Rachel's final practice hunt was scheduled for a Friday, which meant that she would not have to go to work the next day. She was very glad of that because as soon as she meet her eighth opponent she began to speculate on the possibility of more post-hunt "socialization" than she had engaged in with any of the other hunters.

Whereas Rachel couldn't care less whatever happened to Randolf, Scott was someone that she wouldn't mind seeing quite a bit of. Tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, bearded, and gifted with a healthy sensuality that radiated from every pore, Scott was the sort of man who sent little "take me, I'm yours" tingles throughout her body. She tried not to quiver too obviously when they shook hands.

Rachel suggested that, if the two of them did not find each other, they meet at the edge of the woods at about six o'clock. She indicated on a map the spot she had in mind and Scott said that he could find it with no problems at all.

As she made for the woods at a brisk trot, she realized that she was glad that this was not a "real" hunt with the hunter's prize being a roll in the sheets. If that were the case, she might not be very motivated to avoid capture. And she did want to stay motivated. This was the last chance she had to perfect her plan. This was the final dress rehearsal.

This time, she did things in the order that she would have to do them on the day of the hunt with Amanda. She laid out the trail that she intended to leave for Amanda, with all its forks and diversions. It took her forty-five minutes as planned.

Then she made for the site where she planned to prepare for her encounter with Amanda.

Her preparations there broke down into four stages.

The first took her about twenty-five minutes. Not too bad.

Her second and third preps involved creating a pair of defense tools of her own design. She had practiced making them at Colonel Stoneridge's estate using materials nearly identical to what was available on the hunting grounds. Rachel saw no need to waste limited resources constructing the devices today. The second prep could be accomplished in about a half hour. The third in ten minutes.

She moved onto her fourth preparation. That took about fifteen minutes.

So, she could be already for Amanda in just over two hours after leaving the lodge. At that point, Amanda would have been on her trail for an hour. Unless Amanda had the most extraordinary luck, Rachel figured that she would have time to run and set up the trap involving the log and the dry stream bed.

After that was done, there would be nothing to do but wait for Amanda to find her. The longer that took, the better. Rachel would be more fresh and rested and Amanda would be a little weary. Time would provide other benefits, too.

Even though Scott had made a very favorable impression on Rachel, she wasn't completely sure that he could be trusted, and so she decided to disassemble her set-up and leave the site for the day. The next time she came back here, everything would be for real.

Rachel decided to utilize the bulk of the afternoon looking for sources of more and better materials. Part of her plan required binding objects together. The best she do in the way of binding materials were pliable tree barks and long grasses. She would have been much happier if she could have found some vines that were strong but flexible. Wild grapes or ivy would have been ideal, but even morning glories would have been an improvement.

By teatime, she had fairly well given up on trying to find a better natural binding material. She had even tried digging up some roots and found it too time-consuming.

As she sat by the cabin and fed the rabbit, which had now begun to eat out of her hand, she spoke aloud, not really caring whether her voice carried to Scott's ears.

"You know," she told the rabbit, "I think I've got a pretty good plan. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to have a little luck on my side. I don't suppose you could give me one of your feet to use as a good luck charm."

Probably by pure coincidence, the rabbit laid one of its paws on Rachel's thigh.

Rachel laughed. "Thanks, but I wasn't really serious. I suppose though that it wouldn't hurt to wear some sort of amulet or something. After all, the quarry are allowed to wear anything they want. I could wear something around my neck on a chain or a cord. I think probably a lot of hunters carry things for luck. My grandfather used to have a hat that he wore whenever he went fishing. He thought it brought him luck."

Rachel quietly reflected on the image of her grandfather indulging in his favorite pastime. And then...

"I swear she did it again," the rabbit might have reported at the next meeting of his fellow students of human behavior. "She jumped up and hopped up and down and carried on like she was absolutely starkers with happiness. I'm afraid the specimen I've been studying is a bit demented. Well, at least this time she didn't tell me I was 'eeka.' Still don't know what that means."

When Rachel met Scott at their designated rendezvous point, she was in very good spirits.

"You look like you're happier about something more than just having avoided capture all day," Scott commented.

"Oh, you might say that," Rachel acknowledged. "Now, did you think you had come across my trail at all today?"

"Oh, yes." As they walked back to the lodge, Scott related details that confirmed for Rachel that he had, indeed, picked up on the trail that she had intentionally left and he had been led astray several times by the forks. Also, when both tines of a fork seemed to be dead ends, he had realized that she had grabbed a low-hanging branch and that she could have gone in any of several directions. It had taken him a full fifteen minutes to figure out that puzzle.

Satisfied that her attempt at confusion was working, Rachel decided to explore the possibility of some social interactions with Scott.

"So, tell me, Scott, do you hunt women for real?" she asked as they neared the lodge.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Scott replied cheerfully.

"But you don't kill them and eat them, do you?"

"Well, not unless they're sure that's what they really want."

This caused Rachel to come to dead stop and stare at him as though he had suddenly started speaking a language she had never heard.

"Beg pardon? Did I hear you correctly? Are you saying some of the women you hunt WANT to be killed and eaten?" When Amanda had mentioned this during the discussion of the rules of their hunt, Rachel had been tempted to question her, but their conversation had already had already been argumentative enough.

"Uh, yes." Scott seemed as astonished at Rachel's question as she was at his statement.

"You have got to be having me on!" Scott had seemed so open and genuine that Rachel could not believe that he would try to trick her into believing something that simply couldn't be true. "You're telling me that you give women a choice when you catch them and some of them CHOOSE to be eaten? You expect me to actually believe that?"

"Well, uh, actually the choice is made before the hunt." Scott stammered at first but then actually became a bit indignant. "And yes, I expect you to believe that I wouldn't eat a woman who didn't want to be eaten."

"And I'm supposed to believe that because...?"

"Because I don't have any reason to lie to you and because I like to think that a woman of your, well, perception would be able to tell that I'm a honest person. And frankly," Scott looked at her with a bit puzzlement as he said, "I would expect you of all people to believe that."

Now it was Rachel's turn to look puzzled. "Why ME of all people?"

"Well, you are Rachel Jones, right? And not only are you going to let Amanda Blake hunt you, but it's my understanding - from the grapevine, of course - that you suggested it."

"And you think that's because I want to be eaten?"

"That is what happens to almost every woman that Amanda hunts."

"Oh." Rachel suddenly realized that she really had no reason to be angry. "Well, there is that." She laughed and resumed walking. "I suppose this does look like an rather complex attempt at suicide."

"I'm genuinely sorry if I've misunderstood," Scott apologized. "But why, then, are you going to be Amanda's quarry?"

"There's a very long answer to that and I'm not sure I even know all of the parts to it. Maybe we could discuss it over dinner?" Rachel suggested.

"It would be my pleasure," Scott said, "as long as you accept the fact that I'm telling the truth about the women I hunt and eat."

Rachel smiled warmly - she really wanted to have some quality time with Scott. "I believe you're telling me the truth. It's the truth that you're telling me that I'm having a hard time with. You are saying that there are some women who want to be eaten. I have heard the term 'spit muffin,' but I've also heard the terms Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy."

"Spit muffins are a good deal more real, I assure you. There are lots of women who have the fantasy of being eaten and some of them get to the point where the fantasy isn't enough anymore."

Rachel shook her head. "I'm not sure I understand the fantasy. And I'm positive that I don't understand how it wouldn't be enough."

They were almost to the door of the lodge and Scott stopped her, saying, "Rachel, you know how people speculate and talk. There's a general impression around that, when Amanda caught you and was about to eat you, you were rather excited. As far as I know, that's just somebody's guess. But are you saying that you weren't, uh, aroused? Now, if that's too personal, you don't have to answer."

"Oh, I don't mind being personal with you." Rachel tried to let just the right amount of flirtatiousness creep into her tone. "Yes, I was aroused, but, really, I think it had more to do with Amanda and what had just happened between us than what was about to happen."

"Oh, I see." There was a trace of disappointment in Scott's voice.

Oh-oh, I'm losing him, Rachel thought. Better clarify fast. "You see, it was my very first experience with another woman, and I was processing the completely novel experience."

"Ah, then you're not..."

"A lesbian? Oh, no. That is, I am open to men, very open. Not that I'm easy. No, it takes a very special man to get my attention. Er, I don't mean by that, of course, that I'm nearly unattainable. I'm very attainable, by the right man, of course." If Rachel had been standing beside herself, she would have kicked herself in the shin. Instead, she just changed the subject as quickly, if not as smoothly, as possible. "So, uh, you're saying that a lot of women have the fantasy of being eaten and some have to take it beyond fantasy. Do you know a lot of women like that?"

"Well, I know a lot of women with the fantasy. Fortunately, most of them are willing to keep it a fantasy."

"You say 'fortunately.' Now, that confuses me. You say you will hunt and eat them, but does that mean you really don't want to?"

"It's like this: I prefer to see women keep it as a fantasy. I mean, I don't really want to see anyone die. But if a woman decides that she wants to take it to that level, I think she might as well be in the hands of someone who will appreciate her. Mostly, though, I try to discourage it by, uh, making the fantasy so satisfying that there isn't any need to go beyond it."

"Really? How do you do that?" Rachel asked, beginning to move toward the door of the lodge again.

"Well, are you familiar with Peking duck?" Scott opened the door for her.

"Vaguely. Tell me more."

About an hour later, Rachel found herself pulling into the driveway of Scott's suburban home right behind him.

Scott rushed to open Rachel's car door for her. She didn't mind a little bit of traditional treatment from a male.

"Thank you." As she got out of the car, Rachel couldn't help but be impressed with her surroundings. Scott's home was large and very modern-looking and the lawn was spacious and thoroughly enclosed by very tall hedges.

"Now, you're sure you want to go through with this?" Scott asked.

"Sure. I'll try anything once."

"Now, we're going to make this as real as possible, but I don't want you to worry. I'm not foolish enough to try to take Amanda Blake's quarry away from her."

Rachel had made certain that the desk clerk at the lodge knew where she was going and Scott hadn't registered any irritation at that. After all, they had just met and Rachel did seem like a sensible woman, except for the fact that she was volunteering to be hunted by Amanda.

"Yes. You know about what happened to the last fellow who tried to poach me away from Amanda."

"Oh, the story is very familiar to me." Scott made a mock shudder. "Now, in order to make the illusion a bit more complete, it might be a good idea for you to strip out here. Don't worry, I'll take your clothes into the house with me."

Rachel looked around. The hedges seemed to provide complete privacy. Besides, Scott had already seen most of her naked and would be seeing the rest very soon. She stripped and handed her clothes to Scott.

"Emm, I like the effect the evening air has on your skin," Scott commented. "It makes you look a bit like a freshly plucked duck."

"Oh, you say the nicest things."

"Now, one more thing. I hope you won't mind this." Scott pulled a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. "This will make the illusion of your captivity a little more complete."

"Well, we wouldn't want to spoil the illusion," Rachel said with a smile as she held out her hands to Scott.

"This will do for now," Scott said, as he put the cuffs on her. "I do hope, though, that once we get inside, you won't mind having your hands behind you."

"We'll see when we get there."

"If you were an ordinary guest, a lovely young lady that I met in a bar, I would, of course, take you in through the front door," Scott explained, "but since you are a nice, tasty little ducky that I've brought home for dinner, we'll go in the back door that leads directly to the kitchen."

"Of course," Rachel agreed.

Scott had a collar and leash, but decided not to press for the collar. Instead, he clipped the leash to Rachel's handcuffs. "Come along, little duckie."

"Yes, sir." Rachel had experimented only very slightly with bondage, but she was finding this very exciting.

As they passed through the backyard, she noted a brick structure about eight feet long, four feet wide, and five feet tall. There was a chimney on top of it.

"Is that a kiln?" she asked.

"It's an oven."

"Oh. Have you cooked women in it?"

"Yes. All of them volunteers."

Rachel's own trusting nature was surprising her as she stepped through the door that Scott opened for her.

The kitchen was huge, almost as big as Rachel's entire flat, was very well-equipped: a large gas stove and a smaller electric stove; a refrigerator and a standing freezer; ample cabinets and counters, a triple sink with water taps for each basin; and a very large preparation table in the center. The tops of the counters and the prep table were either marble or a very good imitation. There was a cart, rather like a hospital gurney that was set at the same height as the prep table and as the door of a very large oven. In one corner of the room, nine large reddish light bulbs were mounted on three stands. It was apparent that somebody liked to watch television while he or she practiced the culinary arts because video screens were visible from almost every point in the room.

The lighting that Scott activated was not the bright, hospital operating room glare found in most kitchens, but rather soft, gentle mood lighting.

"Very nice," said Rachel. "Obviously you enjoy cooking."

"Among many other things," Scott said with a smile as he deposited her clothing on a counter. "Now, if you are comfortable enough to begin our little role play in earnest, it might be time to put the handcuffs behind you."

Rachel was a bit surprised at how comfortable she felt. She hoped she was not letting her hormones cloud her judgment too much. Possibly, it was time to assert a bit of that judgment just to see if it was still in operation.

"I haven't done much of this sort of thing, but I understand that there are such things as 'safe words.' Maybe we should have one," she suggested as she held out her hands.

"Em, quite right," Scott said as he removed the cuffs and gently turned her about. "Suppose we do this? Let's have a sort of anti-safe word. Something that works like a 'dead man's switch.'"

"Don't know if I like the sound of that." Rachel tried not to sound too serious.

Scott hesitated before cuffing her. "What I have in mind is this: if there's anything wrong, anything you don't like, just say so in so many words. Otherwise, I'll try to just ask yes or no questions and you can respond by saying 'quack' once for yes and twice for no. Do you think that will work?"

"Quack."

"You don't think you'll find that too limiting, do you?"

"Quack, quack."

"Good." Scott clamped the cuffs on Rachel. "Now, those aren't too tight, are they?"

"Quack, quack."

Scott stepped back to admire Rachel from a distance. "Very, very nice."

Rachel bowed her head coyly and blinked her eyes.

"Now, little ducky, you don't have any regrets, do you?"

"Quack, quack."

"You are looking forward to becoming a tasty, beautifully presented dinner, aren't you?"

"Quack."

"You're looking forward to the admiration and appreciation you will receive as main course, aren't you?"

"Quack."

"Are you ready to proceed?"

"Quack."

"Very good. Now, you just stand here patiently while I make some preparations."

"Quack."

A few years ago, Rachel would have never believed that she would go along with something like this. It was quite arousing to be naked with a man of such gentleness and power as Scott, but playing entree was not the first context that came to mind. If she had ever had erotic thoughts about being food, she had suppressed them so completely that she wasn't aware of them. It would have been much simpler to just flirt with Scott and accept an invitation to go home with him without any fantasy involved. Nevertheless, something told her that she would learn something significant tonight.

Scott had placed a pan measuring seven feet long by three feet wide by eighteen inches deep on the gurney, wheeled it over to the prep table, and then slid it onto the table. Rachel looked at it dubiously, wondering how he expected her to climb into it with her hands cuffed.

As though reading her mind, Scott came over, swooped her up in his arms and said, "Don't worry, little ducky. You aren't expected to exert yourself. All you have to do is relax and be dinner."

The pleasant sensation of being taken into the man's powerful arms made Rachel almost want to suggest that they skip the food fantasy and that he carry her someplace else. However, she decided to remain in her role, which she was growing into.

Scott laid her gently in the pan.

"All nice and comfy?"

"Quack."

"Now, I hope you don't mind, but you probably can tell that I like to watch television while I work in the kitchen."

"Quack."

"One of my favorite shows is about to start and I hope that you don't feel slighted if I tune it in."

"Quack???"

"I know that women often get irritated with men when they would rather watch the telly instead of giving them their full attention."

"Quack!" As in, no shit!

"Well, don't worry. I think you'll find this program interesting. It's a cooking show. Women do like cooking shows, I know."

"Quack." Very unenthusiastic agreement.

Smiling, Scott turned on the many televisions in the kitchen, one of which was mounted directly over the prep table.

Rachel looked up and was surprised to see herself in living color lying in the pan.

"Do you see anyone you know, ducky?"

"Quack!"

"Do you think you're going to like this show?"

"Quack!"

"Isn't that a pretty little ducky in the pan?"

"Quack!"

"Oh, I did forget one thing. Just a moment." Scott bustled away, returned in less than a minute. "Here. Sit up and I'll put this on your head. Ducks don't have hair. This will not only keep your hair from getting messed, but it will make you look even more like a duck." He fitted a shower cap over her head and laid her back down. "There doesn't that look even better?"

"Quack!" Rachel found the sight of her naked, bound body, topped by an apparently bald head curiously exciting.

"You just lie there and enjoy the view, while I start preparing the sauce with which I'm going to coat your succulent body."

"Quack." Contented to admire herself.

Rachel heard the clang of pan or two, cabinets and the refrigerator being opened and closed, a jar opened, the whirl of an electric can-opener, some chopping, a bottle being uncorked, some pouring, some stirring. She was far from bored with looking at herself when Scott returned in a few minutes.

"Now, that won't take long to simmer. Can you smell it from here?"

"Quack."

"Doesn't that smell just heavenly?

"Quack."

"Would you like to know what's in it?"

"Quack."

"It's basically a concoction of honey, ginger, vinegar, and sherry with just a few chopped scallions thrown in to provide some variety in the texture. Oh, the mention of the sherry reminds me - would you like a little sip of wine, ducky?"

"Quack."

"I think some white Zinfandel will do nicely." Scott went away and returned in a moment with a full wine glass. "This goes very well with fowl, especially wild game. You are wild, aren't you, ducky?"

"Quack."

"Good. That makes for a much better texture to the meat, as opposed to something raised on a farm, specifically for the dinner table. No, don't sit up. Just lie there and turn your head." Scott held the glass steady so that Rachel could sip from it. "There. Wasn't that good?"

"Quack."

"The sauce will be nice and thick and sticky. We want it to cling to you, but not too much, so, if you don't mind, I'm going to coat your body with olive oil. You won't mind if I apply it by hand, will you?"

"Quack, quack." Not in the least!

She watched on the tv as Scott lovingly and generously applied oil over her entire body, carefully warming it in his meaty hands. Of course, he didn't just smear it on, but instead sensuously massaged her. He turned her over and covered her back, buttocks, and the rear side of her legs, dwelling on her meaty rump.

"Do you like this, little ducky."

"Quaaaaaaaaack."

"You take to this so well, I think it might be fun to prepare you as a suckling pig sometime. Do you like that idea?"

"Oink."

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Scott chuckled. "Now, let's turn you over so you can see your pretty self."

Rachel gazed at herself, all slick and shiny. Her hours in the sun, even under tree cover, had given her a bit of tan and the slight tan-lines from the deerskin halter made her breasts look delicate and tasty.

"Ah, the sauce should be ready. Let me take it off the flame so that it can cool a little before we apply it."

While Scott was gone, Rachel took the opportunity to watch herself writhe in the pan. She was a gorgeous, sleek, delectable young duckling.

"All right. Time to get to the serious business of preparing you." Scott slid the pan back on to the gurney and wheeled Rachel over to the corner with the large lights mounted on stands.

Only when she was directly under it, did Rachel notice a noose depending from the ceiling.

"Let me help you stand up. And let me put a towel under your feet so that you don't slip."

As soon as Rachel was standing, she could see that there were two televisions screens which gave her an excellent view of herself.

Scott got a short step ladder and stood beside Rachel.

"Now, if you will get on tip-toe, ducky, I will secure you with the noose.

Rachel hated to break character, but she did say, "I gave my legs a bit of strain today. Would it be all right if I just stood on the balls of my feet?"

"Well spoken, little duck. Yes, of course. In fact, I'll roll up another towel and put it under your heels so that you can stand there looking pretty without any strain at all." Scott did as promised and then remounted the ladder, slipped the noose over Rachel's head, and pulled it tight enough that he could slip two fingers between her neck and the rope. "That's not uncomfortable, is it?"

"Quack, quack."

"All right. I'm going to work a winch that will draw the noose up. Quack when it gets snug but not enough to cut off your air."

Once Rachel felt the need to stretch her neck just slightly, she quacked and Scott stopped the winch.

"Now, to cover you with sauce."

"Quack!"

Scott applied the sauce with a basting brush, indulging himself and Rachel both by making sure that every inch of her, except for the soles of her feet and what was under the shower cap, was covered with the sauce, which had a deeply sweet smell. Of course, the soft brush alone would have felt good, molding itself to every nuance of curvature in her body. The sauce was so nice and warm and thick. It was as though she were acquiring an extra skin.

The thought drifted through her mind that, if she were to actually wind up wearing Amanda's skin, the sensation might not be much different from this: touched in the most intimate way all over her entire body. Something that was not her and yet clung to her so completely that in silhouette she would appear to be naked. A barrier between herself and the world that was hers and hers alone.

"Does that feel good, little ducky?"

"Quaaaaack!"

She watched the tv screen and saw herself being transformed from her moderately and naturally tanned self into a golden, shimmering delight. Three separate cameras were trained on her and a timer gave her different views of her body at regular intervals. She had never had the opportunity to appreciate her backside so thoroughly. She could barely resist the temptation to caress her ass, but she didn't want to smear the coating. As more and more sauce was added, she began to take on the appearance of a bronzed statue, darkly golden and shiny.

"Do you think you look nice and pretty, little ducky?"

"Quack."

"Can you see how inviting you look? How nice it would be to sink your teeth into yourself?"

"Quack." Rachel actually did feel that she looked delicious. This somewhat surprised her. The sauce changed her appearance enough that it was as though she was looking at something or someone other than herself and she could feel attracted to the image without feeling overly narcissistic.

Scott stepped back to admire his work. He added a brush stroke here and there.

"This is only the first coat. I'm going to turn on the heat lamps and they will help dry the sauce. Then it will be time for at least one more application. Do you like this so far?"

"Quack."

"Do you see that this makes you beautiful and desirable in a different way?"

"Quack."

"Now, the skin is always the best part. In fact, the skin is carefully sliced away from the meat and served with Hoisin sauce and mandarin pancakes as the first course. Very sweet, very aromatic. It's sort of like eating desert first. Have you heard the saying, 'life is short, so eat the desert first?"

"Quack."

"The meat of the duck is sliced up ceremoniously to be served and savored by the diners. The duck's natural juices permeate every sliver of every bite. Finally, the bones are then made into a clear broth with vegetables as a third course and palate cleanser. Three courses out of one juicy little duck. Practically nothing goes to waste. Isn't that wonderful economy, little ducky?"

"Quack."

"Isn't it wonderful to know that almost your entire body will be appreciated as a source of nutrition and flavor?"

"Quack." One of the things that Rachel had appreciated about Amanda's plans for her body was the thoroughness of her intended consumption.

"Now, I'm going to leave you for a few minutes. I've got something special that I've been working on and you may as well be the first to experience it. You do like the idea of being the first to try something new, don't you?"

"Quack."

"Well, you just stay here and enjoy the sight of your beautiful body and the aroma of the sauce and the pleasant feeling you get as the heat dries the sauce and it contracts ever so slightly, like the embrace of a lover who can reach every inch of your body at the same time. If you experience any distress, just call out and I'll be right back. Okay?"

"Quack."

Scott turned on the heat lamps and left the room.

The reddish glow of the light made the sauce appear even darker and richer and, as it began to heat, even more of the aroma was released.

Rachel looked so inviting. She longed to be able to touch herself, to feel the texture of her coated body.

She began to fall in love with the image she saw in the tv screens.

As the sauce dried, it had exactly the effect that Scott had predicted. The contracting sauce caressed her in a way that she had never experienced before. She was aware of the entire surface of her body.

This was sheer bliss.

Suddenly, the door to the outside opened and Rachel heard the sound of somebody entering the room.

She couldn't see who it was, but she soon heard a rich female voice.

"Oh! I wish Scott had told me that he had made arrangements for dinner. It would have saved me stopping at the store."

The woman stepped into Rachel's view. She was big, at least as tall as Amanda, but much more on the voluptuous side with huge breasts and broad hips. Whereas Amanda was an idea model for Red Sonja by Boris Vallejo, this woman could have stepped out of a painting by Peter Paul Rubens. There was a sense of power about her that had nothing to with size or physical strength. A few streaks of grey in her auburn hair added dignity to an already impressive appearance and gave an almost electric look to her face, as though rays were shooting out from her eyes.

"Well, you do look like a wonderful dish," the woman said. "And you look like you're having a very enjoyable time."

"Quack."

"I'm always pleasantly surprised when Scott brings home something nice for dinner. It will take quite a while to cook you, though. I suppose we could just chop off an arm or leg for now and save the rest."

"Quack, quack."

"Or perhaps a breast. Or maybe both."

"Quack, quack!"

"All right, both it will be then."

"Quack! Quack!"

"Now, would you prefer to be dispatched before the removal or would you like to observe their preparation and maybe even their consumption."

"QUACK! QUACK!" As loud as she could manage.

This brought Scott running from wherever he had been.

"Oh, hi, Jane. I didn't hear you drive up."

"Meatboy, you should have let me know that you had already made dinner arrangements. I do think we should have saved her until tomorrow. We can't really do her justice tonight. A shame to give such a pretty thing such brief treatment." There was a mildly scolding tone in her voice.

"Oh, Rachel isn't here to be dinner," Scott explained. "This is more in the nature of an introduction to fantasy land. And, in speaking of introductions, Jane, this is Rachel. Rachel, Jane."

Rachel decided that it would be all right to break character for a moment. "Pleased to meet you. I have an aunt named Jayne. She spells her name with a Y."

"Oh," said Jane. "I spell it with a J."

"So does she."

There seemed to be a breakdown in communication, which Scott filled by saying, "I had a practice hunt with Rachel today. She's the one who's preparing for a hunt with Amanda Blake in a couple weeks."

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Jane. "Well, that definitely takes her off our menu."

"Quack."

"Rachel is doing the Peking duck scenario and I thought we would let her be the first to experience something new," Scott said.

"Oh, Meatboy! You mean you've been busy in your workshop? How nice! Such a productive fellow."

Scott blushed at the praise. "Would you like to see it?"

"By all means. You will excuse us, Rachel?"

"Quack."

Rachel continued to admire her televised image during the very brief absence of the two.

It was a disappointment, but hardly a surprise, to find that Scott had a significant woman in his life. How could it be otherwise? Even if theirs was not a committed relationship, if Jane was the only type of woman Scott was drawn to, Rachel recognized that she didn't have a chance. However, Scott seemed to have a very broad range of taste and Jane not only appeared extremely self-confident, but she also radiated a sort of generosity of spirit. It was also clear that Jane had found Rachel appealing.

So far, Rachel had confined her sexual adventures to one-on-one encounters. Her last hunt with Amanda had led to a first-time experience that had broadened her horizons considerably. Then Rachel had been minutes away from death. Now the smart money said that she was a couple weeks from an encounter with mortality. It might be time to branch out again. "I'll try anything once," had seemed to have become her motto. Maybe it should go on her tombstone, if she ever had one. What did Amanda do with the inedible parts of her quarry? Bury them reverently? Fertilize the garden with them? Put them down the garbage disposal? Donate them to a school?

Morbid and irrelevant thoughts, Rachel realized. Back to the matter at hand: she wanted to get laid.

It was pretty clear from the energies between Scott and Jane that Jane was in charge. Whatever happened among the three of them would depend on what Jane wanted. She was aware of Rachel's situation and would surely understand her desire for a fling. She might also be rather proud of Scott and anxious to show him off, as it were.

All Rachel could do, however, was to be her usual cute, lovable, sexy self and see if there were any takers. Her presentation as a honey-coated duck ready for the oven certainly enhanced her charms.

Rachel's reverie was interrupted by Scott and Jane returning to the kitchen pushing a large metal device that had an unambiguous purpose.

"Look, ducky, at the nice new toy my Meatboy has built for us. Isn't he clever?"

"Quack." Rachel wasn't about to disagree with Jane.

"I think our little duck's first coating of sauce should be dry by now," Scott said.

"Em, let me check." Jane ran her hands over Rachel's legs, buttocks, belly, and breasts, inspecting much more thoroughly than necessary. Rachel did her best to convey the fact that she was enjoying the attention. "Yes, I think she's already for her second coat."

"Ducky, you do know what this is, don't you?" Scott laid his hand on the contraption.

"Quack."

"Oh, a bright little duck!" Jane complemented. "Yes, it's a mechanically rotating spit large enough to hold a human or pleasingly over-sized duck. Not uncommon at all. But can you guess what my inventive Meatboy has added to it to make it special?"

"Quack, quack."

"Tell her, Scott."

"Well, this has a variable speed. Now, that's not all that uncommon either, and, actually, it doesn't have that much to do with how well the meat gets cooked. But it can make being roasted a much more pleasurable experience for the roastee, mainly because of this." Scott held up a small black object. "This is a remote control device that can be held by the roastee. As long as he (or she) remains conscious, he can control how long his anterior or posterior side is exposed to the heat. It can extend spitted longevity considerably."

"Yes," said Jane. "Some meatboys and girls want it to go and on and on. And that also makes it more enjoyable for the spectators, too."

"It should also give the roastee more of a sense of participation in the process. It will be more like he's cooking himself for the diners rather than being cooked. I'm hoping to refine the control so that if a roastee practices with it in trial runs before the big day, he (or she) might be able to cook parts of his (or her) body so that they are ready to be sliced off and served before he (or she) gives it up."

"Yes. I know that some meatboys just cream over the idea that they might be able to watch slices of their rumps being eaten before their eyes. Don't they, Scott?"

"Yes." Scott's agreement was unconditional.

"So, Rachel, I mean, ducky, you can be the first to try this out. Don't you feel honored?" Jane asked.

"Quack." Actually, Rachel agreed more from a sense of being willing to please than from anything else.

"Well, good. Let's get our ducky and get her on the spit and baste her some more," Jane decreed.

A very fine mesh fishnet was spread out on the preparation table. After carefully removing the noose, Scott and Jane laid Rachel on the net, inserted the metal spit between her back and her bound wrists, placed the remote control in her hands, crossed her ankles behind the spit, and then wrapped the net tightly around her several times, Scott holding up one end of the spit while Jane handled the net. Then they carried the spit bearing Rachel to the rest of the apparatus, placing one end on a yoke and the other in hole in the mechanical part of the rotisserie.

Rachel's head had been left free of the net, which supported her weight so evenly that she had no sense of it digging into her skin. Of course, the hardened coating of sauce helped with that.

"All right, little ducky. Are you ready for your big ride?" Scott asked.

"Quack."

"How about a blindfold?" Jane asked. "It would help you concentrate on the physical sensations. Would you like a blindfold?"

"Quack." Why not? Rachel figured.

Blindfolded, secured to a spit, in the company of people she had only met that day, Rachel felt curiously safe and at peace. She didn't bother to question her own motivations.

She could feel that the heat lamps had been moved so that she was now surrounded by them. One of the lamp stands had been laid on the floor beneath her.

"You may start yourself turning whenever you feel like it, ducky. Now, there is a manual override for the controls, so don't worry that if spin out of control we won't be able to stop you," Scott assured her. "Once you start turning, we'll begin basting you some more."

"Relax and enjoy the ride, Rachel," Jane said warmly.

Once she began turning, Rachel experienced a delightful sensation. She had developed a theory that amusement parks were to the kinetic sense what a symphony orchestra was to the auditory sense. Of course, the tune played by the rotisserie was simplicity itself, but at least she could increase or decrease the tempo, even stop the beat completely is she wanted to.

Soon she felt the strokes of the soft brushes as Scott and Jane began to baste her. Once again, the heat of the lamps caused the sauce to release more of its delicious aroma. The heat itself felt so pleasant, so comforting. The support of the net was so complete that she began to have only a vague idea of which way was up; her main clue as to her orientation came from the strokes of the basting brushes. She decided to stop the rotation momentarily so that her host and hostess could apply more sauce to her front side.

"It seems our little ducky is very proud of her breasts and tummy," said Jayne. "She wants us to be sure to notice them."

"Well, she has right to be proud. Wouldn't she just be delicious?"

"Yes, Meatboy. You bring home some of the nicest treats."

"Oh, she's turning again. She's riding that spit so well that I don't think she will want to stop."

"Em. If this were for real, she wouldn't have to stop. It would just go on forever and ever as far as she would know," Jane mused.

"Ah, yes."

"You're a little jealous, aren't you, Meatboy?"

"Well, uh, yes."

"Don't you worry, Scottie. You'll get your chance soon enough. Do you think our little ducky will want to come back and play with us again?"

"Oh, I think she would like to. In fact, she indicated she would like to be a piggy the next time. Of course, she'll have to make it through her date with Amanda in order to do that."

"Yes, I hope she makes it. It would be a shame not to see our little duckling again. Of course, knowing Amanda's track record, perhaps we should be as nice to Rachel as possible," Jane mused. "Maybe we could make this so pleasant for her that it will give her something else to live for."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Em. I thought my nice big Meatboy would like that. I think Rachel probably likes the idea, too."

Rachel resisted the impulse to declare herself with an exclamation. Instead, she silently mouthed the word, "Quack."

Jane and Scott both chuckled and continued to baste Rachel lovingly.

It appeared that the night would turn out just the way Rachel had hoped.

She decided to do just what Jane had suggested: she relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

The aroma of the sauce.

The gentle pressure of the net encasing her and ever so slightly restricting her breathing and producing a very mild asphyxiation high.

The heat of the lamps.

The turning of the spit, causing some disorientation and dizziness.

The strokes of the basting brushes, somehow enhanced by the caramelized shell that surrounded her.

The lust and appreciation she felt coming from Scott and Jane.

The inability to stimulate herself, though she was very aroused.

And the thought of herself as meat, as an attractive dish to be consumed, an apparently novel fantasy for her that may have been lying dormant but was now perking to the surface with gusto.

All of this combined to bring Rachel to a plateau of quiet but intense arousal.

She decided to experiment with the remote control a bit more.

She had always loved amusement parks. Even merry-go-rounds on playgrounds when she was a child.

Whirling kinetic sensation that seemed to involve her whole body, not just a localized sense organ.

Merry-go-rounds!

Oh, the merry-go-round broke down
and we went round and round.
Each time 'twould miss we'd steal a kiss,
And the merry-go-round went
um pah-pah, um pah-pah,
Um pah, um pah, um pah-pah-pah.

Silly old Warner Brothers cartoon theme song.

Probably the most often heard theme in the world.

Oh, the merry-go-round broke down
and it made the darndest sound.
The lights went low and we both said "oh!"
And the merry-go-round went...

Serious studio musicians putting all of their professional talent into making music to introduce animated characters that would make children and adults laugh for generations.

Oh, the merry-go-round broke down
but you don't see me frown.
Things turned out fine and now she's mine
Cause the merry-go-round went...

Absolutely the happiest music there ever was because every time you heard it, you knew you were going to laugh and have a good time.

Have a good time.

Oh, what fun - a wonderful time -
finding love for only a dime!

Have a wonderful time!

Would there really be anything that anybody would rather to be able to say, as her last words, than "I had a wonderful time"?

Wouldn't that be the best thing ever?

"I had a wonderful time."

What more could you give someone than a wonderful time?

"We'll have a good ol' time," Marsha had assured her.

And she was having a good time now.

A wonderful time.

She was feeling marvelous, desired, excited, aroused, appreciated.

What if all this were real?

What if she really were going to be eaten?

If she was having this much fun, did it matter? Really?

She would be able to say, "I had a wonderful time."

"The merry-go-round broke down."

Whirling, dizzy, disoriented, intensely stimulated, thinking about a good time, Rachel's merry-go-round did break down.

She passed out.

And, some time later.

Became aware again.

Still blindfolded, she felt herself being bitten.

No, not quite bitten.

Somebody was nibbling at her.

There was crunching and chewing and she felt something being pried away from her skin and her skin being exposed the air as though she had never felt it before and it was all strange and new and if she thought about it she could figure out what was going on but it just felt so good why bother because she was having a good time and that's all that really mattered and somebody else was having a good time because she was hearing moans of pleasure and people were saying nice things about her and it was all really very nice but I have to get up and be going but why leave because it all feels so good and so delicious...

"Delicious. She is absolutely delicious."

Some woman was saying that.

"Really, Meatboy, you've outdone yourself. This is perfect." That would be Jane talking.

"Thank you." That would be Scott speaking. "Oh, look. I think our little ducky is coming back to us."

"Yes. She doesn't want to miss out on a good time. Hi, Rachel. Did you enjoy the ride?"

"Quack."

"Oh, you can stop quacking now," Scott told her. "The pretty little ducky is all roasted and taken off the spit and now she's being eaten. Would you like to join us?"

"Quack. I mean, sure. Uh, can I have the blindfold off now and can you free my hands?"

Jane laughed. "You really were out of it. You can take the blindfold off yourself because we took the cuffs off your wrists before we laid you on your back."

"Oh, how very thoughtful of you. Thank you." Rachel heard the coating crack and felt some of it flake off as she moved her arms to remove the blindfold. When she could see again, the first thing she said was, "Oh, you've taken off your clothes."

"We thought it would hardly be polite to remain clothed while you were naked," Jane explained.

"Again, very thoughtful. Thank you very much." Rachel really was thankful: Jane and Scott were gorgeous, a wonderful sight to wake up to. "And you're pretending to eat me."

"Well, actually, we aren't pretending. We are eating you," Scott said calmly.

"Beg pardon?" Rachel suddenly sat up to check herself for missing parts.

"Don't worry," Jane laughed. "What Meatboy means is that the sauce works a bit like an exfoliating face mask. When we peal or bite it off, some of your dead skin cells come with it. Not much more than would come off in a vigorous shower, but with each bite we take, little tiny parts of you are becoming part of us."

"What a lovely, lovely thought." Rachel laid back down.

"Would you care to have a few bites of yourself yourself?" Scott asked.

"Sure." Rachel accepted the chunk of hardened sauce that Scott offered her. When she bit into it, it reminded her of a Greek pastry she had tasted once. Baklava? Something like that. But she also imagined that she was tasting herself. Maybe she was. "Em. I am good!"

"To the last bite," Jane said.

And it proved to be true. Before the three were finished, every last bit of the Rachel-enriched coating had been consumed.

It ended with Jane and Scott taking turns nibbling away at Rachel's most intimate parts, after she eagerly gave her permission.

That, of course, put everyone in a very friendly mood and they all proceeded to the master bedroom to act out on the good feelings that had been aroused within them.

Scott, being a thoughtful man, made sure that both women had been satisfied twice before he allowed them to return the favor and finally let the sturdy cock that had been at attention for most of the night relax.

When he got up for a trip to the bathroom, Rachel said to Jane, "Thank you very much for sharing your man with me. You are a very lucky woman."

"Oh, Meatboy knows his job and does it very well."

"If you don't mind my asking, why do you call him 'Meatboy'?"

"Let's just say that one reason why Scott is so good at fulfilling the gynophagia fantasies of the women that he brings home is that he has what you might call an extreme empathy with them. You may take that to mean whatever you wish."

Rachel was pretty sure that she could guess the correct meaning of Jane's words.

Scott's return to bed marked the beginning of another, even more prolonged three-way exchange of pleasures at the end of which, Rachel found herself snuggled between the two massive bodies, feeling very much like a frankfurter in a very large bun.

Scott's attentiveness continued into the morning when he announced to the two cuddling women that breakfast was served.

He had gone all out, providing a traditional hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, fried bread, mushrooms, and black pudding Rachel somewhat regretted that she had to eat light because of the long day's worth of work at Colonel's Stoneridge's estate that was ahead of her.

"Em. That was terrific," Rachel said. "My whole experience here has been terrific. I've had a wonderful time."

"So did we." Jane spoke for both. "We hope you'll be back for another sometime."

"Me, too." There was some unavoidable gravity in Rachel's voice.

"Rachel, are you really going to let Amanda hunt you?" Scott asked the question.

"At the moment," Rachel said, "the answer is 'yes.'"

"Why?" Jane asked. "You don't feel that you owe to her because she saved your life, do you?"

"It's not that exactly. Amanda's done something nice for me, and I want to do something nice for her. She not only saved my life; she's made my life better in so many ways. If I hadn't met Amanda, I wouldn't have met you. Maybe this isn't the right thing to do, but at this moment, it seems like it is."

"Yes," said Scott, "but if you lose..."

"'If,' said Rachel. "I don't plan to."

That was the first time she had said that with confidence.