The Tribute girls would not be attending dinner that night, since it was thought best that they did not eat too close to being cooked themselves and they had all already had a very big and filling meal, but were expected to report for their shower at the normal time. As the sun hung low in the sky and the last traces of the meal were cleared away, many of them made for the lake but Helen and Phil slipped away together into the woods, her without even a token amount of clothing this time. By the time their energetic, almost frantic fucking was complete, the sky above the school was tinged with the pink and orange of the setting sun. They exchanged one last, passionate kiss before walking hand in hand back up to the school where they took their leave, Phil promising that he would see Helen the next day and take wonderful photographs of her. The school secretary raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly to herself when he went to sign out, since the other students had left over an hour ago, but she made no comment to embarrass him.

At home that evening, Phil tried to sort through the thousands of photos he had taken but kept having to break for sessions of furious masturbation, especially when looking at the photos of Helen drinking from her friend’s skull – it would make an awesome album cover and he planned to get posters printed up too, thinking how sacrilegious it seemed that he would probably have to blur her chest to get them printed. Eventually, he was able to select the two hundred and fifty best pictures of the general scenes and put them on a memory stick for Mrs Henderson’s approval. If she gave the go-ahead, they would be put up on the school’s website with the option of buying a download of the whole set or individual physical prints. The same would be done with the photos of the feast itself and, as he looked at photo after photo of the beautiful naked girls frolicking like the nymphs of legend, Phil wondered if he should get a photo book made up, resolving to do so for himself even if Mrs Henderson did not agree to one that would be available to the public. He looked at the folder of over four thousand photos from the day and smiled to himself – even ‘though he was giving his near-professional services for free, counting towards his college credit, there were certainly plenty of perks to this assignment!

In the shower that evening, just as Laura had been in the morning, Helen and Naomi were the absolute centres of attention, possibly even more so than their friend had been, in fact, because the girls now checking them out knew that they would be able to get a taste of them! The same was true of the other ten girls on their own respective floors.

Part of Helen felt as if she should do something special with her last night alive but, honestly, she could not think of anything to top the events of the last couple of days, especially the previous night onwards, and she was a little behind on sleep so she opted for an early night, sleeping naked under her covers as had been suggested, and slept soundly, knowing that when she woke, her big day would have arrived.

The next morning, Helen took her seat in the front row of chairs facing the stage in the hall, with her fellow Tributes, once breakfast was cleared away. She and the other meat-girls had not attended the meal, of course, since they could not eat so close to being cooked but messages had been sent around at the morning showers that they were to go and see Mrs Rankin, the textile and sewing teacher. They had all been intrigued as to why this might be and had gone down, all dressed only in towels and dressing gowns since they did not want any pressure marks on their bodies for the feast, to find out. It had been quite a surprise when they were all given transparent, chiffon togas in green, yellow, pink and blue to wear with matching bands of flowers for their hair. Helen’s toga was green which she thought matched her eyes nicely.

“Wow! I really feel like an ancient Greek or Roman sacrifice!” she had remarked to Naomi, who had been given a blue toga and flowers to wear, as she twirled and look down at herself. The way her naked body was revealed through the sheer fabric was even more beautiful and, she thought, more erotic than if she she just went naked. All the girls looked absolutely stunning, she thought, and there would be some wonderful photos before they had to remove the almost phantom clothing to cook.

“I guess we are in a way!” Naomi had giggled. The outfits really accentuated the natural beauty of all the girls, whether it was the lithe, barely-pubescent stew girls or the voluptuous older teens for the buffet or Helen and her fellow spit-roasters. It was these costumes that Helen and the others were now wearing for the morning assembly, an unusual thing for a Saturday, and which had been met with much admiration when they came into the hall, just as breakfast was being cleared away and the chairs moved.

If the outfits had been a nice surprise for Helen, they were nothing compared to the surprise of being woken up by Charlotte sucking on her nipple and Emily’s tongue going to town between her legs, like a pornographic Sleeping Beauty! Her two room-mates had explained that they wanted to give her a good send-off and had heard absolutely no complaints from the red-head!

“I hope you’re not too disappointed to not be joining me on the menu?” Helen had asked Emily, knowing that she was one of the first to sign up and had been quite keen on the idea, despite realising that her petite figure made her unlikely to be picked.

“Oh no!” the cheeky blonde had assured her. “If I was getting cooked today I wouldn’t get to taste these!” She had playfully jiggled Helen’s modestly-sized but firm and round boobies, “or this!” she slapped her bare ass. “So anyway, my plan is to see if you guys taste as good as I think you will, then if you don’t, never mind and I’ll know it wouldn’t be worth pushing myself forward, and if you do then it’s great ammunition to persuade my parents to upgrade from turkey this Christmas! I may not have as much meat as you or Laura,” she had giggled, “but I should have enough to go around if I’m shared between eight, shouldn’t I? Oh wait!” she corrected herself. “Seven! I won’t be there! Well, I will but I won’t be eating!”

“Good morning, girls!” Mrs Henderson greeted all the pupils, teachers and other staff from her lectern on the stage. “And I must say our twelve tributes are all looking absolutely beautiful!” This prompted a polite round of applause from the rest of the school. “Now I know some of you will sadly not be joining us for the feast but I know we have some wonderful food and games lined up for you in this hall while the other festivities go on outside so you will not be missing out on all the fun. But as for the rest of us, well,” she smiled warmly at the whole school but then focussed especially on the chiffon-clad meat-girls in the front row, “let me tell you, I have just come from having breakfast with Laura’s family where we partook of some of her meat, just like you girls did yesterday.” She smiled down at the Tributes. “And it has made me look forward to the feast even more! I know we are in for an incredible treat!”

“Now, I’d like to show you this!” She picked up a newspaper from the lectern and held it up to show the front page. The headline said “SCHOOL DINNERS” under which was a large reproduction of the photo of the thirteen Tributes, Laura in the middle, naked but covering themselves, unlike the photo that had been printed up and framed for the entrance lobby. Beneath it, about half the width, was the uniform photo, the same one that would hang in the hall where they now were, with the test of the story beginning beside it. “Isn’t this wonderful?” smiled Mrs Henderson. “Such wonderful publicity for our school and it might even encourage members of the public to purchase some pictures or the video from our website?”

“Wow!” Naomi giggled to Helen, “I never thought our Head Mistress would pimp us out as internet porn stars!”

“All for the good of the school!” Helen reminded her cheekily, doing a whispered impression of Mrs Henderson.

“I have copies for all the Tributes’ families,” the head mistress continued from the lectern, “as well as multiple copies for the school library. I shall be asking all the Tributes to sign it later.”

Once they had been dismissed, all the girls went back up to their rooms to prepare for the celebration. In Helen’s case, she sat on the edge of the bed and flicked through the photo-book she and her friends had made. It was a little strange to see the pictures of Laura and know that the last remnants of her were still digesting in her stomach, and that her bones and leftovers were probably already in the stew pot outside flavouring the broth in which the four youngest girls would be cooked. She knew she would be in the same position in a few hours time, just scraps and memories. She looked over at the dressing table where Laura had left her copy and it gave her an idea – she had rather assumed she would give it to her parents but, since her brother was getting Laura’s there would be a copy in the family anyway. She had a much better idea who she wanted to give it to!

Trying not to get in the way of Charlotte and Emily who were putting on their best clothes for the occasion, she found a good marker-pen and opened her copy to the title-page. On it, she carefully wrote:

“To Phil, Here is something to remember me by and maybe it will provide inspiration for future projects? With love from your favourite model, Helen xxx”

As Laura had done, she wet her lips and kissed the glossy white paper, leaving an impression, then grinned and closed the book, putting it on top of Laura’s ready to take down when it was time to go meet her family and the hundreds of other people who had come especially for a taste of her meat!

“Ready?” Charlotte asked, after checking her appearance one final time in the mirror.

“Ready!” Helen replied, cheerfully.

“What about you?” Charlotte turned to Emily who was sat on the edge of the bed, fussing with her shoe.

“Will be in just a…” she replied, still mostly focussed on her shoe and its awkward buckle, less than a quarter of her attention on the conversation. “Done!” She wiggled her foot in triumph then stood up. “Ready!” The three friends linked arms like in the Wizard of Oz as they almost pranced down the corridor, excited for the party they were on their way to – the party that only two of them would return from. Helen, in the middle, clutched a book in each hand.

“You know those have got naked pictures in of us too!” Emily reminded her with a giggle. “Hope you don’t mind your brother and your boyfriend seeing those!”

“Boyfriend?” Helen was genuinely confused for a moment. “Oh, Phil?” She giggled, realising who her friend meant. “Nah, he’s just a friend. With benefits, of course!” she added. “Maybe if we had a bit longer to get to know each other we might… but nah,” she reflected, “I’m way too young for him!”

“Too young to date but old enough to fuck, huh?” laughed Charlotte. “Isn’t there a word for people like that?”

“Pretty sure those sorts of laws don’t apply since I signed those forms.” Helen reflected, realising for the first time that her antics could have got three boys she cared about in serious trouble. “Yeah, pretty sure I don’t have rights any more. Either way,” she shrugged, “I’m not gonna be around to give evidence and I’m pretty sure he’ll know to keep it quiet!”

“Is that why Mrs Langford got you to suck off her husband?” Emily teased. “Yeah!” She giggled more, reacting to the look of surprise on her friend’s face. “We all know about that!”

“Well if school staff are doing it,” Helen shrugged again, “then it must be okay. Right?”

“Guess so!” Charlotte agreed and all three of them laughed together. When they got down to the door, they saw that the area of lawn around the cannibal village was already thronged with people, with more arriving every moment. Looking around, Helen could see nine of her fellow tributes, easy to spot in their colourful, transparent costumes, and was relieved to see that she was not the last down. As they stepped out onto the lawn, they were approached by Miss Chancellor, one of the youngest teachers at the school, who handed the two fully-dressed girls copies of the souvenir brochures with a smile.

“Hey cool!” Emily grinned, flicking through her copy, pleased to have one of her own after enjoying the sneak preview they had been given in the computer lab. As soon as they noticed Helen, who was looking out for her family and for Phil to unburden herself of the photo-books, several pupils and guests, parents and siblings alike, surged towards her holding out marker pens and urging her to sign the relevant page of their brochures. Feeling like a celebrity, Helen did this happily while Charlotte held onto the books for her. Of course the small crowd around her attracted more and it was quite some time before she was done with all the requested autographs, by which time the rest of the scantily-clad tributes had come out and attracted huddles of their own.

“Looking good, honey!” Helen heard her dad’s voice before she spotted him then looked over to see him grinning at her, accompanied by her mum and brothers.

“Hey!” she beamed, giving them all hugs. “Hope you’re all hungry?”

“Oh yes!” Her mum giggled, albeit a little nervously as if she had not entirely made up her mind how she felt about this event, which was, Helen supposed, understandable. “We hear there’s some great treat on the menu today!” Helen giggled herself and gave a twirl, showing off her naked form under the transparent toga. It did feel a little strange to be flaunting her naked body to her parents, something she did not remember doing with quite such shameless confidence since she was four or five, but knowing that she would soon be stripped entirely naked and cooked, not to mention the fact that she had recently enjoyed a four-way orgy with her two brothers, gave her a feeling of hedonistic recklessness. Whatever she did in the next half hour or so, however badly she embarrassed herself, she would not be around to face any consequences. She had often, in the past, pondered what life must be like for people living under a death sentence, but a giddy sense of freedom was not one of the effects she had anticipated!

“Here!” She held one of the books out to her oldest brother, after checking that it was the right one. “Laura wanted you to have this but, well, it’s got me in too so let everyone have a look, yeah?” Josh took it with great curiosity and quickly leafed through.

“Wow, thank you!” he grinned.

“Is that another copy?” her mum asked, a little pointedly.

“Yeah,” Helen admitted, “but I want to give this one to a friend. Actually, I’d better go do that now! I don’t quite know how today is going to work so, if I don’t see you again, I love you all loads and I hope you have a wonderful day and enjoy the food!” She hugged them all in turn and gave kisses on the cheeks before running off towards Phil who she could see not far away taking candid photos of the guests, most of which were formed into informal huddles around one meat-girl or another.

“Hey stranger!” she grinned as she bounced up to him. “I’ve got a present for you!” She smiled sweetly and a little sheepishly as she held out the book with both hands. “I know you’re the professional and I’m not but, well,” she blushed a little, “I thought you might enjoy it!”

“Can all the Tributes please come to the front?” Mrs Henderson called. All the chiffon-clad girls hugged their friends and family and began to make their way to the replica village and cooking area. Helen looked around frantically, spotting Phil also walking towards the centre of the action. She ran towards him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Something to remember me by!” she grinned, pushing the book into his hands before grabbing his face and locking her lips to his, exploring his mouth with her tongue as his camera and something else just as hard pressed into her nearly-naked body. Then, with a giggle, she stepped back and grinned at him then scampered off to join her fellow meat.

“As you all know,” Mrs Henderson addressed the gathered visitors and pupils through the PA system once all the Tributes had made their way to the front, chattering in low whispers and giggling together, “our school owes its existence to three wonderful girls who gave their bodies and lives for a great feast and, in return, their parents were given riches which they used to found our school. A school which has always offered the very highest standard of education to girls who prove themselves capable and worthy, whatever their background, rather than most schools of our standard who allocate their places based on the wealth of the parents.” This was met by a smattering of polite applause. “And today,” the head-teacher beamed, “we pay tribute to those girls, two hundred years after the founding of our school, with a feast of our own! And so, ladies, gentlemen and honoured guests, I’d like you to give an enthusiastic round of applause to our twelve beautiful and delicious Tributes, selected from among our student body by some of England’s finest chefs!” This round of applause was far more enthusiastic as the girls all stepped forward to receive the adulation.

Cameras clicked and flashed wildly, mostly from the parents in attendance but also from Phil and, all the girls were pleased to see, Colin the newspaper photographer, accompanied by the charming reported Frank who they had all been so taken by on his last visit. The team of chefs and catering students were all stood to one side, discretely, wearing black uniforms. Helen couldn’t help being just a little disappointed – she had hoped that they might be dressed as tribesmen, that would have been funny at least! But she supposed it might not be seen as particularly politically correct and the event itself was sure to be controversial enough without adding a racially sensitive element into the mix! Although she knew it would be kept from them if it were the case, she couldn’t help wondering if there were any protests against what was about to happen going on outside the school grounds. The fact that twelve young girls were going to be killed, cooked and eaten that day had, after all, been in the national press and, however willing the girls and however legal the action, there were sure to be people out there who had strong feelings about it. At least, she thought, if there were people opposed to her imminent conversion from school-girl to hog-roast, they were not being allowed inside to disrupt the festivities.

Mrs Henderson seemed to be droning on in that way that only teachers can and Helen realised that she had not taken in much at all after the first sentence, and was sure that most of the other girls were the same. This was understandable, after all, since they had something quite big and important on their minds. Helen looked out at all the politely-smiling faces, her own family included, and thought about how in the not-too-distant future, they would all be eating her and her friends! It still didn’t feel quite real, even after watching Laura slaughtered and eating her meat. She wondered if the reality would sink in when she felt the spit being pushed through her body? Or would it still feel like a surreal game she would live to look back on with amusement? The head mistress seemed to be coming to the end of her story now. There was more applause and the Tribute girls were asked to pose in their pretty, diaphanous costumes so that everyone who wanted to, professionals included, could take group photos.

Helen felt a little detached from her body as she mechanically posed with the other girls, following the instructions first of Frank, then of Phil as well as calls from several parents to look in this or that direction. Her mind, she realised, was already on how cooking over the already-glowing coals would feel, and on what she had spotted behind the line of smartly-dressed cooks. At first she had not been sure what they were but then she realised that the things that looked like benches or small vaulting-horses on wheels were in fact spitting-benches complete with leather straps. Soon, she knew, she and the other three who had been chosen to cook that way would be strapped down across them, naked and utterly exposed, ready to be impaled.

“Okay girls!” Mrs Henderson called for the Tributes’ attention once more once the photographers were done. “Please take off your tunics and hand them to the volunteers.” Some of the black-uniformed catering students stepped forward and the meat-girls began to untie their belts and pull the colourful, nearly-transparent garments over their heads. As she stripped hers off and handed it to the girl who waited patiently, two tunics already over her arm as cameras clicked and flashed from all angles around her, Helen felt more naked than she ever had before. Although she had got quite used to being naked in front of others in the last few days and even being photographed in the nude, and despite the fact that what clothing she had worn left absolutely nothing to the imagination, undressing in front of these hundreds of eyes who looked hungrily upon her naked teen body, seeing her as food, made her feel incredibly exposed and vulnerable. The feeling was as thrilling as it was scary.

Now that all the girls were stark naked, most giggling with each other but some starting to look uneasy now, even frightened, there were more rounds of photographs. Helen expected there to be instructions given next, possibly by Mrs Henderson. Some sort of ritual to the cooking itself, but instead she and all the other girls suddenly found themselves being sorted into their groups by the catering students. She and the other three spit-roasters were herded to one side while the buffet girls were taken to the others, then a set of steps were rolled out and pushed up against the black iron cooking pot which was already starting to steam and the stew girls, the youngest of those to be eaten that day, were told to climb up and get in.

Helen and the others watched as the four pretty preteens climbed the steps and gently lowered themselves into the steaming broth as if the pot were a hot-tub, settling to sit in it, still giggling and chatting happily as they got comfortably, their shoulders and cute, perky little titties and almost-boobs just above the water-line. The first two buffet-girls were being tied into their frames while the other two were tethered to a near-by tree. Since it would be cut into small pieces, their meat was sure to be ready first, serving as an appetiser for the stew and the spit-roasts. Helen gulped as the four spitting-platforms were rolled out and the watching crowd all jostled to make sure they got a good view.

“Okay red, you’re with me!” a young man put his hand on Helen’s shoulder and led her forward. Her time had come!

Helen took a deep breath and stepped forward, noticing that the other three spit-roasters were being similarly guided, as she was, with one hand on their shoulder and the other on their elbow. She looked at the polished wood of the bench in front of her as the young man who would be prepping her was brought a bowl of soft butter infused with garlic and herbs. The teen could not help thinking how delicious is smelt as it passed in front of her face and realised that its purpose was to make her meat taste even better. Looking straight out at the crowd she could see her family watching her with encouraging smiles, as if she were about to make a speech or perform a musical solo, and Phil watching intently through his camera as the young man began to smear the butter on her delicious young body, the other catering students doing the same to the girls either side of her. Behind her, she could hear the stew girls chattering and giggling in the pot and wondered how long it would be before they passed out and whether there were any herbs or other ingredients in the broth designed to numb them physically or get them a little high, and also whether there were any such herbs in her coating.

Her pale skin tingled as the butter was rubbed on but she could not really tell whether this was any sort of designed medicinal effect or simply a mixture of her own excitement and the somewhat spicy ingredients. Although the student was behaving in a professional manner, a neutral expression of concentration on his face, Helen was not surprised when he seemed to spend a little more time than strictly necessary on her breasts and ass. He was a boy, after all, and she was a hot, naked girl who he had his hands all over, even if she did only have a short time left to live and was officially now food rather than a person. She bit her lip and let out a soft moan as his buttery fingers slipped up inside her tight, wet cunt, making sure that it was well lubricated for the spit, as if there had been any doubt that it would be. The loud squeak from Naomi who had apparently been taken by surprise when a similar manoeuvrer was performed on her provoked affectionate chuckles from the watching families and friends. Helen wondered how many of her school-mates who were watching were imagining themselves in her position. She managed to spot Emily who had pushed her way to the front. The cheerful blonde gave her an encouraging grin and double thumbs-up.

Having finished coating Helen up to the neck with the butter, the student then took a roll of tin foil and wrapped it around her hair so it would not burn over the coals. He then picked up the butter once more and coated her face, neck, ears and any other exposed part of her head. With her hair hidden and coated from tip to toe in garlic and herb butter, Helen lost all sense of herself as a girl, a person, and began to see herself purely as meat being prepped to cook. The student now guided her forward so that she stood hard up against the end of the spitting bench. He knelt down and strapped her ankles in place.

“Not that we think you’re going to try to run away,” he explained in a friendly tone, “but there will probably be a lot of involuntary movements while you’re spitted and we don’t want things to get messy, or for anyone to get kicked in the face!” he added with a slight chuckle. Helen couldn’t help wondering how he was dealing with the idea that he helping to kill another human being. Coming to terms with being meat was one thing but treating someone else as meat had be be a whole mental process in itself? She had supposed that those cooking Laura’s meat had simply been able to switch off from where it had come from, the same way most people don’t think about cute animals they’d probably fawn over during a farm visit when cooking and eating regular meat, but she and the other spit-roasters were very much alive – living, breathing, feeling and intelligent young girls that the students were actively killing. She decided that they were probably detaching themselves somewhat, seeing the girls as ingredients. Either that or treating them as co-workers – collaborators in the creative process.

Either way, he now pushed her forward, gently but firmly, with a hand on her shoulder and the other in the middle of her back. Obidiently, Helen lay her torso as flat as she could along the polished wooden bench and rested her chin on the slightly raised platform so that she faced straight forward with her posterior sticking out behind, providing a nice, straight path for the spit from one set of lips to the other. Now her arms were strapped down using another set of leather straps and a final one went across her neck, holding her down and locking her into position. She was surprised for a moment when the student began to turn her around so she was no longer facing the crowd but the stew pot, in which the four younger girls gathered to one side to watch the spitting over the edge, but she quickly realised the purpose and that it achieved two ends.

Firstly, she understood that this feast and the fact that young girls were being cooked was as much about spectacle as feeding the guests – this way, not only would their tight teen cunts and asses be well displayed to all the watching eyes, not to mention cameras, but people would get a very good view of the spits being inserted. The second reason was a darker one. The spitting was sure to be painful and, however willing and cooperative they might be, that pain would likely show on the girls’ faces. Perhaps they would even cry. Many of those watching were the families of the meat-girls and many others were close friends. Seeing them in distress would be difficult for them and may even prompt some parents to try to withdraw their consent, attempting to rescue their half-spitted daughters, putting everyone off their food and ruining the atmosphere of what was, after all, supposed to be a fun celebration. Helen amused herself with the idea that at least the cameras were capturing her best angle! There was no point, she told herself, in being embarrassed.

The spits were made of renewable, easily recyclable pine, highly polished and stained dark, with a sharp steel cap on the tip to assist with the skewering. There was a round of enthusiastic applause as these were brought out, two students working together with each one. Helen took a deep breath as she felt the tip inserted. It was not cold as she had expected, and felt very smooth, either because of the polishing or because it too had been coated in butter. She neither knew nor cared which, only that the first few inches slipped in quite easily. Having been well-used in the last day or so, her pussy was sore and a little swollen, making the insertion a little uncomfortable, even slightly painful at first, but it was so smooth and her she was so aroused that she was soon able to relax and welcome the thick wooden intruder. It was when the tip reached the end of her passage, however, that the real pain began.

She had really not been sure what to expect, other than something like a very thick cock or dildo going all the way up inside her then keeping going. It had not really occurred to her, foolish as that now seemed on reflection, that the holes in her body led only to passages of a certain length and were not simply all interconnected doorways to her interior allowing the spit to simply enter through one and leave via another, although that is exactly what it would be doing. She knew this academically of course, she was far from stupid and, like all the girls lucky enough to attend the school, extremely well educated with a good understanding of her own body but somehow, in all her mental preparation, the thought had simply not occurred to her that the spit would not just keep going indefinitely and would, at some point, have to pierce her internally and create a new hole through which to travel. The realisation hit her very powerfully, however, as the metal tip forced its way through her cervix then tore the top of her uterus, causing a burning pain that made her feel like all the menstrual cramps she would no longer experience in the coming years had teamed up and decided to inflict themselves upon her all at once.

Helen gritted her teeth hard, determined not to scream. This was what she had signed up for, after all. What she had agreed to and what she should have known was coming. The thick spit still rubbing against her hard clit and her sore but wet and eager cunt lips as it progressed offered some relief. In fact both the pain and pleasure were now so intense that she could no longer tell one from the other. The physical sensation was so overwhelming, in fact, that it was at that moment that her mind simply broke, unable to process what was happening any longer. She was no longer aware of the gawping audience, of the stew girls who looked down from the pot with awe and fascination, of the wooden bench or the grass beneath her feet, even of where or, for that matter, who she was. The only thing she felt or had any consciousness of was the mix of pleasure and pain so intense that it could not possibly be described to anyone who had not experienced it. Once the spit emerged from her mouth, she was turned around once more to face the audience with eyes that registered only shapes and colours but could not interpret them. She had no awareness as the straps were undone and only registered on the peripheries of consciousness as large, flat-headed nails were hammered through her ankles, wrists and hands, pinning them to the wooden spit.

Now that the spit had stopped moving, the sensations subsided somewhat, just enough for Helen to remember where she was, to see the hungry and excited audience and to realise that their applause was, at least partly, for her. The internal damage was severe, so severe that she could not have been saved even if the feast were suddenly to be cancelled. Of course there would be no such reprieve anyway. It was a strange state, Helen realised as she was carried to the roasting pit by a student at each end of the spit, to be both irrevocably dead yet still alive at the same time. Although, she reflected, in a very real sense she had been dead since her name was read out in the Assembly hall, declaring her to be one of the chosen tributes. It had been then that she had become a dead girl walking, meat on the hoof. Not a person, but food.

In her semi-conscious, dream-like state, she was only partially aware of being set into the mounts over the coals and beginning to turn as the catering students took it in turn to crank the handle while others stood by with bowls of melted garlic butter to baste her with as she turned.

With the cooking of all the whole-girls under way, the guests were invited to line up by the frames where more students were waiting with specially sharpened knives to remove the requested cuts from the excited and anxious, heavily-breathing buffet girls.

Janice was one of the first selected to be tied into the frame, mounted like a trophy, her body offered to the hungry guests. Two catering students were stood beside her, one on either side and both armed with sharp knives and two-pronged barbecue forks. At first, people seemed intrigued but hesitant to request a cut. There were lots of photographs of the attractive, busty teen bound naked in the wooden frame but there was an apparent reluctance to begin the live butchering. Everyone in attendance was expecting and prepared to eat human meat, meat which had been young girls until that afternoon, but there was a difference between being served some meat on a plate, or even seeing it carved from a roasted carcass, and actually choosing a piece from a living girl to be cut off in front of you.

Noticing the hesitancy of her guests and not wanting the atmosphere of the celebration, Mrs Henderson stepped forward and took matters into her own hands.

“Well now!” she grinned broadly. “I’ve looked at the photograph of Prudence Hamilton, I can see that the first cut chosen was her lovely right breast!” She stepped up and took Janice’s in her hand.

“Wonderful!” she smiled, assessing the large, firm, teen breast as if it were a piece of fruit on a market stall. “I think we should continue the tradition!” She turned to smile at the catering student, ignoring her own student and, by doing so, sending the message that she should not be seen as a person by the rest of the guests but as food – a buffet to make their selection from. “Cut it off then slice it, please!” She stepped back to give the catering student room to work, noticing with pleasure how Phil and the other boy with the video camera stepped forward to capture the moment.

Janice was breathing heavily, bracing herself for what was to come. She and the other buffet girls had been given some alcohol but had been told that pain-killers were not an option as they would not only effect the taste of their meat but also risked passing on the effects to those who ate them too, something that could be dangerous. The young woman in the black uniform pushed her fork into the delicious, full breast, causing small rivulets of blood to trickle from the puncture wounds. The occasional awed whisper aside, a hush fell upon the gathered guests as she lifted the breast slightly and began to slice from the under-side upwards. Janice gave some quiet squeaks of pain but kept her mouth firmly closed and her teeth together, tears forming in the corners of her eyes and trickling down her pretty cheeks.

There was a kind of collective release of tension followed by spontaneous applause as the large, meaty orb was cut free.

“Would you like to hold it?” the student asked the head teacher.

“Oh please do!” Phil enthused. “It would make a great picture!” Frank was close behind him, directing Colin, and he also nodded in agreement. Mrs Henderson took the offered breast and stood in front of Janice, holding it like a trophy and smiling. Very little blood oozed from the severed teen boob but it was enough to make her hand sticky. More was trickling down over Janice’s ribs and belly. Once the photos were taken, she handed it back and accepted the offered wet-wipe to clean her hand as the student sliced the pretty round tit into thick slices for the grill.

As Mrs Henderson had hoped, taking the first cut opened the flood-gates and the hungry guests now enthusiastically began requesting cuts from both offered buffet girls. Janice’s left breast did not last much longer than her right, and her meaty vulva was taken not long after. Once these “prestige” cuts were taken, focus switched to her rump and thighs where, in truth, the best steaks were to be found. After a while, some guests started to look as if they were holding back and the students quickly realised the issue – the girls in the frames had already expired, or at least passed out, especially since their belly-meat had been taken too, causing their innards to fall out onto the grass. They were now just bloody, mostly-stripped carcasses and those who were waiting were keen to have meat from a fresh body.

After a quick discussion, they announced there would be a short break before more meat was available. Quickly, they stripped the remaining meat from the two teens, including as much as could be harvested from their faces. They then broke or cut the connective tissue between the bones and sorted the edible organs from the inedible. Some of the meat on the grills was ready to eat now and was served on paper plates to the waiting guests who had chosen it. It was then that the first of the guests, the families of the pupils from the school, including the two from whom the flesh had been stripped, got their first taste of girl-meat! None had really known what to expect, hearing that it was similar to pork, but it was more delicious than they had imagined. Only a few mouthfuls in and already many parents were casting curious, sideways looks at their daughters.

The remaining good meat from the carcasses was put on the grills along side the chosen cuts. There would, after all, be plenty among the guests, pupils and staff who would come back for seconds without caring too much exactly where the meat was from, simply grateful to be able to have more. The bones and scraps were carried in buckets over to the stew pot to be added to the broth.

The pretty pre-teens were all sitting quietly now, sleepily, with their shoulders under the water. Helen had been right about her assumption – the broth had been specially formulated to include herbs that, when boiled and breathed in would induce sleepiness. The liquid in which they sat also had quite a high concentration of alcohol. While the fumes might make any guests of pupils who stood close by a little light-headed, it would only have its full effect when concentrated. Now that all the girls were cooking, the diners were free to stroll around and watch the roasting and boiling girls but the head from the coals and the fire beneath the pot ensured that none got too close anyway.

“Heads up, ladies!” the young student smiled as she tipped the bucket over the edge of the pot, causing the broth the splash and splutter as the new ingredients were added. The girls all looked over and up at her but very sleepily, only semi-focussed, as if they were only partially aware of her presence and didn’t really understand anything that was going on. It would be time soon, she knew, to pull them out and chop them up. She was quite keen to try out the special head-cages which would hook over the rim, allowing the pretty, scalped heads to continue boiling so that the guests would be able to enjoy the young girls’ brains scooped from their opened skulls.

The remaining two buffet-girls, both of whom had watched the stripping of their predecessors’ meat with a mix of horror, fascination and excitement, were led forward and tied into the frames. This time there was no reluctance on the part of the diners, just a clamour to get in their requests for the best cuts from the fresh girls. As people tucked in hungrily, photographed and recorded by the several official chroniclers as well as the many cameras and phones held by other guests, Helen and the other girls continued to turn on their spits.

Like the girls in the stew, Helen was barely aware of where she was or what was happening any more. The pain, on the outside at least, had stopped some time ago. At first the heat rising from the coals as she turned over them had been searing and intense, only the regular basting keeping her reddened skin from blistering. Gradually, however, starting with her tits and backside then quickly spreading over the rest of her slowly-cooking body, Helen had become aware of a numbness, unable to feel her skin at all any more. With some of her final cognoscente thoughts, she remembered hearing somewhere that second-degree burns were far more painful than third-degree as those destroyed the nerve-endings and realised that was what must be happening to her.

Gradually the numbness moved deeper into her muscle – her meat. Eventually, all she could feel were the nails that pinned her to the spit and the spit itself passing through her. Eventually, however, she could not even feel these. She turned, round and round over the coals, a mix of sweat, garlic butter and her own melting fat dripping from her and hissing as it dripped onto the coals, sizzling as it landed. The smell was entrancing and many of the guests were gathering around, hungrily waiting for the meat to be ready to eat.

Although he made sure to capture images of all four roasting girls, knowing that the school, their families and, indeed, the public would want pictures of them, Phil could not help focussing more attention on Helen. Already, he was surprised to find, even ‘though she was still technically alive, she was already looking more like a hog-roast than the sexy, vivacious young girl who had demanded his sexual services only a matter of hours before. He wondered how he would feel when he saw her served with, presumably, her hair released and brushed out? He guessed that was how the catering students planned to serve her and the other spit-roasters, otherwise why not simply shave off their hair for the cooking, which would surely have been easier than wrapping and trying to preserve it.

He looked carefully at her chest, the perky teen tits jiggling as she turned, and it seemed still to be rising and deflating, shallowly but steadily. He wondered just how much longer she could possibly last as she roasted alive.

Suddenly, he and many of the other guests were distracted by an intriguing commotion in the centre of the cooking area. Two catering students were stood by the pot with kitchen trolleys while others were on little step-ladders reaching into the pot with metal hooks on the ends of four-foot poles. As cameras clicked and flashed and hungry guests and schoolgirls watched excitedly, the four youngsters, their bodies lifeless and their skin pink and steaming, were hooked out of the pot and laid onto the trolleys. Phil was very happy to capture the moment and one’s head lolled to the side, her mouth opened and her final breath escaped her semi-cooked body.

“Not long to go now, folks!” called a young man who had been holding one of the hooks before pushing one of the trolleys away into the school kitchen. When they returned fifteen minutes later, those same trolleys had large containers of meat on them as well as buckets of bones. What caught everyone’s eye far more than these, however, were the small cages, like old-fashioned canary cages, each of which contained a head. Although they were clearly the heads of the four school-girls, they had been rendered all but unrecognisable by the fact the skin on the tops of their head had been removed, their hair peeled off like wigs, their eyebrows shaved and even their eye-lashes plucked out. There was also a red line across the forehead, continuing through the stripped skull. Clearly the top of the skulls had been sawn through as Laura’s had been so that the tops could be lifted off.

Once the chopped meat and bones had been tipped into the pot, the four cages were carefully lowered in, hanging from short chains which, in turn, were hooked over the edge of the pot so that they could be easily retrieved. Having taken plenty of pictures of this innovation, Phil then turned his attention back to Helen, seeing that her chest was no longer moving. He wondered if she had had any awareness at all by the time she finally passed, presuming and rather hoping that she had not, that she had experienced death as if going to sleep. What there could be no denying, however, was how delicious her roasting body looked. Feeling hungry and knowing that Helen and her fellow spit-roasters would need to cook for some time yet, he went to see if another piece of buffet meat might be available.

Now that none of the girls, the obvious stars of the show, were in any condition to talk to anyone, Mrs Henderson was able to claim a little of the limelight for herself. It was with great delight and obvious relish that she told various reporters about the history of the school, how she and the other staff had come up with the idea of this very special event and the process by which they had chosen which girls would be eaten that day. In response to questions inspired by the souvenir programme which had been handed out to every visitor with PDFs sent ahead of time to the press, she explained the role the Hamilton’s maid had had in establishing friendly relations with the tribe, ultimately leading to the founding of the school, and the experience of seeing Laura butchered and all the wonderful dishes that had been created from her meat.

Soon it was announced that the stew was ready and the heads were lifted carefully out of the pot and removed from their cages then each one was mounted, impaled on a sharp pole at the end of each roasting pit, beyond the cooking girls’ feet. Once on the poles, the tops of the skulls, pre-cut in the kitchen, were lifted off exposing the boiled brains within, great clouds steam rising as the pressure-cooker of the skull was opened. Some of the guests were a little squeamish about this kind of delicacy but others were excited to taste it and the catering students stood by using ice-cream scoops to serve out portions of brain which were served in small, soft-shell tacos to which the guests added shredded lettuce and salsa. There were even a lucky few who were intrigued to try the eyeballs which were popped out and served the same way. Once the heads had been scooped out, the meat was pealed from them and both it and the now-empty skulls were dropped back into the pot, from which stew was being served in large, two-handled mugs to the guests who were eager to sample every kind of girl-meat dish available.