Posted by Sawney Beane on April 29, 2006 at 01:36:19:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #11
MY CULINARY EXPERIENCE
by Sawney Beane
1 February 1994
2,131 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: I often think of this story as a prelude to my Tasty Kate's stories which debuted with story SB022. However, the bit about the communist revolution makes this story incompatible with that one. Nonetheless, the scene depicted herein was one that regularly occurred in Tasty Kate's main dining room. This story is not exceptional but is pretty good. The Asian princess was modelled after the girl in a picture I found on the Internet called KHORI0Q, which is still one of the sexiest vanilla pics I have seen. This is the type of story I like best: completely consensual cannibalism in a socially accepted institution.
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As things turned out, I was served along with the most gorgeous exotic beauty I'd ever seen. This unfortunate turn of events led directly to my current unfortunate state. If not for that Asian princess, my fortunes would have been very different.
I realize that the events I am about to relate will seem entirely foreign to the young people of today. Ever since the prole revolution of fifty years ago, the institutions of my youth have been viewed with contempt and disgust. However, I'm an old woman, and it's too late for me to completely reverse my outlook on things. The restaurants were the best thing that ever happened to the proletariat. They were also a time honoured tradition and one of the few known ways to minimize the distance between rich and poor.
I should explain a bit about how things were run. In short, volunteers sold their bodies to gourmet restaurants for the culinary pleasure of the ultra-rich. The restaurants paid very well, and a low prole family could survive for many years on the income from the sale of a single family member. The practice raised the living standard of poor families while partially compensating for the ridiculously high birth rate in such families. Everyone benefited. The poor became middle class, the rich enjoyed a good meal, and the meals themselves went to Heaven secure in the knowledge that they had saved their families from the odious horrors of extreme poverty.
One of the restaurants' most important rules was that no person could be served against his or her will. To keep families from turning children into involuntary dinners, the consumption of minors was strictly prohibited. Only persons over the age of majority could voluntarily donate their bodies for the good of their families or whomever the consumed wished to designate as a beneficiary. The parents were not allowed to make the decision.
Anyone over the age of eighteen was eligible to volunteer, but only the most beautiful were selected for the lunch buffet. These choice viands were served alive to rich connoisseurs who walked by, chatted with their meals, requested body parts of their choice, observed their amputation, and cooked them in the Quik-Ovens before consumption.
Volunteers of lesser physical attraction were paid less and were sent immediately to the restaurant butcher for dismantling. The resulting steaks and organs could be found on the restaurants' dinner menus.
I was one of the selected beauties. My eventual humiliation and debilitation was particularly unjust. On any other day, I would have fared much better, and perhaps I would have been better fare.
I hate to be vain, but I deserve some credit. I was a truly beautiful young woman. I'd just passed my twentieth birthday and had been a waitress in McCray's Connoisseurs' Club for two weeks when my turn came. Lunch buffet candidates usually spent time waitressing while on the waiting list.
I was five and a half feet tall and weighed one hundred and ten pounds. I had long shiny blonde hair and bright blue eyes. My breasts were large and tender; my waist was thin and nutritious; and my legs were long and succulent. There was not a single blemish on my entire body, and my pleasant smile made me all the more appetizing. In short, I had the makings of a great meal. But she was there too.
I met her for the first time an hour before her death. After being washed and perfumed and otherwise prepared for my big event, I was sent to her penthouse room to wait for our call to duty. She was lying nude on her back in bed. Her fabulous body was adorned with earrings, a necklace, two rings, a loose chain belt, and anklets, all of gold. Jewellery was encouraged but restricted to metals and gems. Leather and cloth were prohibited because they would tend to be ruined by blood.
The girl herself was a sight to behold. Her long black hair extended to her waist. Her flat oriental face and darkest brown eyes were as sultry as any I'd seen. She was short, thin, and possessed small but perfectly shaped feet, thighs, and breasts. Her smooth golden brown skin gave her the impression of being pre-cooked. She was a natural. I knew the moment I saw her that she was the kind of woman who would remain sexy even as she took her final breath.
There is something I should explain. I mentioned truthfully that she was an Asian princess. Why, you ask, was she volunteering for culinary duty when she was obviously not poor? She was certainly a member of one of the many death cults that abounded in Asia. The newly-corrupted religions of the area prized self-sacrifice as a means to a better rebirth. There were a few Christian death cults in America, but most of the people who joined them were poor anyway. In America, unlike Asia, religious duties fade when the money is available to do something more entertaining.
The other thing I should mention is fashion. That year, Asian women were fashionable. The previous year it had been German girls that made the mouths of the rich water. The year before that Arab women had been the meal of choice. Styles changed rapidly and with annoying arbitrariness. Choice women were regularly imported for the lunch buffets.
Men were seldom imported, and men's fashion never changed. Domestic men were considered just as good as imported men. That is to say, not very good. Men were considered too tough and stringy. Women were preferred in most cases. Men were butchered in large numbers for the dinner menu, but the lunch buffet was largely dominated by women. All told, men and women were consumed in about equal numbers, but the more expensive meals were female.
At any rate, this Asian death princess and I chatted amicably for fifteen minutes before the cook's messenger came to collect us. Her accent was thick, but her manner was friendly. She didn't betray the least misgivings about dying to feed strangers half a world away from the place of her birth.
The messenger led us down the halls of the residence portion of the restaurant and into the main kitchen. There we were anaesthetized, placed on silver platters, and carried ceremoniously into the main dining room. By the time we were placed on our respective tables, my body was devoid of sensation below my neck. The customers liked to think that the knives turned us on. We had been directed to pretend to this effect.
By the time my chef had introduced himself to me, the customers had each picked his or her meal and lined up beside one of the buffet tables. Almost everyone in the restaurant flocked immediately to the Asian girl's line. I watched in shocked dismay as her first in line requested the left foot. The chef efficiently tied a tight tourniquet around her ankle and lopped off the foot with a large cleaver. She let out a huge sigh of faked orgasmic ecstasy.
Her other foot, both hands, both breasts, left calf, and right arm had been distributed to fourteen more customers before my first walked up. He was a ten-year-old boy. My humiliation was sufficient by that time to cause me to nearly beg the kid to take a bit of me. He had chosen my table because of the lack of a long line. He could care less whether he was eating imported Asian princess or common American blonde.
"Could I interest you in some lunch, sir?" I asked him. I knew the "sir" would impress the Hell out of him.
"Yeah, I want your knee," he said with astounding bluntness, as he pushed his face over the edge of the table.
Unfortunately, this request could not be granted. The rule was that the customer could request any part which would not require that the volunteer be left in more than one undistributed piece and would not cause the immediate death of the volunteer. When all non-lethal parts had been distributed, both of these restrictions were lifted. My foot and calf needed to be gone before I could give away my knee. I explained this to the cannibalistic waif.
"What can I have?"
"You can try this," I suggested, offering my left hand.
He examined it and seemed attracted by the gold ring on my finger. "OK," he said.
I watched with little emotion as my chef tied a tight knot around my wrist and raised the cleaver. It fell with a slightly unpleasant sound but no pain. The child dashed off to consume his prize.
By the time I had finished this transaction, the Asian girl's other arm and calf were missing. Her right thigh was being severed just below a tourniquet at its uppermost end. I watched as the large piece was mounted upright and carved like roast beef.
A young man approached my table. I think he might have felt sorry for me. He requested my left foot with a gracious stream of compliments and gratitude. The amputation was painless as well as pleasureless, but I pretended it was the best sensation I'd ever felt.
By now, my competition was diminishing rapidly. She was still formidable and twisted her limbless body erotically. My breasts fed four customers as she lost both shoulders. Her bleeding was no longer controlled. Her buttocks became a nice bit of ham as my other foot pleased an elderly lady.
The imported beauty was nearing her end. Her genitals were extracted at the request of a handsome man in a business suit. She bled profusely, and I paid no attention to the loss of my other hand as I watched her final breaths.
She was propped on her side, facing the line of customers. Her chest heaved expressively, and the eyes were closed gently. She sighed and smiled absently. She was sexy even then. Her black hair was matted red, and her back arched slightly. Suddenly, her back straightened, and she rolled back. Her eyes were directed at the ceiling, and her chest was motionless. She was gone.
An announcement to the effect that all parts save the head were now available was made by the chef. He indelicately stabbed her chest with a serving fork and used a large knife to tear bits of flesh from her ribs. My left calf fed five customers while the rest of her flesh and internal organs were distributed. Finally, her head was donated to a very lucky couple in elegant attire. The sexy smile remained upon its painted lips.
The remains of her line shifted to my side of the room. These inherited customers were enough to relieve me of my other calf and one thigh. Then it ended. Everyone was happily munching upon their meals, and I was alone.
When it was all over. The two silver platters were returned to the kitchen. The first contained only scattered bones and blood. The other contained me. In the kitchen, they gave me an important choice. Of course, they could not use me for the following day's buffet, but they offered to butcher me immediately in time for that evening's dinner crowd. My other option was rehabilitation.
It was a tough choice. The idea of living with no hands, feet, calves, or breasts and only one thigh was not appealing. However, it felt degrading to be served with the uglies at dinner. I opted for rehabilitation. Maybe that was the greatest mistake of my life.
The kitchen staff was quite supportive, and medical personnel repaired my amputations and sealed all open wounds. I returned home the following week with my volunteer's pay safely in the bank. Living in my abbreviated state was difficult, but I had enough money to get by.
Within five years, the proletariat revolted and overthrew the government as well as a way of life. Communism was embraced, and my savings were confiscated. I became a ward of the new state and was used as a poster girl in advertisements illustrating the horrors of the past.
I still believe that the age-old restaurant system was a sound social device. I also wish that the Asian princess had arrived a week later. If she had, I would never have had to face a world like the one we live in today, a world in which death is viewed with such extreme horror that culinary body donations are prohibited. Even people who die naturally are wasted. It's hard to believe that worms get the benefit of dead people nowadays in preference to our fellow human beings. Without that wonderful Asian lovely, my life would have been short, sweet, and wholly contained within a happier time.