Posted by Sawney Beane on October 11, 2006 at 00:11:21:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #81
SELF-SERVICE
by Sawney Beane
10,11 November 2001
3,372 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 gunophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the combination of several images that seemed to hang fairly well together. Part comes from a Dolcett drawing called CK1F_96.gif. The dialogue doesn't really fit my plot, but the image defines Michelle's big scene. This story's a bit gory, but it's decent if you like that sort of thing.
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NCY 205
It was always awkward when one of the girls was called. The others didn't know whether to console her or cheer for her. On the one hand, it was the fulfilment of all the dreams and purposes that had led them to sign-up to be comestible employees. On the other hand, it was a sign of impending death and a potentially frightening ordeal. Anne found that it was even more awkward when her number came up.
It was a Thursday morning, and she'd been living in the Grade A quarters in the Tasty Kate's tower for just over two months. In that time, she'd seen three girls from her floor go to their just reward. Today it was her turn.
The announcement had come at 10:00 am while everyone was gathered in the lounge to while away their time in idle conversation. Anne had endured the uncertain glances, the reassuring hands on her shoulders, the congratulatory comments, and the tears of her friends for only a few moments before she returned to her room to make final preparations. She'd packed her few personal belongings into a small box and had then spent several minutes tearfully embracing her roommate, Shelly. Anne had no regrets about her decision and frankly longed to fulfil her destiny, but leaving Shelly and her other close friends was painful.
At 11:00 she had returned nude to the lounge where she'd had to endure another hour of her friends' awkward attempts to reconcile themselves to her impending departure. When the meal steward came to collect her at noon, she was actually relieved to step onto the elevator and escape the uncomfortable situation. She had no idea whether or not her fate in the restaurant below would be worse.
"OK, Michelle, it's about time," said Marcel to the lovely blonde kneeling on the platter in front of him. She was tied securely in place, legs bound and arms tied behind her. Her entire voluptuous body had been generously spread with the Chef's secret sauce. Now her platter was perched on the rollers at the edge of the enormous oven. She looked concerned. "Are you ready?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
"It's so hot," Michelle whispered hoarsely. "I can feel it."
"Don't worry, darling. With all the anaesthetics you have in you, you'll know it's warm, but it won't cause you much pain."
"Won't it hurt?"
"Michelle, you've been to a tanning salon I'm sure. Just think of this as a tan that goes all the way through you. You won't feel any more pain than in a tanning booth."
"Oh." Michelle seemed to like the idea, but she was still worried. "What if I fall over?"
"Michelle, I know how to prepare a girl for the oven. You're tied very securely, so you'll stay in place even after you lose consciousness. Everything will be fine."
"Oh." Michelle still seemed concerned. Perhaps that was understandable since she was only six inches away from the blazing heat of the oven and helplessly tied to a steel platter. Marcel felt the heat uncomfortably, and Michelle was between him and the oven. Still, she was here of her own accord.
"Anything else, or are you ready to go in?"
"I was wondering...." Michelle began tentatively.
"Yes?"
"Who's going to eat me?"
Marcel smiled. "I can help you there," he said, consulting the clipboard in his hand. "It's a group of about thirty-five, three-quarters of them are male, and they're from a group called PACA."
"Isn't that the vegetarian group?" Michelle was confused.
"It's People Against Cruelty to Animals. They are opposed to raising animals for food, yes."
"But they're going to eat me?"
"Well, I'm not sure I understand it all that well, but it seems there's some dispute within the group. Some of them think it's wrong to eat any meat ever, but others feel that human meat is OK because all human meals are voluntary. They get together and indulge whenever they can. They come here about once a year; that's all they can afford."
"So I'll be the first meat these people have eaten in a year?" Michelle seemed to like the idea.
"Yes, thirteen months I think."
"Cool."
"Are you ready to go in then?"
Michelle's face showed worry again, but she said quietly, "I guess so."
"OK, don't worry, darling, you're going to be a delicious feast. I'll come back to check on you in about an hour, but you should be gone by then, so I'll say goodbye now."
"Goodbye, Marcel, thank you."
"You're welcome, Michelle; in you go." Marcel slid the platter into the oven and closed the door. He looked in at the still uncertain delicacy. She looked concerned as the flames licked at the edges of her platter and began to singe her succulent legs, but she wasn't panicking, so he thought she would be fine, another masterpiece.
Chef Marcel then turned his attention to Don, the moustachioed meal steward, and the luscious brunette in his charge. The pair had been waiting silently in the doorway for Marcel to consummate Michelle's trip to the oven.
Don spoke first. "Marcel, this young lady is for Room E; the dinner is scheduled for 7:00." He then handed a clipboard to the chef.
"How do they want her prepared," Marcel replied, glancing at the paperwork.
"They weren't specific," replied the steward. "They just said make her something memorable."
Marcel for the first time turned his attention to Anne. He took her hand as if to kiss it chivalrously but instead peered closely at her fingers and sniffed her wrist critically. Then he ran an experienced hand across her inner thigh and gently squeezed the flesh of her leg. He placed a hand under each of her pert breasts and evaluated their consistency. Finally, he encircled her neck with both hand, crossing his long expert fingers under her dark hair and pressing her chin up with his thumbs, thus forcing her to tilt her head back. She felt his thumbs caressing her delicate throat.
Then the chef took a step back and addressed the steward. "She's good quality; I'll make her memorable."
Don patted Anne on the back and left the room. Chef Marcel found her name on the clipboard and addressed Anne for the first time. He smiled at her with surprising friendliness as he did so. "So, Anne, why are you here?"
Anne was confused both by the question and by the chef's sudden change of manner. "Because I have to be prepared for dinner at 7:00," she said timidly.
"No, dear, that's why I'm here. I mean why are you a comestible employee."
"Because I want to be consumed?"
"Why?"
"Because it turns me on." She said it softly, a bit embarrassed.
The chef's friendly smile broadened. "Perfect. Would you like to watch while you are eaten?"
"Can I?" she seemed surprised at the idea.
"Possibly. Do you think you'll be able to stand up to the pressure?"
"I'm going through with it no matter what," she replied more firmly than before. "I want to be a feast."
She must have been convincing because he seemed to come to a decision. "Good. I've got an idea for you that will definitely make you memorable. It's something I've wanted to try for a while now, but it's difficult to find the right girl. There won't be that much actual pain, but it will demand a lot from you psychologically, so we don't want to do this unless you are sure you can handle it."
"I can handle it."
"Do you think you can butcher yourself?"
Anne was surprised. "How is that possible?"
"Not all the way, of course, but could you cut off your own breasts and legs and maybe an arm? If so, we can cook the parts in front of your customers and you can serve up your own flesh with a smile. Once you've done all you physically can, I'll take over and take the rest of you apart."
Anne pondered this new possibility. "That would be memorable," she mused. "I think I can do that."
"Perfect. We'll need to give you a chance to practice."
Fifteen minutes later, Holly was led into the room. She wore a look of emotionless resolution on her pretty face. Holly was twenty-three years old and several inches taller than Anne, probably about 5' 10". Her body was proportionately large, with firm meaty thighs and pretty breasts. Straight dirty-blonde hair cascaded down Holly's back to her shoulder blades. The round "Grade B" tattoo adorned Holly's upper right thigh. All in all, Anne couldn't see why Holly hadn't been granted a "Grade A" but perhaps it was due to the psychological requirements.
Marcel introduced Holly to Anne, but was simultaneously tying Holly's arms behind her back. Anne wanted to shake Holly's hand but had to resort to hugging her. Holly seemed pleased to receive this affection from a stranger on the brink of her doom. She'd waited for three weeks on the Grade B floor for her turn to be converted into parts. For the last two days she'd resided in a small room adjoining the main kitchen, ready to meet her fate whenever customer demands warranted it.
Marcel had finished binding Holly's arms and was in the process of blindfolding her as he explained the plans he had for Anne. When he explained that he wanted Anne to practice her butchering skills on Holly's body, Holly seemed very pleased.
"I'm honoured to help you," Holly said in Anne's general direction. Anne responded with thanks and compliments. Marcel tied Holly's hair into a manageable ponytail and placed a strong hand on the back of her neck with which he gently but firmly guided her to her knees next to a chopping block. He positioned Holly with her neck on the block and her back horizontal to the ground. Then he tied her ankles together while Anne watched in astonishment at how quickly and impersonally Holly was being led to her end.
"Ready, Holly, love?" asked Marcel as he grabbed an axe and raised it above his head.
"Ready." Holly waited patiently for the fatal blow.
Marcel gave a last-minute direction. "Anne, grab her head so it doesn't fall on the floor." Anne barely had time to get into position and place both her hands on either side of Holly's pretty face. Holly thanked her for the kindness seconds before the axe hit home. Holly's expression changed from placidity to alarm and then back to placidity in a matter of seconds. Anne fell backwards with Holly's head in her arms like a bloody football, the blindfold slipping off the dying face. Anne recovered from her shock and found herself staring into the Holly's glassy eyes.
Anne stood up, still holding the executed girl's cranium, and watched Marcel at work. He had quickly snatched up the rest of Holly's body and looped the ankle bindings over a hook on a special table. The table was sloped so that Holly's blood flowed into a drain and was collected in a jar beneath. Anne watched in silence and tried to reconcile the pale motionless corpse with the girl that she had been introduced to minutes earlier. The severed head in Anne's hands also seemed surreal, as if it could never have been related to the body it had recently been separated from.
Marcel was on the move again. The drained body was moved to a different table, and its wrists and ankles were untied. "Hop up here," Marcel ordered and guided Anne into position. Anne sat on the steel table with Holly's decapitated body propped up between her legs. She stared out over the severed neck and saw Holly's body from something close to the perspective Holly had once had. The body, although pale and motionless, was still warm and lifelike. Anne was becoming more and more certain that the practice was becoming more disturbing than the real thing.
Marcel bent Holly's right leg so that the ankle was within Anne's reach and handed Anne a large meat cleaver. He gave some instructions, and Anne launched the cleaver at the ankle. The blade struck home, but the force was insufficient to sever the foot.
Marcel reminded Anne of the importance of making sure she made all of her cuts in one try. The second try severed the foot, and Anne was able to remove the calf just below the knee in one stroke. Then she used a saw to sever the thigh twice, once just above the knee and once just below the hip. The left leg met a similar fate. Then Anne reached around her surrogate chest and took the right breast in one hand and deftly sliced it from the body with the knife in her other hand. The left breast met a similar fate.
Anne was then instructed to remove Holly's left arm and was not permitted to use her own left arm in the process. It was awkward, but she succeeded in removing the arm. Then it was time for the final cut. Anne slit open Holly's belly from breastbone to bellybutton and scooped out handfuls of intestines. All the time Anne was imagining that the body so abused was her own, and by the time she had reached the evisceration, she was almost in a frenzy. She giggled as she watched Holly's guts spill out onto the table before her. Marcel had to calm her down as he removed the degraded corpse to another table. Anne reclined on her back, covered in blood, while Marcel finished butchering the dead girl. Anne dozed and dreamed of death with a smile on her bloody face.
Anne spent the rest of the afternoon assisting Marcel in whatever way she could. She watched as he removed a mouth-watering Michelle from the big oven. Several other men and women came out of the ovens in this way, and Anne even helped prepare a few others to be put into the oven. It was as exciting and erotic an afternoon as Anne could have imagined.
Eventually, it was time for her to be cleaned up and readied for dinner. This was done with efficiency by a team of experts. By the time 7:00 came around, Anne was waiting in Dining Room E. She sat nude and cross-legged in the middle of the big table waiting for her destiny.
A few minutes after 7:00, five men entered the room. All of them were young, late twenties at most, and all were good-looking and muscular. They could have been professional footballers. Anne smiled at her good fortune. These men must have been very wealthy as well, since it was no small matter to be able to afford a high-quality woman like Anne. As it turned out, they were also rude.
The men seemed surprised and unhappy to find Anne still breathing. "Jesus!" said one of the smallest of the men, "What the hell? She's not even snuffed yet? She should have been in the oven hours ago. We're starved!"
Anne did not dwell on her customers' unpleasantness. Instead, she replied calmly, "The first course will be served in ten minutes. You wanted something unforgettable."
"What?"
"Try to forget this," she said with a sly smile. Then Anne used two fingers of her left hand to pull the nipple of her right breast as far as she could and deftly sliced off the breast with a swift upward movement of the knife in her right hand. She held the severed breast by the nipple and handed it to Marcel, who had been waiting in the corner of the room. Marcel consigned the morsel to the grill built into one end of the table and went back to receive the other breast that Anne had by then similarly detached.
Anne used a spray can of blood coagulating agent to stop the steady flow of blood down her belly. The smell of her grilled mammaries filled the room, and Anne sat triumphantly awaiting her customers' comments. She looked much the same as she had when they'd entered, aside from the lack of breasts and somewhat bloodied torso. The customers, however, saw her entirely differently.
The five sat down and introduced themselves to Anne. Diner and dinner got to know one another a bit better until Marcel served equally divided portions of the breasts to all of the men. They savoured their appetizers and eagerly awaited the next course. Their enthusiasm and compliments assured Anne that she would indeed be an unforgettable meal.
Anne attacked her own legs with determination and skill. First her feet came off and began to sizzle in the oven. She removed both calves, which Marcel filleted and grilled. Anne worked steadily, and had just cut herself off at the knees when Marcel served her feet and toes to the men. They ate and watched as she removed both thighs. One went into the oven to be roasted whole, while Anne carefully sawed the remaining one into twenty-five succulent steaks for the grill.
She was almost done now, but the meal was just getting going. The men were cheering her on with each additional slice. She felt wonderful as she inhaled the fragrance of her cooking flesh. She saw her body parts scattered around the room, her feet and calves half eaten on plates, her knees on serving platters, her thighs roasting in the oven and sizzling on the grill. The smiles and laughs all around the table filled her with a warmth and love she had never experienced. Marcel smiled proudly at her from across the table. She moved on.
Anne used a fillet knife to sever the flesh around her left arm close to the shoulder. She did not cut the bone. Instead, she asked the man closest to her if he could "lend her a hand". He took her left hand and pulled the arm from the socket as she requested. Anne took back the arm and using only her right hand cut it into three portions: hand, forearm, and upper arm. Marcel got these cooking, and Anne looked forward to her last few tasks.
She used the fillet knife to remove her external genitals and pubic mound. The internal genitals would have to await Marcel's skilful knife. As it was, her one-handed work was less than neat, but this most recent removal brought cheers from her gluttonous audience.
Now it was time to end it. She stabbed herself in the midline of her belly, just above her pelvis. She then ripped herself upwards to the navel, which she cut a three-inch circle around. Marcel took this prize to the oven as Anne continued her devastating journey. The tear crossed her belly and ended abruptly at the point of her breastbone. She dropped the knife and pulled her belly open as best she could with one hand. Some of her customers helped her out and spread her abdomen wide. She feebly pulled loops of intestines from her gaping belly but stopped as several strong male hands leapt to more efficiently disembowel her.
She had done all she could do. She relaxed on her back and stared up at the mirrored ceiling. Anne could barely recognize the one-armed, legless, breastless, gutted bloody body she saw. The men were still enthusiastically pulling organs from her belly, and she saw her liver, her uterus, and other things she didn't recognize come out of her. Her vision was dimming, and she knew she was losing blood quickly. The tingly dizziness enveloped her brain. She wondered if she would bleed to death before the men could find her heart and rip it from her body.
In her last moment she was happy. She had made everyone else happy, and that filled her with warmth and love. Her vision was almost completely gone by now, and she could not pick out individual sounds from the commotion around her. Of course, the anaesthetic had disrupted her sense of touch. That left only two sensations in her final moment. She tasted her own blood, and she distinctly recognized the pleasant smell of her own roasted flesh. After that there was nothing.