Posted by Sawney Beane on August 17, 2006 at 00:21:31:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #54
IF I AM TO BE YOUR MEAT...
by Sawney Beane
24-25, 27 November 1997
3,577 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: This story was very literally inspired by the phrase "If I am to be your meat..." It seemed to jump into my mind one day and remained there hauntingly until I had formed a story around it. It became the story of a girl who wants to die but is not so sure about being eaten. The other element that came to drive this story in the couple of weeks before I had written it down was the idea of the somewhat original preparation method. It is a slight variation on an old theme, and I don't have any idea how feasible it is, but it sort of begged to be written. It turned out to be rather a nice little story.
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"If I am to be your meat," she said calmly, "there are a few things I have to ask you." She was reacting to his revelation with obvious surprise but only a little bit of concern.
"Naturally," he said with a friendly smile, "anything I can tell you."
"First of all, how do you know little girls taste better than boys?"
"You're hardly a little girl; you're twenty-three years old."
"Perhaps, but I will never be an old girl."
"It appears not."
"You didn't answer my question."
"What makes you think I think girls taste better than boys?"
"The woman at the Suicide Prevention Hotline said you asked them to put you in touch with an attractive woman eighteen to thirty years old with a death wish."
"So I did."
"Don't you find it odd using the Suicide Prevention Hotline as a dating service?"
"A little," he admitted with a sheepish smile, "but they try very hard to dissuade their callers and only give out the numbers of people like me to clients they think to be hopeless. All things being equal, it's better for your death to give someone else a little pleasure than to have it happen alone in a closed room."
"That's debatable."
"Anyway, they must have given you quite a going over before they put you in touch with me."
She rolled her eyes in tired agreement. "Of course; they would have driven me to suicide if I hadn't already been committed to it."
"May I ask why you wish to die?"
"Yes, but I won't tell you," she replied with an alluring smile. "It's a very private thing. Anyway, you haven't answered my question about your wanting females over males."
"No, I've been avoiding it."
"I noticed."
"Well, it's just that there's a certain erotic aspect to consuming another person, and I'm a heterosexual male, so I crave females, especially gorgeous ones like you."
"Thank you," she said with a toss of her long brown tresses and a blink of her dark brown eyes. "But what if boys are just ten times more delicious?"
"I don't know; I haven't ever tried one. Why are you so interested in that?"
"Don't know; I'm just wondering about it. I mean, men have less fat, and firmer muscles most of the time, and it seems like that would make better meat."
"True, but women are soft and tender. The fat actually gives the meat a good flavour so long as there isn't too much of it. All those muscles are probably a bit tough."
"I see."
"Anyway, it sounds like you're accepting this cannibalism thing pretty well."
"I can talk about it well enough, but to tell the truth it's sort of freaking me out."
"Why?"
"Well, one way or another I am determined to die as soon as possible, but I'd never thought that I might be eaten by someone. I don't know if I like that. It seems a bit eerie to think of my body cooked and munched on by a man, especially if I know he's getting off on it."
"It's your decision, of course, but I would love to have you adorn my table."
"Well, why do you want to eat people in the first place?" she said with dispassionate curiosity in her eyes. "I mean, isn't that some sort of really whacked out behaviour?"
"I suppose it is a mental illness in the strictest sense of the term, but as long as my meals are volunteers, I don't see what possible harm it could do. I've just always had this craving ever since I was a little boy."
"I don't know whether to fear you or to feel sorry for you."
He reacted as if he'd just broken a crystal goblet by accident. "No, you don't need to do either. I assure you I will not harm you unless you are clearly willing to be harmed, and I'm happy enough with my plight. It's certainly an odd desire to have, but it doesn't really hurt anyone."
"I see." She pondered a moment in silence as if trying to come to a decision. "Will it be just you or do you have a bunch of cannibal friends?"
"I'd like to ask fifteen of my friends over to dinner unless you'd rather not be shared."
"Sixteen people! I'll be quite a feast!" She shivered a bit at the thought. "Am I big enough for that? I'm a fairly small girl."
He laughed gently. "You're plenty big. We won't even need half of you for that meal. I expect that there will be plenty of leftovers."
"I'll be leftovers? I'm still not sure I'm happy with the idea of sixteen people looking at my dead cooked body and discussing how I taste in relation to your previous meals and now you tell me I'm to be leftovers?" She shook her head in somewhat exaggerated dismay. "Will I meet these people?"
"If you wish, but it would be more convenient if you didn't," he said. "It would be best if we could get you in the oven long before most of them come over. Actually, I might have two of my friends help prepare you."
"OK, I think it would be better if I didn't know them." She absently pinched the side of her bare midriff just above the waistband of her jeans. "You want this to be meat?" she said almost to herself.
"Very much so."
"How do you plan to prepare me then?"
"Are you sure you want me to tell you the details?" he said uncertainly. "It will get a bit gory."
"No," she said firmly, "I have to know. Will you kill me first or will you stick me into a big oven alive? Do you have an oven big enough for me?"
"We have a pretty big oven, but we will have to cut off your arms and legs before you will fit in it. Of course, you will probably be long dead before we do that."
This gave her something else to ponder, and she tried amusedly to imagine what she would look like without arms and legs. "Interesting," she murmured, "and how will you kill me?"
"The easiest way is to slit your throat," he said emotionlessly. "That doesn't hurt very much, and it is very quick."
"And then you just cut off my arms and legs and put me in a big roasting pan?"
"No, we have to get your entrails out first. You have lots of waste in your bowels and bacteria that can make your flesh toxic."
She gasped in wonder. "And how do you do that?" She patted her belly affectionately.
"Well, we could cut open you abdomen and scoop them out, but my friend Mike came up with a great new method that we tried last time with pretty good results."
"Which is?"
"Well, we roll you over on your belly and stick a knife up your arsehole. We cut a nice ring around the edge of your rectum and then pull it out."
"You're kidding!" She was unconsciously holding both hands on her buttocks, which were constrained under tightly stretched denim. "Talk about haemorrhoids!"
"Yeah, then we just pull, and, if we're careful, we can pull all of your colon and most of your small intestines out until they are stretched taut. Then we tied them off and cut. Your stomach will stay inside with a little bit of the small intestine, but most of the really dirty stuff comes out."
"And you throw that away?"
"No, we wouldn't waste any part of a lady as pretty as you," he said flatteringly. "Once it's outside of you, we can wash it really well and then it makes lovely sausages or tripe."
"And once the rest of me is disembowelled you stick me in the oven?"
"Yes, after we have stuffed you."
"Stuffed me?"
"Yes, my friend Brad makes the best stuffing, and we pack it in through your arsehole through a plastic tube until you're about ready to burst your belly. Next we cut off your limbs and then you go in the oven and come out delicious."
She tried to imagine her stuffed and limbless body cooked to a golden brown and lying on its back on a platter in the centre of a table being hungrily devoured by sixteen middle class cannibals. It was really too much to ask her to comprehend. "Maybe you should find someone else."
"We won't force you, of course, but we would love to have you as our next meal."
"But what if I don't taste good?"
"You will."
"Do all of you get turned on by eating a woman like me?"
"Most of us. Some just think people taste good, and some are wives who don't particularly crave woman meat but don't object enough to stay home."
"I'm not sure I know you well enough to have you playing with my innards and all of that. Hell, I'm not sure I'm ready for you to see me naked, let alone ready for you to be eating my pussy and breasts!"
"Giving your body to a man for his food is an intimate act," he said thoughtfully. "I'll know your body better than any lover you've ever had. You'll have to decide for yourself."
"Still, it might be more enjoyable than sleeping pills."
"For us it will be at least, and we'll try to make your departure as comfortable as possible."
"I appreciate that, but I'm still not sure I can get used to being food," she said. "I mean, you guys will be shitting me out in a few days! Do I want that?"
"Only part of you. The important parts of your body will be absorbed into our bodies. You will become a part of us, and we will survive because of your gift to us."
"Sounds good if you put it that way, but I still can't imagine being meat on your table."
"Look at it this way, you'll be eaten no matter how you kill yourself. You just have to decide whether you'd rather be eaten by some men and a few women who will appreciate your gift or whether you'd prefer being eaten by impersonal worms and bacteria."
"I hadn't thought of it that way." She stared thoughtfully into space for several silent minutes. "OK, I'll be your meat. When can we do it?"
He smiled a relieved grin. "At your convenience. I can be ready to go tomorrow morning if you want or else we can wait a while."
"Then tomorrow it will be. I assume you won't mind if I stay at your house tonight?"
"Not at all."
That evening Marcus prepared his own bed for Susan and chivalrously prepared to get his own sleep in on the sofa in the living room. At the last minute, however, Susan coyly invited him to share the bed with her and proceeded to undress in front of him without the least bit of self-consciousness. Then she slid under the covers and watched him undress and join her. At this point, Marcus was expecting sex, but Susan immediately curled up into a small ball in and burrowed herself against his firm body. In a matter of minutes, she was slumbering soundly like a hibernating small woodland creature, and he was left awake with his anticipation of the following day and his astonishment at the behaviour of his new acquaintance.
The following morning, Marcus awoke before his alarm clock sounded, but it wasn't spontaneous. There was something else there, a strange tickling in his ear. He soon realized that it was a tongue and opened his eyes sleepily. He saw Susan kneeling over his prone body and watched detachedly as she slid his alert penis into her warm womanhood. Thus he found himself having sex before he had completely woken up. It was an unusual feeling, but he found it more enjoyable than most conscious sexual acts.
When it was finished and Susan had slid limply to his side where she lay affectionately clinging to his arm and leg, Marcus finally woke up. After what seemed like an appropriate interval had passed, Susan spoke up in a soft sensuous voice, "Well, what shall we do today?"
"We've already made plans if you're still willing," he said gently, wondering if it was tactful to bring up her scheduled demise.
"Naturally," she purred, "just tell me what I have to do."
"Well, you should go in the bathroom and make yourself as beautiful as you can. You know, all the usual stuff, and make sure you use the toilet so you get as much waste out of you as you can."
"Yes, sir," she said almost mockingly and skipped off to the bathroom. Marcus sat wondering where the uncertain young woman of the previous day had gone and how this infinitely carefree little waif had replaced her. Then he walked to the hall bathroom and cleaned himself up before dressing and going into the kitchen to get everything ready.
An hour later, Susan made her entrance into the kitchen, walking softly with an odd gait suggesting that her feet were touching cushions rather than hard floor. She was completely nude and began to greet Marcus with her exquisite body. But she stopped short with a gasp and vainly tried to conceal her breasts and genitals behind her slender arms. She had expected Marcus to be alone, but there were two other young men in the kitchen with him.
"Oh, Susan, this is Brad," Marcus said motioning to the taller one. "And this is Mike," he said motioning to the fatter one.
"Pleased to meet you," Susan murmured uncertainly and trying to acknowledge their presence without exposing herself by moving her arms.
Marcus noticed her discomfort and tried to soothe her. "These two gentlemen will soon know your body inside and out, darling."
She realized her folly and reluctantly let her arms slide slowly down to her sides. "Yes, I'm sure they will. Welcome to my party, guys."
"OK, are you ready?" Marcus was obviously eager to get past the awkward moment by jumping right in.
"Sure," she said re-focusing her attention on her host, "what do I do now?"
"Drink this," said Brad offering her a glass or red wine.
"No, thanks," she said politely, "I don't drink alcohol."
"We would really prefer it if you did just this once," said Marcus gently. "For one thing it will relax you a little bit, and it will also improve your flavour somewhat."
Susan acceded to the request and was persuaded to down three glasses of the bitter red liquid. It made her feel a bit lightheaded, but the few misgivings she had remaining were soon floating away. Only then did she notice the more ominous elements of her surroundings. There was an enormous roasting pan propped against the door and a gigantic tub of bread stuffing. The pre-heating light on the large oven was glowing red in anticipation of her arrival. She sauntered over and tasted a bit of the stuffing. "Umm, tasty," she said.
"It is only a pale complement to the main event," said Brad.
Susan only smiled at this peculiar compliment.
"Now you can just lie down on your belly on the table there," instructed Marcus.
"I guess you don't waste any time, do you?" She joked but was soon stretched out comfortably on the sturdy wooden table in the centre of the kitchen.
Marcus grabbed the mass of her hair in one hand and pulled her head back. Her slender neck was stretched into a smooth white curve, and he held a sharp knife poised to free her life-blood. "Do you have any last words, Susan?"
"Bon appetite, gentlemen," she said with a forced smile.
Marcus lowered the knife, and she felt the cold steel touch her throat. But something wasn't right and she cried out in panic, "No, wait, don't do that!"
Marcus and the others sighed disappointedly. They'd had other girls back out at the last moment, but this one had looked so perfect. It was a shame. "Second thoughts, dear?"
"Sort of," she replied uncertainly. "I don't want you to slit my throat. Just go ahead and do what you were going to, but I want to be alive to watch."
Marcus was partly relieved and partly uncertain. "I don't think that's a very good idea. We've never gutted a girl alive, and I'm sure it will hurt like hell! There's no way to be sure how long you will last."
"Please, it doesn't matter," she pleaded, "just take my insides out and everything you said you would do. I'll try not to squirm too much."
"Well, OK," said Marcus finally. We'll begin in just a minute, so be ready for some serious pain.
"Whatever it takes."
"OK, here goes," said Marcus as he spread her buttocks apart for easy access. Mike slipped a paring knife a little way into her rectum and began to slice into its circumference.
Susan yelped in pain as the intense pain seared into her rump. Every nerve seemed to be firing, and she was blind with agony. Brad had to help hold her down as Mike reached his fingers into her and pulled the severed rectum a few inches out of her arsehole. He and Marcus tied the end off with a bit of string, and then Mike pulled it gently further out. What was once a localized pain spread over much of her abdomen as her intestines slid oddly around inside her under the tension.
Now a foot of her colon was outside her body, and more was coming as Mike pulled it slowly but surely along. She could feel things tearing within her as the intestines were dislocated, and quite a bit of blood followed it out of her bum. More came out, and finally the rough colon turned into the smooth tube of her small intestine. On and on it went, and she began to feel faint. The pain was intense, but she was also beginning to feel a queer emptiness in her belly that was, in some ways, worse.
Then it was finished, and everyone knew it. The remains of her digestive system was stretched taut, and her intestines stretched behind her in a coiled mass like a twenty-foot tail. Mike tied off the tube with a small bit of twine and used his knife to slice it off just above the knot. Then he pushed the upper end back into her, and some wine drained out to mingle with the blood pooling in her vacant abdominal cavity.
By this time Susan was far from well. Her body was afire with pain, but her consciousness was clinging barely to life. She knew with appalling clarity that she was near the threshold of death, but before she could die, fresh agonies had been thrust upon her.
Mike had inserted a plastic tub into her violated anus and used it to spread the orifice painfully wide. Brad had brought over his tub of stuffing and was scooping it rapidly into the plastic tube and into her interior. He used his hands to press the mushy bread mass deep within her, and she could feel the odd pressure of his fist upon her diaphragm. Handful after handful went in, and she began to feel as if she had just eaten much too much for dinner. When Brad was finally satisfied that she was full enough, the plastic tube was removed, and her widened arsehole plugged with an ear of corn.
She moaned as the three men rolled her over on her back, and she experienced a few moments of lucidity before falling into her final slumber. In those few moments she observed many peculiar circumstances. First she noticed that her usually trim abdomen rose above her hips in an unusually broad curve. She looked as if she were pregnant or at least mildly obese. She had not expected to be stuffed so full. The next thing she noticed was the pile of greyish-pink tubing on the counter not far from her head. It was with an odd sort of pleasure that she realized that these had once been her intestines.
Brad and Mike were working together to remove her left arm, she observed dispassionately. Brad held the big knife in her armpit and began to work it into her flesh and around to the shoulder until only the bone connected her arm to her body. Mike jerked it violently out of the socket, and it tore free. This added destruction strangely failed to increase her pain. Perhaps she had reached her limit. On the other hand, the pain all seemed to be receding into the distance.
Meanwhile, Marcus was whispering encouragement into her ear. He seemed to be thanking her for her help and wishing her a happy afterlife. He was also assuring her that her body would be put to good use and would turn out delicious. Just before her mind slipped away into oblivion, she was asked by him to open her mouth as wide as possible. She smiled contentedly and complied. She then found her mouth stuffed with a large red apple, and she died happily just as Brad and Mike were ripping her other arm off. She failed to notice the detachment of her legs.