Posted by SAwney Beane on April 24, 2007 at 23:34:02:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #101
FACE FEAST
by Sawney Beane
2 November 2003
1,649 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 snuff and consensual gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: An idea I had a while back. Not my favourite, but it's sort of a cute portrait. A little bit graphic and not something I've seen much of.
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The day they took her arms, Wendy began to understand what it meant to be a food girl. There was certainly a lot of apprehension and nervousness in her, but overall it was just an odd feeling. She had to come to grips with the fact that, although she still lived and breathed, she was nevertheless no longer a person. She was meat waiting to be harvested.
Without her arms, she felt oddly helpless. There was no pain, of course; it was a very humane establishment. But her new body landscape created new challenges, and it would only get worse.
Two days later, she lost both of her legs. She missed them. They had generally been regarded as her best features and had doubtlessly contributed to the high price she had commanded for her family. Her helplessness was total now. She could barely move. It was becoming increasingly easy to view herself as the object that she now was.
The day after that, she lost much more. The head chef deftly removed each of her shapely breasts and barely blinked before surgically removing her genitals. He finished the job by removing a generous portion of her arse, which would soon become someone's rump roast. She was surprised to still be alive, but the company's chefs were excellent surgeons, and she lived a little while longer.
Now her body seemed very unfamiliar to her. Deprived of her most feminine bits, she felt very strange. Over half of her body was gone, and her identity had left with it. Now, more than ever, she felt her objectification.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, she overheard the assistant chefs talking about her. Apparently, a famous local neurosurgeon had reserved her brain for a midnight snack. So this would be her last day after all.
She didn't know what to think immediately, and it rattled her mind to realize that the brain with which she pondered her fate would soon be someone's entree. So that was it then. But there was one more surprise in store for her.
At dinnertime, the chefs collected her and gently placed her decimated body into a specially designed box. The box allowed her torso to be securely mounted in an upright position, and her neck extended through a hole in the end of the box. The box was placed on a small dolly, and she was wheeled out into the restaurant itself.
She had never seen the restaurant. It was an amazing sight. There were a few scantily clad women, all gorgeous, waiting tables, and the dinners they delivered were often recognizable human pieces that made Wendy's eyes widen in horror. On one side of the room, two women rotated languorously over a raging file while bikini-clad beauties doused their roasting bodies with thick sauces.
Wendy found herself next to a special table. She faced the booth seats. Most of the table between her and the seats was occupied by built-in hot plates that sizzled with oil and warmed Wendy's face.
The couple sitting before her clapped their hands in delight as Wendy was delivered. The man was a large, muscular, decent looking bloke in his early forties. The woman with him was younger, not as young as Wendy, but definitely mid-thirties at most. She had small breasts and short blonde hair. Wendy immediately noticed her friendly smile, almost like a primary school teacher's.
"Hello, dear," the woman said to Wendy as the waiter was combing Wendy's long black hair and pulling it into a tight ponytail, conscientiously ensuring that every strand of hair was pulled away from Wendy's face.
"You certainly are a pretty one," continued the woman. "Frank here, he's a good date. He always pays extra to get a pretty one."
Frank smiled impatiently, "Linda, darling, please don't play with your food."
Linda ignored her date and continued talking to Wendy. "Problem with Frank is he gets a bit jealous sometimes. Doesn't like it when I pay attention to someone other than him." She said this with a conspiratorial air. The show of feminist solidarity this woman was making at this particular moment shocked Wendy, but she tried to remain passive, emotionless, objective.
"What's your name, dear," asked the woman.
"I'm Wendy, ma'am," the doomed girl replied with eyes submissively averted.
"Nice to meet you, Wendy," said the woman warmly, "I don't suppose they told you why you're here? They never do."
"No, ma'am."
"Well, dear, you're going to be our face feast this evening," Linda said. "Not much meat in a face, but it's my favourite by far. All those little muscles that make you smile, they're the most tender and delicious part you have."
"Thank you, ma'am," Wendy wasn't sure how to respond to this explanation.
"No, thank you, dear; we plan to enjoy you."
"Yes, ma'am."
Frank shifted impatiently. "Enough, woman, I'm starving." He picked up a scalpel from beside his plate and waved it ominously at Wendy.
Linda meanwhile reassured her. "Just relax, this won't hurt a bit."
Frank drew a thin red line across Wendy's forehead with the scalpel. He traced the edge of her hairline closely, and the incision was deep enough to scrape across her skull. She closed her eyes as blood began to seep into them. Frank finished the cut with a straight line across just above her eyebrows, and he used a forceps tool to peel the semicircular piece of flesh from Wendy's face.
Wendy felt nothing; the drugs worked well. Still, she could barely contain her emotions as Frank plopped her forehead onto one of the hotplates. She could see the bit of flesh begin to sizzle and brown. After all her abuses, this was most shocking of all.
Frank sliced a large piece from the morsel and skewered it on a fork, which he held out for Linda to taste. Linda mumbled, "My Frank, he's such a gentleman." Then she devoured the proffered morsel, and a blissful look crossed her face as she savoured the piece of Wendy. "You're amazing, dear, just amazing. I've never had such a tender delicacy." Frank was busily munching the rest of Wendy's forehead, but he nodded and mumbled his agreement.
Linda picked up the scalpel and unapologetically removed first one and then the other of Wendy's once sexy dark eyebrows and a generous portion of the surrounding flesh. Wendy could now barely see through the blood seeping into her eyes and down her face like crimson tears. She stared straight ahead and didn't make a sound as she watched Linda grill her latest catch. Soon Frank and Linda were each devouring one of the pieces with a broad smile on their faces. Soon there would be more.
Before she knew what was happening, Frank had lopped off one of her earlobes close to the side of her head. The other came off just as rapidly. They looked odd on the grill, and Frank and Linda sighed delightedly as they each crunched into one of Wendy's ears.
They then paused and looked a Wendy with a critical eye. It was as if they were considering what to attack next. Linda spoke to Wendy again. "We're going to have to start on your mouth next. Is there anything you want to say before we do? It might be your last chance." The ominous words still sounded kindly.
"No, ma'am," replied Wendy, not certain what appropriate last words would be.
"You're sure?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Wendy, "Thank you." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Enjoy your meal, ma'am."
Linda smiled broadly. "We most certainly are enjoying our meal. Thank you, dear."
Frank was an expert with the scalpel, and he drew a line around her mouth. Wendy watched her own luscious red lips and a circle of surrounding flesh dancing on the grill. Frank was continuing without waiting for the last piece to cook. He carved the flesh from her chin and then attacked her cheeks. He paused to eat his share of her lips before he carved off her small nose.
Wendy felt quite ill by now, but she desperately tried to hold on. She knew it wouldn't be much longer now. All she had to do was think happy thoughts and try to forget what was being done to her. She was glad that there was no mirror nearby. She didn't think she could maintain he composure if she had to see her perfect white teeth smiling from the skeletal face that had replaced her once attractive visage.
Frank ripped off her jaw muscles, so she could no longer hold her mouth closed. Then he tore out her tongue, and the taste of blood no longer filled her. Real tears mixed with the blood. All that was left of her face was two circles of skin around her dark brown eyes.
Linda took a turn at pillaging Wendy's face and peeled the flesh from her right eye. With eyelid missing, the bare eyeball stared spookily to one side. The other was similarly despoiled, and Wendy knew that her face was no longer capable of showing the emotions she felt as she watched Frank and Linda eat the last of their meal. They cleaned a few more bits of flesh from her exposed skull before calling it quits. Wendy assumed that they would eat her eyeballs, but these were apparently a part of the neurosurgeon's midnight feast along with her brain.
Linda thanked her one more time before the couple paid their check and left the restaurant amply satisfied. Wendy was wheeled back into the kitchen and released from her box. She lay helplessly on a counter for over an hour before one of the chefs came to prepare her for the final feast of the evening. This would entail the amputation of her brain, which would be baked in a casserole. Wendy was looking forward to it.