Cannibal 4H Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by Eurytion

"THE DEFENDANT WILL RISE and face the court!" Ashen faced, the young man at the small
oak table complied with the bailiff's order, his body stiff and trembling. His court appointed
lawyer also stood placing a comforting hand on his client's shoulder. Guards posted at both ends
of the table took a step closer to the accused.

The case had captured the interest of the community.  The crowd in the courtroom was heavier
than normal, filling about one-third the room's capacity. When viewed from the Judge's
perspective, the first two rows of benches, with only a few gaps in the seating, resembled a
hockey player's smile.  The local press had given extensive coverage to the proceedings, including
interviews with Anneliese Dracon. Anneliese had not hesitated in using the forum she was given
to continue her denunciation of human cattle farming.

Although the community overwhelmingly supported human cattle ranching, the cattle rights
activists generally being perceived as "wackos," even the strongest advocates of the practice
admitted, if true, the conduct of the defendant was criminal. Anneliese rejoiced at what she saw
as the first break in the acceptance of this repugnant vice and planned to take full advantage of it.

"Madame foreman, has the jury reached a verdict," the Judge asked, silence descending on the
courtroom like a thick woolen blanket.

"We have your honour."

"Please read your verdict to the assembled court."

"On count one, misrepresentation, we the jury find the accused guilty as charged. On count two,
violation of privacy, we the jury find the accused guilty as charged. On count three,
impersonation of an individual, we the jury find the accused guilty as charged. " 

With each of the jury's pronouncements, the defendant slumped closer to the floor, his courage
deserting him like water pouring from a leaky bucket. Only the strong arms of the guards
prevented his total collapse. 

"On count four attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury find the accused guilty as charged.
On count five attempted involuntary conversion, we the jury find the accused guilty as charged."

Even though he knew the basic futility of the gesture, the defense lawyer addressed the Judge.
"Your honour, we respectfully request  the jury be polled." 

One by one the members of the jury individually affirmed their combined verdicts, each
repetition of "guilty" taking on the cadence of drums played during the march to the gallows.

The Judge looked sternly down at the now convicted felon. "Professor Cymbal," he said his
stentorian voice filling the farthest crannies of the courtroom. "A jury of your peers has found
you guilty on all counts. In accordance with our laws, it is now my sworn duty to pronounce
sentence upon you. In this I am left with no discretion as the statute prescribes the punishment
for your crime.

"Therefore, it is the order of the court  your status as a human is to be terminated immediately.
From this point forward you are cast from our society to live out the remainder of your life as
livestock, " Even as the judge was speaking the guards began to bind and gag the sobbing felon.

"You are to be taken from this courtroom," continued the judge ignoring the weak and useless
struggle taking place in front of him,  "and transported to the medical facilities at the county jail.
There your vocal cords shall be severed. You are to be tagged and marked with a cattle
identification number.  On the morrow you will be transported to the auction yard where you
will be held until you are offered for sale at the first regularly scheduled auction. 

"Durum hoc est sed ita lex scripta est. This is harsh, but thus the law was written."

The abrupt bang of the judge's gavel echoed off the walnut paneled walls as the newly
adjudicated animal was led from the courtroom. Too petrified to walk without assistance, he was
being half carried, half dragged by the pair of guards, his feet scraping limply along the grey
granite floor.

"This court shall stand in adjournment for one hour," said the Judge "at which time we will
reconvene to hear preliminary motions."

As he watched the proceedings, Hank Gyger found himself feeling both disdain and pity for the
defendant. What a dumb ass, he reflected.  There's all kinds of ways he could have had those girls
legally converted and he pulls a stupid move like forging their quadcee forms. I'm glad I'm not the
poor son of a bitch up there but he deserves what he's going to get. I hope what he did doesn't
affect my case.

Hank felt a tap on his shoulder.  Turning he saw Mrs. Hardie.  "Mr. Gyger, the judge has asked
me to escort you to his chambers," she said kindly.  "He'll hear your petition there." Rising from
his seat on the bench, Hank followed the Judge's factotum down the wide aisle and out through
the swinging double doors at the end of the room.

Hank didn't have long to wait before the Judge bustled into his chamber. As Hank started to rise,
the Judge waved a languid hand at him. "No, no, sit down. We're not in the courtroom.  My
chambers aren't formal."

"Beth, I'd like some lemonade please, if you would be so kind.  Mr. Gyger, anything for you?"
Hank shook his head no.  "Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.

"Oh and Beth," he said as she started to leave the room, "please tell Allie  I want to see the
transcript of yesterday's Mullins' case as soon as I can. I still can't believe that attorney asked
our coroner how many autopsies she'd performed on dead people. That's a question that's going
straight into the nominations list for the Bar's Cross Examination Hall of Shame Award."

Still chuckling, the Judge hung his robe on a coat tree by the desk. After opening a desk drawer
and putting on a pair of pince nez reading glasses, he  picked up a folder from his desk and turned
to Hank.  "Let's see what we have here today. A petition from one Henry Austin Gyger asking
the court to accede to the conversion of one Janice Geralyn Gyger to cattle status." 

The Judge looked up from his reading. "Wife, daughter, sister, mother," he asked quizzically.
"Wife," Hank replied. "Hum," intoned the Judge returning to his reading. "Oh yes, here's a
standard marriage contract executed on July 29, 1964, includes the discretionary conversion
codicil that was the norm at that time. How old was she when you got married?"

"Seventeen, Judge. I was nineteen."

"So she's fifty-one now."

"Almost fifty-two."

"I see you have a nonrevocable assignment of power of attorney she signed four years ago."

"That's right Judge. Our lawyer drew that up for us.  It's got the more modern conversion
language in it."

"Your lawyer is who?"

"It's Bill Jonston your honour. He was in a car accident last week and he's still in hospital in
intensive care. They don't know if he's going to pull through or not. That's why he's not in with
me now."

"That's ok. He doesn't need to be.  These documents look fine. Any children?"

"No sir."

"Does your wife know about this petition?"

"No sir. And I'd prefer  she didn't. I mean the law says I have the right to have her converted if I
want and that she doesn't have to give her consent. I already got that when she signed the
marriage contract and the attorney thing didn't I?"

"That's right  Mr. Gyger you did. It's totally your choice whether to have her converted or not.
It's also up to you to tell her whether or not  you are having her converted."

"That's what Bill told me before the accident but I just wanted to make sure."

"Well, Mr. Jonston was correct in his advice to you." The Judge paused in his discussion as 
Beth Hardie brought in a tall glass of lemonade, its sides streaming with condensation. "Are you
sure you wouldn't like anything, Mr. Gyger? This is a mighty refreshing drink."
"Thank you your honour, but I'll pass. I've got a very tight schedule today."

"Ah, that was a very subtle and gracious way of telling me to get on with it."

Hank's face began to grow red with embarrassment. "No, no,  no your honour," he said shaking
his head frantically back and forth, "that's not what I meant at all. It's just that I do want to . . . "

"Mr. Gyger," said the Judge smiling. "That's quite all right. Sometimes I am a mite loquacious as
Mrs. Hardie never tires of telling me.  If you would indulge me with just a few more answers . . .
"

"Ask anything you want your honour," answered Hank wondering where this conversation was
going and whether or not the Judge was going to sign the conversion order.

The Judge examined Hank through steepled fingers. "Thank you Mr. Gyger. My next question is
why? Why do you want your wife converted? Has she been sick? Is there an inheritance? Do
you have a girlfriend on the side? Did you have a fight and you're looking for revenge?  Please
understand  you are exercising a legal right  you have and that I am going to sign the conversion
order no matter what answer you give me. But as a student of human behaviour I'm always
curious about the reasons for having someone converted. At fifty-one . . . "

"Almost fifty-two," said Hank.

"I'm sorry almost 52," continued the Judge amusement showing on his face. "At almost 52, even
if your wife is in the greatest physical shape she won't bring  much at market, even among the
aficionados of well-aged meat. So why do you want her converted?"

Hank paused to gather his thoughts.

"Does it really matter," he asked the Judge?

"No, as I said, I am going to sign the conversion order for you, in fact I'll do it right now," he
replied reaching for a pen.  

The pen made the sound of dead dry grass rustling in the wind as the Judge affixed his signature
to the decree. In the short time, less than two seconds, it took for the Judge to inscribe his name
Janice Geralyn Gyger had unknowingly passed from being a human, a woman and a wife to being
chattel marked for slaughter.

Sliding the document across the desk to Hank, the Judge spoke.  "There you are Mr. Gyger.  You
needn't fear any longer  your answer will affect my decision. That's the second conversion I've
ordered in the last fifteen minutes. I know why I ordered the first.  I'm still curious about the
reasons for the second."

"I got tired of being insincere."

"An intriguing answer, if somewhat incomplete."

Hank paused for several seconds before answering, unwilling to reveal the whole truth his
response was given in a halting manner. "I don't know how much more complete I can be, your
honour.  It was just, ah just that, well in truth, I got tired of saying things I didn't mean. It's
tough pretending  things are all right, making believe I didn't care.  And it's not like I didn't make
an effort to change things, to make things better, to solve the problems we were having.

Once he got started the words tumbled out of his mouth like puppies released from a pen to play
in the yard.

"But I was the only one trying.  We went to a marriage counsellor. And not just one, we went to
several of them. It didn't do any good.  She didn't admit there were problems but if there were I
was the cause. She didn't want to change, only wanted me to change. After awhile there wasn't
any sense in trying anymore.

"Fighting isn't the worse thing that can happen in a marriage. Indifference is. There's no more
passion in our relationship and I don't just mean sexual passion. We're like the remains of last
week's campfire. No matter how much you stir those ashes, there's just no sparks left to reignite
the fire.  I never thought it would reach this stage but it has. What finally decided me is  she's
turned mean."

"Mean," the Judge queried, leaning forward in anticipation.

"Downright mean, your honour.  She does things, big things and little things,  just in hopes of
pissing me off.  But I refuse to let her get to me."

The Judge nodded judiciously. "Yet you had me sign this order. Ah, well," he continued shaking
his head sadly  "as the disticha moralia advises, `Uxorem fuge ne ducas sub nomine dotis, nec
retinere velis, si coeperit esse molesta.' Avoid taking a wife for the sake of her dowry, nor should
you keep one when she grows troublesome."

"Troublesome isn't the word for it your honour. A man can only take so much before he has to
do something. I was at that point and so I decided to have her converted."

"Yes, I understand. Well  Mr. Gyger, I won't keep you any longer, I know you have much to do
as, I'm afraid,  do I. Preliminary motions await.  Thank you for indulging an old man's curiosity.
Please let Mrs. Hardie make a copy of the order for our files on the way out," the jurist while
standing up to stretch  his arms and back before returning to court.

"No thank you, your honour," said Hank as he left the room, the conversion order clutched
tightly in his left hand.

Just after Hank had exited the room Mrs. Hardie hurried into the room with another document in
her hand.  "Judge, I think you need to look at this petition.  It was just delivered by courier," she
said with a disturbed tone in her voice.

"My goodness Beth, you seem very flustered. What are you carrying there?  Is it a declaration of
war? You're holding it like it was a venomous snake," the Judge joked.

"I'm sorry Judge but I've never had anything like this happen before. The courier was coming in
with this petition just as Mr. Gyger was leaving."

The Judge reached out and took the petition.  He gave it a slow and careful examination, making
notes as he turned the pages. When he was finished he sat in his chair for several minutes, his
right arm resting by its elbow on the desk while his right hand rubbed his chin.  Standing up he
walked over to a shelf of law books and took two of them back to his desk with him.  Another
ten minutes passed as he reviewed the case law. Finally, with a sigh, he shut both the books and
reached for a pen.

"Your honour, I know it's none of my business but are you going to sign the petition?"

The Judge looked up at his long time factotum, pen poised in midair.  "Beth, the law on this is
clear. It is unusual both in the content and the timing but this petition is legally sufficient. I have
no grounds not to sign this petition, in fact I'm mandated to do so."  The pen descended and the
Judge placed his signature on the order.  "Please see  a copy of this is messengered over to the
law office, a copy is filed with the scrivner and a copy is put in our files."

Turning to carry out the Judge's instructions, Mrs. Hardie was stopped by the sound of his
voice. "Beth there is a large degree of irony in today's events. It is as Livy wrote `Ad id quod ne
timeatur fortuna facit minime tuti sunt homines.' Men are least safe from what success induces
them not to fear."

As he stepped out of the dim entryway underneath the courthouse stairs into the sunny
outdoors,  Hank marvelled at his good fortune.  He felt like he had just bought a winning ticket in
the lottery. Once the blade fell, all his troubles would be over and he could start out fresh. Maybe
even start a new relationship, if he could find the right woman, not someone like Jan but someone
like Lari.

Hank smiled remembering Lari but it was a smile tinged with some grief. He'd met Lari on the
same day  he met Jan, not unusual when you considered  they were sisters. While he had fallen in
love with Jan, he always had a little something for Lari and her for him. From the start they'd
been a just bit closer than in laws usually are. But nothing had ever happened between them until
Jan had started to change.

The worse Jan got, the more their marriage disintegrated, the more he turned to Lari for comfort. 
And, as Lari bounced from bad relationship to bad relationship, he acted as her confidant and
counsellor. They shared their problems and emotions, laughed together, cried together, got angry
with each other and made up.

More and more Lari became Hank's sole source of warmth in an increasingly chilly world, the
person he turned to to talk things out, to get a positive affirmation of his feelings. As Jan's
bitterness increased the time he spent with Lari got sweeter and more important to him.  She was
his lodestar in an increasingly uncertain universe and it was only natural  they gravitated together.

It was the evening of her father's funeral  the relationship changed from friendship to something
deeper.  Jan had had too much to drink at the wake.  It was all  Hank could do to get her into the
car before she passed out.  He had barely managed for revive her enough to stagger through the
motel door before she collapsed again on the bed. 

Seeking help in getting his wife undressed, Hank had opened the connecting door between their
room and Lari's with the intention of just sticking his head in long enough to ask for assistance
but what he saw captured his gaze as though it had been caught in a trap.  

A full length mirror mounted in a stand had been turned during the cleaning of the room, its new
angle directly reflecting the interior of the bathroom on the other side of the room. In the
bathroom was Lari, freshly showered and towelling her nude form which was still coated in
places by a glistening combination of oil and water. The mirror revealed her every action as
though Hank was standing in front of her.

Hank found himself entranced by the reflected vision. Lari's body was so different from that of
her sister.  Like her sister, she was no spring chicken. This suited Hank fine since, unlike most
men his age who sought to deny their age by sleeping with ever younger women (after all you're
only as old as the women you feel) Hank had come to terms with who he was and preferred to
look at and be with women of his generation. But, in contrast to her sister she took good care of
herself, watching her diet and exercising regularly.  It showed.

Willowy and well textured, without a hint of fat, Lari's physique was taunt yet soft. White bikini
lines outlined by thin red, stripes of sunburn contrasted with the light fawn colour of her skin
which was dotted here and there with darker freckles and small moles. Her breasts were large in
circumference but small in mass resembling a pair of inverted saucers. Just like those fancy
fashion models in Jan's magazine, thought Hank.

An inch of flesh at the top and bottom of each tit was brown, the remainder milky white. Her
nipples were hard cherry red buttons made more prominent by the flatness of her tits. A small
diagonal scar wove a dark two-inch path from the middle of her sternum to just above her left
breast. Her stomach was flat and well defined.

Full black hair set around her skull like an ebony dandelion puff waiting for just the right breeze
to set it free; its southern cousin, a large spreading thatch so thick in texture  the lips of her pussy
were barely visible at its outmost fringes, attested to the fact  her dark hair colour was indeed
natural and not the result of a bottled mix.  

Despite all its angularity her face, with its deep-set eyes set off by long arching eyebrows and a
smooth aquiline nose, was quite attractive although less so when she put on her glasses, their
large oversized ovals and black plastic frames too at odds with the planes of her face to do
anything but distract from her charm. As he admired the full package, Hank thought to himself, if
Lari was a dog she'd be a greyhound, a smooth, sleek, swift racing greyhound, one that could run
with the very wind itself.

Done drying off, Lari put on her bathrobe its half arms reaching to just below her elbows, its hem
stopping only inches below her crotch.  Hank knew he should move, that he couldn't let Lari see
him but his muscles refused to answer his commands. 

As she stepped through the doorway  Lari saw Hank's reflection in the mirror, his face seeming
to shimmer with pent up longing. She paused in her dressing and then walked boldly into the
room to face Hank head on.  Leaving her pink satin robe open to display her body directly to her
brother-in-law without the intervention of a looking glass, she moved both hands down to her
pussy and, with hands lightly wrinkled from her shower, pulled her hidden lips as far apart as
they would go revealing a soft coral-tinted tunnel. "Do you like what you see Hank?"

Allowing the robe to close slightly, she moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress
depressing slightly allowing the white chenille bedspread to gather around her legs.  With the
palm of her right hand she patted the bed next to her in invitation.
"Come in, Hank and close the door behind you," she said her voice catching in her throat.  "It's
time we stopped playing games with each other."

Hank felt like he was wading through waist deep mud as he entered the room, the connecting door
swinging shut behind him.  His feet shuffled slowly on the threadbare carpet, their passage
marked by discarded items of clothing.  Half undressed by the time he reached the bed, Lari
wasted no time in helping him complete his disrobing. Their coupling was just as slow and
sensual, the room's silence broken only by the creaking of the bed, the whisper of flesh sliding
across flesh, breaths taken and expelled, moans and groans only semisuccessfully stifled.  

They gloried in the feel of each other's bodies, their fingers acting as a second set of tactile eyes
exploring the hidden crannies of their anatomies. Their lips and tongues drank ravenously of each
other's moisture with the fervour of two prospectors discovering a water hole in the deep
dessert. Their noses inhaled the bouquet of their mating as though all the oxygen was being
sucked from the room.  

It was the beginning of their eight-month affair.

The day after they had returned home from the funeral they had met for lunch and, over drinks,
apologized to each other for their actions, explaining it was a mistake, a reaction to the stress of
the funeral, their mutual sense of grief and need overcoming their better judgment and vowing  it
wouldn't happen again.  A bottle of wine later,  room eight at the Apex Motel rang with the full
throated cries of their passion, all need to be quiet banished by the lack of Jan's presence in the
next room.

Cautious at first, the fact they hadn't been caught yet transformed itself into the notion  they
wouldn't be caught ever. Indiscretions mounted up. When Jan found out "you've been boffing
that slut sister of mine" she went into a fit the likes of which Hank had never seen, even at her
worst. "You're both going to pay for this in ways you can't even start to imagine. When I'm
through with you and that bitch . . . "

Jan began her campaign of retribution by taking a lover of her own. And she made sure  Hank
knew all about her newfound lover even as she kept his identity a secret.

"Lari's the town bicycle, every boy in town's had a ride with her," she said contemptuously. " If
you want to keep playing hide the salami in that fuzzy taco of hers that's fine with me. It won't
be too long before that little worm of yours falls off anyhow if you keep fucking that diseased
little twat.  But you're never coming near me again." Since they had only slept together twice in
the year before her father's funeral, Jan's threat to withhold sex was less than compelling to
Hank. 

"Besides Hankus-pankus, I have a real lover now and I let him do anything he wants, even the 
butter scene from Last Tango in Paris you always talked about trying." Again, Hank didn't care.
He was happy with Lari and the two of them didn't need to do anything extraordinary to jazz up
their sex life.

Several weeks went by and, as the time passed, Jan seemed to mellow, her stridency and scorn
being replaced with a sense of acceptance of the situation.  Hank thought  she was almost happy. 
Hank thought  maybe things were working themselves out.  Hank thought  perhaps in a little
while he and Jan could sit down and talk about an amicable ending to their marriage, one that
would be fair to both parties and free them to live openly with their consorts. Hank thought
wrong.

Just home from a four-day business trip, Hank opened the front door to his house only to be
greeted by the sight of Lari's couch sitting in the living room, end tables and lamps from Lari's
apartment keeping it company.  Uneasy as to why Lari's furniture was there, he made a circuit of
the house and found a number of other items that belonged to Lari.  As he was puzzling out the
meaning of this discovery he heard the back door slam shut.  

Jan had returned home from the market, her arms laden with shopping bags full of white
packages. Placing the bags on the table, she turned to Hank, smiled sweetly and asked, "Hank,
would you be a dear and get the rest of the bags out the car for me while I put these packages in
the freezer."

Still uncertain about what was happening, Hank complied.  It took three trips to the car to bring
all of the bags into the kitchen.  Meanwhile Jan was humming happily to herself as she placed
package after package into the chest freezer in the utility room.

"Did they have a sale on meat at the market," asked Hank surprised at how happy Jan was.

"Sort of. This is a special order I placed."

"Oh, hey look, I'm not trying to pick a fight," he said continuing to hand her parcels of meat,
"but I noticed a lot of Lari's furniture scattered around the house."

"I know, one of the few things I've always admired about Lari is her taste in furniture. And, since
she doesn't need it anymore, I thought I'd put it to good use."

Cold fear whistled through Hank like an Alberta Clipper blowing through an abandoned barn. 
"She's got new furniture," he asked inanely,  a fighter hoping to slip a knockout blow.

"No. Lari doesn't need any furniture now.  While you were gone on your trip, I went to court
and had her converted to cattle. You're holding part of what's left of her in your hand right now."

Hank began to tremble like an old car with a shimmy at 70 miles per hour. The package dropped
from his hand and he stared at his wife, hoping  what she said wasn't true, that it was just a cruel
attempt to cause him pain, yet knowing that hope was forlorn.

Jan turned to him, her smile like a knife slash across her face, hatred and contempt dripping from
every word. "I told you you were going to pay for what the two of you did to me. How do you
like the first instalment?"

Rage bubbled through Hank's body like hot lava. For the first time in his life, he struck a woman,
his open hand cracking hard across her face, hoping with one blow to cause her as much pain as
possible. Jan crumpled to the floor and began to laugh, cackling like a maddened witch in a grade-
B horror film.

"Go ahead tough man, hit me again," she said sadistically, blood dripping from her nose and
mouth. "Hit me all you want.  It won't change a thing. Your precious Lari is gone. The only thing
left of her is steaks and chops."  

Hank stood above his wife, struggling to regain his control before her killed her with his bare
hands.  He wanted to crush her like an empty beer can; and then leave her to die alone like a dog
in an empty ditch. Let her encounter darkness like a bride come to a wedding, he thought with
Shakespearean wrath. The need to take revenge, rough bloody revenge had fallen upon him like a
biblical plague. But even as he contemplated the woman lying on the floor beneath him, his anger
began to drain away leaving emptiness in its place.  Without words, he turned and left the home.

Hank's first stop after leaving the house was Bill Jonston's law office. There he learned  Lari had
been a wild child who had gotten into some serious trouble.  At the age of fifteen her father had
successfully petitioned the court to allow him to establish an optional conversion contract. The
contract, which only Lari and her father knew about, gave him the right to end Lari's human
status at the time of his choosing. 

Although normally these contracts ended when the subject reached the age of eighteen, this
contract had been open ended becoming void only after Lari married. Since the threat of
conversion had been enough to straighten out Lari's behaviour, the contract had remained
untouched and uncancelled in a safety deposit box until after the funeral. Even Lari had forgotten
about its existence.

Under both the terms of her father's will and the revised rule of primogeniture, Jan had become
the head of the family with full legal control over the family's affairs, including Lari's conversion
contract.  Jonston explained to Hank, since Lari has never married, once the contract came into
Jan's possession it could be enacted at her bidding and she had done so just last week. Jonston
insisted there was nothing  he could do about it. Legally and ethically, he was obligated to carry
out Jan's wishes in the matter including her direct instruction that Lari not be notified of the
conversion.

For the next week, Hank dealt with his grief. Sorrow came at him in waves, ebbing and flowing
like the tides in the bay but always there. He felt as dead and barren as a skeleton in the low
dessert. But gradually and with a great deal of effort, the lessons his father had taught him helped
him to regain control of his emotions, to put the past behind him and focus on the future.

A self-educated labourer who believed in giving a dollar and ten cents worth of effort for a
dollar's wages, Hank's dad always claimed the only school worth a damn was the school of hard
knocks. He had no time for self pity or worrying about the past and what might have happened if
only he had done something different. Life wasn't, in his view, something you could change, just
something to get on with.

Even while he was dying from leukaemia, Hank's dad took a no nonsense approach to life. "Son,
too many people in this world waste their time pissing and moaning about what's happened to
them. `Life's unfair . . .  I didn't get a fair shake . . .  That's not fair.' Damn straight life's not fair.
It's not supposed to be fair. Life is about overcoming adversity, dealing with the hard times and
doing your best. Face it kid, life's tough and at the end, no matter what you do, you don't get out
of it alive.

"There are going to be days when you're going to want to give up; when it seems easier to be a
whiner than a winner; when hauling your ass out of bed one more time seems like more trouble
than its worth. It's no secret, bad things are going to happen to you, things you don't deserve.
You'll lose jobs, you'll be in accidents, drunks may sue you because they slipped on your
sidewalk, your house may burn down, women will break your heart, friends will screw you, and
people you love are going to die like I am now. None of that changes anything.

"Hank, if you want to be a man, you can't give up. You have to deal with the world like it is, not
like you want it to be. You have to accept what's happened and move on. If life gives you
lemons you don't just make lemonade, you open a whole damn chain of stands."

So Hank had buried his grief and got on with his life knowing  when the time was right, he would
avenge himself on his wife, no not his wife, she had forfeited the right to that title, on Jan. He
would avenge himself on Jan.

After a month  Hank returned home, presenting himself to Jan as a chastened husband seeking
forgiveness, counting on her desire to punish him further to allow him inside the door. Outwardly
he wore his regret for what had happened like a penitent's hair shirt, inwardly he longed for the
day he would send her to Abraham's bosom.

He courted Jan all over again, showering her with small kindnesses, trying to anticipate her needs
before she could voice them, giving her no cause for quarrel, the picture of a man on probation
trying to win a full parole.  He missed no opportunity to ingratiate himself with Jan, his newly
honeyed tongue hiding the dagger in his voice. 

At times Hank hated himself, not for his duplicity which he saw as necessary to gain his revenge,
to him Jan deserved all the lies he was telling and more. No what disgusted Hank were the actions
he felt he had to take. Sleeping with Jan was like selling his soul to the devil, a bargain he was
more than willing to make to satiate his need for retribution. And the dinners, the dinners were
the hardest of all to take.

Jan made quite a production of these dinners which she called "Lari's Blue Plate Specials." It
wasn't having to consume Lari's flesh that turned Hank's stomach. There was nothing unusual or
even particularly tragic about eating someone you loved. That was just part and parcel of life
since the great disaster. 

Besides Lari was actually quite tasty, her meat nicely textured with a rich, deep flavour. Sure he
missed Lari, missed her deeply but who was to say she wouldn't have wound up on his table
anyway. Life had a funny way of playing tricks on a person.  Hank could honestly say Lari had
was as toothsome in the serving dish as she was in bed.

The dinners were the hardest to take because of the remorseless jubilation Jan took in them. Each
meal was a reiteration of the fact  she had hated Hank enough, despised his happiness so much,
that she had had her sister slaughtered just to cause him pain. Every time Lari was served Jan was
saying "I won." And so she had, but not for long. Before the week was out Jan would be joining
her sister as another set of white packages in the freezer.

Whistling at the thought of Jan reduced to single-sized servings, Hank opened the door to The
Stockyard to be greeted effusively by the owner, Martin Brune. "Hank, I was just telling Shirley 
you should be by soon," he said, holding a sheaf of papers in one hand. "Are we going to do
business?"

"Do you have everything ready," Hank asked the pudding-faced proprietor? Hank really didn't
like Marty, who he thought was just a little too sharp an operator for his taste, never missing an
opportunity to turn a buck, even if it meant going outside the line. Not that he wasn't honest, if
that had been the case he would have been banished from the monthly poker game a long time
ago. But Marty had a reputation for being sharper than a guillotine blade. If it hadn't been for
their acquaintance at the card table, Hank might have gone to Crenshaw's for this job but the
monthly get together had to count for something.

"Yes sir, I surely do," Marty replied as enthusiastic as a used car salesman spotting a family
hitchhiking.  "Everything and I want to emphasize everything, you requested is ready. All I need
are a copy of the order and, of course, your check.

"You know Hank," Marty went on as Hank took out his checkbook, "the way I see it you are
practically getting my services gratis. I mean all the money you have taken off of me in just the
past six months more than pays for this little job, even with all the extras. You sure you don't
have anyone else you want done? I'd sure like to get a little closer to breaking even anyhow."

"Sorry, Marty," Hank replied handing over the check. "Just this job, at least for the time being."
While Marty was a cunning businessman his prowess at the poker table was sorely lacking. Over
the years Hank had learned to read his face at the games like an open book, a skill that had landed
him many a fine pot but one that hadn't carried over to his business dealings with his card
playing adversary.  It was like Marty had two different personalities. His commercial persona
was shrewd and calculating, never giving away anything while his gaming incarnation was reckless
and less than inscrutable. 

Folding the check twice, Marty placed it in the front pocket of his shirt. "Well buddy, when do
you want to do it?"

"I'll bring her by tomorrow at lunchtime."

"Great, perfect, no problemo big guy.  I'll have everyone primed and ready to go. I figure three,
three and a half hours for the preliminaries;  five-ten minutes for the main event, fifteen at most; a
day, day and a half for processing; she should be ready for pickup by the weekend. If you want
any portions sooner than that we could cut some off special for you tomorrow. Nothing really
choice you understand, but enough to give you a little taste or two."

"Thanks Marty but the weekend will do just fine. See you at noon."

"Righto Hank, noon it shall be. I know my guys are sure looking forward to it."

As Hank left The Stockyard, shaking his head at Marty, he thought of a conversation from one of
their games.

"You guys all remember my daughter Denise," asked Marty a cigar dangling out of one corner of
his mouth, the grey ash falling onto the dip on his snack plate as he talked. "You know, the kid I
had with my second wife, the one I was sending to business school. The kid not the wife." Heads
nodded in agreement.  "Well, it seems  she had to take a course in `business ethics' now there's
an oxymoron if I ever heard one.  In this class, which meets twice a week at 7:30 in the morning,
too early  for my taste I'll tell you . . .  Anyway, in this class they'd give you these scenarios and
ask you what ethical dilemma is posed and what you'd do to solve it.

"Denise tells me about one where she and a friend own a business together. In this little morality
play a customer comes in to settle his account in cash and pays Denise with a $100 bill. After he
leaves Denise notices  there's a second $100 bill stuck to the first one. Now remember this isn't
really happening, this is just make believe. So anyway Denise tells me the instructor gave her a
failing grade just because he didn't like her answer. The bastard didn't even let her get to her
solution."

"Ok Marty, I'll ask," said Bob Rickmund. "I know I'll regret it but I'll ask. Why'd the instructor
flunk her?"

"Cause Denise said the moral quandary was whether or not she should tell her partner about the
second $100 bill," reported Marty laughing so hard his cigar dropped to the table. "Yep, that's
my daughter all right. Make a buck any way you can, a chip off the old block."

When Hank got home, Jan was in the living room sitting on the couch, a gothic romance novel in
her hand. She was wearing a sleek blue dress which did her no favours by clinging so tightly to
her body. Her lack of undergarments was clearly visible as were an assortment of unsightly
bulges and rolls. A matching pair of patterned nylons surrounded her legs like blue sausage
casings filled almost to bursting. Her arms resembled the trunks of baby elephants, their wrinkled
flesh hanging loosely from the underside, a testimony to the inexorable and unflattering
combination of both aging and gravity.

A strand of inexpensive gold-coloured beads hung off her neck, their drop reaching well below her
pendulous breasts, a matching pair of large hoops adorning her earlobes. Her peroxide blonde hair
was set in a beehive hairstyle while thin, plucked eyebrows stretched across her brow.

With a smile pasted to his face, Hank held out a bouquet of mixed flowers. "Why are there for
me," Jan simpered the freshwater pearl bracelet on her arm rotating as she reached out for the
vibrant blooms? "What's the occasion? Have you been a naughty boy again?"

"No Jan, I got these just because you are you. By the way, I've got some free time at lunch
tomorrow and I'd like to take you out though it won't be to any place fancy. Dress casually,
maybe even something you wouldn't miss if it gets torn off you.  I'll pick you up at about
11:30."

Jan pried herself up off the couch and walked toward the kitchen, carrying the flowers in her
hand. Hank watched as her buttocks jiggled like a gelatin desert on a three-year old's plate.  Jan's
voice came back to him over the sound of running water as she filled a vase to receive his floral
offering.  `So you're going to tear my clothes off me are you? That sounds interesting. But why
wait until tomorrow. I'm not wearing all that much right now."

Since he had returned home, Hank had approached his carnal relations with Jan as a duty he had
to perform, like changing the oil in the car or taking out the garbage.  He thought of himself as an
actor in a porn film or a male gigolo hired to service an aging dowager. No real involvement, just
automated precision, with enough variation thrown in to hide his indifference while still keeping
the client interested. He dredged up memories of what Jan liked in bed to add verisimilitude to his
role. And what performances he gave.

Ignore the white flesh the colour of library paste, the sour scent emanating from a mouthful of
crooked teeth, the smeared pink lipstick tasting of strawberries, saliva dripping from slack lips he
always told himself. Forget about Lari and how much you wish it were her under you moaning
and thrashing. Concentrate on playing the part of the ardent lover to Jan. Your cock is a hoe, her
cunt the furrow. Weed her, plant your seed in that furrow.

He would send his fingers running through hair made wire brittle by chemical rinses as though it
was the softest golden down: his cock entering and exiting her cunt with the even, measured
strokes of a master carpenter sawing wood; his fingers tweaking her nipples with the dispassion
of an engineer tuning in a distant station on an old AM radio.

He gave out cries of desire as false as a politician's smile; all pleasure absent when he felt her
rubbery pussy walls flutter against his dick;  his orgasms sparked not by enjoyment or ecstasy
but simple mechanical friction of body parts running roughly against each other. Afterwards his
murmured assurances of his love and devotion were as empty as his heart, a simple device to
quell Jan's worries until he could act.

This bout in the bedroom with Jan was different.  Hank's cock was a stiff as a tire iron, throbbing
so hard it hurt as though he was a fifteen year old boy who had taken an overdose of his father's 
Viagra. Sexual hunger gripped his very being, overriding his sense of detachment. The knowledge
of what Jan would face the next day only added to his excitement. For the first time since Lari's
butchering he wanted to fuck Jan, to lose himself in her doughy body, to match her orgasm for
orgasm.  

Hank stared at Jan lying on the bed, her back flat against the mattress. He grabbed the top of her
dress, ripping it quickly along one seam.  He reached underneath Jan and, with some effort, half-
lifted her off the mattress to remove the rest of the dress then let her drop back to the bed.
Breathing heavily he gazed at the sprawl of her arms and legs, the way her breasts lay flattened
and flaccid against her rising and falling chest; the fur covering the bulge of her pubic bone,
smelled the odour of her cunt. He knelt between her spread legs, teased her sex by slowly running
his cock up and down its length, opening the lips but never penetrating them, rubbing across her
outthrust clit, pressing it back into the tangle of hair and moistened flesh.

Reaching out with both hands, he grasped Jan's head and pulled it to him with a hard yank,
revelling in the gasp she made. He kissed her deeply and wetly, his tongue circling her mouth,
scraping against the rim of her teeth. Jan responded by dropping her hands to his buttocks trying
to force his dick into her. Still Hank held off, content for the time to rub her heated cunt lips with
his cock, to stoke her needs to a higher level before fulfilling them.

His head dropped to her nipples biting each in turn, hard enough to hurt but not to injure. His
hands formed claws and squeezed her buttocks, the nails digging into her skin. Jan began to rock,
moaning inarticulately. Her knees curled upwards seeking her chest, her eyes crying "fuck me,
fuck me."

Hank moved upwards on Jan, his knees pinning her arms to the bed, his ass grinding against her
tits.  His cock bumped insistently against her mouth, demanding her submission and worship. 
Jan shook her head from side to side, her jaws clamped tight against the invader, until another
sharp tug on her hair opened her mouth.  Hank's cock entered, stretching her mouth out of shape,
forcing her quivering lips tight against his manhood, her tongue tasting the proofs of his passion.  

Despite her earlier protestations Jan began to suck, her mouth nursing at his prick like a newborn. 
Hank sawed in and out, going deep into her throat until she choked and then pulling out to rest
the head of his cock on the front end of her tongue, enjoying the sputtering sound as Jan tried to
take a breath around his dick.  He thrust back in, beyond her palate, into the recess of her throat
not pulling out.  Jan started to gag, her convulsions tickling the sides of Hank's cock. He waited
until Jan begins to shake like an epileptic, then moved totally out to allow sweet precious air to
reach her lungs. As she panted deeply, Hank released his hold on her head, moving downward,
his weight leaving her chest. 

Hank's head burrowed between her legs into her already wet cunt, his saliva adding to the
libidinous humidity of her groin. Now Jan acted, her hands seized Hank's hair, rubbing his face
against her pussy like a dish rag on a platter, while his hands cupped her asscheeks and pulled her
closer, his tongue swirling past her sensitive folds to scour the sides of her tunnel. She ground her
cunt onto Hank's lips and teeth, the contractions of her belly announcing her first crescendo of
the evening.

Jan brought her ass high up off of the bed to allow Hank to penetrate more fully. She sucked at
his dick with her vacuuming pussy, welcoming it past her slickened portals. As he moved in and
out she rotated her pelvis in short, quick circles each movement heightening their pleasure. Hank
felt his groin begin to tighten and tingle, letting his weight drive him into her as far as he can. Jan
responded in kind, her breasts mashed against his chest, her fingers pulling his hairs, her toes
curling toward the ceiling, her total being centred on the interlock of cock and cunt, all wet frothy
ringlets of hair and slippery flesh. 

Her pelvis jumped three times, four times, five times, ripples rolling across her stomach, a high
keening noise escaping her lips as her pussy contracted spasmodically around the object of its
desires. Still Hank pounded away, ignoring her second series of orgasms, going deeper with each
thrust until he thought he's inside her cunt's cunt.

As Jan's nails raked his skin, visions filled his head like unwanted mescaline flashbacks. Their
first date, Jan as shy as the sheltered youngster she was. Their wedding, he and Jan dancing.
Their first fight as newlyweds, saying hateful things they didn't mean. A later fight as an old
married couple, meaning every spiteful word they uttered. His desire for Lari and her's for him.
Lari caressing him during a stolen moment at a family gathering.  His grief at her termination.
Swearing revenge against Jan. Making the arrangements with Marty. 

Hank threw his head back and bellowed like a hound howling at a red and gibbous moon, a flow
of molten lava exploding from his cock as he thought about what would happen to Jan tomorrow
after she stepped out of the car.

Water cascading down her body, Jan heard the phone ring. Let the machine pick it up she thought
to herself, luxuriating in the feel of the spray from the shower head against her skin as
damascened ribbons of translucent bubbles washed from her body to course across the bottom of
the tub before swirling down the drain. For the first time in ages, she felt content and relaxed,
almost at peace.  Hank's behaviour these last few months had started to heal the breach between
them, his sexual gymnastics of the night before reminding her of their early days of dating, the
man had been practically insatiable. You'd have thought he'd been a sailor who hadn't been given
shore leave for five months.

As she towelled herself dry, Jan wondered if she shouldn't reconsider her decision about Hank.
He'd been so sweet lately, all apology and contriteness. Maybe Hank had learned his lesson and
things could go back to being the way they were before he strayed.

Patting herself with a powder puff, her body enveloped in a murky cloud of geranium-scented
dust, the remembrance of how Hank had betrayed her with her sister twisted Jan's face in anger,
her heart growing as cold as the north side of a gravestone in winter.  No, Hank had made his
choice, as poor as it was. Now he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions, at least
for a little while longer.

In any case, there was no reason why she couldn't continue to enjoy the fruits of Hank's efforts
to reingratiate himself with her, including today's lunch. Having Hank trailing after her like a
poodle who would do anything for even a small sign of affection from its mistress was rather fun. 
It would be interesting to see what he would do next.

Now fully dressed, in an older outfit she didn't mind having torn off her, Jan walked to the living
room where the blinking green light on the answering machine prompted her to play back the
message that had come in while she was showering.

"Jan, it's Hank.  I'm sorry but something has come up at work and I can't pick you up. I'm not
cancelling our outing. I've been looking forward to it for too long to do that.  But I'm going to
have to meet you there."

Jan frowned as she listened to the recording. Having to drive herself to their lunch date certainly
took some of the lustre from the occasion.

Almost as if he could read her mind Hank continued "It's not fair of me to ask you out and then
make you drive so I've arranged for a day coach to pick you up. You won't have to worry about
how you're going to get home. I'll see to that. Just be ready when they come by. Oh, just one
more thing, there'll be a little surprise waiting for you in the coach.  Well, I've got to go.  I'll see
you in a little while."

So Hank was sending a coach for her. That was a nice touch.  "Madame, your carriage awaits." 
And not just a coach but a surprise too. Couldn't be flowers, she just got those last night. Maybe
a nice bottle of sparkling wine. Well, the proper amount of anticipation just made things nicer and
the twenty minutes left before Hank was supposed to pick her up was just right.


The ringing of the doorbell coincided with the chiming of the clock on a living room mantle. It was
11:30 and Jan's ride was here. She opened the door to be greeted by a strapping young man in a
conservative black suit set off with a muted argent tie. One gnarled hand held a small, brightly
wrapped box with a dark red bow which he quickly handed to her.

"Good morning mam," he said politely, his rich voice matching the warm smile on his face.  "My
name is Thomas and I'm here to drive you to your final destination. Mr. Gyger asked me to tell
you,  you should open your gift before you got into the coach."

Jan couldn't help smiling back at Thomas, even as her eyes took in his muscular structure.
Although the events of the evening just past had been delightful, she admired the way filled out
his suit. Maybe he'd be interested in really driving her some night when Hank wasn't home.

A rattling sound from inside the box shifted her attention from the driver back to Hank's
surprise. Tearing off the wrapping like a five-year old opening Christmas gifts, Jan opened the
box to discover the source of the noise was a thick silver choker. Jewelry, Hank got me a nice
piece of jewelry, she thought holding the necklace in her hand, the sun glinting off its shiny
pebbled surface.

"Mam, if you don't mind, I'll help you on with that," said Thomas gently taking hold of her gift. 
Wordlessly, Jan turned around as Thomas' strong hands placed the choker around her neck. For
just a moment Jan imagined his hands had lingered on her neck, in a soft, sensuous invitation for
more serious pleasures. Chiding herself for the fantasy, after all he's less than half your age and
probably has more teenyboppers than he knows what to do with banging on his door for a
chance to bang him, she gave a small start as he moved his hands slowly down the back of dress.

"I'm sorry mam. I didn't mean to make you jump like that. It's just the tag was sticking up from
the back of your dress. How's that necklace feel now," he asked, his hands still kneading her
shoulders?

"I think it's just a little too tight," Jan said hurriedly, his massaging fingers bringing a tingle to her
loins. "It's not laying quite right. The little bumps are pressing into my throat and I can't get my
finger underneath it."

"No mam, that's the way this piece is designed to be worn. It's supposed to press firmly against
the flesh of your neck. Why don't you turn around and let me take a look at it from the front?"

As she turned Jan felt Thomas's fingers squeeze against her buttocks. He is coming on to me, she
told herself with excitement. We won't have time to do anything on the ride over to lunch, I'd
want to take my time with this hunk but I've got to get his number for later.

Thomas reached up and adjusted the choker, his strong fingers stroking up and down on Jan's
neck and the underside of her chin.  "Looks good on you mam, just the way it should.  Your skin
is supposed to just peek over the top and bottom edge of the necklace and that's what it's doing.
But I tell you what, when we get to where we are going if you still think it's too tight, I'll take it
off you and we can refit it. Deal?"

"Sure, it's a deal," said Jan. And that's not all I want you to take off me she thought but didn't
say.

Holding the back door of the day coach open for her, Thomas motioned her inside. "I'm afraid we
do have a schedule we need to keep to," he said regretfully. "So if you don't mind . . . "

Jan entered the rear of the coach and sat down in the seat. Thomas reached over and pulled her
seat belt across her and fastened it,  his fingers smoothly palming her braless breasts during both
halves of their passage. I'm not imagining things, I excite this young stud. Just look at the size of
that lump in his pants.

As they drove down the road, Thomas lowered the glass partition between the front and back
seats.  "I'm sorry mam but there's still  one more thing I need to do before we get to our
destination."

"By all means go ahead," said Jan graciously, already planning on how to best enjoy her
envisioned romp with the driver.

"Thank you mam. I hope you enjoy the ride."  As Thomas' finger depressed a large red button
on the dash, Jan felt a buzzing sensation run through her entire body as though she was being
buried under an avalanche of maddened hornets.

When she awoke, Jan found herself naked and lying on her back strapped to a breeding bench.
Her ass was hanging off the edge of the bench; her legs spread wide between vertical bars. Her
arms were stretched down and back and fastened to the underside of the bench. Taking a breath,
she tried to scream but the only sound that exited her mouth was a muffled squeak, like a small
mouse being batted around by a cat.

With great effort she raised her head off the bench until her chin touched her chest. Peering down
her chest she saw Hank sitting calmly in a gunmetal chair. On a small table to his right were six
plates, each with a quarter stick of butter. A thin black leather thong lay in a circle around the
plates.

Seeing that Jan was awake, Hank stood up and walked over to stand next to her head. Gently
stroking her hair he smiled at her and began to talk.

"Hi Jan, glad to see you're back with us.  I know you're sore. That's what happens when a
blackout collar like the one you were wearing is triggered.  Of course, that's not the only reason
you're sore.  You were catheterized to get all of the urine out of your bladder and I'm afraid they
weren't as considerate as they could have been. It took them several tries to get the tube placed
right." As he was talking Hank's hand slipped down from Jan's hair to rub against the side of her
face. "You were also on the receiving end of four enemas, including a high colonic. Pretty rough
I'll bet.  But it's just so messy when a woman voids herself so we thought we'd get you cleaned
up ahead of time."

Jan began to struggle against her bonds, only to have Hank's hand push her head back down to
the bench.  "If I were you Jan, I wouldn't waste my strength on trying to get loose.  That's not
going to happen and you're going to need your strength later." Again Jan tried to talk but only a
soft bleat escaped her throat.  

"Oh, that's another thing. You've been given a temporary anesthetic to stop you from screaming.
That means you can't talk either.

"Now you're probably wondering where you are and why," said Hank after he moved his chair
around to allow him to sit next to Jan.  "Well as to where you are, you're in a small room in The
Stockyard. They use it for `special order' slaughterings, the kinds that don't use their assembly
line methods. And since you now know where you are, I'll bet you won't have any trouble
guessing why you're here."

Jan's lips moved forming the word "Lari."

"That's right Jan. You're here because of what you did to Lari. It could have been so good for all
of us, me, Lari, you and your mystery lover, if only you had been adult about the whole thing. 
But that wasn't your style was it Jan," asked Hank, emotion filling his voice. "You were jealous,
couldn't stand the fact that Lari and I were happy. So you had her converted. Well, yesterday the
Judge signed a conversion order for you and in just a little while you're going to be reunited with
Lari."

Methodically, Hank began to strip, carefully folding his clothes and placing them on the chair.
Jan watched her eyes wide and as filled with hate as a bigot's mind. Hank walked to the table and
returned with a stick of butter in his hand.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen, Jan. I think you have a right to know.  First I'm going
to fuck that ass of yours, the one you wouldn't let me into the whole time we've been screwing. 
When I'm done, when my come is dripping from your wide-open asshole, then I'm going to clean
myself up, get dressed and push that button on the wall."

Jan's gaze moved from Hank's face to follow his pointing finger. On the wall, next to the door,
was a bright green button.  "That button's going to tell Marty that we're ready for the next step.
You're going to pull a train for six guys Jan, three at a time over and over again. They're going to
fill every hole you've got. Including your ass. That's what the extra butter is for. Just think of it
Jan, six of them moving constantly from cunt to ass to mouth.  And hon, you don't have to
worry, Thomas will be one of them.  He told me that you practically dropped to your knees and
gave him a blowjob right on the sidewalk while he put the blackout collar on you."

Hank began to smear the butter on his rampant cock, pale yellow tallow oozing between his
fingers. "And when they're done, when they can't get one more hard-on, when every last
wiggling little spermatozoon has been drained from twelve balls, Thomas is going to take that
leather thong and use it to send you on your way."

Hank's invading cock pushed insistently against Jan's anal rosebud, forcing its way past her
clenched tightness, ripping and tearing tender flesh as it moved deeper into her bowels.  Rivers of
black flame clouded Jan's sight as Hank punished her ass with every stroke, his dick relentless
and without pity in its quest to embed itself in her until she was as raw as a scraped artichoke
leaf.

Jan's tits bounced like half-filled water balloons on her chest, their gyrations matching Hank's
strokes. His hands reach out like the claws of a maddened animal and begin to scour small strips
of skin off Jan's stomach leaving red bleeding troughs in their wake.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen when they're done fucking you," rasped Hank between
thrusts.  "First they're going to take a half-hour break to get some of their strength back. Once
they've recovered they'll turn you over on your stomach but they're going to be sure they still
have access to your pussy and ass.  You arms will be spread out to your sides and tied down.
Then while the rest of them take turns fucking you, Thomas is going to sit on your back and
drive most of the air from your lungs. You'll still be able to breathe but it will be hard, every
breath you take will be a small torture.

"Thomas will take the cord and wrap it around your neck. If you're lucky he'll let you take one
more deep breath before he tightens the cord. You'll struggle. It won't do you any good but it'll
sure be stimulating for whoever is lucky enough to be fucking you at the time.  He'll twist the
thong tighter; it'll cut into the flesh of your neck, maybe you'll even bleed a little but I bet you
won't bled as much as Lari did when they cut her head off."

Savage before, Hank's fucking took on a positively feral quality as he continued to taunt Jan with
her fate.  "Just before you pass out, Thomas will ease up and let you have a little bit of air, just
enough to keep things lively for awhile. But, as I know only too well, all good things must come
to an end.  You taught me that lesson Jan and I've taken it to heart. With Bill in hospital, I've
deputized Thomas to act as my divorce attorney. When he tightens that cord for the final time
he'll end both your life and our marriage and I can, I can, I, I, I . . ." With a shudder Hank
slammed into Jan's ass, the tendons on his neck stiff and quivering as he threw his head back, all
the energy in his body flowing through his cock to rest deep inside Jan's ass.

Marty escorted Hank down the hallway toward his office. "Hank are you sure you don't want to
see it happen? You're paying enough for it. You don't even have to be in the room with her if
you don't want to. We've got a one-way mirror you can watch through. Those are pretty
standard in my line of work. She'll never even know you were there, not that it would matter in
the end."

`Thanks Marty," said Hank as he shuffled down the hall like an old man beset with arthritis.
"Don't ask me why but I'd rather not. And I want you to go back in and ask Thomas to make it
quick. Never mind all that `pulling a train' stuff I asked for. Making Jan suffer won't bring Lari
back. I guess I'm not really cut out for revenge the way I thought I was."

"Jeeze, Hank, the guys sure will be disappointed. Are you sure you still want Jan terminated?"

"Yeh, I owe Lari that much at least. And with Jan out of the way, maybe I can start my life over
again. Find somebody new, a second sunrise in my life, you know all that `new beginnings' stuff
the radio shrink is always going on about."

Marty stopped before an unmarked grey door. "Hank there's something that's bothering you.
Tell brother Marty what it is."

"Man, you're going to think I'm nuts. Marty I swear that when we left the room and I looked at
Jan that one last time . . . Well, damn it I'd swear she was laughing, laughing at me. After all that
and with what she knew was going to happen to her she was laughing at me."

"Naw, I don't think you're crazy at all. Come on in here with me for a minute," Marty said
holding the door open for Hank to enter the darkened room, "and I'll tell you why." Hank heard a
"whoosh" near his right ear as he entered the room. A pain blossomed in his head and the room
grew even darker.

When Hank awoke he found himself naked and lying on his stomach bound to a bench, his head
held tightly in some sort of restraint.  Unable to look up, Hank could only see a plastic crate from
Teelucky's Dairy, its gridwork stained with what looked like dried rust. My god, he thought, I'm
tied on a guillotine. "Marty," he croaked querulously, "hey, Marty are you there?"

"Yeah Hank, I'm here," replied a voice from behind him.

"Come on man, this isn't funny. Let me go. Get me off this fucking thing."

"Sorry Hanko, no can do big fellow."

"Marty quit screwing around and let me out of here. This joke isn't very funny."

"Hank, I hate to be the one to tell you but this isn't a joke."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Remember when I told the group about getting the contract with the country to do conversions?
Yeah, sure you do.  Well, my friend, the court ordered your conversion> I'm supposed to have
you chopped and packaged by tomorrow."

Hank felt his bladder give way, the warm puddle spreading beneath his stomach and legs.
"Marty, come on, you've got things all screwed up. Jan was the conversion, not me. I brought
you the order from the Judge. It was for Jan."

"Yep, Hank you're right. The order you brought me was for Jan but then, about an hour later, I
got another order and this one was for you.  Here's how it plays out.  Remember you told all of
us at the game that Jan had taken a lover but you didn't know who it was. Well, it turns out that
Bill Jonston was her lover. They were in it together. I'll bet that they even forged that old
contract about Lari. I mean I don't know that for sure but it would fit.  Anyway,  they weren't
going to stop with Lari.  Bill was on his way to see the Judge with a conversion petition about
you when he had that car accident. The papers flew under the seat and they didn't find them
until the yard was doing the final clean out on the car before it was scraped."

Hank began to panic, rocking from side to side in an attempt to get free of the bench.  "Hey man,
don't do that," Marty advised hurriedly. "You're not going to get loose but you could make the
blade slip. If that happens it might not kill you cleanly. I've seen people with their heads still
half-attached and breathing after a blade slipped.You wouldn't want that to happen to you and I
can't have that happen here. I've got a rep you know. If you keep it up I'm going to have to drop
the blade now." Sobbing, Hank forced himself to lie still.

"That's better Hank, now where were we? Oh I know, the accident.  Well, after the yard guys
found the papers they took them to the Judge. I guess they got there just a few minutes after you
left. Since everything was in legal, they used some sort of prior entrustment contract you made
out when you went into the hospital for that operation, I guess Bill might have added some extra
language or something, anyhow the main thing is the Judge signed the order and the job came to
me. And so here we are and now you know why Jan was laughing when you left the room. She
knew there was a contract out on you as well."

"Marty, man come on Marty, we're friends. You can't do this to a friend. Come on Marty.
Damn it. Listen to me. Marty I'll pay whatever you want," said Hank his panic returning and his
voice getting higher with each sentence. "Just tell me. How much is it going to cost. Marty, talk
to me. Tell me the price."

"Friendship is one thing Hank. Business is another. And this is just business. Sorry but that's
the way it is. Everything's automated in this room. I'm going to turn off the light when I leave.
The blade will drop quickly and I guarantee you won't feel a thing. If you do just let me know
and I'll give the county their money back." As he left the room Marty heard Hank's scream come
to a sudden stop followed by a thud like wet dirt slapped with a spade.

The next morning Shirley stuck her head into Marty's office.  "Mr. Brune, what should we do
with the meat from the Gygers?  His order gave her meat to him and her order gave his meat to
her. Now who gets it?"

"Well, technically, I guess it belongs to The Stockyard now. I tell you what though, call up the
food bank and see if they have enough room in their freezers for both Jan and Hank. That way,
on top of the slaughtering and processing fees, we can take a tax write-off for donating the meat.
Since neither one of them was in very good shape, the write-off will make us more money than
we'd get if we sold the meat to a store. It's even better than finding a second hundred dollar bill in
the till."

Hell, life is good thought Marty to himself as Shirley went to call the food bank. And with Hank
out of the way, I might even win a few hands at next month's game.
