Chapter One - Selecting the Meat

Cecily, not always as maternal as she meant to be, was making a particular effort to visit her only son at his exclusive boarding school today. Stoke Hall College was one of the oldest public schools in the country and, despite some reservations about sending him to such a very traditional institution, it hadn’t stopped her being proud when he’d won his place.

His father, an old boy of Stoke Hall himself, had been unreservedly pleased. That had been a few years ago and John was now not only in his final term, but this was going to be the final parents’ weekend before the end of year fete. Her social calendar was packed, and, even if she could, there was no possibility of making it to the fete as well. That meant Cecily was more than usually determined to spend every minute she could with her son for this last afternoon she’d see him as a schoolboy.

The tradition of the annual summer fete was nearly as old as the school itself. Held on the last day of term, the highlight was the dinner for the men of the upper sixth before they left. The centrepiece of that dinner – in time honoured tradition her name picked by lottery a month before by the school’s youngest boy from the founder’s own bowl - would be one of the departing pupils’ mothers, spitted and roasted in the great hall. Never having made it to the fete, and never having been to the dinner (the latter being an exclusively all-male affair), Cecily didn’t know what precisely went on, but John had always come home at the start of the long summer holiday with a spring in his step.

It would have surprised Cecily to know how much spring John’s step already had. She didn’t know it yet, but she was now selected to be the mother whose naked meat would soon adorn the high table. So she drove on, blissfully unaware that her son had been drooling ever since her name had been drawn two days ago, still untroubled by how much he was looking forward to the thought of finally getting to bite into her tender flesh.

She had to go to a society dinner herself straight after today’s visit, and wouldn’t have time to change, so Cecily was wearing a smart, but rather short, cocktail dress over her customary three-inch heels, sheer black stockings and black garter belt (but no panties, as was usual for sexually active women). That made getting out of the car without flashing a school full of teenage boys rather tricky. As a result, even though she managed it successfully, Cecily did wonder why she kept up the pretence that her husband might still desire unfettered access to her pussy.

Walking through the main door, she was surprised to be greeted by the headmaster himself in reception.

“Ah, good morning, Mrs Upshott.” the headmaster said, making himself look extra stern so he didn’t break into a grin, “If you would like to come to my study, we need to have a chat.”

Upstairs in the study, feeling oddly like a naughty schoolboy herself, Cecily sat down nervously in a low leather chair, crossing her slender legs. Concerned by the headmaster’s foreboding manner, she failed to notice her dress riding up her thighs, revealing stocking tops, milky-white skin, and just a glimpse of well trimmed bush. The headmaster noticed, and hid his erection by sitting hastily down behind his desk. Luckily for Cecily, she couldn’t see either the bulge or the hand brushing his rock-hard member as he told her the news.

“It is my pleasant duty to inform you that you have been chosen to be the main course for the senior form’s farewell dinner.”

The headmaster, with no preliminaries, had come straight to the point. Cecily listened, shocked and dumbfounded, as the he continued.

“You will, of course, be expected to participate in the school fete as a sideshow first. Then, after the fete is finished, you will be spitted, roasted and served as the main course.”

Cecily´s delicate little mouth dropped open. The sight of the petite blonde wilting in her chair at the news was too much for the headmaster, who stood up, his hand still massaging his crotch, and walked round his desk again to stand next to Cecily´s chair before continuing. He hadn’t intended to be the first to try this newly designated meat, but it was proving irresistible.

“You have a good body,” he said, reaching forward and grabbing a handful of pert breast, “but I think your tit flesh is rather too small. Tell me, what are your vital statistics? If you don’t know that’s fine, I can get my secretary to bring in a tape measure.”

This suddenness of the news was overwhelming. Only years of rigorous training from a good school had prevented Cecily from knocking the headmaster’s hand from her breast in disgust, something she no longer had any right to do. His bulging crotch, poking against her shoulder, suggested a squeezed boob wasn’t the only thing she’d have to endure before she left the study.

“”My, my…, my….,” Cecily stammered. So flustered at first that for a moment she couldn’t recall even this simple information. “Well, my measurements are, …., they. … it’s 36B-27-35. I weigh ten stone six and I’m five foot one. That’s up-to-date as well, I had them done last week.”

“Hmm, not bad for your age, I understand you’re nearly forty-three.”

He motioned for her to stand, before running his hands roughly over her curves. Cecily just stood there, letting him invade her personal space, already starting to feel no more important than the piece of meat she was. The headmaster, unable to hold back any longer, pushed her down to service the erection he had finally released from his trousers.

“Obviously your tit flesh will require boosting to get the status needed for a main course, and, looking at your arse, that will require considerable work if the cuts from your rump are to be edible. It’s a good job we now have rapid hormone treatments to increase breasts, when I was young it could take months to increase a woman by a single cup size. Back then, with such a short time between selection and the fete, there used to be a lot of disappointed breast men unless we were lucky with the draw.”

The headmaster might be feeling himself lucky, but Cecily didn’t feel the same way. Her memories were dragged back to when her husband had selected their second daughter for his fiftieth birthday party. Among all the other party preparations she’d been left in charge of injecting the hormones into Amber’s modest tits. The injections had been pretty uncomfortable for both of them, but Amber’s constant torment as suddenly ballooning mammaries stretched her delicate young skin taut had been worse. Now she had just been told her boobs were about to undergo the same painful transformation. There wasn’t any point in objecting, she knew what being a meat-girl meant. Not that she couldn’t say anything to the headmaster anyway, not with her mouth stretched tight round his substantial cock.

Panting a little as he filled her throat, the head continued with his review of Cecily’s fate. She could even feel his dick spasming in her gullet as he described her impending torments.

“We’ll start you on the hormones today. Then you’ll have to report here every weekend for the next three weeks before the fete. That will work out well, as while you’re here we’ll be able to do something about improving your arse as well. A course of good regular paddling or strapping should tenderise it nicely. No canes or whips, we don’t want to break the skin, do we? We’ll get your son John to carry that out on you of course.”

Even with her training Cecily might have objected at this point, if her vocal chords hadn’t been squeezed by pistoning cock. Stoke Hall was a really good school, but they definitely had some odd traditions, and, from the headmaster’s matter-of-fact tone, this was clearly one of them.

“So, every weekend when you come up here he’ll have two sessions with you. One hundred strokes in each session. One before you get your tits injected, and the other after tea. You’ll probably find quite a few of the older boys joining John for your beatings. As you’ll appreciate now you’re meat, it wouldn’t be fair to stop them having some fun, and John is popular with most of the men here.”

The thought of Cecily being used proved the trigger. As he finished speaking the headmaster straightened up, sighed, and shot his load into Cecily´s battered gullet.

Escaping cum dribbling down her chin, Cecily reluctantly swallowed the spunk that now seemed to fill her mouth. Once she’d swallowed there was nothing to prevent her from speaking, but reflection left her with nothing to say. She’d been taught to view herself, once she’d been chosen, as a piece of meat who had no rights to object, whatever happened. She couldn’t see that made the thought of being the plaything for a bunch of randy teenage boys something to look forward to though, especially if her own son was their leader.

The headmaster had enjoyed seeing the emotions pass across Cecily’s troubled face as he explained her fate, and it was a still-hard penis that he replaced in his trousers. It was a pity he couldn’t try one of her other holes, but it was parents’ weekend and this wasn’t the only relative he needed to see, although it had been the most fun.

Reluctantly he told Cecily, who was dabbing at the spunk on her chin with an embroidered handkerchief, “If you’d like to follow me to the kitchen, the cook will inject you with the first dose of hormones.”

As the headmaster lead the way to the kitchens, every boy they passed unashamedly stared at Cecily, several rubbing excitedly at their trousers as she walked down the corridor, her high heels clicking on the marble surface. She’d never seen the boys here behave like that before, but the headmaster made no attempt to stop them, leaving Cecily to blush at these open displays of lust. Had the information already passed round the school that she was now a piece of meat?

Then they walked into the kitchen, just in time to find the cook preparing for slaughter a hefty woman with extraordinarily large breasts who was strapped naked to the butchering table. Her legs were spread wide, with a skewer holding her arse cheeks apart, revealing a pussy and arsehole with half the hair already singed off. She was shaking nervously, her eyes red from the amount of crying she had already done.

What a horribly uncomfortable position, thought Cecily. Apart from her daughter, who’d been cleaned and shaved by her mother in the comfort of their own bathroom, she’d never really thought about the fate of a meat-girl before. Now she was reminded that once you’re meat you really do loose all your dignity - and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking how that was her now.

“We have to go for these fat cows.” the headmaster said to Cecily, as he looked without enthusiasm at the wobbling mass on the table. “We’d never have enough to feed the whole school otherwise. At least with the hormones we get a decent amount of tit meat from them, look at what a size this one’s reached, those must be a double J if not a K.”

Cecily and the headmaster stood opposite the cook, giving Cecily the chance to examine the doomed woman more closely. The skin on her grossly swollen tits was so distorted it was covered in stretch marks, the flesh underneath bruised black and blue. Maybe the oddest part were her dark nipples, also engorged to an extreme size, but also seriously elongated, so they flopped around like a pair of cow´s teats. Tears were leaking from the fat woman’s eyes again at the headmaster’s unflattering comments on her naked body, Cecily couldn’t understand why her fast heavy breathing didn’t break into sobs.

“You’re right, this one’s come up a treat headmaster.” the Cook commented, without looking up from his work. “There’ll be breast fillet for all tonight. We’ve only had her in the stockroom for a fortnight as well, but I thought I’d better serve her now before that ballooning chest of hers actually bursts.”

“We won’t be fattening you up. It’ll be nice to have a decent piece of lean meat for a change. I might even have a slice of rump if John does a good job.”

The headmaster had turned away from the cook to address Cecily, giving her the closest to good news she’d had since stepping into the school. She was quite proud of her toned body, she’d certainly put in enough effort to keep it that way through four children, and, since laying eyes on this obese meat-girl on the slab, she had been worrying whether maybe she’d have to eat until she resembled a fat sow as well.

At these words the cook looked up, realising the headmaster had brought more meat in with him, and subjected Cecily to the appraising stare of a professional. He obviously liked what he saw quite a lot, as he forgot about the blowtorch he was using to clean the fat woman’s crotch. Surprisingly, even with a hole being torched in her thigh, the woman still hadn’t made a sound. As a result, the cook didn’t notice the damage until the smell of burning flesh reminded him of the task in hand.

“Sorry about that headmaster.” he apologised breezily, returning to his job. “It’s a good job this one was due to be cut up and stewed anyway. Is that the meat for the end of term dinner?”

“Yes. What do you think?”

The delicate task of singeing complete, with only the one nasty blackened wound distracting from a lovely smooth finish, the cook stood up to examine Cecily. She was almost offended that this second highly intimate examination didn’t produce another crotch bulge like the one the headmaster still sported. She tried to console herself with the thought he was probably immune, after having inspected who knew how many women in this kitchen.

“Not a bad body, nice and lean.” the Cook concluded, washing his hands at the sink. “There’s not much tit-flesh, and the arse will require some work – it always does on these older cows – but she’ll make a good roaster. There’s a lovely even layer of fat, and the muscle that isn’t rump feels firm but not tough.”

“Exactly what I thought.” agreed the headmaster, pleased his appraisal had been backed by a professional. “I’ve already arranged for her son to give her arse a regular set of thrashings and I thought you could do her first hormone injections now.”

“You don’t mind if I finish off this one first, do you? It’ll only take five minutes. I don’t like being distracted when I’m doing the injections, they’re rather fiddly, particularly the first set.”

The headmaster readily agreed, and stood back to let the cook do his work. Cecily intrigued despite herself, stood back too. As the cook bustled around, she looked on, half shocked, half awed, at the woman strapped to the table, whose name she didn’t even know, and who was, anyway, about to literally become just lumps of meat.

“At least this mother is better than last year.” the headmaster joked, squeezing Cecily’s thigh, as the cook selected butchery implements from a rack. “That’s the problem with a random draw. Mrs Hunderby really should have been stewed, not roasted.”

“True.” said the cook, picking up a long knife and feeling for the base of the fat woman’s sternum. “But that’s the tradition, and I know the boys wouldn’t have had it any other way. When I served Simon Hunderby the clitoris and vulva he was grinning with pride, and they’re tough at the best of times.”

Even while he was saying this, the cook had started his slaughter. The sharp knife slid easily deep into the woman’s abdomen, and he quickly drew it down until it was stopped by the pelvic bone. The woman, still not giving even a whimper, thrashed her head from side to side as her breathing became fast and rasping. Her body shook too, but the strapping was more than a match for any attempts to move. Only repeated clenching and curling of hands and feet showed the agony she must be suffering. A few seconds later the cook was neatly pulling yard after yard of entrails out and cutting them off, before dumping them in a stainless steel bucket.

Leaving the woman to bleed out from her stomach, he started work on her breasts, skilfully severing the grossly swollen domes from her chest with a sharp knife. Cecily was shocked to see the woman was still conscious, her eyes and mouth moving frantically in pain as her body was cut into parts. It wasn’t until the cook had sawn half into a shoulder that she stopped showing signs of life.

With his well maintained tools it only took a couple of minutes to finish jointing the barely slaughtered woman. Job done, the severed limbs, head and torso were carried out to the main kitchen by a couple of young women, summoned by the head cook, dressed in the uniform of assistant cooks. A uniform, Cecily wryly observed, that included the smallest of micro skirts and no sign of panties - which might explain why the cook wasn’t aroused by a slightly fading forty-three year old.

Tonight’s meat dealt with, the cook rummaged in a small fridge before turning to fix up Cecily. One hand now held a good-sized syringe, its needle, still in a protective plastic sheath, looked at least three inches long.

As he approached Cecily, casually pulling off the cover to reveal the shiny metal shaft, the Cook told her, “This will sting a bit. After you’ve pulled your top down, just lean against the wall for support.”

In the cool air of the slaughtering room Cecily’s reluctantly uncovered nipples quickly hardened. Grunting with satisfaction, the cook grabbed her right breast firmly, pinching the erect nipple tightly between thumb and forefinger. With her breast held still, he pushed the long needle in slowly, right through the centre of the nipple, twisting it into position with no interest in Cecily’s whimpers of pain. Finally, satisfied with the position, he injected half the contents deep in her mammary, making the woman gasp as the strong hormone burned in her flesh. With no chance to recover, the same brutal process was repeated on her other tit. Tears running down her face, Cecily gingerly pulled her dress back over her now highly sensitive breasts and erect sore nipples.

If she was hoping her ordeal was over, at least for today, she was about to be disappointed again. The headmaster quickly led her back through the school until they reached a door, its plaque proclaiming it to be the upper-sixth common room, where he paused to knock.

The headmaster’s knock was immediately followed by a very familiar voice saying, “Please come in.”

Any joy at finally seeing her son quickly dissipated when Cecily saw what he was holding. The wooden paddle in his hand must have been two foot long and, from its worn and battered appearance, was both old and very strong. John’s face had the over-serious look of youth trying to show it was ready to take on a grown-up responsibility. The only slight relief, after the head’s comment about an audience, came from the fact that John was alone in the room.

“Excellent John. I’m glad to see you’ve got prepared.” the headmaster said approvingly, indicating both the paddle and a strapping horse that has been set up in the middle of the room.

“Thank you sir. I’ve been and spoken to the cook. I think I know what needs doing.”

“That’s good. Make sure the whole rump is evenly pummelled, I don’t want to find myself getting a gristly bit.”

“I’ll do my best sir. After all the practice for the cricket team I’m sure I have a good hard swat.”

“You haven’t forgotten your culinary arts lessons either, have you John? You remember what you’re dealing with now?”

Her son looked a little hurt at this, but still responded enthusiastically, “Of course not sir. She was my mother, but now she’s just a piece of meat. While it’s better to leave her free-range, she no longer has any rights and must accept whatever’s done to her.”

“Good lad. I’ll just see you get started, then leave you to it.” the headmaster gave John a knowing smile. “I expect a young man like you will want a bit of fun after you finish your work, but make sure you get the job done properly first.”

She’d accepted that John would let his friends use her body. After all, now she was meat, there really wasn’t any reason not to. The headmaster’s implication, even encouragement, for John to do the same still came as another disturbing shock to her in a day of equally disturbing shocks.

Things didn’t begin too badly. At the start John didn’t even touch her, just told her to pull up her dress and lean over the strapping horse. He’d seen her bottom before over the years, they were mother and son living in the same house, so that bit wasn’t so bad. Even when he clamped her hands and wrists in place, and moved in to fit the gag, his fingers barely brushed her skin. She did feel a bit exposed, her naked bottom pushed up into the air, but with so little contact Cecily began to hope the head was just projecting his own lusts onto her son.

He might not have anything else in mind, but he certainly wasn’t shy about hurting her. The first blow felt as if it was trying to shatter her pelvis, and every one after seemed to compete in damage with the first. Cecily didn’t even hear the headmaster complementing John on his technique, or him leaving as the blows continued to fall, she was too busy screaming into her gag. By the hundredth stroke she was reduced to weak gasping, convinced her buttocks had split and shredded.

That was when she felt her buttocks really being opened, or at least the raw cheeks being prized apart. For a moment she didn’t understand what was happening, then she heard a grunt behind her as something probed her exposed anal opening. It was John - even bent over the horse she recognised his feet. John was about to bugger his own mother, not even easing her into this incestuous assault with a probe of her pussy first.

“I have a confession meat. You know how the balcony outside my room goes past the bathroom as well? And you know how you like to leave the window open a little to let the steam escape? Well, I’ve been watching you for years now as you take a bath or shower, imagining what I’d do if your name was drawn for the feast and I got the chance. I used to love seeing you do your exercises after a bath, fantasising about my cock slipping into the little brown hole I glimpsed through your bush as you reached down to touch your toes.”

Cecily was crying more than a little as John humiliated her with his fantasies. It was partly from shame at being sodomised by her son, but plenty was to do with physical hurt. In the last few minutes she’d experienced pain worse than anything she could remember in her life before - if giving birth had been worse it didn’t feel like it now. Her battered arsehole now felt as if a whole baby was being pounded in and out, its tender sides, used only to a finger or one of her slimmer toys, being torn by a fully rampant young cock.

When John had shot his load into her bowels, she finally got to see the instrument of her destruction. It had stood, still almost fully erect and covered in shit and slimy cum, as he slipped out her gag. What she’d last seen as a little boy’s tiny winkle was now a seriously impressive piece of manhood, even if not quite the baseball bat it had felt in her damaged rear. At any rate, struggling under his direction to suck it clean, it wasn’t just the smell that made her gag.

Released and tottering painfully upright, Cecily reflected on her first couple of hours since she knew she was meat. It wasn’t as though things were likely to get better, she’d seen how tonight’s supper for the boys had been treated at the end. Her buttocks, making her wince as she delicately felt them, were already swollen and raw from her beating. She couldn’t imagine how she’d survive double that every weekend until the fete.
 
****

Struggling home in the car, late that afternoon, all thoughts of going on to a dinner party had been abandoned. Sitting down to drive was its own special form of torture, if she hadn’t had to walk the gauntlet of self-pleasuring adolescents she wouldn’t even have pulled down her dress as she tottered out of the sixth-form common room. Even then the sight of her dishevelled appearance and tearstained face had given rise to ever more overt displays of arousal.

Her husband wasn’t back when she got in, even though it was now quite late at night - she’d had to stop frequently on the journey home until the pain eased in her throbbing backside. Presumably he was off again with his latest fancy woman. Their youngest daughter Emma, the result of him drunkenly mistaking her for his mistress at the time, and the only child left at home, was already fast asleep in bed. Cecily decided to do the same, it had been a wearing day. With any luck a good night’s sleep would let her recover enough to hide from Emma, at least until the next weekend, what had happened to her.

Tucked up in bed, Cecily found herself tossing around troubled, not just in body but mind as well. Her husband had shown no desire for her in a very long time, and the thought of this afternoon with John, brutal and humiliating though it had been, was actually making her excited. Her arsehole might be throbbing, but the knowledge that it had given pleasure to a son who had desired it for years was strangely comforting. Lying cautiously on her side, glad the darkness was hiding her shame, her hand slipped between her legs.