Story: SB089 Unfulfilled


Posted by Sawney Beane on October 22, 2006 at 23:45:44:

The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #89

UNFULFILLED

by Sawney Beane

11 May 2002

1,789 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: I wasn't so impressed with this story the first time I read it through, but I liked it better on re-reading than I did initially.
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By the time I heard you were going to be the special guest at the banquet this evening, it was too late for me to get to the front of the line. When I finally arrive, there are about a dozen guys as well as several women in line in front of me. Not as bad as I'd expected, but time is of the essence. There are also many people at tables already enjoying delicious bits of meat that I recognize from the pictures you sent. I wonder what will be left when I finally get to you.

The buffet table is set up in the centre of the large banquet room. From my place in line, I can barely see you. The rest of the room is dotted with tables, most of them unoccupied, but there's a man near me about to tuck into a steaming breast on his plate. A few tables away, there is a couple sucking the meat from some bones that probably were once your foot. I have to look away. I can't bear to think of all these people devouring my Tina.

I know it's just my arrogance and jealously, but I want you all for myself. I look at each person in the room with me, and I know none of them are worthy of your flesh. Actually, I realize I am not either, but I am more worthy than they are, or so I think. I'm not the best looking guy here, nor the richest, nor the most stylish, not even the most experienced, but I know I could treat you well. At least I could eat you well! We should have done this together alone, not this public banquet! No, I'm being selfish. But you must admit there is something impersonal about doing it this way. Wouldn't you have preferred something more intimate?

Alas, it is too late. I'm getting closer, but so far all I can see is your beautiful long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail. It's just to keep it out of the way, but it looks good that way. My eyes want to devour you as much as my mouth does, so I strain to see your body laid out naked on the buffet. I try to look over the heads in front of me but, even being as tall as I am, I can't see you clearly.

I'm so impatient now. I should calm down, but what will I do if you have slipped away before I get to you? The line moves and I can finally see the extent of the damage. You are lying nude on your right side. You're still greeting and smiling at each customer as he comes by and requests your choicest bits, so at least you're still alive. But what destruction! A wave of enormous sadness comes across me. So much of your beautiful body has disappeared. Both of your breasts are missing, as are large chunks of your buttocks. Your fantastic legs are much diminished. Your left leg is missing almost to the hip, while your right leg ends just above where a luscious knee once resided. Your right hand is gone, and your left arm is missing from the elbow down.

All these smiling patrons who have done this to you! I hate them. I start to wonder what I would have done if I had managed to be first in line. This isn't my first cannibal meal, but most of the volunteers are much less gorgeous than you are. Could I have made the request that initiated the destruction of your body? Could I have pointed to a breast or foot or arse and asked the man to take it from you? Now that you are beyond repair, of course, I can. Someone will destroy you; I might as well get my share. But could I have begun it? Even while you urged me on and asked me what part you could offer me? We shall never know.

There is remarkably little blood visible. The chefs here are particularly good at keeping most of it inside the girl as long as possible, and most of what spills they clean up rapidly. The bloodlessness makes you seem more natural, less like a girl being butchered and more like one who just happens to lack a few key body parts. It's a little bit eerie, but then the whole scene seems somehow surreal to me.

There's not blood to be seen, but I can smell your blood. Not the unpleasant smell of dry rotting blood, but the delicious smell of fresh blood. Most people aren't familiar with this odour, but pseudo-vampires like me know it well. I find it erotic. I can smell other things, as well, things that make it clear you find something erotic too.

Finally I am close enough to see your face clearly. I have been waiting for this moment. I wanted to see your eyes, those fantastic piercing eyes from the photographs. Your eyes were the first things I fell in love with, but I wasn't sure if they were real or merely bikini model magic. Now I know those are your own. Just like the pictures, your eyes look through me. They see the inner cannibal who wants to devour you without destroying you. They see me as I am, and they invite me to come closer.

It's finally my turn. The man in front of me has waddled off with another bit of your sumptuous thigh, and you turn to me. I know you will recognize me. We haven't actually met, but I know you know me. You smile broadly, if a bit tiredly. It's difficult work being disassembled. You speak to me, and I hear your voice for the first time ever. "Good afternoon, sir. What can I offer you today?"

I think earnestly: "Everything! Of course, all of you! Now and forever! Give yourself to me!" But I don't say any such thing, even though I know you recognized me. Even if your words were the same as you used with every other customer, your eyes told me the story. They looked at me and said "I'm so glad you could make it! I hope you get the best of me. I am so pleased to be yours." You couldn't really say it, but I know that's what you were thinking.

But I can't demand more than my share, so I look you over carefully before making my final selection. I really want your belly. I couldn't see it clearly in the photographs, but from what I could tell it was spectacular, and now I see it really is so. But I can't have that because the chefs want to keep you alive as long as possible, so I have to pick something that won't mortally wound you right away.

I look at the remains of your left arm and see the beautifully feminine bicep. I request this, medium rare. You smile a little proudly and murmur "Good choice." Then you roll over onto your back and continue smiling up at me as a man with a cleaver severs the bottom third of your upper arm. Clearly you have anaesthetics all through your body that allow you to ignore the excruciating pain inherent in such amputations. Even so, you seem more indifferent to your losses than I would have expected. You seem tired, as if those lovely eyes are about to close and not open ever again. The sadness creeps over me once again.

As I walk away, I hear you address the man in line behind me. I also notice that your eyes show the same recognition for him that they had for me earlier. My sadness increases, and I realize that maybe you didn't really recognize me after all.

I find a table and wait while they prepare your arm for my dinner. I stay in sight of you. From about thirty feet away, I can see your face clearly, and you seem to be glancing in my direction. Maybe you do know me. I smile feebly at you, and you seem to smile back, but I can't quite tell.

My dinner arrives on a plate carried by a bikini-clad waitress. She's beautiful but nothing compared to you. I look down at the steaming piece of meat and try to rationalize it with the beautiful woman it was once a part of. As if sleepwalking, I raise my fork and knife and saw off one first bite and put it in my mouth. The taste I have awaited for so long fills me. You are amazingly tender. I know you have instantly become my favourite food. I am in heaven as I continue my meal. Now you are still looking in my direction, but you are no longer just glancing at me. You are now staring. Obviously, you do know me, and you want to see how I like your contribution. I smile to convey my delight with my meal.

I am happy you remember me. It is only right that you should. After all, we have now achieved the greatest intimacy any two people can achieve. You will always be inside me; you'll always be a part of me. But my melancholy reappears as I come to the end of the meal. I've eaten every last scrap of meat on my plate and even chewed the last few morsels clinging to the 4-inch long bone. I drop the bone in my pocket; I want some physical souvenir of you, and this is all I have.

I look up at you again and notice that your ribs are exposed and a man is removing your heart. I know it should be mine, but the bastard has stolen it. But then I realize that you are still staring at me as you have throughout my meal. But clearly now you are completely meat and girl no longer. You have slipped away, and I realize that you may have been gone for quite a while. Your piercing gaze has been a vacant stare. I am crushed.

The regrets come now. We have destroyed both a life and a beautiful body. You allowed it, so the blame is not entirely ours, but we still are responsible for our acts. Such a tragedy is overpowering. But in your destruction there does remain an element of preservation. You have nourished dozens of your fellow human beings. Moreover, that beautiful body of yours will never grow old, never get sick, and never die. Your image will forever be the gorgeous creature you were today. And I, for one, will never forget you.