When they arrived at the mock-up village, Mrs Henderson was waiting for them with Mr Miller, Miss Smithson along with several people the girls didn’t recognise. There was a young man with a professional-looking camera and another with a video camera who Mrs Henderson introduced as media students from the college, there to capture her slaughter for posterity, and a middle-aged, jolly-looking bald man accompanied by another two students, a boy and a girl, wearing overalls with plastic aprons and long plastic gloves over the top. All three had goggles pushed up onto their foreheads.

“This is Mr Adams.” Mrs Henderson introduced him. “He is a lecturer on the Agriculture and Livestock Management course at the college and an experienced butcher. He will be carrying out the slaughter to make sure everything goes smoothly and his students will be actually butchering the carcass. I am assured they are very competent.”

“Jack.” The butcher smiled, holding out his hand. Laura shook it feeling quite amused at being formally introduced to the man who was about to kill her. The tingle between her legs as she looked over the array of knives laid out to kill and dismember her was almost unbearable. She wished she could ask one of the men stood around to give her one last fuck or at least finger herself to climax once more but it was clear that this was neither the time nor the place. “This is May,” he introduced the girl, “and Chris.” Laura exchanged smiles and hand-shakes with both the students.

“Can we get some photos before you start?” asked Mrs Henderson. The student with the camera stepped forward. From the light on the video camera, Laura could tell that the other boy was filming everything and would likely edit the footage later. First of all, Laura and the head mistress stood next to each other in front of the wooden frame, both smiling proudly. Unsure what to do with her hands, Laura let her arms hang by her side for one shot then clasped them behind her back for another. Next Laura was photographed between the two student butchers. For this shot, they gently held her wrists and elbows. Laura then posed with the tutor who would actually be killing her, between the Langfords, between the two school chefs and finally with Helen by her side, the contrast of one smiling school-girl being dressed smartly while the other was stark naked providing a pleasing juxtaposition.

“Now we’re going to hang you up,” explained Jack, “and from then on we’re just going to be treating you as meat, understand?” He smiled as he spoke, not sounding gruff or mean, simply explaining to the anxious and excited meat-girl how things were going to be. “It’s okay to be scared,” he assured her, “but I want to check you’re not going to start screaming or crying once we start, that wouldn’t make for very nice footage, would it?”

“No, of course.” Laura smiled, nodding. “I’ve prepared myself.”

“You got this!” Helen gave her hand another squeeze and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m right here!”

“I may never have slaughtered a girl before,” the butcher smiled reassuringly, “but I’ve dispatched hundreds of cows, pigs, sheep and deer. I know what I’m doing and you don’t need to worry about a thing. Your only job now is to stay quiet and be delicious!”

“I think I can manage that!” Laura grinned.

“Great!” Jack grinned back at her. “That’s the spirit! Now we need to tie your ankles together, okay?” Laura nodded and stood with her feet together and her arms slightly out be her side for balance. Helen stepped out of the way but made sure to stay where her friend could see her, grinning and giving her a double thumbs-up. The girl who had been introduced as May knelt down in front of her and bound her ankles very tightly with thick rope. Glancing over, Laura saw that the boy, Chris, was standing on a middle step of a little step-ladder, tying a similar piece to the top of the frame. May gave the knot a tug and nodded to herself, apparently satisfied, then signalled to Chris.

Laura gave a little yelp of surprise as the boy picked her up over his shoulder, fireman-style, and carried her to the frame. May mounted the steps and waited at the top. The who thing felt silly and surreal and she tried not to giggle, cooperating as best she could as the butcher assisted by raising her feet up so that the hanging rope could be looped through the rope binding her ankles. Once that was secure, Chris gently lowered her to dangle with her arms dangling loose and her hair hanging just high enough so as not to brush the grass. As she hung there in the warm Summer air, swaying gently like an erotic pendulum, Jack gave his students a quick pep-talk.

“Now I need you to remember,” he spoke seriously, “this is a pig we are butchering like any other and I know you’ve had lots of practice. Forget the girl you were introduced to just now, this is just a pig and I want you to treat it as such, understand.” The students both nodded. The photographer was kneeling down to take some more pictures of Laura, hanging upside down with her blood rushing to her head and gravity tugging a little uncomfortably on her boobs.

“Can we have some photos of the butchers with the pig now?” he asked, standing up. The students and their tutor obliged, posing either side of the hanging girl with knives at the ready. “And one with the girl?” He asked, ushering Helen close to her friend. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Helen.” smiled the red-head, standing beside her dangling friend like a fisherman displaying their catch of the day. Having posed somewhat formally, she now giggled and struck a pose like a bikini-clad glamour-girl on a game show presenting the grand prize only instead of a motorboat or large-screen TV, it was her naked, hanging friend she was showing off.

“Phil.” the photographer smiled back. “And that’s great, thank you. All yours!” He smiled at the butcher.

“Can everyone apart from my team take a few steps back, please?” Jack asked, pulling down his goggles. Helen joined the Langfords who were stood close to Mrs Henderson but made sure Laura would still be able to see her. She had promised to provide moral support after all. The table where she and the other meat-girls would be dining later was still bare, yet to be set, but now had benches either side where the diners could sit with a stool at either end, presumably for Mr and Mrs Langford who would be chaperoning.

Both student butchers now held buckets and had their goggles down too. They crouched either side of Laura’s head, ready to catch her blood. Jack took a large knife and knelt behind her, gathering her thick, dark hair into one hand. As he pulled her head back, Laura could feel her heart pounding faster than she ever remembered it doing before.

She was excited, certainly, and nervous but only in the way she would be before a test. Why wasn’t she afraid, she wondered. But what good would fear do? It was not as if she could escape and it had been made clear to her that, whatever happened now and however she behaved, the slaughter would be going ahead. There was nothing she could say or do that would alter her fate in any way. The only choice she had was to make the process go smoothly or messily so she might as well relax and let the butcher do his job.

Time seemed to slow down as she heard the click of the camera capturing her last moments and felt the cold steel against her throat. The knife was incredibly sharp and she felt very little at first, not realising that the butcher had actually made his cut until she saw her own blood start to spray from the wound into the waiting bucket held in position by May, with Chris waiting to take over when hers was full. Now she felt a burning sensation, not pain exactly. Her head began to swim and she felt nauseous. The butcher was still cutting, pulling her head back further and further until she could no longer see the students or her small audience, only the blood-flecked grass beneath. She felt cold now, almost feverish, yet still more aroused than she believed possible. There was a huge feeling of satisfaction, too. She was part of a group project, she knew that, but her task was nearly complete. She had done all that was required of her and now it was up to the others to do their part. A contented smile on her lips, she closed her eyes against the increasingly blurry, swirly view in front of her and, a moment later, took her last breath.

The buckets beneath her were swapped out and Jack continued to hold her nearly-severed head back until the blood-flow slowed to a drip. The students then swapped their buckets for a large, shallow plastic tray which they held between them.

Helen put her hands to her mouth and looked with a mix of awe, horror and fascination as Laura’s belly was sliced open and her innards tumbled out into the tray. She had known this was for real, of course, she was not an idiot and all the adults had been very clear with her about what was planned yet still, up to this point, the whole situation had carried an air of make-believe, possibly due to its own surrealness. Seeing her friend butchered was the first time it really hit her in a way that properly sunk in that she was going to die. Her body blooded with a mix of excitement and dread that triggered a deep, primal need, stronger than she had ever felt it before!

Satisfied that his work was done, Jack stepped back and admired his handiwork. The students took the tray of viscera to one side to sort into edible organs and waste while Phil took some more pictures, the video camera held by his friend always rolling of course. Once their gory task was complete, the students pushed over a trolley for the meat and began to strip the hanging carcass, removing each breast as a single piece and carefully carving out the juicy cunt before proceeding to part out the dead girl as if she were a pig or deer.

“Are you okay?” Mrs Henderson asked Helen, seeing her slightly paler than usual face and the far-away look in her eyes as she watched.

“Yes, Miss.” She assured her. “It’s just… Well, like, so real!”

“Indeed.” the kind-hearted head mistress nodded understandingly. “I don’t expect you to attend any more lessons today, of course, but now the meat is going to be taken to the kitchen and prepared so there’s nothing more to see until lunch time. Doesn’t really seem fair for you to spend your last day helping to set the table,” she chuckled, “so go have some free time until lunch.” Helen nodded and was about to go before Mrs Henderson remembered something else and stopped her.

“Oh one more thing,” she smiled, “I’ve been talking with the media students and we agreed that we’d like all the tributes to attend the meal this afternoon naked. It will make for some lovely photographs, contrasting with the elegance of the table-setting and the meal and hopefully you can take some nice photographs afterwards as you relax together and enjoy the sunshine. Plus it will get you used to being naked in front of other people ready for tomorrow, if you weren’t already, that is!” she added with a chuckle.

Helen giggled, thinking of her inspections, the nude photo-shoot for the newspaper and how she had stripped off to help with Laura’s prep. All the girls at the school were used to showering together as well as skinny-dipping in the lake and sunbathing nude but in the last week or so she was starting to feel like quite the naturist, finding clothes, especially her formal school uniform, uncomfortable and restrictive. The tingle between her legs was urgent, unbearable, a desperation rather than a need and she hoped the conversation would end soon.

“I’ll make sure the others know.” Mrs Henderson smiled. “Plus we don’t want to get your uniform all messy, do we?” she chuckled. “Just hang it up once you take it off, you won’t be needing it again! Now off you go,” she chuckled, “have some fun until the meal is ready.” She confirmed the time Helen and the others would be expected back. “Don’t forget!”

“I won’t!” Helen grinned. “Can’t wait for a taste of Laura!” With that she ran off before the head-mistress could think of anything else to tell her about or any of the other staff could give her a task. She had a clear mission in mind and was not going to let anything stand in the way.

“Excuse me.” She tapped Phil on the shoulder as he stood checking his shots on the small screen on the back of the camera. Laura’s meat had been pushed away on the trolley and was now being distributed among the catering students in the kitchen, watched over by Miss Smithson and Mr Miller. The boy with the video camera had followed them but Phil’s assignment was done until the meal was served. He turned around and smiled at the red-head, a little surprised by how serious her expression was.

“Hey!” smiled the nineteen year old student. “Helen, right?”

“Yeah!” She flashed a quick smile at him then looked serious again. “Are you a virgin?”

“Um.. sorry?” He looked puzzled. “Why do you…?”

“Just answer the question!” Helen cut him off before demanding once more. “Are you a virgin?”

“Well no…” Phil admitted.

“Got a girlfriend at the moment?”

“Well no but…”

“Good!” She grabbed the front of his shirt so aggressively that he almost dropped the camera, thankful for the strap which held it around his neck. “Because I need to be fucked. Right now. And I need someone who knows what they’re doing! You in or have I got to ask a teacher?”

“Um, no!” he stammered. “I’m in!”

“Good!” Helen crushed her lips to his. “Come with me!” The surprised boy allowed himself to be dragged by the hand, down the hill away from the replica village where the butchers were now cleaning up after the slaughter which had not been nearly as messy as he thought it might be. Seeing the pretty teen naked had been arousing enough but seeing her bound and strung up, compliant and vulnerable, had made him rock hard. When her throat had been cut it was all he could do to keep from cumming in his pants, managing to keep his dignity only by focussing on the professional job at hand and trying to view the scene, through his camera, with the dispassionate eye of the documentary-maker. Even so, he had planned to excuse himself at the first opportunity and relieve his tension but the offer, no, the demand from the beautiful teen who was now dragging him down the hill towards the lake made that plan unnecessary and pointless by comparison.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they passed the lake which was empty now apart from a family of ducks, all the other girls being in their lessons at the moment.

“Not far now!” Helen assured him breathlessly. Moments later they were under the cover of the trees, the warmth of the day and the patches of persistent sunlight which dappled the forest floor making the little copse feel magical. Helen kissed the boy forcefully once more and began to tug at his belt. He quickly unbuttoned his own shirt lest she rip the buttons off in her eagerness. Not wanting to waste any time, Helen stepped back and was out of her blazer, shoes and hat before Phil even knew what was going on. She tossed them over a low branch with as much care as she could be bothered to muster in the moment and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground, her tie was off before it landed. She pulled her shirt off, inside-out over her head after undoing only the top two buttons then tugged off her socks. Impatiently, clad only now in her bra and panties, she pressed herself to Phil’s exposed torso, pushing the camera aside, and kissed him once more while he reached around behind her to unhook her white uniform bra.

Thinking clearly for just a moment, Phil took the camera from around his neck and set it carefully on the ground off to the side. The topless teen pushed his shirt down over her shoulders then tugged down his tented boxers leaving him, just for a moment, more naked than her and clearly more than ready to provide the service that she required. A moment later, the meat-girl’s white undies were down too and, just for a moment, he was able to admire her delicious young body as nature intended.

“Lay down!” she ordered him, tossing her white undies in the vague direction of her other clothes. Phil did as she said, propping himself up on his elbows and unable to believe his luck as the desperately horny fifteen year old straddled him and quickly impaled herself just as she would be impaled on the spit it little more than twenty four hours.

Aggressively, Helen rode her chosen fuck-toy hard and fast on the bed of earth and dried leaves, her modest but firm teen tits bouncing as she dug her nails into his fairly muscular chest. Her ginger hair cascaded down her back, flowing out to the sides like a mane, her head tossed back and chest trust forward. With a scream of pleasure she experienced the climax she had so urgently needed after watching her friend’s slaughter. But Phil was not finished yet.

With an assertiveness that bordered on violence, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down onto her back, climbing on top of her and crushing her lithe, nubile teen body under his heavier young adult form and fucking her hard, chasing his own climax and determined to make her remember him as she was being spitted the next day. Imagining his own cock erupting bloodily from her mouth, he rammed the sweet-faced girl, sobbing from the intensity of her orgasm, as if she were Victorian tuppeny whore.

With a roar the equal of any beast, he spent his hot load inside her tight and eager, soon to be spitted teen cunt then, both having had their desperate needs more than met, he sat and helped her up onto his lap where he held her in his strong arms until her heart-rate returned to normal and she was able to breathe once more.

“Was I good?” the sweating teen girl whispered in his ear, her red, lightly freckled cheeks stained with tears but not of pain or sadness.

“Best I’ve ever had!” He whispered back. “And I mean that.”

“Think I’m gonna taste as good as I fuck?” she giggled, pulling pieces of twig and crumbly leaf out of her thick, now somewhat tangled hair.

“If you’re half as good a meal as fuck-buddy then everyone’s really in for a treat!” She looked pleased to hear this. “What about me? Did I give you what you needed?”

“And then some!” she assured him before kissing him once more but slowly this time, tender and almost loving. “Not sure even the spit is going to compare!”

“Well that’s some pretty stiff competition!” laughed Phil. “Have you seen the size of that thing?” They kissed once more then Helen stood up, naked and beautiful with the looks of an innocent nymphet in a classical painting but the unmistakable glow of a girl who’s been freshly fucked. “Come on!” She grabbed her shirt off the branch and began to put it on without bothering with her bra. “We should be getting back before you’re missed. I bet they’ll want you to photograph the dishes before they’re brought out. Hey,” a thought occurred to her as she zipped up her skirt, “you are coming tomorrow, right? And joining in the feast?”

“Oh yes!” he assured her, standing up and hitching up his own jeans and underwear. “And I’m gonna make sure I get a slice of your ass!” A few minutes later, they emerged from the woods with Phil looking a little dishevelled but fully re-dressed while Helen was barefoot, holding her shoes in one hand while her blazer pockets bulged with the underwear, bra, socks and tie that were shoved somewhat haphazardly into them and her hat sitting at a somewhat jaunty angle above her now wild tangle of thick ginger hair.

“Good job we’re done with the photographs for now!” she laughed, fully aware of her appearance. “Mrs Henderson would go mad if I showed up trying to represent the school like this!” Both chuckled at this thought. As they approached the lake, it became obvious that some girls were now swimming and playing in it. It was some of the other meat-girls, the Tributes as Mrs Henderson was now calling them, having finished their first lesson and told they did not need to attend the next.

“You go on.” She kissed him sweetly on the lips and smiled. “I’m gonna have a swim. My spit-hole’s feeling kinda sore for some reason!” She giggled. “Go on!” She patted his backside through his jeans. “I’ll see you at lunch! Get ready to take some memorable shots of me in my best outfit!”

Tossing the remnants of her uniform on the grass, Helen took a few steps into the lake then launched herself forward. The cool water felt refreshing against her somewhat sticky skin and eased the soreness between her legs. Virginal until the night before, violated only by Laura’s tongue and assorted fingers, including her own, her tight teen cunt had now played host to three different cocks and been filled with cum. In the shower that morning she had tried discretely to clean herself out but had not wanted to attract too much attention from the other girls and give away how she and Laura had spent their night. Of course, since then, she had received a fresh helping from Phil the photographer. Thinking about him, she hoped that he would be given something to eat. Not Laura-meat, of course, that was all spoken for, but something light to keep his strength up. Otherwise it would seem quite mean to have him photograph a bunch of girls enjoying a hearty meal on an empty stomach! Now in the relative privacy of the lake, she was able to tread water while using her fingers to hold the reddened and slightly swollen lips apart allowing the cool, clear water to rinse her out inside. Once satisfied that she was not going to start leaking and find cum oozing down her leg over lunch, she lay on her back and swam gently back and forth, looking up at the occasional fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the sky.

This time tomorrow, she knew, she would be turning over hot coals, impaled from one pair of lips to the other. Would it hurt, she wondered? It had to going in, that stood to reason. A sharp metal spike was going to force a hole where where there had been no hole before and tear its way through her body. But what then? Would it be the kind of pain that subsided once the initial trauma was over? Like getting a splinter or stubbing your toe? Or would every breath bring with it a fresh wave of pain so that her final minutes would be spent in excruciating agony? She supposed there was really no way of knowing, no studies of those who had gone before that could inform her. She and her fellow tributes were, she knew, pioneers. Trail-blazers on a path that had yet to be documented. And what then? Even if she could get comfortable on the spit, how would it feel to roast alive? Perhaps it would feel like sunbathing, or indeed, laying on your back in the lake while the cheerful sun beats down on you from above? Or perhaps it would feel like hot metal or naked flame being applied to your whole body at once? Somewhere at the back of her mind, she remembered hearing that third-degree burns weren’t actually painful as the heat destroyed the nerve-endings in the skin. She also vaguely remembered being told that in cases of extreme pain, the pain-receptors in the brain could kind of short-circuit and make the person numb, which was why people trained in methods of torture knew to allow their subject breaks to recover, not out of any sympathy or mercy but because after a while, the most painful torture would simply stop hurting and, in order to maintain its effectiveness, it was necessary to allow the body time to re-set between sessions. She hoped this was true.

Why exactly were they being cooked alive, anyway? The thought had not occurred to her before – she has simply accepted that things were the way they were, but now she was wondering. Perhaps it was seeing Laura butchered or maybe the realisation that her own death was now less than twenty four hours away, or perhaps it was simply that this was the first significant amount of time since the announcement, which now seemed so long ago, that she had been alone with her thoughts, her best friend no longer there to chat to. Whatever the cause, questions were now coming to her mind that she had not thought of before and she played them over in her head as she floated peacefully. Cooking alive wasn’t normal, was it? She had seen a few hog-roasts in the past, at weddings or themed events, with the beast spit-roasted much as she was to be, and they had never started with a live pig! Chickens weren’t plucked, stuffed, tied and shoved in the oven while still clucking, were they? Was it simply a matter of convenience? The fact that a live animal would be very uncooperative and maybe injure the people trying to cook them? Or was there something else? Compassion? Personal taste that had become a cultural norm?

Laura’s throat had been cut and her blood drained then her carcass parted out. Wouldn’t it make as much sense to kill, gut and stuff the spit-roasters? Even if their heads were left on for effect? Surely the stew girls would cook quicker and more evenly if they entered the pot in chunks? And the buffet girls with their big tits and curvy asses – would it not involve far less mess, confusion and potential disappointment to have them parted out and cut into convenient steaks for the guests to choose from? Of course, she realised, that would not be as fun or entertaining as having a live, sexy girl stood naked, serving as her own menu from which you could pick your meal. And then it occurred to her that that was the answer to it all! The feast was as much about spectacle as food. After all, was human meat really so different from pork? Would a person served it unknowingly even realise what they were eating? No, what made the meat for this bicentennial celebration so special was precisely the fact that it came from schoolgirls like her.

Cute, giggling pre-teens splashing around in a bubbling pot would be a lot more entertaining to watch than chunks of meat floating around, watching a girl sweating and breathing heavily, maybe even fucking the spit which impaled her juicy cunt while she slowly roasts to death would be far more erotic a spectacle than dead meat turning over the coals. As turned on as she was by the idea of cooking in this way when she had first discussed the Hamilton sisters with Laura, and even more so when she had known that there was a possibility that she would experience it for herself, she fully understood that there would be plenty of people who would get just as much of a thrill from watching it happen. She had often heard the term “food porn” used in a jocular manner, even used it herself once or twice, but now, quite literally, that’s what she was going to become! The sight of her cooking meat was fully intended to provoke not just hunger but lust also! The thought was so thrilling that she had to reach down and pleasure herself with her fingers as she floated face-up in the water, not caring who might be watching.

When she was done, she swam leisurely to the bank and rose up out of the water like Venus born from the clam-shell. Many of the other meat-girls were still enjoying the water or sunbathing on the soft grass, some even paired up and caressing each other lovingly as they talked excitedly of what was to come, their conversation interspersed with sweet, romantic kisses. As she twisted her thick, red hair to squeeze out some of the water, she wondered how aware Mrs Henderson was about the erotic element of the coming feast – whether she had allowed herself to recognise it or whether she had convinced herself that they were simply replicating what had happened two hundred years earlier just as it had happened to the Hamilton sisters?

She was keen to have professional quality photos and video taken of the event – were these really just souvenirs for the parents, the same way school plays and concerts were often filmed, or was she aware of the commercial potential of such materiels? Would she be shocked by how many people with no connection to the school ordered copies when they became available? Or was that all part of her plan?

Come to think of it, Helen reflected, why had the Hamilton sisters been cooked alive? The villages must have been reasonably skilled hunters as there was no way they made enough diplomatic trades with other villages to exist solely on human flesh and she had seen the picture of Polly, the maid, slaughtered and butchered just as Laura had been so she knew that was something they did, probably their normal way, so why the change for the sisters? Had it been to show them some kind of honour as they were guests as well as food? Was that always how they cooked the girls for their annual feast? Part of the long-forgotten ritual behind their custom? Or had they enjoyed watching these girls, who to them would have appeared very exotic, dying slowly as they cooked? Had the Hamilton sisters, just like her and her fellow tributes, provided both dinner and a show?

With the warm, mid-day sun beating down on her, Helen was dry in no time at all, although she wanted to freshen up before her meal which was also a photo-shoot and wanted to look her best. She reached for her shirt but paused as a thought crossed her mind quickly followed by a sly smile across her lips. She had been told to come to lunch naked so why should she worry about clothes now? Seeing Laura walk to her death in her birthday suit had been far more arousing than she had expected, having seen her friend naked plenty of times over the last four years and recently becoming very well acquainted with her body. It was the mix of total confidence and utter vulnerability that had so impressed and stimulated her. Helen knew that she would have the same experience the next day as she waited with the other girls in front of an audience of hundreds for her appointment with the spit but she was impatient and wanted to taste that feeling right now.

Grinning to herself, Helen fished her uniform tie out of her blazer pocket and tied it loosely around her neck so that it hung between her pert young boobs then slipped on the blazer itself, leaving it unbuttoned, and set her hat on her head, but with nothing else to cover her modesty. If walking with no underwear under her uniform had been a thrill, this was a whole new level. Somehow, the presence of a few articles of clothes made her feel more naked. It felt deliberate, different from simply having no clothes of as if she were going for a shower. It really felt as if she were wearing her near-naked teen body as an outfit and she could not help but strut as she made her way through the corridors back up to her room, her shirt and skirt over one arm and her shoes in her other hand, even hearing the occasional whistle from inside the classrooms as she passed.

Back in her room she collapsed back onto her bed, giggling, then sat up and took off the token pieces of clothing. On the dressing table, she saw the book and reached over to pick it up, smiling a little sadly as she read the message. She was looking forward to her meal of Laura-meat more than she could remember ever have looked forward to something in her life. The only thing looming larger in her anticipation than the meal she was about to enjoy was the meal she would become a part of the next day. Still, she could not shake the feeling that she would enjoy it even more if Laura were there with her.

In the shower Helen imagined herself with the other girls, waiting to cook with the hundreds of guests looking hungrily at their naked bodies. As she was drying her hair, Naomi came into the shower room, apparently having had the same idea of freshening up before the meal. The beautiful black girl showered quickly and dried herself off then, giggling and chatting happily, the two naked teens made their way together, stark naked, down to the cannibal village in the school grounds where their final meal awaited!

Although they were not the last ones to arrive, several of the other girls were already there and seated at the table when they arrived. It was quite transformed from earlier that morning – the long wooden table was not set with a white table-cloth, fine china plates and the silver cutlery that the school kept for only the finest occasions. At each place-setting was a wine glass and a tall, slim glass for water and both bottles of water and decanted carafes of white wine were set at equal intervals along the table. There were bowls of salad and baskets of bread along with other cold condiments, sauces and side dishes but, as yet, no hot dishes set out. Helen supposed they would be brought out once everyone was seated.

Mr and Mrs Langford were there to greet the girls, now dressed as if they were going for a meal in an upmarket restaurant and providing yet further contrast with the girls’ nudity. Like Helen and Naomi, all the girls already sat at the table had a freshly-washed look about them, their hair brushed and neat. Naomi took a seat next to one of the younger girls, all of whom were already there, excited for their meal, and Helen sat down opposite, about half way down the table. It only took another ten minutes before all twelve girls were seated and the Langfords joined them, one at each end of the table. First to come out were the photographers and Helen blew Phil a kiss as she started to capture the elegantly sensual scene of the twelve naked teen and pre-teen girls awaiting a formal meal outside on a lovely Summer’s day. He grinned when he saw her and gave a cheeky wink in her direction.

Once everyone was seated and had helped themselves to drinks, the catering students who had been preparing Laura’s meat and would be helping to cook the rest of the girls the next day came out dressed smartly in white shirts, black trousers and black bow-ties, pushing trolleys with very interesting looking platters on. The starters were served to all the girls and the chaperones with an explanation that they would be able to help themselves to the different elements of the main course when it was served. Helen looked excitedly at the dish on front of her. It was a long platter with two bowls on it and a toasted slice of French bread topped with a slice of pate made from Laura’s liver, mixed with garlic and herbs. One bowl contained honeydew melon pieces topped with very thin slices of ham and the other was filled with piping hot soup in which tiny pieces of meat and vegetables floated.

Slightly at a loss as to what to try first, she opted for a bit of the liver pate. It was delicious and rich with a creamy texture. Next she used the delicate fork to spear a piece of ham and small cube of melon beneath it. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, savouring her first real taste of her friend’s meat.

“Wow girl!” She grinned, looking up at the sky and addressing Laura, imagining her looking down from the clouds, “You sure are delicious!” Not wanting it to go cold, she next turned her attention to the delicious ham and vegetable soup, hungrily devouring spoonful after spoonful until the spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.

“Would you like to try a piece?” one of the student girls smiled, offering a plate of small cubes of pale pinkish meat on cocktail sticks as Helen tucked into the ham and melon.

“Sure!” she grinned, helping herself to the offered Hors-d'œuvre. “I want to try everything! What is it?” She popped it into her mouth and chewed. It had a texture a little like mushroom but softer, with a delicious but unfamiliar flavour behind the seasoning.

“Brain.” The student explained. “Fried in garlic butter.”

“Oh wow!” Helen grinned. “Nothing wasted, eh?”

“Oh no!” the student confirmed. “We wanted to make use of every edible part!” She moved on to the next girl at the table as Helen finished off her ham and melon then popped the rest of the liver toast into her mouth. Once that was gone, she used her finger to retrieve the last drops of Laura soup from inside the bowl as she waited for the main course to be served.

It was strange. On one hand she knew full well that the meat she was eating was her friend but, on the other, it felt no different from any other meal, delicious ‘though it was. Perhaps, she wondered, it was because the pieces she had been served so far were so anonymous, with nothing to indicate where they had come from. She wondered if the main course might be different, the meat identifiable as having been cut from a teenage girl?

For the second time that day, Helen found her thoughts drifting in a philosophical direction. Why was it, she wondered, that people did not normally eat the meat of other humans? Was there really an objective difference between meat from a person and meat from a pig? Or was it simply a cultural taboo? Of course there was the moral element – killing animals was a lot more accepted around the world than killing people, but humanity, she knew, had not always been too concerned with morality when it came to how they treated each other. Why, she wondered, given that people around the world had domesticated and farmed all sorts of animals, had nobody ever tried farming other people? It’s not as if there was not precedent for treating other humans like animals – there was the slave trade, or even the holocaust. If people thought it was okay to buy and sell other people to work in their houses and fields, or kill them by their thousands just for the sake of being rid of them, why had so few societies ever considered their fellow man a source of food?

Two hundred years was not, she reflected, really all that long ago in historical terms. She wondered how the descendants of the people who ate the Hamilton sisters were living now? Had they managed to preserve and of their traditions and unique culture in some way or had they been absorbed into the wider “civilised” world? Just how long after Lord and Lady Hamilton visited had they continued to eat their neighbours? And had Laura been onto something when she speculated that the Hamiltons returned home not only with a new fortune but also an appetite for girl-meat? An appetite which they had satisfied with the flesh of their pupils?

Perhaps, she wondered, raising people for food was simply inefficient? A poor return on investment compared with cows and pigs? It did seem that, even among cultures where cannibalism had been practised, it was a rare treat, people being eaten either as part of a ritual or as a special event. Maybe they were going to start something that weekend after all? Was girl-meat something that could be eaten once and then set aside or, having tasted that most exotic of meats, would people be left wanting more? The law clearly allowed for it now, after all, or the meal she was enjoying now would not be happening, let alone the massive feast the next day, and certainly not with the level of publicity which was surrounding it. Would this really be a once-in-a-lifetime event as Mrs Henderson had predicted or the first ripple in the pond of cultural change? Either way, Helen realised, she would not be around to find out!

The wine was good – beautifully chilled and sweet enough for the girls’ inexperienced pallets but no so sweet that it could be mistaken for soda. Helen joined in the happy chatter around her and discussion of what they had tasted of Laura so far as she topped up her glass. Enough time was allowed for the starter to settle and all the plates were cleared away, fresh bottles of wine were brought to the table and the water bottles topped up and then the moment came that everyone had been waiting for – the caterers came out with their trolleys once more and the main course was served!

If the appetiser had been a delicious treat, better than Helen or any of the other girls had dared to hope for, the main course was on a whole other level! The students had really made the most of the opportunity to work with such exotic meat and so many different dishes had been prepared. Fortunately for the diners, the students explained what each dish was as they set it down so the girls and the adult chaperones could choose whatever they preferred but Helen had already decided that she wanted to try at least a little piece of everything!

The side-dishes were impressive enough. Helen had never understood why some people didn’t like vegetables as she had always loved them. There was spinach, mange-tout, broccoli, savoy cabbage and brussel sprouts parboiled then fried in butter with tiny pieces of Laura-bacon as well as roast carrots and parsnips, mashed swede and three different types of potato – mashed, roast and french fries along with bowls of white and brown rice, spaghetti and macaroni cheese with pieces of Laura-ham. There were also balls of stuffing with sausage meat mixed with the sage, onion and bread-crumbs and several large bowls of salad. However it was the meat dishes that, of course, were the main attractions!