Posted by Sawney Beane on June 15, 2006 at 21:46:33:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #33
FORECLOSURE
by Sawney Beane
25, 29-30 April 1996
5,443 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 non-consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The tone of this one is a little bit different; not sure I like it. The scene at the beginning with Brenda is based on a Dolcett drawing called HANG0005, but that isn't very important to the story. Debra's particular destiny is somewhat unusual I think.
----------------------
When Brenda returned to the room, Debra was horrified. It wasn't actually Brenda's plight that had this effect on Debra. This is not to say that Debra was unsympathetic to the shapely blonde's problems, but they'd only been acquainted for about a week, and Debra had her own difficulties to concern herself with.
But Debra had no one to blame but herself for her woes. No one forced her to overdraw her credit card account as much as she had. No one forced her to buy all those useless things and decadent services. True, the advertisements were very persuasive these days, but that was no excuse. And, although her credit card company was a bit devious, there was no excuse for her profligacy.
So Debra had run out of money and gone deeply into debt. To their credit, First Americredit had been very understanding about her late payments and had waived all of her service fees for quite a long time. But she had exceeded even this longsuffering credit company's patience. When she was so hopelessly in debt that she could never hope to recover, First Americredit had stepped in and demanded reimbursement.
First, the mediators had turned over all of Debra's savings, auctioned off her car and house. Then they got serious and sold her furniture and personal belongings. They'd even sold her cat to a newlywed couple from Denver. First Americredit literally sold the clothes off her back. So, there she was penniless, possessionless, and naked. Everything was gone but her debt, which was now considerably smaller but still substantial. The only just thing to do in such a situation was to force her to sell her body. It was the law, and who could doubt the fairness in that?
And that's how Debra became the property of an enterprising young woman named Monique. This Monique owned a large and perpetually expanding shop called Monique's Boutique. Monique liked the sound of that, even though her boutique was actually a restaurant, and most of its employees were slaves.
Well, that was bad enough, but even worse was the fact that the law did not place any limitations on how Debra could be used after being sold. Brenda had a similar history, and that is how she ended up kneeling on a platter of leafy greens and mushrooms with the hilt of a fencing sword pressed against her genitals and its tip piercing the apple in her mouth. Her back was held quite rigid by the sword skewering her slim torso. Her arms were tied behind her back and her wrists attached by a rope to a ring welded to one end of the platter. This is how Brenda managed to kneel with her body leaning forward and her breasts and blonde braided hair dangling alluringly. Brenda didn't seem to mind all of this, although she had at first. But now Brenda was quite dead and her body roasted to golden-brown perfection. It was Debra's all too similar fate that was troubling her mind.
Brenda and Debra were not, of course, alone in the small foyer between the kitchen and the dining room. Monique was there in her favourite black dress, a low-cut, long dress with a dramatic slit up the side. A white collar with fake bow tie and Monique's long black hair completed the ensemble. Debra had to admit that Monique was quite an attractive woman, but that didn't make Debra like her any more. At the moment Monique was noisily sharpening a knife, which sent shivers down Debra's spine with each pass of the whetstone.
Steve, the head chef, was present as well. The burly cook stood in the kitchen doorway with a jovial smile and pointed in Debra's direction while crooning, "Yer next, babe!" This didn't put Steve on Debra's list of favourite people.
The other person in the room was Mike, the slave master. He had been Debra and Brenda's teacher for the past week and had instructed them on how to behave during their upcoming tribulations, as if they would have a choice. He was the only polite one, and Debra tended to like him, so much so that it was often easy to forget the role he was playing in her demise. Right now, Mike had his arm around Debra's bare shoulders and tried to reassure the petrified slave. He gently caressed her braided brown hair and pointed in the chef's direction with a soothing, "It's time to go now, Debra; just relax and everything will be fine."
Monique's Boutique was a restaurant that served only one kind of meat. In fact, Monique only purchased women for her restaurant's menu, although there were other restaurants that served both male and female long pig. Some said that Monique was a lesbian because of this, but it was probably more accurate to call her a bitch. But if you wanted to be polite, you could call Monique an astute businesswoman, and that she was. Women were more in demand and fetched a better price, so her profit margins were higher than they would have been had she diversified. Debra was unaware of all of this, but it is hard to imagine that she might have cared.
Another thing that Debra was unaware of was the fact that Monique's Boutique was one of seventeen restaurants that collectively owned the First Americredit Banking Corporation. Everything First Americredit did was geared toward driving its customers into bankruptcy and onto the dinner plates of hungry Americans. The waived fees, tolerant deadlines, and persuasive adverts were all designed to lull customers into a false sense of prosperity until, just when the customer could no longer repay the loans without going into slavery, the company cracked down and demanded payment. Another master stroke for the First Americredit Card was that it was offered almost exclusively to physically attractive young women. The company never announced this, but it was hard not to notice. This had dual benefits. First, it improved the quality of recruits available for the restaurants to buy and, second, it made the First Americredit Card a very desirable status symbol. Debra was doomed from the day she received the application in her mailbox.
The reason the restaurants found it economical to run a credit company was that between them they had a virtual monopoly on slave purchases. Very attractive slaves were very expensive slaves, and the only other potential buyers were the ultra-rich in need of sex slaves. But there were few who could afford such a luxury; and, thus, this drain was a mere trickle in comparison to the steady flow through the restaurants.
Debra was virtually unaware of the conversation that was going on around her.
"What does this one get?" asked Monique.
"Mr. Dixon wants his monthly nibble," replied the master chef.
"That old lecher sure does like his women," said Monique, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Steve, Dixon pushed back his reservation from five to seven."
"Then we shouldn't get this one started yet."
"Well, could we use her for the bar mitzvah in the banquet room?"
"Nah, she's not kosher."
Monique laughed. "What do you mean? Nobody is kosher."
"Well, they said that toes could count as cloven hooves and that we could cover the ruminant part by giving her a bit of chewing tobacco. The rabbi came by and blessed the whole thing. We were going to use the Jewish girl we picked up at the auction last week."
"I take it they aren't orthodox."
"Not even close."
"Well, you go take care of her, and I'll let Debra here help me serve this one to the large party at table five," said Monique, always the decisive one.
Debra was confused by this temporary change in her fate but obeyed reluctantly as Monique ordered her to push the cart on which the steaming Brenda was kneeling. Monique led her doomed servant through the swinging double doors and into the main dining room.
Debra had never seen the place in full swing before, and she almost fainted at the sight. Several large tables ringed the outside of the room. Most were empty, but a few tables housed large groups of impatient-looking, well-dressed people. One table had the scanty remains of a girl on its centre, while two dozen diners chewed on various bones. The centre of the room was occupied by small tables, which accommodated small groups eating their pleasant dinners. Some of the diners were devouring what might have passed as an ordinary steak dinner, but a few consumed cuts that were grotesquely recognizable.
Debra was unrestrained because everyone knew that she had nowhere to run. The guards at the door would have had no problem stopping any attempt at freedom, so the most she could accomplish was to knock over a few peoples' tables. Her new owners had warned her of the penalties for disruptive behaviour, which remained formidable even in light of her abbreviated life expectancy.
Monique and Debra arrived with their cargo at a table next to the far wall. Thirty or so young arrogant business people, perhaps twenty men and ten women, cheered at the arrival of their dinner. Monique slid the large girl-laden platter into the centre of the table and took orders for the next round of drinks. Brenda was now a work of art noted her purchasers, but Debra was not one to appreciate the aesthetics of the situation. Several of the diners made favourable comments about Debra's physique and were disappointed to find that she had already been reserved.
Then Monique began the unthinkable. She used the freshly sharpened knife she carried to remove a large chunk of the unheeding Brenda's golden-brown thigh. Everyone at the table sampled small bites of the flesh and pronounced it good. Then Monique took orders from each diner and began slicing portions one by one from the roasted woman and distributing them to the hungry customers' plates.
Midway around the table, Monique had one of her more cruel inspirations and turned to Debra who was watching the scene in silent horror. Monique handed her the knife and instructed her to slice a piece from the dead girl's roasted rump. Debra protested, but, as always, Monique prevailed, and Debra gingerly touched the blade to the skin of her former roommate. Many of Brenda's parts were gone by now, but Debra could not disguise from herself what she was doing. The knife slid easily, and the meat flopped onto the plate Monique was holding. Debra's mind cried out in silent anguish as she was forced to fill the remaining orders. When it was done, she had meat juices running disgustingly up her arm and splattered over much of the rest of her nude body.
Monique prepared to leave the diners to their unfortunate dinner, asking "Can I get you anything else?"
One of the men near her, perhaps a bit too drunk already, placed a hand on Monique's bare leg and asked, "When are we going to see you on this platter, delicious?"
Monique snorted derisively in response. "Honey, you're not going to see me on that table until I run out of money and then some, and if you jerks keep coming in here every month, that's not going to be very soon." Monique started to walk off but turned and added, "You couldn't afford me anyway, darling."
Back in the foyer, Mike helped to clean Debra up, while Monique went into the kitchen to talk to the chef. Just as Debra was feeling a little bit more relaxed, Monique returned and said, "OK, Debra, love, we're ready for you now."
Mike guided Debra's unsteady steps into the kitchen. Inside a sight awaited Debra that was far worse than the dining room. The large room was a stainless steel horror chamber, spattered everywhere with blood and filled with busy men in bloody white aprons. Several girls were in trouble, but there was too much going on for Debra to comprehend anything. She was wondering how many minutes she had left to live. Certainly, it wouldn't be long now.
Monique and Mike led her over to the table where head chef Steve was waiting. She obeyed the order to sit down on the stainless steel examination table and was shocked when Steve, without saying anything to her, brought out a large steel contraption with a somewhat ominous shape. This was not anything Debra was expecting.
Mike helped Debra lie down on the table and rolled her over on her belly. He tried to soothe her by whispering encouragement in her ear, but it didn't help much. Steve had put down the steel beast and was purposefully stroking Debra's buttocks.
"This is one fine arse, Mike. Take a look!" exclaimed Steve.
"No, thank you," replied Mike, "I'll take your word for it."
"You're missing out," taunted Steve, "I think old Dixon is getting a real bargain on this one."
"We do pride ourselves on our fair prices," commented Monique, stepping closer to have a look for herself. "Still, we got robbed on this one."
Debra didn't know whether to be proud or humiliated. She chose the latter. Steve tore himself away long enough to retrieve something that Debra couldn't see and returned to empty the contents of two large syringes into her delicate skin, one in each cheek. It didn't hurt, but Debra was concerned by this event nonetheless. Mike explained that she had just been given an anaesthetic but that it would take a few minutes to take effect.
Steve unfolded the steel monster, which was hinged in the middle and placed one side against Debra's tense rump. It was cold and unpleasant to touch, but no one heeded her complaints. Mike and Monique helped roll Debra over onto her back, and Steve pressed the front half of the steel garment against Debra's smooth hairless pubic mound.
As the cold metal enfolded her defenceless genitals, Debra remembered how Brenda and she had been awakened by a half dozen businesslike girls for a long morning of scrubbing, rinsing, and primping. Amongst the girls' preparations was a thorough shaving of their pubic hair. It was a new and not entirely pleasant experience for both of them. Now, as Steve snapped shut the clasps on either side of her ominous steel girdle, Debra could not avoid thinking about her dead acquaintance and wondered how much of the girl's abused body remained unconsumed.
Monique left to attend to her waitressing duties, but the two men remained to guide Debra's fate. Steve produced two large rods that Debra was none too happy to see. They were each several inches long and about and inch and a half in diameter. Each ended in a smoothly rounded tip on one end and a sharp edge on the other. Steve shoved one of these objects, rounded end first, through a pre-drilled hole in the steel restraint and on into Debra's vagina. Steve pressed the rod in slowly bit firmly and not quite as gently as Debra would have liked. The second rod was inserted into her anus after Mike and Steve had ordered her to arch her back and lift up her middle to allow access to the hole drilled in the back. This was not looking good in Debra's opinion.
Mike returned to soothing Debra as Steve brought a long cord to plug into a heretofore unnoticed outlet in the front of Debra's wearable oven. Debra braced herself for pain as Steve flipped a switch. Nothing happened at first and Debra relaxed somewhat, but, after a while, she began to notice that the steel was heating up slowly but surely. At first it was just a pleasant warmth, then a therapeutic heat, then an unpleasant hotness, later painful burning, and finally an unbearable scorching. Fortunately for Debra, this progression was accompanied by an increasing loss of sensation in her pelvic region as the anaesthetic took effect. It was still distressing to realize that her hips, genitals, and arse were being cooked as she lay on her back on the examining table.
Debra had no idea how long it took. It seemed like a very long time, but she was not calm enough to estimate accurately. As she waited, she was unable to ignore the events that occurred around her. There was another examining table about five feet to Debra's left, and it was the site of unspeakable horrors that Debra observed with an appalled fascination.
First Steve and some other workers that Debra did not recognize dragged a plain-looking blonde into the room and pressed her roughly down on the examining table. The girl struggled and screamed, but no one paid any attention to her distress. One man pressed heavily on her back, forcing her to lie on her belly on the table and partially obstructing her breathing, so that she couldn't scream. A second man ruthlessly grabbed the blonde braid of her hair and pulled down, forcing her head to the side and to dangle helplessly over the edge of the table.
The big blue eyes of the girl stared wildly and pathetically in Debra's direction. Debra observed the pitiful cry for help and a bit of reproach for Debra, who was not in a position to rescue her. Steve brought the machete down on the blonde's neck and decapitated her in a single blow, and Debra was almost relieved at not having to look at that face any longer.
The man holding the blonde braid shouted across the room, "Hey, Rick, here comes another one for you to dress!" With that he swung the blonde's head and threw it across the forty feet between him and Rick, the headman. Rick caught the cranium casually in one hand and went to work on it. As the man swung the severed head, Debra was sure the she saw the blonde's eyes blink in terrified astonishment.
Steve smacked the passer's forehead roughly. "Don't fucking do that again! Do you know how much those things are worth?"
The scolded man tried in vain to save face but was banished to the next room to retrieve the next victim. Debra felt nauseous as she watched Steve and the other man carve up the blonde's corpse. It was suspended upside down by the ankles, and a large incision was made in the belly. Steve and the other man pulled armfuls of the girl's internal organs out into a large bucket. When her chest was entirely vacant, the bucket was carried off by the second man for further processing.
Steve noticed Debra watching him work and commented for her benefit, "We don't waste anything here, you'll be happy to know. You'd be surprised how much of you is edible if you prepare it right." Debra grimaced, and Steve returned to his work, using a small knife to extract the blonde' s genitals and a large saw to neatly bisect the remains of her corpse. Each half woman was rinsed thoroughly and fastened by the ankle to a special cuff on an overhead track, which carried it through a door to cold storage.
Before Debra had recovered from this shocking display, the two anonymous men had brought in another girl from the foyer. This one was an attractive redhead, who walked with a proud gait and her head held high. It was clear that she was not here voluntarily, but she was determined to die with her honour intact. This seemed to motivate the men to hurt her more, and they prodded her in her most tender regions at every opportunity.
Soon the redhead was on her belly on the table recently occupied by the hapless blonde, and Steve was leading his assistants in the endeavour of inserting a large pole into the redhead's vagina. The girl's face showed that she was suppressing considerable pain, but there was disdain in her eyes as she looked over at Debra. Soon, the pole had travelled over a foot into the victim, and the redhead's brow furrowed in pain and worry. The three men pushed harder, and the redhead's face contorted in agony. Another shove and she was howling in pain.
A man held the victim's head straight out in front of her for the next shove, and Debra watched as the girl suddenly stopped screaming and the spit abruptly emerged from her mouth. The men centred the girl on the pole and tied her arms behind her back and her legs to the pole before carrying her into the dining room. Debra thought that the redhead had died before this was completed, but she could not be sure.
Since she'd been brought into the kitchen, Debra had been assaulted by the smells of blood and death, but as all of this was going on, she noticed a new, more pleasant smell. It was the smell of well-cooked meat, and its pleasantness eroded rapidly when Debra realized that it was coming from her own groin.
Steve was just coming over to her with a smile on his face, and he unplugged Debra's pelvic oven. Wearing thick oven mitts, the chef removed the rods from Debra's vagina and anus and unfastened the clasps at her hips. He slid off the hot steel oven, and Debra saw the devastation for the first time. The skin of her legs and belly was largely its normal tanned expanse, but the areas that would have been covered by a rather conservative pair of panties were entirely different. The skin was a dark golden-brown, and steam rose from it continuously. Her genitals were simply unrecognisable, and she moaned in horror.
There was no pain; indeed, she felt nothing below her waist, but she felt miserable. Steve was already busy loading her onto a platter garnished with lettuce leaves and dropping her onto a cart. Debra noticed the grease and drippings left behind on the examining table.
Steve proclaimed her good, "Absolutely gorgeous, a masterpiece. Debra, my darling, you're done to perfection. Old Mr. Dixon will enjoy his dinner tonight!"
Debra did not respond. Meanwhile, an anonymous worker pushed Debra's cart into the foyer where Monique had a chance to give her seal of approval. "Marvellous, Debra, excellent! Mr. Dixon is waiting in the lobby; we've got to hurry."
With that, Monique and Mike propelled her into the main dining room and over to a special table near the centre. It was a table like any other, but it was equipped with a special seat in its centre and a pair of gynaecologist's stirrups. Debra soon found herself in the seat and her legs strapped to the stirrups. With her legs thus spread wide, Debra felt uncomfortably exposed, and the seat forced her into a semi-erect position from which she could observe the roasted expanse of her crotch. She saw that she was sitting on a porcelain tray of considerable size, and a complete place setting was placed just in front of her genitals. The table had only one chair, positioned between Debra's bare, sensationless feet. From where she was sitting, Debra had a good view of the redhead roasting on her spit near the entrance; a nude woman turned the handle on the spit slowly and continuously.
Monique led a late middle aged man in a business suit to Debra's table. He kissed Debra's hand and introduced himself as Mr. Everett Dixon, the senior partner of Dixon, Watson, and Sheehan, attorneys at law.
Debra found herself inexplicably compelled to return the polite introduction. "I'm Debra Malone, and I don't do much of anything anymore," she said mournfully.
"Nonsense, my dear," replied the charming customer, "you're a specialty of the house!" He flashed a winning smile, and Debra had to struggle to dislike the man.
Monique took his drink order, while Dixon seated himself between Debra's legs and tucked the napkin into his collar. He ordered an expensive wine and addressed Debra, "Could I buy you a drink, gorgeous?"
Debra's throat was parched, but she didn't know how to respond. "Coke?" she said weakly and uncertainly.
Dixon smiled, "Sure you wouldn't like something stronger?"
"No, sir, I don't drink alcohol."
"Well, this might be a good time to start."
"No, thank you; Coke is fine."
"Very well; Monique, please bring the lady a Coke and put it on my tab."
"Right away, sir," replied Monique, "I am obligated to remind you that are entitled to all you can eat, but we will not be responsible for food poisoning if you eat beyond the cooked portions. If you want more than we've cooked for you, we'll gladly roast a bit more. Just let us know. As always, anything you'd like to take home will be an additional charge. Enjoy your meal."
Monique glanced condescendingly at Debra as she scuttled off to retrieve the drinks. Debra observed that the arrogant restaurant owner was as cowed by Mr. Dixon as she was herself. She was also jolted by the abrupt reminder of her grim situation. Dixon's charm had almost made her forget.
Dixon picked up his knife and casually cut off a generous portion of the hairless flesh of Debra's pubic mound, which slid easily onto his plate. Dixon ate slowly and savoured every bite, cutting with the knife in his right hand and eating with the fork held in his left hand. Debra stared in disbelief. After several bites, Dixon looked Debra in the eye and addressed her as if he'd just viewed a masterpiece painted by her.
"Darling, this is magnificent!" he said with a sincere twinkle in his eye, "You are the most delicious woman I've ever had the honour of tasting."
Debra was again confused and didn't know whether to be proud or angry. "Thank you, I guess," she replied weakly.
"No, I'm serious, dear. Here, taste for yourself," Dixon said enthusiastically while thrusting the fork and its cargo of meat toward her face.
Debra had been ordered to obey anything the customer said and opened her mouth reluctantly. She tasted the proffered morsel and chewed it in shocked denial. But she could not deny that it was tasty.
"See?"
"Yes, thank you very much," Debra replied not entirely sincerely.
Monique returned with the drinks and set the Coke on the table next to Debra. Her unrestrained arms allowed her to pick up the drink and sip tentatively at the straw. It was refreshing, but it didn't solve all of Debra's problems.
Meanwhile, Dixon had finished the portion on his plate and used the knife to carve off the upper parts of Debra's vagina. While munching contentedly, he addressed Debra in friendly tones.
"So, my dear, how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Boyfriend?"
"No."
"Are you from a big family?"
"No, one younger brother."
"What's you sign?" It was an act of desperation.
"Libra."
Dixon concentrated on his dinner, his attempts at conversation having failed to take off. He tried one more thing as he stared into Debra's troubled eyes.
"What's on your mind, dear?"
"You."
"What about me?"
"I'm wondering how you can talk to me so friendly like while at the same time eating my cunt!"
"Well, there's no need to make it unpleasant."
"Um...it's unpleasant no matter what you say."
"Yes, I suppose so. I'm sorry about that by the way."
"If you're sorry, why do you do it? You seem like a nice enough man; how can you live with yourself when you do this to women like me all the time? How often do you do this?"
"Once a month. Well, I suppose it's just that someone else would do it if I didn't. Why should I give up a great meal when you're going to be here no matter what I do?"
"You're rationalizing. That's no excuse."
"Well, it's not my fault you went bankrupt and had to sell your body. I mean I feel sorry for you and all, but I'm not the one you should be angry at."
"Even so, if you didn't buy dinner at this place, they'd have demand for one less woman each month. I might be a domestic servant in a big hotel or a concubine for a rich man!"
"Would that be so much better for you, dear?" Dixon replied with genuine sorrow that his relationship with Debra had become so hostile. Meanwhile he had stopped eating and was staring into her face, debating the point intensely.
"Forget it; just enjoy your dinner, sir." Debra resigned herself to her fate but could not be persuaded to speak to Dixon again. She did, however, accept three refills of her drink while he completed the meal.
The situation was grim when Dixon announced that he was done and removed his napkin. Debra's genitals were completely gone, inside and out. The pubic mound was removed down to the bone, and large portions of her hips were missing. Even a bit of her left buttock had been carved off. Debra felt sick as she looked down upon her crotch, but there was no pain and no blood. Everything was roasted meat.
Dixon addressed her as she sipped the last of her drink. "Darling, thank you for a delicious meal. I know you hate me, but I want you to know that I enjoyed dinner very much. If it's all right with you, I would like to take your leg home to eat later and share with my family. Thank you again."
"Do what you like, sir; I am yours to devour," Debra replied with fierce sarcasm in her trembling voice.
Dixon had a word with Monique and exited with a gracious bow towards Debra. Monique put Debra back onto a cart and returned her to the kitchen. There Debra was placed on a table, and Steve's assistant used a large saw to remove her right leg just below the roasted frontier. Debra tried to remain unconcerned, but tears filled her eyes. There was no blood from Debra's hip, but the severed leg bled somewhat.
Monique smiled at Debra menacingly, "Darling, you're going to be one profitable piece of meat. Dixon doesn't take things home every month."
Monique helped the kitchen workers rinse Debra's body thoroughly with a hose of cold water and load her onto another cart. Monique pushed the cart into another small room that Debra did not recognize. The remains of recently abused women lined one wall. Many were alive and waiting, bored and horrified, but a few were no longer among the living.
"Where am I," she asked her unpleasant mistress.
"This is the leftovers room. You're on markdown now, dear, but someone will still pay a good price for what's left of you. If no one claims you this evening, we'll carve you up and sell your parts individually tomorrow."
Debra thought back to the time she first entered the kitchen and how she had wondered how many minutes she'd had to live. She'd never expected to be alive five hours later, but here she was.
She didn't have to wait long. Monique led a group of young men and women into the small room. There were perhaps a dozen of them all told, but Monique carried on negotiations solely with the group's leader, a sexy young woman in an elegant black evening dress, who seemed determined to impress her male companions.
Monique began her sales pitch, "Here's one that's barely been used, and I'm told she'll melt in your mouth. I'll give her to you at half price."
The girl whistled in approval, "She looks good, but we can't pay that much. I'll give your $100,000 for her."
"OK, tell you what, I'll give you the waist up for that price."
One of the men in the party stepped closer and examined Debra's roasted rear. "This is a great arse, and it's barely been touched!"
The girl made another offer. "Give us the rump as well."
Monique replied, "Fine, I keep the arms and leg, and you can have the rest for $100,000."
"$85,000."
"Done," Monique closed the deal, "Would you like her now or later."
"We'll take her now," replied the girl in the black dress.
"We'll pop her in the oven right away!"
Debra listened to this surreal conversation while drifting nearly into unconsciousness. Assistants started to cart her back into the kitchen for the removal of her remaining three limbs and an unpleasant tenure in the big oven. As she rode out of the room, Debra caught an image of herself five years younger; the black-clad lead girl was proudly handing Monique her credit card-a First Americredit Card.