Chapter 15: Chop. Plop. Flop. Sunday morning coming down

Well, it had been an evening of legendary bacchanalia. Jennifer had been fucked by a half-dozen different men, licked by the same number of women, and watched a whole host of people fuck and get fucked.

If I got to go, this is the way, she thought. I wonder if I could get breakfast first before the final performance?

Looking around, she saw the woman named Helen passed out over Jack’s dick. She was like the den mother for everyone here. And she was stirring over Jack.

Looking around, Helen saw Jennifer sitting watching her. “Good morning?” Helen said with a question in her voice.

“Great morning,” Jennifer answered. “But I’m HUNGRY.”

“Let’s see if I can stir up something to eat. Onions, mushrooms, peppers and cheese over synth pork? And maybe Belgian waffles?

Jennifer’s stomach growled at that idea. “Shit. Where do I sign up? And do we have time?”

“It’s six-thirty. Guests won’t be admitted until after nine. We won’t start the festivities until nine-thirty or ten. No reason not to have a great last meal.”

Following Helen, Jennifer went to the break-room. While breakfast was cooking, they were joined by several of the men who had been upstairs in the Hen House section. Jennifer teased and flirted with Marty and Chris, who she knew were going to decapitate her soon. “Hope the stomach popping won’t make too much mess,” she giggled.”

“Not enough to worry about,” Chris rejoined. “You will clean up very nicely once you are dressed. Or undressed, as the case may be.”

“When will I be graded for sale?” Jennifer asked.

“That’s Carl’s job. We don’t do grading here. He does it after you are dead and cleaned in compliance with USDA regulations. We never final-grade meat on the hoof,” Chris said, shoveling a mouthful of eggs into his mouth. “Bad practice and you don’t want any complaints about grading.”

“Damn. That doesn’t seem fair. A girl should know what she is worth. That’s what diamond rings are all about,” Jennifer retorted.

“So, Helen. How many do you think will follow me?” Jennifer asked, shoveling in a waffle piece.

“Janet, definitely. Susan, definitely. Carla, definitely. Jessica and Katie, I’m not sure,” Helen responded with her analysis.

“Well, Katie has the best talent and I don’t really want her up there. The others are sycophants who should go. They don’t have enough independence to make it themselves. Besides they are second or third daughters. No big loss. With Jessica, I am divided. You could either watch her pale skin jerk and jump or not. You guys decide.”

“Actually, Jessica has to decide. Right up to the last moment. Even if we have to back her off the bed,” Helen said.

“You paid for all of them. Don’t you care?” Chris asked.

“After I get chopped, I won’t really care, will I? If three follow me, that is enough. The idea is to have repetition of the event to set the events into the minds of the audience. To get them to see the real elements of the terror.”

“Well, we’ll sure do that. Finish your breakfast, child. Don’t let it get cold. Preparation for showtime starts in an hour.”

Jennifer finished with some lively conversation about effects. No one had done a real execution like this in some time, and no one did pageants anymore. Jennifer was having a lot of fun directing her own act with a lot of flourish. Chris and Marty and were to be the stage handlers and executioners. They were going to be bringing Jennifer down for her beheading. They agreed that she was going to do be struggling and jerking around the entire way to the stage. Then they would rip her dress down to her waist front and back and force her down onto the munnion and secure her in place.

“Wrists tied or not tied?” Chris asked.

“I don’t know. I’d like to be able to struggle but the helplessness of being tied is neat too. But I want the audience to see my hands and feet while I am there, so I don’t want to be immobilized,” Jennifer continued.

“How about arms tied at the elbows behind the back? Stand up a second,” Marty said.

Standing behind Jennifer, Marty brought her elbows back behind her and almost got the points touching. Jennifer’s hands were free to move within a limit of movement but clearly visible. And it would limit the length that could be covered on the back when the dress was ripped.

“We can do that upstairs and that way I can be bound when you bring me down. The other girls will not be because they are bringing their own baskets,” Jennifer said. “Now I expect you to handle me a little roughly. After all, I am not being too compliant here. Weeping, crying, struggling. Realistic.”

“We can do that. But if it’s too overwhelming, remember that we need a safe word to stop and give you time to adjust. What word would you like to use?” Marty said.

“Oh my. You have been in scenes before, haven’t you?” Jennifer asked.

“At U of Illinois, I was in the Thespian society for four years. Can’t make much money with that, so I wound up working here.”

“Great. Okay. The word is ‘blueberry’. If I’m getting panicked, I’ll say something about blueberries,” Jennifer said.

“Okay. Now remember one last thing,” Chris continued, “when we have you locked in the stocks, and the blade is up, you still have the ability to talk. Until you say ‘goodbye’, we won’t drop the blade. Once you say that, I pull the cord and down it comes. So you can act out all you want and say anything you want up until then. The microphone you saw will pick that up whatever you say and we will hear it over the speakers. If you say blueberry, we stop and give you time to either calm down or ask we process you normally.”

“Darling man with the big dick, after paying all my daddy’s money for this party, you can be sure I won’t be doing some secret processing. He would kill me.”

Conversation continued in this vein for the next hour with the gallows humor overcome by fine food and a bottle of last night’s wine for Jennifer and a couple of the other girls who had followed the sounds of conversation and the smell of food downstairs.

Checking the clock and seeing that it was almost eight-thirty, Helen broke into the conversation and said, “Okay, lady. Time to get this show on the road.”

Returning with Helen to the rumpus loft, Jennifer selected a peasant dress with a full skirt and scoop blouse that had a lot of open chest area. Easily opened down the front and back to expose her breasts, it would make a great sight. Sitting there while the rest of the girls were down in the showers at either end of the loft area, Jennifer looked around.
She saw that the six different baskets had been put at the foot of the beds of the ladies in waiting. David had a very organized way of deciding what to do if a woman didn’t want to go through with it. Six wicker baskets, each with separate names on the bottom and separate scents inside. The last thing you ever smell. There was one for each girl, sitting at the foot of their beds. If they decided to bring them downstairs, then they would be standing at the bottom of the stairs watching the ceremony and waiting to be next in line. To give the girls an out when they were on the platform, they had a choice of carrying their baskets open-side up or open-side down. If they were open-side up, then they were in the queue. If the basket was open-side down, or sideways, then they were to be passed over.

If they didn’t bring them down, then they would be sitting in the bleachers watching the entire show. This much was in keeping with the historical behavior of the reign of terror in France. You carried your own head basket and rode to the execution on top of your own coffin. For those too poor, a common basket was re-used.

Jennifer knew that her basket with a combination of maple and cinnamon was already down next to the blade. She had placed it there herself yesterday before the party started. Candy had gone with her to place it and to throw a cloth over the opening to keep the scents from fading overnight. She also noticed a small microphone and camera along the bottom of the munnion block that held her head in place. Candy told her that was so she could give any last minute comments right up to the end.

“I’ve got to give David his due. He has added some nice touches here,” Jennifer said.

“You wanted something different, you got it. People are starting to stir next door. We have an hour to get you ready,” Helen said. “Anything you can think of that we left out?”

“No. We went over the questionnaire again yesterday. Boy, that thing was thorough. And the contract specified all of the things that were going on. I do have a question though. You guys don’t seem to have any human meat here. Why is that?”

“Well, that’s a good question. Really, I think it is because we sell it and we get used to seeing it going away. And I kind of lost the taste for it myself since I became a goat.”

“So you really are supposed to be killed too?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes. All of us with collars are past due. That’s why we can’t leave. If we are caught on the street, we are subject to being picked up and publicly termed.”

“Ugh. That doesn’t seem like it would be fun. So you guys do all this work to help little old sheep like me to get slaughtered nicely?” Jennifer teased.

“You have read blogs about us. We do a lot of careful screening first. Especially with substitutions and inadvertent volunteers. We don’t want anyone here who is not supposed to be here. David is a real stickler about that. The reason we have so many goats is because we do all the intake and processing preparation. Like with the blood tests and urine tests. We’ve got to protect the food supply.”

“Well, I would think it an honor if you kept part of me here for dinner tonight. Fuck me last night, eat me tonight. That sort of thing appeals to my sense of humor.”

“The last night before I came here I told David to fuck his dinner. When he was doing oral on me, I got a kick out of telling him “Eat me now and you can eat me for real later,” Helen said.

“That’s how I feel. David wasn’t in on our rumpus last night, but he can still eat me.”

“Well, I will put that under the heading of last requests, or is it a bequest?”

“Whatever. Just don’t let me go to waste,” Jennifer said. “Should I have my hair up or down?”

“It’s almost long enough to do a French braid,” Helen remarked. “Unless you want the peasant girl looks with pigtails? That would look cute.”

“No. I have the wrong style face for that. I have an angular face, not a round one. I think a braid off one shoulder would work. They can move that up when they lock my head in place, right?”

“Sure. Is all of this costume jewelry?” Helen asked.

“Yes, it’s all junk from the costume shop. You know, I wonder how Marie Antoinette felt when she was waiting for this same sort of thing? You know, if she had talks with her ladies in waiting. Not that you are a servant or anything, but if this is how she felt, thinking about it?”

“Thinking you want to go as a queen instead of a whore?” Helen asked. “And am I your Rosalie?”

“It does fit my flair for the dramatic.”

“Well, we can do that. We can talk to the guys when they come up and we can stage it then.”

Meanwhile, downstairs, the listed guests were coming in. Jennifer had posted the event as part of the drama club’s study of reality-theater, and the history of the 1780s. When David saw that there were over sixty attendees, he knew he would have a crowded bench.

Gus and Max Burke were leading and directing people in from the front door, while David and Margaret were welcoming and checking names against the guest list. David was a bit shocked to see Jennifer’s mother and sister come in with her stepfather. Joe DeFortes was an alderman in Chicago, and one of the most powerful people around. This should be interesting, David thought.

Cindy and Candy were wandering among the seated guests, filling orders for beer and wine and sandwiches. When questioned about drinking at so early an hour, they both responded that it was in keeping with the scene of 1780’s France, where wine was safer than water and coffee was unavailable. Besides, a little drunk was good for the spirit.

At nine-fifteen, David locked the door and took to the shorter stage. Looking toward the audience, he said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, on Jennifer’s behalf, I want to thank you for your attendance today. Jennifer had asked me last week for something out of the ordinary for her termination party and we happily worked with her. This is the culmination of that planning, and as you can see, she has something planned straight out of her history studies. As occasions of that time were often riotous and celebratory, we are encouraging that theme with the serving of wine and food. Please feel free to sample what you see, but do so with respect. Our ladies are to be handled gently.”

“In a few moments, our star will be led down here and will be accompanied by some of her ‘ladies-in-waiting’. For them, this is voluntary and none will be serviced unless they ask. For those of you who are here, I ask that you do not be disrespectful, but treat this occasion kindly and with dignity.”

Circulating within the crowd at the bleachers, David was given a glass of beer and sandwich along with the others. After a few moments, Helen came up to David and said, “We are about to come down. Some small changes in plans, but nothing to worry about.”

Before David could say anything, Chris came around the corner and said, “Could everyone sit down in the bleachers, please?”

As people moved to seats, Chris disappeared back into the hall and shortly re-appeared with Marty. They had a struggling and loud Jennifer between their arms, partially walking and partially carried across the floor to the waiting platform. Following close behind her was five of her friends from the previous evening. Margaret was happy to see that Katie was at the end and not carrying her basket. Margaret pointed her to her mother and aunt’s seats at the end of the bleachers.

Moderately struggling and crying out frequently, Jennifer was obviously in role as a reluctant victim. Chris and Marty were struggling to keep control as well as keep a straight face when she loudly proclaimed that she was a duchess and not some commoner to be dragged to her death. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she suddenly shifted personality in Chris and Marty’s arms. “Okay,” she was heard to say.

“The previous scene,” Jennifer said, “was how the Countess de Roche acted when she was taken to the block. Others were more dignified. Chris, will you do the honors?”

With that, Chris offered her his arm as though an escort, and they walked up the steps to the waiting guillotine. “Now, whatever do I do?” she asked standing there looking toward the crowd.

“With your permission, my lady,” Chris said, getting into the role. “I will loosen this a bit,” he said as he untied the bow at the back of Jennifer’s neck and another between her breasts. This allowed the blouse to fall down and forward. Removing her arms from the sleeves, the dress now fell to her waist, revealing her beautiful breasts. Kissing her neck along the right side, “If I may have your arms?” Chris continued as he pulled Jennifer’s elbows to the rear of her body, forcing her breasts to jut up and out.

Quickly tying a loose figure-eight knot around the elbows to keep the lower hands free but the arms to the rear, Chris made short work of a moderate tie. Then pressing down from Jennifer’s hips, the peasant dress fell to the floor, leaving her nude body to the view of the entire stage.

Marty, in the meantime had brought the wheelbarrow around to the front of the stage just in line with the bed of the guillotine. Seeing that approach, Jennifer commented, “So I see, all ready to catch me and cart me away. What a utilitarian carriage.”

“You do love to talk,” Chris said.

“Yes, I do. Don’t forget to pull the cover off the basket, please?”

Hearing this, Marty pulled the cover away and set it beside the basket. He then moved back to provide an unobstructed view of the stage.

“Chris, dear, am I wet?” Jennifer asked.

Reaching his hand down and sliding his finger along Jennifer’s vulva, he felt a fresh spurt of female moisture along her lower lips. After playing for a few moments while she was standing there, Jennifer gasped, “Now, dear, you know I am sore. Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry that I don’t have more time to play, but as you can see, they have worn me out last night.”

Carefully bending Jennifer over onto the bench, Chris raised her legs up and put them onto the narrow bed. “Oh, this is cold. Don’t let me be here too long, dear,” Jennifer said as she was fully straightened out.

Chris then rolled the bed forward and raised the lower munnion and locked it in place. Moving Jennifer’s French braid out of the way, Chris lowered the upper munnion into place, next he secured the locks that would act as a blade stop. Fastening a belt around Jennifer’s waist and knees to prevent lateral movement during the first few moments after separation, Chris made sure that they were firm, but not binding.

“Are you comfortable, darling?” Chris asked, standing away from the machine.

“Wonderful, thank you. Mmm, that smells delicious. Well, everyone, I guess this is goodbye.”

Hearing that word, Chris pulled the cable that released the blade stop. The sound of the blade cutting through Jennifer’s neck was amplified as a hollow “Whock“ sound. Followed by a plop as her head fell into the basket. Jennifer’s hands flexed and flopped nervously as did her legs and feet. The ladies-in-waiting, waiting at the foot of the stairs did not see the blood, but they did see the urine pooling around Jennifer’s hips on the table. The smell was both sickening and arousing. After a few moments all twitching stopped and Chris signaled to the next in line at the bottom of the stairs who was holding her basket open-side up. “Next?”

Janet Carmen ascended the steps lightly and watched as Chris unlatched the two belts holding Jennifer’s body in place. Giving it a roll, it fell off of the table and bounced onto the stage. Reaching up, Marty rolled it off of the stage and into the waiting wheelbarrow. Setting the basket between Jennifer’s legs, he started the trip back to processing, with bodily fluids leaking along the way.