that's it. We're on our way, Beth.'

'Come on, Beth!' Sue took her hand and almost dragged her onto the plane.

'Seats 35 A, B and C, this way!' A steward showed them to their seats. There was an excited hubbub in the plane, with dozens of girls on board all chattering merrily about what they planned to do in Amsterdam.

The seats were soft and comfortable, which was just as well, as they were still stark naked under their skirts, like most of the girls on the plane. Beth was stunned by the sight of three stewardesses, all with beautiful, bare breasts, golden rings through their pretty pink nipples and very short skirts. As one of them bent down to pick up something she had dropped, Beth caught a glimpse of a very sexy looking, neatly shaved pussy, ringed and tagged. She smiled at the thought of a girl being delivered to lost baggage with her meatgirl tag for identification! She wondered if the stewardesses were allowed to stop over in London, and how often one of them ended up being harvested in Holland.

'Welcome to Dutch Import Airlines Flight 161 to Amsterdam Schiphol airport,' the announcement began as the plane taxied towards the runway. 'Please fasten your seat belts securely, and keep them fastened during the flight. We will be taking off shortly, and we will be landing at Schiphol in sixty minutes time. Please remember that the local time in Holland is one hour ahead.' Like most of the girls on the flight, the girls had not bothered with watches. Jenny had been told to take as little as possible, and leave all jewellery and watches behind.

Only too soon the flight landed with a gentle bump, and discharged the girls down mobile staircases onto coaches marked 'Dream Tours - Let Your Fantasy Come True'. The journey into town took forty minutes through the traffic, and on the way they saw very little through the dark tinted windows of the coach.

The hotel was a large ornate structure and equally impressive inside, with a large open lobby decorated in what looked like old polished mahogany, with an even larger dining area behind. The centrepiece was something Beth dared not imagine was real, a gleaming, brightly polished steel object that could only be a fully functional spitting machine.

Seeing Beth's eyes grow wide, a porter smiled.

'It's the latest model, Miss. If it takes your fancy, you can step up and use it any time. Don't be shy. We've all seen it before. There's always a chef on standby in case one of our guests feels so inclined.'

'B-b-but d-d-do g-girls,' she blurted.

'Oh yes, Miss. We get at least three or four a day. It's no trouble, being fully automatic, if you see what I mean.'

'Th-thank you,' she said, stunned into silence. It was one thing to watch a girl step up and do it on television, from the comfort and safety of your living room, and another to read about the erotic perfection of its function. Nothing had prepared her for the stark simple urge she felt. It was shocking to be that close to a machine so beautiful, so perfectly designed for that single, awful purpose. She felt its call enticing, luring her to take those few small steps and submit to its embrace. Its beauty was also in its loneliness, its need to possess her body, to perform its function, to complete her transformation into a beautiful, succulent spitroast. It was such a simple thing to do.

'Come on, Beth! I've got our key, We're all together, Jenny said. She paused. 'What's that?' She asked innocently.

'It's . . . it's a machine, Jenny. A fantastic, beautiful machine.'

'Can we go up and have a look,' Sue asked eagerly.

Beth could barely speak. 'D-d-don't do that, Sue. It's for spitting girls,' she said.

'Wow! Really? Amazing!'

'My God,' Jenny said, completely stunned. 'Are you sure? It doesn't look as if it does anything. Isn't it just a part of the decorations?

'I s-saw one on that programme,' Beth got out with difficulty. It works all right, the porter just told me. It's ready to use, any time. Whatever you do, don't kneel down over it. Those things are automatic, and they start up without any warning. Kneel down over one of those, and before you know it, you will be the next course for dinner.'

'It just looks so comfortable, so smooth and so perfect,' Sue said in a wistful voice.

'I'm sure we'll see lots of things like that. Let's look at our room and decide what to do later.'

'Oh all right, Beth,' Sue said with a sigh.

Jenny led the way. Their bags were already in the room, which was large and rectangular, with four beds. The en-suite bathroom had everything a travelling girl could wish for. The beds were soft and comfortable, and there was a thing to adjust the temperature in the room. The minibar contained only water, still or sparkling. On the counter there was a notice warning visitors to keep to the Fibre-Floss™ diet throughout their visit, as this was a strict condition of entry to clubs, bars and other facilities. They found a drawer full of the familiar packets in the room. At least eating is going to be cheap, Beth reflected!

'Well, what are we doing?' Sue asked.

'Let's join the tour. We can always look around on our own for a while later, or even tomorrow. The receptionist told me that we should be ready in an hour.'

'OK. I think I'll have a quick shower and change first,' Beth said.

The shower was enclosed in glass and to Beth's surprise, there were several shower heads over, under and around her in different positions. She loved the feel of those needle jets awakening her skin all over, and the upward fountain between her legs. She shut off the water while she soaped herself all over, and then enjoyed the powerful spray for a few long moments. It was wonderful.

Sue had found the controls for the piped music, and filled the room with the lively beat. Beth towelled herself vigorously and wrapped a smaller towel round her head while she lay on the bed and waited for the others, deciding what to to wear for the tour. It was an easy choice from her very limited wardrobe. She chose a comfortable bra, a loose, lightweight blouse and a short matching skirt.

In the lobby the girls were split up into groups of ten, each with a guide. Their guide called them together. Beth couldn't take her eyes off the girl's pierced nipples, which held long slender bars with a little ball at each end, and rotated unpredictably as the girl moved. Her only clothing was a kind of scarf wrapped around her waist, and barely long enough to conceal her sex, let alone the mandatory pussy ring and tag. She held up a bundle of similar scarves, all in a similar bright shade of red.

'Girls, I want you all to wear these so I can easily find you if we get separated. Amsterdam gets very crowded, and I don't want any of you to get into trouble.'

That sounded like an excellent idea. They returned to their room and stripped off their other clothes. Beth was glad that the weather was warm outside, too warm to wear very much. She didn't care about going bare-breasted, but it was going to feel odd if all the Amsterdam girls had pierced nipples, and they didn't.

Out in the street, they followed their guide through a narrow street, away from the main street, where trams noisily passed in a constant stream. Suddenly they found themselves in a quieter street by a canal, where the guide pointed out picturesque buildings, some looking scarcely wide enough for a bed to go crossways. On the canal, beautifully painted barges bobbed as they caught the wash of power boats busily scuttling by. Beth loved it. This was something really different, a city unlike anywhere she had been before.

They followed the canal, took a turning and emerged onto a large square. Beth saw fires all around. Her heart missed a beat as she realised what this was. As they drew closer they saw a row of beautiful naked girls impaled on giant spits, turning slowly over long flaming trenches. Attendants sweated as they basted them energetically. Fat flashed as it dripped into the flames, and Beth was sure she saw one of the girls move, as if to adjust herself on the spit.

'My God,' Sue said. 'Look over there. They are cooking GIRLS!'

'Of course they are,' Jenny told her, laughing nervously. 'That's exactly what we came to see, isn't it? Isn't it exciting, Beth?'

Beth gulped.

'Of course it is, Jenny.' Beth's feelings were distinctly ambivalent.

Jenny looked more closely, suddenly feeling more than a little disturbed by the sight of spitted girls, their once beautiful naked bodies browning over the fires, the skin of their luscious curves as brittle as pork crackling. Her mouth watered at the delicious aroma. One of the newly placed girls was still wriggling. It didn't seem fair. It seemed almost as if she was smiling.

'Beth, did you see that? I think that girl just smiled at me!'

The guide heard her comment and laughed. 'That's not a girl, that's a spitroast! Don't worry, you'll soon get used to it. Just forget about what they were before they were spitted. You, me, anyone, once we are on a spit and over the flames, all we are is meat. Hopefully delicious, aromatic roasting meat. It's much easier to think of it like that. If they seem to move, just ignore it. Whatever they might seem to do won't make any difference; they will still roast until they're done.'

'I can't believe they are really doing that to live girls,' Sue said breathlessly.

'Of course they are,' Beth told her, patting her comfortingly. 'Isn't it exciting?'

'If I had pants I'd be creaming in them,' Sue said. 'They look so incredibly erotic.'

'Yes, they do,' Beth agreed, with convincing sincerity.

All around people crowded around serving tables where large chunks of meat were carved from steaming, succulent looking, well browned roasts. They saw a dripping, heat burnished beauty brought to a carving table. The server used a special jack to pull the spit free, and dumped it in a box before he started work on the appetising looking roast. He bent its legs expertly, and cut out a great hunk of meat from between its legs. Beth felt an awful sinking feeling as she watched him casually harvest the steaming, succulent looking fillet. He sliced off her breasts, and tipped them onto large serving plates. The blackened nipples stood impressively erect.

They followed the guide across the square to where a lovely naked girl was in the process of stepping up onto a raised platform, where one of those Jessica machines waited invitingly. She turned and waved cheerily to the crowd.

'Hi,' Sue called.

'Hi lass,' the girl answered in a distinctly Geordie accent. 'I'm Tessa. I can't wait to try this thing. Fancy joining me? You can be next.'

Beth nudged Sue hard.

'I don't think I will, just now,' Sue answered, shivering expectantly.

'Right, here I go!' The girl walked over to the machine and knelt in position. The girls had a superb view of the machine from just ten feet away to the side. She pressed her limbs a little tighter into position and without warning, the clamps locked. The girl laughed excitedly. 'Hey, this thing really does work!'

It certainly did. The girls watched in awe as the stimulation began. Obviously it was impossible to evade, and in seconds Tessa had her first orgasm.

'Oooh,' she gasped. 'This is fantastic!'

'My God, I can't believe it,' Sue said, incredibly excited. 'Did you see how quick that was?'

Already Tessa was gasping as another powerful orgasm convulsed her, and a moment later she screamed as the controller activated tiny electric currents in the feelers that surrounded her clitoris, and she wriggled wildly as the pleasure exploded through her body.

'Aaaaaah!' She screamed. 'I can't stand it! Oh, ooooh, Aaaaaah!' She screamed again, shaking uncontrollably.

Beth bit her lip as her own clitoris tingled in sympathy. She might be in Tessa's place, convulsing just as wildly with pleasure. She watched the spit advancing slowly to Tessa's vulva. Easily, smoothly it opened her. Tessa screamed as she felt the spit enter her. In seconds her vulva was stretched around the shaft. Beth saw her gasp as her cervix popped and the spike pressed deeper. Then again as the point pierced her womb, and the slippery tip began to slip easily through her intestines.

'Oh my God, it's coming!' Tessa shouted, and a moment later her cries were silenced as the bloody point of the spit emerged from her wide open mouth.

Sue gasped, breathing heavily and Beth smiled as she watched her surrender to an orgasm of her own. She couldn't help it, the poor girl.

When the clamps released Tessa's limbs, attendants bound her trembling legs to the spit and secured her arms tightly to her sides. Beth was astonished to find herself smiling as the bonds quietened Tessa's wriggling, as they should. Once she was calm and helpless on her spit, she looked as right as could be.

As Tessa's spitted body was lifted away, Beth trembled at the thought of what she had just seen. The machine was quiet again, its mechanisms retracted and flushed. Its smoothly polished steel gleamed beautifully, innocently in the sun. That terrible process was so fast, so efficient, and yet it was the perfect thing.

Moments later, the spitroast that had been Tessa wriggled, although they were not supposed to notice that, over the heat of a recently vacated pit, and Beth was sure she saw her wink.

'Well, ladies, the show is over,' the guide said cheerfully. 'But don't worry, girls get spitted all the time.' She laughed. 'Any time any of you want to, just step up onto one of those machines and you can forget all your worries. Guaranteed!'

The group laughed, but deep inside they were overwhelmed by the scene. Beth felt a strange communion with those spitted girls roasting over the flames. Her thoughts were not of death, but a transformation of girls into another beautiful form, one that looked and felt so right that it tempted her desperately.

She told herself that she didn't want to die. She definitely, absolutely did not want to be spitted, roasted and eaten like that. She wanted to get out of this totally crazy world, go back home and forget all about it. But deep inside, the powerful urge was growing stronger. Could she resist that craving for another week? There was no way to tell, but she was definitely going to try.

'Come on. girls,' the guide told them, interrupting her thoughts.

Across the square was a club. 'Before we go in, girls, let me tell you some of the history of Amsterdam life. Once there were clubs where men bought sex from girls. Some of the girls were genuine professionals, but there were career girls, students, part timers and even tourists among them. Now there are meatgirls, and sex has become the only truly equal opportunity business in Amsterdam. As visitors, you are free to choose. You can have sex with anyone you like, but payment is strictly forbidden. Safe sex is compulsory, and in every club condoms are provided in every room free of charge. Make sure you use them, or you might fail a hygiene check.

The girls entered the club. The bar was as busy as Dolly's on a Friday night, with casually dressed men and almost naked girls crowded together. Various brands of mineral water were available. Beth wished they let a meatgirl get pickled during her holiday. Before long they were mixing with the crowd, and after a dance or two with a man she fancied, they went upstairs. Sure enough, there were condoms on a table by the bed, and once he was naked she applied one expertly to his erect organ. By the time she was finished she felt as if she had run a marathon chased by a gorilla, he was so energetic. It was exactly what she needed to calm her nerves.

The others having been just as lucky, a little later they moved to another club where they watched a floorshow. This involved a pretty young girl working her cunt vertically down onto a full size spit fixed to the floor, until it had gone right through her body and out of her mouth. To everyone's amazement a giant black man then lifted her off the spit, and she bowed, seemingly unhurt, and scampered away.

'How did she do that?' Sue asked in amazement.

The guide leaned over and whispered that there were show girls who had had surgery to insert a tube connecting the vagina to the oesophagus, with a valve at either end. This way a girl could take a spit right through her, quite safely, with a little practice. Apparently this particular girl did that trick every day, but she was too young to be roasted, yet.

Only too soon the time came to end the tour for the day. The girls were all glad to get back to the hotel and enjoy a full night's sleep. After much giggling as they applied EZ-Glide™ to each other's cunts, causing Sue to climax again, they talked long into the night, sharing their feelings and their fears. So far all was well, and the three of them had survived their very first day in Holland. It was a revelation to find that girlmeat was treated just like any other, and spitted and roasted openly in the streets without the slightest hint of guilt or regret. It was sobering to see girls being spitted and roasted so close. Once you had tasted the succulent meat of roasted girl, or even smelled the wonderful aroma of her meat roasting, it was something you never forgot.

Beth lay in her bed, pensive, tears moistening her eyes, utterly confused by the emotion of it all. This was a different world. Meatgirls were there to be roasted, and she was just the same. Her meat was just as tasty as theirs. Was it selfish to hold herself back, when other girls didn't hesitate to offer themselves? She felt a deep tingling ache inside as if her body wanted to feel a spit just like the others. She was conscious of those spitting machines all over the city, still and silent, waiting to be used any time a girl felt the urge. Obviously the Dutch knew something about girls, and the unpredictable workings of their minds.

Beth sighed, and let herself drift off to sleep.

- - - - -

End of Chapter 1