.. y'know... How did it feel?" Your eyelids flutter and your hand drops beneath the hem of your skirt, and it's a moment before you answer your friend. "Oh. My. God. It just felt... it felt amazing. I know we were at school, but god I wanted to touch it so badly..." You take a swig of beer, and my mind is made up. This - whatever this is - has to stop. And someone has to teach my little girl a lesson. I tighten my fingers on the handle of your door, swinging it open and striding into the room. "Faye! What the hell do you think you're doing?" The phone dropped from your shoulder, bouncing to the floor and disconnecting Kristen. You look at me, your eyes wide, one hand still clutching the half-empty beer, the other buried between your thighs. "D-daddy?" I cross the room in two strides, grabbing the beer from your hand. "What is this?" I ask, my face set in a look of stern reproach. You only look up at me, your eyes wide, completely frozen, one hand still open as if grasping the bottle,. That was certainly true, but he could not bear to think of her beingcooked live over a roasting pit. She could not convince him that O-drugs madethe orgasms grow in direct proportion to the intensity of pain, and that theimmensity of the pleasure would overwhelm the underlying agony of her roastingflesh. He had studied the eyes of countless live meat girls as they turnedon their spits over the fire, but it was impossible to tell if they were reactingto the pain or the ecstasy. She had sighed and dropped the subject, and theyhad made spectacular love that one last time. But his denial of her final requestleft him with an unshakable sense of guilt. He did follow through on one important promise.He established a weekly ritual in which he cooked a portion of her meat, takenfrom its shrine in his freezer, and shared it with a Prime Grade girl fromthe Musgrave livestock in an elegant setting replete with candles, fine wine,his best dinnerware and a profusion of flowers. Aprille's silver.
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