The intake crowd at Riraito’s Fine Meats was thick. Thanksgiving day was always a busy time, and they were processing more girls than usual. The same as this time every year they’d added class C exemptions to the Cull as well, so the herd of meatgirls stretched far back around the block.

Kevin dropped Monica off outside the main intake entrance at the facility. He kissed her lovingly goodbye, like he did every day when he drove her to work. This time, however, she’d never be coming back. As she walked away from the car, she could see him open up his phone and start scrolling to the Dolcett County Meat ordering app. She knew he was filling in her Meat ID number so he could order her carcass for Thanksgiving dinner.

A roasting girl rotated on a spitting pole in the window of the front end butcher store. It made her wonder. Her husband was a terrible cook, so she wondered who he would end up getting to cook the big meal for her family without her around.

The crowd filed in slowly, and Monica was drawn into the building’s cavernous meatgirl reception area. A naked woman with a pussy tag, and a staff lanyard was taking names and Meatgirl ID’s behind a stylish wooden podium.

“NEXT!”
The redhead in army uniform ahead of her enunciated her name clearly as she was called up to the podium.
“Olive Mars - Meatgirl ID 230998787”

Monica glanced around at the gaggle of women, all nervously shifting in place as they waited their turn to proceed. She thought she recognised the girl in the white tanktop with the orange headband as someone she knew from when she went to college. What was her name again? Cathy? Candy… no - It was Caroline!. That was it!. Caroline Everett, Anthropology major from Dolcett U.

“NEXT!” Monica heard the attendant call her up. She shuffled to the lectern and looked the busty brunette behind it in the eye.
“Name and Meatgirl ID” she asked monotonously and bored.
“Monica Smith - Meatgirl ID 8008298763” She managed to squeak out as she anxiously played with the cuffs of her sweater..
“Yes, we have you here on the manifest… Let me just mark off receipt of your attendance for processing.” the big boobed volunteer worker used a stylus on a tablet to check off Monica’s presence.

“Um… will it be long to wait before… I’m converted into… meat” she asked
“We’re a little backed up today because of the volume of meatgirls we’re intaking today. It’ll be about an hour from undressing to execution.”
“Oh, ok.”
“Move along, please undress and place your all your clothes and jewelry into the incinerator bin, and wait to be guided to the meatgrading rooms.”

Monica moved along to the bins and started to undress slowly, as if doing that would extend her lifespan somehow.
“NEXT!” the brunette called
“Name and Meatgirl ID” she intoned indifferently.
Caroline tenderly hobbled up to the podium. Her asshole still stung something fierce from her raping at the farm.
“Let’s get this over with… Caroline Everett - Meatgirl ID 4576786” Caroline sullenly replied, not particularly happy with how her day was going so far.

“Yup, I have you here honey… don’t worry too much about the delays, I’m sure you’ll be turning brown over the fire before you know it.” said the woman seemingly obtuse to the source of Caroline’s worries.

The idea of her lightly toned muscles cooking in an oven or over a coal firepit made her feel a little sick. She considered making a run for it, briefly, before deciding better of it.

She was fit, and if she bolted now, she doubted anyone here would catch her… but runaways wère hunted down without exception, and they, and their extended families would be executed in the slowest, most torturous and humiliating methods available.

She’d endured so much to ensure Lizzie could have a life without Caroline around to take care of her. It would be insanity to throw that all away for a fantasy escape that would never succeed.

“Strip naked over there with the others, place your clothes in the receptacles to be burned, then wait for the butcher to guide you for meat assessment.” She continued, unaware of Caroline’s childish wish for freedom.

Caroline moved on and bent over at the stainless steel bins, removing her running shorts, and sports panties, carelessly letting them drop beneath her.

“Caroline? Caroline Everett from Dolcett University? It is you, I knew it!” Came a distantly familiar voice from over her shoulder.

She turned to face the voice and came face to face with a plump looking redhead who was in the process of removing her bra. The clasp sprung open and the woman’s massive titties spilled out and swayed as she moved, like cow udders.

“Oh my god, Monica, is that you? I haven’t seen you since graduation. How are you? What have you been up to?..” she almost forgot where she was. Waiting in line suddenly didn’t seem like such a chore.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just getting snuffed today, just a little off the top. How about you, you come here often?” she joked with a humorous employment of nihilism.

Caroline let out a little snigger unexpectedly. Somehow, it seemed funny to her when it was put bluntly like that. Monica had always been a little sarcastic in that way.

“What are you doing these days? Did you marry that older man you were dating, Kevin I think he was named”

“Married twenty years going on may, and still fucking like rabbits.” Monica beamed. “Got two girls, all grown up now and lottery age themselves. My Youngest, Penny is finishing her final year of high school. And Karin’s in her first year of college, studying Arts.” Monica stated, proudly. “And you, did you ever get married?”

“No, I haven’t really had the time for dating, between my job hours, and taking care of my sister at home. Most nights when I’m done, I just collapse into bed, it’s all been so exhausting.” Caroline replied, sounding as exhausted as she claimed to be.

One of the butchers dressed in their standard blue uniform opened the little rope gate that had been blocking their path.
“OK sows, line up double file, and walk this way to the medical room to receive your meatgrades.”

Monica and Caroline continued to catch up and gossip as they made their way to the assessment measuring charts and stood on the floor embedded scales. Doctors came out of nowhere and efficiently took measurements of the meatgirls’ bodies.

Monica’s doctor nodded happily as he wrapped a thin line of tape around her boobs, taking note of the satisfactory numbers he read out, while Caroline’s attendant exchewed the tape and simply tut-tutted as she felt up the firmness of her tiny sporty tits.

“Do they have to be so rough about how they measure us? I always hate getting my annual meatgrades taken.” Caroline complained as the worker lifted up her cupcake sized titties and squeezed her nipples uncomfortably.

“You want them to do their jobs properly, don’t you? It’d suck if they couldn't grade you properly, and you ended up getting sent to the mincers?” Monica primped properly.

Her doctor was examining the womanly thicket of motherly snatch that surrounded her thick fillet with a look that said she probably should have spent more time trimming it to make his job easier to do.

Monica moaned under her breath as she felt him examine her pussy. She liked the way it felt as he peeled her open and explored inside her. Being treated like cattle was kind of scary though.

Caroline winced as fingers prodded at her raw anus and sore pussy.
“Someone had a good time with their last fuck.” the doctor commented as he noted the bruising and minor lacerations that the Farm owner had left her with.
“Your man really knows how to use a girl properly.”

Caroline grimaced at the humiliating insinuation. The doctor coddled her rump, feeling it for irregularities. He lifted it up and massaged it in a way that felt more pervy than scientific.

She wondered if there even was any kind of real grading criteria, or whether it was just another way to humiliate women before they were snuffed.

Leaning over to sneak a peak at her own meatgrading notes, she was shocked to see her fit and trim body wasn’t acing all the checklist. What did it mean that she had a butterface? Or that her muscle fibres were too tough. Wasn’t lean meat sought after, why did she get marked down for that?

She didn’t want to be a live whole roaster like all A grade meatgirls became… but she couldn’t help but feel a little insulted being judged like that. That, and she didn’t want to get parted out like a B grade girl even more.

Her indignation was interrupted by a squeal from Monica, as the fat pig was bent over and branded with a B+. How did a porker like that housewife get a grade that high?

“Bend over bitch, time for you to find out how you’re gonna be served” came the curt instruction.

Caroline obeyed, touching her toes. Tears welled in her eyes as the superheated brand scorched her ass cheek with a B-.

“Now, spread your legs and show me your pussy so I can pierce it with your cooking instructions.

She did as she was told, and the doctor reached down to her labia with a handheld piercing gun.

Click!

Caroline felt the metal ring punch through the folds of her pussy lip.

Fearfully she lifted up the pussy tag to see what it read.

‘Supermarket frozen headless corpse.’

It wasn’t the worst way to go, she thought

“I’m going to be a headless roaster?” Monica shouted from nearby. At least, she’d have company in the guillotine line, Caroline thought.