Posted by Sawney Beane on September 09, 2006 at 02:14:56:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #62
SUNSET
by Sawney Beane
24 August; 3, 25 September 1998
4,980 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: This story is an amalgamation of several ideas that came to me over a few months. The sunset scene is one psychological element that appealed to me, and various parts of the preparation scenes also came to me in isolated chunks. They seem to fit nicely here together, and I quite like the result.
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Karen's husband Richard never liked to watch the sunset with her, but it was one of her greatest pleasures in life to watch the sun set behind the horizon from the vantage of the back balcony of their gorgeous mansion. The fact that he was sitting patiently watching with her in silence that Friday evening told her that something must be up.
The sun was just beginning to touch the distant horizon when he spoke. "What would you say if I asked you to go to the butcher shop for me?"
Karen ignored the significance of the question and the shiver that ran up her spine and replied with forced nonchalance, "I would ask you which of the slave girls you wanted me to take over."
"What if I asked you to go by yourself this time?"
"I would ask you to reconsider."
"What if I had already made up my mind?"
"This is not a hypothetical conversation is it, darling?" Karen finally bowed to the inevitable.
"I'm afraid not."
"But we have dozens of excellent slave girls downstairs that would make a lovely dinner."
"Yes, but none are as lovely as you, and I don't love any of them."
"Because you love me you want to kill me?"
"No, of course not, I have no desire at all to kill you. That's just an unfortunate side effect. I really want to eat you. Even that would not be enough for me to actually do it, but the impression it will make is more valuable than anything."
"What impression?"
"You know how I am a candidate for chairman of the board in a few months? Well, this month is my turn to cater the meeting for the board of directors. What better way to show my dedication to the company than to surrender my beloved wife, especially since she will be such a sumptuous meal?"
Karen was flattered despite her confusion. She submitted wearily, "If that is really want you want, my love, of course I will comply, but I wish you would change your mind."
"I'm sorry, dear; I thank you from the bottom of my heart." The funny thing was she knew he was sincere.
"When will it be?" she asked weakly.
"Tomorrow dinner."
Karen was flabbergasted as she glimpsed the last rays of the sun drifting behind the horizon. "Tomorrow! How long have you known about this? Why didn't you tell me before tonight? That was the last sunset I will ever see?"
"I'm sorry, love, but I wanted to make this as painless for you as I could. If I'd told you a month ago, you would never have been able to sleep or enjoy yourself at all. I would have waited until tomorrow morning to tell you if I could, but there are things we have to do before you go."
Karen sat in stunned silence for many minutes. There was no denying the logic of his argument, but she hated to think that her young life was to come to an end so suddenly.
The rest of the evening was occupied with paperwork. She finalized her will and other legal documents. Then she wrote farewell letters to her family and friends. In all it was a trying four hours. But the subsequent night was far less pleasant. She barely slept and awoke several times from the worst nightmares of her life.
It was her own fault, of course, and she knew it. Being the sixth wife of a fifty-five year old man who had a long history of asking his wives to become dinner for him was at best a risky proposition. At twenty-three she had been married for four years and was nearing the average life-expectancy of Richard's wives. Still, she had hoped that her years of opulence would be longer, and the faint hope that wife number five had permanently sated his hunger for spouses was always with her, ungrounded as it was. But now all illusions were fading away.
The worst thing was that he couldn't force her to die on the chopping block. She was a free-woman and always had the right to decline. But she thought that it would have been, in a way, preferable to be a slave girl. Then the responsibility for her death would not have been her own. She could have cursed with impunity the injustice of it all. In her current situation she could only regret the depth of love and loyalty she felt for Richard. It was not the same.
Saturday morning Karen was driven downtown to the shop on 28th street. It was the longest ride of Karen's life, and she almost cried as she said good-bye to the chauffeur and watched the limousine recede into the distance.
Inside the upscale shop, Karen saw the familiar rooms with a whole different perspective. It had been her job to accompany the slave girls here whenever a special dinner was required. In her four years of marriage, Karen had been here an average of once a month. This was the first time she had arrived alone.
The receptionist greeted her in a voice uniquely suited to soothe both doomed slave girls and impatient rich housewives. "Ah, Mrs. Mitchell! Welcome back; we have your reservation....um, where is your slave?"
"Hello, Wendy, I'm going to be on the menu myself today." Karen was amazed at the ease with which she could say the fatal words.
Wendy's eyes widened in astonishment, but she regained her composure quickly. "Certainly, Mrs. Mitchell. If you would just take a seat in the waiting room, we should be ready for you in ten minute or so. Good luck, Karen, we'll miss you."
"Thanks, Wendy, I wish you all the best, you've been really great all these years."
Karen joined the other people already sitting in the small waiting room. There were three pairs of women there. Mrs. Crawford, an older lady in a long blue dress and heavily encumbered with jewellery, sat next to the door with an attractive brunette in a standard slave's tunic. The latter tried to control her emotions but sometimes let slip a slight sob. The slave girl in the corner was not so successful, she was sobbing uncontrollably and soaking her tunic and long blonde hair with tears of terror. She was in the custody of Mrs. Jones, a twenty-six year old woman in a tasteful green dress. The third pair was led by Mrs. Rogers, a woman in black from her raven hair to her shoes and wearing a perpetually stern expression. She looked old for her forty years. Like all of Janet Rogers' slaves, the statuesque redhead sitting beside her stared straight ahead without a trace of emotion. To top it off, she was completely nude save a studded dog collar around her neck. Mrs. Rogers tended to take the mistress-slave relationship rather too seriously.
The worst thing was that after their polite greetings upon her arrival, each of the three mistresses stared at Karen with a sort of disdainful pity. It was almost unbearable for Karen to sit there without a slave of her own. It was easy for these women to take the superior attitude since all of them except for Melanie Jones were too old for anyone to ever ask them to place their necks on the chopping block. It was horrible arrogance, and Karen could feel their eyes burning holes in her satin dress. She imagined with horror the things they would say about her moments after she had left the room. The ten minutes passed very slowly.
The door finally opened, and a woman in a white nurse's uniform announced Karen's name. She was called before any of the slave girls who had arrived before her. It appeared that she had been given a certain priority, but Karen wasn't sure whether that was a favour or not. Karen followed the nurse into the unknown and left behind forever the petty world of millionaires' wives and their snide observations.
Behind the door, in the unfamiliar world of death and culinary magic, the nurse spoke soothingly to Karen, the next in line to become meat. "Follow me, please, Miss. We have several stages to take you through before you will be ready to see our master chef, so we must not waste time."
Behind the fateful door was a small foyer and another door through which the nurse led Karen. This small room contained a sofa, a scale, and several boxes. The nurse led Karen through it.
"OK, the first thing we have to do is get you out of your clothes. Just put everything you want sent back with you into one of the boxes and fill out the address label. Anything you want to get rid of, please put in the blue crate, and it will be sold and the proceeds donated to charity."
Karen slipped her long red satin dress down to her ankles and placed it into the blue crate. Then she placed her shoes, stockings, panties, and bra next to it. She stood nude, cold, and embarrassed in front of the waiting nurse and awaited her next instructions.
"You have to remove your jewellery as well, dear."
Karen slowly removed a gold necklace and bracelet and placed them in a mailing box. She dropped her massive diamond wedding ring in last with a tinge of regret.
"Very good, now please step onto the scale." Karen complied, and the nurse wrote "57 kg" on her clipboard. "That's a very good feast, love. And such a nice body at that." Karen wondered if that was supposed to make her feel good or whether the nurse had slipped up. Finally, the nurse used a tape measure to determine Karen's height and measurements. Everything was noted on the clipboard, and Karen was ushered through a door marked "Internal Cleaning Station" and bidden to follow the directions carefully.
Karen sat wearily upon the toilet and listened to the instructions intoned over a hidden speaker by a soothing female voice. She was not very excited about this part. "If you wish to be assisted, please press the red button beside the door. If you wish to proceed in privacy, follow these directions carefully." Karen knew the privacy note was a joke, since the whole complex was riddled with hidden cameras, but she didn't want any company either, so she carried on by herself.
"For best results, all internal waste must be removed. Use the toilet for as long as you need. Remember: 'If in doubt, wait it out'." Karen groaned at the lame excuse for a proverb, but she felt a bit guilty about already having violated one of the cardinal rules of the butcher shop. She had consumed a wonderful dinner the previous night and had, therefore, not completed the required 24 hour fast. Then again, it was her husband's fault since he hadn't told her until it was too late. Karen finished her business, flushed, and read on.
"The tube to your right should be inserted into your anus. It will fill you with cleaning fluid. Please hold for three minutes and release into drain. Please repeat this five times."
Karen sat on the six inch long steel tube sticking out of the porcelain fixture next to her and grimaced as the warm fluid automatically flowed into her bowels. She felt very uncomfortable until a small bell rang, indicating that she could release the pressure inside her. After the fifth iteration, Karen could hardly hold the enema in, but it was crystal clear when she was finally allowed to release it.
"Please exit through the door in front of you."
Karen walked with a weak sense of relief through the door marked "External Cleaning Station".
The room behind the door was a sort of shower room. Two nude women were waiting for her there. Each had a tattoo to the left of her navel composed of a large letter "B" in a circle above a date and the name of the butcher shop. These were slaves, but not the kind that could be butchered at will. One had to get a permit to kill these ladies, not that that was very difficult, but it was still a better life than that of the class A slaves Karen was used to delivering to the butcher shop.
Karen allowed herself to relax slightly as the two slave girls scrubbed every inch of her body and shaved most of it. Her pubic hair was reduced to a triangular patch of quarter inch long hair. When all was done, Karen felt clean and beautiful and enjoyed the fifteen minutes of comfort as the slaves rubbed lotion into her soft skin. She'd been to some of the world's best spas, and this was nearly as good.
The two girls silently led Karen through the unmarked door and deposited her on the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. They departed without a word, and Karen sprawled limply on the cool metal. She felt extra aware of the sensations on every inch of her body down to the smallest breeze. She was too relaxed to wonder what had been in the lotion the slaves had coated her with.
She heard a door open sometime later and saw a hazy male figure hovering over her. "Hello, Miss, you are certainly one of the most beautiful women I've seen on my table in a long time. I'm your butcher Bruce," his deep, sexy voice drifted down to her ears.
His eyes moved immediately to her navel, and Karen distractedly noticed the surprise in his face as he noticed the lack of a tattoo on her belly.
"You're a free-woman?"
"Um hm," she agreed.
"Well, we don't get many of your kind in here, but we'll see what we can do. How can I help you, Miss?"
"Mrs. Karen Mitchell," she said as she regained some consciousness. "My husband's throwing a dinner party."
"Hm," the butcher looked at her chart, "how many guests?" His voice was far ordinary than it had sounded to her at first.
"About 15."
"Then there's too much of you; you will end up being far too much meat."
"Oh no!" Karen exclaimed tragically. Something inside her told her that this reaction was far to extreme for the situation, but something was keeping a hazy sort of childish self at the forefront of her consciousness.
"Don't worry, Madam; we have options."
"Like what?"
"I can cut off your arms and legs and make a terrific torso roast out of you."
Karen rolled up into a ball holding her arms and legs close to her body. "But I like my arms and legs!"
"So will your husband...for many days to come."
Karen smiled broadly and unrolled her body. "You'll send them to him?"
"Certainly, we'll do whatever you want with them. We can send them whole or cut them into steaks. We could even do your thighs as hams."
"That sounds nice." Karen was regaining most of her normal consciousness. Apparently the drug in the lotion was not long-lasting. It didn't need to be since a normal slave girl would have lost her head by this time in the meeting. "He'd prefer to have the limbs cut into pieces for him. Let's do one leg as steaks and keep a ham from the other."
"Very well, we'll take off your head, arms, and legs...."
"Why my head?"
"Have to. If we roast your face, you wouldn't be very pretty once you came out of the oven. So we always make the heads into table ornaments. Your husband can prepare it separately later."
"OK, but can we cut my head off last? I want to watch as much as possible."
"I prefer to do it first. Getting yourself butchered is not a very pleasant experience, so you'd do best to make sure you die as soon as possible."
"I really want to experience it. I can handle the worst."
"As you wish," he replied with courtesy but obvious reluctance. "Will we be removing your breasts and genitals?"
"I think he would like it if we kept the genitals. Why would you remove my breasts?"
"Most men tend to think that breasts are the greatest delicacy, and I guarantee that everyone at your feast will jump at the chance to devour yours. But, frankly, breasts are not very good meat. They're the fattiest parts of the body, and they are really difficult to stomach. Now, the skin of a woman's breast is some of the softest on the body, and the nipples are excellent. One of my specialties is sautéed nipples, but you have to have two dozen or so. We usually use the less attractive slaves for that because they're cheaper. You can also pickle nipples or serve them covered in chocolate. Anyway, we could use the outsides of your breasts very nicely in other ways, while we mix the rest into your stuffing. It's your choice."
"I think we'd better keep them where they are. My husband will be very disappointed if they're missing."
"Fine, yours are a nice size anyway, large enough to be something but small enough that they won't be inedible."
"Thank you."
"Now, it is best if we get your entrails out since they cook better when they're prepared separately. We can open up your belly and refill you with stuffing. Sound good?"
"Yes, actually, I have a special recipe for stuffing that my husband just adores. Could you stuff me with that?"
"Um, mostly we just use the standard stuff, and I don't have anyone to make it for you, but we have a kitchen with pretty much everything you might need, and we have about half an hour extra, so I could let you make it if you hurry."
"Good idea." Karen sat up and felt the last remnants of her drowsiness float away.
Karen washed the sticky bread crumbs off of her hands and gazed oddly at the vat of her special recipe stuffing she had just finished preparing. Bruce had asked her to make four big bowls of the stuff, but it seemed like a lot to her. No matter; it was better to have too much than too little. Bruce was due to return in the next five minutes, so she finished cleaning herself up and positioned herself on her back on the steel table again. She was beginning to enjoy the feeling of cool metal on her bare skin.
Bruce returned shortly and inquired of her in cheerful tones, "All set?"
"Finished."
"Good, that stuffing looks mighty good," he said tasting a small bit. Then her picked up a small hacksaw and walked toward Karen on the table. "We'd better get started pretty soon."
This was it. A shiver ran through Karen's body. "I'm ready when you are."
"There's some paperwork we have to go over before I cut off your arms."
"Really?" This surprised Karen.
"Only because you're a free-woman. There are some strict regulations I have to comply with."
"OK."
"First of all, you are here willingly?"
"Yes."
"You understand that what we are about to do will result in your death?"
"Of course."
"And that your body will be prepared and turned over for human consumption?"
"Sure."
"Good, so you want to cease to be a person and wish to become food?"
"Yes."
"And you have not been coerced in any way?"
"No."
"Was it your idea to become food or did someone ask you to do this?"
"My husband asked me."
"It wasn't your idea?"
"No, but I am perfectly willing to do it."
"You're sure?"
"Are you trying to talk me out of this?" she asked with a shy smile. This line of questioning was making her uncomfortable, probably because it was revealing her weakness and uncertainty.
He answered her with deadly seriousness. "Frankly, Miss, I'm basically a selfish person, and I don't get paid if you walk out of here, so I pretty much want to cut your head off."
Karen looked at him in utter shock, so he continued. "I know you're wondering if I was being sincere when I told you that you were one of the prettiest girls I'd seen in here for a long time. I was. You are a fine specimen, but I can't afford to be sentimental. I have a wife of my own, and I admit that she isn't as beautiful as you are, but I love her very much, so I have to have money to support her. I also have three daughters, and I haven't had to sell any of them yet. I hope I never have to, but that means I have to butcher a lot of other women. So, if I have my choice, you'll be in the oven soon."
"Then why...?"
"Because a free-woman like yourself cannot be forced to die by my hand. It's my responsibility to make sure that you are totally committed to this and are here entirely of your own free will. If I slip up, I could lose my butcher's license, and there aren't many jobs that pay this well. If I butcher a free-woman who doesn't want to be meat, then my daughters' necks will most likely end up on my successor's chopping block, and I couldn't bear to live through that. That's the main reason I like to take heads off first. If I cut off your leg and you have second thoughts, then I have a problem. But you won't have any second thoughts if I do your head first."
Karen almost felt sorry for him and decided to take his interrogation seriously. "I am here of my own free will. I am ready to begin as soon as you are, but we have to do my head last."
"If you insist, but I need a few signatures." He handed her several documents. She filled out the personal information required and signed each in several places. The dense legalese in the documents went barely understood by her, but it was clear that she was signing away, among other things, her rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. She was also assigning ownership of her body to her husband and giving him permission to use it in any way he felt fit. Finally, she was disclaiming the butcher shop's liability for overcooking her. It was a tangle, but she got through it and hoped that the worst was past her.
"Thank you, Miss. I can remove your arms now if you wish, but I am bound to inform you that under California state law, no free-person can be legally bound to surrender life or limb. That means that, despite the contracts you have just signed, you always have the right to change your mind until you are dead or fatally wounded."
"Good, I won't change my mind, Bruce."
"OK, put these on." He slid wet leather rings over her hands and feet. He slid each ring up to her upper thighs or arms where they fit snugly. "Now we wait."
Five minutes later the leather rings had dried and contracted to half their former sizes. As a result the circulation in Karen's limbs was completely cut off, and her arms and legs lost all feeling except for the painful squeezing of the leather bonds and the pins and needles feeling in her extremities. Now Bruce could remove her limbs without risk of her bleeding to death.
"One last thing before we start," he said while raising his hacksaw. "In case you lose your wits in the next few minutes, what will we do with your entrails? We have some very nice recipes for them. I assume your husband will want them delivered with the rest of you?"
"Yes," she said while attempting to brace herself against the impending destruction of the saw. Then she reconsidered, "All but the liver. My husband hates liver, so you can throw that out."
"Very good, do you mind if we take it and sell it in our shop? I'm sure there are a lot of people who would love to have some of it."
"I'd be honoured." She closed her eyes.
"The bands should deaden most of the pain; all except for the vibration," he said almost casually as he placed the edge of the saw against her left arm about a third of the way from her shoulder to her elbow.
Then he began to cut. The blade cut deeply into her flesh and rested against the bone after two strokes. Karen's first instinct was to scream in anguish, but she soon realized that there was hardly any pain. She stared confusedly at the ceiling, trying desperately not to look at the bloody gash in her bicep. Then he continued cutting and began to dig into the bone. Now there was pain, of a sort. She trembled at the feeling of steel cutting through bone. The vibration ran through her shoulder and accosted her skull. When she was sure she couldn't take anymore, the bone was severed and the knife ripped through the flesh on the back of her arm.
Karen opened her eyes reluctantly and saw Bruce carrying most of a female arm towards a side table. She could see the cleanly severed stump of her arm and stared in horrified fascination at the layers of skin, bone, and muscle thus exposed.
"Ready for the next one?" Bruce asked cautiously.
"Um-hum," Karen mumbled. There was almost no pain, just a feeling of distance and distraction.
Bruce removed the right arm in a similar manner, and Karen was again nearly overwhelmed by the pain of the vibration, but it was quickly over. She looked over at the adjoining table and saw both her arms lying together. She felt as if she could almost control the lost fingers.
"Now your divine legs?"
"Mmm."
Bruce set the saw to the top of her left leg about a third of the way down her thigh. Just where her favourite pair of red shorts stopped she mused. The leg took longer, but the pain was minimal until the femur began to vibrate from the steel saw. Karen closed her eyes and waited in agony. Soon it was over, and Bruce carried her perfect leg to the table. He placed the other leg next to it five minutes later.
Karen was now a much lighter individual. She felt odd being a torso with four short stumps where limbs should be. It was almost as if she was no longer human. Soon she would not be.
"You're doing great. Now we have to open your belly up. This is going to be very painful for you. Are you sure you don't want me to sever your neck first?"
"Um-um," she mumbled with a slight shake of the head.
"As you wish." Bruce brought out a scalpel and lost no time in creating a thin bloody line from the base of her breastbone to just above her attractive navel. Then he inserted his hand into the 15 cm incision and pulled it out with a handful of her intestines. She couldn't believe her eyes, but she watched in silent horror as he dragged more and more of her insides into the light and deposited intestines, liver, pancreas, and assorted viscera into a large plastic tub. When he had removed almost everything except heart and lungs, he used a small hose to rinse out her body cavity. She felt a terrible coldness as her inner temperature was reduced by the water. The bloodied water poured out of her vacant anus until Bruce was satisfied and turned off the hose.
Karen was sure she would soon die as she struggled to keep her eyes open to watch her gentle executioner stuff handful after handful of her special stuffing into her vacant body cavity. She was packed tight and felt the discomfort of a heavy meal and had to struggle to breathe when he was done and sewed her belly together with large stitches with coarse thread. She thought that she looked almost pregnant as she looked down upon her distended belly.
Bruce read her thoughts, "Don't worry, madam, it will get much smaller in the oven, and you'll look as beautiful and slim as ever."
She smiled slightly and tried to imagine what she looked like now from his perspective. She barely noticed him busily assembling a small contraption until he slipped the mini-guillotine around her neck.
"Your time has come, my dear," said Bruce in a kindly tone. "I'm going to cut your head off and get you into the oven so you'll be medium well in time for your husband's party. I'm sure you will be everyone's favourite food."
She did not reply but blinked her eyes in acknowledgment and tried to smile. He pressed on the top of the mini-guillotine with all his weight, and the blade sliced through her tender neck with ease. Life passed out of her body.
Bruce set to work quickly removing the leather straps from the stumps of her limbs and arranging her arm stumps so that they pointed up above where her head had once been. Then he rinsed the blood off of her body and the steel table and rubbed butter and spices into her delicate skin. Then he transferred her into a large roasting pan and topped the dish off with some extra seasonings. Into the oven she went just on schedule.
Bruce called an assistant and gave him instructions for preparing Karen's severed limbs and entrails and for preserving her smiling head. Then he pressed the button on the intercom that would signal the nurses in the outer office that he was ready for the next order.