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There She Is...

THERE SHE IS by Menagerie

"Them thar the ones, Lizzie?" Grandpaw was peering through a grungy old set of
binoculars, holding them up with one gnarled, grizzled hand, and hitching up his
suspenders with the other.
"Yassuh, Grandpaw." The barefoot teenager was crouched with her grandfather
behind some brush, a hundred yards from the stage. But she was a country girl;
could see at night, like a big cat. Her eyes gleamed, green like a cat’s; they
glistened with tears. She pointed. "That one's Katie...that'un's Lauren...thar's
Amber..."
Paw nodded, stopped when he got to Amber. "She's a mighty big 'un," he breathed,
tilting the specs up and down as he checked out the voluptuous young woman.
"Mebbe she's our winner." And with that the grizzled old coot laughed and
started wheezing; he dropped the galluses and pulled a flask from a hip pocket,
took a hefty swig. His eyes remained glued to the binoculars.
"She's a mean 'un," Lizzie pouted; she, too, was staring at the girl, who was
wearing a single-strap red gown; the overhead lights caught her broad, dazzling
smile, and threw off a glint the two hill folk could see clear back there in the
woods. "Plays a lot of sports; used t' run me down, chase me. Why, once--"
Lizzie let loose a sob--"she pulled down my britches, right there in Gym Class,
and give me a whap on the butt." The girl sniffled.
Amber strode confidently to the rear of the stage, struck a pose along with the
other girls. It was the annual County Fair Queen pageant; townsfolk oohed and
aahed at the sight of their local beauties, who were wearing elegant evening
dresses along with several hours' worth of hairdo apiece. Each girl entered
stage right when her name was announced, strutted like a bantam in all
directions as the emcee intoned her accomplishments--church, school, athletics,
"just staying at home and reading a book." A lot of the girls had listed that
among their “accomplishments”. Still, they all looked good—damned good—filling
and, in some cases, overfilling the gowns that invariably seemed to be about
four sizes too tight.
Grandpaw licked his chops as a willowy brunette ambled across the stage. "Rachel
Sue," whispered Lizzie. "Another ath-a-lete. They made me play tennis against
her; she kept a-hittin' the ball right at me. It hurt." Lizzie spontaneously
reached up, rubbed her belly. Grandpaw rubbed his belly, too, but not in
imagined pain--he was taking in the figure, top to bottom, of the slender girl
who was posing at center stage.
"This shore will be a fine family gatherin'," he muttered. The girl was taking
her place at the rear of the stage; another was proudly preening before the
murmuring crowd. Short and voluptuous, with a big grin; soft, tanned flesh that
strained at the gold-spangled gown. Hips that swung from port to starboard and
back again as she strode beneath the hot lights, her open-toed heels setting
down on the rough, wooden stage as if they were sinking in butter. A weave of
hair that appeared as casual as $100 could make it. When finally she stopped,
one dainty foot before her, her curves barely contained by the stretchy fabric,
her face lit up by the most dazzling of smiles…the crowd seemed to erupt,
gasping as if it had been collectively holding its breath as the girl went
through her tantalizing undulations.
Grandpaw’s jaw was slack. “Whoa, Nellie!” he sputtered. “That thar filly’s a
real prize!”
“She’s th’ meanest of all,” Lizzie mumbled sullenly. “Name’s Lindsey. She makes
fun o’ my hair, ‘n’ my clothes—she says I’m a hick!” The bare foot stomped down,
caught a rock. “Ouch!”
“Hush up!” Grandpaw demanded. “Th’ boys are getting’ inta position; you’ll give
us away.” His eyes remained fixed on Lindsey as she turned to take her place
downstage, her cute, ample rear wiggling with each mincing step.
The emcee called a name; no movement. The crowd buzzed a bit; the man in the tux
gave it a bigger windup and called the name again, and still no response. Lizzie
bit her lip; the emcee made a joke, and she could hear and resent the laughter.
“Lizzie must’ve gotten cold feet,” the emcee was saying, and the dozen girls
broke their rigid poses and tittered. “’Course Lizzie’s got cold feet,” pale,
pretty Tia had snickered, “she don’t wear no shoes!” The girls cackled, throwing
their heads back, a few strands of carefully coifed hair flipping in all
directions.
Lauren, a thick-bodied blonde, tilted her head forward, eyes shifting
conspiratorially. “You don’t suppose she got into her grandpappy’s still, do
you?” Lindsey chimed in, tartly, voice drenched in hauteur. “She’s been guzzling
that stuff all her life,” she purred, icily. “How you think she got to be such a
hick?” More laughter, and then the voice began booming again over the P.A., and
the nubile bodies gradually settled again into stiffness, and the smiles
strained their faces until they ached…
Lizzie knew all about the Phillips family history. Grandpaw hadn’t known she
knew, but she knew. She knew about the Sunday dinners, even though she was
always sent off to a relative’s; the girls in school whispered about the female
townsfolk who mysteriously disappeared, but she knew. She was as quiet as an old
Indian, sneaking back to the homestead, and she had seen them—headless, gutted,
roasting over a bed of smoldering wood, cut from behind their farm. She knew
about the hitchhikers and runaways Grandpaw would bring home; sometimes he’d go
out for a week, or two, until finally the old Ford would come sputtering into
the chicken yard. Hogtied and gagged in the back, a hapless girl who’d made the
mistake of smiling and waving down a Phillips.
For those girls, it would be mercifully brief. Grandpaw, or one of her brothers,
‘Kiah or Linus, would drag the girl out back to the chicken yard. Lizzie
wouldn’t see Grandpaw’s prize again—except once, when she snuck out back and
peeked into the smokehouse, and there she was, beheaded, empty, upside down. And
Linus or ‘Kiah would be driving Lizzie back to Aunt Louise’s for the weekend.
But she knew.
So when she started complaining about the girls in school, always picking on
her, always making fun of her rough clothes and the way she talked and the way
she acted, Grandpaw nodded, and started talking about a Jubilee, a family
celebration, a special dinner. That’s when Lizzie told Grandpaw she knew. The
old man wasn’t shocked at all; “You had t’ find out soon enough,” he told her.
They were poor—no money, poor land, barely made enough to get by. But those
special dinners, those were a Phillips tradition. It was how the clan celebrated
life…
Abruptly, a sound; a bomb going off, right in the middle of the pageant. Smoke
billowed from the center of the pavilion, thick and iron gray; the crowd went
instantly from docile to frantic, swarming in confused motion like a mad ant
hill. Grandpaw jumped up, grabbed Lizzie roughly by the arm. “Let’s skedaddle,”
he shouted over the hubbub beyond the woods. “The boys’ll be waitin’ fer us!”
The smoke had drifted toward them, but they were country; they didn’t need to
see. The two quickly worked their way through the foliage to where a pair of
pickups stood, engines running, lights off. Lizzie could make out a large
figure, with a smaller one over his shoulder; he unloaded into the truck and
bent over his prey. Lizzie heard screaming—Andrea? Sounded shrill, like Andrea.
The screeches abruptly stopped; then another large figure, with another
squirming load. The first had already returned to the chaos at the outdoor
arena; Lizzie could make out the lights flickering through the churning smoke,
heard panicked shouts—“Sarah?” a voice shrieked. Stuck-up Sarah’s stuck up mom,
she decided. Then she found herself grabbed—“Git in!” thundered Grandpaw. “We
got ‘em all!”
The two beat-up vehicles roared off into the night, their cargo twisting in the
back; Lizzie imagined she could hear muffled cries. She closed her eyes and
breathed deep; it was her turn.
The Phillips homestead was bustling with activity. There hadn’t been a reunion
like this in many years; Grandpaw had said his own grandpaw had held one, in
Virginnie in ’58. And there had been an uncle, Uncle Eustis, there up in the
Smokies. They were just poor folk, barely making a living; nobody ever came out
to the remote, barren farm. But the clan was all there, from the Appalachians,
the Delta, the Badlands; this was a once-in-a-generation sharing. It was what
made country folk strong.
Everything was ready. The smokehouse had been cleaned out; fresh hickory was
prepared for new victuals. The chopping block in the chicken yard featured an
axe with a gleaming, honed blade. There were ropes, knives, salt for curing.
And…the barbecue pit in the back had a load of wood ready for kindling.
‘Kiah and Linus had pulled the trucks into the shed; the two hulking young
men—300 pounds apiece, easy—were effortlessly lifting their payload out of the
truck. ‘Kiah’s massive hands would disappear into the truck hatch and emerge
clutching a young woman—her hair disheveled, her eyes wide and watery over the
tape covering her mouth. She bucked, jerking like a fish against the rough hemp
wound tightly around her. ‘Kiah just dropped her on the ground, reached down,
plucked another girl; the girl on the ground—it was Katie, her frizzy blonde
permanent caked with dust, her ample bosom part out of the electric blue
dress—kicked at the ground, straightened, then bent in two and straightened
again…trying to get free…
Soon, there was a pile of them, sobbing and shaking. Grandpaw stepped in front
of them, broadly grinning. He broke off a chaw, spat down an inch from Rachel
Sue. “Good evenin’, ladies,” the old man proclaimed, and they looked up at him
through misty eyes. “Reckon y’all know muh granddaughter.” Lizzie was perched on
the hood of one of the trucks, her bare ankles crossed, swinging her jean-clad
legs in rhythm. She smiled at her classmates, evilly, cruelly. “Hey, girls,” she
called, a wicked lilt to her voice.
“Now, I didn’t mean t’ interrupt the festivities down thar in town,” Grandpaw
went on. “But we have our en-tire fam’ly here from all parts of this great
country, and we have in mind a li’l beauty show of our own. We aim to have the
lot of you—” ‘Kiah and Linus had picked off a half-dozen—“compete for the title
of ‘Miss Jubilee,’ and we have a spayshul prize in store fer th’ winner.”
The girls were totally still, hardly breathing. Members of the clan had
gradually filtered into the dingy old shed; torches flickered out back, framing
the slowly-advancing hillbillies in ghostly silhouettes. The crackle of fire,
the whiff of burning wood, wafted into the tin building, mixing with the smells
of grease and paint. The eyes of the six young women sprawled in the dirt were
fixed on Grandpaw; for some reason, one nodded, then another, and then all.
“Good!” the codger proclaimed. “Now, I should explain that although yer attire
is quite fetchin’, our show is judged a bit differently. Boys…get ‘em ready for
judgin’.”
Linus first descended on Amber. She was a strong, sturdy young woman, but she
was helpless as a frightened rabbit in the grip of the giant. Ignoring her
struggles, he first unwound the girl’s ropes…then began leisurely undressing
her, peeling the red one-strap from her shoulders, down her breasts and her
heavy thighs. She was under one arm, kicking her legs helplessly, as Linus
deposited the dress on the dirt floor; then, with a single yank, her satin
panties were shredded. The clan whooped at the sight of Amber’s plump ass; Linus
neatly flipped her, stood her up—still wearing her dress shoes—and spun her
round, then retied her hands behind her back. One trussed beauty contestant,
ready for…Amber’s eyes bulged, staring straight ahead.
The big boy gave way to ‘Kiah; he tossed another rope, tied in a slipknot, over
the head of the naked prize, pulled it tight. The girl jerked in agony; putting
one hand in the small of her back, ‘Kiah marched her over to the corner next to
a workbench. “Now, you just siddown, Miss,” Grandpaw sternly ordered the
trembling girl. “We got five more to do up.”
As the girl gingerly plopped her bare butt down, ‘Kiah picked up a shotgun, held
it immobile against his chest; the busty Amazon seemed tiny next to her captor,
as she huddled down, hunching her shoulders, legs bent beneath her, trying to
shield her crotch from the leering clan.
One by one, each girl was stripped nude but for her elegant footwear; each was
placed under ‘Kiah’s watch. Lindsey was last; the hill folk whooped and hollered
as the pert brownette’s perfectly shaped bosom exploded into view; candy-pink
nipples topping the firm semi-globes. Lindsey was truly busting out all over, as
ripe a specimen of young womanhood as they’d seen. Welcoming hips tapered into
luscious, shapely legs; her pear-shaped derriere mirrored the ample firmness of
her breasts. Grandpaw snickered, “I could d’clare a winner right now!” to the
laughter of his kinfolk. Lizzie swung her legs down off the hood, sashayed over
to where her cousin was tying the last girl’s hands behind her back. Lindsey
stood defiantly, breathing hard through the tape over her mouth, glaring into
Lizzie’s face; the girl laughed, grabbed her helpless tormentor’s mouth between
her thumb and fingers, pinched. Lindsey grimaced.
“You still got the better of me, don’t ya, Lindsey?” purred Lizzie. “See—” she
lifted a bare foot, held it inches before Lindsey’s naked snatch— “no shoes! You
got real fine shoes, there! Lookin’ forward to the show!”
And with a mean laugh, she spun and marched out, her cousins hustling behind
her. They sure wanted to get the best seats…
They’d cleared a space in front of an old, rusted flatbed trailer, its tireless
rims dug deep in the turf. A dozen oil torches flickered, bathing the scene in
yellowish-orange; each movement was magnified, shadows like living blankets,
flopping that way and this as a gentle southern breeze caught the lamps. Cousin
Malachi passed Lizzie the jug; she took a deep swig, smacked her lips, and
folded her hands in her lap, staring up attentively. Old Mose the Auctioneer was
up on the makeshift stage; he was fumbling through the notes Lizzie had scrawled
on each girl. A voice off in the darkness called, “Ready!” and Mose cleared his
throat, started off in his booming, baritone voice.
“Kin and kin,” rumbled Mose, “I welcome you to the first Miss Jamboree Pageant
in fourteen years.” The clan applauded, with a few rebel whoops. “Our host,
kindly Mister Phillips, has assembled for your eyes such a fine display of
female pulchritude as to make your eyes cross, your tongues hang, and your—well,
no need to get into that.” They roared; Lizzie felt a stirring, there, herself.
“So without further ado, on with the show—contestant Number One, the beautiful
Andrea, and her escort, our very own Cousin Joshua!”
Andrea, of course, was nude from the ankles up; she, along with all the other
girls, still had her hands tied behind her back with rough rope, and a rag
stuffed in her taped mouth. She was a willowy thing with a surprisingly big
chest, narrow hips, lean legs; her huge eyes welling tears, her hands bound, she
tottered onto the stage led by the hefty Joshua, who tugged on the rope tied
‘round her neck. A big number “1” had been painted on her belly and back; she
stopped, froze, gazed in anguish out into the hooting, jeering audience. To her,
they were a blurry, malevolent thing, flies tracing trails in the ghastly light
flickering over their heads.
“Ain’t she sweet?” declared Mose. “I want to tell you, check out that fanny!”
Joshua gave the rope a jerk, as the girl swiveled to look beseechingly at him,
he pointed to the whip slung at his side. She closed her eyes and, humiliated,
turned around and bent over, pointing her rear at the audience. Then, she shook
the cheeks a few times; the loose flesh jiggled lewdly. The crowd howled;
Lizzie’s lips parted, and she ever so subtly touched herself.
Joshua put his unwilling partner through her paces as Mose described Andrea’s
soft belly, her slender shoulders, her tender teats. Each body part, its
attributes described by an expert at appraising livestock, was displayed for the
ecstatic audience. As the frightened girl shimmied and shook, perched unsteadily
on the elevated pumps, the country folk pointed excitedly at her flesh and
gestured as if comparing the merits of each portion of the teenage beauty queen.
Finally, her degrading turn was over; the Phillips kinfolk gave Andrea a
thunderous round of applause as, spent and sobbing through her gag, she was
escorted by Joshua to the back of the “stage”.
Katie was next, at the end of a tether held by a cousin from the Everglades. The
diminuative, sloe-eyed blonde was emblazoned front and rear with a “2”; she
gasped, sucking in the filthy cloth filling her mouth, as the swamp man crooked
an arm around her neck, bent her backwards with his knee between her
well-muscled legs, and inserted the butt of his whip into her pudenda. Every
part of the teenager’s anatomy was probed and squeezed, while Mose described her
as if she were cattle on the hoof: “Now, this here filly will probably yield a
high percentage of meat…those legs are plenty firm, and that back springs right
back when you press a thumb in—” the swamp cousin demonstrated, and Katie let
loose a muffled shriek of pain. After what seemed like eternity to the girl,
she, too, was led to the rear of the flatbed.
The four other nubile young women followed, their naked flesh put on display for
a hundred cheering people. When the last of them, Lindsey—who had remained stoic
at the end of ‘Kiah’s leash as her breasts, belly and butt were critically
assessed by the rotund auctioneer—had been shown, Mose turned to five family
members perched near the front. They handed him a note; he parked his spectacles
on his forehead and peered at it under the flickering natural light.
“Welp,” he proclaimed, “it appears we’ve narrowed the field to two. Our
semi-finalists are…Sarah, and Lindsey!” The crowd cheered; the two attractive
girls glared out into the audience, their eyes wet, while the other four looked
nervously at each other. Mose went on, “This means Andrea, Katie, Amber and
Rachel have been eliminated—and you know what that means!”
They did; several of them had already lined up to bid. Long, lean Rachel Sue was
first. Mose immediately switched to the form that had made him the two-time
Kentucky State Auctioneering Champion: “Well, all right, sir, gotta fine piece
of woman—Whaddya give? Whaddya give? Whaddya give? Got a five, got a five, got a
five—Who’ll give me fifty? Need a fifty-dollar bill, fifty-dollar bill…” The
lanky teenager stood in a daze as strangers offered money for her; Linus and
‘Kiah spotted, as the bids rose higher…
They got to ten-hundred-fifty dollars. The winner, a Phillips who’d sold Texas
highland for oil, now lived in a remote cabin in Canada. He’d flown up; needed
her shipped. Mose nodded; ‘Kiah slung the girl over his shoulder, headed for the
chicken yard, and the axe. Rachel Sue frantically writhed in his grasp; Lizzie
watched, a faint smile on her face, as the crying, naked teenager bouncing on
her brother’s shoulder disappeared into the darkness. Take that, Tennis Girl.
Andrea was sold to a pair of twin brothers from the Georgia piney woods; they
would take her back alive. “She’ll be kind of a two-man wife,” giggled the
grotesque, pot-bellied pair. Linus led the distraught girl away; she’d be locked
in a cage in the cellar until the twins departed in the morning. Amber was next;
the bidders took to the star athlete’s solid build, and the price spiraled to
three thousand dollars. Grandpaw was the winner. “I would lahk to announce,” he
wheedled, “that this here young ‘un will go die-reckly into m’ smokehouse, and
there’ll be plenty of fine ham ‘n’ bacon in yore mailboxes this Christmas!” The
Phillipses clapped and laughed; ‘Kiah had returned, his shoes and pants drenched
with blood, and the strapping young woman was again hoisted over his mammoth
shoulder and trundled to her slaughter.
A number of the kin tagged along, Lizzie among them. “Girl, you shore you wanna
see this?” asked her big brother. He had Amber down on her knees, her neck over
the block; although the fury of the evening had undone much of her ‘do, the coif
was still piled high on the girl’s head, and her neck was bare for the ax.
Amber, her face boiling tears, looked up at Lizzie; the country girl grinned,
winked at her helpless classmate, and folded her arms. “Let ‘er rip,” she said.
The end was anticlimactic. A girl’s neck was the same as firewood to ‘Kiah; one
swipe, and Amber’s head was rolling in the quiet dust of the yard. ‘Kiah lifted
his foot, and her body toppled slowly on its side, twitched a couple time, then
lay still. A few of the kin complimented the headless city girl on her
performance, as if she could still hear. “I thought you shoulda won!” exclaimed
one grubby-looking cousin to the carcass, as ‘Kiah again hoisted her over his
shoulders, picked up her head by the hair. Amber’s eyes were still snapped wide
open. “Gotta go gut and butcher her for the smokehouse,” he told the folks. “You
all get back for the finals.” He lugged the girl into the small pole barn behind
the pen; as he opened the door, Lizzie caught a glimpse of Rachel Sue, hanging
by her heels and eviscerated. ‘Kiah stopped to flip off Amber’s strapless heels,
then slammed the door behind him
By the time Lizzie got back, First Runner-up Katie had already been sold; the
well-built blonde had been hauled away by a Mississippi sharecropper. “Gotta get
back,” he said. “Got some hungry mouths to feed.” Grandpaw offered to have ‘Kiah
do the butchering, but the sharecropper turned him down: “Beth Ann will fix me
up the best chit’lin’s in the Bayou,” he said. “You all come on by come
Thanksgiving, and we’ll have a fine ham on the table,” with that slapping the
girl’s solid thigh; Katie, her ankles now trussed and her feet bare, could only
blubber through her gag as she was carried away to be slaughtered for her flesh
by a denizen of the Delta.
Lindsey and Sarah remained on the flatbed, still wearing their pumps and nothing
else but the rope around their wrists and the “6” and “4” painted on their
bellies and backs. They stared at each other, wide-eyed. Petite, blonde Sarah
had been curvaceous Lindsey’s rival in everything–cheerleading, homecoming
queen, boys, school honors. It wasn’t even—it registered on them both
simultaneously—the first time they’d seen each other bare naked; there had been
some “experiments,” some girl-girl stuff, in a locker room, and again at a
friend’s beach party.
So the two girls had used each other’s bodies…but their competition had turned
less than friendly; they spread wicked rumors about each other, sabotaged each
other’s school efforts. But now, they were in a grim battle to finish first in a
depraved tournament in which the very flesh of the contestants was the prize.
Sarah swallowed hard, kept staring at Lindsey, who stared back; meanwhile, Mose
had started again. “We’re down to our final two attractive young ladies,” the
auctioneer intoned. “And couldn’t you just eat them both up?” A sea of laughter
from the gathered Phillips kin at the rude joke; ‘Kiah had returned, more fresh
blood on his clothes, and regained Lindsey’s choke-rope from his stand-in;
brother Linus now had Sarah in tow.
“As you folks know, when it comes to the final runoff, it’s time for the talent
competition. We’ll soon see which of these two ladies, Sarah or Lindsey, has the
stuff to be Miss Jubilee. Let’s have the judges on stage!”
The fivesome who’d been rating the humiliated girls quickly clambered onto the
makeshift stage; laughing, they fumbled with their britches. Lindsey felt a
massive hand on her shoulder; ‘Kiah was pushing her down to her knees. As they
banged hard against the rusty metal floor, a grinning hobgoblin of a hillbilly
loomed over her; the tape was ripped off her mouth.
While Lindsey sucked on the first “judge’s” cock, her eyes glazing over as she
choked on the organ, Sarah was being stretched on her belly across a bale of hay
that had been propped on the flatbed. The helpless girl felt a massive body plop
onto her, and soon the second “judge” was deep inside of her. As he ground
against her, the announcer ambled by. “How is she, Amos?” asked Mose. “Not so
tight,” came the strained answer. “This here young’un’s been hoorin’ around!”
And the audience chuckled; Sarah, pinned under the dirty, smelly country boy,
feeling his member twitch inside of her, closed her eyes …
As each “judge” finished with one of the two girls, another rushed to take his
place. Lindsey’s mouth was ringed with semen, her belly full of it; she tried to
cough, only to have yet another kinsman grab her by her once-elegant hair and
pull her mouth to him. Finally, all were finished; as the two degraded girls
sprawled on the cold metal and sobbed, the men who would decide their fates
eagerly compared notes. “How say ye, cousins?” declared Mose.
The biggest of the five was silent for a second, then his face split into a big
grin. “No question,” he said. “It’s Number 6.”
The Phillips kin burst into loud cheers; ‘Kiah clomped across the flatbed,
lifted the prostrate Sarah by her once elegant hair, and hoisted her onto his
shoulder. “And how about our runner-up?” cried Mose. “Let’s give her a big
hand.” They jeered, laughed and derisively applauded as the naked young thing,
whimpering into the still-intact gag, vanished into the dusk to meet her death
at the end of a sharpened axe.
“Okay, folks,” announced Mose. “Time for the Jubilee Queen festival!” A dozen
eager hands reached onto the flatbed, dragged Lindsey toward them; drool and
incoherent syllables ran from the nude beauty queen’s mouth as the Phillipses
lifted her high over their heads and marched her to the barbecue pit.
It was behind the pig pen, which had not been used for that purpose in a
generation; cans of rubbish were stacked out front, empty feed sacks, old tires.
It looked deserted from the front—but the pit, although seasoned, was well kept.
Built of cinder blocks, the recessed six-foot square grate was just inches above
the fuel; new, green wood was smoking and sparking beneath. A weather-beaten
picnic table was nearby, with utensils laid out. The new queen’s court
unceremoniously dropped her onto the table; Lindsey looked up to find a sea of
faces leaning over her, lit by moonlight. And the closest was—
“Lizzie! Please!”
“Now, you jest hush up.” As if for emphasis, the girl stuffed a sawed-off end
from a 2x4 into Lindsey’s mouth; Linus was tying the girl’s feet. “Grandpaw says
you git t’ be my first. It’s’n old family tradition, the Coming of Age.”
Lizzie’s knife faintly glowed blue, catching the moon and the smoke from the
slowly building fire.”
“I already done pigs and goats,” Lizzie went on, just inches from Lindsey face;
the Jubilee Queen swallowed, hard, staring into the other girl’s eyes—they shone
with pure vengeance. “You oughta be a whole lot easier. ‘N more fun.”
And with that, Lizzie slowly, deliberately, drew the blade through Lindsey’s
middle, starting between her breasts and right through her belly-button. Blood
flowed; some trickled from the girl’s mouth, staining the rough board crimson.
Lindsey’s face contorted, a clenched fist of agony. Lizzie expertly split her
wide, reached in, took what she needed to take…
Lindsey was sprawled, open and emptied belly down, over the dull red embers;
they hissed as each drop of the girl’s ichor was drawn from her by the heat,
following in tiny droplets from her every point. Her skin had reddened; it would
eventually turn a shiny sepia, hard and cracked so the juices could escape. The
ropes had been removed; her arms and legs, moist and soft with the fat that
gives a shapely young woman her padding, were already steeped in gloss as the
fat came to the surface, then trickled back down over the curves. Her big,
doe-like eyes were gone; blackberries filled the sockets. The wooden block still
held her mouth ajar; a pear from the tree out back would fill that spot, later,
when it came time to carve and serve her.
Grandpaw was basting the Jubilee Queen’s skin with a vegetable sauce, flavored
with homemade liquor; Lizzie stood by. “These thangs hurt,” she complained. She
was wearing Lindsey’s stylish pumps, her memento of the evening, her Coming of
Age.
Grandpaw cackled. “Girl,” the grizzled old codger told his granddaughter, “you
done a great job. We’s all proud of you. No more trips to Aunt Louise; Sunday
dinners, you be here. Yer a Phillips, fer all that.”
“I know, Grandpaw,” she said, idly poking a fork into Lindsey leg, watching as
the tiny river of fat cascaded to the hot embers beneath. “I surely know.”



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