Posted by PK on May 04, 2003 at 17:37:10:
HOLLY'S CHOICE
"I don't know," Holly muttered dubiously. "What do you think?" She appealed to her
boyfriend.
"The twin-ended spit guarantees maximum survival time and MUCH easier to do practice
runs," the salesman burbled on. "More comfortable too! Less penetration means less need
for excess analgesics, so the medication - fully provided of course - has less impact on
sensitivity. You'll feel everything, and you can select from a wide range of psychotropics,
metabolic enhancers to help with the heat, stimulants to keep you going longer,
aphrodisiacs.."
Holly giggled and threw her boyfriend a conspiratorial look. "I don't think we'll need any of
those," she smirked.
"What do you think, sir?" the salesman smarmed, catching her need to include him.
Phil glared back at him. "Sounds wonderful," he said stonily.
"Do you think I should try it on?" Holly wondered. "Can I?" She asked the salesman.
"Certainly, madam," he fawned.
Phil was beginning to wish he hadn't suggested it. He cast his mind back to when it had all
started as Holly stood entranced by the salesman's patter. Or at least he tried to.
"Could I have another look at the boiler thing first," he heard her say, followed by the
obligatory "The BoilBabe 3.2? Certainly, Madam," and he knew the ordeal was far from over.
Far indeed.
"Do you think I'd look good in that?" Holly wanted urgently to know.
"You'd look good in anything, sweetheart," he tried desperately.
It was the wrong thing to say.
"You could at least take this seriously," she reproved him. "This is a very big decision for me.
Don't you care at all?"
Oh God....
He remembered how he had met Holly. In a crowded student bar, he seeking escape from
his postgraduate studies in quantum mechanics and shamanism, she painting her toenails.
Her curly brown hair and odd green eyes had called to him across the room. Their eyes
locked and mutual lust took its course. He had gallantly, and quite sincerely, assured her that
her toes looked better without paint. Despite having spent four years doing fine arts and
psychology, she had eschewed political correctness ( a quaint survival only extant in those
doing humanities degrees) and felt charmed by the compliment.
Not to put too fine a point on it, they had taken recourse to the nearest bed (hers) and fucked
each other senseless.
Happy days.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he said. "Look, why don't you try it?" It was clear to him that they weren't
going to get anywhere until Holly had had some kind of demonstration.
"Do you think I should?" She was mollified by his indulgence.
"Definitely. Go for it." As they went back to the previous display stand he decided to take a
break in the men's room while the salesman ran through his spiel again. "Look, have you got
a toilet in here?" he asked.
Five minutes of blessed relief. He wished he could smoke, but hadn't brought his cigarettes.
Probably just as well, they'd probably catch him on security cameras and report him. God, he
hated showrooms, salesmen and shopping in general with a vengeance. The whole business
made him wish he lived on a tropical island. The song 'Apeman' by the Kinks, from the intro
to a Robin Williams film, ran through his head. How about a nice luau, he thought. Just us on
the beach, a cosy firepit and maybe a few friendly locals with exotic punch drinks and girls in
grass skirts. Oh well, break over...
Holly was pulling off her dress and shoes. "I think I'll keep my undies on," she told the
salesman apologetically. "How do I get in?"
"Through the top," he explained. "It swings back. The stepladder is an optional extra. Look,
just climb up and lower yourself in, I'll get the lid."
Up she went. Phil couldn't help enjoying the view. Holly had great legs and her thong
underwear and micro-bra didn't hide much. Maybe this shopping lark wasn't so bad after all.
"Eep! It's cold!" Holly exclaimed as she put her foot in.
"Sorry, Madam, it's a little cool now, we don't keep it hot all the time. Should I warm it up? It
might take a while, that's a lot of water...."
"Please," said Holly with a shiver, but she slipped more of her leg in anyway. It wasn't any
worse than a swimming pool, really. She eased herself further in. "Hey, it's not so, bad,
really."
The view was getting better all the time. The main body of the BoilBabe was a transparent
vertical cylinder allowing a full view of the cooking woman's body, and Holly's underwear, not
being a real swimsuit was almost transparent itself when wet. Phil could see her nipples and
her dark pubes clearly, and wondered if she was aware of it. The salesman had certainly
noticed and was trying manfully not to be caught ogling. "How does that feel, Madam?" He
asked, taking refuge in professionalism.
"Pretty good," Holly said. "I think it's getting warmer."
"Excellent. Now the lid swings back over, leaving just your head showing through. Once the
cooking starts, no changing your mind!" He chuckled. "This is much more comfortable than
the cramped early versions, you notice, it lets you boil standing full length. If we were doing
this for keeps, I'd now adjust the neck collar in the lid. That keeps you upright when you can't
stand on your own any more."
Phil just had to burst his bubble. "Oh, come on. You can't really boil somebody alive, you
must know that. Nobody could survive in boiling water. It would hurt like hell, anyway."
He should have known better. The salesman beamed at him. "Strictly speaking, you're right,"
he said. "Most of the actual cooking takes place after the - er - guest of honour has passed
away. But the heat of the water rises slowly. With the right temperature and timer settings -
it's fully adjustable - and the bubbler feature - here, let me show you." He leaned down and
pressed a switch on the control panel. Bubbles rose from inside the base. "...the young lady
gets the sensation of being boiled alive before she...."
"I get it." If Phil had wondered why the salesman was willing to spend so much time on them,
he was beginning to get the picture. Several customers who had been browsing were turning
to watch. He realised that they were visible, if at a distance, through the large glass window
of the showroom. A small crowd was gathering. Holly, if she noticed, didn't seem to mind.
She was wriggling and giggling too much. It occurred to him that they could have hired
somebody to do this and wondered why they hadn't. Maybe it was more effective to get a
genuine prospective customer to do it. Cheaper, certainly.
"That tickles!" she said, "I love it! What do you think, lover?"
"You do look good in it," Phil admitted."It's up to you, though." He wasn't really sure if he
wanted Holly boiled, he preferred roast meat, but it was her choice. "Have you ever done this
with anybody?" he asked the salesman.
The salesman hesitated. "Well, not personally," he admitted. "I've heard it's very good..."
It was lame, but he went up a notch in Phil's estimation for not trying to bullshit them. He
watched Holly in fascination. "Maybe we should think about it," he said.
"Whatever you say, sir." The man was as entranced as he was. Everybody in the showroom
was watching now, not bothering to conceal it.
"Uh, guys?" Holly, he noticed, was getting a little pink and breathless. "It's really getting warm
in here...."
There was a general rush to switch off the heater and help her out.
"For a minute there, I thought you guys were going to leave me in there," she quipped. Both
men uttered the required jocular denials. The salesman apologetically offered to get her a
towel, and went off to do that.
"So, how did I look?"
"Pretty good, like I said." Phil didn't know whether to point out that the water had rendered
her underwear useless as concealment. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Holly grinned. "That's why we're here. When I find out, I'll let you know. What's the matter,
getting cold feet?" She slipped her own back into her shoes and took the towel the salesman
offered. The ends of her hair were wet.
Phil wasn't sure. The idea of eating Holly excited him, of course. There was also the
enormous ego boost of having his girlfriend do this at all, it wasn't something that happened
to everybody. At the same time, he realised that he would miss her. Their relationship was
primarily based on a solid foundation of sex. After the first consummation of their mutal lust,
repeat performances had confirmed that they were as sexually compatible as their instincts
had led them to expect. Over days and then weeks they realised that in each other they had
discovered a completely satisfactory partner, at least in the physical sense. Neither of them
found anything the other did in bed distasteful, boring or anatomically unfeasible. They were
a good fit. Romantic love didn't come into it, they hadn't waited long enough to either build up
a good old passion of unrequited love or even to know each other well enough to say they'd
want to be friends. In fact, they had as much and as little in common, when they found time
to talk about it, as any two strangers meeting by chance. Despite this, Phil had come to like
Holly.
"No," he replied. "I just don't want you to think you have to because you said you would."
She pouted a kiss at him. "You're such a sweetie." She shrugged on her dress, a short
sleeveless item in green cotton, and slipped off her sodden underpants without quite
revealing all, or at least not for long enough for anyone to be certain they'd seen anything.
She turned to the salesman. "What else have you got?"
He looked helpless, at last. "I think you've seen everything," he admitted. Then he
brightened. "Maybe you'd like to try the spit, just to see how it feels? You did ask..."
"I suppose," she mused, looking doubtfully around at the other customers as if noticing them
for the first time. They all busied themselves looking elsewhere. "But everybody gets roasted,
don't they? What do you think?"
It was a no-win situation for Phil. If he said 'whatever you want' it would sound as if he didn't
care. He suspected that she really liked the boiler thing, but frankly, if he was really going to
end up eating her he'd prefer roasted to boiled girlfriend any day. Whatever he said could be
wrong.
"Well," he temporised, "you can always try it. If you don't like it, we can go for the BoilBabe
or the oven or whatever works for you. No hurry, right?" he tried not to kick himself visibly.
"Like you said, this is a big decision."
It seemed to have been the right ploy.
"I suppose I could keep my dress on?" she asked the salesman.
"Of course, Madam," he oiled, concealing the disappointment he must have felt like a true
professional. They trooped over to the contraption, followed surreptitiously by every eye in
the place. "Here we are," he said brightly. "If you'll just kneel down on the platform...."
The principle of the double ended spit is simple, if the engineering details aren't. One shaft
goes down the throat, the other enters from the rear. The whole apparatus is prevented from
sagging in the middle by the fact that each half is held horizontal by two uprights rather than
the one each side you'd need for a single pole. The stress is less than you might think. The
front half goes as far down as you can get it, sometimes as far as the stomach. The tricky bit
here is the tendency of the roastee to gag, but pharmaceuticals or training can deal with that.
At the other end, a lot of the weight of a human body, particulary a woman's, is in the legs.
Anchored at he throat, belly, crotch and ankles, the body is well supported and needn't
sustain any damage until the cooking starts. The whole idea came from a story in a
magazine, about cannibals, but the actual device required better materials than those
suggested. No problem, human ingenuity knows no bounds. An enthusiast made it work and
the system was gaining in popularity.
The salesman prepared to slip the rear end into Holly, but she demurred. "I'd rather have my
boyfriend do that, if you don't mind," she said primly. Then she grinned at Phil over her
shoulder and winked.
She could always get him with that look. There were a number of ways she could get him
going, from the age old ploy of simply taking off her clothes ( a time tested standby for
women everywhere) to touching his palm with a finger. Or the look, the one that suggested
depravities nobody had even thought of yet. It was hard to imagine what these might be, but
she managed to suggest them anyway.
At the prospect of shoving a spit up her, Phil stiffened. He just hoped he wouldn't embarrass
himself. He steeled himself to the task.
The whole thing had started as a joke, or rather a bit of harmless sex play. They had both
played at devouring each other, as people do, though Phil ate Holly more often than not. She
loved cunnilingus and he liked how she tasted. There were other positions where he could
pretend to eat her up and she always enjoyed it. He'd never intended or expected to make it
real. He knew some people actually did these things but he never had, it wasn't that common
a practice. He'd been surprised when one night, after sex, Holly had told him about her
experiences.
After a bit of manouvering, the slightly pointed end of his rod went into her quite smoothly.
She was surprisingly relaxed, her passage nice and slippery. The salesman was having more
difficulty with the front end, Holly was having problems opening her throat. Phil gave his end
a little tweak and she gasped, then gulped. That did the trick. After that it was plain sailing.
Still more or less dressed, she was spitted. Tying up the feet and hands was a piece of cake.
"I really think that suits you," the salesman said.
Holly was in no position to reply. Phil, however had to admit he agreed. The view from his
end of the spit was certainly enticing. He imagined Holly's shapely, if rather sturdy legs - she
was a nicely meaty girl - turning over the heat. The vision stimulated a number of glands.
"Can we see it turning?" he wondered aloud. Would Holly want to try that? Surely she would.
"Yes, of course Sir," the salesman replied but he looked uncertain, caught between an
obvious desire to do exactly that and a fear of taking things too far and losing a customer.
Phil got the drift.
"Hol, want to try that?" He knew she had heard, she just couldn't talk. "Sure you do! Blink
once for yes, twice for no."
A pause, then Holly blinked. Good girl, he thought but didn't say. After a pause, the salesman
got a grip and went back into expository mode. "There you go," he said, pressing the switch
that activated a quiet electric motor. "There's a heating element in the base, so you can cook
her right here, on the machine, or you can position it over a traditional fire."
Right here? Phil briefly imagined tearing the dress off and roasting Holly in the showroom,
though he was sure that wasn't quite what the salesman meant. Tempting thought, though.
Both he and the salesman, united by the experience for once, watched Holly turn with much
the same ideas in mind. Phil dragged himself from the reverie with an effort.
"I suppose we'd better get her off there," he said.
"Yes, I suppose so," the salesman replied dreamily, evincing no great enthusiasm, then he
visibly pulled himself together. "I mean, yes, of course Sir." He gave Phil an edgy glance,
which Phil disregarded, letting him off the hook. He couldn't blame the man.
As one, they moved to dismount Holly from the spit. Not for the first time, Phil wondered how
he'd got into this. By stages, of course. At first, he'd thought she was just spinning another
fantasy, telling a tale to get him hot. She must have heard about barbecue parties - who
hadn't? - but she couldn't really have been involved. Could she? Her account was detailed
and graphic enough to suspend disbelief, but she always did have a lascivious imagination
and the storyteller's gift for spellbinding. He almost could see the girls cooking, volunteers of
course, almost smell them. He could certainly smell her arousal and after that his critical
faculties headed for the hills.
"I saw a man get cooked too," she'd said. "I was really lucky, it doesn't happen that often.
You should have seen the hard on he had." She smiled evilly and ran a finger up Phil's own,
rising in sympathy.
"What happened?" Phil managed, playing the game out.
"His girlfriend ate it. And his balls." She licked her lips. "Lucky girl. They spitted her the next
week."
"You made that up."
"Bet I didn't. I'll show you.." Then she ate him, which was fun.
Afterwards she admitted she had made the last part up. "I never saw her again," she said, "so
I don't really know. It just made a good story."
"Oh, sure. And the rest was Gospel truth, right?" He smiled.
"Oh, yes. Don't you believe me?" She smiled back. He began to wonder.
"How was that?" he asked now. Holly looked a little dazed after the dismount.
"Wa'er," she gasped, pointing at her mouth and gulping. The salesman rushed off to get her
a drink. She massaged her throat with one hand, adjusting her dress with the other.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Never better," she croaked. She was flushed and a bit sweaty. "Wha' you think?"
I think I'd like to eat you, Phil thought. And then, do I really mean that? If I eat Holly, she'll
die. And I'll lose the best lay I ever had. Talk her out of it?
Nah. If she really wants to, who am I to argue?
"I think the arsehole's right for once," he said. "You looked great on that."
"You really want to kill me and eat me?" She grinned.
It's not that I don't like you, Phil formulated lamely. Oh, fuck it. Sure, why not? was a
passable response. He started to speak. "Y..."
"Your drink, Madam?" The salesman was back. "Have you made a decision?"
Holly glugged down a bottle of chilled Coca Cola. Phil stared at her bare feet. She handed
the empty back, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said "I'll think about it."
Then she gave Phil The Look and stroked his palm with one finger.
"Sorry," he told the salesman, "We've got to go."
It was a couple of hours before Phil was able to resume his musings. Indeed, it was some
time before he was capable of coherent thought at all. The walk back to their flat had been
interesting, to put it one way. He'd had some trouble keeping Holly's groping hands from
going too far and getting them arrested. More than once he'd expected her to drag him into a
bus shelter or somewhere equally inappropriate and sexually assault him in plain view of the
street. Worse yet, he'd known that if she started anything like that he wouldn't be able to
resist for long. Fortunately they had made it back without doing anything too outrageous.
The crown outside the showroom hadn't helped, he remembered with a wry smile. As he and
Holly had emerged, they had given her a round of applause accompanied by wolf whistles
and lewd comments. Holly had played up to it with a saucy grin and a twist of the hips which
had flared the skirt of her dress, not quite enough to reveal all. Her underwear was still wet
and she hadn't replaced it.
Phil wasn't exactly sure when he'd begun to believe that Holly's tales of her cannibal
adventures were perhaps real. He'd never been quite sure they weren't. She had a way of
blurring the line between fantasy and reality, and erotic foreplay isn't the best time to judge
objectively. Some of her stories were quite obviously untrue. They had both played roles,
sometimes his ideas but more often hers, that were clearly unrealistic. Holly had cast him as
a slave, a sheikh who occasionally dined on his harem, an ogre and many other characters
with varying degrees of plausibility. It was quite reasonable to doubt that she was being
entirely truthful. He was never entirely sure whe she was playing, it was one of the things that
kept her a mystery to him. Another mystery was their whole relationship. They had moved in
together almost without discussing it, before they knew each other at all. In some ways, they
still didn't. Despite this, and their almost complete lack of common ground, they seemed to
get along quite well. They rarely fought and never for long.
Holly, sprawled half across him, her head on his shoulder, stirred and muttered in her sleep.
She often slept after a really vigourous bout of sex and this one had set new records. He
hugged her reflexively with his right arm, around her back, and stroked her tangled hair with
his free left hand. Did he really want to kill and eat her? It seemed unreal now. He wasn't
sure, even now, that she meant it.
After she'd 'eaten' him that time some days or maybe weeks ago, she as a were-tigress, he
as her willing victim, he had called her on it.
"She really ate him then? That part's true?"
"Absolutely. Not all of him, of course. Just his juicy bits. The rest got shared out."
"And you?"
She grinned. "Of course. I got some belly meat. Very tasty."
"What's it taste like?"
She chuckled. "It tastes like it tastes, depends on which part. Men and women are different.
Not like pork, anyway, and it's sure not chicken."
Maybe then he'd begun to believe it. Trying to understand Holly was pointless. He gave in
and fell asleep.