Posted by DolcettChef on February 07, 2003 at 10:54:01:
As delicious as the food was, they couldn't help eyeing her hungrily.
The restaurateur's wife moved with grace and discretion, her slender neck holding her head high even as her eyes remained downcast; the swan, broken and demure. Her collar, a stylish choker, was nonetheless a symbol of her status.
The head table, rowdy as usual, simmered down as she approached. Even this band of thugs and thieves could be calmed by her quiet dignity. Still, the men among them - and a few of the women - drank her in with thinly veiled desire.
Cassandra moved to the center of the table - positioned before a large crimson tapestry that always reminded her of a waterfall of blood - where two seats remained empty. She leaned in to a scar-faced toad of a man, distracting him momentarily from his cheap female companion.
"Where is he." It was as much a statement of accusation as a question.
Toad grinned, a display of yellow-brown stumps. "'E's off fixin' the plumbin', missus. At least, that's wha' I gathered when 'e muttered somthin' about layin' pipe."
Cassandra turned away in disgust. "Your breath is as foul as your manners."
Cheap Girl snickered. Toad's grin evaporated.
"I would not say such things if'n I was you." Toad grabbed Cassandra's wrist, pulling her close.
"And why not? Does my articulation confuse you?"
Toad blinked. Cassandra pulled free.
"Out of respect fer Vilos I'll let that slide."
She arched a brow. "Will you? Oh. I'll speak to him about your generosity"
Toad's eyes widened. "Aw, come on Cassandra, I was only jokin with ya. No need ta tell the boss now, is there?"
Toad treated her to another grin. Cassandra turned away in disgust.
Entering the kitchen, Cassandra found Cheffe, a mature yet stunning creature, busy by the sink chopping a large quantity of vegetables.
"Vilos is needed."
Cheffe looked at Cassandra with something akin to pity.
"He's in the pantry. Interviewing the new girl".
Cassandra paused.
In the pantry, Vilos felt like a king. The new waitress, a curvaceous tart, was making all the appropriate noises as he thrust into her, brutally and selfishly. Jenaira clamped her short but lean legs around him; her petite frame pinned between his standing form and the damp wall behind her.
"You like that, don't you."
"Oh god. Oh, I'm your plaything. Your slave. Your… wife."
"Ugh. I've already got a wife."
"No, your wife. She's coming."
Vilos looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Cassandra's silhouette was growing larger on the frosted glass separating the pantry from the kitchen.
"Fuck." Vilos pulled out, contradicting his oath. The tiny tart dropped to the floor. He untied his belt from around Jenaira's arms, releasing them from behind her back and allowing her to gather up her clothes.
"Go on, off with ya." Vilos swatted her rump as she dashed for the door. She darted through, only just missing Cassandra on her way out. Cassandra entered just as her husband began to slide his belt back into place around his ample belly.
Cassandra's disappointment was apparent.. He pulled the belt free again.
"Don't you look at me that way." He yelled, cowing her. "Don't you presume."
"I've come to tell you. The artist has arrived."
Vilos' face split into a grin - a feral display of teeth that was as full of self-satisfaction as it was devoid of warmth or humor. He slid his belt into place and preened himself in a nearby pot's reflection.
"Finally, some culture."
He pushed past her and through the kitchen. He continued into the crowded restaurant with the exaggerated swagger of one accustomed to dominating through intimidation; the schoolyard bully all grown up.
As he entered the room, everything stopped.
Jerome was conscious of the abrupt lull, having heard the din of party chatter grind to a halt at his arrival over a half dozen times in this month alone. It was the eyes - the staring - he couldn't stand.
Only one person moved; a red-faced fatman whom Jerome hoped was not his host, but who's puffed out chest indicated he was. Vilos' toothy smile and the way his henchmen at the main table stood and followed in his wake reminded Jeremy of piranhas. They always did, at occasions like these.
He mentally sighed, knowing what to expect, and waded into the crowd. This was, he'd admitted to himself, a part of the notoriety he'd sought, the bargain he'd made in the name of art, of fame... or infamy.
"Ah, Jerome. A true artist. THE true artist."
Jerome smiled politely as Vilos reached him and pumped his hand furiously up and down, the trademark handshake of the neuveau riche.
Jerome favored the man with his 'charm' smile. He had it useful for fundraising, for grant application meetings, for the politics of the art community - but that wasn't a problem anymore.
"Mr. Cohagen. My agent was a little confused over your invitation."
"Confused? What was there to be confused about? We exchanged riders, and I've given her a cheque. Ah, I see the confusion is yours. My boy, I've hired you to reenact your famous performance."
Jerome winced.
"In fact, your agent faxed the necessary preparations."
"I see. When did you have in mind?"
"Tonight, of course."
It was Jerome's turn to blink. "Tonight? But it takes considerable hours to-"
"Bah, I just want to see the preparations. She can cook all night and we'll eat her in the morning."
Jerome almost missed the last part of Vilos' declaration. A lovely vision had emerged from the kitchen at that moment, a tall, slender, submissive goddess. Better still, she was approaching.
Jerome's mind began to race with sexual fantasies. Encounters ending in orgasm or consumption or both. Mini vignettes that he would play later, in more detail, the next time he fucked or masturbated.
Vilos punched through Jerome's visions by sliding a possessive arm around her waist and fingering her collar. "My lovely wife here will escort you to the kitchen."
Cassandra slid her arm in his and led Jerome to the kitchen. "My husband is one of your greatest fans" she intoned. "Ever since he saw your piece on television he's wanted to try the same."
Inside the culinary chamber a large island covered with an oversized chopping block competed for space amidst industrial cauldrons and sharp, cruelly purposeful tools. Cheffe stood by the chopped vegetables and exotic fruits like a bare-breasted troop awaiting inspection.
"Are you to be my subject?"
Cassandra laughed. It was a musical sound, he noticed, and the smile accompanying it only enhanced her beauty.
"God, no. I'm a living trophy."
"Too bad", Jerome blurted out.
"You'd enjoy preparing me?"
Jerome looked her up and down. "I'd be lying if I said no. You look delicious."
She pinned him with an accusing stare. "You're pretty callous about killing women, Jerome"
He tried to deflect her sudden mood change with a boyish grin. "Some women actually like the idea. Being treated like meat, I mean."
"I don't. The only thing I like about your art is the woman's suffering ends."
Jerome was denied the option of a rebuttal by the entrance of Vilos, his henchmen, and the tart.
"I trust you found everything you need here."
"Not quite. Who is it I'm cooking?" Jerome looked over at Cheffe.
"Don't be an idiot. Cheffe is here to assist you." Cheffe's umbrage at being demoted to culinary 'assistant' flashed across her face, but she remained silent.
Jerome opened his mouth to ask another question when Toad entered with Jenaira in tow. With a nod from Vilos, Toad ripped Jenaira's tiny outfit from her body, ignoring her protests.
Vilos patted the island top. Jenaira looked around, nervous and confused by the gathered crowd and bizarre setting.
"Come on, girl." Vilos' smile was almost gentle. "Let's not keep 'em waiting."
"'E pays us by the hour, 'e does" quipped Toad, with a small but rough shove at the shivering girl's back.
Jenaira obediently climbed onto the island top and lay down, her legs over the edge and spread. She swallowed nervously. Vilos grabbed her by the hair and pulled. The henchmen leered. Jerome looked away, then back again. Cassandra looked at the floor.
Jenaira whimpered but got the message, sliding her body up until only her head and feet were off the cutting board. "I'm sorry sir, this is my first gang bang." She looked close to tears.
"She'll make a fine subject, don't you agree?" Vilos asked, as though challenging Jerome - or anyone, for that matter - to disagree with him. No one did.
Jerome looked the trembling submissive over from head to foot. She was a fine piece of meat indeed, but her misty, pleading look made him hesitate. So did Cassandra's sudden grip on his arm.
Vilos noted the hesitation. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
Jerome didn't move.
"Suddenly squeamish? Here, I'll help."
Vilos opened his suit jacket and unsheathed a large knife. In a flash he brought the blade across the young girl's throat, opening her throat as wide as her terrified eyes. Her windpipe yawned open and vomited up her lifeblood in a crimson torrent. The girl twitched, her toned limbs trembling, her nipples quivering atop the fleshy puddings of her supine breasts..
He thrust the knife into the cutting board table.
"There. I should get a discount for doing some of your work, Artist. Then again, it was fun. Maybe I should give you a bonus." Vilos took the long spit from its place against the wall and placed it beside the corpse. "I can't wait to see her turning over coals. See you in the morning. It promises to be a hell of a breakfast." He leaned in close to Jerome. "Don't let my wife leave. I'm having a few girls over and don't want to be interrupted. Enjoy her if you want."
He left the room with a deep laugh, echoed by his entourage, leaving Jerome alone with a topless Cheffe, the wife of a murderer, and a lovely piece of feminine meat just starting to cool.
Jerome gestured to Cheffe, who brought over a platter of oils, spices, and condiments, and the two of them slid a large tray under the girl.
"May as well get to work."
Cassandra was in tears. "How can you? She was just a girl."
Jerome embraced her and she collapsed against him. He held her in silence for a moment.
"It's become what I do. A case of life imitating art."
"Misplaced irony", offered Cheffe.
Jerome was surprised at the interjection.
"Sort of like Natural Born Killers" Cheffe continued. "The director made that movie as violent as he could, to get people thinking about how easily we accept violence in entertainment.."
Jerome nodded. "But instead, people left the theatre saying, "That was fucking cool. The irony was lost. I wanted to show how women are treated as meat in the media. Objectified.
Cassandra sniffled.
"So you cooked and ate a woman on national TV."
"She was a volunteer." Jerome stated.
"She was a woman!"
The three of them stood there in awkward silence. Finally Cheffe passed Jerome the bottle of oil. He poured some onto his hands and rubbed them together, as though preparing to give a massage.
"…and so you ate that woman, and people thought it was cool." Cassandra's voice cracked. "What about Jenaira? She didn't volunteer. Jenaira. That was her name."
Cheffe watched Jerome rub one of the dead girl's legs with oil, and aped his actions, starting on the other leg. "Jenaira. Pretty name."
Jerome oiled the cuntsteak. Cheffe raised the girl's foot to her mouth and was sucking the toes.
"How can you be so cold? You're about to cook a woman who came here for a job."
"You know, you're pretty judgmental for a woman who married a man like Vilos." Jerome shot back. As Cassandra began to cry again he softened. Still, he picked up a piece of twine and bound the dead girl's hands together.
"I did what I had to, to survive."
"And I do what I do to survive" countered the artist. He crossed the girl's ankles by her pussy and bound the wrists to them, posing her like a turkey. Cheffe was confused.
"Aren't you going to spit her?"
"I think she'll be better as an oven roast."
Cassandra was amazed and repelled by their frank exchange.
"You're afraid my husband will kill you too. You're here out of fear."
"No. You are here because of fear. I cook and eat women because they taste good. Watching your bodies roast over a fire. Feeling your meat shred on my teeth. Swallowing your juices. Consuming you. Making you a part of me. I live, feeding on you."
Jerome stuffed the cunt with a large, blunt carrot. The motion transfixed Cassandra.
"He fucked her, you know."
"I don't doubt it."
"He fucked her, then he killed her. This is the man who owns me." She fingered her collar as she said this. "How long until it's my throat he slits?"
"Maybe that's what the collar is for. To protect you against that. You are his wife, after all."
"I was sold to him by my former Master. Traded off to pay a debt."
Jerome placed an apple in the girl's mouth. "Now it's artistic."
Cheffe wheeled over a small trolley, the same height as the island, and they slid the prepared girlmeat platter onto it.
"She'll need to cook overnight. At least six hours." Jerome inserted a meat thermometer into her anus.
Cassandra fingered the unused, unassembled spit.
"Tell me again what it's like to eat a woman."
Jerome came up behind her. "It's a way of experiencing her unlike any other. Having a woman in a way she can only give herself once."
"At least when you treat women like objects you go all the way."
She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him. He kissed it as he embraced her from behind.
"Sounds like the ultimate 'losing your virginity'" quipped Cheffe.
Jerome rubbed Cassandra's pussy. "you're pretty wet for a feminist."
She pulled the knife from the cutting board. Cheffe stepped back, unsure of the other woman's intentions. But Cassandra pressed the hilt of the knife into Jerome's hand.
"Make me even more wet. Set me free."
Jerome brought the knife up to her throat. The wife of a boorish murderer swallowed, but kept her throat exposed. Jerome brought the knife across slowly, deliberately…
Cassandra's collar hit the floor, severed.
Jerome kissed her unblemished throat. "You know I can't free you. Only you can do that."
"I think I just did. Now… consume me."
Cheffe stepped forward and undressed her. Together they picked Cassandra up and placed her on the island.
Cassandra lay back and closed her eyes as the two attacked her; kissing, biting, caressing… Jerome slid two fingers into her pussy as his other hand reached for the spitpole…
---
It was a twisted DaVinci portrait; a Last Supper from hell. Vilos, bleary eyed from the early rising, sat in place of Christ; his disciples gathered around like vultures awaiting the feast of roasted woman. Like vultures, they clucked and pecked at each other.
Finally a sight appeared to quiet them down. From the kitchen, a large, covered platter emerged. Cheffe pushed the cart to the head table, laboring under the weight.
Vilos tucked his napkin into his collar and clutched his knife and fork in anticipation.
Cheffe parked the platter. Vilos waited for her to reveal the culinary creation beneath. A moment. A pause. An eternity.
"…well?"
Cheffe pulled back the cover with a flourish. There, trussed like a turkey, lay Jenaira. She would have looked like any other fit college-aged girl sleeping on a tanning bed were it not for the wisps of steam rising from her beaded skin.
Her toes were even pointed. Jerome and Cheffe had taken great care that this girl look as girlish as possible when the breakfast guests begin to cut into her cooked meat.
The henchmen gasped. Cheap Girl looked as though she'd be next, feeling her breast as though comparing hers to the meat's. Only Vilos looked unimpressed.
"What the fuck is this? I told the artist I wanted to see a woman turning over coals, and he gives me this."
Toad cut a small piece of meat from Jenaira. "What's the problem, boss? She's a fine roast."
"Besides, you still get your wish" At the sound of Jerome's voice, Vilos whirled around.
The crimson tapestries behind the table parted. There stood Jerome, with an oblong metal cylinder.
"What is this?"
Jerome opened the lid of the cylinder, splitting it in two.
"You told me to enjoy her."
And there she lay, spitted and turning over glowing coals. Her meat juices beaded like sweat and ripped from her as her gorgeous body continued its slow pirouette.
"She was my property. I didn't tell you to-"
"No, you didn't. She did."
The henchmen saw Vilos' face boil with rage. They scattered like cockroaches - even Toad, a little slower to catch on, decided being there at that time was a poor decision.
Jerome casually picked up a wrought iron prod and poked at the roasting Cassandra.
"I can't wait to taste her cunt. It was a real delicacy when raw."
Vilos reached into his jacket, finding only an empty sheath. Cheffe reached around the larger man, his knife in hand. Before she could slit his throat Vilos grabbed her wrist.
"I'll kill and eat you both."
"No, you'll die and be forgotten." Jerome flung the iron prod, spearing Vilos in the chest. The large man cried out, letting go of Cheffe's wrist to clutch the metal impaling him. Cheffe swiftly slashed his throat.
Vilos crumpled to his knees, his life spurting from him. "She's… min-" he collapsed without finishing his last sentence.
"What do you say, Cheffe? Shall we get out of here?"
"And let all this food go to waste?" Cheffe set a plate in front of Jerome, a second in front of the seat beside him. "Besides, I think I'm out of a job. Where am I going to go?"
Jerome smiled. "Out of a job? You own the place."
"Nah, I'm a crummy businesswoman. I guess it's yours, then. Breast or thigh?" Cheffe hovered over Jenaira, carving knife in hand.
"Breast, for now. But I'd prefer Cassandra's meat."
Cheffe waved his last remark away dismissively. "She's only been roasting an hour. This one's done. We may as well celebrate your new business ownership with a slice of cunt…"