Cannibal 4H Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by Eurytion
"THE DEFENDANT WILL RISE and face the court!" Ashen faced, the young man at the
small oak table complied with the bailiff's order, his body stiff and trembling.
His court appointed lawyer also stood placing a comforting hand on his client's
shoulder. Guards posted at both ends of the table took a step closer to the
accused.
The case had captured the interest of the community. The crowd in the courtroom
was heavier than normal, filling about one-third the room's capacity. When
viewed from the Judge's perspective, the first two rows of benches, with only a
few gaps in the seating, resembled a hockey player's smile. The local press had
given extensive coverage to the proceedings, including interviews with Anneliese
Dracon. Anneliese had not hesitated in using the forum she was given to continue
her denunciation of human cattle farming.
Although the community overwhelmingly supported human cattle ranching, the
cattle rights activists generally being perceived as "wackos," even the
strongest advocates of the practice admitted, if true, the conduct of the
defendant was criminal. Anneliese rejoiced at what she saw as the first break in
the acceptance of this repugnant vice and planned to take full advantage of it.
"Madame foreman, has the jury reached a verdict," the Judge asked, silence
descending on the courtroom like a thick woolen blanket.
"We have your honour."
"Please read your verdict to the assembled court."
"On count one, misrepresentation, we the jury find the accused guilty as
charged. On count two, violation of privacy, we the jury find the accused guilty
as charged. On count three, impersonation of an individual, we the jury find the
accused guilty as charged. "
With each of the jury's pronouncements, the defendant slumped closer to the
floor, his courage deserting him like water pouring from a leaky bucket. Only
the strong arms of the guards prevented his total collapse.
"On count four attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury find the accused
guilty as charged. On count five attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury
find the accused guilty as charged."
Even though he knew the basic futility of the gesture, the defense lawyer
addressed the Judge. "Your honour, we respectfully request the jury be polled."
One by one the members of the jury individually affirmed their combined
verdicts, each repetition of "guilty" taking on the cadence of drums played
during the march to the gallows.
The Judge looked sternly down at the now convicted felon. "Professor Cymbal," he
said his stentorian voice filling the farthest crannies of the courtroom. "A
jury of your peers has found you guilty on all counts. In accordance with our
laws, it is now my sworn duty to pronounce sentence upon you. In this I am left
with no discretion as the statute prescribes the punishment for your crime.
"Therefore, it is the order of the court your status as a human is to be
terminated immediately. From this point forward you are cast from our society to
live out the remainder of your life as livestock, " Even as the judge was
speaking the guards began to bind and gag the sobbing felon.
"You are to be taken from this courtroom," continued the judge ignoring the weak
and useless struggle taking place in front of him, "and transported to the
medical facilities at the county jail. There your vocal cords shall be severed.
You are to be tagged and marked with a cattle identification number. On the
morrow you will be transported to the auction yard where you will be held until
you are offered for sale at the first regularly scheduled auction.
"Durum hoc est sed ita lex scripta est. This is harsh, but thus the law was
written."
The abrupt bang of the judge's gavel echoed off the walnut paneled walls as the
newly adjudicated animal was led from the courtroom. Too petrified to walk
without assistance, he was being half carried, half dragged by the pair of
guards, his feet scraping limply along the grey granite floor.
"This court shall stand in adjournment for one hour," said the Judge "at which
time we will reconvene to hear preliminary motions."
As he watched the proceedings, Hank Gyger found himself feeling both disdain and
pity for the defendant. What a dumb ass, he reflected. There's all kinds of
ways he could have had those girls legally converted and he pulls a stupid move
like forging their quadcee forms. I'm glad I'm not the poor son of a bitch up
there but he deserves what he's going to get. I hope what he did doesn't affect
my case.
Hank felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning he saw Mrs. Hardie. "Mr. Gyger, the
judge has asked me to escort you to his chambers," she said kindly. "He'll hear
your petition there." Rising from his seat on the bench, Hank followed the
Judge's factotum down the wide aisle and out through the swinging double doors
at the end of the room.
Hank didn't have long to wait before the Judge bustled into his chamber. As Hank
started to rise, the Judge waved a languid hand at him. "No, no, sit down. We're
not in the courtroom. My chambers aren't formal."
"Beth, I'd like some lemonade please, if you would be so kind. Mr. Gyger,
anything for you?" Hank shook his head no. "Well, if you change your mind, just
let me know.
"Oh and Beth," he said as she started to leave the room, "please tell Allie I
want to see the transcript of yesterday's Mullins' case as soon as I can. I
still can't believe that attorney asked our coroner how many autopsies she'd
performed on dead people. That's a question that's going straight into the
nominations list for the Bar's Cross Examination Hall of Shame Award."
Still chuckling, the Judge hung his robe on a coat tree by the desk. After
opening a desk drawer and putting on a pair of pince nez reading glasses, he
picked up a folder from his desk and turned to Hank. "Let's see what we have
here today. A petition from one Henry Austin Gyger asking the court to accede to
the conversion of one Janice Geralyn Gyger to cattle status."
The Judge looked up from his reading. "Wife, daughter, sister, mother," he asked
quizzically. "Wife," Hank replied. "Hum," intoned the Judge returning to his
reading. "Oh yes, here's a standard marriage contract executed on July 29, 1964,
includes the discretionary conversion codicil that was the norm at that time.
How old was she when you got married?"
"Seventeen, Judge. I was nineteen."
"So she's fifty-one now."
"Almost fifty-two."
"I see you have a nonrevocable assignment of power of attorney she signed four
years ago."
"That's right Judge. Our lawyer drew that up for us. It's got the more modern
conversion language in it."
"Your lawyer is who?"
"It's Bill Jonston your honour. He was in a car accident last week and he's
still in hospital in intensive care. They don't know if he's going to pull
through or not. That's why he's not in with me now."
"That's ok. He doesn't need to be. These documents look fine. Any children?"
"No sir."
"Does your wife know about this petition?"
"No sir. And I'd prefer she didn't. I mean the law says I have the right to
have her converted if I want and that she doesn't have to give her consent. I
already got that when she signed the marriage contract and the attorney thing
didn't I?"
"That's right Mr. Gyger you did. It's totally your choice whether to have her
converted or not. It's also up to you to tell her whether or not you are having
her converted."
"That's what Bill told me before the accident but I just wanted to make sure."
"Well, Mr. Jonston was correct in his advice to you." The Judge paused in his
discussion as Beth Hardie brought in a tall glass of lemonade, its sides
streaming with condensation. "Are you sure you wouldn't like anything, Mr.
Gyger? This is a mighty refreshing drink."
"Thank you your honour, but I'll pass. I've got a very tight schedule today."
"Ah, that was a very subtle and gracious way of telling me to get on with it."
Hank's face began to grow red with embarrassment. "No, no, no your honour," he
said shaking his head frantically back and forth, "that's not what I meant at
all. It's just that I do want to . . . "
"Mr. Gyger," said the Judge smiling. "That's quite all right. Sometimes I am a
mite loquacious as Mrs. Hardie never tires of telling me. If you would indulge
me with just a few more answers . . . "
"Ask anything you want your honour," answered Hank wondering where this
conversation was going and whether or not the Judge was going to sign the
conversion order.
The Judge examined Hank through steepled fingers. "Thank you Mr. Gyger. My next
question is why? Why do you want your wife converted? Has she been sick? Is
there an inheritance? Do you have a girlfriend on the side? Did you have a fight
and you're looking for revenge? Please understand you are exercising a legal
right you have and that I am going to sign the conversion order no matter what
answer you give me. But as a student of human behaviour I'm always curious about
the reasons for having someone converted. At fifty-one . . . "
"Almost fifty-two," said Hank.
"I'm sorry almost 52," continued the Judge amusement showing on his face. "At
almost 52, even if your wife is in the greatest physical shape she won't bring
much at market, even among the aficionados of well-aged meat. So why do you want
her converted?"
Hank paused to gather his thoughts.
"Does it really matter," he asked the Judge?
"No, as I said, I am going to sign the conversion order for you, in fact I'll do
it right now," he replied reaching for a pen.
The pen made the sound of dead dry grass rustling in the wind as the Judge
affixed his signature to the decree. In the short time, less than two seconds,
it took for the Judge to inscribe his name Janice Geralyn Gyger had unknowingly
passed from being a human, a woman and a wife to being chattel marked for
slaughter.
Sliding the document across the desk to Hank, the Judge spoke. "There you are
Mr. Gyger. You needn't fear any longer your answer will affect my decision.
That's the second conversion I've ordered in the last fifteen minutes. I know
why I ordered the first. I'm still curious about the reasons for the second."
"I got tired of being insincere."
"An intriguing answer, if somewhat incomplete."
Hank paused for several seconds before answering, unwilling to reveal the whole
truth his response was given in a halting manner. "I don't know how much more
complete I can be, your honour. It was just, ah just that, well in truth, I got
tired of saying things I didn't mean. It's tough pretending things are all
right, making believe I didn't care. And it's not like I didn't make an effort
to change things, to make things better, to solve the problems we were having.
Once he got started the words tumbled out of his mouth like puppies released
from a pen to play in the yard.
"But I was the only one trying. We went to a marriage counsellor. And not just
one, we went to several of them. It didn't do any good. She didn't admit there
were problems but if there were I was the cause. She didn't want to change, only
wanted me to change. After awhile there wasn't any sense in trying anymore.
"Fighting isn't the worse thing that can happen in a marriage. Indifference is.
There's no more passion in our relationship and I don't just mean sexual
passion. We're like the remains of last week's campfire. No matter how much you
stir those ashes, there's just no sparks left to reignite the fire. I never
thought it would reach this stage but it has. What finally decided me is she's
turned mean."
"Mean," the Judge queried, leaning forward in anticipation.
"Downright mean, your honour. She does things, big things and little things,
just in hopes of pissing me off. But I refuse to let her get to me."
The Judge nodded judiciously. "Yet you had me sign this order. Ah, well," he
continued shaking his head sadly "as the disticha moralia advises, 'Uxorem fuge
ne ducas sub nomine dotis, nec retinere velis, si coeperit esse molesta.' Avoid
taking a wife for the sake of her dowry, nor should you keep one when she grows
troublesome."
"Troublesome isn't the word for it your honour. A man can only take so much
before he has to do something. I was at that point and so I decided to have her
converted."
"Yes, I understand. Well Mr. Gyger, I won't keep you any longer, I know you
have much to do as, I'm afraid, do I. Preliminary motions await. Thank you for
indulging an old man's curiosity. Please let Mrs. Hardie make a copy of the
order for our files on the way out," the jurist while standing up to stretch
his arms and back before returning to court.
"No thank you, your honour," said Hank as he left the room, the conversion order
clutched tightly in his left hand.
Just after Hank had exited the room Mrs. Hardie hurried into the room with
another document in her hand. "Judge, I think you need to look at this
petition. It was just delivered by courier," she said with a disturbed tone in
her voice.
"My goodness Beth, you seem very flustered. What are you carrying there? Is it
a declaration of war? You're holding it like it was a venomous snake," the Judge
joked.
"I'm sorry Judge but I've never had anything like this happen before. The
courier was coming in with this petition just as Mr. Gyger was leaving."
The Judge reached out and took the petition. He gave it a slow and careful
examination, making notes as he turned the pages. When he was finished he sat in
his chair for several minutes, his right arm resting by its elbow on the desk
while his right hand rubbed his chin. Standing up he walked over to a shelf of
law books and took two of them back to his desk with him. Another ten minutes
passed as he reviewed the case law. Finally, with a sigh, he shut both the books
and reached for a pen.
"Your honour, I know it's none of my business but are you going to sign the
petition?"
The Judge looked up at his long time factotum, pen poised in midair. "Beth, the
law on this is clear. It is unusual both in the content and the timing but this
petition is legally sufficient. I have no grounds not to sign this petition, in
fact I'm mandated to do so." The pen descended and the Judge placed his
signature on the order. "Please see a copy of this is messengered over to the
law office, a copy is filed with the scrivner and a copy is put in our files."
Turning to carry out the Judge's instructions, Mrs. Hardie was stopped by the
sound of his voice. "Beth there is a large degree of irony in today's events. It
is as Livy wrote 'Ad id quod ne timeatur fortuna facit minime tuti sunt
homines.' Men are least safe from what success induces them not to fear."
As he stepped out of the dim entryway underneath the courthouse stairs into the
sunny outdoors, Hank marvelled at his good fortune. He felt like he had just
bought a winning ticket in the lottery. Once the blade fell, all his troubles
would be over and he could start out fresh. Maybe even start a new relationship,
if he could find the right woman, not someone like Jan but someone like Lari.
Hank smiled remembering Lari but it was a smile tinged with some grief. He'd met
Lari on the same day he met Jan, not unusual when you considered they were
sisters. While he had fallen in love with Jan, he always had a little something
for Lari and her for him. From the start they'd been a just bit closer than in
laws usually are. But nothing had ever happened between them until Jan had
started to change.
The worse Jan got, the more their marriage disintegrated, the more he turned to
Lari for comfort. And, as Lari bounced from bad relationship to bad
relationship, he acted as her confidant and counsellor. They shared their
problems and emotions, laughed together, cried together, got angry with each
other and made up.
More and more Lari became Hank's sole source of warmth in an increasingly chilly
world, the person he turned to to talk things out, to get a positive affirmation
of his feelings. As Jan's bitterness increased the time he spent with Lari got
sweeter and more important to him. She was his lodestar in an increasingly
uncertain universe and it was only natural they gravitated together.
It was the evening of her father's funeral the relationship changed from
friendship to something deeper. Jan had had too much to drink at the wake. It
was all Hank could do to get her into the car before she passed out. He had
barely managed for revive her enough to stagger through the motel door before
she collapsed again on the bed.
Seeking help in getting his wife undressed, Hank had opened the connecting door
between their room and Lari's with the intention of just sticking his head in
long enough to ask for assistance but what he saw captured his gaze as though it
had been caught in a trap.
A full length mirror mounted in a stand had been turned during the cleaning of
the room, its new angle directly reflecting the interior of the bathroom on the
other side of the room. In the bathroom was Lari, freshly showered and towelling
her nude form which was still coated in places by a glistening combination of
oil and water. The mirror revealed her every action as though Hank was standing
in front of her.
Hank found himself entranced by the reflected vision. Lari's body was so
different from that of her sister. Like her sister, she was no spring chicken.
This suited Hank fine since, unlike most men his age who sought to deny their
age by sleeping with ever younger women (after all you're only as old as the
women you feel) Hank had come to terms with who he was and preferred to look at
and be with women of his generation. But, in contrast to her sister she took
good care of herself, watching her diet and exercising regularly. It showed.
Willowy and well textured, without a hint of fat, Lari's physique was taunt yet
soft. White bikini lines outlined by thin red, stripes of sunburn contrasted
with the light fawn colour of her skin which was dotted here and there with
darker freckles and small moles. Her breasts were large in circumference but
small in mass resembling a pair of inverted saucers. Just like those fancy
fashion models in Jan's magazine, thought Hank.
An inch of flesh at the top and bottom of each tit was brown, the remainder
milky white. Her nipples were hard cherry red buttons made more prominent by the
flatness of her tits. A small diagonal scar wove a dark two-inch path from the
middle of her sternum to just above her left breast. Her stomach was flat and
well defined.
Full black hair set around her skull like an ebony dandelion puff waiting for
just the right breeze to set it free; its southern cousin, a large spreading
thatch so thick in texture the lips of her pussy were barely visible at its
outmost fringes, attested to the fact her dark hair colour was indeed natural
and not the result of a bottled mix.
Despite all its angularity her face, with its deep-set eyes set off by long
arching eyebrows and a smooth aquiline nose, was quite attractive although less
so when she put on her glasses, their large oversized ovals and black plastic
frames too at odds with the planes of her face to do anything but distract from
her charm. As he admired the full package, Hank thought to himself, if Lari was
a dog she'd be a greyhound, a smooth, sleek, swift racing greyhound, one that
could run with the very wind itself.
Done drying off, Lari put on her bathrobe its half arms reaching to just below
her elbows, its hem stopping only inches below her crotch. Hank knew he should
move, that he couldn't let Lari see him but his muscles refused to answer his
commands.
As she stepped through the doorway Lari saw Hank's reflection in the mirror,
his face seeming to shimmer with pent up longing. She paused in her dressing and
then walked boldly into the room to face Hank head on. Leaving her pink satin
robe open to display her body directly to her brother-in-law without the
intervention of a looking glass, she moved both hands down to her pussy and,
with hands lightly wrinkled from her shower, pulled her hidden lips as far apart
as they would go revealing a soft coral-tinted tunnel. "Do you like what you see
Hank?"
Allowing the robe to close slightly, she moved back to sit on the edge of the
bed, the mattress depressing slightly allowing the white chenille bedspread to
gather around her legs. With the palm of her right hand she patted the bed next
to her in invitation.
"Come in, Hank and close the door behind you," she said her voice catching in
her throat. "It's time we stopped playing games with each other."
Hank felt like he was wading through waist deep mud as he entered the room, the
connecting door swinging shut behind him. His feet shuffled slowly on the
threadbare carpet, their passage marked by discarded items of clothing. Half
undressed by the time he reached the bed, Lari wasted no time in helping him
complete his disrobing. Their coupling was just as slow and sensual, the room's
silence broken only by the creaking of the bed, the whisper of flesh sliding
across flesh, breaths taken and expelled, moans and groans only semisuccessfully
stifled.
They gloried in the feel of each other's bodies, their fingers acting as a
second set of tactile eyes exploring the hidden crannies of their anatomies.
Their lips and tongues drank ravenously of each other's moisture with the
fervour of two prospectors discovering a water hole in the deep dessert. Their
noses inhaled the bouquet of their mating as though all the oxygen was being
sucked from the room.
It was the beginning of their eight-month affair.
The day after they had returned home from the funeral they had met for lunch
and, over drinks, apologized to each other for their actions, explaining it was
a mistake, a reaction to the stress of the funeral, their mutual sense of grief
and need overcoming their better judgment and vowing it wouldn't happen again.
A bottle of wine later, room eight at the Apex Motel rang with the full
throated cries of their passion, all need to be quiet banished by the lack of
Jan's presence in the next room.
Cautious at first, the fact they hadn't been caught yet transformed itself into
the notion they wouldn't be caught ever. Indiscretions mounted up. When Jan
found out "you've been boffing that slut sister of mine" she went into a fit the
likes of which Hank had never seen, even at her worst. "You're both going to pay
for this in ways you can't even start to imagine. When I'm through with you and
that bitch . . . "
Jan began her campaign of retribution by taking a lover of her own. And she made
sure Hank knew all about her newfound lover even as she kept his identity a
secret.
"Lari's the town bicycle, every boy in town's had a ride with her," she said
contemptuously. " If you want to keep playing hide the salami in that fuzzy taco
of hers that's fine with me. It won't be too long before that little worm of
yours falls off anyhow if you keep fucking that diseased little twat. But
you're never coming near me again." Since they had only slept together twice in
the year before her father's funeral, Jan's threat to withhold sex was less than
compelling to Hank.
"Besides Hankus-pankus, I have a real lover now and I let him do anything he
wants, even the butter scene from Last Tango in Paris you always talked about
trying." Again, Hank didn't care. He was happy with Lari and the two of them
didn't need to do anything extraordinary to jazz up their sex life.
Several weeks went by and, as the time passed, Jan seemed to mellow, her
stridency and scorn being replaced with a sense of acceptance of the situation.
Hank thought she was almost happy. Hank thought maybe things were working
themselves out. Hank thought perhaps in a little while he and Jan could sit
down and talk about an amicable ending to their marriage, one that would be fair
to both parties and free them to live openly with their consorts. Hank thought
wrong.
Just home from a four-day business trip, Hank opened the front door to his house
only to be greeted by the sight of Lari's couch sitting in the living room, end
tables and lamps from Lari's apartment keeping it company. Uneasy as to why
Lari's furniture was there, he made a circuit of the house and found a number of
other items that belonged to Lari. As he was puzzling out the meaning of this
discovery he heard the back door slam shut.
Jan had returned home from the market, her arms laden with shopping bags full of
white packages. Placing the bags on the table, she turned to Hank, smiled
sweetly and asked, "Hank, would you be a dear and get the rest of the bags out
the car for me while I put these packages in the freezer."
Still uncertain about what was happening, Hank complied. It took three trips to
the car to bring all of the bags into the kitchen. Meanwhile Jan was humming
happily to herself as she placed package after package into the chest freezer in
the utility room.
"Did they have a sale on meat at the market," asked Hank surprised at how happy
Jan was.
"Sort of. This is a special order I placed."
"Oh, hey look, I'm not trying to pick a fight," he said continuing to hand her
parcels of meat, "but I noticed a lot of Lari's furniture scattered around the
house."
"I know, one of the few things I've always admired about Lari is her taste in
furniture. And, since she doesn't need it anymore, I thought I'd put it to good
use."
Cold fear whistled through Hank like an Alberta Clipper blowing through an
abandoned barn. "She's got new furniture," he asked inanely, a fighter hoping
to slip a knockout blow.
"No. Lari doesn't need any furniture now. While you were gone on your trip, I
went to court and had her converted to cattle. You're holding part of what's
left of her in your hand right now."
Hank began to tremble like an old car with a shimmy at 70 miles per hour. The
package dropped from his hand and he stared at his wife, hoping what she said
wasn't true, that it was just a cruel attempt to cause him pain, yet knowing
that hope was forlorn.
Jan turned to him, her smile like a knife slash across her face, hatred and
contempt dripping from every word. "I told you you were going to pay for what
the two of you did to me. How do you like the first instalment?"
Rage bubbled through Hank's body like hot lava. For the first time in his life,
he struck a woman, his open hand cracking hard across her face, hoping with one
blow to cause her as much pain as possible. Jan crumpled to the floor and began
to laugh, cackling like a maddened witch in a grade-B horror film.
"Go ahead tough man, hit me again," she said sadistically, blood dripping from
her nose and mouth. "Hit me all you want. It won't change a thing. Your
precious Lari is gone. The only thing left of her is steaks and chops."
Hank stood above his wife, struggling to regain his control before her killed
her with his bare hands. He wanted to crush her like an empty beer can; and
then leave her to die alone like a dog in an empty ditch. Let her encounter
darkness like a bride come to a wedding, he thought with Shakespearean wrath.
The need to take revenge, rough bloody revenge had fallen upon him like a
biblical plague. But even as he contemplated the woman lying on the floor
beneath him, his anger began to drain away leaving emptiness in its place.
Without words, he turned and left the home.
Hank's first stop after leaving the house was Bill Jonston's law office. There
he learned Lari had been a wild child who had gotten into some serious trouble.
At the age of fifteen her father had successfully petitioned the court to allow
him to establish an optional conversion contract. The contract, which only Lari
and her father knew about, gave him the right to end Lari's human status at the
time of his choosing.
Although normally these contracts ended when the subject reached the age of
eighteen, this contract had been open ended becoming void only after Lari
married. Since the threat of conversion had been enough to straighten out Lari's
behaviour, the contract had remained untouched and uncancelled in a safety
deposit box until after the funeral. Even Lari had forgotten about its
existence.
Under both the terms of her father's will and the revised rule of primogeniture,
Jan had become the head of the family with full legal control over the family's
affairs, including Lari's conversion contract. Jonston explained to Hank, since
Lari has never married, once the contract came into Jan's possession it could be
enacted at her bidding and she had done so just last week. Jonston insisted
there was nothing he could do about it. Legally and ethically, he was obligated
to carry out Jan's wishes in the matter including her direct instruction that
Lari not be notified of the conversion.
For the next week, Hank dealt with his grief. Sorrow came at him in waves,
ebbing and flowing like the tides in the bay but always there. He felt as dead
and barren as a skeleton in the low dessert. But gradually and with a great deal
of effort, the lessons his father had taught him helped him to regain control of
his emotions, to put the past behind him and focus on the future.
A self-educated labourer who believed in giving a dollar and ten cents worth of
effort for a dollar's wages, Hank's dad always claimed the only school worth a
damn was the school of hard knocks. He had no time for self pity or worrying
about the past and what might have happened if only he had done something
different. Life wasn't, in his view, something you could change, just something
to get on with.
Even while he was dying from leukaemia, Hank's dad took a no nonsense approach
to life. "Son, too many people in this world waste their time pissing and
moaning about what's happened to them. 'Life's unfair . . . I didn't get a fair
shake . . . That's not fair.' Damn straight life's not fair. It's not supposed
to be fair. Life is about overcoming adversity, dealing with the hard times and
doing your best. Face it kid, life's tough and at the end, no matter what you
do, you don't get out of it alive.
"There are going to be days when you're going to want to give up; when it seems
easier to be a whiner than a winner; when hauling your ass out of bed one more
time seems like more trouble than its worth. It's no secret, bad things are
going to happen to you, things you don't deserve. You'll lose jobs, you'll be in
accidents, drunks may sue you because they slipped on your sidewalk, your house
may burn down, women will break your heart, friends will screw you, and people
you love are going to die like I am now. None of that changes anything.
"Hank, if you want to be a man, you can't give up. You have to deal with the
world like it is, not like you want it to be. You have to accept what's happened
and move on. If life gives you lemons you don't just make lemonade, you open a
whole damn chain of stands."
So Hank had buried his grief and got on with his life knowing when the time was
right, he would avenge himself on his wife, no not his wife, she had forfeited
the right to that title, on Jan. He would avenge himself on Jan.
After a month Hank returned home, presenting himself to Jan as a chastened
husband seeking forgiveness, counting on her desire to punish him further to
allow him inside the door. Outwardly he wore his regret for what had happened
like a penitent's hair shirt, inwardly he longed for the day he would send her
to Abraham's bosom.
He courted Jan all over again, showering her with small kindnesses, trying to
anticipate her needs before she could voice them, giving her no cause for
quarrel, the picture of a man on probation trying to win a full parole. He
missed no opportunity to ingratiate himself with Jan, his newly honeyed tongue
hiding the dagger in his voice.
At times Hank hated himself, not for his duplicity which he saw as necessary to
gain his revenge, to him Jan deserved all the lies he was telling and more. No
what disgusted Hank were the actions he felt he had to take. Sleeping with Jan
was like selling his soul to the devil, a bargain he was more than willing to
make to satiate his need for retribution. And the dinners, the dinners were the
hardest of all to take.
Jan made quite a production of these dinners which she called "Lari's Blue Plate
Specials." It wasn't having to consume Lari's flesh that turned Hank's stomach.
There was nothing unusual or even particularly tragic about eating someone you
loved. That was just part and parcel of life since the great disaster.
Besides Lari was actually quite tasty, her meat nicely textured with a rich,
deep flavour. Sure he missed Lari, missed her deeply but who was to say she
wouldn't have wound up on his table anyway. Life had a funny way of playing
tricks on a person. Hank could honestly say Lari had was as toothsome in the
serving dish as she was in bed.
The dinners were the hardest to take because of the remorseless jubilation Jan
took in them. Each meal was a reiteration of the fact she had hated Hank
enough, despised his happiness so much, that she had had her sister slaughtered
just to cause him pain. Every time Lari was served Jan was saying "I won." And
so she had, but not for long. Before the week was out Jan would be joining her
sister as another set of white packages in the freezer.
Whistling at the thought of Jan reduced to single-sized servings, Hank opened
the door to The Stockyard to be greeted effusively by the owner, Martin Brune.
"Hank, I was just telling Shirley you should be by soon," he said, holding a
sheaf of papers in one hand. "Are we going to do business?"
"Do you have everything ready," Hank asked the pudding-faced proprietor? Hank
really didn't like Marty, who he thought was just a little too sharp an operator
for his taste, never missing an opportunity to turn a buck, even if it meant
going outside the line. Not that he wasn't honest, if that had been the case he
would have been banished from the monthly poker game a long time ago. But Marty
had a reputation for being sharper than a guillotine blade. If it hadn't been
for their acquaintance at the card table, Hank might have gone to Crenshaw's for
this job but the monthly get together had to count for something.
"Yes sir, I surely do," Marty replied as enthusiastic as a used car salesman
spotting a family hitchhiking. "Everything and I want to emphasize everything,
you requested is ready. All I need are a copy of the order and, of course, your
check.
"You know Hank," Marty went on as Hank took out his checkbook, "the way I see it
you are practically getting my services gratis. I mean all the money you have
taken off of me in just the past six months more than pays for this little job,
even with all the extras. You sure you don't have anyone else you want done? I'd
sure like to get a little closer to breaking even anyhow."
"Sorry, Marty," Hank replied handing over the check. "Just this job, at least
for the time being." While Marty was a cunning businessman his prowess at the
poker table was sorely lacking. Over the years Hank had learned to read his face
at the games like an open book, a skill that had landed him many a fine pot but
one that hadn't carried over to his business dealings with his card playing
adversary. It was like Marty had two different personalities. His commercial
persona was shrewd and calculating, never giving away anything while his gaming
incarnation was reckless and less than inscrutable.
Folding the check twice, Marty placed it in the front pocket of his shirt. "Well
buddy, when do you want to do it?"
"I'll bring her by tomorrow at lunchtime."
"Great, perfect, no problemo big guy. I'll have everyone primed and ready to
go. I figure three, three and a half hours for the preliminaries; five-ten
minutes for the main event, fifteen at most; a day, day and a half for
processing; she should be ready for pickup by the weekend. If you want any
portions sooner than that we could cut some off special for you tomorrow.
Nothing really choice you understand, but enough to give you a little taste or
two."
"Thanks Marty but the weekend will do just fine. See you at noon."
"Righto Hank, noon it shall be. I know my guys are sure looking forward to it."
As Hank left The Stockyard, shaking his head at Marty, he thought of a
conversation from one of their games.
"You guys all remember my daughter Denise," asked Marty a cigar dangling out of
one corner of his mouth, the grey ash falling onto the dip on his snack plate as
he talked. "You know, the kid I had with my second wife, the one I was sending
to business school. The kid not the wife." Heads nodded in agreement. "Well, it
seems she had to take a course in 'business ethics' now there's an oxymoron if
I ever heard one. In this class, which meets twice a week at 7:30 in the
morning, too early for my taste I'll tell you . . . Anyway, in this class
they'd give you these scenarios and ask you what ethical dilemma is posed and
what you'd do to solve it.
"Denise tells me about one where she and a friend own a business together. In
this little morality play a customer comes in to settle his account in cash and
pays Denise with a $100 bill. After he leaves Denise notices there's a second
$100 bill stuck to the first one. Now remember this isn't really happening, this
is just make believe. So anyway Denise tells me the instructor gave her a
failing grade just because he didn't like her answer. The bastard didn't even
let her get to her solution."
"Ok Marty, I'll ask," said Bob Rickmund. "I know I'll regret it but I'll ask.
Why'd the instructor flunk her?"
"Cause Denise said the moral quandary was whether or not she should tell her
partner about the second $100 bill," reported Marty laughing so hard his cigar
dropped to the table. "Yep, that's my daughter all right. Make a buck any way
you can, a chip off the old block."
When Hank got home, Jan was in the living room sitting on the couch, a gothic
romance novel in her hand. She was wearing a sleek blue dress which did her no
favours by clinging so tightly to her body. Her lack of undergarments was
clearly visible as were an assortment of unsightly bulges and rolls. A matching
pair of patterned nylons surrounded her legs like blue sausage casings filled
almost to bursting. Her arms resembled the trunks of baby elephants, their
wrinkled flesh hanging loosely from the underside, a testimony to the inexorable
and unflattering combination of both aging and gravity.
A strand of inexpensive gold-coloured beads hung off her neck, their drop
reaching well below her pendulous breasts, a matching pair of large hoops
adorning her earlobes. Her peroxide blonde hair was set in a beehive hairstyle
while thin, plucked eyebrows stretched across her brow.
With a smile pasted to his face, Hank held out a bouquet of mixed flowers. "Why
are there for me," Jan simpered the freshwater pearl bracelet on her arm
rotating as she reached out for the vibrant blooms? "What's the occasion? Have
you been a naughty boy again?"
"No Jan, I got these just because you are you. By the way, I've got some free
time at lunch tomorrow and I'd like to take you out though it won't be to any
place fancy. Dress casually, maybe even something you wouldn't miss if it gets
torn off you. I'll pick you up at about 11:30."
Jan pried herself up off the couch and walked toward the kitchen, carrying the
flowers in her hand. Hank watched as her buttocks jiggled like a gelatin desert
on a three-year old's plate. Jan's voice came back to him over the sound of
running water as she filled a vase to receive his floral offering. 'So you're
going to tear my clothes off me are you? That sounds interesting. But why wait
until tomorrow. I'm not wearing all that much right now."
Since he had returned home, Hank had approached his carnal relations with Jan as
a duty he had to perform, like changing the oil in the car or taking out the
garbage. He thought of himself as an actor in a porn film or a male gigolo
hired to service an aging dowager. No real involvement, just automated
precision, with enough variation thrown in to hide his indifference while still
keeping the client interested. He dredged up memories of what Jan liked in bed
to add verisimilitude to his role. And what performances he gave.
Ignore the white flesh the colour of library paste, the sour scent emanating
from a mouthful of crooked teeth, the smeared pink lipstick tasting of
strawberries, saliva dripping from slack lips he always told himself. Forget
about Lari and how much you wish it were her under you moaning and thrashing.
Concentrate on playing the part of the ardent lover to Jan. Your cock is a hoe,
her cunt the furrow. Weed her, plant your seed in that furrow.
He would send his fingers running through hair made wire brittle by chemical
rinses as though it was the softest golden down: his cock entering and exiting
her cunt with the even, measured strokes of a master carpenter sawing wood; his
fingers tweaking her nipples with the dispassion of an engineer tuning in a
distant station on an old AM radio.
He gave out cries of desire as false as a politician's smile; all pleasure
absent when he felt her rubbery pussy walls flutter against his dick; his
orgasms sparked not by enjoyment or ecstasy but simple mechanical friction of
body parts running roughly against each other. Afterwards his murmured
assurances of his love and devotion were as empty as his heart, a simple device
to quell Jan's worries until he could act.
This bout in the bedroom with Jan was different. Hank's cock was a stiff as a
tire iron, throbbing so hard it hurt as though he was a fifteen year old boy who
had taken an overdose of his father's Viagra. Sexual hunger gripped his very
being, overriding his sense of detachment. The knowledge of what Jan would face
the next day only added to his excitement. For the first time since Lari's
butchering he wanted to fuck Jan, to lose himself in her doughy body, to match
her orgasm for orgasm.
Hank stared at Jan lying on the bed, her back flat against the mattress. He
grabbed the top of her dress, ripping it quickly along one seam. He reached
underneath Jan and, with some effort, half-lifted her off the mattress to remove
the rest of the dress then let her drop back to the bed. Breathing heavily he
gazed at the sprawl of her arms and legs, the way her breasts lay flattened and
flaccid against her rising and falling chest; the fur covering the bulge of her
pubic bone, smelled the odour of her cunt. He knelt between her spread legs,
teased her sex by slowly running his cock up and down its length, opening the
lips but never penetrating them, rubbing across her outthrust clit, pressing it
back into the tangle of hair and moistened flesh.
Reaching out with both hands, he grasped Jan's head and pulled it to him with a
hard yank, revelling in the gasp she made. He kissed her deeply and wetly, his
tongue circling her mouth, scraping against the rim of her teeth. Jan responded
by dropping her hands to his buttocks trying to force his dick into her. Still
Hank held off, content for the time to rub her heated cunt lips with his cock,
to stoke her needs to a higher level before fulfilling them.
His head dropped to her nipples biting each in turn, hard enough to hurt but not
to injure. His hands formed claws and squeezed her buttocks, the nails digging
into her skin. Jan began to rock, moaning inarticulately. Her knees curled
upwards seeking her chest, her eyes crying "fuck me, fuck me."
Hank moved upwards on Jan, his knees pinning her arms to the bed, his ass
grinding against her tits. His cock bumped insistently against her mouth,
demanding her submission and worship. Jan shook her head from side to side, her
jaws clamped tight against the invader, until another sharp tug on her hair
opened her mouth. Hank's cock entered, stretching her mouth out of shape,
forcing her quivering lips tight against his manhood, her tongue tasting the
proofs of his passion.
Despite her earlier protestations Jan began to suck, her mouth nursing at his
prick like a newborn. Hank sawed in and out, going deep into her throat until
she choked and then pulling out to rest the head of his cock on the front end of
her tongue, enjoying the sputtering sound as Jan tried to take a breath around
his dick. He thrust back in, beyond her palate, into the recess of her throat
not pulling out. Jan started to gag, her convulsions tickling the sides of
Hank's cock. He waited until Jan begins to shake like an epileptic, then moved
totally out to allow sweet precious air to reach her lungs. As she panted
deeply, Hank released his hold on her head, moving downward, his weight leaving
her chest.
Hank's head burrowed between her legs into her already wet cunt, his saliva
adding to the libidinous humidity of her groin. Now Jan acted, her hands seized
Hank's hair, rubbing his face against her pussy like a dish rag on a platter,
while his hands cupped her asscheeks and pulled her closer, his tongue swirling
past her sensitive folds to scour the sides of her tunnel. She ground her cunt
onto Hank's lips and teeth, the contractions of her belly announcing her first
crescendo of the evening.
Jan brought her ass high up off of the bed to allow Hank to penetrate more
fully. She sucked at his dick with her vacuuming pussy, welcoming it past her
slickened portals. As he moved in and out she rotated her pelvis in short, quick
circles each movement heightening their pleasure. Hank felt his groin begin to
tighten and tingle, letting his weight drive him into her as far as he can. Jan
responded in kind, her breasts mashed against his chest, her fingers pulling his
hairs, her toes curling toward the ceiling, her total being centred on the
interlock of cock and cunt, all wet frothy ringlets of hair and slippery flesh.
Her pelvis jumped three times, four times, five times, ripples rolling across
her stomach, a high keening noise escaping her lips as her pussy contracted
spasmodically around the object of its desires. Still Hank pounded away,
ignoring her second series of orgasms, going deeper with each thrust until he
thought he's inside her cunt's cunt.
As Jan's nails raked his skin, visions filled his head like unwanted mescaline
flashbacks. Their first date, Jan as shy as the sheltered youngster she was.
Their wedding, he and Jan dancing. Their first fight as newlyweds, saying
hateful things they didn't mean. A later fight as an old married couple, meaning
every spiteful word they uttered. His desire for Lari and her's for him. Lari
caressing him during a stolen moment at a family gathering. His grief at her
termination. Swearing revenge against Jan. Making the arrangements with Marty.
Hank threw his head back and bellowed like a hound howling at a red and gibbous
moon, a flow of molten lava exploding from his cock as he thought about what
would happen to Jan tomorrow after she stepped out of the car.
Water cascading down her body, Jan heard the phone ring. Let the machine pick it
up she thought to herself, luxuriating in the feel of the spray from the shower
head against her skin as damascened ribbons of translucent bubbles washed from
her body to course across the bottom of the tub before swirling down the drain.
For the first time in ages, she felt content and relaxed, almost at peace.
Hank's behaviour these last few months had started to heal the breach between
them, his sexual gymnastics of the night before reminding her of their early
days of dating, the man had been practically insatiable. You'd have thought he'd
been a sailor who hadn't been given shore leave for five months.
As she towelled herself dry, Jan wondered if she shouldn't reconsider her
decision about Hank. He'd been so sweet lately, all apology and contriteness.
Maybe Hank had learned his lesson and things could go back to being the way they
were before he strayed.
Patting herself with a powder puff, her body enveloped in a murky cloud of
geranium-scented dust, the remembrance of how Hank had betrayed her with her
sister twisted Jan's face in anger, her heart growing as cold as the north side
of a gravestone in winter. No, Hank had made his choice, as poor as it was. Now
he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions, at least for a little
while longer.
In any case, there was no reason why she couldn't continue to enjoy the fruits
of Hank's efforts to reingratiate himself with her, including today's lunch.
Having Hank trailing after her like a poodle who would do anything for even a
small sign of affection from its mistress was rather fun. It would be
interesting to see what he would do next.
Now fully dressed, in an older outfit she didn't mind having torn off her, Jan
walked to the living room where the blinking green light on the answering
machine prompted her to play back the message that had come in while she was
showering.
"Jan, it's Hank. I'm sorry but something has come up at work and I can't pick
you up. I'm not cancelling our outing. I've been looking forward to it for too
long to do that. But I'm going to have to meet you there."
Jan frowned as she listened to the recording. Having to drive herself to their
lunch date certainly took some of the lustre from the occasion.
Almost as if he could read her mind Hank continued "It's not fair of me to ask
you out and then make you drive so I've arranged for a day coach to pick you up.
You won't have to worry about how you're going to get home. I'll see to that.
Just be ready when they come by. Oh, just one more thing, there'll be a little
surprise waiting for you in the coach. Well, I've got to go. I'll see you in a
little while."
So Hank was sending a coach for her. That was a nice touch. "Madame, your
carriage awaits." And not just a coach but a surprise too. Couldn't be flowers,
she just got those last night. Maybe a nice bottle of sparkling wine. Well, the
proper amount of anticipation just made things nicer and the twenty minutes left
before Hank was supposed to pick her up was just right.
The ringing of the doorbell coincided with the chiming of the clock on a living
room mantle. It was 11:30 and Jan's ride was here. She opened the door to be
greeted by a strapping young man in a conservative black suit set off with a
muted argent tie. One gnarled hand held a small, brightly wrapped box with a
dark red bow which he quickly handed to her.
"Good morning mam," he said politely, his rich voice matching the warm smile on
his face. "My name is Thomas and I'm here to drive you to your final
destination. Mr. Gyger asked me to tell you, you should open your gift before
you got into the coach."
Jan couldn't help smiling back at Thomas, even as her eyes took in his muscular
structure. Although the events of the evening just past had been delightful, she
admired the way filled out his suit. Maybe he'd be interested in really driving
her some night when Hank wasn't home.
A rattling sound from inside the box shifted her attention from the driver back
to Hank's surprise. Tearing off the wrapping like a five-year old opening
Christmas gifts, Jan opened the box to discover the source of the noise was a
thick silver choker. Jewelry, Hank got me a nice piece of jewelry, she thought
holding the necklace in her hand, the sun glinting off its shiny pebbled
surface.
"Mam, if you don't mind, I'll help you on with that," said Thomas gently taking
hold of her gift. Wordlessly, Jan turned around as Thomas' strong hands placed
the choker around her neck. For just a moment Jan imagined his hands had
lingered on her neck, in a soft, sensuous invitation for more serious pleasures.
Chiding herself for the fantasy, after all he's less than half your age and
probably has more teenyboppers than he knows what to do with banging on his door
for a chance to bang him, she gave a small start as he moved his hands slowly
down the back of dress.
"I'm sorry mam. I didn't mean to make you jump like that. It's just the tag was
sticking up from the back of your dress. How's that necklace feel now," he
asked, his hands still kneading her shoulders?
"I think it's just a little too tight," Jan said hurriedly, his massaging
fingers bringing a tingle to her loins. "It's not laying quite right. The little
bumps are pressing into my throat and I can't get my finger underneath it."
"No mam, that's the way this piece is designed to be worn. It's supposed to
press firmly against the flesh of your neck. Why don't you turn around and let
me take a look at it from the front?"
As she turned Jan felt Thomas's fingers squeeze against her buttocks. He is
coming on to me, she told herself with excitement. We won't have time to do
anything on the ride over to lunch, I'd want to take my time with this hunk but
I've got to get his number for later.
Thomas reached up and adjusted the choker, his strong fingers stroking up and
down on Jan's neck and the underside of her chin. "Looks good on you mam, just
the way it should. Your skin is supposed to just peek over the top and bottom
edge of the necklace and that's what it's doing. But I tell you what, when we
get to where we are going if you still think it's too tight, I'll take it off
you and we can refit it. Deal?"
"Sure, it's a deal," said Jan. And that's not all I want you to take off me she
thought but didn't say.
Holding the back door of the day coach open for her, Thomas motioned her inside.
"I'm afraid we do have a schedule we need to keep to," he said regretfully. "So
if you don't mind . . . "
Jan entered the rear of the coach and sat down in the seat. Thomas reached over
and pulled her seat belt across her and fastened it, his fingers smoothly
palming her braless breasts during both halves of their passage. I'm not
imagining things, I excite this young stud. Just look at the size of that lump
in his pants.
As they drove down the road, Thomas lowered the glass partition between the
front and back seats. "I'm sorry mam but there's still one more thing I need
to do before we get to our destination."
"By all means go ahead," said Jan graciously, already planning on how to best
enjoy her envisioned romp with the driver.
"Thank you mam. I hope you enjoy the ride." As Thomas' finger depressed a large
red button on the dash, Jan felt a buzzing sensation run through her entire body
as though she was being buried under an avalanche of maddened hornets.
When she awoke, Jan found herself naked and lying on her back strapped to a
breeding bench. Her ass was hanging off the edge of the bench; her legs spread
wide between vertical bars. Her arms were stretched down and back and fastened
to the underside of the bench. Taking a breath, she tried to scream but the only
sound that exited her mouth was a muffled squeak, like a small mouse being
batted around by a cat.
With great effort she raised her head off the bench until her chin touched her
chest. Peering down her chest she saw Hank sitting calmly in a gunmetal chair.
On a small table to his right were six plates, each with a quarter stick of
butter. A thin black leather thong lay in a circle around the plates.
Seeing that Jan was awake, Hank stood up and walked over to stand next to her
head. Gently stroking her hair he smiled at her and began to talk.
"Hi Jan, glad to see you're back with us. I know you're sore. That's what
happens when a blackout collar like the one you were wearing is triggered. Of
course, that's not the only reason you're sore. You were catheterized to get
all of the urine out of your bladder and I'm afraid they weren't as considerate
as they could have been. It took them several tries to get the tube placed
right." As he was talking Hank's hand slipped down from Jan's hair to rub
against the side of her face. "You were also on the receiving end of four
enemas, including a high colonic. Pretty rough I'll bet. But it's just so messy
when a woman voids herself so we thought we'd get you cleaned up ahead of time."
Jan began to struggle against her bonds, only to have Hank's hand push her head
back down to the bench. "If I were you Jan, I wouldn't waste my strength on
trying to get loose. That's not going to happen and you're going to need your
strength later." Again Jan tried to talk but only a soft bleat escaped her
throat.
"Oh, that's another thing. You've been given a temporary anesthetic to stop you
from screaming. That means you can't talk either.
"Now you're probably wondering where you are and why," said Hank after he moved
his chair around to allow him to sit next to Jan. "Well as to where you are,
you're in a small room in The Stockyard. They use it for 'special order'
slaughterings, the kinds that don't use their assembly line methods. And since
you now know where you are, I'll bet you won't have any trouble guessing why
you're here."
Jan's lips moved forming the word "Lari."
"That's right Jan. You're here because of what you did to Lari. It could have
been so good for all of us, me, Lari, you and your mystery lover, if only you
had been adult about the whole thing. But that wasn't your style was it Jan,"
asked Hank, emotion filling his voice. "You were jealous, couldn't stand the
fact that Lari and I were happy. So you had her converted. Well, yesterday the
Judge signed a conversion order for you and in just a little while you're going
to be reunited with Lari."
Methodically, Hank began to strip, carefully folding his clothes and placing
them on the chair. Jan watched her eyes wide and as filled with hate as a
bigot's mind. Hank walked to the table and returned with a stick of butter in
his hand.
"Let me tell you what's going to happen, Jan. I think you have a right to know.
First I'm going to fuck that ass of yours, the one you wouldn't let me into the
whole time we've been screwing. When I'm done, when my come is dripping from
your wide-open asshole, then I'm going to clean myself up, get dressed and push
that button on the wall."
Jan's gaze moved from Hank's face to follow his pointing finger. On the wall,
next to the door, was a bright green button. "That button's going to tell Marty
that we're ready for the next step. You're going to pull a train for six guys
Jan, three at a time over and over again. They're going to fill every hole
you've got. Including your ass. That's what the extra butter is for. Just think
of it Jan, six of them moving constantly from cunt to ass to mouth. And hon,
you don't have to worry, Thomas will be one of them. He told me that you
practically dropped to your knees and gave him a blowjob right on the sidewalk
while he put the blackout collar on you."
Hank began to smear the butter on his rampant cock, pale yellow tallow oozing
between his fingers. "And when they're done, when they can't get one more
hard-on, when every last wiggling little spermatozoon has been drained from
twelve balls, Thomas is going to take that leather thong and use it to send you
on your way."
Hank's invading cock pushed insistently against Jan's anal rosebud, forcing its
way past her clenched tightness, ripping and tearing tender flesh as it moved
deeper into her bowels. Rivers of black flame clouded Jan's sight as Hank
punished her ass with every stroke, his dick relentless and without pity in its
quest to embed itself in her until she was as raw as a scraped artichoke leaf.
Jan's tits bounced like half-filled water balloons on her chest, their gyrations
matching Hank's strokes. His hands reach out like the claws of a maddened animal
and begin to scour small strips of skin off Jan's stomach leaving red bleeding
troughs in their wake.
"Let me tell you what's going to happen when they're done fucking you," rasped
Hank between thrusts. "First they're going to take a half-hour break to get
some of their strength back. Once they've recovered they'll turn you over on
your stomach but they're going to be sure they still have access to your pussy
and ass. You arms will be spread out to your sides and tied down. Then while
the rest of them take turns fucking you, Thomas is going to sit on your back and
drive most of the air from your lungs. You'll still be able to breathe but it
will be hard, every breath you take will be a small torture.
"Thomas will take the cord and wrap it around your neck. If you're lucky he'll
let you take one more deep breath before he tightens the cord. You'll struggle.
It won't do you any good but it'll sure be stimulating for whoever is lucky
enough to be fucking you at the time. He'll twist the thong tighter; it'll cut
into the flesh of your neck, maybe you'll even bleed a little but I bet you
won't bled as much as Lari did when they cut her head off."
Savage before, Hank's fucking took on a positively feral quality as he continued
to taunt Jan with her fate. "Just before you pass out, Thomas will ease up and
let you have a little bit of air, just enough to keep things lively for awhile.
But, as I know only too well, all good things must come to an end. You taught
me that lesson Jan and I've taken it to heart. With Bill in hospital, I've
deputized Thomas to act as my divorce attorney. When he tightens that cord for
the final time he'll end both your life and our marriage and I can, I can, I, I,
I . . ." With a shudder Hank slammed into Jan's ass, the tendons on his neck
stiff and quivering as he threw his head back, all the energy in his body
flowing through his cock to rest deep inside Jan's ass.
Marty escorted Hank down the hallway toward his office. "Hank are you sure you
don't want to see it happen? You're paying enough for it. You don't even have to
be in the room with her if you don't want to. We've got a one-way mirror you can
watch through. Those are pretty standard in my line of work. She'll never even
know you were there, not that it would matter in the end."
'Thanks Marty," said Hank as he shuffled down the hall like an old man beset
with arthritis. "Don't ask me why but I'd rather not. And I want you to go back
in and ask Thomas to make it quick. Never mind all that 'pulling a train' stuff
I asked for. Making Jan suffer won't bring Lari back. I guess I'm not really cut
out for revenge the way I thought I was."
"Jeeze, Hank, the guys sure will be disappointed. Are you sure you still want
Jan terminated?"
"Yeh, I owe Lari that much at least. And with Jan out of the way, maybe I can
start my life over again. Find somebody new, a second sunrise in my life, you
know all that 'new beginnings' stuff the radio shrink is always going on about."
Marty stopped before an unmarked grey door. "Hank there's something that's
bothering you. Tell brother Marty what it is."
"Man, you're going to think I'm nuts. Marty I swear that when we left the room
and I looked at Jan that one last time . . . Well, damn it I'd swear she was
laughing, laughing at me. After all that and with what she knew was going to
happen to her she was laughing at me."
"Naw, I don't think you're crazy at all. Come on in here with me for a minute,"
Marty said holding the door open for Hank to enter the darkened room, "and I'll
tell you why." Hank heard a "whoosh" near his right ear as he entered the room.
A pain blossomed in his head and the room grew even darker.
When Hank awoke he found himself naked and lying on his stomach bound to a
bench, his head held tightly in some sort of restraint. Unable to look up, Hank
could only see a plastic crate from Teelucky's Dairy, its gridwork stained with
what looked like dried rust. My god, he thought, I'm tied on a guillotine.
"Marty," he croaked querulously, "hey, Marty are you there?"
"Yeah Hank, I'm here," replied a voice from behind him.
"Come on man, this isn't funny. Let me go. Get me off this fucking thing."
"Sorry Hanko, no can do big fellow."
"Marty quit screwing around and let me out of here. This joke isn't very funny."
"Hank, I hate to be the one to tell you but this isn't a joke."
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Remember when I told the group about getting the contract with the country to
do conversions? Yeah, sure you do. Well, my friend, the court ordered your
conversion> I'm supposed to have you chopped and packaged by tomorrow."
Hank felt his bladder give way, the warm puddle spreading beneath his stomach
and legs. "Marty, come on, you've got things all screwed up. Jan was the
conversion, not me. I brought you the order from the Judge. It was for Jan."
"Yep, Hank you're right. The order you brought me was for Jan but then, about an
hour later, I got another order and this one was for you. Here's how it plays
out. Remember you told all of us at the game that Jan had taken a lover but you
didn't know who it was. Well, it turns out that Bill Jonston was her lover. They
were in it together. I'll bet that they even forged that old contract about
Lari. I mean I don't know that for sure but it would fit. Anyway, they weren't
going to stop with Lari. Bill was on his way to see the Judge with a conversion
petition about you when he had that car accident. The papers flew under the seat
and they didn't find them until the yard was doing the final clean out on the
car before it was scraped."
Hank began to panic, rocking from side to side in an attempt to get free of the
bench. "Hey man, don't do that," Marty advised hurriedly. "You're not going to
get loose but you could make the blade slip. If that happens it might not kill
you cleanly. I've seen people with their heads still half-attached and breathing
after a blade slipped.You wouldn't want that to happen to you and I can't have
that happen here. I've got a rep you know. If you keep it up I'm going to have
to drop the blade now." Sobbing, Hank forced himself to lie still.
"That's better Hank, now where were we? Oh I know, the accident. Well, after
the yard guys found the papers they took them to the Judge. I guess they got
there just a few minutes after you left. Since everything was in legal, they
used some sort of prior entrustment contract you made out when you went into the
hospital for that operation, I guess Bill might have added some extra language
or something, anyhow the main thing is the Judge signed the order and the job
came to me. And so here we are and now you know why Jan was laughing when you
left the room. She knew there was a contract out on you as well."
"Marty, man come on Marty, we're friends. You can't do this to a friend. Come on
Marty. Damn it. Listen to me. Marty I'll pay whatever you want," said Hank his
panic returning and his voice getting higher with each sentence. "Just tell me.
How much is it going to cost. Marty, talk to me. Tell me the price."
"Friendship is one thing Hank. Business is another. And this is just business.
Sorry but that's the way it is. Everything's automated in this room. I'm going
to turn off the light when I leave. The blade will drop quickly and I guarantee
you won't feel a thing. If you do just let me know and I'll give the county
their money back." As he left the room Marty heard Hank's scream come to a
sudden stop followed by a thud like wet dirt slapped with a spade.
The next morning Shirley stuck her head into Marty's office. "Mr. Brune, what
should we do with the meat from the Gygers? His order gave her meat to him and
her order gave his meat to her. Now who gets it?"
"Well, technically, I guess it belongs to The Stockyard now. I tell you what
though, call up the food bank and see if they have enough room in their freezers
for both Jan and Hank. That way, on top of the slaughtering and processing fees,
we can take a tax write-off for donating the meat. Since neither one of them was
in very good shape, the write-off will make us more money than we'd get if we
sold the meat to a store. It's even better than finding a second hundred dollar
bill in the till."
Hell, life is good thought Marty to himself as Shirley went to call the food
bank. And with Hank out of the way, I might even win a few hands at next month's
game.
