Chapter Three - Home Life for Meat

Next morning it was clear she could no longer hide from Emma that her mother had become meat. The thought of covering her tenderised bottom with anything before she was forced to was too painful to bear. Coming downstairs wearing nothing but a T-shirt, with her cheeks black and purple, was going to be a big clue that something was going on. Cecily knew she couldn’t hide in her bedroom forever, she was just going to have to tough it out. In the event the it went better than expected, although not how she’d imagined.

“Morning dear, morning Emma.” Cecily said, gave her husband a perfunctory peck on the cheek - it was all the contact he would accept from her these days  but giving her daughter a more lingering kiss and half hug.

Emma, turning to return the kiss, looked shocked to find herself at eyeball height with her mother’s naked bush.

“Mum! Why aren’t you wearing anything?” she asked. Then blurted out, as her mother’s movement revealed a glimpse of badly damaged buttocks. “And what’s happened to your arse!”

Her husband carried on reading his paper. Obviously not planning to help her with this awkward conversation.

“You know how John’s school has a tradition of putting on a dinner with one of the mothers for the boys who are leaving?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been chosen for this year. I’m now on a strict regime to improve my meat before I’m slaughtered.”

“Will I be able to go to the dinner? Do we get to see you butchered first?”

That was where the script in Cecily’s head had broken down. Emma had sounded excited at the prospect of eating her! Even hoping she’d get to see her mother slaughtered! Cecily felt quite weak as she tried to answer the girl.

“The dinner will be only for the boys and teachers at the school. Anyway, all the butchery will be done in the kitchen beforehand.”

This comment brought Emma’s father out from behind his paper. A rare event of the breakfast table.

“Your mother’s half right Emma.” he informed her. “The dinner is a private affair. However, unless things have changed since I was there, she’ll be prepared for roasting in the Great Hall.”

He didn’t seem to notice his wife frozen in shock, realising her last tormented moments, being treated like the meat she’d seen in the kitchen, were going to be played out in front of an audience of lads, her son presumably among them.

“There’s quite a traditional ceremony around dressing the meat.” he continued, smiling at the memory of his own schooldays. “In my day we used to have everyone piss on it before the meat went over the coals - didn’t really do anything for the flavour, but was the tradition, and boys do enjoy being a bit disgusting. I suppose they’ll have stopped that now with all these hygiene regulations. Anyway Emma, not getting to the dinner won’t to be something you’ll have to worry about.”

This was probably the longest speech he’d ever made at the breakfast table. Mother and daughter were stunned, Cecily completely failing to appreciate the news she wouldn’t be a schoolboys urinal. It was left to Emma, who hadn’t just had a disturbing insight into her fate, to speak, even managing to ask a pertinent question.

“Why needn’t I worry?”

“I’ve decided to throw a farewell dinner so my friends can see off your mother. We’ll be having you for the main course.”

“You mean I’ll get to be cooked like mummy? Will I get my bottom beaten until it’s purple?”

“No.” he chuckled. “Your rump will be lovely and tender anyway, but I’m sure we can arrange to have it ruthlessly buggered to match your mother’s if you like.”

Hearing that Emma was to be cooked wasn’t particularly surprising to Cecily. She’d already prepared one daughter for her husband’s table and had wondered whether Emma might not go the same way eventually. What she hadn’t expected was Emma’s excitement at the news. Her elder sister Amber, admittedly, had taken the news she was meat perfectly calmly, but she’d been resigned rather than excited to find out. Her husband’s intimation that he knew Cecily’s bowels had been invaded didn’t register with her until much later.

“Will she be needing the injections to fill out her breasts? There’s not really time to do a proper job on them. We could try a double dose, but she’d probably end up screaming for a fortnight, and the results are likely to be a bit odd.”

Cecily often found sticking to the practical helped in disconcerting situations. A slightly selfish part of her also hoped that a hint to her almost flat chested daughter of what was coming might bring her to the state of mind her mother had been expecting. She didn’t really want to upset Emma, but she couldn’t understand the girl looking forward to slaughter.

“There won’t be any need for that. She should be delicious as she is. I’ve rather gone off hormone enhanced breasts, there’s not really any flavour to them. With careful basting Emma’s bee-stings should be delicious.”

“If I’m not getting the tit thing, does that mean I won’t get any cocks in my bottom either?”

Her mother’s mental script for the conversation was torn up and thrown away, Emma was revealing things about herself that Cecily had never suspected. Whilst Cecily’s upbringing made her prepared to endure rough work on her body to improve her meat, Emma was looking disappointed at the thought she was missing out on any part of the torment. Luckily for her sanity, her husband chose that moment to revert back to type.

“Stop asking so many questions.” he admonished Emma, regaining his usual taciturn attitude to the breakfast table. Pulling his paper back in front of his face, he added, “If you really want to know, you can ask your mother later. Now give me some peace.”

She didn’t realise at the time, but that conversation at breakfast set the seal on a complete change in her home life for Cecily.

****

“Do you really think people will be happy with these? Maybe I should get some hormone injections, even if dad said I didn’t need to. I think your boobs are looking bigger already.”

Emma was leaning against a worktop in the kitchen, using her palms to squeeze what tits she did have together in an attempt to get some cleavage. Cecily, bustling around as she cooked supper, impatiently moved her daughter out of the way.

“Why are you always standing right in the way of where I need to be? Don’t you have anything else to do while I’m busy? And couldn’t you put some clothes on, even a bikini or a dressing gown?”

Her daughter was stark naked, as she had been since Sunday, and there wasn’t much Cecily could do about it. Emma had escaped as soon as that breakfast was over, and when her mother saw her next in the hall, a bare two hours later, she was stark naked and examining her body in the long mirror next to the door.

Cecily had marched over to grab her daughter by the shoulders, intending to send her upstairs to get dressed at once, before she caught a glimpse of them together in the mirror. The view shocked her into momentary silence. Despite quite similar features, she and her daughter presented quite a contrast. Both displayed neat little triangles of pubes and the same shade of light brown hair, but, while Emma’s skin was youthful and smooth, her mother’s, even without the prominent damage to her buttocks, was lined and blemished with age and childbearing. She even, compared with her daughter’s neat little A cup breasts, thought she could start to see a slight swelling of her own bosom under her T-shirt.

Cecily had protested, but her daughter stubbornly insisted that, as meat, she shouldn’t be wearing anything. A complaint to Emma’s father hadn’t done any good either. He’d just said, to Emma’s delight, that he liked to examine his meat while it was still on the hoof, it whetted his appetite. So Emma was free to be naked while she stood in the kitchen watching her mother cook.

“Seriously, what do you reckon mum?” the girl had asked, ignoring her mother’s complaints. “Do you think these will cook up alright, or should they be larger?”

The attempt to clothe her daughter hadn’t been made with any real hope. Cecily moved on to worrying about the question Emma was asking.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering about the size of your chest, you’ll be butchered before they’re cooked anyway.”

“But I want people to enjoy my meat.” Emma protested.

“Well you don’t want the hormone injections anyway.” her mother said firmly. “You’ve no idea how painful they are.”

Mother and daughter looked at each other with generational incomprehension.

“Isn’t that the point?” Emily responded. “Where’s the fun in being meat if you don’t get the suffering as well. I think I will get the hormone injections, it’ll be a surprise for dad.”

She knew schools now took a much more enjoyable attitude to butchery than they had in her day, openly discussing all aspects of it rather than just covering the functional basics and skipping over the social side. While Cecily did approve of that, her old-fashioned education meant she just couldn’t grasp her daughter’s willingness to revel in what she thought of as the embarrassing parts of being meat. She tried not to let it bother her, but there was some awkwardness in her voice as she answered the question.

“I don’t think growing your chest will be a very good surprise for your father now you’ve decided to stay naked.” she suggested. “Anyway, you know he specifically mentioned he doesn’t want hormone enhanced tit-meat. If you really want to please your father, you’ll let him choose how to prepare your meat.”

“All right.” Emma said, looking disappointed, but she wasn’t going to go against her father’s wishes. “Just my luck his tastes have change, Amber got her boobs done.”

“Amber hated that.” her mother pointed out. “Said she’d rather have been roasted live, at least it would have been quicker.”

“Amber always was a bit weird. Did you know dad was going to get a professional butcher and make a whole show of it until she asked him if he’d just do her quietly in the garage? I reckon it’s because she got Miss Randall for civic education, all the girls from her class were a bit odd about being meat.”

Cecily liked Miss Randall, although she probably was a bit old-fashioned, she’d already been a teacher back when Cecily was at school. Younger teachers using newer methods had a very different effect on girls. Look at Emma - it was obvious she couldn’t comprehend why her sister had turned down the chance of being slaughtered in public.

“We got Miss Spears for civic.” Emma was continuing. “Now she was fun, everyone wanted her. We were really lucky, we’d have had Miss Randall as well if she’d still been teaching.”

“I didn’t know Miss Randall had retired.” Cecily was surprised, she’d have expected to hear about that, maybe even be invited to her leaving party.

“Didn’t you see her at my school’s winter fundraiser? You couldn’t really miss her, she was the hog roast and they’d left her head on.”

Cecily hadn’t made it to the fundraiser, like so many of her children’s school events. She did know about the hog roast though, from a couple of years back. The teacher then had been clearly identifiable as her naked body turned over the coals.

“Poor Miss Randall.” Cecily sympathised. “She wouldn’t have enjoyed that at all. She always said a good chef never served a lady whole, and always took the head off first.”

“Silly cow.” was Emma’s reply to that, no hint of empathy. “She should have got herself cooked years ago if she hadn’t wanted to end up on a spit. People were only buying her tough old meat because it was for a good cause. Most of her ended up in the bin.”

“That’s not very nice, I’m not that much younger than Miss Randall.” her mother pointed out. “Are you saying that I’m just so stringy old bird?”

“Oh no mum. You look much better than she did, she was all worn and wrinkly. Anyway, John’s school would hardly be bothering with all the tenderising and stuff if they didn’t think you’d be worth eating.”

She supposed it was a compliment, Emma was certainly keen that her own meat should please the diners. Was it worth it having her meat put through such a distressing regime to improve its condition? It might just be, the thought of her tough old body thrown in the bin uneaten was more troubling than she’d expected.

****

Then came Thursday, when her husband came home with a woman on his arm.

“Cecily this is Tina.” he’d announced, blithely happy. “I’ll be marrying her this summer, so I thought she could move in. There doesn’t seem much point in her being stuck alone in her flat now.”

“Should I make her up a bed in the spare room?” Cecily asked weakly, unable to take her eyes off the vision of blonde youthfulness.

She knew her husband had mistresses, he’d never made any particular secret of it, but she’d never actually met one before. If she was being honest she’d have to admit he had good taste - Tina had thick blonde hair, a lovely trim body, and virtually unblemished skin. Was Tina just the lucky woman he’d been riding when his wife was classed as meat, or had he been planning to slaughter the before she was picked by Stoke Hall?

Her husband’s reply cut short these musings.

“There’s no need to make up a bed, Tina will be sleeping in my bedroom. I don’t want to make extra work, and it’s only for a couple of weeks, so you’ll be sleeping with Emma. Think of that bedroom as the larder.”

Tina giggled, not unpleasantly, at her lover’s joke. Cecily couldn’t help remembering it was actually three weeks – you tended to remember how long you’d have an aching bottom and increasingly painful breasts - but she was meat now, so that was an end of it. There wasn’t any particular reason why he couldn’t have told her to sleep in the garage or the shed if he’d chosen, at least she’d have a mattress, even if it was a single shared with her daughter. Come to think of it, although he hadn’t given her a date for the farewell party, before the three weeks were up she’d probably get Emma’s bed to herself anyway.

As if on cue, Emma chose that moment to appear in person, wearing nothing but a welcoming smile.

“Hi Tina. I didn’t know you’d be moving in so soon. Does that mean you’ll be coming to my party?”

Apparently Emma already knew exactly who Tina was, and didn’t seem the least perturbed that her mother was being supplanted. She accepted without question, and now her mother was meat, her father was perfectly entitled to consider himself single. Cecily had hoped that her daughter would be a little disappointed at a replacement while she was still at home, especially as they were both in nearly the same situation.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” was Tina’s happy reply to the girl. “I’m looking forward to sampling those tender thighs. I know most people prefer breast or rump, but I don’t reckon you can beat thigh for crisp skin and juicy flesh.”

“I’ll leave you two girls to catch up.”

Cecily, not even included in his parting comment, followed her husband with her eyes as he disappeared into his study, his cheery tread another reminder that she barely existed in the house any more. That left the three of them standing in the hall. With the man they’d both had in their bed gone, Cecily looked rather uncertainly at Tina.

Tina, on the other hand, was young enough to be completely unfazed by the situation. It was a generational thing, she looked much closer in age to Emma than Cecily, but the first remark she addressed to the woman she was replacing showed no hint of awkwardness or embarrassment.

“You’ll be okay keeping out of the way while I settle in with Paul, won’t you?”

It sounded more like an order, admittedly nicely phrased, than a request.

“I suppose so.”

“That’s great. Paul said you shouldn’t be any trouble.”

That’s me then, thought Cecily, as she reluctantly headed upstairs to move her clothes into the room she now shared with her daughter, I really am just meat. For a moment she considered following Emma’s lead and doing without clothes at all, but a last remnant of outdated decorum prevented her.

****

At least, the following day, there was an excuse to leave the house. Her local ladies circle had a tradition of holding an afternoon tea party when one of their number was set to be butchered. Cecily always enjoyed these get-togethers - tea, cakes and a civilised discussion on which cuts from the meat-girl would cook best.

“Come on in love.” her friend Sandra, the host of the party, said as she held the door open. “We’re all waiting for you in the sitting room. Pop your clothes on the hall chair and join us.”

This was one time being naked didn’t bother her. She’d known most of the women who surrounded her, as she knelt on all fours on the coffee table, since school. Six years of communal showers, watching each other sprout boobs and hair, had left little room for embarrassment when they were together. At least this would be a sympathetic audience.

Indeed, the first thing Sandra said when Cecily came into the living room and took up her position was, “Your poor bottom! I know it produces a lovely juicy rump, but it’s got to be painful.”

“It does leave the meat so tender though.” said Jill, considered the best cook of the group. “You remember how tough Melinda’s bottom was, even at school? Her husband asked me to cook her and, after I’d put in a few weeks work, you’d have sworn her rump steaks had come off a baby.”

Even Cecily salivated a little at the thought of Jill’s cooking. The woman could take the most unpromising cut and turn it into a dish you’d walk twenty miles for. If she knew she was being cooked by Jill, she’d probably run to get her arse thrashed.

“Her boobs are coming along nicely.” said Dora comfortably, the girl in class who’d needed a bra when the rest of them were still in vests. “It’s odd to see Ceci with enough there to need support.”

“I’m not keen on forced tit-meat, it never seems to have any flavour. It’s like all this quick-fattened meat nowadays. Okay for industrial catering, but I wouldn’t want to serve it at my own table.”

There was a general murmur of agreement at this. Allison, a well-built mother of nine - and pregnant again - leaned forward awkwardly to test the skin on Cecily’s midriff with a good squeeze.

“Well, Cecily’s not going to be too fatty.” Allison said, “Somebody’s been looking after themselves, even the belly looks quite trim. Much better cooking than I’m going to be.”

“You’re not going to be cooked until you stop pushing out girl-meat.” Sandra pointed out to Allison. “That husband of yours can’t get enough of your fricasseed breast recipe, and it doesn’t work unless the meat’s really tender.”

“It was your fourth daughter you served for your hubby’s birthday this year, wasn’t it?” asked Jill, getting a nod from Allison. “He must have been happy, she had a lovely well-developed rack. What are you expecting this time?”

“Another girl.” said Alison, patting her belly comfortably. “By the time it’s my turn I’m only going to be fit for stew.”

“Let’s just hope no one has plans to eat her anus.” interjected Dora, the oldest member of their group, who had been considering Cecily from a position that gave a direct view into her crack. “That’s looking a bit like it’s seen better days.”

That did make Cecily blushed a little. She was just glad, among understanding friends, she wouldn’t be expected to explain why her arsehole was in such poor condition.

“It’s a boys school.” pointed out Sandra. “If there’s some kind of macho competition that needs Ceci’s anus to be eaten, I don’t expect they’ll worry too much what condition it’s in. Anyway, it’s always a tough piece of gristle from any meat-girl, whatever you do with it.”

“Of course, you’re to be butchered at your John’s school.” Dora said. “That could be a bit awkward. Do you know if it’s going to be public or private?”

“Public, unfortunately.” said Cecily, speaking for the first time in a while.

That brought out a round of sympathetic tutting, and someone said, “That’s a shame, having to go through that in front of John and his friends.”

“At least you know your snapper will be appreciated. When my lad Ralph was leaving Stoke Hall he was really unhappy that I hadn’t been picked. Apparently the boy whose mother was selected got the honour of eating her pussy.”

She’d forgotten Linda’s boy had been to Stoke Hall as well. Cecily had half a mind to ask the woman if she knew what happened to the meat at the leavers’ dinner, but wasn’t sure, even if Ralph had given his mother all the details, that she wanted to find out. Anyway, she reasoned with herself, Linda wasn’t much of a talker, that little speech had been the longest she’d made in a while.

With the conversation moving on to children, always a reliable topic when mothers were gathered together, Cecily took a sip of the tea that had been kindly placed by her host near her left hand. There’d be more discussion of her suitability for the pot before the party broke up, but, so far, she didn’t think her body had come out of it too badly.

“Well, good luck Ceci.” said Sandra, as they stood together while Cecily got dressed in the hall. “I hope you do your son proud. He certainly should be happy with the quality of your eating.”

“Thanks Sandra. I hope he will be.” replied Cecily, wincing a little as she eased her bra over her tender nipples.

“It’s a shame about those.” her friend said, noticing the wince. “I agree with Jill, natural tit-meat always tastes so much better.”

****

Squashed into the bedroom she now shared with Emma, Cecily had quickly got over being naked in front of her daughter. It wasn’t as if she had a choice, there was no way she could get a decent night’s sleep with any kind of cover rubbing against her increasingly tender breasts. Even her buttocks chafed uncomfortably.

Emma, in contrast, was delighting in being a naked meat-girl. In the confines of a small bed they frequently found themselves touching more intimately than Cecily found comfortable. Emma just took such contact in her stride, sometimes running fingers through the thick hair of her mother’s bush when her hand strayed into it. Cecily found it harder, tending to jerk away when she realised her hand was resting somewhere she considered inappropriate - although she wasn’t always noticing now - but it was still creating an unexpected intimacy with her daughter.

Intimacy wasn’t an issue for Emma. Now she and her mother were both meat-girls, she’d stopped worrying about what she said or did in front of Cecily. It was hard for Cecily to admit, but her daughter was right, there was no real difference between them, they were both just sows waiting for slaughter. Free of maternal censure, Emma had started revealing details that would have had her punished on the spot before. Tonight the girl’s conversation came round to the time she’d once sucked her brother John off for a dare, taking it all the way until he came over her face. Almost in competition, Cecily found herself telling Emma everything that John had done with her. Her daughter’s reply, typical of the attitude of the younger generation, contained another eye-opener for Cecily.

“I’m not surprised he wanted your arse. He’s always been into it.”

“Are you sure? How on earth would you know that?”

“Oh. When we were little he used to make me come with him and peek at you in the bathroom. Did you know, if you go up in the loft, you can see practically everything through that old ventilator in the ceiling?”

Cecily hadn’t, but it hardly seemed worth complaining about now.

“Anyway.” Emma continued. “When you did your stretches after a shower, especially when you were bending over, he used to rub his crotch quite a lot.”

In this snug moment, Cecily asked a question she couldn’t have imagined doing anywhere else.

“And were you rubbing your crotch as well?”

It was the first time she’d made her daughter blush in a very long time.

“Mum!” Emma complained. “How can you ask me that?”

Cecily noticed she hadn’t said no, and just looked at her quizzically.

“All right.” Emma confessed, in the face of the mother’s stare. “Maybe just a bit, but you do have a very nice bottom.”

“That’s not what John’s school think, otherwise I wouldn’t be having it beaten black every Saturday.”

“Don’t remind me, I’m so jealous. Dad says there’s nothing about my meat he wants improved.”

“You should take that as a compliment.” pointed out her mother. “Anyway, what if your dad wanted the same as John after beating you. I can tell you your father’s even bigger than John. Going to the loo’s agony for me now, I’m not sure you’d be left able to walk.”

“Don’t tease me, I know I’m not getting any of that.” was Emma’s grumpy reply. “Dad’s already told me I can’t stick anything inside, not even a finger in my pussy. Apparently I need to be absolutely tight for the party.”

They’d fallen into this odd cross-talk, Cecily complaining about her experiences, although it was really more about how degraded she felt more than the suffering, and Emma bemoaning the fact that she wasn’t getting similar treatment. It didn’t stop Cecily from still occasionally being surprised, as she was now, by how far Emma wanted to go.

“Sorry darling, I keep forgetting you’re after that stuff. It’s just I’m not comfortable with it.” Cecily admitted. “When you’re brought up to think of exposing your body as dirty it’s not possible to be happy at having it gawked at.”

“But we’re meat now.” protested Emma. “You’re just a sow waiting for slaughter, you don’t have to worry about social niceties. It’s not as though anyone expects you to. Do you remember that meat-girl we saw squatting in the street and taking a piss last month? Even you didn’t comment on it.”

“I know you’re taught to enjoy it, and that’s good, but when I was at school it wasn’t like that. For us becoming meat was meant to be a slightly disagreeable duty we just had to perform, there was no suggestion we should enjoy it.”

Emma looked a little curiously at her mother. When she spoke again it was quite slowly, in the voice of someone who was working things out.

“You are enjoying it, at least a bit, aren’t you mum?” she asked slowly. “You might as well admit it, I’ll probably find out anyway now we’re sharing a bed.”

Her daughter’s insight broke Cecily. She actually sobbed a little as she confessed to masturbating over the most degrading experiences of her life. Emma’s assurances that it was okay, that she didn’t mind if her mother wanted to frig herself in their bed, didn’t entirely allay her old-fashioned guilt. It was an uneasy sleep she finally managed that night.