Cannibal 4H Chapter17: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion
Linda Sue tossed fitfully on her bed, sleep avoiding her like a vampire avoids
crosses. A satiated Joey slept limply on his side next to her, small
"wuff"sounds escaping his mouth with each exhalation of breath. Linda Sue moved
her loins eastward, attempting to roll away from the moisture left by their
recent coupling. Why is it that women always have to sleep in the wet spot, she
thought. But it wasn't the dampness that was keeping Linda Sue awake. Her mind
was spinning in circles like a hamster on a wheel and getting just about as far.
The morning, not all that far away now, would mark her debut as livestock. Even
after the vigourous carnal calisthenics that had capped off the night, the
thought of being treated as a human equine had her pussy dripping like an
overripe peach with a fresh bite taken out of it; her sleepless nerves pulsing
with excitement at the upcoming loss of her human status, temporary though it
would be. Finally, the years of wondering, fantasizing and dreaming would become
reality. She would be no more than an animal; her thoughts and desires mattering
less than those of an ant at a picnic.
From an early age, Linda Sue knew that her life would not be a story whose
narrative would proceed from start to finish in a straight-forward and
deliberative manner; each chapter leading logically to the next with no
digressions from the main plot to divert the tale into tangled literary alleys.
Her life would be full of stylistic turnings, meandering from point to point,
brimming with experiments and attempts to be different, not just the same old
story of man meets girl, man sleeps with girl, man eats girl, man meets new
girl. Hopefully, at its close, there would be enough triumphs along the way to
justify her life's story. One thing she was sure of, at the end of its telling
would be Joey Geryon.
Well before she knew what sex was about, Linda Sue knew that her life was
unalterably intertwined with Joey's. She had no doubt that she was put on earth
to take care of Joey and to meet his needs in whatever way was necessary. Even
as a prepubescent child she recognized that Joey was meant to be her lord if not
quite her master.
This didn't mean she would give into Joey on every matter or that she would let
Joey boss her around. She saw her duty as guiding and protecting Joey and if
that meant disobeying him at times so be it. She wasn't going to be a stupid
bimbo, jumping every time he snapped his fingers. She was an individual who
would do her best to protect Joey from making major mistakes in life.
But what Linda Sue herself struggled with was how she could best serve Joey.
Her indecision had started when she was 13. One night that summer, she had
followed Joey and Billy to where they camped out under the stars of the Hewitts'
west meadow. They were always sneaking out there by themselves and she wanted to
see what they were up to.
Sliding through the tall grass on her belly, her pigtails full of burrs and weed
seeds, she got close enough to the campfire to hear them talking, talking about
her.
"Come on Joey, I told you who I want to see roasting on a spit. Tell me who
you'd want."
Joey didn't even pause before answering. "Linda Sue."
"Really?"
"Yeah, every time I see that little ass of hers running down the hall my mouth
starts to water. I can't make up my mind whether I want to cover her in barbecue
sauce or come. Eat her or screw her, screw her or eat her; it's a tough choice."
"So let's go get her and do both."
Joey laughed as he threw another stick on the campfire, red sparks rising up to
the night sky like a flight of miniature Phoenix seeking the stars. "Sure thing
Billy, we'll do it tonight, right here in the meadow."
Billy scowled. "No not tonight, next week. Her folks aren't home next weekend.
We can sneak over to her house and grab her. We'll bring her out here and make
her do a strip tease for us. If she doesn't want to we'll tear her clothes off
her ourselves. She won't have any use for them when we're done with her. She's
just meat, we can do anything we want with her.
"First we'll make her blow us both. Then we'll fuck her. Then we'll cook her.
It'll be great."
Joey felt a stirring in his loins, the vision of he and Billy hand-cranking a
spitted but still alive Linda Sue above a crackling fire sending a rush of blood
to his dick. He could see her body writhing as it was caressed by the flames,
her eyes starring at him in supplication as the smaller circles made by his
hands and arms caused her to rotate in larger circles over the fire. In his mind
he could hear the sizzling of her hair burning off, smell the sharp tang of
flesh just starting to char and cook. Even as his dick grew harder his mouth
filled with saliva at the thought of how Linda Sue would taste.
"Oh yeah," said Joey. "That would be great. She's a little cocktease anyhow, the
way she wears those tight white blouses over her tits, that middle button
unbuttoned just so guys can see her bra, like the coloured lace doesn't show
through already. And when she wears those tight pants she gets a definite case
of camel toe. I can see every lip line she has. It's about time she started
taking care of those hardons she's always giving me."
Joey unsnapped his pants and dropped them to the ground. Linda Sue got a brief
blurred glimpse of his rampant young prick before Joey's fist closed around it.
She thought briefly of trying to crawl closer to get a better look but decided
not to, consoling herself with the idea that before the week was out she would
make sure she not only got a closer look at it, she would feel, smell and taste
it.
"We'll bring out some sawhorses to tie her over. That way she can suck one of us
off while the other one fucks her in the ass," said Joey getting into the
fantasy, his hand rising and falling while he talked. "And then ... when we're
done..."
"We'll spit her," said Billy who had joined Joey in jacking off.
"We'll spit her," confirmed Joey. "You can hold her head up so the spit will go
straight through. We'll have to tie her tight because she's going to struggle.
We don't have any of the drugs they usually give meat being spitted so it's
gonna hurt her."
"We can hold her down. Maybe we could even have Royce out here with us. He's
helped cook enough young girls at the cannibal fair."
"Nope just you and me."
"OK Joey just you and me. But we're going to have our hands full. Once that
spit starts in she'll be squirming like a fresh dipper of pancake batter on a
hot grill."
"I know. We'll grease it up so the first few inches will go in easy. After that,
well, I'll just have to push as hard as I can. She's going to scream so we'll
have to gag her."
"I'll gag her with my cock," said Billy, his breath coming in shorter spurts as
his climax approached. "I'll shove it so far down her throat she can't make a
sound."
"Then you'll be the one making the sound when she bites off your cock. I've seen
cattle that were live-spitted bite clean through one of those rods they use to
keep their heads up and those things are made out of two inches of oak. She'll
treat your pecker like a Slim Jim."
Billy spurted onto the ground at the thought of Linda Sue chewing on his cock
while Joey continued to fist his own maypole.
"After she's spitted we'll put her on the fire. She'll still be alive but the
spit will have ruined her vocal cords so she won't be able to scream. She won't
even be able to whimper. And we'll turn her and watch her brown and smear her
with barbecue sauce until she's done. And then we'll carve the meat from her
bones and..."
Joey's control and his balls burst at the same time, the stream of sperm jetting
from the tip of his prick almost reaching the fire two feet away.
The night meadow was quiet while the two boys regained their composure. Linda
Sue quivered in the shadows beyond the firelight, wanting and needing to go to
Joey but afraid of the consequences.
Ever since the great disaster and its attendant famine had struck 80 years ago,
a person's status as a human being was not guaranteed but had become a mutable
right. What had started as a last resort to conditions that threatened the
extinction of the species had become ingrained in society, first through custom
then through law. People could lose their position as human and become chattel.
Once the notion of people as chattel was accepted, the concept of a non-human
caste spread to other uses beyond physical labour. As the famine grew worse,
cannibalism became widespread. By the time the crisis had ended, fifty years
ago, the social structure had permanently changed.
For many women two stark options presented themselves; they were either mate or
meat and, quite often both. Nor were men immune to the effects of the famine.
The human cattle farms which sprang up were equal opportunity employers as
people were glad to eat any meat put on the table, be it male or female.
So Linda Sue had lived with, accepted and even embraced the possibility that her
ultimate fate would be to grace a supper table. And now, having heard Joey
proclaim his intentions to have her live-spitted, she felt like a doe who had
just spied a hunter creeping her way through the brush, rifle at the ready.
Tears began to puddle in the corner of her eyes as she contemplated her fate.
Joey wants me as meat. He's going to take me next weekend. I'm not going to
marry Joey. We're not going to have children. We're not going to grow old
together. He'll do that with some one else. I'm dinner to him. Nothing more.
Finally, just as Linda Sue began to rise up out of the grass, intending to walk
into the camp and surrender herself to Joey, the two boys continued their
conversation.
"It's set then," said Billy pulling up his pants. "I'll get the sawhorses and
rope and you can bring the spit and y-poles from the farm."
"No Billy, it's not all set. We're not going to roast Linda Sue next weekend,"
responding Joey as he tucked his shirt into his pants.
"Why not? Don't you want to?"
"Why not? Well, for starters, how about the fact that it's illegal. Linda Sue is
a human, not human cattle. She hasn't been converted and you know the penalty
for involuntary conversion. You can't just go grabbing people and barbecuing
them. You know that as well as I do."
"OK, so we'll buy her from her parents and have her converted."
"And how are we going to pay her parents for her?"
"I don't know. Don't you have any money saved up."
Joey tossed his head in annoyance at his friend's thickness. "Sure I do but not
nearly enough to pay what her parents would want, assuming that they'd want to
sell her. And even if I did have enough money to buy her I'm not sure I would."
"What do you mean you wouldn't buy her? What have we been talking about here?"
"Don't be L-12, moron. All we've been doing is talking, not planning. Try not to
get your dick dreams confused with reality here."
Now Billy was getting annoyed at Joey's attitude. " Look dickweed, you can't
tell me you don't want to roast Linda Sue. I know better."
"Hey maybe I want to roast her, maybe I want to do something else."
"Yeah," Billy challenged, "what else?"
"I dunno, maybe marry her?"
Billy began to laugh. Holding his sides, he rocked back and forth. "Oh that's
great. You want to marry a 13-year old."
"I didn't say I wanted to marry her," replied Joey somewhat embarrassed at his
friend's ridicule. "I said maybe I might want to marry her someday maybe."
'Hell, you don't want to marry her, you just want to slip her your Woodrow."
"Well, that too," said Joey a smile on his face. "But there's something about
Linda Sue..."
"You mean besides those big tits and that tight ass?"
"Yeah, besides that. I don't know Billy. Sure, she's only 13 and I'm only 14
but I think she's the girl for me. Besides it'll be years before I have to
decide whether to marry her or marinate her. Until then I think she and I can
have a lot of fun together."
"All right then. So go ahead. Do what ever you want with Linda Sue. I don't
care. But if we're not going to roast her next weekend can we roast Alice Kipfer
instead?"
Joey chucked an empty beer can at Billy's head.
Ever since she had overheard that conversation in the meadow, Linda Sue had
worked hard to prepare herself for either eventuality. She had dedicated herself
to pleasing him, no matter what her final end would turn out to be. Tomorrow
when she was delivered to Kyner Stables she would get her first real taste of
one of her possible destinies. Who knows, she thought to herself, perhaps
becoming a human horse, even on a temporary basis, would give her enough
experience to want to nudge Joey in one direction or another.
A moan turned her attentions away from her inner dialogue and toward the man
lying next to her in the bed. Joey had thrown his covers off and his male staff
was sticking almost straight up. Maybe I can wake him up for one more fuck
before morning she thought bending over to engulf its ruddy mushroom head in her
moist sucking mouth, her swirling tongue enjoying the tangy flavour of his dried
sperm mingled with the cardamon taste added by her own effusions.
Anneliese awoke with a shudder, the biting scent of a burning sulphur match
still in her nostrils, Sebastian's final cries still echoing in her head. Her
rumpled sheets were soaked with moisture, not from sexual passion but rather the
cold sweat of nightmares. She'd had that dream again, the one that sat on her
shoulder like a carrion crow, its black presence a reminder of failure,
heartache, betrayal and a harbinger of some yet unrealized doom.
Knowing there was no sense in trying to get back to sleep after the dream, she
drew her faded terry cloth robe tightly around her and went out to the kitchen
to brew some blackberry tea. At least that will help dispel some of the residual
horror from the dream even if it didn't keep the boogie man away. Besides she
needed to plan her next action.
The dream always started the same way. She is naked, walking down a dark
corridor, with only faint illumination coming from two small strips of light on
the floor. Some one's hand is guiding her way; pushing from behind, hurrying
her along this stygian hallway. She bumps into the end of the path. It is a
closed door.
A hand brushes past her ribs, pausing to cup a breast, lightly tug at a nipple.
Her flesh welcomes the contact, the nipple growing hard. Moisture trickles
between her legs.
The door is opened and she is blinded by brightness. Her sight is overloaded by
the sheer radiance ahead. Her hands try to go up to rub her eyes but they can't
move. They are tied behind her back. She blinks. She blinks again. Her eyes
begin to adjust.
She's in a small room filled with people. They are watching her, their faces
twisted with emotion. Some are excited and happy. Some leer at her in a sexual
manner. These people are partially undressed and fondling each other. Only one
person, an older man, looks sad.
Vendors are going through the crowd. Some are dressed in clown outfits and are
selling balloons and cotton candy to children. Some are dressed in white
uniforms with white, pointed paper caps on their heads. They are selling
sausages with the cry "Get your Ann on a stick here."
People are lined up at a table located at the side of the stands. They are
writing on a life-sized diagram of a woman. The woman is nude with dotted lines
dividing the various areas of her body into portions. The people are writing
their names in the outlined areas.
A woman approaches her. The woman is dressed from head to toe in tight black
leather. The woman's large breasts strain against her top like a pair of
prisoners trying to escape a cell. The woman is carrying an oversized fork in
one hand and a jar labelled "sauce." in the other. The woman's smile, seen
through a jet black mask, causes a wave of nausea to course through her body.
The crowd begins to chant. "Spit her, spit her." They wave pennants and stomp
their feet in time with the chant. "Spit her. Spit her."
The hand touches her spine below the shoulders. It pushes her forward toward an
old-fashioned loving seat. She slumps over the seat, her bones turning to
water. The woman in black puts down her fork and jar. She picks up a long
piece of shiny pointed metal. A black fist carries the rod over her back. The
hand returns empty.
Anneliese feels a warm wetness spread over her groin. I've peed myself she
thinks. But it is just vegetable oil. She is being prepared.
The guiding hand spreads the oil all over her crotch. It makes sure that plenty
is smeared on and in her pussy. The hand withdraws. It is replaced by the feel
of metal. The chant picks up in speed and volume. "Spit her. Spit Her."
Her pussy lips are pulled wide apart. The gauntleted hands of the woman in
black tilts her head up. Their eyes meet. Fear rises in her throat like a clot
of blood. The woman in black laughs. It sounds like malignant pestilence given
voice.
Her body erupts in pain. Sharp, piercing agony. It moves through her like a
column of molten lead, hot and burning. The woman in black smiles satanically
and taps her fork against the seat. "Soon," the woman says.
Flashbulbs pop. The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles. The torment increases.
Her body shudders, twists, bucks but the movement of the rod is relentless. Her
throat stiffens. The spit passes across her tongue preceded by a gush of carmine
blood. A tooth is knocked loose as the metal column leaps from her mouth.
She feels herself being lifted up. Her body sags and twirls around the rod. Each
step brings new hurt. As her vision dims she sees red flames beckoning her.
Hears the crowds chant switches to "Roast her. Roast Her." Flames lick lovingly
at her flesh.
Suddenly, the landscape changes. Cold replaces hot. Light replaces dark. Nude
but whole again. Standing on a plain as white as bleached cotton. It seems to go
on forever.
Her feet struggle through snow. Trees and bushes are coated with ice. The wind
howls savagely. Sleet stings her skin. Storm clouds roil across the horizon.
In the distance. People. A pile of wood. She trudges forward. Fights against the
wind. Progress is slow. Two steps forward. One step back. Ice crystals coat her
body. Light reflects off her like it was bouncing off diamonds.
Still she slogs on. Snow grows higher. Wind fiercer. Hears the people now.
Calling, calling her name. Too far away. Can't see who they are.
Wind shifts. At her back now. A pair of skis appear. She straps them on. Good
fit.
Struggle ends. Glides effortlessly across the snow. She sees a pack, lying on
its side. Picks it up. Continues on her way.
People. Mother and father. Sebastian. Aunt Vi. They wave. She waves back. Come
closer. She does.
Skis change to snowshoes. Running. Stumbles. Face buried in snow. Snowshoes are
awkward. Can't really run. Too easy to trip.
Nearer to her family. White snow vanishes. Dried brown earth takes its place.
Desiccated and withered trees. Leaves litter the ground like dead animals.
Discards the snowshoes. Runs barefoot.
She begins crying. Hard, cracked ground welcomes the tears.
"Mommy, Daddy. Why did you go? Why did you leave me? I missed you so. Why didn't
you take me with you?"
Father turns a stern face to her. "We didn't want you. You were a bad girl. You
wouldn't listen. You wouldn't behave. You cost too much to feed. You drove us
away."
Sobs grow in intensity. Steps toward her mother. Mother turns away. "Just give
us the pack and go. We don't want you, just the pack. Give us the pack."
"But you loved me. All of you loved me."
"Not after what you did to me." says Sebastian. No warmth and love in those
eyes. Just cruelty and harshness. Flat as saucers. No depth.
"We used you. And when we were done using you, we left you and went away. Now
give us the pack."
Turns to the aunt who saved her. "Aunt Vi, you loved me. I know you did."
"The pack child, give us the pack."
She throws the pack down on the ground. Runs. Left foot, right foot, left foot,
right foot. Get away. Get away. But after a few steps she is grabbed by the
branches of a tree, as alive as though transplanted directly from Oz's Haunted
Forest.
The tree holds her tight against it. Her family piles wood around her feet. They
pour a liquid over the wood. Charcoal lighter.
Her mother opens the pack. Her father's hand reaches into its depths and draws
out a box of old-fashioned sulphur matches. Sebastian has his pants open. He is
masturbating. Her aunt is sharpening a knife on a whetstone. They came from
inside the pack too.
Her father strikes the match against the side of the box. It lights on the first
stroke. He throws the match onto the pile. Orange flames scoot across the
surface like a brace of anxious salamanders.
The flames grow higher. Sebastian masturbates faster. Her parents begin to set a
table. Her aunt tests the knife against her own arm drawing a thin line of ruby
fluid.
As the fire burns the life from her body, she hears Sebastian howl in orgasm
"Meat, Annie. That's all you are is meat."
Billy is also dreaming of meat. He's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, a
white cowboy hat tilted back on his head. A young heifer is kneeling at his
feet, her mouth nursing at his pecker. Once she gets her morning ration of
protein she'll be back in the corral with the other cows.
As foreman of the ranch, Billy has his pick not only of the stock, but also of
the female hands. He doesn't hesitate to use his authority. Last night Jemma
shared his bed, a reward to him for his hiring her away from Kyner Stables. She
was very inventive. Tonight they'll hold the customary "welcoming" barbecue for
her, roasting a whole carcass and drinking several kegs of beer in the process.
There won't be a lot of work done the next day.
Billy casts his eyes downward. I could do worse than putting this cow over the
pit. She should brown up just fine. Her fate sealed, Billy spills his seed into
the human cattle's mouth. With a wave of his arm he calls over a handler. "Take
this one into town to Crenshaw's. Ask for Carl and tell him we need her prepped
for tonight. He'll know what to do."
Running a ranch takes a lot of hard work, Billy thinks to himself as he walks
away, twirling a small herding staff in his hands. But there sure are
compensations.
Terri can't feel the weight on her back but she knows someone is there. A child
possibly, the mother standing next to her offspring, holding the child in place.
Any moment now the music will start playing and she be moving again. Up and
down, around and around. Moving on a circular path to nowhere, running in a race
without a finish line. Hearing the brassy sound of the calliope piping out the
same tired tune over and over.
She can't move, not really, not like a human could. The only direction she can
go in is up and down, that and around in a counterclockwise circle. To even go
into that limited range of motion the music has to be playing.
She's been fixed in place. Can't shrug, can't move her head, not even to blink.
All she can do is stare straight ahead and hope that something interesting
wanders into her field of vision.
She hears rather than feels the swack of a child banging a riding crop against
her flanks. All tactile sensation is gone. Only her thoughts prove to her that
she still exists.
It was all her own fault. Really it was. If she just hadn't been so damn clumsy,
she wouldn't be in this predicament now. She might even have won the Cup. Well,
Andy always used to make fun of her saying she had the balance of a new born
puppy on a wet linoleum floor. He'd sure be laughing if he could see her now.
She probably owned the poor guy a few laughs anyhow.
She'd been coming around the far turn in full stride when her foot hit the hole.
Her ankle twisted and her knee locked up. Down she went pulling the sulky and
driver on top of her. Her leg made a sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies being
topped off with fresh milk but magnified a hundredfold. White agony shot through
her and she passed out.
When she came to she was in the receiving barn, the track vet standing over her
looking as glum as a coroner examining a corpse a not unapt simile as it turned
out. "She's got compound fractures at two places in her tibia. There's a
greenstick fracture in her femur. Her ACL looks like a plate of spaghetti.
Several ribs are cracked, one wrist is fractured and that nose is going be flat
for the rest of her days unless I reset it soon. I've given her a shot of
Demorol for the pain but it will be wearing off soon. I need to know what you
want me to do with her before then."
"Any chance she'll race again," asked a familiar voice. "Any chance at all?"
"Sorry, Joey. She's a permanent scratch. Even if she recovers, they don't let
many horses use canes to get around the track with."
"Well, I don't see we have any choice then. We'll have to carousel her."
The vet shook his head sadly. "Damn, I hate doing that to a horse this young.
But you're right. If you want to get any value out of her at all she'll have to
be carouseled."
"Can you do it here or do you need to move her?"
"I could do it here but I'm afraid it would spook the other horses. It would be
better if I could go to hospital. It would be quicker there too. I can take her
there in the ambulance."
"Not a very merry way to go around, I'm afraid," quipped Joey. "How long will
the procedure take?"
"She'll be ready for sale in about two or three weeks. I'll euthanize her right
here. She won't feel a thing. Once we're at hospital we'll prepare her for the
taxidermist. He'll need a few days to build a wire skeleton and stuff her.
After that, the body will need about a week of hardening treatments. Then she'll
be painted, mounted on a brass pole and ready to ride."
"I should give Andy a call."
"Family?"
"Andy Gudman, ex-husband. Sweet guy. Terri used to ride him real hard while they
were married, I'm sure he'd appreciate the chance to return the favour."
"yeah, my ex was like that too, right up until the time the oven door closed on
her. Well, no sense in keeping the kids on the midway waiting any longer than
we need to. Hand me that bottle with the big black skull and crossbones on it
will you?"
"Sure, think we ought to send her family flowers?"
"Flowers are always appropriate," responds the vet, billowing white fumes
pouring forth from the top of the bottle as he fills a syringe.
There are flowers in Joey's dream. Lots of flowers and organ music. Lots of
flowers, organ music and a big crowd. He's standing next to his father and
Billy. The mayor is there. It's his wedding day.
Two bridesmaids are standing across from him. Their faces are fuzzy, indistinct.
They're wearing two of the most ridiculous dresses he's ever seen.
One looks like something out of a Shakespearean play with a high collar, winged
shoulders, a doublet, hanging sleeves and trunk hose which come down to the
middle of her thighs. The material is a dark, red velvet piped with gold braid
and blue fluer-de-lis figures. The girl's legs below the trunk hose are bare.
So are her feet. Her head is topped by a pink hennin hat. It looks like a dunce
cap that has been angled back with a tail stuck on the point.
The second bridesmaid is wearing a green and blue satin dress with crinoline.
The dress is covered with name tags that say " Hi, my name is ??? and I slept
with the bridesmaid You can too. Ask me how."
The sleeves of the dress are longer than her arms. The dress is trailing on the
floor so Joey can't see her feet. But he can see that the bustle in the back
makes her butt stick out about two feet. This bridesmaid is wearing a yellow
cloche hat. She is holding a grey cat in her arms.
A rock band strikes up "Here comes the Bride." And indeed here comes the bride.
The bride is all dressed in white. White high-heeled shoes, sheer white hose,
white bikini panties and a lacy white wasp-waisted corset covered in a pattern
of white leaves and flowers. The bride wears nothing else.
The corset's built-in bra pushes her breasts upward and forward with great
authority. A large white opal is lodged in her navel just below the centre cut
of the corset. Her nail polish, lipstick and eye shadow are all different shade
of off-white. Her skin has been dusted with white glitter. Even her hair has
been dyed platinum for the occasion.
The bride has eschewed the traditional white bridal veil. In its place she is
carrying a white mask on a stick. The mask, which looks like some sort of bird,
is made up entirely of long and short white feathers. She is holding the mask in
front of her face.
Joey knows he's seen this girl somewhere before but he's not sure who she is. He
knows he loves her though.
The ceremony is over. Joey and his bride are at the reception. She still holds
the mask in front of her. They walk over to the table holding the wedding
gifts. Many have already been opened. There are several full sets of knives
including cleavers, filleting, boning, carving and steak knives. His bride lets
out a fluty dulcet laugh as she holds a filleting knife close to his crotch.
Other than to say "I do" his bride has been quiet.
They move on to the banquet. In the centre of the table is a whole, oven-roasted
girl, her golden-russet skin contrasting nicely with pale yellow of the platter.
She is presented in the formal manner, balanced on her shins and forearms, her
buttocks thrust high into the air, her breasts hanging freely, their nipples
almost but not quite touching the china.
The offering wears a tiara of peacock feathers perched just behind her ears. A
bright red apple rests in her mouth and a colourful garish of fruits and
vegetables on the platter's edge complete the display. She too looks familiar.
There's something about those breasts, the way they hang, the size of those
nipples, thinks Joey. But, before he can get closer to see who it is, his new
bride pulls him towards the dance floor. They dance a waltz, then a quadrille
and finally a saraband. His bride keeps her face masked throughout.
Finally, they leave the reception. The long limo is white both outside and in.
Joey leans back snuggling into the comfort of the cushy white leather seat.
Maybe now his bride will lower her mask and he can see who it is that he has
married.
His bride shifts from sitting next to him on the seat to kneeling in front of
him on the floor. Long white nails rake across his zipper, toying with him
before pulling it down. He springs out erect and ready. His bride lowers her
head and her mask in tandem.
Just as her face begins to come into focus, her hoar frost hair slides forward
like a curtain lowering at the end of a play. She buries her face in his groin,
her lips enveloping his manhood. She starts to bob up and down, sucking hard on
the upstroke, scraping him with her teeth on the downstroke. Her visage
remains hidden from Joey's view. Frustrated at his failure to behold his
beloved's face, Joey closes his eyes, all the better to enjoy the head being
bestowed on him by his new bride.
A sharp pain snaps Joey's eyes open. She bit his dick, not soft nibbling bites
but a full-fledged chomp given hard enough to leave indentations. He shakes his
head and looks around him. He's not in a limo, he's in bed. And he is not in bed
with his mystery bride, he's in bed with Linda Sue.
"If you thought you were going to get a nice juicy blow job from me while you
were sleeping and leave me to self-gratification, you've got another think
coming Joey Geryon," she said as she climbed astride the still groggy and very
confused rancher. "We're in this together, all the way to the very end."
