Cannibal 4H Chapter17: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion 

Linda Sue tossed fitfully on her bed, sleep avoiding her like a vampire avoids crosses. A satiated
Joey slept limply on his side next to her, small "wuff"sounds escaping his mouth with each
exhalation of breath. Linda Sue moved her loins eastward, attempting to roll away from the
moisture left by their recent coupling. Why is it that women always have to sleep in the wet
spot, she thought. But it wasn't the dampness that was keeping Linda Sue awake. Her mind was
spinning in circles like a hamster on a wheel and getting just about as far.

The morning, not all that far away now, would mark her debut as livestock. Even after the
vigourous carnal calisthenics that had capped off the night, the thought of being treated as a
human equine had her pussy dripping like an overripe peach with a fresh bite taken out of it;  her
sleepless nerves pulsing with excitement at the upcoming loss of her human status, temporary
though it would be. Finally, the years of wondering, fantasizing and dreaming would become
reality. She would be no more than an animal; her thoughts and desires mattering less than those
of an ant at a picnic.

From an early age, Linda Sue knew that her life would not be a story whose narrative would
proceed from start to finish in a straight-forward and deliberative manner; each chapter leading
logically to the next with no digressions from the main plot to divert the tale into tangled literary
alleys. Her life would be full of stylistic turnings, meandering from point to point, brimming with
experiments and attempts to be different, not just the same old story of man meets girl, man
sleeps with girl, man eats girl, man meets new girl. Hopefully, at its close, there would be enough
triumphs along the way to justify her life's story. One thing she was sure of, at the end of its
telling would be Joey Geryon.

Well before she knew what sex was about, Linda Sue knew that her life was unalterably
intertwined with Joey's. She had no doubt that she was put on earth to take care of Joey and to
meet his needs in whatever way was necessary. Even as a prepubescent child she recognized that
Joey was meant to be her lord if not quite her master.

This didn't mean she would give into Joey on every matter or that she would let Joey boss her
around.  She saw her duty as guiding and protecting Joey and if that meant disobeying him at
times so be it.  She wasn't going to be a stupid bimbo, jumping every time he snapped his fingers.
She was an individual who would do her best to protect Joey from making major mistakes in life.

But what Linda Sue herself struggled with was how she could best serve Joey.  Her indecision
had started when she was 13.  One night that summer, she had followed Joey and Billy to where
they camped out under the stars of the Hewitts' west meadow. They were always sneaking out
there by themselves and she wanted to see what they were up to.

Sliding through the tall grass on her belly, her pigtails full of burrs and weed seeds, she got close
enough to the campfire to hear them talking, talking about her.

"Come on Joey, I told you who I want to see roasting on a spit. Tell me who you'd want."

Joey didn't even pause before answering. "Linda Sue."

"Really?"

"Yeah, every time I see that little ass of hers running down the hall my mouth starts to water. I
can't make up my mind whether I want to cover her in barbecue sauce or come. Eat her or screw
her, screw her or eat her; it's a tough choice."

"So let's go get her and do both."

Joey laughed as he threw another stick on the campfire, red sparks rising up to the night sky like
a flight of miniature Phoenix seeking the stars. "Sure thing Billy, we'll do it tonight, right here in
the meadow."

Billy scowled. "No not tonight, next week.  Her folks aren't home next weekend.  We can sneak
over to her house and grab her. We'll bring her out here and make her do a strip tease for us. If
she doesn't want to we'll tear her clothes off her ourselves. She won't have any use for them
when we're done with her. She's just meat, we can do anything we want with her.

"First we'll make her blow us both. Then we'll fuck her. Then we'll cook her. It'll be great."

Joey felt a stirring in his loins, the vision of he and Billy hand-cranking a spitted but still alive
Linda Sue above a crackling fire sending a rush of blood to his dick.  He could see her body
writhing as it was caressed by the flames, her eyes starring at him in supplication as the smaller
circles made by his hands and arms caused her to rotate in larger circles over the fire. In his mind
he could hear the sizzling of her hair burning off, smell the sharp tang of flesh just starting to char
and cook.  Even as his dick grew harder his mouth filled with saliva at the thought of how Linda
Sue would taste.

"Oh yeah," said Joey. "That would be great. She's a little cocktease anyhow, the way she wears
those tight white blouses over her tits, that middle button unbuttoned just so guys can see her
bra, like the coloured lace doesn't show through already. And when she wears those tight pants
she gets a definite case of camel toe. I can see every lip line she has. It's about time she started
taking care of those hardons she's always giving me."

Joey unsnapped his pants and dropped them to the ground. Linda Sue got a brief blurred glimpse
of his rampant young prick before Joey's fist closed around it. She thought briefly of trying to
crawl closer to get a better look but decided not to, consoling herself with the idea that before the
week was out she would make sure she not only got a closer look at it, she would feel, smell and
taste it.

"We'll bring out some sawhorses to tie her over. That way she can suck one of us off while the
other one fucks her in the ass," said Joey getting into the fantasy, his hand rising and falling while
he talked. "And then ... when we're done..."

"We'll spit her," said Billy who had joined Joey in jacking off.

"We'll spit her," confirmed Joey.  "You can hold her head up so the spit will go straight through. 
We'll have to tie her tight because she's going to struggle. We don't have any of the drugs they
usually give meat being spitted so it's gonna hurt her."

"We can hold her down. Maybe we could even have Royce out here with us. He's helped cook
enough young girls at the cannibal fair."

"Nope just you and me."

"OK Joey just you and me.  But we're going to have our hands full. Once that spit starts in she'll
be squirming like a fresh dipper of pancake batter on a hot grill."

"I know. We'll grease it up so the first few inches will go in easy. After that, well, I'll just have
to push as hard as I can.  She's going to scream so we'll have to gag her."

"I'll gag her with my cock," said Billy, his breath coming in shorter spurts as his climax
approached. "I'll shove it so far down her throat she can't make a sound."

"Then you'll be the one making the sound when she bites off your cock. I've seen cattle that
were live-spitted bite clean through one of those rods they use to keep their heads up and those
things are made out of two inches of oak. She'll treat your pecker like a Slim Jim."

Billy spurted onto the ground at the thought of Linda Sue chewing on his cock while Joey
continued to fist his own maypole.

"After she's spitted we'll put her on the fire. She'll still be alive but the spit will have ruined her
vocal cords so she won't be able to scream. She won't even be able to whimper. And we'll turn
her and watch her brown and smear her with barbecue sauce until she's done.  And then we'll
carve the meat from her bones and..."

Joey's control and his balls burst at the same time, the stream of sperm jetting from the tip of his
prick almost reaching the fire two feet away.

The night meadow was quiet while the two boys regained their composure. Linda Sue quivered in
the shadows beyond the firelight, wanting and needing to go to Joey but afraid of the
consequences.

Ever since the great disaster and its attendant famine had struck 80 years ago, a person's status as
a human being was not guaranteed but had become a mutable right. What had started as a last
resort to conditions that threatened the extinction of the species had become ingrained in society,
first through custom then through law. People could lose their position as human and become
chattel.

Once the notion of people as chattel was accepted, the concept of a non-human caste spread to
other uses beyond physical labour. As the famine grew worse, cannibalism became widespread. 
By the time the crisis had ended, fifty years ago, the social structure had permanently changed.

For many women two stark options presented themselves; they were either mate or meat and,
quite often both. Nor were men immune to the effects of the famine.  The human cattle farms
which sprang up were equal opportunity employers as people were glad to eat any meat put on
the table, be it male or female.

So Linda Sue had lived with, accepted and even embraced the possibility that her ultimate fate
would be to grace a supper table. And now, having heard Joey proclaim his intentions to have her
live-spitted, she felt like a doe who had just spied a hunter creeping her way through the brush,
rifle at the ready.

Tears began to puddle in the corner of her eyes as she contemplated her fate.  Joey wants me as
meat. He's going to take me next weekend. I'm not going to marry Joey. We're not going to have
children. We're not going to grow old together. He'll do that with some one else. I'm dinner to
him. Nothing more.

Finally, just as Linda Sue began to rise up out of the grass, intending to walk into the camp and
surrender herself to Joey, the two boys continued their conversation.

"It's set then," said Billy pulling up his pants. "I'll get the sawhorses and rope and you can bring
the spit and y-poles from the farm."

"No Billy, it's not all set. We're not going to roast Linda Sue next weekend," responding Joey as
he tucked his shirt into his pants.

"Why not? Don't you want to?"

"Why not? Well, for starters, how about the fact that it's illegal. Linda Sue is a human, not
human cattle. She hasn't been converted and you know the penalty for involuntary conversion.
You can't just go grabbing people and barbecuing them. You know that as well as I do."

"OK, so we'll buy her from her parents and have her converted."

"And how are we going to pay her parents for her?"

"I don't know. Don't you have any money saved up."

Joey tossed his head in annoyance at his friend's thickness. "Sure I do but not nearly enough to
pay what her parents would want, assuming that they'd want to sell her. And even if I did have
enough money to buy her I'm not sure I would."

"What do you mean you wouldn't buy her? What have we been talking about here?"

"Don't be L-12, moron. All we've been doing is talking, not planning. Try not to get your dick
dreams confused with reality here."

Now Billy was getting annoyed at Joey's attitude. " Look dickweed, you can't tell me you don't
want to roast Linda Sue. I know better."

"Hey maybe I want to roast her, maybe I want to do something else."

"Yeah," Billy challenged, "what else?"

"I dunno, maybe marry her?"

Billy began to laugh.  Holding his sides, he rocked back and forth. "Oh that's great. You want to
marry a 13-year old."

"I didn't say I wanted to marry her," replied Joey somewhat embarrassed at his friend's ridicule.
"I said maybe I might want to marry her someday maybe."

`Hell, you don't want to marry her, you just want to slip her your Woodrow."

"Well, that too," said Joey a smile on his face.  "But there's something about Linda Sue..."

"You mean besides those big tits and that tight ass?"

"Yeah, besides that.  I don't know Billy. Sure, she's only 13 and I'm only 14 but I think she's
the girl for me. Besides it'll be years before I have to decide whether to marry her or marinate her.
Until then I think she and I can have a lot of fun together."

"All right then.  So go ahead. Do what ever you want with Linda Sue. I don't care. But if we're
not going to roast her next weekend can we roast Alice Kipfer instead?"

Joey chucked an empty beer can at Billy's head.  

Ever since she had overheard that conversation in the meadow, Linda Sue had worked hard to
prepare herself for either eventuality. She had dedicated herself to pleasing him, no matter what
her final end would turn out to be. Tomorrow when she was delivered to Kyner Stables she
would get her first real taste of one of her possible destinies. Who knows, she thought to herself,
perhaps becoming a human horse, even on a temporary basis, would give her enough experience
to want to nudge Joey in one direction or another.

A moan turned her attentions away from her inner dialogue and toward the man lying next to her
in the bed. Joey had thrown his covers off and his male staff was sticking almost straight up.
Maybe I can wake him up for one more fuck before morning she thought bending over to engulf
its ruddy mushroom head in her moist sucking mouth, her swirling tongue enjoying the tangy
flavour of his dried sperm mingled with the cardamon taste added by her own effusions.

Anneliese awoke with a shudder, the biting scent of a burning sulphur match still in her nostrils,
Sebastian's final cries still echoing in her head.  Her rumpled sheets were soaked with moisture,
not from sexual passion but rather the cold sweat of nightmares. She'd had that dream again, the
one that sat on her shoulder like a carrion crow, its black presence a reminder of failure, heartache,
betrayal  and a harbinger of some yet unrealized doom. 

Knowing there was no sense in trying to get back to sleep after the dream, she drew her faded
terry cloth robe tightly around her and went out to the kitchen to brew some blackberry tea. At
least that will help dispel some of the residual horror from the dream even if it didn't keep the
boogie man away. Besides she needed to plan her next action.

The dream always started the same way. She is naked, walking down a dark corridor, with only
faint illumination coming from two small strips of light on the floor. Some one's hand is guiding
her way;  pushing from behind, hurrying her along this stygian hallway. She bumps into the end
of the path.  It is a closed door.

A hand brushes past her ribs, pausing to cup a breast, lightly tug at a nipple. Her flesh welcomes
the contact, the nipple growing hard. Moisture trickles between her legs.

The door is opened and she is blinded by brightness. Her sight is overloaded by the sheer
radiance ahead. Her hands try to go up to rub her eyes but they can't move. They are tied behind
her back.  She blinks. She blinks again. Her eyes begin to adjust.

She's in a small room filled with people. They are watching her, their faces twisted with emotion.
Some are excited and happy. Some leer at her in a sexual manner. These people are partially
undressed and fondling each other. Only one person, an older man, looks sad.

Vendors are going through the crowd. Some are dressed in clown outfits and are selling balloons
and cotton candy to children. Some are dressed in white uniforms with white, pointed paper caps
on their heads. They are selling sausages with the cry "Get your Ann on a stick here."

People are lined up at a table located at the side of the stands. They are writing on a life-sized
diagram of a woman. The woman is nude with dotted lines dividing the various areas of her body
into portions. The people are writing their names in the outlined areas.

A woman approaches her. The woman is dressed from head to toe in tight black leather. The
woman's large breasts strain against her top like a pair of prisoners trying to escape a cell.  The
woman is carrying an oversized fork in one hand and a jar labelled "sauce." in the other. The
woman's smile, seen through a jet black mask, causes a wave of nausea to course through her
body.

The crowd begins to chant. "Spit her, spit her." They wave pennants and stomp their feet in time
with the chant. "Spit her. Spit her."

The hand touches her spine below the shoulders. It pushes her forward toward an old-fashioned
loving seat.  She slumps over the seat, her bones turning to water.  The woman in black puts
down her fork and jar.  She picks up a long piece of shiny pointed metal. A black fist carries the
rod over her back. The hand returns empty.

Anneliese feels a warm wetness spread over her groin. I've peed myself she thinks.  But it is just
vegetable oil. She is being prepared.

The guiding hand spreads the oil all over her crotch. It makes sure that plenty is smeared on and
in her pussy. The hand withdraws. It is replaced by the feel of metal. The chant picks up in
speed and volume. "Spit her. Spit Her."

Her pussy lips are pulled wide apart.  The gauntleted hands of the woman in black tilts her head
up. Their eyes meet.  Fear rises in her throat like a clot of blood. The woman in black laughs. It
sounds like malignant pestilence given voice.

Her body erupts in pain. Sharp, piercing agony.  It moves through her like a column of molten
lead, hot and burning. The woman in black smiles satanically and taps her fork against the seat.
"Soon," the woman says.

Flashbulbs pop. The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles. The torment increases. Her body
shudders, twists, bucks but the movement of the rod is relentless. Her throat stiffens. The spit
passes across her tongue preceded by a gush of carmine blood. A tooth is knocked loose as the
metal column leaps from her mouth.

She feels herself being lifted up. Her body sags and twirls around the rod. Each step brings new
hurt.  As her vision dims she sees red flames beckoning her. Hears the crowds chant switches to
"Roast her. Roast Her." Flames lick lovingly at her flesh.

Suddenly, the landscape changes. Cold replaces hot. Light replaces dark. Nude but whole again.
Standing on a plain as white as bleached cotton. It seems to go on forever. 

Her feet struggle through snow. Trees and bushes are coated with ice. The wind howls savagely.
Sleet stings her skin. Storm clouds roil across the horizon.

In the distance. People. A pile of wood. She trudges forward. Fights against the wind. Progress is
slow. Two steps forward. One step back. Ice crystals coat her body. Light reflects off her like it
was bouncing off diamonds.

Still she slogs on. Snow grows higher.  Wind fiercer.  Hears the people now. Calling, calling her
name. Too far away. Can't see who they are.

Wind shifts.  At her back now. A pair of skis appear. She straps them on. Good fit. 

Struggle ends. Glides effortlessly across the snow.  She sees a pack, lying on its side.  Picks it up.
Continues on her way.

People.  Mother and father. Sebastian. Aunt Vi. They wave. She waves back. Come closer. She
does.

Skis change to snowshoes. Running. Stumbles. Face buried in snow. Snowshoes are awkward.
Can't really run.  Too easy to trip.

Nearer to her family.  White snow vanishes. Dried brown earth takes its place.  Desiccated and
withered trees.  Leaves litter the ground like dead animals. Discards the snowshoes. Runs
barefoot.

She begins crying.  Hard, cracked ground welcomes the tears. 

"Mommy, Daddy. Why did you go? Why did you leave me? I missed you so. Why didn't you
take me with you?"

Father turns a stern face to her. "We didn't want you. You were a bad girl.  You wouldn't listen.
You wouldn't behave. You cost too much to feed. You drove us away."

Sobs grow in intensity. Steps toward her mother.  Mother turns away. "Just give us the pack and
go. We don't want you, just the pack. Give us the pack."

"But you loved me. All of you loved me."

"Not after what you did to me." says Sebastian. No warmth and love in those eyes. Just cruelty
and harshness. Flat as saucers. No depth. 

 "We used you. And when we were done using you, we left you and went away. Now give us the
pack."

Turns to the aunt who saved her. "Aunt Vi, you loved me. I know you did."

"The pack child, give us the pack."

She throws the pack down on the ground. Runs. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.  Get
away. Get away. But after a few steps she is grabbed by the branches of a tree, as alive as though
transplanted directly from Oz's Haunted Forest.

The tree holds her tight against it. Her family piles wood around her feet. They pour a liquid over
the wood. Charcoal lighter.

Her mother opens the pack. Her father's hand reaches into its depths and draws out a box of old-
fashioned sulphur matches. Sebastian has his pants open. He is masturbating. Her aunt is
sharpening a knife on a whetstone. They came from inside the pack too.

Her father strikes the match against the side of the box. It lights on the first stroke. He throws the
match onto the pile. Orange flames scoot across the surface like a brace of anxious salamanders.
The flames grow higher. Sebastian masturbates faster. Her parents begin to set a table. Her aunt
tests the knife against her own arm drawing a thin line of ruby fluid.

As the fire burns the life from her body, she hears Sebastian howl in orgasm "Meat, Annie.
That's all you are is meat."

Billy is also dreaming of meat. He's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, a white cowboy hat tilted
back on his head.  A young heifer is kneeling at his feet, her mouth nursing at his pecker. Once
she gets her morning ration of protein she'll be back in the corral with the other cows.

As foreman of the ranch, Billy has his pick not only of the stock, but also of the female hands.
He doesn't hesitate to use his authority.  Last night Jemma shared his bed, a reward to him for
his hiring her away from Kyner Stables. She was very inventive. Tonight they'll hold the
customary "welcoming" barbecue for her, roasting a whole carcass and drinking several kegs of
beer in the process. There won't be a lot of work done the next day.

Billy casts his eyes downward.  I could do worse than putting this cow over the pit. She should
brown up just fine.  Her fate sealed, Billy spills his seed into the human cattle's mouth. With a
wave of his arm he calls over a handler.  "Take this one into town to Crenshaw's. Ask for Carl
and tell him we need her prepped for tonight. He'll know what to do."

Running a ranch takes a lot of hard work, Billy thinks to himself as he walks away, twirling a
small herding staff in his hands. But there sure are compensations.

Terri can't feel the weight on her back but she knows someone is there. A child possibly, the
mother standing next to her offspring, holding the child in place.
 
Any moment now the music will start playing and she be moving again. Up and down, around
and around. Moving on a circular path to nowhere, running in a race without a finish line. Hearing
the brassy sound of the calliope piping out the same tired tune over and over.

She can't move, not really, not like a human could.  The only direction she can go in is up and
down, that and around in a counterclockwise circle. To even go into that limited range of motion
the music has to be playing.

She's been fixed in place. Can't shrug, can't move her head, not even to blink. All she can do is
stare straight ahead and hope that something interesting wanders into her field of vision.

She hears rather than feels the swack of a child banging a riding crop against her flanks.  All tactile
sensation is gone. Only her thoughts prove to her that she still exists.

It was all her own fault. Really it was. If she just hadn't been so damn clumsy, she wouldn't be
in this predicament now. She might even have won the Cup. Well, Andy always used to make
fun of her saying she had the balance of a new born puppy on a wet linoleum floor. He'd sure be
laughing if he could see her now. She probably owned the poor guy a few laughs anyhow.

She'd been coming around the far turn in full stride when her foot hit the hole. Her ankle twisted
and her knee locked up.  Down she went pulling the sulky and driver on top of her. Her leg made
a sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies being topped off with fresh milk but magnified a
hundredfold. White agony shot through her and she passed out.

When she came to she was in the receiving barn, the track vet standing over her looking as glum as
a coroner examining a corpse a not unapt simile as it turned out.  "She's got compound fractures
at two places in her tibia. There's a greenstick fracture in her femur. Her ACL looks like a plate
of spaghetti. Several ribs are cracked, one wrist is fractured and that nose is going be flat for the
rest of her days unless I reset it soon. I've given her a shot of Demorol for the pain but it will be
wearing off soon. I need to know what you want me to do with her before then."

"Any chance she'll race again," asked a familiar voice. "Any chance at all?"

"Sorry, Joey. She's a permanent scratch. Even if she recovers, they don't let many horses use
canes to get around the track with."

"Well, I don't see we have any choice then. We'll have to carousel her."

The vet shook his head sadly.  "Damn, I hate doing that to a horse this young. But you're right.
If you want to get any value out of her at all she'll have to be carouseled."

"Can you do it here or do you need to move her?"

"I could do it here but I'm afraid it would spook the other horses. It would be better if I could go
to hospital. It would be quicker there too. I can take her there in the ambulance."

"Not a very merry way to go around, I'm afraid," quipped Joey.  "How long will the procedure
take?"

"She'll be ready for sale in about two or three weeks.  I'll euthanize her right here. She won't feel
a thing. Once we're at hospital we'll prepare her for the taxidermist.  He'll need a few days to
build a wire skeleton and stuff her. After that, the body will need about a week of hardening
treatments. Then she'll be painted, mounted on a brass pole and ready to ride."

"I should give Andy a call."

"Family?"

"Andy Gudman, ex-husband. Sweet guy. Terri used to ride him real hard while they were
married, I'm sure he'd appreciate the chance to return the favour."

"yeah, my ex was like that too, right up until the time the oven door closed on her.  Well, no
sense in keeping the kids on the midway waiting any longer than we need to. Hand me that bottle
with the big black skull and crossbones on it will you?"

"Sure, think we ought to send her family flowers?"

"Flowers are always appropriate," responds the vet,  billowing white fumes pouring forth from
the top of the bottle as he fills a syringe. 

There are flowers in Joey's dream. Lots of flowers and organ music.  Lots of flowers, organ
music and a big crowd.  He's standing next to his father and Billy. The mayor is there. It's his
wedding day.

Two bridesmaids are standing across from him. Their faces are fuzzy, indistinct. They're wearing
two of the most ridiculous dresses he's ever seen.  

One looks like something out of a Shakespearean play with a high collar, winged shoulders,  a
doublet, hanging sleeves and trunk hose which come down to the middle of her thighs. The
material is a dark, red velvet piped with gold braid and blue fluer-de-lis figures. The girl's legs
below the trunk hose are bare.  So are her feet. Her head is topped by a pink hennin hat. It looks
like a dunce cap that has been angled back with a tail stuck on the point.

The second bridesmaid is wearing a green and blue satin dress with crinoline.  The dress is
covered with name tags that say " Hi, my name is ??? and I slept with the bridesmaid You can
too. Ask me how."

The sleeves of the dress are longer than her arms. The dress is trailing on the floor so Joey can't
see her feet. But he can see that the bustle in the back makes her butt stick out about two feet. 
This bridesmaid is wearing a yellow cloche hat. She is holding a grey cat in her arms.

A rock band strikes up "Here comes the Bride." And indeed here comes the bride. The bride is 
all dressed in white.  White high-heeled shoes, sheer white hose, white bikini panties and a lacy
white wasp-waisted corset covered in a pattern of white leaves and flowers. The bride wears
nothing else.

The corset's built-in bra pushes her breasts upward and forward with great authority. A large
white opal is lodged in her navel just below the centre cut of the corset. Her nail polish, lipstick
and eye shadow are all different shade of off-white. Her skin has been dusted with white glitter.
Even her hair has been dyed platinum for the occasion.

The bride has eschewed the traditional white bridal veil. In its place she is carrying a white mask
on a stick. The mask, which looks like some sort of bird, is made up entirely of long and short
white feathers. She is holding the mask in front of her face.

Joey knows he's seen this girl somewhere before but he's not sure who she is. He knows he
loves her though.

The ceremony is over. Joey and his bride are at the reception. She still holds the mask in front of
her.  They walk over to the table holding the wedding gifts. Many have already been opened. 
There are several full sets of knives including cleavers, filleting, boning, carving and steak knives. 
His bride lets out a fluty dulcet laugh as she holds a filleting knife close to his crotch. Other than
to say "I do" his bride has been quiet.

They move on to the banquet. In the centre of the table is a whole, oven-roasted girl, her golden-
russet skin contrasting nicely with pale yellow of the platter. She is presented in the formal
manner, balanced on her shins and forearms, her buttocks thrust high into the air, her breasts
hanging freely, their nipples almost but not quite touching the china. 

The offering wears a tiara of peacock feathers perched just behind her ears. A bright red apple
rests in her mouth and a colourful garish of fruits and vegetables on the platter's edge complete
the display. She too looks familiar. There's something about those breasts, the way they hang,
the size of those nipples, thinks Joey.  But, before he can get closer to see who it is, his new
bride pulls him towards the dance floor. They dance a waltz, then a quadrille and finally a
saraband. His bride keeps her face masked throughout.

Finally, they leave the reception. The long limo is white both outside and in.  Joey leans back
snuggling into the comfort of the cushy white leather seat. Maybe now his bride will lower her
mask and he can see who it is that he has married.

His bride shifts from sitting next to him on the seat to kneeling in front of him on the floor. Long
white nails rake across his zipper, toying with him before pulling it down. He springs out erect
and ready. His bride lowers her head and her mask in tandem.

Just as her face begins to come into focus, her hoar frost hair slides forward like a curtain
lowering at the end of a play. She buries her face in his groin, her lips enveloping his manhood.
She starts to bob up and down, sucking hard on the upstroke, scraping him with her teeth on the
downstroke.   Her visage remains hidden from Joey's view. Frustrated at his failure to behold his
beloved's face, Joey closes his eyes, all the better to enjoy the head being bestowed on him by
his new bride.

A sharp pain snaps Joey's eyes open. She bit his dick, not soft nibbling bites but a full-fledged
chomp given hard enough to leave indentations.  He shakes his head and looks around him. He's
not in a limo, he's in bed. And he is not in bed with his mystery bride, he's in bed with Linda
Sue.

"If you thought you were going to get a nice juicy blow job from me while you were sleeping and
leave me to self-gratification, you've got another think coming Joey Geryon," she said as she
climbed astride the still groggy and very confused rancher. "We're in this together, all the way to
the very end."
