Posted by Sawney Beane on August 06, 2007 at 14:19:43:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #129
FRIDAY NIGHT FOOT FEAST
by Sawney Beane
23 April 2006
1,249 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 gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Foot fetishism is not really my thing, but Footeat2003 asked nicely for a story, and he has relentlessly contributed so many funny pictures I couldn't really say no.
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"Oh!" gasped Wendy is surprise.
"What is it?" asked her neighbour Martha.
"I think I've just had a nibble!" Wendy gasped again.
"Really?"
"I think so."
"I think you would know if you'd had a nibble."
"Well, I can't be sure," said Wendy in puzzlement. "Perhaps it was just a touch."
"Perhaps," said Martha significantly disappointed.
Martha, like her friend Wendy, was lying comfortably on her back on a padded sofa in a room with soft soothing music and a warm gentle breeze. They were both nude, so the warm part was important. And, like the other ten nude women in the room, Wendy and Martha were situated with their ankles poked through equally spaced holes in the wall. The lining of the ankle holes fit snugly around their skin preventing them from seeing through to the room on the other side. Though they could not see it, on the other side of the wall was a long counter with twenty-four attractive feminine feet, alive but anonymous, arranged in a long row.
"The customers should be arriving any minute now," added Martha.
"Yes," said Wendy, "It was definitely just a touch; but he's still touching it." She giggled slightly, "It tickles."
At about that time, a soothing female voice with the clipped tones of a computerized time and temperature operator announced to the women in the room, "Meat candidate number...five...six...four...your...right foot...has been selected for...take out...consumption. Please prepare for its removal."
The redhead to Wendy's left went wide-eyed, "That's me!" The sound-proofing in the wall between the women's room and the dining room prevented the women from hearing the loud resounding chop of the cleaver, but the sound was transmitted up the redhead's body and came out of her mouth as a "Yelp!" of convoluted pain and pleasure. She smiled deliriously with tears dripping from her big green eyes.
Wendy looked at her with a tiny hint of jealously, but her attention was drawn back to the feeling in her toes. Someone was touching her right foot, caressing the sole, pinching each toe, cupping her heel in a strong hand. The anonymous man, he had to be a man, was evaluating her podiatric qualities. Would she measure up?
Martha sighed jealously as her friend described the attention her right foot was receiving, but soon found her left foot the object of similar attentions. And then they both sighed in unison as the touching seemed to disappear at the same time.
Around the room, the announcements occasionally preceded the yelps and groans and giggles of the women. Wendy and Martha struggled each time to hear their own numbers.
Finally, the speaker announced one after the other: "Meat candidate number...three...seven...nine...your...right foot...has been selected for...in situ...consumption. Please prepare for its removal." And "Meat candidate number...three...six...two...your...left foot...has been selected for...in situ...consumption. Please prepare for its removal."
Wendy and Martha looked at each other with wide eyes. Each knew the implications. Both of them were about to look a foot. Both smiled, both feared. Both knew that they were about to experience pain and pleasure. The anticipation was murderous.
Martha was the first to feel it. No mere touch this time. This time it was a stabbing pain in the sole of her foot, like she had just stepped on a massive sliver of glass. The pain tore through her leg and up her spine to assault her brain. It was followed by a sickening tearing feeling as a piece of the soft insole was carved from her left foot.
Wendy's agony started less than a minute later, but it was far different. Her consumer had chosen a different approach and snipped her smallest toe off with some sort of device. The pain at first seemed only minor but built in intensity as she imagined a man sucking the small bits of meat from her tiny toe. It didn't take him long because he soon came back for another and snipped off her second toe.
Martha imagined the gaping hole in her sole, and a few minutes later, it was enlarged by another digging thrust of the razor sharp knife. Strips of the outer edge of her foot and then of the calloused pads of her heel and toes completed the shredding of her sole. She breathed heavily.
Meanwhile, Wendy gasped each time anew as her middle, fourth, and finally her biggest toe were removed one after another. The quick snips left pain and an unanticipated sadness at the loss of her appendages. But the rush was there as well. It was the thrill she had come here for.
Martha started to feel the scratches of the knife on the bones of her foot. It had gone deep, and she knew a lot of flesh must by now have been removed and consumed. In her endorphin-fuelled mind she imagined that she must be at last a few centimetres shorter by now. The knife tore deeper and deeper.
Wendy now experienced something different. No quick snipping motion this. Now, she felt the agonizing slow tearing as a cutting instrument much blunter than the toe snipping device was applied to the stub of her big toe. Her consumer had apparently switched to directly attacking her foot with his teeth and was ripping the meat from her metatarsals. Her back arched in pain and her mind blurred.
Martha was breathing hard and could feel the upper surface of her foot being assaulted by the knife as her sole had been. Her toenails were ripped out, and the sickening feeling of the knife scraping bone continued. Soon she could imagine there was little left of her foot except the mostly bone core, and these bones were one by one twisted out and scraped of the last shreds of meat.
Wendy was not sure how much remained of her foot, but the man consuming her had chewed his way down from her toes and discarded each bone as it was gnawed clean. Perhaps she was down just to her heel. It felt like it. And yet the gnawing continued, and each bite caused a painful sensation to run up her leg.
Martha's ordeal stopped suddenly. The scraping stopped, and after a pause of several minutes, she felt the cleaver rip through her ankle, finally severing the remains of her abused foot. She wondered what the man who had consumed her left foot looked like. And she wondered what thoughts he had of her.
Wendy's foot lasted only a little bit longer. Bit by bit her foot was destroyed. Eventually she experienced the pause and cleaver chop that her friend had gone through a few minutes earlier.
Both girls were left with a residual pain in the ankle and the sobering realization that they would have to go through this ordeal once again before the evening was over.
"Jesus, that was intense!" gasped Wendy.
"You're not kidding!" moaned Martha.
Sam and Chris showed up early for the Saturday afternoon girl buffet. They loved the girl buffet, and dropped in whenever they had enough spare quid to drop on an inexpensive girl part. After paying the extortionate cover charge, they surveyed the room of doomed beauties, each reclining on a buffet table ready to welcome all and sundry to taste of their feminine charms. They were a dozen in all, each more beautiful than the next.
Chris was already gazing across at a blonde he found appetizing, when Sam nudged him. "Hey," said Sam to his friend, "What happened to their feet?"