Posted by PK on March 16, 2002 at 15:31:41:
Well, somebody had to settle the argument.
Helen removed her clothes with the seemingly unselfconscious grace that only a woman
profoundly aware of her body and assured of its flawless beauty can manage. Slipping off her
her shoes, she pulled her short, slinky little black dress over her head and deposited it on the
white linen tablecloth. Her bra and panties, slinky confections in burgundy coloured satin,
spotlessly clean but to every male present doubtless scented with raw woman, went next,
followed by a simple string of pearls. She slipped herself backwards onto the table, reclined,
and then pulled back her knees to expose her buttocks and thighs, hands clasped around her
shins. Her pedicured toes curled just slightly downwards. Her labia were attractively pink,
plump and faintly moist, her pubic hair as neatly cut as the dark, waved tresses on her
perfect head. A pair of soulful brown eyes sought her husband's approval.
"Okay, point taken," Jerry said good-humouredly. "She's just as tasty as the waitress." He
gave his own wife a shrug and a smile. "Well, she is." Her expression said she'd like to argue
the point but couldn't.
His daughter was less reticent. Petra picked up a fork and prodded Helen's right buttock with
it, not hard enough to hurt. "Gotta give it up, Mom, she's juicy. Hope I look that good when
I'm her age." Helen was over thirty, ancient.
None of the other diners in the select little group was inclined to dispute the point.
The waitress returned, looking apprehensive, as well she might. "Are you ready to order?"
She asked. She wore nothing but a frippery of cloth around her waist and, not being stupid,
was acutely conscious of how the order might affect her.
"Let's order Helen," Michael suggested, smiling broadly, hoping the others would take it
seriously and that they would assume that he hadn't if they didn't. Just running it up the
flagpole. To his gratification (and relief) the party responded.
"Can we do that?"
"You've got to be kidding..."
"Why not? You up for it?"
Gina watched the proceedings with mixed emotions. Why am I still here? was a recurring
refrain in her mind these days. Not all the time, just at certain critical moments. Why was
she? 'She's a stayer,' she'd heard Eddie say. What did that mean?
It meant that she'd stick to the job, until she got enough money for her education, or until
being eaten made that target redundant. When had she crossed that line? Donna had been
the first step, obviously. She had seen what happened to her friend, served her to the table
herself, it was then that she'd first decided to leave. But she hadn't. She had come back.
"Can we do that?" somebody asked.
Gina roused herself. This time the question was addressed to her. Do what? she inquired with
an eyebrow.
"Cook Aunt Helen," a pretty redheaded girl explained.
Gina had been halfway sure that her number was up. She had assessed the crowd, she knew
this table was going to go for the big one, she was serving them. No-brainer. So why are you
still here? the anti-Gina anima urged. Animus, whatever. Not antigena, just.....stop that..
"Yes, we - you can," Gina's professional automaton-persona said. "We require consent, of
course." Well, it wouldn't be the first time something like this had happened, but the
circumstances were not exactly the same. "How would you like her cooked?" Half-guiltily, she
glanced at the woman on the table, Helen presumably, and offered a faintly apologetic smile.
Had she jumped the gun? The woman hadn't actually agreed to anything yet. Fortunately,
nobody else noticed the gaffe and Helen merely returned the smile with absent politeness,
their attention was elsewhere.
"Hold on a minute," a man said. The husband? "That's my wife you're all slobbering over."
Yes, the husband.
"Just fooling," somebody lied.
"Who do you think you're kidding, Mike? You've always had a hard on for Helen."
"Who doesn't?" that worthy gent riposted.
The object of the discussion sat up gracefully, but stayed on the table, legs crossed Indian
fashion, like a centerpiece.
"How about it, Hel?" One of the other women this time. There was nothing ambiguous about
this, no attempt to dissemble that a child couldn't have seen through. She meant it.
Once, Gina might have been surprised by this. Not any more, not for some time now. It was
a datum, an obvious and stipulated fact, that the men who came here got off on eating
women or at least dining in a restaurant where that could happen. No-brainer. What Gina had
learned was that many of the women they brought with them got off on it too. Watching other
women being devoured got to them, one way or another. Nothing too surprising in that, not
all of them were expensive mistresses who went wherever their sugar daddy took them, most
of them came here because they wanted to. What was surprising was the proportion of the
customers they comprised. When she'd first started working here, she'd expected almost all
the clientele to be men. In fact, almost half of the tables she served were mixed.
Once that might have shocked her. Not any more. Why am I still here? It was a joke. Why
else am I still here, after what happened to that poor little rich girl?
"Tony?" Helen asked her husband. Asked him what, exactly? Doubtless, as in so many
similar interchanges between the sexes, he was supposed to know.
"What?" he stalled clumsily, trying for innocence. It might make him look like an idiot, but
she'd have to say something. Pray God, let it not be 'you know'.
"What do you think?" Almost as bad. Just as bad.
"I think you look delicious, darling," Tony said resignedly. "You've proven your point,
everybody agrees."
"Really delicious?" Helen smiled mischievously.
Something really hot between those two, Gina concluded. Married for years, she'd bet, but
still hot for each other. It was heartwarming. There was more than a touch of the romantic in
her.
"Really delicious," Tony affirmed, relaxing just a little.
"Won't know for real unless we do it," the young redhead cut in.
"Petra!" her mother hissed.
"Bet she's tasty," Petra barrelled on regardless. "Maybe as tasty as that waitress we had in
Nevada."
Suspicions confirmed. Gina had known instinctively that this group was for real. They'd done
it before. How many times?
"Don't know if she's as tasty as this one," Petra continued, smiling predaciously at Gina.
"We can't eat both of them," some practical soul murmured.
"Let's eat Aunt Helen," Petra said, grinning, exhorting the crowd. Her enthusiasm was clear
and infectious. She had a great career ahead of her as an evangelist or a children's TV
presenter. Or, come to think of it, as an adult TV presenter given what passed for 'adult' on
American network television. A graduate cheerleader had all the required subtlety, was
probably overqualified.......'Tigers go! Rah Rah Rah! Jesus saves! Rah Rah Rah!'
Talented girl, Gina thought. She'll go far. Hopefully as far as the nearest oven, bitch-Gina
snarled.
"How about it, Aunty?"
Helen's mood was hard to read. She was not frightened or disconcerted, she was in another
state entirely. She gazed at her husband as if no-one else existed.
"Do you want me to?" She uncrossed her legs and sat on the edge of the table, knees apart,
feet on either side of her husband's knees. "Do you really want to eat me?"
It's all in the tone of voice and the body language, Gina thought. She likes the idea but is she
just playing or already over the edge? Tiffany had been there before she started working
here, briefly, but in the beginning it must have started something like this.
It's all in the tone of voice and the body language, Gina thought. She likes the idea but is she
just playing or already over the edge? Tiffany had been there before she started working
here, briefly, but in the beginning it must have started something like this.
And Gina saw it. Echoes of 'Now and Zen' by Robert Plant...
"She's so hot she can't stop. Loves like a steam train..Fights like a bobcat.
She's Hell incarnate just walking down your street..."
Helen of Troy.
"She walks like a gunslinger, she laughs, she laughs, she laughs....."
We're rivals, she understood. The group dynamic became clearer as she defined the
relationships. Helen wanted to stay on centre stage, she wouldn't give it up easily. She didn't
normally express it like this, she probably rebuffed all illicit advances while being quietly and
comfortably aware that everyone wanted her. She's bonded to her husband in some very
profound way. This was good news, it meant there was an even chance for her. It could be
tricky, though. One thing Gina was sure of, somebody would get cooked tonight.
It might be me, she told herself and experienced the rush of fear and excitement that came
at moments like this, the sensation that she knew that she was addicted to.
Anthony crossed the Rubicon. Halfway, at least. "If it's what you want..." His throat was thick,
blood pressure heightened by his erection. "You choose."
Helen looked directly at Gina. "You choose," she suggested slyly. "You or me."
Gina tried to look innocent. "It's your choice, Ma'am," she said stiffly.
"How would you cook me?" Helen's expression was in no way innocent. Gina was losing
control.
"We have a variety of recipes" she said without inflection.
"Come on, be honest."
"Roast her whole," Petra suggested.
"Take too long," somebody said.
Gina's professional programming cut in. "Not at all, Sir. We have ovens that can cook a
whole woman in half an hour. Microwaves."
"Half an hour?"
"Well, we could do it in seconds really." Gina said, warming to her theme. Being professional
calmed her. "But getting the right finish takes longer. You can bake a potato in a microwave
in three minutes but it's not as crispy as one done in the oven." Lets's play wild like wildcats
do, her eyes told Helen. You know you want to do it, you just don't know how. You want it to
be perfect. "Or we could cut you up. That way we can cook the various parts differently."
Donna's tits on a plate, her filet in butter, aromatic, she remembered vividly. "Less
spectacular but really better eating." Helen's eyes captured her. Contact. Dark, dark pools.
Fire and brimstone in there under cool water....
The mirror tries to please me
the image wouldn't stay
the stranger is too perfect
to take my breath away.
Helen's eyes were familiar, she had seen them in the mirror. Her or me. Today or later. Hello,
sister-self.
"Tony?" Helen inquired, switching back. Gina stood mesmerised like a rabbit about to be
swallowed by a snake. Not an entirely inappropriate image, she realised. She'll eat me
unless...
Anthony was over the edge himself. Or at least standing on the edge and staggering. What
on Earth could he say?
"I love you," he said. It wasn't what he'd meant to say, it just came out.
"Happy Birthday," Helen replied. "I love you too." She leaned forward and kissed him quickly
on the forehead and then got down off the table and stood facing Gina. "Take me away," she
said boldly. "Bring me back as a feast. I'll trust you to see it's done right." She held out a
hand and Gina took it. They walked out together followed by a wave of animated
conversation.
"Helen...." Tony's voice tailed off behind their backs. What could he say? What did he want
to say?
They were halfway to the kitchen before Gina's mind caught up. She stopped and turned to
face Helen, turning her by the shoulder. She had to say something, despite herself.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked, quietly but urgently. "You know what's going
to happen, don't you? This isn't a game."
Helen gave her a quirky, lopsided smile. Her eyes shone with mischief. "I know. Do you?
"They're going to butcher you and then... what?" Gina stopped.
"I know. I meant, would you rather do it? If I don't, you'll have to. You know it's going to be
one of us, don't you?"
The weird thing was, Gina actually thought about it. Shades of Dickens, she actually
considered saying "Go back to the table, go back to your husband, let them have me instead,
it's my job, I'm a waitress." 'Tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done...her mouth
opened but nothing came out.
Helen's smile broadened. She put her hand between Gina's legs, palm up, and slipped her
forefinger into Gina's cleft. It went in easily, the almost-skirt was no obstacle and of course
Gina had no panties on. She brought it out, slick with moisture and sniffed it, then licked it.
"Ripe, juicy and tender," she pronounced like a connoisseur. "They'd enjoy you. They've
enjoyed girls like you before. Lots of them."
Gina was trembling, she realised. Mustn't come in front of the customers, she reprimanded
herself. No, not a customer, not any more. She's meat. Just meat, like me. We're sisters.
That made it worse.
"Well?" Helen insisted. "Ready yet?"
Gina wanted Helen to touch her again. She wanted more than that. She pulled herself
together with an effort. "I think they'd really rather have you," she said a little breathlessly. It
sounded chickenshit, but it was probably true.
Helen took Gina's hand and tugged it affectionately. "All right then," she said. "Come with
me? This way, isn't it?"
Gina led Helen to the kitchen. Her legs felt unsteady. "Looks like you know your way," she
said, trying for the light touch. "What do you need me for?"
"Oh, I feel safer with you," Helen quipped. "Besides, you want to watch, don't you? So you'll
know what to expect."
"What....?"
"When it's your turn. Of course, you've probably seen it all before."
There wasn't time for an answer to that before they entered the kitchen. The sounds and
smells hit them both like a wave, long before the sights registered.
"Gina?" It was the Chef. "Right. Who ordered you? How do they want you? Come on, girl, we
don't have all day, get that silly skirt off and get over here, you can tell us while we shave
you....."
Gina tried to get a word in edgeways. "It's not...."
The Chef paused, unfamiliar data finally penetrating his busy, blinkered brain. "And who's
this? New girl?" He stared at Helen appraisingly. "Nice. More mature than the usual crop, but
really prime. Her too?"
"Just me," Helen said urbanely as Gina tried to formulate a reply. "Helen Mansfield, table
eight I think." She held out a hand and the Chef took it automatically after wiping his own on
his apron. "My husband booked the party. We've made our selection and it seems it's me."
"Oh." The Chef was taken aback for just a moment before regaining his professional
composure. He gave Helen another, slightly longer appraisal. "Excellent choice if I may say
so," he said, seeming suddenly to have acquired manners. "It will be a pleasure and a
privilege to serve you Miss..er...Mrs Mansfield."
"Under the circumstances, I think you could call me Helen. Shall we begin?"
Chef took her courteously by the arm and led her towards the butchering room at the back.
"I'm afraid we'll have to shave you," he said respectullly, almost apologetically. "Er, down
below." Gina shook her head in wonder. The woman certainly had a way with people.
"Of course," Helen said graciously. "My husband won't want to eat my pussy with hair on. Not
after it's cooked, anyway." She glanced back at Gina. "Coming?"
Oh yeah, Gina thought. Any minute now.
"I can't believe she really did that," Anthony muttered, not for the first time. Was it too late to
fetch her back? Should he try?
"Oh DO buck up, Uncle Tony," Petra said archly in an affected British accent. "I think it was
jolly sporting of Aunt Helen."
"Quite a birthday gift," Michael commented. "Well, Helen always did know what you like."
"Exquisite taste," Cleonie smirked. "Hopefully."
"Anyway," Petra consoled Anthony, "She'll be back in half an hour. On platters, yes..."
"Maybe this is just one of her jokes," Anthony went on regardless. He still couldn't quite grasp
it. Not that he hadn't thought about it, of course, but still...
Another near-naked waitress appeared to replenish their wine. Maybe the other one was
being prepared instead and Helen would serve her and rejoin them. He took a hearty swig
from his glass and refilled it.