That afternoon Leon took Anne and Rae back to the girl park. Rae pointed to the ground and Anne lay on her back. They copulated on the grass, just like old times in front of Mr. Jones' whorehouse.
Anne lay panting from the exercise afterwards; she opened her eyes to see a circle of girls above her. Rae nodded and the first one took her, followed by the others. Afterwards they sat and talked, with Anne still on her back in the center.
They played idly with the hollows and hills of her body, caressing and squeezing her as they talked, dipping into a wet place and drawing circles on her like finger paint while she held her mouth shut and made little sounds that escaped through her nose.
They knew about Conchita and Cara; some were taken to the arena that day by their masters and thought the performances went off very nicely. They hoped to do as well at their own.
The owner of the two was a retired librarian, a kindly older gentleman. He inherited them from his aunt who died in mysterious circumstances at a ladies' brothel. He let them choose the manner of their termination; everyone agreed that was a very thoughtful gesture, so like him.
He lived with his sister and invited her to decide where they should go afterwards; she pinched and prodded each of the girls and measured them with her hands before selecting Cara - more tender - for a tribe in the hills.
Conchita would go to the carnivores at the city zoo. She was a little put out at this; but Oscar told her how much the animals would benefit and she brightened.
At the arena, Conchita asked to kiss the knife when the executioner raised it and he let her. A very poignant moment, they thought.
Cara was next; she asked to be hanged, to remain whole for the tribe. She wriggled for a while after the drop. It looked as if she was making love, the crowd liked that and some even applauded. After it stopped a cart carried her away.
A beautiful ceremony, someone said. The ultimate form of submission and the two girls' last gift to the world.
Or next to last; neither of them went to waste. The tigers dined well and the tribal feast was a success.
Marisa, a young girl with only a few marks of the whip on her slender body, listened to the tale with her eyes wide. A trader had just sold her to a brothel and she saw her own future unfold in the story.
Rae patted her on the thigh and said not to worry, there was not enough meat on her yet. They all laughed at this.
They discussed their own futures. Ramona was a generously proportioned girl at a high-class "establishment" that catered to wealthy men with exotic tastes. She had seen some good times there, but she sensed they were coming to an end. She would probably be sold to a workingmen's brothel in the city until she was worn out and then to a tribe.
Marisa wondered aloud what it was like to be gutted for roasting. No one responded.
Anne could tell her. She had come the closest, hung by her heels from a barn roof like a pig, with the offal tub below her head to catch the "innards" when she was opened. She still bore a shallow line down her belly to guide Francesca's big knife.
It was one of the most intense experiences of her life. A rustic sacrament, a farmers' ritual as holy in its way as the priestess Sofia giving herself to the god of the underworld on his dark altar.
She envied Sofia; they were sisters, like the streetwalkers she saw in the barrio. Anne smiled at the thought. But she did not know if she was allowed to speak to this group or was just a kind of dumb pet for them.
Irene wore a black ribbon and was to be "done" soon, but the waiting list was filled for the next several weeks. Owners were culling their herds to make room for the summer auctions and the arena accepted no more than two girls a day. Though sometimes a vacancy occurred and you could be moved up.
She was anxious over the uncertainty, and the others made an effort to comfort her. Her last days would pass quickly enough and a date set that she could rely on. She smiled wanly and thanked them.
