Posted by Sawney Beane on June 20, 2007 at 05:24:57:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #103
BIRTHDAY PRESENT / AFTERMATH
by Sawney Beane
11 - 12 November 2003; 10 December 2003
5,673 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Not a true story, but this one almost feels like it to me. To be honest, this one really freaks me out. Part 2 is without a doubt the most horrible thing I have ever written-me giving voice to the way I would really feel if I ever found myself in that place.
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Part 1 - The Present
Amanda had waited for her birthday with breathless anticipation for many months. Whenever she imagined it, she was overcome with a mixture of emotions that ranged from terror to joy to arousal. She wasn't sure whether her anticipation was dread or eagerness or both. Whatever it was, the big red "X" that had been marked on the calendar in the kitchen has haunted her days and nights.
She had been with him for nearly a year. He had arranged for her to discreetly come to live with him shortly after her last birthday. No one knew where she was, so she had to keep out of sight and could not go out of the house. It was oppressive in a way, but he brought her DVD movies to watch and whatever other amusements she asked for. Overall, he had been very kind to her.
In fact, if she had any complaints, it was that he had been too gentle. She had asked for humiliation and pain. It was what she had expected when she'd set out looking for someone like him. He did play with bondage and some light punishment, but it was always self-conscious and limited. She knew he did it only to please her and that he got no real pleasure from it. She wondered if he would really be able to give her the birthday gift he had promised her.
The big day came finally. She had not slept the night before. It was early in the morning when she followed him into the living room. There were a dozen brightly coloured gifts on the coffee table waiting for her.
They laughed and smiled as she opened the gifts. But the pile of gadgets began to appear ominous after several had been opened. Among her presents, she found a set of premium knives, a hacksaw, a packet of cable-ties and a tool to attach them, a leather bit with a band to go around her head, several bundles of long soft cotton cord, packages of bandages, and a plastic bucket. Several other tools she could not identify. Each package she opened sent her heart into her throat in mixed terror and excitement.
Just when she thought she could take no more, he handed her the last present, a small package with a purple bow. As she opened it, he said softly to her, "Amanda, darling, you will decide whether or not you will use all of your presents except this one. This one you must use."
She opened the small box and found a thin gold necklace attached to a heart-shaped pendant with a diamond in its centre. Oddly, this present she found most heart wrenching of all. She hugged him with tears in her eyes as he fastened it around her neck. It looked beautiful with her silk bathrobe.
The day passed strangely uneventfully. He never mentioned the real present, the one he had promised her when she came to live with him. He never explained what all of her violent gifts were intended for. If anything, he was more attentive and gentle to her this day than usual. He was alert to grant her every wish, and she felt a strange happiness that she rarely felt. It was a feeling of freedom and release from cares, but there was something else. The dread was still there in the back of her mind, but there was something else she could not pinpoint.
There was no birthday cake for her. She had been fasting for three days. He had explained it all to her once, but she usually just did as he told her to. The odd thing today, though, was that he did not eat either. They shared a bottle of red wine at midday, but there was nothing else to eat all day. There was very little food left in the house anyway. He had stopped buying frozen foods a month earlier, and the freezer was nearly empty.
By late afternoon, Amanda was beginning to worry that he had forgotten or decided against giving her the gift she so craved. It was almost dark when he left her for the first time that day and went to sit on the deck behind the house. He sat there silently staring into the distance for a while before he finally called to her to come out and sit with him. The sun was just setting over the horizon.
He spoke to her, but he didn't look at her. He stared at the setting sun and spoke calmly with little emotion. "Amanda, I wanted you to see this. If you choose it, this will be your last sunset. It will begin as soon as we go back into the house. I want you to know that I will not be disappointed if you choose not to go through with it. Whatever you choose, it will not change the way I feel about you." The sun had just disappeared beyond the horizon.
Amanda's heart was in her throat again. This was the moment she had waited three years to see. It was in some ways just as she had imagined and in others so different. It was beautiful and terrible. Her voice quivered as she replied. "I want it."
He did not reply, but he stood up and took her hand and led her back into the house. He sent her to the upstairs bathroom to prepare herself. The downstairs bathtub they had not used for a week. He obsessively scrubbed it every day. It had to be clean enough to eat out of. He waited for her downstairs.
She wanted to do a good job. She showered, scrubbed, shaved, and generally made sure every inch of her was as perfect as it could be. She did not want to disappoint him. She wanted him to be impressed with her carefulness. She came downstairs an hour later wearing her slippers, her silk bathrobe, and her birthday necklace. He was not disappointed.
"You look good enough to eat, my dear," he said as she came downstairs and embraced him. He seemed oddly happy and sad at the same time.
"I have a feeling you could arrange that," she replied with a smile.
They walked together into the downstairs bathroom. Inside, he had arranged all of her birthday presents neatly across the counter. The bucket was in the bathtub. He slid the bathrobe off of her shoulders, and she watched it fall to the floor, her heart pounding. He held her body gently, almost imperceptibly guiding it according to his will. She released herself to him, feeling almost as if it was already over.
She found herself effortlessly lifted onto the long counter next to the sink. The marble was cold on her bare back, but she closed her eyes and stretched her body, feeling the sweet terror collect deep within her. For now it was only kinky. He was doing something he hadn't done before, something that felt marvellous. She couldn't see clearly, but after several minutes, he showed her a small sandwich bag full of fur. She looked down with wide eyes and ran her fingers across the smooth bare skin between her legs. "It tends to stick in one's throat," he said with a devious smile. It made her feel small and helpless. She felt naked and vulnerable, which she very much was.
He sat her up on the counter and tied her shoulder-length brownish blonde hair into a tight ponytail and slid his dangerous fingers across the smooth skin of her exposed throat. She felt how real this was, and the terror continued to build up within her. All of her doubts about his ability to carry it out fluttered away. He removed her slippers, and now she wore nothing except her birthday necklace.
He asked her to climb into the bathtub, which she did without hesitation. She reclined in the tub with her feet toward the faucets and her shoulders resting on the foot of the tub. He pulled out several lengths of rope and tied her ankles firmly together; then he tied her knees together to prevent her from involuntarily kicking. He tied her left wrist behind her back to a rope running around her waist. Her right arm remained free.
He removed his clothes and climbed into the tub with her. His knees straddled her waist. She watched in mute anticipation as he took one of the cable ties and looped it around her right upper arm. He tightened it gently by hand until it fit snugly against her skin, and then he adjusted it so it was close to her armpit. It was beginning to look like he might actually do it to her.
They had discussed many times how her final evening would go. She knew what was in store for her, but she did not know the details. He had explained why she could not be spit-roasted as she wanted to be. If he cooked her all at one time, there was no way he would be able to eat all of her before she spoiled, and the one thing he refused to do was waste the tiniest part of her precious body. So it had to be this way, which had been her second choice.
He spoke to her in a soft, controlled voice. "Amanda, my dear, this is the point of no return. Once I begin, there can be no turning back. Are we going to do this today?"
The terror battled ferociously with the excitement within her, but the excitement won out in the end. "Yes, do it," she replied softly.
He slid the bit into her mouth and strapped it firmly around her head. Then he took the cable tie tool and tightened the plastic strap around her arm. The plastic dug deep into her flesh without breaking the skin, but it made her muscles and skin look like a twisted balloon, and it seemed to be barely wider than the bone of her arm. It caused her pain, even before he began the cut, she yelped into the bit, but little sound emerged.
He looked at her eyes to make sure they were still saying continue before he slid the knife into her skin just below the cable tie. He made a three-inch gash and then paused to look into her eyes again. She knew he was thinking he could probably patch this up if she changed her mind now. She bravely urged him on, despite the pain that was tearing through her body. At the same time, she stared at the fingers of her right hand, twitching wildly, as if they knew they were doomed. They seemed a foreign thing to her.
He turned to his work and quickly and carefully severed the flesh of her arm with the knife, following with the hacksaw to sever the bone. She had often told him she had a high pain threshold, and nothing he had done to her before had even challenged her tolerance, but this was something entirely different. The pain that ripped her body and mind was something she had never imagined possible. Her screams ended at the bit.
He held the severed arm and allowed it to bleed into the bucket. Surprisingly little blood flowed from her shoulder; the cable tie saved her life. She felt light-headed looking at her own limb from an unnatural perspective. He quickly bandaged her shoulder in gauze and plastic wrap to ensure that she would not bleed.
He climbed out of the tub, untied her legs, and helped her to stand up. She felt dizzy, and the pain was still considerable, but it was receding to a dull ache. They went into the kitchen together. He held her left hand in his right hand and carried the bucket containing her severed right arm with his left hand.
Once in the kitchen, he helped her sit down comfortably while he set about making dinner. He cut the arm in half just above the elbow using a vicious cleaver. The forearm and hand remained on the counter where Amanda could watch it, while he took the seven-inch long cylinder of flesh that had once been her bicep and placed it into a cooking dish. He rubbed it with various spices and added a few potatoes and carrots to the dish before sliding it into the oven.
Amanda kept staring in turn at her bandaged and truncated right shoulder, at the delicate hand resting nonchalantly on the counter, at the roast in the lighted oven, and at the man who had been too gentle with her for so long. She could not believe her eyes. The terror was still fighting the excitement, but she felt a strange exhilaration. Something about this felt so right, so perfect, despite how horrible and painful it all was.
It was ten o'clock when dinner went into the oven. He talked to her for two hours while they waited. Their discussion ranged from deep emotional topics to light banter that seemed incongruous given her current state.
He filled two glasses half full with white wine and then filled the glasses with blood that had drained from her arm into the bucket. She watched in fascination as the blood diffused into the wine in long red wisps. He proposed a toast to her, and they both drank the strange drink. It had a metallic flavour that was initially unpleasant but got better as she drank more. Just before dinner, he refilled their glasses with more of the venous kir he had invented.
At midnight, he pulled the roast from the oven and placed it on the table in front of her. Her heart raced as he cut the first small bite from the meat and placed it in his mouth. She watched his face intently, but he smiled ecstatically. He said she was already his favourite food. He said she was even better than he had expected. He said she was delicious. The second small bite, he offered to her.
How odd it was that she was about to become her own last meal. She tasted the tender flesh, and it was like no other food she had ever tasted. It was tender like pork but flavourful like beef, and it had some aspects she could not even begin to describe. Perhaps it was sentimental and a bit conceited, but she immediately decided that she was her favourite food as well.
The dinner did not last long, despite the fact that he had to cut pieces for both of them. He ate about two thirds of the meal himself and gave her the remaining third. She had the odd thought that he would eventually eat her share as well when he ate her stomach. When it was done, they both craved more. Alas, for her there would be no more. He hugged her tenderly and thanked her for her contribution to the perfect meal and the many meals that would follow it.
But the time for sentiment was waning. The terrible deed had to be completed. But now the terror was losing ground. The expectation of more pain was substantial, but overall she began to feel peaceful and happy. She knew she had made the right choice.
He led her back into the bathroom and sat her back down on the counter. He took an electric shears and, without a word, began with long sweeping motions, to remove the golden-brown hair from her head. It came off in a mass connected by the ponytail tie. He held her hair for a moment before laying it aside. She was amazed by the feel and look of her closely cropped hair. She was not quite bald, but her head was covered in centimetre long hairs, which gave her the look of a military recruit. She had not even imagined this part.
He led her back into the bathtub and retied her legs. He pulled a cable tie tight around her upper left arm. He spoke to her gently before reattaching her bit. "Just let me know anytime if you want me to cut your throat." This was, oddly enough, a romantic thing for him to tell her. It went without saying; they both knew that she must die. The many chances he had given her to back out were now at an end. He would not be able to explain her missing arm, so she had to disappear entirely. But she appreciated that he cared enough to offer to minimize her suffering as he set about killing her. She resolved that she would see it through until the end, and that she would make the end wait as long as she was able.
Once she was gagged and helpless, he tore her other arm off quickly, having learned from the experience of the first arm. She endured the pain with a new happiness, but without arms she felt like she was less of a person. She was feeling like an object, like living meat. She knew that this is pretty much what she was by this time.
He was untying her legs. The severed arm was sticking out of the bucket at her feet. Two more cable ties constricted her upper thighs, as close as possible to her hips. Her heart pounded, and her teeth dug into the leather bit as the knife and saw tore through her thighs. Soon her athletic dancer's legs were lying next to her, her feet close to her chest, and the thighs pointing toward the other end of the tub. It was strange to be able to look at the soles of her feet in this way. Through the pain she saw herself, a helpless limbless thing waiting breathlessly for the end.
For a moment she wished she still had arms so that she could feel the growing wetness between her...well, between where her legs had once been. Despite all the pain, despite all the fear, and despite her own limited future, her body and mind found her own bodily destruction intensely erotic. The ecstasy was almost enough to overcome the pain, but they co-existed awkwardly in what was left of her beautiful body.
He sat her up and gently sliced off her breasts almost effortlessly. These joined the other body parts arrayed around her. She fought back the tears, but blood flowed down her chest. It was almost done now. She knew there was not much more he could do that would not kill her. The terror was still there, but it was very faint. She felt surreal, peaceful, and happy. She knew he would treat her body well. She knew she wanted to give herself to him in this way. She knew he felt more uncertainty than she did.
He gently unstrapped her bit. "Amanda, dear, it is almost done. I want you to be able to talk now, but if you scream, I will have to put it back on you."
"I'll try not to," she said, her decimated chest heaving. "Thank you."
He did not reply, but he kissed her gently on the forehead. Then he held her birthday necklace in his fingers thoughtfully. The golden heart was covered in shiny red blood. He kissed her lips gently. She could not respond much, but she felt his contradictory love for her. He showed her a bright red apple and slipped it into her mouth. She smiled around it and sank her perfect white teeth into the apple, tasting its sweetness and knowing what it meant.
The end was near, but she was no longer frightened. He kept staring into her entrancing blue eyes as he delicately slid the knife in just below her breastbone. She yelped softly, but did not need to be gagged. The added pain was almost nothing compared to what had come before. He slid the knife along her ribcage until it reached the tip of her pelvis. Then he slid it down the other side and then connected the two cuts with a long sweeping stroke across her lower belly that dipped low nearly to where her pubic hair had once been.
"Goodnight, darling," he said as he peeled the tender flesh away from her belly. She couldn't see what he was doing anymore. It was at an end. She knew in her last moments that he would completely dismantle her body, and that he would consume every ounce of her flesh. She knew that he would appreciate the gift she gave him almost as much as she appreciated his birthday present to her. The pain was gone, and she felt very light and free. In the end, she felt only bliss.
Part 2 - The Aftermath
I look down in horror. My God, what have I done! The beautiful blue eyes stare up at me, but they do not see. It was those eyes that won me, dragged me in, forced me to do her terrible will. It is so easy to underestimate how dominant a submissive woman can be. But I can't blame her or her eyes; it is my own fault for letting myself cross the boundaries I have for so long promised myself I would never cross.
When I first met her, a few years ago, she was a very pretty young woman, deceptively innocent-looking. By the time I had run out of excuses, she had developed into a beautiful knowing woman. No man can deny the desires of such an irresistible woman, no matter how horrific they might be. It was those eyes-those sad, intelligent eyes that seemed to see right through me into my dark and shameful heart. By the time she was twenty-one, there was nothing I would not do to make those eyes sparkle with delight. Nothing.
And she will never be older than that. In fact, she barely made it this far. If she'd had her way, she would have gone much sooner, but I did resist her for a while. Today is her birthday; yesterday actually since it is well past midnight.
Thanks to me those eyes are dull, lifeless. They are no longer sad, but they will never sparkle again. I see the tears on her face, covering her cheeks and forehead, and I know they did not come from her eyes. They have dripped onto her face from my eyes. I hope she doesn't know I cried.
I want her to think I am strong, confident. But I am not, and I never will be again. The first time I talked to her, I was trembling so terribly. I was so happy that she could not see me through the computer. I was terrified because I feared that this was a person who would eventually die in this way. I didn't think it would be me with the knife, but life sometimes surprises us.
She hated herself, in a way I couldn't understand, although I tried very hard to. I couldn't understand why someone I cared for so deeply for from the very beginning could not love herself. I hoped that she just needed someone to care about her as I genuinely did (and still do), but I was naive. I still am a fool, but until today I was at least a good fool for the most part.
From the beginning those expressive eyes made me feel such affection for her. They made me want to protect her from everything that had made her sad. I wanted to undo the tragedy of her life. I wanted to protect her from other less kind people than myself. I wanted to protect her from herself, but that was, of course, impossible. In the end, what she really needed protection from was me and my foolish weakness.
I knew I had to meet her. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it would lead to problems, but I still had to meet her. The first time it was perfectly innocent. We just talked. But we talked for a long time and about many things. We talked about things that cannot be discussed except in person. I told her I didn't think I could help her in the way she wanted to be helped. I told her that I couldn't make any promises. I told her to be patient. I told her there would always be cannibals for her if she needed them; that she did not need to rush to make this final terrible decision. I told her so many pointless things that I knew she thought me a fool. She was right, of course, but I had to tell her those things. I desperately wanted her to survive and be happy. And I needed to know that she had tried and failed at this before my dark side could triumph. I didn't realize this at the time, of course, but that's what it was.
After that I was captured. Those eyes that had been so powerful staring out from a computer screen were so much more powerful in person. I didn't know it at the time, but that day was the beginning of the end for both of us.
And that is what has brought us here, she and I, together in this bathtub. I am kneeling over her still beautiful body-most of it. The right arm is in the kitchen, half of it having gone to be her last meal and my first taste of human flesh. I can't deny enjoying it. I can't deny wanting to taste her. I can't deny anything. The only downside-and it's a big one-is that she's now dead, never to be anything that she could have been. Her limitless possibilities are now limited. Now she is meat, and that is all she ever can be. And it is all because of me. But I love her still.
I rationalize it, of course. I convinced myself that she so wanted to find her way to this place that she would have found someone else to snuff her if I couldn't do it. It took a couple of years for me to convince myself of this. The only thing more unimaginably horrible than my killing such a lovely creature is the thought of someone else ending her-someone who didn't love her as I do. Even now the thought makes a chill run down my spine. I may be right that she would have met this end one way or another. I probably am, but does that excuse my behaviour?
She seemed so fragile. Even now, this crushed flowed of a girl seems like she might shatter under my touch. Despite her destruction, she is beautiful. There is less of her now. Two lovely slender legs and the left arm are draining their blood into a pail at the foot of the tub. The shapely breasts have been severed and lie at her side. Even her trim belly has been violated by my destructive touch. But the soft smooth skin of her slender white neck remains pristine. I wanted, in my perversely chivalrous way, to slit her throat and end her unwanted life with a minimum of pain. But she would have none of that. She wanted to see me destroy her. She wanted to participate to the end. My fragile flower was stronger than I could have imagined. She endured pain far beyond anything I could conceive of. She lived until she died.
I wonder if there was any way to change her mind. I wanted to find an alternative for her. I wanted her to find a way to love life. But I found that the only way to her heart was with a knife. I wanted to help her, but this was the only help she wanted. I punish myself mentally. Did I do enough or was it inevitable? Could she have been saved? Does it even matter now?
I find myself absentmindedly licking the blood from my fingers. I taste the nauseatingly sweet metallic flavour of the life I have allowed to leak from her body. I am horrified, but she is "finger lickin' good". It's a terrible joke, and her eyes do not smile. I remove the red apple from her mouth to see if she is still smiling. It was a last second whim to replace the gag she was wearing throughout most of her destruction with the red apple. It was a cannibal joke, and she was too weak by that point to scream out in pain. It made her smile one last time. I would have done anything to see that beautiful smile.
I hurl the apple across the bathroom in anger and frustration. It shatters in a wet squish and runs down the wall. I have done this terrible deed. I was supposed to be the nice harmless one who convinced the girls not to talk to the "bad" cannibals. I was not supposed to let a suicidal siren's eyes tempt me into destroying her. I should not have tried to do something I had no experience doing. Does it matter that I loved her and always wanted her to be happy and comfortable? How can it matter? I still killed her in the end, proving that I am one of the "bad" cannibals I so dreaded might find her.
With the apple gone, I see that her lips have relaxed some. There is still the hint of a smile on her face. It is more like satisfaction than laughter. She thinks we have done correctly, although she doesn't really think anymore. Is that enough? Does that make it right? This is wishful thinking.
I pick up the golden heart on a thin chain around her slender neck. It is covered in her blood, but I gently wipe it off. It was her birthday present-one of them. It was the only one we didn't use to ensure that this would be her last birthday. I will keep it forever along with the memories of her that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.
I weakly climb to my feet. It will take me until dawn to finish the terrible job of dismantling the body she has given me. It's hard to imagine that this lifeless body was once the girl I was willing to kill for. I wonder if she ever looked herself over in the mirror and imagined what it would be like when I cut her into little pieces for my refrigerator and freezer. Did she imagine all of that? How could that really be what she wanted?
I will eat her all, of course. In my awful chivalry, it is necessary to consume every last bit of a gift this precious. I will eat everything except the bones and hair, and I might figure out a way to consume those as well. Some cannibals talk about disposing of parts they don't find appetizing, but I will find a recipe for everything she has given me. It is the only civilised thing to do. I want her inside of me-all of her. I want her to be a part of me. She will be anyway.
She will feed me for at least a month. And I may gain weight this month. It will be worth it. The thing I don't know is what I will do once the last precious bit of her is finally gone. I think we arranged her disappearance carefully enough that she will not be linked to me. I should not have to worry about that, but I can't imagine going on with my life as if nothing has happened. She is certainly my first and last victim. But is that enough? Won't people see her inside of me? When I walk down the street, will they see the guilt in my face? Will they see my terrible past? Will they see her in the way I walk? Will I collapse in a heap on a street corner in despair?
Perhaps I will feel better after the shock has worn off. Perhaps I will feel better once I have washed her blood from my hands, but I know the blood will stain my heart forever-suddenly I am Lady Macbeth! I know I will never again be the same person I was. In a way, I don't really want to be the same. I want her to have an effect on me. I want her to exist still in some small way. But already I know she has transferred some of her infinite supply of self-loathing onto me. And I had quite enough of that on my own. This might put me over the edge. As if I am not already over the edge. Clearly, I am well beyond and out of sight of the edge. I have done something more terrible than anything I could imagine.
I look again into her dull blue eyes. They forgive my sins. In fact, they thank me for them. It is the first time that I know that I am really important to her. I have known her for several years, but I never could tell if she felt any affection for me, whether or not I meant anything to her. I didn't know if I was just a means to an end or if she cared about me really. I also didn't know if I had a right to expect any of those things anyway. I still don't know if I deserve her love, but now at least I know I have it.
I have the gratitude of a dead beauty. Is that enough? It will have to do for now. It's all I have. Her decision and my acceptance of it are final. There is no going back for her or for me.