Posted by PK on May 12, 2006 at 15:43:35:
Carefully, I turned the handle. It moved freely and I pushed gently on the door. It was unlocked!
Now all we needed was...
Bingo! The quarry was lying naked on the bed, face down, having an afternoon nap. Perfect.
Motioning the others to silence - as if I needed to - I held my hand out and Tom passed me the
spit. Her long, tanned legs were only slightly apart, so I had to be careful. The Hunt laws were
very specific on this: the potential muffin had to be 'tagged' by getting the tip of the spit inside her
without the use of forcible restraint. If I woke her and she scooted off or covered her entry holes,
she'd be free. Slowly and steadily, I move the point down and forwards, between her spread
thighs and within a hair's breadth of her nicely rounded mons. This was the even trickier bit. If I
went in at too steep an angle, it wouldn't penetrate smoothly and the shock would wake her,
she'd recoil forwards, and another fine catch would get away. All of this, of course, happened in
rather less time than it takes to tell it. With painstaking care and agonising slowness, I eased the
warmed, greased spit between her slightly moist labia. It was in! Inch by inch I moved it forward
feeling for resistance. The quarry was mumbling slightly in her sleep and squirming a bit. I could
guess what she was dreaming about. Good, that would help. Finally, I felt the firm resistance I'd
been anticipating. A full entry, about one good cock-length. She was officially caught. I could hear
the others letting out tightly held breaths in relief. Then she woke.
"Mmmph? Whu..." The girl turned over, felt the spit catch between her legs as she twisted
around it and glanced down. "Oh..." She looked up. "You! Oh shit....I'm..."
"Hi, Megan," I said cheerily. "Consider yourself under Muffin Arrest."
"Ha ha. Hello to you too, Jim," Megan said, a little grumpily, "I wasn't expecting to see you until
later. You're really going to....?"
I nodded. "Sorry, but you know how it is. We've tried more than half the dorm and you were the
first eligible target. If we hadn't scored soon, we'd have had to settle for a pig, and you know it's
just not the same."
"I suppose not. But still," Megan rubbed her eyes and sat up, braced on her elbows, and took in
the others standing behind me. "Jerry? You too?"
Jerry looked a bit sheepish. "Sorry, Sis, but you know the rules. Your door was unlocked, you
were fair game," he shrugged, "We were nearly out of time."
"And you must admit, you were a really tempting sight," I teased.
Megan grimaced at the compliment. "Good diet, all those hours at the gym, just so I'll look good
on a barbecue pole."
"Well, you will," I pointed out reasonably. "And I didn't hear you objecting when we roasted Carol
last time."
Megan had no answer to that. "Looks like our date tonight is off, then," she remarked. "Pity, I was
looking forward to it."
"Me too," I said. "I'll have to find someone else to take to the gig. Maybe at the barbi...."
"You'll still be going with him, Sis," Jerry said consolingly, with a slight smirk. "Some of you,
anyway."
"As much as I can eat," I put in.
"Oh, very funny." Megan sat up a bit higher, glancing down at the spit again. "Are you going to
skewer me here, or can I walk?"
"Up to you," I said generously.
In the bad old days, of course, she'd have been skewered on the spot as that tends to prevent
escape attempts quite effectively. That was when Muffin Hunts had been unregulated and barely
even legal. Fortunately, more civilised conditions prevail today. The rules of the hunt are clearly
defined and scrupulously observed, at least by people who have been properly brought up. As
leader and point man of the hunting group, it was my choice whether to impale the quarry
immediately or give her the option of parole.
"I'll walk," Megan said. "I won't try to run, Scout's honour."
"Fair enough," I said and slipped the spit out of her.
Megan swung her legs off the bed and started to put on a pair of sandals to keep her feet clean.
She wouldn't want to be seen with dirty soles. "I must have overslept," she commented. "I was
going to go to the barbi myself."
"Just as well we woke you up, then," Tom quipped. "You might have missed it." Megan gave him
a Look. Obviously she would still have been able to get there before the meat was done. "The
spitting, I mean," Tom said, a little defensively. "That part's always fun to watch." He paused.
"Er...I mean..."
Of course, she wouldn't exactly be watching this time. It was a pity, in a way. She had been a
great girlfriend. If only we could have bagged another girl, I would have met her there and we
could have gone on to the concert later.
Megan stood up. "Okay, let's go," she said.
She looked amazing. Well, she always had, but the situation intensified my appreciation of her
physical beauty. She had a body somewhere between that of a dancer and glamour model, slim
but not skinny, lightly tanned and nicely curved, with pert, ripe breasts, firm as fresh fruit. I
wondered if it would be in bad taste to say what I was thinking. Not that I hadn't said it before, but
in the circumstances...
"You look good enough to eat," Tom said. Oh well.
"I should hope so," Megan retorted mildly.
"Going to put a robe on?" I prompted.
"What for? It's not cold."
I shrugged. "Suit yourself." Some muffins preferred to maintain some semblance of modesty until
the last moment, hanging on to the illusion that they were not quite yet meat. "You DO look nice,"
I added, hoping she would take it unkindly.
"Thanks," Megan said. "If you've got it, flaunt it." 'While you can' went without saying.
I shouldered the spit and we all trooped down the corridor towards the stairs leading to the main
campus.
"Looking good, Sis" Jerry chipped in cheerfully, patting her rump. "Always fancied a piece of
that."
"Wipe than grin off your face," Megan told him. "You'll have to finish your history assignment
without any help from me."
"Oh, bugger. Forgot about that. Oh well, never mind."
"I hope you idiots brought enough oil and barbecue sauce this time. Poor Carol nearly burned.
Jill had to run and get some more while you lot tried to damp the fire down."
"She was nearly gone anyway," Tom protested. "She would insist on being spitted in her
bedroom. It was a bugger of a job carrying her down the stairs and we caught Hell from the
cleaners about the blood."
"It's the principle of the thing," Megan insisted. "She could have been overcooked. Anyway, she
would have lasted longer and there wouldn't have been such a mess if you'd done her more
neatly."
"Nag, nag. You weren't there, she was wriggling all over the place, wouldn't keep still."
"Well, I just hope you do a better job on me."
"Do you want to go on the pole alive?" I asked. "We could always cut your head off first."
"She'll stop talking when we get the spit through her anyway," Tom said.
"That wasn't what I meant..."
"No thanks," Megan said, ignoring the byplay. "I'm only going to do this once, so I may as well
get the full experience."
"That's my girl," I said fondly. Megan always had been one to live life to the full. Still, I would have
liked to keep her head. It was a nice one. She had a pretty, elfin face topped with a short mop of
dark curls. It would have made a lovely trophy.
We came out onto the campus into broad daylight, slightly dazzling after the relative gloom of the
building.
"Love the outfit, Meg," one of the passing students called. A few more cheered ironically, waved
or made lascivious or facetious remarks. ("Hope you remembered your sunblock", "Careful, you'll
get burned" or the ever popular "Yum. Nice rack"). Megan affected not to notice, but I suspected
she was actually enjoying the attention. Shyness had never really been a major problem for her.
"We should do this every day," Tom commented.
"You know why we can't," I said shortly. The college authorities limited the number of these
special barbecues for the obvious reason. We'd run out of girls to cook. The Powers that Be felt
that it might adversely affect the application figures if every female student ended up on paper
plates.
Megan put it succintly: "If you lot had your way, nobody with tits would ever finish a degree."
"Oh, I know you're right," Tom conceded mildly, "Can't blame a man for wishing, though."
I could see both sides of the question. Of course we couldn't have girlflesh every day, but only
roasting one girl a week meant that most people never got the pussy. I was certainly looking
forward to eating Meg's. In fact, I felt a little resentful of the fact that most of her would be
consumed by other people. She was MY girlfriend, I wanted all of her! Unreasonable, I know.
Jealousy is an ugly emotion, and I suppressed it as best I could. I gave Meg a sideways glance,
and there must have been something on my face because she grinned and said. "What's the
matter? Don't like sharing me?"
I smiled back wryly. "Mind reader," I accused.
She laughed. "Gotcha!"
Well, it was nice to know she was taking this in good part. It did tend to put a wet blanket on the
proceedings when they sulked. Not my Megan, I thought, rather proudly. That brought a twinge
of regret with it. After all, I really was quite fond of her and after today she'd be gone. Well, rules
are rules and as head of the muffin hunter team I had a job to do - bringing home the bacon, you
might say.
It didn't take long to reach the site of the barbecue, near the edge of the campus in a pleasant
meadow not far from some trees. The usual crowd were there, tending the firepit, setting out
tables and guarding the beer tent. Not the whole student population, thank goodness. Some of
them didn't like eating people or had niggling moral objections to spitting women. Some, believe
it or not, were actually vegetarians. Well, not for me to pass judgement. All the more for us good,
red-blooded cannibals say I. There were quite enough of us to gobble Megan down to the bare
bones.
"Doesn't look like there'll be any leftovers," Megan observed.
"Put on another sack of baking potatoes," Jerry suggested. "Get everybody stuffed and there
might be enough of her left for breakfast."
Megan stuck her tongue out at him. A tall blonde turned as we approached. "Hi Jill."
"Hi Meg," Jill said. "Love the party outfit." Megan smiled as if it was the first time she'd heard that.
After all, Jill was a friend. In fact, like most of the girls present she wasn't wearing that much more
than Megan was. Most of them wore a minimal bikini, as if displaying the attractions of their own
bodies, sexual and gustatory, in a bid to upstage the guest of honour. Then, Jill seemed to take
in the facts that Megan was accompanied by the hunting party and her state of undress and put
it together. "Oh my God. Don't tell me you're...."
"The meat. The main attraction. Dinner on the hoof? Yes, that's right. I got muffined."
"Oh, Meg, I'm so sorry. I mean...well..." There was an awkward pause. What was the polite way
to say 'I'm going to eat you anyway'?
"Mustn't grumble," Megan said, letting her off. "I've tasted girlflesh, now you're going to taste
mine. I'd do the same in your place. Pig yourself, it might be you next."
"Oh, thanks," Jill exclaimed, relieved. "I must say you DO look yummy." She gave Megan a good
looking over. "Hmmm..."
"Leg or breast?" Megan quizzed, cocking an eyebrow.
Jill looked briefly embarrassed again, then laughed. "Oh, everything looks good. This?" She felt
Meg's upper left arm, "Or this..." then she stepped closer, embraced Megan and kissed her full
on the mouth.
"Somebody get a bucket of water," Jerry said. "Or a fire hose."
"Or a camera," I said, admiring the spectacle. I'd noticed before that Jill liked kissing the girls who
were about to be roasted. I hadn't thought Meg went that way, but she didn't seem to be
objecting. Well, she was the 'try anything once' type and she wouldn't be getting any more
chances.
"Muffin Muncher snogs Muffin," Tom said in headline capitals. "Photo on Page Three."
Then I remembered I did have a mini-camera in my pocket and took a few quick shots. Should
go down well in the club journal.
"Break it up, you two," Jerry said. Aside, he added "Or we could just snatch Jill's skimpies off and
do them together."
I had to admit it was an appealing thought, but technically against the rules. Before we could
pursue the idea, the girls came up for air.
"I think I'll have your tongue," Jill said mischievously.
"I thought you just did," Meg said, looking slightly dazed. "Bloody Hell, you're good. No wonder
you never have any trouble getting dates."
"Sorry to butt in, ladies, but time's getting on," I prompted.
Megan nodded. "I suppose I'd better get oiled up," she said. To Jill: "Want to help?"
"Try to stop me."
Megan was greeted appreciatively by one and all with an assortment of the usual comments as
we made our way over to the tub, ranging from 'Tough luck, Meg,' to 'Mmmm, Megan!' in the tone
of Homer Simpson drooling over a hamburger. She stepped into recycled wooden bath and
stood, legs apart and arms slightly raised. "Okay, Jim and Jill, get me marinaded."
"What about me?" Jerry griped.
"You'll get yours when I'm cooked," Megan retorted. She seemed a bit miffed at him, for some
reason. One of those sibling things, I suppose. We got to work, slapping on the herb-infused oil
and rubbing it in with enthusiasm, Megan occasionally giggling or gasping when we touched her
ticklish bits. I'm sure she enjoyed it as much as we did, if not more. It was always more fun with
the co-operative ones. I remember one girl - Angie? - who had protested that she was a
vegetarian so it wasn't fair that we should eat her, it was against her principles, meat is murder,
women are not muffins and all that rubbish. She had tried to run, even after promising not to just
so we wouldn't spike her on the spot. Disgraceful. We'd had to drag her across campus and into
the tub where she'd struggled and complained all the while we held her down and oiled her and
finally somebody had shoved an apple in her mouth to shut her up. It wasn't easy getting the spit
in, either, but I'd resisted the defeatist suggestion that we should just cut her head off. It was the
right decision, worth the hard work; she had wriggled beautifully when we put her over the coals.
Delicious, too. Never let them tell you that vegetarians taste bland. RIP Angie, a bad sport but
good eating.
Finally, Meg was done to everyone's satisfaction and she stepped out of the tub, almost slipping,
ready for the next stage. Tom, who had been watching with interest along with half the crowd,
handed me the spit and we walked over to the spitting table. Meg started to climb up as I wiped
my hands on a rag.
"Guess this is it," she said, sounding slightly nervous. They often were at this stage, despite the
fact that they'd known where things were going all along. It was a turning point, once the pole
went through, it was irrevocable. "Goodbye kiss?" She knelt down on the table and we kissed
awkwardly. "Pity about the concert," she said a little wistfully.
"Sorry," I said feebly, "Sorry you'll miss it." She smiled and turned round, presenting her rump to
the spit I held. I had my pole at Megan's opening for the second time that day - well, third if you
count shagging her until two in the morning - when: "Hold on," somebody behind me said. "We
seem to have what you might call a situation."
I started to push the pole in anyway. Megan thrust back at it gamely, and it went in about six
inches. She wiggled her enticing rump a bit. "What situation?" I muttered absently, annoyed at
the interruption. I felt that I'd been intruded upon in an intimate moment. It isn't every day you get
to spit your girlfriend and I wanted to savour the experience.
"We have a volunteer," the Man from Porlock persisted.
That got my attention. "What?" It wasn't unheard of, but volunteers were quite rare. Most girls
were content to wait until they got caught.
"Me," said a female voice. I turned round. There stood another naked girl holding a couple of
strips of coloured fabric in her hand.
"Ouch," Megan exclaimed. I must have twisted the spit in turning. "Sorry," I said and pulled it out.
"Where did you come from?" I asked the girl. She was a buxom blonde, slightly shorter than Meg
and a little plumper, with bigger breasts and thighs. Definitely edible; some might even say a
classic roaster.
"I've been here all the time," she said, holding up the scraps of fabric. "I just took my bikini off."
"Brenda?" Jill came round from the other side of the table where she'd been waiting to brace
Megan's shoulders as she got run through.
"Hi, Jill," the blonde said.
"Friend of yours?" I wondered.
"Sort of. I mean...er.." Slept with her once, I guessed. Or twice.
Everybody started talking at once. "Great, let's do them both" was aired more than once, to the
usual rebuttal that we couldn't do that. Not without a special occasions dispensation, anyway.
What it eventually came down to was "What do we do now?"
"Pick one and roast her, obviously," was the answer, to be followed by "But which one?"
"I volunteered," the girl pointed out. "That must count for something. Do me."
Megan had twisted round nimbly into a cross-legged sitting position on the table and was
following the proceedings with some interest. "No argument from me," she put in.
Tom objected, hunter's pride stung. "We've already got our muffin, caught properly by the rules.
Come back next week, we'll do you then."
"She might have changed her mind by that time," someone else pointed out. "Lets get her while
she's hot and make the other one promise to come back next week."
("It's Megan," Megan said indignantly, nettled at being called 'The Other One'.
"Sorry, Megan," someone said contritely.)
"I don't think that's fair," I said. "We can't expect poor Meg to wait a week and go through all this
again. We either roast her now or let her go." I wasn't sure if that was in the rules, but it sounded
reasonable and I said it firmly, so nobody argued. It often works like that, try it.
"I don't know. At least I'd make the concert," Megan mused. I shushed her.
"Make them wrestle in oil for it," Jerry suggested. Megan smirked.
"Don't be an idiot," Tom said. "Meg isn't that keen, she's only here because we caught her. She'd
just let Brenda win."
"Curses, foiled," Megan muttered darkly.
We'd had two volunteers fight for who got cooked just once before, and two involuntary muffins
fight for who didn't. Highly entertaining in both cases, but in the current situation it was
unworkable. It was a total mess. We had to decide soon, it was about time to put one of them on
to roast. Debating the rules on precedence would take too long. There was only one way to break
the deadlock.
"We'll vote on it," I said. "Whoever gets the most votes gets cooked, the loser goes free. If she -
whoever she is - wants to do it next week, that's up to her."
In lieu of any better suggestion, that's what we did. There was the usual bit of rhubarb - muttering
and griping - but nothing serious. The general consensus was 'let's get on with it' and 'whatever
works'.
Eddie the Nerd was already setting up a poll on his portable computer. What, he brought it to a
barbecue? Yes, duh, that's why he's called Eddie the Nerd. "I can do it in less time than it will
take you to find enough bits of paper and a hat," he retorted to suggestions that there was a
simpler way.
"Certainly in less time than it will take to argue about it," I said. "Do it."
"But Meg's already oiled," Jerry protested. Definitely some serious sibling issues there. One day
I'd get him on the couch, assume a Viennese accent and ask him "How lonk haff you vanted to
eat your sister?" Well, I couldn't really point the finger in the circumstances.
"Jill, oil Brenda up," I ordered, getting into the Man in Charge role. "Jerry, shut up." To the world
in general, "They'll both be ready by the time the poll is done."
"What brought this on, Brenda?" Jill wondered.
"Dunno, I suppose I just got carried away by the mood of the moment. I've thought about it a few
times and then, watching Megan getting prepared, I realised I wished it was me."
"Can I help?" Megan asked, sliding off the table.
"Surely. You too, er..." Brenda looked nonplussed.
"Jim," I said, offering my hand. We shook.
Oiling Brenda was almost as much fun as doing Meg. She certainly got into the spirit of things,
judging by the noises she made. I mostly took care of her upper body while the girls did her legs.
I made sure to work the marinade very thoroughly into her plump breasts. Jill paid equally serious
attention to the prime cut between her legs. Well, maybe a bit too much. You don't apply oil with
your tongue.
"You're not supposed to eat it 'til it's cooked," I noted when she appeared to be getting carried
away. So was Brenda, from the sound of it.
"Shorry," Jill mumbled. "Mm, Bren? CAN I eat it when it's cooked? Or did you have somebody
else in mind?"
"No, go ahead," Brenda gasped.
Oh well. No pussy on my plate if she got elected. Muffins, volunteer or not, were allowed to
assign their prime cuts. If they didn't, we held a draw. I remembered that Meg hadn't actually
given me hers. I hadn't thought to ask.
"Er, Meg..."
"Yes," she said, "If I get toasted you can have my pussy. Jill, you can have my tongue, too, if you
were serious about that. I'll announce it when I'm on the table."
"Thanks," we said in chorus.
"You're welcome."
"I don't suppose I could have those really nice sandals you were wearing?" Jill asked tentatively.
"I mean, you know, if..."
"Why not? I won't be needing them. Or the concert ticket. Jim's got it, you can go with him."
"Can I shag him too? I always get horny at a good gig."
"Feel free. He's pretty good. Well, you'll have to ask him. Not twice, I suspect."
I wasn't touching that one with a ten foot pole. All too soon, it seemed, Brenda was done. There
wasn't a square inch of her we hadn't covered. "Out you get," I said briskly.
"How do I look?" she wanted to know.
"You both look absolutely delicious," I said diplomatically. Not that it wasn't true. Jill just went
'Mmmm' and licked her lips.
We strolled back to the spitting area where, on an adjacent table, Eddie had set up his laptop. It
looked like the poll was almost done as people filed past one by one, sometimes shading the
keyboard as they entered their votes. "It's very simple," Eddie explained. "Hit one key - M for
Megan or B for Brenda - and press Enter, then move on."
"Oh, gosh, I hope it's me," Brenda said breathlessly.
"I hope it's you, too," Megan said sincerely.
"Do you mind if I vote for her too?" Jill asked Megan. "I mean, you're just as yummy and I was
really looking forward to eating you, but..."
"You get her tasty bits?"
"Well, there is that. Besides, it's not as if you really wanted...."
"Go ahead," Megan said, "I won't take it personally, trust me."
Those who had already voted were, of course, trying to guess the outcome in advance, despite
the fact that they'd know in a couple of minutes. You don't have to count votes in a computer poll,
just press the key or whatever that say's it's finished and there it is.
"I hope it's the blonde, she's really juicy. I like 'em a bit plump."
"Yeah, but have you seen the legs on the other one?"
"I bet it's Megan. Hope it is, I really fancy her."
And so it went on.
The girls joined the line to vote. That was three more for Brenda. Maybe Meg would get to the gig
after all.
"Can the muffins vote?" somebody wondered aloud. There's always one.
"Yes, they can," I said bluntly. Nothing in the rules said they couldn't, as far as I knew. "Anybody
think we should take another half an hour to argue about it? No?"
There was no response to that, so I joined the end of the line. Half a minute later I was in front of
the keyboard. I carefully selected a letter, pressed it and hit the 'enter' key. I wondered if anybody
had hit the wrong key by accident. It was an odd thought that we might roast the wrong girl
because of a typo. And that, it seemed, was that.
"All done?" Eddie inquired, "Okay then." He rattled something off on the keyboard in about half a
second and then hit Enter.
I glanced at the potential muffins, who were both waiting with 'bated breath. 'Fingers crossed' I
mouthed at Megan, who raised her eyebrows, then I realised that could be taken either way.
"I don't believe it," Eddie said.
"Don't tell me it's a tie," I groaned. Would we end up having to toss a coin?
"Not quite," Eddie said. "But close. Only one vote in it." He turned around, poker faced. "And the
lucky winner, by a nose, is..........."
"Oh, stop milking it you fatuous ass," I growled. Too many bloody game shows.
".....Mmmmmm...."
"Seriously, I'm going to hit you."
"..mmm - Brenda!"
There was a ragged cheer and a few groans of disappointment from the really fanatical Megan
fanciers. Meg and Jill congratulated Brenda, who was practically bouncing up and down with
excitement, with the predictable effects on her bust.
"Bounce one of those beauties onto my plate," came from the crowd, along with a few other
choice comments.
"Well, congratulations everybody," I told the girls. "Looks like you all got what you wanted, more
or less." To Brenda: "Let's get you spitted and over the coals, time's getting on. Up on the table,
meat." No, I was not being rude. Willing muffins love being addressed like this. Brenda quivered
with delight like a petted puppy and did as she was told.
"Any last words?" I prompted as I positioned the spit. Of course, she would still be able to talk
until it reached her throat, but it was likely she might be a little distracted.
"No, I ...oh, right. Well, if anybody cares what a meatgirl says, I'd like Jill to have my pussy. Jim
and Megan can have my tits if they want them, otherwise dispose of me however you like. Hope
you all enjoy me. Now, stick that thing right up me. Please."
"We will, thanks," I said. It had been a perfect exit speech for a muffin. Short and to the point. I
slipped the spit into her nicely lubricated opening and began to work it forward. Getting it all the
way through her took some time and care. Not that she wasn't cooperating, but she was letting
her arousal get the better of her at times and she tended to wriggle just a bit too much. The
people watching offered encouragement and appreciative comments on the quality of the meat -
it was only polite - and this got her even more worked up. Still, we managed it without too much
delay, and we in the hunt team carried her over to the barbecue pit. Now she was in the capable
hands of the cooks.
Megan had been watching the whole thing. As Brenda was settled onto the spit mounting and
set turning over the hot coals, I turned to her and asked, "Enjoying the spectacle?"
She seemed to stir from a slight trance. "What? Oh, yes, I always do." She still seemed
distracted.
"What's the matter, wishing it was you up there?"
"No, not really."
"You don't sound entirely sure."
"Oh, it's not that exactly. I was really relieved when Brenda won the poll. Just a little bit miffed that
more people didn't vote for me. Yes, I know that doesn't make sense, I didn't want to get cooked,
I just really thought I looked tastier than her. I didn't know I was such a vain bitch."
"You didn't exactly lose, you know. You, Jill and Brenda all voted for her for personal reasons, not
because she looked the better roaster."
Megan smiled at me. "You're so sweet."
"I didn't want to point that out while we were spitting her. Come on, she deserves to enjoy her
place on centre stage, it's going to be her last."
Megan smiled wryly and nodded. "You're right, of course. Come on, let's get a drink."
"Don't you want to nip back to the dorm and get showered and dressed?"
Megan shrugged. "Why bother? I'm used to it now, and it's not as if I've got anything everybody
hasn't seen already. I could probably do with some sunscreen, though."
"No problem, we've got some on hand. Edible, herb-infused sunscreen."
"You're kidding. There's a market for that?"
"No, some of the biochemists in the club whipped it up; it's for guests who haven't decided if they
want to volunteer or not. They mostly don't, but they do get a kick out of having it on."
We strolled over to the tents, got some of the sunscreen oil and two beers and sipped at them,
sitting on the grass while I rubbed the stuff into Meg's already oily body. Was that fun? You bet.
Another girl approached, wearing the usual skimpy garb: in this case a pair of frayed denim
shorts and a flimsy halter that her nipples showed through. "Hi Meg."
"Hi Julie."
"Still with Jim, then?" To me, "Sorry, no offense, but..." she shrugged.
"Sure, why not?" Megan wondered. "He's a good lay."
"How about because he muffined you?"
Megan shrugged. "So? He's a muffin hunter, it's what he does. It's not as if I didn't know that
before."
"If you'd been available first, I'd have done you, Jules," I said reasonably. "You'd cook up nicely, I
reckon."
"Um, thanks....."
"And here you are, waiting for Brenda to be done to a turn," Megan added. "If I'd been on that
spit, wouldn't you have eaten me?"
Julie had the grace to look embarrassed. I felt a bit sorry for her, Meg can be pretty sharp in an
argument. I wondered which way she'd voted but I didn't ask; no need to stir up trouble. "Yes, I
suppose I would have. Sorry."
"Don't be," Megan said, "If you'd been muffined, I'd certainly have eaten you and thoroughly
enjoyed it. Okay?"
"Okay," Julie said, relieved to be let off the hook. "Let's see how the meat's doing."
As we strolled over to the cooking pit, I couldn't help admiring Julie's ripe figure, though I tried not
to stare. She was close enough for me to catch her healthy, appetising woman-scent. I wondered
if she might be available in the near future.
"I know what you're thinking," Megan whispered in my ear.
I smiled and nodded minimally. She could read me like a book. Julie didn't seem to notice.
We arrived just in time for the finale. Brenda was in her last throes. Jill was watching her with
admiration. "Hi," she greeted us. "Just watch her, she's incredible. I don't even know how long
she's been going."
Considering the limited range of movement allowed by the fact that she was spitted end to end
with her wrists and ankles lashed to the spit, Brenda was performing wonderfully. Her whole body
was convulsing in waves around the pole.
"They say a woman's last orgasm as she's being cooked seems to last forever," Jill said.
"So I've heard," Megan said sceptically. "How would 'they' know, whoever they are?"
"DeMorgan wrote an article on it," Jill said.
"One of the first exponents of live woman roasting," I put in.
"He spitted his girlfriend, Angelina. They'd worked out a system of communication using just
finger movements, so she could tell him what was happening to her as she cooked. She told him
it was the most amazing sensation ever and she had absolutely no regrets about doing it."
"That must have been a relief," Megan said dryly, "How did he talk her into trying it out if she
didn't know that beforehand?"
"He didn't," Jill said. "She talked HIM into it."
"Strange girl," Megan mused.
We fell silent and, along with several others, just watched as Brenda worked her way up to the
climax of climaxes. I almost felt it myself when she peaked and went out.
"What a way to go," Julie said, dreamily. I gave her a speculative glance. Contact orgasm? Her
muffinhood beginning to burgeon?
The cooks now slid the spit mounting sideways off the fire - it was on runners designed for this
purpose - and positioned a bucket under Brenda's now quiescent body. With practised ease,
they slit her belly and removed her entrails and internal organs. That done, back over the fire she
went and the spit was lowered a notch for the serious cooking to begin.
Jill rummaged in the gut bucket. "Anybody else want the kidneys? No?" She had produced a
toasting fork from somewhere. "Great appetisers." She impaled the organs and began toasting
them over the coals, squatting on her haunches.
"I'll have the ovaries," Julie said. "Supposed to be an aphrodisiac."
"Here you go," Jill said, passing them.
I thought I'd wait for the usual cuts. Brenda, now hollowed out, was looking seriously tasty. I
could wait.
"Thus she achieves Meathood, the ultimate state of Woman," somebody else said. Had to be
Weird Freddie. I'm not much into religion myself and piety always makes me cringe. I just like
eating girls.
"I can't help wondering," Megan said at last. "I know I shouldn't ask...." she gave me a quizzical,
teasing, pleading look. You know, the way girlfriends do when they want something they
shouldn't have.
"You're right," I said.
"Oh, go on," she wheedled. I knew I was never going to hear the end of it if I didn't tell her. "I
won't tell anybody."
As if I was going to believe that. "Who did I vote for?" She nodded eagerly. "I voted for Brenda."
"Really?" It wasn't quite a question, Megan knew I wasn't a liar. "You thought she was tastier than
me?"
"No," I said, "Nobody looks tastier than you and I was really looking forward to eating your pussy,
but..."
"What?" She looked so cute I wanted to kiss her nose.
"I didn't have the heart to make you miss a Jeff Beck concert. But if you leave your door open
next week...." I licked my lips.
Megan laughed and hugged me, oily body plastered against mine. It was going to be a beautiful
day.