Posted by Sawney Beane on September 29, 2006 at 18:25:26:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #76
BRING YOUR OWN
by Sawney Beane
31 August, 3 September 2000
3,993 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 is one of those stories that jump in and interrupt me as I am trying to compose other stories I have been thinking about for some time. It was a short knock-off story at first, but as I wrote it, something more elaborate came out. All of the plot elements were there already, but I think, unlike most of my stories which come out on paper less satisfying in words than in thought, this story came out better than I imagined it.
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The couple walked together into the restaurant to keep a noon appointment. They held hands but not intimately, more to reassure themselves of the other's continued presence. They announced their arrival to the elegantly dressed hostess and were led to a small but well-appointed office with a door marked "Receiving".
The tuxedo-clad and bespectacled man inside greeted the couple and shook hands with his male customer before kissing the hand of the female, a pretty young brunette in a low-cut red evening dress. The latter wore a neutral, almost tentative, expression on her face, but her dark attentive eyes scanned the room eagerly.
"Welcome to MacDougall's, Mr. ...ah... Hutchinson and Miss Clayton," said the host with a formal air.
"Please, you can call me Bill," replied the man quickly. He was comfortable in his formal clothing but had a look that would be called "ruggedly handsome". He was clearly the type of man who would attract attention in bars, and he clearly knew it, but at the moment he seemed a bit distracted and slightly uncomfortable.
"And I am Victoria," said the woman in a soft but confident voice.
"Very well," replied the host, "I am James Rogan, the executive receiving officer for MacDougall's Fine Dining, at your service. I believe your dinner reservation is not until 7:00 this evening, so we will have plenty of time to make whatever preparations are necessary."
"Fine." Bill Hutchinson replied less because he wanted to make a comment than because his host seemed to expect a response.
"First of all, I understand you are interested in a MacDougall's 'Bring Your Own' gourmet dinner?"
"Yes, that's correct," replied Victoria Clayton softly when it became clear that her companion was not in the mood to respond.
"Excellent; I'm sure you'll both be well-pleased." Mr. Rogan's broad smile was responded to with only polite smiles from both of his guests, so he continued in a softer, more delicate voice. "To begin with," he said carefully, "I need to know which of you will be joining us in the kitchen."
"That will be me," replied Victoria with a modest blush that momentarily subverted her confident demeanour.
"An excellent choice," replied the restaurant host, "Here at MacDougall's we can create masterpieces from one such as you!" His enthusiasm was greeted with calm, indulgent gazes, so he resumed more formally. "We must begin with the legal formalities."
"Very well," replied Victoria without surprise.
"Your name?" the host asked as he began filling out a long form.
"Victoria Jane Clayton."
"Age?"
"Twenty-three."
"Identification number?"
"40-932-5672."
"Citizenship?"
"United States."
The quiz continued until Miss Clayton's statistics had been thoroughly documented. Along the way, she was required to show proof that she had tested negative for HIV, hepatitis, and several other diseases. Then a question arrived that attracted the bored Mr. Hutchinson's attention.
"And what is your relationship to Mr. Hutchinson?"
Victoria hesitated before replying "Girlfriend."
Mr. Hutchinson clarified, "We have an intimate relationship, but our motives have always been more culinary than romantic." This embarrassed Miss Clayton and caused her to blush again, this time down to the edge of her low-cut neckline, but the interview continued.
Mr. Rogan understood perfectly. "I see, and how long have you been acquainted?"
"We met six months ago," replied Miss Clayton.
"And you have intended that whole time to eventually visit us?"
"Or something similar," replied Mr. Hutchinson a bit impatiently.
"Excellent," replied the restaurant officer, imagining but not mentioning the scene in one of the local pick-up bars where the couple might have met. Mr. Rogan continued with a knowing smile at Victoria, "I believe I know the answer to this next question, but it is very important. Are your motives here today 1) sexual/emotional, 2) the result of payment for your services, 3) the resolution of a past debt, 4) suicide/escape from life, or 5) other."
"The first one," said Victoria, seeming not willing to repeat it.
"Excellent," replied Mr. Rogan as he selected the proper form from his desk drawer. He handed the multiple-page pink form to Miss Clayton. "You'll need to read this form carefully and sign and date the bottom of the last page. Also, please initial each of the other pages."
Victoria took the form and set about conscientiously performing the task required of her. The form asked her to certify that she was here "entirely of her own free will and choosing" and that she understood that the "consummation of the MacDougall's Bring Your Own gourmet meal would result in her own death and the subsequent or concurrent consumption of some or all comestible portions of her body". It also asked her to "agree to indemnify and hold blameless MacDougall's Fine Dining, its subsidiaries, its parent companies, its employees, and its customers against any claims of compensation or wrongdoing resulting from any mental, financial, physical, or mortal damages visited upon her consequent to her participation in MacDougall's 'Bring Your Own' program". Furthermore, she was required to "certify that all statements made regarding her identity, state of being, and state of health, including any immunizations and test results were true and complete to the best of her knowledge". She read on through the end, covering these and many more items, and signed the contract and handed it back to Mr. Rogan with a shy smile.
"As I'm sure you know, we also require consent from Miss Clayton's next of kin."
Mr. Hutchinson pulled from his coat pocket an affidavit signed by Victoria Clayton's older brother Roger that covered much of what Victoria had certified and additionally that Roger was ready and willing to receive by certified mail both Victoria's personal effects and her bodily remains, whatever state they might be in following the banquet. Mr. Rogan received the document with a sly smile. "You are very well prepared. Clearly, you have done this before."
"No, it's my first time," replied Victoria, deliberately intercepting a comment meant for her companion. Her sense of humour lightened the mood in the room considerably.
"Now we must turn to the dinner guests. I believe they are to arrive at 7:00?"
"Yes, that's correct," replied Bill Hutchinson.
"And how many will be joining us this evening?"
"Thirty-Two, including myself."
Mr. Rogan glanced at the smiling 5' 3" 107 pound beauty and replied, "You'll have leftovers."
"We plan to enjoy ourselves quite a lot."
"Nonetheless, Miss Clayton will provide at least eighty pounds of fine meat." He was beginning to speak of her as if she was not in the room, but the conversation seemed to stimulate the young woman much more than the legal discussion just past.
"We'll take any leftovers home with us."
"Very well. Is this to be an all-male party or is it mixed gender?"
"Mixed."
"Will you be needing, ah...facilities, or will a standard dining room suit you better."
"A standard room," replied Mr. Hutchinson with mild distaste at the innuendo, "We'll all be pretty focused on Victoria."
"Very good. And are the guests friends of yourself or of Miss Clayton or both?"
"About half and half," replied Mr. Hutchinson, "but Victoria knows all of them and has invited them to her party."
"Excellent. We will need the names and telephone numbers of each guest, and each will have to sign a release form to the effect that MacDougall's has been informed that Miss Clayton is disease free and that we cannot be held responsible should this not be the case."
"Of course."
"Well, we can move on to the next phase in just a moment, but I will need a credit card to secure the transaction." Bill produced his card, and Mr. Rogan processed it to ensure payment for the restaurant's services. Because of its "Bring Your Own" policy, a meal at MacDougall's was far less expensive than one at one of the upscale house-supplied meat restaurants such as Tasty Kate's, but the expense could still be significant, so financial security was normally required up front.
"OK," said Mr. Rogan, rubbing his hands together in an exaggerated gesture, "We're ready to talk about what we're going to do with you, Miss Clayton."
"Yes," Victoria blushed again quite deeply as Mr. Rogan handed her a laminated menu depicting with colour pictures MacDougall's dozen or so standard preparation options.
"So, what do you say? Are you in the mood to be spit-roasted this afternoon?"
Victoria shuddered visibly. "No, I don't think I could handle something that extreme. I was leaning toward the whole-body oven roasting option."
"An excellent choice. Did you want the standard format, or are there any changes you want to make?" Mr. Rogan asked pointing to the picture and description in the menu.
"No, the standard is fine," replied Victoria, "I especially want the apple in my mouth, so I can lay there like a little roasted piglet." This elaboration seemed a bit of a personal juxtaposition upon the fairly formal conference, but neither of the men commented. Victoria had closed her eyes and was obviously imagining herself on the platter. She blushed again, more deeply than before, but she didn't seem embarrassed.
Mr. Rogan allowed her several minutes to regain control of herself before asking gently, "Will you be wanting any sauces or garnishes?"
"Maybe something light," replied Victoria. She seemed breathless suddenly.
"A mild barbecue, perhaps?"
"Yes, something with a bit of honey would be nice."
"I have just the thing. You can taste it when we get back to the kitchen to make sure it's what you want."
"Mmmm." Victoria seemed as if she could already taste it...and herself.
"And will we go for Well Done, or do you have another preference?"
"I don't know," replied Victoria, "What would you like, Bill?"
"Medium Rare." Mr. Hutchinson re-entered the conversation after a lengthy silent contemplation of his companion and her answers.
Victoria smiled. "Sounds nice."
"Good, and will this be a live roast?"
Victoria seemed to snap out of her dream. "God no! I'm not a masochist. I want to be dead before I go in the oven."
"Of course, would you like us to put you to sleep or will Bill do that for you?"
Victoria began to slide back into her fantasy. "I would rather Bill did it."
"Is that fine with you, Mr. Hutchinson?"
"Certainly," smiled Bill a bit ferociously. "I can do that for her." It wasn't certain whether he looked forward to the task or if he just craved the significant price reduction associated with doing the killing himself. The cost of the banquet would be close to 50% higher if he had the restaurant put her down, because of the increased liability involved.
"That gives us the option of stuffing."
"Yes, I want to be stuffed." She spoke dreamily again.
"Shall we serve your internal organs separately?"
"Oh yes, Bob and Tom and Rick and Tanya love that sort of thing. A basic boil will be fine."
"Very good. And the stuffing?"
"Whatever; something a bit spicy but not too heavy."
"I have just the thing. You'll go perfectly with our house special dressing."
"Sounds fine."
"Did you want any side dishes?"
"No, I'll be quite enough of a feast."
"And wine?"
"Do you have a recommendation?"
"Of course, our house specialty is an excellent red that would suit you perfectly."
"Good."
"Excellent, then the only other thing is the matter of distribution. Is this to be an open serving feast or do you have particular portions reserved."
"Oh, I'm all reserved."
"Really?" This was a bit unusual.
"Yes, they threw a fabulous farewell party for me last night and divvied me all up. See?" She pointed to the small signature inscribed on her left wrist with a felt tip marker. Mr. Rogan hadn't noticed but she had several such signatures on various parts of her arms, neck, and back.
"Well, that's something I haven't seen before. But of course we won't be able to read the names off of you once you're prepared."
"We have a list," remarked Mr. Hutchinson.
"Then we're ready to get you going. If you would go ahead and undress, please, Miss Clayton, we'll get started." Mr. Rogan pulled out a shipping box for her to put her things in.
Victoria was engulfed in her fantasy as she unsnapped the clasp behind her neck and let the top of her backless dress fall forward. Mr. Rogan remained professional as he saw revealed much more of her excellent figure. The breasts were not large, but very well formed, and as she pulled the dress over her hips and let it drop to the floor, he saw her delicate legs in all their glory.
Miss Clayton carefully folded her dress and placed it in the shipping box. She seemed unembarrassed standing in her panties in a room with two men, one of them a complete stranger, but that situation didn't remain for long as she slid her red panties to the floor. Her panties and high-heeled shoes and stockings found their way into the shipping box. Meanwhile, Mr. Rogan noticed that she had small signatures all over her perfect body, more than thirty of them.
James Rogan glanced at the neatly trimmed patch of brown fur between her legs. "Miss Clayton, will we be shaving your genitals prior to your roasting?"
"No, my friend Mike says he'd prefer that I leave it on."
"Very good. You'll have to remove your jewellery as well."
Victoria slipped off two rings, a bracelet, an anklet, and a necklace with a heart-shaped pendant and deposited them into her box. Finally, she removed her diamond earrings and handed them to Bill Hutchinson. "You can have these back now, Bill," she said with a smile.
"OK, that looks like everything," said Mr. Rogan. "You seem ready to get started, but we have some extra time in your schedule, so if you would like to use a bedroom, we have them available.
"No, thank you," replied Bill, "We took care of all that before we left my apartment."
Victoria jumped in breathlessly, "I think we need to take care of it a little bit more now."
"Very well." Mr. Rogan led the couple through a rear door out of his office and into a long hallway with red carpet. He walked to one of a dozen identical doors and opened it after hanging a clipboard containing copies of all of the couple's documents on a hook next to it. "Just press the button beside the bed to let me know when you're ready to move on. We should have plenty of time if you're ready in about an hour."
Victoria led her companion into the room and frantically undressed him almost before Mr. Rogan could escape back to his office.
* * * * *
Mr. Rogan answered the buzzer and found the couple waiting for him. Miss Clayton wore a bathrobe she had found in the room, and Mr. Hutchinson wore the outfit he had arrived in. "I trust you are ready to proceed?"
"Yes, Mr. Rogan," replied Victoria Clayton in a sultry voice. She was definitely ready.
"Excellent," replied Mr. Rogan with the same professional demeanour he had carried throughout their acquaintance. "I'll ring, Jack Stone, one of our assistant directors of preparation." He made a brief call on a mobile phone and then made idle conversation with Miss Clayton and her companion.
Shortly, a tall muscular man in a clean white T-shirt and dark jeans arrived and was introduced to the customers. Mr. Rogan took a confidential tone with Miss Clayton, "Frankly, we humans are surprisingly dirty creatures. Mr. Stone here will have you ready to meet all the health codes within the hour. He and his staff will also help you make any adjustments to your appearance you might want to undertake, not that you aren't already stunning. Good luck, Miss Clayton."
Victoria kissed Mr. Hutchinson lightly on the cheek and followed Jack Stone down the hall with a spring in her step. Mr. Rogan turned his attention to his other customer. "I'm afraid we'll have to wait for her to finish these procedures," he said. "If you'll just follow me, I'll direct you to our waiting lounge where you can choose from quite a number of different types of amusements."
* * * * *
An hour later, Mr. Rogan had collected Bill Hutchinson from the waiting lounge and was leading him to a room the restaurant referred to as the "Red Room". "She's going to look great, Mr. Hutchinson," raved Mr. Rogan. "I'm sure you'll be very pleased."
The pair arrived and Mr. Rogan followed his customer in. The room was not large, about the size of a large bedroom, but, unlike most bedrooms, it was completely covered, floor, walls, and ceiling, with ceramic tiles. There was also a floor drain and a double door on the side opposite where Mr. Rogan and Mr. Hutchinson had entered.
Victoria Clayton was waiting in the room. She was again nude and stood in the centre of the room with her eyes closed and a peaceful look on her face. She obviously wanted to make an impression, and she definitely succeeded. She seemed to sparkle, and her shoulder-length dark hair seemed to flow over her shoulders more fluidly than ever before. The rest of her body was completely hairless except for a small pubic patch, which had been neatly trimmed and delimited into a perfect equilateral triangle.
Bill Hutchinson gasped despite his relatively coarse nature. Victoria smiled but kept her eyes closed as she imagined everything she had hoped to accomplish here at MacDougall's.
"Mr. Hutchinson," began Mr. Rogan in an unwelcome distraction from the tableau. "Since you have agreed to facilitate this all-important phase of Miss Clayton's preparations, you might want to remove your clothing to avoid getting them stained. We can provide you with a robe if you would prefer not to be naked."
"Thanks, I won't need a robe," replied Bill Hutchinson without taking his eyes off of his radiant companion. He was already in the process of undressing.
Mr. Rogan collected Hutchinson's clothing and carried them in a neatly folded pile. "Mr. Stone will assist you with this phase. I'll be outside in the corridor when you are finished. Good luck, Miss Clayton, you look fabulous." Mr. Rogan left the room.
Bill stepped up to Victoria's side and wrapped his arms around her. She opened her eyes and smiled a broad sexy smile full of desire and excitement. She closed her right hand around Bill Hutchinson's erect penis as if for security, but mostly to indicate that she was aware of it. The deep red blush over her chest made her arousal just as obvious.
"I'm ready, Bill, I'm so ready. I'm going to be so great; everyone will be so impressed with the feast I'll serve tonight! I can't believe I finally am doing this," she said almost to herself. Then she riveted her attention on Bill for a moment. "Bill, I want you to drink my blood when you snuff me."
Bill was a bit taken aback by this sudden request, but a broad fierce smile slowly spread itself across his face.
Victoria and Bill got themselves into the proper positions. Bill braced his feet and slid his left arm around Victoria's shoulders, under her right arm, which was wrapped around Bill's shoulders. Victoria's left hand rested lightly on Bill's right hip. Victoria's long silky legs were intertwined with Bill's. They stood passionately for a moment in this fatal embrace until Jack Stone silently placed a razor-sharp knife in Bill's free right hand.
Victoria saw the instrument of her death and gasped in breathless excitement. She gave Bill one last long passionate kiss and then closed her eyes and tilted her head back slowly. Bill did not hesitate but slid the shining blade gently across the left side of her neck. She hardly felt the small but fatal wound which immediately began to leak her precious blood across the room and down Bill's chest.
Bill discarded the blade by tossing it into the corner of the room and then pressed his face against the wound in Victoria's neck. He drank and drank until he felt his stomach churning with her blood. He released her to take a breath, but the blood still flowed, covering his face and body. He resumed his vampiric feast.
Victoria was carried away with her passion and anticipation, and, though she had not felt the initial wound, she could feel the blood escaping her exhilarated body. She breathed faster and faster, and she saw herself stuffed on her belly on the platter with an apple in her mouth with her skin a perfect golden brown, shiny from the sauce. It was good; all of it was good.
Her arms dropped to her sides, and she crumpled in Bill's strong arms. Still he drank from her fountain, but the flow was beginning to slow. She felt herself weaken, and, although her eyes were now open, all she could see were glittering sparkles.
Bill had drunk all that he could contain, and the rest of Victoria's crimson blood ran down his chest and legs to the floor and began to trickle into the floor drain, a terrible loss. But the blood flow was slow now, her heartbeat an occasional soft thud.
Satisfaction was all she felt at the end, but then she felt nothing at all. Victoria's body was completely limp in Bill's arms. He struggled to hold her against his passion and the sudden nausea caused by the blood he had rapidly consumed. He most of all did not want to ruin the beautiful scene and succeeded in containing his discomfort. The last of her blood ran down her neck and breasts, across her belly and thighs, and down to her calves and feet.
Victoria was gone now, and Bill for the first time truly loved her. He pressed her limp body to his chest in one final embrace. Her chin rested on his left shoulder very satisfyingly. She was warm but completely still. The reassuring beat of her heart now gone forever.
"You can just lay her down there," said Jack Stone at exactly the right moment. He lent a hand with positioning her on her back on the floor. Then he pulled a hose from the far wall and washed away the blood from Bill and his beloved Victoria with warm water.
"Mr. Rogan will help you get dressed, Mr. Hutchinson," said Stone as he handed Bill Hutchinson a dry towel. "It's been a pleasure working for you. I guarantee you won't be disappointed in how she turns out." With that, he picked up the late Victoria Clayton and walked through the double doors with one arm under her shoulders and the other under her limp knees.
Bill slowly dried himself off and summoned Mr. Rogan. This was not his first time in the Red Room, but a surreal feeling overwhelmed him as he dressed. Maybe it was the nausea.
"Well, we're right on schedule, Mr. Hutchinson," exclaimed a happy Mr. Rogan to the rather distracted Hutchinson. "It's 3:30 now, and they'll have her in the oven in about half an hour, so that gives her about three hours to roast before the party arrives. Would you like to return to the waiting lounge or will you leave and come back later?"
"I have to go and meet the other guests this afternoon," said Bill Hutchinson breathlessly. "Thank you, Mr. Rogan, I look forward to the best dinner of my life."
With that Bill Hutchinson staggered to his car to return to his best friend's apartment where he would meet the group of friends that would participate in the next act of Victoria's passion play. He was filled with a sudden despair as he realized how futilely he would endeavour to convey the glory of what he and Victoria had just experienced.