“Oh you get used to distractions after a while!” Joe winked, indicating this happily chattering line with a tilt of his head. “First couple of days for anyone new to the job are a little… challenging,” he laughed, “but you learn to switch off from it pretty quickly and deal with the job in hand, so to speak. So,” he smiled politely, reverting to a more professional manner, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m Philip Harper?” The man introduced himself. “My daughter Penelope and her friend Amber came for slaughter earlier. I’m here to collect our share of their meat.”

“Ah, excellent!” Joe smiled. “But you’ll have to forgive me, we’ve processed more than three hundred girls so far today with another two hundred to go before we close. I didn’t get to know all of them by name. You should have been given a ticket with a number and QR code on when you dropped them off?”

“Ah yes!” the man realised the foolishness of expecting the butcher to be able to remember his daughter by name on such a busy day. While she was uniquely precious to him and his wife, to the butcher she was just another pig to be slaughtered and processed. “My wife dropped them off but she did give me…” he pulled out his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and fished around until he found what he was looking for, two folded pieces of receipt paper. “Here we are!” he smiled, handing them over.

“Great stuff!” Joe smiled gratefully. “You’d be surprised how many people are turning up without these and trying to describe their kids to me. Funnily enough, they’re not in much of a recognisable state!” Mr Harper chuckled, shaking his head at the thought, knowing from his own professional life how clueless and downright obstructive the public could be at times. “Give me five minutes.” Joe smiled, checking the numbers on the tickets to give himself an idea of where to start looking in the walk-in fridge where the stacks of disposable coolers were awaiting collection.

On the muted screen behind the counter, Trixie Coleman was slowly turning, still clearly determined to make the most of whatever time was left to her. Mr Harper wondered how long a girl could survive like that? He had seen a girl last an hour and a half on a spit before at a work party, the daughter of his line-manager who had offered her as an incentive then roasted her to celebrate a very successful quarter, but she had been put over a very low heat to slow-cook and had not been eviscerated beforehand like Trixie.

After casting his eye over the line of naked girls waiting for the chop, his attention was drawn to the chilled display where the fresh girl-meat was laid out. He looked at the vast array of breasts in a wide variety of shapes and sizes and wondered if Penelope’s were among them. He looked intently, trying to recognise his daughter’s in amongst all the others. It was not like he’d not had a good look at them before, she had been especially proud of them in the months leading up to slaughter but without context they were hard to tell apart. It was quite possible, he realised, that they had sold already.

“Can I tempt you with anything else?” Joe smiled, setting down the two coolers identified by the tickets onto the counter. Mr Harper knew that, in one of them, his daughter’s thigh was packed, boned and sliced thickly, perfect for grilling, along with her cute toes, some belly and a good piece of rump. He had thought about reserving her tits and thick, meaty cunt but she had explained she wanted those to be enjoyed by someone who didn’t know her, who saw her only as meat.

“Amber’s family are coming over for a barbecue this evening.” he smiled. “And several of the neighbours, so I’ve been charged with picking up some more meat!”

“Well you’ve come to the right place!” Joe chuckled, gesturing expansively at the chilled display. The hungry man’s eye fell upon a display of plump vulvae.

“I’ll take eight of these, please!” He pointed. “And four… no, six breasts! Bigger ones please!”

“Inspired by Trixie, huh?” the butcher chuckled, glancing up at the television as he began to wrap the requested meat.

“Well,” Mr Harper looked up once more at the screen where, at that moment, Trixie’s skewered boobs were facing the camera directly, bouncing as she breathed heavily, yet another orgasm flooding her delicious, partly-cooked teen body, “who wouldn’t be?”

The End.