Chapter Four - Making the Most of Your Meat

There wasn’t much chance to dwell on things, another week was drawing to a close. Cecily knew she had to steal herself for a further visit to the school.

There was no mistaking the effect the treatments were having on her body. Her rump, now the swelling had subsided, really did feel much softer, but the most dramatic changes were to her breasts. What had started as a slight swelling was turning into a runaway ballooning of her tits, leading, for the first time in her life, to a real need for a bra. Currently squeezing into a D cup, she’d picked out a brassiere made of the softest material she could find. Her nipples, swollen and elongated to almost an inch, had become painfully sensitive to all but the lightest touch. If she could have borne the thought of anyone seeing them freakishly wobbling around, she’d have switched to a half cup and left them open to the air - at least while she was around the house.

Then there was her body hair. Razors, creams and waxes were out, there was no way to take it off until she was prepared for slaughter. Cecily had always been rather pleased with how smooth she’d kept her skin, just leaving a neat little pubic triangle. Now, unchecked, her bush was growing down hairy thighs and almost up to her navel, even her armpits had their own little wiry monsters.

Cecily couldn’t help being a little envious of her daughter Emma, who hadn’t worn clothes since her first night as meat. The girl treated the situation so naturally, even taking the untamed sprouting in every crevice in her stride. She’d seen Emma give her despairing looks in the morning as she’d whimpered her way through dressing. It was a bit silly, but now Tina was in the house Cecily couldn’t bear to wander around like a hairy sow waiting for slaughter. Baggy clothes and thick stockings were the order of the day, only in the dark, snuggled up to her daughter, could she really feel comfortable naked.

****

That was whyCecily approached Stoke Hall for the third time in as many weeks dressed in a baggy T-shirt and a skirt that almost reached her ankles. It seemed almost incredible how quickly she’d turned from fashion-plate to casual dresser, only her heels, looking rather out of place, remained from her old wardrobe. She’d hired a car to take her there, not trusting herself to drive home after another tortuous day, even if the presence of the driver prevented her from rubbing at the shameful itch between her legs.

Dropped at the kitchen entrance, she hoped she could slip up to the common room without attracting attention. She didn’t even make it through the door.

At least, as she opened the door, she was able to confirm a conjecture she’d had. One of the pretty young kitchen assistants was bent over a table in the room beyond, letting the cook pound away at her easily accessible pussy. They’d clearly broken off in the middle of their work so he could relieve himself - a fattened meat-girl, ripe for slaughter, was slumped under her own weight on a stool beside them.

“Wait there.” the Cook grunted at Cecily, as he saw her come in. “I want to check your tenderising before it’s beaten again.”

The assistant giggled at the strange little animal noises he made on climax. Unfazed by this reaction, the cook zipped up his trousers and walked over to Cecily. His colleague, getting back to work without even stopping to clean off the cum splattered in her bush, started hauling the abandoned over-fed meat-girl back to her feet. The two shuffled off to the butchery room, from where the sound of high-pressure water splashing on flab soon emerged.

“That does feel so much better. We’re going to get some lovely tender cuts from that come next Saturday.”

The cook had bent Cecily over the same table he’d just used to poke his assistant. Holding her skirt up with one hand, he’d skilfully run the other over her exposed buttocks, pressing and squeezing the meat in her rump. When he’d pushed his index finger into her back passage she’d wondered if this was a prelude to another bout of sodomy, but, slightly to her shameful disappointment, the finger had just been hooked round to gauge the quality of meat on her inner cheeks. His intimate prodding seemed to go on for a long time, but at least the final assessment had been favourable.

“You’d better get upstairs for your session.” he continued, shoving a shitty finger in Cecily’s mouth for cleaning. “I’ve got tonight’s supper to get started. Lisa should have finished hosing it down by now.”

On cue, the sound of running water next door ceased. Gagging a little with the unexpected chance to taste her own arse, she submitted to sucking the cook’s finger clean before he left to start his butchery, Pulling down her skirt, she herself headed off herself for the door that led out into the main corridor. Grateful that she now knew the way, she did her best to ignore over-excited schoolboys as she headed to the first floor.

****

Finding John alone like the first day, her time being tenderised had gone as expected at the start. Then, after the hail of blows ended, and she’d  assumed the straps would be released to send her back to the kitchens for another boring, if mildly distressing, afternoon in the store cupboard, she noticed that she heard John fiddling around with something, followed by a fumbling to her pussy. After a moment there was a sharp pain as something clamped tight to her clit.

“This should be fun.” John said conversationally, talking more to himself than its mother. “Eric reckons he went down and tried it on one of the meat-girls in the larder and her muff sucked him dry.”

She wondered what was happening to her, as something cold and hard, but not particularly large, was pushed into her rectum. Craning her head to see was out, bent almost double over the horse viewing anything above the level of knees would have required her neck to be broken first.

“Mind you.” John continued, to the sound of his fly being pulled down, and an odd rustling she couldn’t identify. “Eric’s does tend to exaggerate. Oh well, here goes!”

With that he thrust his dick into his mother - not where Cecily had grown used to. This time she was getting her, embarrassingly damp, pussy stretched by his cock. It would have been pointless to deny she was enjoying getting fucked, even if John hadn’t seen her display last week, the splattering squelch from her crotch every time he pushed into her was telling him the truth.

“Let’s try this on level one.”

Her son’s comment, given with the typical insouciance of a teenage adventurer, was followed by the distinct click of an electrical switch. A second after that Cecily found herself longing for the delicate touch of the paddle, as a violent shock seared through her snatch. That was just the start, the shocks kept coming. If she hadn’t been gagged, her shrieks would probably have burst eardrums.

“Oh yeah!” John exclaimed, doing little more than stand still as violent electrical jolts caused his mother’s pussy to buck and clamp around his shaft.

After what seemed like an age to Cecily, but was in reality only a very few minutes, John was reluctantly pulling his dwindling penis out of her still spasming hole, and reaching over to produce the click that signalled the end of her torment. Feeling like her pussy was burning, Cecily couldn’t help quivering at the thought of what level two must be like, and wondering how her son had avoided the same fiery pain to his manhood.

John’s lack of suffering was revealed when he bent down and released her from the horse. A thick rubber condom, it’s end bulging with his seed, still hung from his unconcealed cock. While he was pulling it off, squeezing the contents into her mouth, John chose that moment to trouble his mother with news of what the afternoon held in store for her.

“You’ll be pleased to know you’ll be doing your bit for the school’s welfare fund.” he told her. “I’ve raffled you off for an hour after this afternoon’s paddling. Managed to raise quite a tidy sum. Rodney Jones is a bit weird, but he won fair and square and I’m sure he’ll have fun with you.”

Leaving his mother to straighten her clothes as best she could, muscles in her pussy still involuntarily twitching in a disturbingly stimulating way, John wandered out. Cecily was left to wonder, as she reluctantly headed for the kitchens, exactly how weird a boy would need to be before it was commented on round here.

****

So there Cecily was again, sitting on the hard wooden seat in the stock cupboard, looking positively anorexic next to her fellow meat-girls. After a while the smell ceased to bother you and she reckoned, if she hadn’t been left so desperate to rub herself off, she might even have managed to doze like the women around her.

She almost resented the disturbance when a new woman was brought in to be fattened for the table, even if it did break up the monotony.

“Sit down here.” the assistant who had brought her told the new arrival, indicating a space on the bench with a hole for the reception of waste. “I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to grab a knife so we can get you linked up to the feeder.”

The woman who had just arrived looked with some trepidation, and a wrinkle of disgust, at the place she’d been told to sit. With just a bare hole to the trough that ran underneath, Cecily guessed the site through the opening must be quite unpleasant, particularly as one of the whales on that side was even now noisily crapping. Not a small woman, the new meat-girl still looked quite slim next to the other contents of the cupboard.

“Hi there.” the newcomer said with a touch of surprise, when she noticed Cecily half-hidden behind a mountain of over-fed flesh in the corner. “I’m June. How come you’re not naked and linked up like the rest.”

“Cecily.” Cecily replied. “I’m the mother of one of the boys here. They’re preparing me for the leavers’ dinner, so I get dumped in here between tenderising sessions.”

She hoped she wouldn’t have to mention who was doing the tenderising, but June already appeared to know and gave Cecily a bit of a grin.

“Ah yes. My sister worked here for a while. How’s your son doing with the famous paddle? I’m surprised you’re sitting so still.”

Cecily gave her a rueful smile, and was about to expand on that when the assistant came back, carrying an unusual knife with a short blade and a long thin handle.

“This’ll be me then.” said June, trying to remain cheerful as her eyes were nervously drawn to the knife. “Nice to have had a chat with you.”

“Tip your head back and open wide.” the assistant instructed June. She wasn’t being unpleasant, but she sounded practical rather than compassionate - far too used to this procedure to worry about the feelings of a meat-girl.

What she was about to do, it turned out, was cut through June’s vocal chords so, as the fat feeding tube was forced down her throat, there was just enough space left for the woman to breathe. After a few seconds struggle as her body responded to the alien pipe constricting her throat, held down by the assistant so she didn’t cause any damage, June settled back down on the bench with a resigned air. With her charge now still, the assistant cook turned the feeding tap on.

Cecily watched June until she was called back upstairs. It was pretty obvious that force-feeding, at least to begin with, was pretty uncomfortable. She couldn’t believe how much June’s belly swelled as high pressure silage was pumped into her stomach. The other meat-girls, already obese, must have the same swollen guts hidden under their heavy layers of fat. Within the hour the new woman started to clutch at her guts and raise her legs, clearly, despite an inability to scream, in severe intestinal agony. One or two of the other women, disturbed from their slumbers by June’s thrashing, briefly looked round at her, but quickly closed their eyes with a nod of comprehension when they saw what she was doing. Next moment, to a tremendous bout of flatulence, a look of positive relief crossed her face. Cecily could barely imagine what must be happening to her guts. She’d had some pretty rough anal herself recently, but this must be like having a thick cock taking you from mouth to arsehole.

By the time Cecily left, June had changed completely. Any chance of relief from the pressure in her guts had overcome any lingering thoughts of social niceties she may have had, and she was, like her fellow meat, farting and crapping every few minutes.

****

Cecily sat in the back of the car on her way home desperately hoping she wouldn’t throw up again. Even the sharp raw ache in her buttocks couldn’t distract her from the horrible taste that kept rising up in her throat. She wondered if John had known quite how odd Rodney was.

The nearest she’d come to scat before was occasionally sucking on a dick that had been up her arse, or, on one memorable occasion, up somebody else’s arse. She’d never thought of doing anything more than that. Once her husband had tried watersports with her, but he’d given up when she puked on his feet.

When she’d puked in front of the Rodney he’d been delighted, getting her to eat the shitty puddle of sick - alternating that with having yet another erection serviced by her abused and foul-tasting mouth. If he hadn’t been able to talk, Cecily would have been sure Rodney had spent the day on the force feeder, in one hour she must have clamped her mouth over his straining sphincter four or five times. Long before the hour was up she was thinking wistfully of the stock cupboard, at least there she wasn’t expected to swallow the constant streams of shit that were produced.

Still, at last she was heading home, even if imperfectly brief ablutions were leaving the driver casting quizzical glances at her and wrinkling his nose. Luckily the day was warm enough to keep the window a little bit open.

****

When she got home, Emma, who had rushed up to greet her, stopped short as the smell from her mother hit her.

“Whoa mum! What have you been doing? You smell like a public toilet.” a look of enlightenment spread across her face. “Have you been used as one by John and his friends? I didn’t know the filthy git was into that.”

“Don’t speak about your brother like that.” Cecily automatically admonished her daughter, though her heart wasn’t really in it. “And it wasn’t John, it was one of the other boys.”

“Only one boy and it wasn’t John? I’m surprised he didn’t want a bit of the action.”

“He raffled me off.” Cecily was forced to admit. “Raising money for the welfare fund.”

“That’s okay then. At least you knew you were doing your bit.

“There you are Emma. I’ve been looking everywhere. You know we were supposed to go shopping an hour ago? We’re going to need plenty of drinks and charcoal for your barbecue, and there’s no way I’ll manage them on my own.”

Tina breezed in, failing, as usual, to register Cecily’s presence. Not that Cecily minded too much any longer, she’d got used to being practically a ghost in the house. Anyway, she was more concerned with wondering if Emma intended to go out naked to the shops. That seemed likely when Tina put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and moved her towards the door. It was only, as she got close to Cecily, that Tina stopped.

“Hello Cecily.” Tina said happily, apparently noticing her for the first time, she’d caught the aroma the woman was giving off. “What have you been up to? Paul hasn’t decided to have one last fling with you has he?”

That caught Cecily off-balance, leaving her saying, rather weakly, “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”

“Well, you smell pretty strongly of shit, and I doubt you’ve been rolling in a pigsty.”

“Paul’s not into scat.” she countered, getting a little angered by the look on Tina’s face.

“Of course he is.” Tina answered, sounding genuinely surprised.

“He never did any of that stuff with me.”

“Maybe that’s why he went in for mistresses.” Tina suggested. “Half the reason I went out with him was because I knew his reputation.”

Cecily didn’t know what shocked her more. The discovery her husband of twenty years enjoyed scat, or finding out Tina enjoyed exactly the degrading experience she’d just suffered. She completely failed to hear Tina’s next comment and had to ask her to repeat it.

“I was saying. Would you like me to ask Paul if you can join us tonight?”

“Yes.” the word shot out of Cecily, astonishing her as much as it did anyone else.

“Mum!”

She’d forgotten Emma was still there. She blushed at the look of awed surprise, tinged with delight, on her daughters face.

****

Tina didn’t mention the scat session again for a couple of days, Cecily wasn’t sure whether she’d thought better about having the old wife in their bed, or if Paul had vetoed the idea. Emma tried to insist her mother ask about it, but Cecily couldn’t quite swallow her pride to the extent of begging her replacement to be degraded. Sure it really had been forgotten, it was quite a surprise when Tina came up to her one afternoon, and said Cecily should join them in the bedroom that night with her bowels and bladder full.

She hadn’t suddenly become a fan of eating shit - the smell still made her vomit - but she had discovered a need for her body to be wanted, however vile the reason. Even the thought of her impending slaughter, although the detail seemed no less unpleasant, had come to have a certain attraction for her. She’d finally realised the truth when she caught herself wanking over the memory of her session with Rodney.

Her needs were pushed to the limit that night. Made to slurp at a pool of her own puke, she was rewarded by the feel of a hard cock filling her gash. Even having her hair hauled back to receive a faceful of Tina’s foul shit-sprinkled vomit wasn’t enough to change her mind.

It was disappointing when, her husband and Tina spent, they dismissed Cecily back to the room she now shared with her daughter. Even rejected, she still left wondering how hard she could frig herself without waking Emma. That wasn’t an option as it turned out, Emma was still awake when she got back. Seeing her mother naked, with bodily excretions smeared all over her, a look of excited interest spread across her face.

“Hey mum, You smell disgusting. Did you have a good time?”

“It was good.” Cecily admitted, she’d shared too much with the girl to bother dissembling. “But I really must have a shower now.”

“I wish I’d been there.” said Emma wistfully.

The shower felt good, even if there was a lingering smell from her evening’s adventures. She took her time, rather hoping Emma might finally have fallen asleep, but she was still sitting up, wide awake, in the bed.

“Come and lie down, then you can tell me everything about it.” Emma insisted.

“With your dad? Not really?”

“Oh come on mum! You’ve already described having John’s cock up your bottom, how is this worse?”

She supposed it really wasn’t, and confessing her experiences to Emma did seem to make her feel better about them. The way her daughter accepted the descriptions of being aroused by such abusive treatment as completely normal was reassuring. So she lay back, closed her eyes, and recounted her evening as a scat whore.

Dropping her voice, still not quite comfortable with her actions, she reached the part where the first rank turd was squeezed out onto her tongue. That’s when Cecily caught a squelchy rustling on the bed next to her. It took her a moment, then she stopped mid sentence, Emma was masturbating to her story!

Eyes springing open, she sat up sharply, to see her daughter still rubbing a hand deep in her crotch.

“Emma! Are you playing with yourself?” the question really was redundant.

Not bothering to look embarrassed, not even bothering to take a hand from her pussy, Emma’s reply forced her mother to pause with its honesty.

“Of course I am. You know I’d have loved to be there as well. I thought that’s why you were telling me about it.”

Cecily hadn’t been, she’d been reliving the night for her own benefit. Just briefly she considered refusing to continue, but, while telling dirty stories as her daughter wanked might be troublesome for her, Emma was clearly happy with it, and she’d always tried not to be a selfish parent.

While it was one thing to accept her daughters open display, Cecily couldn’t bring herself to emulate it. Her tale finished, and Emma’s legs now closed, frustrated, Cecily fell into a fitful sleep.