Posted by Sawney Beane on July 22, 2007 at 01:00:32:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #118
DESSERT
by Sawney Beane
13 November, 30-31 December 2004
3,275 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: Well, it had to happen sooner or later.
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"It's funny you know," she said musingly as he entered the room. She was on her back on the long kitchen counter, not a stitch of clothing concealing her sparking clean and very attractive body. She had her legs up in the air and was peering at her distant toes like a baby just discovering the existence of its limbs.
"What is, darling?" he inquired in a kind patient voice.
"Well, you know, it's funny about how I'm all made of meat," she remarked distractedly as she brought her left foot closer to her face and touched each of her toes in an exploratory manner.
He laughed softly. "Yes, it is funny."
"I mean it," she said still not looking in his direction but instead encircling her left ankle with both hands and running her palms up the smooth length of her calf and thigh.
"I know you do, dear," he said contritely.
"I mean, it's so hard to imagine that you're going to snuff me and cut me into little pieces and serve them to our best friends in...how many hours?"
"They should be here in two hours, so we'll need to get you going pretty soon," he said in a soothing voice.
"There, that's what I mean; I'm going to be a pork chop!"
"You'll be a lot better than a pork chop, dear," he said with a sincere smile. "Are you afraid?"
She closed her eyes and rested her head on the edge of the counter. "Fuck yes, I'm terrified!" she said in a soft voice.
"It's all right; it's natural."
"Yes," she said with a small pout, her eyes still closed.
"You can still back out if you want to," he whispered close to her pretty ear. "It would be fine, really, and there would be no shame in it."
"No," she said firmly, opening her eyes to look into his. "I still want to do it, it's just...."
"Yes?"
"Do you think I will taste as good as your last girl?" she asked, concern furrowing her pretty forehead as she finally deigned to look him in the face.
He smiled indulgently as he placed a gentle hand on her soft belly. "Of course, dear," he said in a soothing voice. "You're going to be delicious!"
She smiled distractedly, but her brow remained furrowed. "How do you know?"
"Trust me, darling, I know a tasty bird when I see one."
"Silly," she said with a slight pout. "I'm serious!"
"Look, if your inside is half as succulent as your outside, we'll never have a greater feast."
"Yes, but how will you know until you taste me?"
"We'll just have to see, won't we?"
"Yes, you'll see, but I won't."
"True."
"But how can I be sure I will be as great as you say?" she asked. "It's not worth dying over unless I can be the best meal of your life!"
"Darling, you will be many of the best meals of my life. Just relax and lie down. You have nothing to worry about. Have some wine; it will calm your nerves."
She sipped the fine Merlot from the glass he handed her. "But I want to watch you and Emily and John and Barbara and Mark...I want to see how much you like me." She stared up at him with a desperate need for feedback almost approaching that of a lonely internet snuff novelist.
He looked at her thoughtfully, but wasn't sure how to reply. She knew there was no answer for him to give, and she also knew it was time for her to face her destiny.
"It's time isn't it?"
"Yes, dear, if you're going through with it and want to be ready on time for our guests, then we need to start soon."
"Is this going to hurt?"
"No, I can make it quick and painless."
"Good, I wouldn't want it to be painful."
"Don't worry, I wouldn't do that to you."
She smiled gratefully and set aside her second glass of wine as she placed her neck on the large chopping block with her head hanging over the edge of the sink, a steel bucket waiting to catch her imminently flowing blood. Her delicate body spread across the counter, and she allowed him to tie her wrists behind her with a silk scarf. She closed her eyes and remained silent for several minutes as he inspected his beloved future meal one last time before the end.
She was a lovely creature, a feast for the eyes and the palate. She would indeed be as wonderful on his plate as she had been in his bed these last three years. It was always a stroke of luck to find a woman willing to give her all in so many ways.
"How will you cook me?"
"I will try all my favourite recipes on your succulent flesh, dearest."
"Yes, but I mean will you put me in the oven and roast me after you cut off my head or what?" In contrast to her recent deeply contemplative state, she now seemed able to discuss the disposition of her imminent corpse with a light offhanded nature.
"I would love to roast you whole darling, but since it will be just a small group eating you, we'll have to consume you a little bit at a time. It will be very nice because that way you will last longer."
"Yes, I wish I could see all the things you are going to make out of me."
"Me too, dear, me too."
"What part of me will you eat first?" she said rolling over onto her back and looking down the length of her body, looking at herself as a pile of steaks and cuts, wondering how each part of her body would be prepared and how it would taste.
"You sure have a lot of questions, dear."
"Well, this is a somewhat important moment in my life, don't you think?" she said with faint reprimand.
"Yes, of course," he said contritely. "What part would you like me to eat first?"
"Well, my toes will get cold if you put them in the refrigerator, so maybe you should start with my feet."
He wasn't sure if this was a joke or not, but he smiled sweetly at the suggestion.
"Then again, my breasts are right there for the taking," she mused, looking at the way her shapely chest thrust out slightly with her arms bound behind her back.
"So many lovely choices, it's difficult to decide."
"Well, you'll have to."
"You promised John and Mark that they could have your breasts, darling."
"Oh, you're right, I did," she said remembering the New Year's eve party at which she had offered her body to the group of cannibal friends.
"I will have your pussy tonight, darling, if it's all right with you."
"Fine with me, you eat it every night as it is," she said with a giggle. "Which is not to said I don't appreciate it," she added hastily.
She appeared satisfied and rolled back over onto her belly with her neck resting across the chopping block. He gently moved the long blonde hair aside to reveal the smooth expanse of the back of her slender neck. His razor-sharpened cleaver should be able to sever this isthmus of flesh with little difficulty, and the moment of truth was approaching rapidly.
"I promise you will be wonderful, dear; thank you so much for doing this for me."
"You're welcome," she said with another faint smile. Staring down into the stainless steel sink and contemplating the probable trajectory of her skull was distracting her attention somewhat.
"Well, darling, I'm ready when you are."
She seemed to ignore his hint for consent and said dreamily. "You know, I wish I could taste myself."
"That would be very nice, dear." He resisted the temptation to feel a tiny bit impatient with her.
"Do you think there might be a way?"
"What sort of way?"
"Well, maybe you could cut part of me off or something and we could have one last meal before I...well...before you snuff me, I mean."
His obligation to please her in her moment of great sacrifice temporarily overrode his common sense. "Well, I could perhaps saw off one of your legs and we could share that before...."
She rolled back over excitedly, and her eyes lit up with delight. "Yes, please, can we do that? I would so much love to know how I will taste!"
He immediately regretted his suggestion, but he was having other ideas. "OK, but on one condition."
"Yes, ok, what?"
"Well, we have worked very hard to clean out your insides, and you have fasted for three days, so it would be a shame to waste all that effort. I want to make sure the food doesn't go past your stomach and into your intestines, so I will have to snuff you immediately after you eat."
She smiled, "Yes, yes, that's fine, I understand."
"The other thing is it will probably hurt a little bit doing it this way."
"Well, I suppose I can stand it if I can taste myself."
"OK, dear, we'll do it your way," he said, hurrying down to the basement to find the hacksaw.
The four guests arrived together right on time at 9:00. Rick met them at the door and ushered them into the living room graciously. The delicious fragrance of roasting flesh filled the air as the group wandered in. Everything was as they expected except for one thing.
"Hello, everyone," called Monica from the adjoining kitchenette. She was sitting at one end of the long table, her lovely nude body causing John and Mark's eyes to pop. The four glasses of red wine she had consumed on an empty stomach made her giggle happily.
All of the guests were very fond of Monica and had been friends of both her and Rick for quite some time, even before they were a couple. But nonetheless, they were a bit taken aback to see her greeting them to the party. It was not that they disliked seeing her; it was just that they had expected her to have shuffled off her mortal coil an hour or so before the party commenced.
"Oh, hello, Monica," Barb called back, "You're looking very...um...lively, dear." She grimaced slightly at her own lame greeting.
"Thank you," Monica called back apparently not noticing the gaff and arching her back proudly, in the process making her appetizing breasts look just a tiny bit more appealing. "I'm so happy to see all of you; do come in!"
The party moved from the great room toward the dining area, and in the process began to see around the corner into the kitchen. As the long counter came into view, they each noticed a delicate and attractive human foot hanging off the edge of the marble surface.
The guests supposed that Monica had lost her nerve and another girl had somehow been found to fill in at the last moment, as improbable as that seemed. As they came closer, they were able to see that the female foot was perhaps the most perfect they had ever seen and also that it was attached to an equally attractive leg. As their eyes travelled in unison up the length of the delightful limb, they were simultaneously shocked to observe that this leg, although nearly flawless in every other way, had the singular peculiarity of not being attached to any of the other girl parts a female leg is customarily joined to.
The guests realized that the leg had been sheared off cleanly near the top of the succulent thigh. Furthermore, it's twin lay nearby, the mirror image of the first delectable limb in every detail save two...the foot was missing, and the thigh was roughly six inches shorter than it's mate.
"I decided to stay for dinner," Monica called from behind them with an intoxicated giggle.
It was then that the friends noticed that Monica was lacking in some of her most notable features. Peering under the table discreetly, Emily realized that Monica's legs had both been sheared off and the stumps bandaged. Her torso was tethered to the chair to keep her from falling over with loops of rope around her waist and under her arms.
"Rick will be serving dinner soon," Monica announced proudly. "But I'm sorry we weren't able to bring you the meals we promised you. John and Mark, I know you had your heart set on these," she said, cradling her breasts affectionately for them. "And Barb, I know you wanted to get a taste of my belly, and Emily...what was it you had asked for?"
"I didn't know," said Emily, "I just asked you and Rick to surprise me."
"I was going to carve her out a nice bit of your rump roast, darling," said Rick helpfully.
"Ah, well, I'm sorry but tonight we'll have to substitute something a bit different, but I hope you will enjoy dinner anyway."
The four guests gasped in exaggerated support to conceal their disappointment and all at once complimented her on her looks, taste, and sacrifice.
"But, Rick," Monica said like an excited schoolgirl, "Tell them about the party!"
"Yes, darling," Rick said compliantly from the kitchen where he was putting the finishing touches on dinner. "We're going to have another party tomorrow evening, and Monica and I hope that you will all be able to come back for it."
The four all enthusiastically agreed.
"Although," continued Rick with a touch of sadness, "Monica will not be able to attend; she'll be leaving us immediately after dinner this evening."
Everyone present congratulated and consoled Monica on her imminent demise, and she responded with obvious pride to the fawning attention she was receiving.
"But that means tomorrow you will all get the meals I promised you!" she announced.
Everyone cheered, and Rick was just serving dinner. To everyone's surprise, he served bowls of oatmeal to everyone at the table.
"What's this for, dear?" asked Monica.
"Oh, dear," he said, "I would appreciate it if you ate that before the main course. It will help to calm your stomach and will soak up some of the wine and prevent your food from going too far down your intestines."
No one objected to this graphic explanation, and Monica downed two more glasses of wine while consuming her oatmeal. The others ate some of their oatmeal out of politeness, but they were eagerly anticipating the meat course.
Rick served everyone a plate of steaming meat, and the cheers around the table made Monica blush with pleasure. On each of the five plates before Rick and the guests there was a round steak at least an inch thick and six inches in diameter. Each steak was surrounded by a layer of golden-brown skin with a thin layer of fat next to it. A round bone pierced each steak just off-centre. The meat was tender and steamy and cooked to medium rare perfection. No one was disappointed with the appearance of the meal.
Monica, however, had been served something different. On her plate was a small delicate female foot, roasted to perfection and garnished with onions, peppercorns, and spices. She stared at it in amazement, recognizing the neatly trimmed scarlet-painted toenails as her own.
After a polite pause, everyone dug in, and Monica was not disappointed in the rave reviews she immediately began receiving on her donated thigh steaks. For her own part, she began to pick bits of meat from her plate using a knife and fork gripped in her trembling hands. Rick left his place at the opposite end of the table to help her get every delicious bite of the tender meat from the roast on her plate.
Rick's assurances had been entirely accurate. Monica was delicious! The tender flesh melted in her mouth, and she devoured everything she was offered with surprising wolfishness. She continued her last meal with relish until the very end.
Monica sucked the tender flesh from the tiny bones of her toes and savoured the foot meat, even enjoying the leather-like chewy consistency of the sole. She watched in silent amusement as the roasted foot became a pile of cleanly picked bones. All too soon, she had consumed every last morsel of flesh.
She was entirely satisfied that she was indeed be a delicious feast, and her belly felt full for the first time in days. She leaned back and relaxed for two seconds, knowing that all was right with the world.
But Rick had told her she had to go immediately after dinner, so she did not have long to savour her success. He moved quickly at that point, although he did attempt to remain polite to her up to the end. He untied her from her chair and then picked her unresisting body up and placed her face down on the counter. She closed her eyes dreamily as he tied her arms behind her back. She could now go peacefully to the hereafter, satisfied in the knowledge that her sacrifice would be worthwhile.
"Ready, dear?"
"Yes, I'm ready, thank you," she murmured softly. The four guests hastily shouted their warm farewells to her, each with varying degrees of discomfort evident in their voices and body language.
But to Monica's surprise, Rick rolled her back over onto her back, instead of replacing her on the chopping block. He produced a filleting knife and plunged it into her belly just above her almond-shaped navel. With a quick upward motion, he had carved a red line from her navel to the base of her breastbone, and, amid a spray of blood was ripping her belly open. There was pain, but she was too surprised to take much notice of it.
Rick plunged his hands deep into her exposed carcass and searched for his prize. Using a smaller knife and a quick severing motion, he jerked it free and she was surprised to see him holding up a bloody organ she assumed must have been her heart. With wide eyes, she tried to prepare herself for the end.
But she did not die as quickly as she would have expected for one lacking a heart. Instead, she felt dizzy, and her vision began to blur, and she felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue. She had the reflex to vomit, but found she could not, and nothing came from her mouth except a thin stream of pure red blood. She was barely aware of what Rick was doing with her stolen organ.
Rick had taken his prize from her belly, her stomach, bulging with oatmeal, onions, and her own foot meat. He smiled with satisfaction as he tied off the ends of the stuffed organ and dropped it into a large pot of boiling water. Then he set about slicing up a mound of neeps and tatties to accent it.
As he worked, he tried to calm her with his soothing voice. "Monica, dearest, just close your eyes and embrace the darkness. There's nothing for you to worry about anymore; you know you're delicious, and we all thank you and love you for the gift you have given us."
Monica felt the peacefulness spreading across her ravaged body, and knew that although her heart still pounded rapidly in her chest, the fatigue would soon overwhelm her. She smiled peacefully and closed her eyes to welcome the end. The last thing she was aware of was her lover Rick announcing to the guests, "Everyone stick around, we'll be having haggis for dessert!"