Posted by Sawney Beane on August 01, 2007 at 08:45:36:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #124
AMY'S WORLD
by Sawney Beane
22-23 April 2005
2,804 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 (semi?)-consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A sequel to SB123: Orientation-a bit of an afterthought, but Epi requested it, so who am I to deny him?
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"Oh, God, I'm so scared!" said the nude brunette nervously. "I can't believe I'm here; what do you think they will do to me? I can't believe people are really going to eat me! What do you think they will say about me? Will I be good food?"
Amy looked askance at the chattering girl and wished that she would be quiet. It was hard to deny that the nicely tanned and shapely young brunette looked delicious. Normally, when Amy looked at a girl like this hanging by the chain of her handcuffs from a hook in the ceiling of the consulate's main kitchen, she would be thoughtfully considering which part of the girl's body she would most like to have served for her dinner that night. Today, Amy just wanted the blubbering wench to shut up. Amy had her own concerns today.
"What recipe do you think they will use me in?" asked the brunette. Then she seemed to notice Amy's sullen peacefulness. "Hey, ain't you scared too?"
Amy turned to face her companion, which was a challenge as she was herself hanging by the handcuffs that were cutting painfully into her patrician wrists. "No, I'm not," said Amy coldly, but it was a lie and she knew it.
"Why not?" asked the puzzled brunette. "I don't see how you can be so calm when you're about to be made into dinner!"
Amy turned away again coldly. "Daddy would never let me be made into dinner," she said with vehemence indicative of her own uncertainty in the truth of this assertion. "He's just trying to scare me."
"What about you?" the brunette asked, turning around to try and face the man on her other side.
Avery's uncertainty was even greater and less well concealed than Amy's. He suspected she would end the evening in a warm bed with all of her body parts intact and perhaps with someone else's meat in her belly. But for his own part, he was not at all confident that he would escape the ordeal without losing some of his most cherished extremities if not his life.
It didn't help that he had been thoroughly and ungently shaved from the neck down, leaving his normally burly physique looking like a plucked turkey. In contrast, Amy was, aside from the chafing of the handcuffs, her normal young nubile athletic and delectable self. Her nether regions had been lovingly kept hairless for the last six months since she had, with Avery's collaboration, taken a fancy to teasing the meat girls by passing herself off as one of them as they were being led to their pre-meal executions. It was a thrilling and exhilarating pastime for a bored heiress with somewhat odd sexual preoccupations.
But this day she was not playing a game, and Avery was not in control. She was disoriented and depressed by how quickly her world had changed. Less than twenty-four hours before, she had been at her father's nine-woman diplomatic banquet turning heads in a daringly cut black evening dress and consuming a tender and succulent Asian foot that melted in her mouth.
The man seated next to her at the feast, an aging and lecherous ambassador named Michaels, was commenting favourably on his meal, which had incidentally been supplied by the same woman. "I just love eating oriental pussy!" he had exclaimed in a sort of rapture.
Amy had replied with a politely derisive, "That must make you popular with the ladies in Shanghai!"
The dinner had ended on a festive note, and Amy should have gone to bed with a full belly, and a smile on her face, but she had been restless and unable to sleep so had wandered down to the kitchen, where she had not entirely coincidentally found Avery, her friend and accomplice and the consulate's head butcher. The ensuing bout of passionate love-making, which had taken place amidst the formidable stack of bones which were the only mortal remains of the nine women consumed at the banquet, had been the greatest of Amy's life.
Nonetheless, the Ambassador, Amy's father, had not been particularly amused when he had visited the kitchen in search of a midnight snack and had instead found his only daughter rolling the bones with his trusted head butcher. Quite the contrary, in fact, and this incident had led immediately to the star-crossed lovers' present predicament. Amy's father was known as a strict disciplinarian. Nonetheless, putting one's daughter on the menu was an extreme reaction by any standard.
Amy's self-indulgent reverie was broken by a sudden sharp gasp punctuating the silly brunette's ongoing narrative. Amy looked up to see the consulate's head chef, Charles Oxford arriving with an uncharacteristically nasty scowl and a docile blonde following on a leash.
As the chef was gently helping the blonde to climb up onto the steel preparation table and carefully positioning her comfortably on her back, Avery came to life and pleaded with his colleague. "Come on, Charles," he shouted plaintively, "we've been up here for hours; please let us down now!"
Charles looked up from his blonde furiously. "Avery, you fucking git, don't you dare ask me to do you any favours!"
"But, Charles," chimed in Amy supportively, "we've learned our lesson; surely Daddy would want you to let us down."
"Ah," said Charles a bit more tenderly to his erstwhile mistress, "It is not so; I am under strict orders from your father, and they don't involve releasing you any time soon."
The brunette hanging on the hook between Amy and Avery stared in shock at the scene and shut her mouth for quite a while as she watched this alarming domestic disturbance.
"Charles, be reasonable!" shouted Avery.
"Shut up, you tosser!" the incensed chef berated the former butcher. "I'm up to my ears in alligators all because you can't keep you prick in your trousers where it belongs! And you want me to let you down? Let me tell you, mate, I've got five girls to prepare today!" At this point he gestured vaguely toward the blonde before him. "And because you don't have half the sense of a retarded chimpanzee, I have to butcher them myself because you got your sorry arse onto the menu! Not only do I have to do your job and my own, I have to butcher the two of you tonight as well! So leave me alone and let me get on with it or we'll be here all night."
"Let me down," said Avery persuasively, "and I can help you do the girls for tonight."
"Right!" said the usually gentle chef, "You think I need your worthless help? I can be ruthless too when I need to be!" At this point he was waving a meat cleaver menacingly above the body of the wide-eyed blonde.
The chef seemed at this point to get control of himself and returned his attention to the trembling blonde. He returned to his usual soothing manner, running a soft professional hand across the blonde's appetizing shoulders and arms while using his hypnotically peaceful voice to say to her "Just relax, my darling, no one is going to hurt you." It must have been convincing because seconds later, she was lying peacefully relaxed as the chef held his left hand over her face both to keep her eyes shut and to restrain her head in position. Meanwhile, his left hand brought the cleaver down with a loud crash to sever her slender neck cleanly and instantly.
Everyone in the room inhaled sharply at this sudden and unexpectedly brutal yet vaguely predictable act. The babbling brunette seemed especially impressed, and her ongoing monologue collapsed into an infinitely repeated mantra that sounded something like "Omigod, omigod, omigod!"
The chef held the now wide-eyed blonde's head aloft by its golden locks and thrust it at an assistant with a curt command to have it mounted for the evening's festivities. Even before the assistant had scurried off with his new assignment, chef Charles had hung the girl upside down on a hook to one side of the room with her blood draining into a large bucket. He deftly slit the blonde's abandoned abdomen open from waist to breastbone and industriously scooped intestines into a bucket.
Amy almost lost her composure and tried a softer approach. "Charles, please, you've known me since I was a child! You can't do this to me."
"You were a lot more innocent then, my dear," said Charles wistfully with an expression that made Amy think perhaps his fury might be related to the fact that Avery had achieved most favoured penis status instead of him.
The pleading and bickering, as well as the brunette's "omigod" mantra continued unabated as two more girls, a busty redhead, and a slender Latina, were dispatched in much the same way as the blonde had been. Their bodies were soon hanging gutted and bloodless on hooks on the wall. Chef Charles remained unmoved by every entreaty, and his resolve seemed to stiffen further with every meatgirl he sent to the hereafter.
"Where's the sausage girl?" he shouted impatiently after he had thoroughly eviscerated the Latina's carcass.
The brunette's mantra paused long enough for her to whisper, "Am I the sausage girl?" in an awed voice.
"No, you're the spit roast, darling," said Amy with more gentleness than she felt.
Meanwhile, another of the chef's assistants was leading in another blonde. This girl, while not as stunning as the rest of the day's culinary victims, would have been prime meat in most kitchens, but here she was soon to be sausage. The consulate kitchen had very high standards.
The chef lifted her onto the counter and rolled her over onto her belly. She apparently had been forewarned of her fate because she asked in a reverent whisper, "Are you really going to make sausage out of me?"
"Yes, dear," said the chef, tenderly, "in just a few minutes."
And then, with little forewarning, he slipped the end of a small tool little way into her anus. When he pulled it out, it dragged behind it the nether end of the girl's digestive tract. She squirmed uncomfortably as the chef pulled her intestines out rapidly, but she was unable to see what he was doing. When he reached the point that he could pull nothing more out of her, he snipped the tube off near her arse and delivered the bucket full of entrails to an assistant responsible for steam cleaning them.
The chef offered the girl a drink, which she accepted and was nonplussed to find that all the wine she swallowed ran almost immediately down her leg. The chef hosed her down and announced she was ready for the sausage grinder.
"Will it hurt?" the girl asked.
"Yes, a bit," replied the honest chef.
"Oh," replied the girl.
"Just step right into there, dear," the chef instructed. He was pointing to a large metal contraption with three metal steps up the side and a funnel-like receptacle at the top.
The girl climbed up into it, and struggled to stand inside it, but the base of the receptacle was rough and difficult to balance on. "Now what?" asked the blonde.
"Now, I turn it on, and you become sausage," replied the chef. It was really not a difficult concept.
"Oh," replied the girl.
The chef flipped a switch, and the girl started crying out in pain. "It's tearing my feet apart!"
"Yes, dear, it will do that," replied the chef calmly. Amy and Avery watched in callous silence while the brunette's "Omigod, omigod, omigod!" doubled in speed.
The chef watched in satisfied silence as the machine devoured the blonde's feet and calves. Once it had eaten its way up to her knees, she seemed to have become accustomed to the agony and was composed enough to ask questions.
"You grind up my bones and everything in the sausage?" she gasped.
"Well, dear, it chops the meat and bone up into small particles and then it runs the mix over a sieve, and the little bone chips fall out. We'll use them to fertilize the garden."
At this point an assistant was bringing in a reel of freshly cleaned intestines, and the chef accepted the delivery and attached one end to the outlet of the sausage machine. "Let's make sausage!" he announced festively.
"Is that my intestine?" asked the diminishing sausage girl.
"No, yours are still being cleaned," the chef said gesturing towards the three hanging corpses across the room. "This was one of theirs."
"You're going to stuff me into other people's intestines?" the girl gasped.
"Of course, all meatgirls end up in other people's intestines. You'll make enough fraubrauten for ten girls worth of guts. We'll use all of theirs plus yours plus the guts from six other girls we cleaned out yesterday."
"Oh," said the sausage girl. About this time, the thick tail of ground girl meat began to slide out of the machine and, under the expert hands of the head chef, began to fill the casing, creating a smooth uniform string of girlmeat sausages. The girl watched in stunned silence as she watched her body thus transformed.
Just as the first chain of fraubraten was completed, the chef jumped up and shouted, "Oops, almost lost this one!" as he deftly sliced the girls genitals off. "Some parts are too valuable for sausage meat!"
The girl yelped in renewed pain as he did this, but only whimpered as he said, "While we're at it," and lopped off both her moderate-sized breasts.
The chef filled several more strands of fraubraten as the girl sank into the machine down to her waist and slowly lost consciousness. When she had sunk in up to her shoulders, the chef lopped off her long-unconscious head and pushed the rest of her body down into the sausage machine. In the end, ten long piles of fraubraten links dotted the work areas and served as a faint indistinct reminder that the sausage girl had once existed.
The assistants had meanwhile brought the three carcasses down from the wall and lined them up neatly on the steel worktables. One man stuffed each vacant belly with savoury dressing and sewed up the slightly bulging bellies with thick twine. The second assistant rubbed the butter and herb lotion into every inch of skin left on the bodies. He seemed to take great pleasure in his work. A third man was busy choreographing limbs with a sturdier twine leaving each girl trussed like a turkey ready for the oven, which indeed they were.
"Four down, three to go!" muttered the chef observing this progress. "Now about that spit roast," he said almost to himself while fixing his gaze for the first time firmly on the brunette hanging between the condemned lovers.
"Omigod, omigod, omigod!"
A pair of assistant chefs unhooked the brunette and held her face down on the last remaining worktable. Her arse remained invitingly thrust up into the air, and her muffled "Omigod, omigod, omigod!" continued to increase in speed and volume.
Chef Charles retrieved the long greased steel pole that would soon go through the doomed brunette and caressed it lovingly before sliding the tip gently into the brunette's arse. "Omigod, omigod, omigod!"
The chef made fine adjustments as he slid the spit into her until it met with resistance. "Omigod, omigod, omigod!" And then he showed his true professional talents, and he gave the steel a powerful thrust that sent the tip tearing through the brunette's insides, lunging through her throat, and leaping out of her mouth. "Omigod, omigod, omigumph, mmmumph!"
The chef wiped his hands dramatically and stood amidst the fruits of his creative destruction. He remained as a silent stone around which the activity of the kitchen flowed like clockwork. His terrifying eyes bore into the bodies of Avery and Amy and the assistants cleared the room.
Some of the assistants lifted the three trussed roaster girls onto carts and wheeled them to the ovens in the next room. Other assistants carried off the piles of fraubraten, and two large assistants carried the spitted brunette to the firepit in the dining room. Others cleaned blood from the work surfaces.
The chef surveyed his last two victims placidly for several minutes. They tried occasionally to plead for their lives, but the futility of it seemed to be wearing on them. Amy felt the intense pain in her wrists and wished only to be released from this embarrassing position.
The chef ran an expert hand up and down Amy's formerly inviolate body. Finally, he spoke to the troubled heiress, "You I can make delicious, but your father must think I'm a miracle worker if he thinks anything I can do is going to give Avery good taste!"