On the patio, Beth and her two friends seemed to be having the time of their lives in the steaming stew-pot, those with lighter complexions now looking quite red in the face and all three dripping with a mixture of sweat and condensation but looking happy as they enjoyed what had to be their third or fourth glass of wine. Every so often one of them would push either their own or one of their pot-mates’ breasts down and watch them bob back up, apparently finding this the most hilarious thing ever!

“Oh, hello dear!” Beth smiled cheerfully when she noticed her daughter standing beside the pot. “Is it nearly time for your big moment?”

“Gutted like a piggy and chopped up for the grill! Yum yum!” Emily exclaimed with a drunken cackle which never the less held no malice. It was more like the spontaneous response of a three year old who has not yet learned social graces and both young women could not help but giggle.

“That’s right!” Sarah grinned and Helen, stood by her side, nodded her agreement. “You three seem like you’re having fun?”

“Oh yes!” Beth agreed then leaned in conspiratorially and confided in a whisper that was nowhere near as quiet as she thought it was. “I think we might be a little tipsy!”

“You think?” Sarah giggled. “Who cares? It means you’re having a good time and it will dull your senses. That broth must be pretty hot by now?”

“It is.” Beth nodded. “I can’t really feel my legs any more, although that might just be from the way we’re sitting! There’s no cushions on the bench.” she explained as if the twenty-somethings might not have realised.

“Only our natural padding, eh?” Laura, the pots third occupant chuckled, leaning forward and standing a little to pat her own backside, earning her laughter from the other two as they clinked their glasses together.

“Well yes, there is that!” Beth conceded. “And plenty of it! I expect it will be time for our heads to come off soon.”

“Chop! Chop!” Emily declared gleefully. “Off with our heads!” This was followed by more hysterical laughter from all three.

“Well we don’t want to keep Mr Rogers waiting!” Sarah chuckled.

“Oh no! Go get those lovely boobies on the grill!” Beth agreed. “I know people are looking forward to them!”

“Thanks!” Sarah grinned, leaning forward to kiss her mum who put an arm around her shoulders to pull her into a rather inebriated hug before doing the same with Helen. “Enjoy the rest of your time!”

“Oh, we will!” Laura grinned, raising her glass to them in a toast which was echoed by Beth and Emily.

“At least your mum’s a happy drunk!” Helen giggled as they headed over to the grill area with all the necessary equipment for their slaughter.

“Well it’s the one time in her life she can get plastered without risking a hangover!” laughed Sarah. “So I can’t blame her really!” Helen suddenly stopped, turned to face Sarah and pulled her into a tight embrace, their naked bodies pressed against each other and impressive chests crushed together then kissed her deeply with an urgent passion.

“I’m so happy we’re doing this together!” she whispered breathily into her lover’s ear. “Out meat digesting together in the bellies of all these guests! The memory of us permanently linked. I can’t think of anything more intimate!”

“Me neither, my love!” Sarah whispered back, grabbing her beloved’s meaty rump and giving it a hard squeeze, to which she retaliated with a hard but playful smack on her own. “Let’s do this!”

“Who’s going first?” Mr Rogers asked, tying his apron and looking over the collection of knives laid out in front of him when the young women presented themselves for butchering. They looked at each other with confused hesitation, both annoyed with themselves for not having thought to discuss this earlier. There was a long hesitation before Sarah finally spoke.

“Would you go first?” she asked, breaking the silence, before adding coyly as her cheeks reddened, “I want to watch!”

“Anything for you!” her sweetheart answered with a grin that suggested this was no hardship at all. “But I do have one request, if that’s okay?” She turned to Mr Rogers who looked at her quizzically, inviting her to elaborate. “Once you’ve got me, you know,” she tilted her head towards the frame, “hung up, would you cut my boobs off before you cut my throat?” she looked down shyly, wringing her hands together like a small child about to deliver their Christmas wish-list to Santa Claus. “I’d like to know what getting butchered feels like!”

“You’re not the first to ask that!” Mr Rogers assured her with a warm chuckle. “And I’m happy to oblige! Now, do you think we aught to make some sort of announcement?”

“Nah!” Helen looked around at the guests, many of whom had already noticed that something was about to happen over by the grill and were heading starting to head over, leaving the teens to squirm on their spits, desperate to make the most of their last half hour or so of life. “I think they’ll work it out!”

“Fair point!” the butcher chuckled, pulling forward a folding step-stool like the kind many people might have in their garage or garden shed. “Plonk your rump down here and we’ll get started!” Giggling, the chocolate-skinned meat-girl sat down on the top of the stool, gripping the sides with her hands and extending her left leg in anticipation of what was to come.

Taking hold of one of the sharp hooks hanging from the butchering frame, Mr Rogers yanked the chain forward then forced the fiendishly sharp steel meat-hook through the back of Helen’s ankle. She winced a little, sucking in through her teeth but did not make any further protest, breathing deeply to steady herself once the hook was in place then extending her right foot for the same treatment.


To be continued...