Jonathan Whittaker is a podcaster with a love for incredible food. He embarks on a world tour to sample the most incredible cuisines available, each serving that most delectable of meats.

Codes: M+/f+, snuff, cannibalism/gynophagia, consensual, bondage, discipline, sadism, masochism, torture, serious

Release Date: [07/05/2046]

Host: Jonathan Whittaker

[Intro Music Intro fades in, swells, and fades in sounds of conversation, people eating, cookware clanking, sizzling meat, and some muted cries.]

Jonathan Whittaker: I’m in Burbank, California and have just gone into the Palm Island Market. It’s a bustling place and very crowded, but the first thing I notice is the scents. Mouth watering. Barbecues, roasts, smokers, open-flame grills - they’re all here, crowded into about two dozen different storefronts in the main eating hall. Tables line the open center of the building and spiral up to the second floor. I can see people eating, laughing, eyes bright as they watch the master chefs prepare and cook food. It’s a performative culinary experience. They talk loudly because Palm Island is a noisy place. Through the sizzling of meat I can hear the clanking of cookware, the sound of knives on chopping boards, and of course, the plaintive cries of distress, pain, and pleasure.

I stand in the center for a moment and look around. There is plenty of culinary variety here and I could literally take a trip around the world, sampling a variety of dishes. There are bowls of glazed meat served on rice, curries and vindaloo, Jagerschnitzle, Cassoulet, and tacos al pastor. I push through the lines of hungry patrons to the nearest establishment. Barbecue. Very American. Here, three men are carving up the latest roast, slapping steaming, gorgeously pink but properly cooked meat onto plates, squirting a sweet but spicy sauce across the protein. But the real show is behind them. Three roasting spits are turning, hot flames orange and gold slow-searing the meat behind them. 

The first girl is practically done. Her head and hair are bundled up behind a heat proof shield but the rest of her is basted, darkened perfection. Her skin is crackled and crisp and the thick carbon spit perforating her body rotates slowly. I can’t help but notice the second probe, jammed into her sex, helping to turn her round and round over the flames. She doesn’t move in any other way and I move to the side to peer around the heat shield. Blonde. Gorgeous. Her eyes are wide open, sightless and unmoving. I watch as two of the cooks come over. One jams a temperature probe deep into her flank, nodding as the other uses a brush to paint one last coating of sweet sauce over the girl’s smoking breasts. 

The second spit also turns, this time with a shorter brunette. Except she is still moving, and not just in the slow death spiral of the spit’s rotation. Her body twitches, her nervous system overloaded from the searing heat of the coals beneath her. I can see the way her pussy clenches around the vaginal probe. I know it vibrates intensely, forcing the girl to cum over and over even as she cooks. I wonder how many orgasms she’s had. Her toes and fingers are curled tight and I know the only thing keeping her from screaming is the bar that emerges from her mouth. Her wide open eyes still flicker left and right as her hips try to thrust, the mixture of sexual desperation and agony a seasoning in its own right.

They put a fresh one on the last grill and her body glistens from a coating of oil. Her blonde hair is in a bag and her creamy white skin is perfect. She is big of breast and butt, the perfect proportions for a meatgirl. She twitches desperately as the heat washes over her. The cooks are already giving her the first coating of barbecue sauce and I watch as they tease her nipples and clit with the brushes, then making long strokes down her legs, all the way to the bottoms of her feet. She’s higher than the other two, further away from the flames and while clearly uncomfortable, she’s still in the throes of pleasure. The vibrating vaginal probe is clearly doing its job, stimulating her into orgasmic delight and I can’t help wanting to lick the tips of her breasts. She cums, fluids dripping from her slit and as she shudders and turns, the spit is lowered just a few inches closer to the heat.

Suddenly it’s my turn at the counter. I look down at the plate handed to me. Steaming, delicious slab of meat, a roll on the side, a drizzle of the barbecue sauce. Some potato salad. It’s breast meat and I take my plate, turning to look for a table. I sit down, a cute little waitress wearing nothing but an apron and leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles, a collar around her throat, brings me a beer and with it, a plastic fork. I notice the jeweled butt plug as she turns and walks away. I pull apart the morsel in front of me and put it in my mouth. It tastes incredible and I watch other eateries as they prepare their own meats, sweet cries of pain and pleasure as gorgeous girls are laid out and cooked. 

Except... this isn’t how it used to be. Ten years ago places like Palm Island didn’t exist. The cooking wasn’t a show. It couldn’t be. Sanitation, the entire butchering process, all of it required a rather distasteful, clinical, behind the scenes procedure that involved slaughter, cleaning, and then dismemberment. There were no live spits. No roastings over coals. No griddle sears. You couldn’t bring a live girl to the table and cook her right there because she still had all her guts. So what changed? Well, that’s easy enough. A&E Meats and their patented meatgirl processing. It’s a simple procedure. The girl is anesthetized and an incision is made at her navel. One probe goes in there, while the other enters through her anus. Then the machine goes to work, severing and extracting the digestive system from the stomach down. It takes out the kidneys, gallbladder, pancreas, liver. In fact, it takes out practically everything except the lungs and heart and some required blood vessels. It cleans the cavity and then fills it with A&E’s patented stuffing. 

When the girl wakes, she feels normal. Everything is as it should be, except she’s on a timer. In about eight hours, her system will shut down, caused by a lack of nutrients and an inability to properly remove waste products, excess fluid, toxins, and acids from the blood. It’s an unpleasant way to end it. But that doesn’t matter because she has a date with a chef and there’s only enough time to fuck her, tenderize her, and then cook her.

Around me people are talking. Laughing. Cooking. Eating. And I can smell the scent of roasting, broiling, frying meat. And I hear gasps. Cries of desperation. Groans of discomfort. And the occasional scream. Those come often enough that I can’t tell if it's an explosive sexual climax, or the final end of another beautiful, grade A meatgirl. 

The flavor in my mouth is hard to describe. Sweet and succulent, soft and tender, the sort of bite that falls apart on the tongue and just makes you feel like you’re in heaven. I want to visit each of these restaurants. Sample everything. But... these are American interpretations. The Asian inspired dishes are too sweet, the Mexican ones more Houston than Oaxaca. I finish my plate and stand up. It’s time for us to take a journey, to see how other nations, other cultures, prepare their food. I give one last glance at the fresh blonde on the spit. She’s squirming on the rod, fucking herself as she rotates slowly. Her breasts look like they’re sizzling, the earlier pink flush becoming a darker color. Her eyes are closed and I know she’s hurting, but the dripping of her slit, clenched tight around the vibrating probe, tells me she’s also cumming. I know that she’ll taste amazing.

So come with me on this journey. I’m Jonathan Whittaker and this is Eating Wild.

[Cue Podcast Music]

Tokyo, Japan

[Sounds of an airplane.]

I take the three hour flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo on a supersonic jet that screams through the air and marvel at how technology has improved our lives. From genetic sequencing to faster air travel, humanity has managed to invent and design machines that make us stronger, quicker, or able to do things that our ancestors never imagined possible.

But then, our ancestors were still eating meatgirls. 

Cannibalism has been a fashion for millennia and while the first civilizations to eat the dead did it in the mistaken belief that they could absorb the thoughts and knowledge of the person consumed, it was done lovingly, and an honor. Later, some tribes and civilizations chose “the long pig” because it was cheap, available, and tasted good. But did they have recipes? Technique? 

Foodie podcasts?

I land in Japan, one of the greatest culinary destinations of the world and find myself on Tomogui Street. It’s just rained, so the pavement is wet. Lights glitter and cast sparkling glimmers enticing me forward. Pictures of beautiful meat girls flash on screens, gorgeous little Asian girls with slanted eyes, alabaster skin and dark hair. Genetics has ensured that all of them are curvy, with voluptuous breasts, wide hips, and ravenous sexual desires. The rows of restaurants on Tomogui Street are considered some of the world’s finest. I head to Amazuppai, arguably one of the first and best restaurants on the strip and I step into their foyer.

There is a meatgirl hanging there. 

She is inverted, bound in an intricate harness of rope, wriggling desperately. A cloth gag has been tied around her mouth, her arms bound behind her back. The rope has tightened around her impressively large breasts, binding them so that they bulge dramatically. One leg is drawn upward toward the ceiling, the other downward toward the floor so that she is tipped somewhat sideways. This exposes her sex, which glistens wetly due to the vibrating sex toy that has been inserted into her. A pair of steel Japanese clover clamps hang from her nipples, connected by a chain, onto which an iron weight has been hung. Her eyes are closed and she twitches, struggling. She is down low, at the perfect height. Meant to be touched. I reach out, fingers sliding along her flesh. Smooth. Perfect. I find her clit. Tease it. She responds predictably, the high-pitched squeal, the thrusting of her hips. I turn away, hungry.

The hostess, a beautiful Japanese girl who shows me to my table. Like the girl in the foyer, she is wearing a rope harness that has been expertly and tightly tied around her nubile body, causing her full breasts to protrude. A thick, scratchy rope has been drawn up between her legs and I can see how the knot positioned above her clitoris torments her. Something has been written on her stomach, next to a date, just three months away. I am unable to read the script, but I suspect that the date is when she will be the one hanging in the foyer, instead of showing me to my seat.
The dining room is circular, formed around the cooking pit in the center. Hanging just a few feet away from me, in perfect shibari fashion, is a meatgirl. She is inverted, head facing downward, her body bound in an uncomfortable twist. I watch as she whimpers, the cloth gag bound around her mouth keeping her muted. I can’t help noticing the huge phallic toy jammed into her pussy, throbbing and shaking as fluids streak her loins. She isn’t the only one. Half a dozen meatgirls are in similar straits, each one lovingly tied and suspended, suffering both the incessant sexual stimulation and the distress of her situation. I love it, finding myself aroused. Her skin glistens and from the soft, nutty scent, I suspect she has been painted with sesame oil. Quite the decor.

I sit, a cup of sake brought to me by another beautiful girl, also bound up in a rope harness. The waitress gives me a smile that makes it apparent that she is also on the menu. In the cooking pit  the chefs are brought their first ingredient. She’s a beauty. Roughly eighteen years of age, though she looks younger. Asian girls are like that. She is well rounded, with large breasts and bottom that would have been unusual twenty years ago, before genetic engineering ensured the very best physique. Her long black hair has been tied up in a beautiful braid and the edible makeup she is wearing only enhances her beauty. She is calm as she is led naked to the chef, her wrist bound with red silk strands. The chef touches her face gently, smiling and he speaks to her. She nods. He lifts her up onto the cutting board and stretches her out, spreading her legs and her hands are raised above her head. A brush appears and he begins basting her body, teasing her nipples and clit, dipping into her navel. For a second, I spot the tiny red mark of the A&E processing incision. 
Her entire body, from the bottoms of her feet to her ears is covered in whatever marinade the master chef is using and I watch as his sous chef picks up a silicone insert. It is egg shaped - another tool created by the designers at A&E - and he begins to rub it gently across the girl’s sex. Her petals open and she lets out a tiny, high pitched cry of excitement as it is inserted into her body. I’m familiar with the device. It’s used all over the world to stimulate sexual response in cooking meatgirls. Heat tolerant, battery operated, and rechargeable, it will keep her in the throes of orgasmic delight until she is fully cooked. 

Oiled and ready, the two chefs move her, picking her up and taking her to a huge transparent aluminum pot. It sits over a burner, but I can tell that the flames are low. She is slid into the broth, bobbing gently and I watch as ginger slices and green onion are put in with her. Her hands move to her sex and she begins to finger herself, eyes closing with pleasure as brown sugar, soy sauce, mirin, and sake are all poured into her bath. One hand pinches her own nipple as she cries out in orgasm, panting and shuddering. They turn the burner up. 

The smell is heavenly. 

The waitress returns, refills my cup of sake and places a plate in front of me. Seared triangles of soy-seasoned meat steam on top of rice balls and the scent makes my mouth water. I take one, popping it into my mouth and the flavor explodes across my tastebuds. There is a crispy, crackling exterior and a velvety, melt-in-your-mouth interior, emphasizing its deep, savory umami richness.
While the first girl begins to simmer, parboiling in the broth, another meatgirl is brought in. Similar in appearance to the first, she is petite, but with breasts and buttocks larger than traditional for Asian women. Her long black hair has been bound in a coiled braid at the back of her head. She is adorably cute and her eyes flicker left and right. I can tell she is terrified. And rightly so. She is led not to the cutting board, but to a platform positioned in front of the cooking area. The attendants bind her wrists and ankles to ropes and she is stretched upward and outward, legs spread wide, arms drawn toward the ceiling. She gulps, trembling and shaking her head. She whimpers and begs, pleading as two men, both armed with split bamboo canes, their faces masked, approach. 

It is the Uchi Tsuke, which translates to “striking” or “beating. From the Edo period, this method of tenderizing involved the systematic flogging of a meatgirl with various implements, such as bamboo sticks, wooden staves, or whips. The blows are typically aimed at less immediately fatal areas like the buttocks, breasts, and legs, though the intensity and number of strikes can lead to severe injury or even death. They begin, one on each side, targeting her buttocks and the front of her thighs. The sound of the split bamboo canes striking her is clear and startling, only to be punctuated by her cries. She writhes, struggling to get away as the beating intensifies and I see red marks begin to appear upon her white, cream colored flesh. 

The beating is intense, though I know that the sound of the split bamboo makes the thrashing seem worse than it actually is. Still, the two men do not pull their blows and soon the girl is sobbing. Her thighs are lined with dark red marks and her bottom must feel like it is on fire. The bamboo canes move, one upward, one downward, and now the backs of her thighs and her breasts ripple from the impacts. She slumps, sobbing, held upright only by the ropes. 

Beside me, the cute little waitress kneels, moving under my table and I feel her fingers on my clothing. She unzips my trousers and my erection is freed. Her tiny fingers wrap around my cock and then her mouth surrounds my manhood, softly and slowly sucking and licking. At the cooking station, the girl in the pot is turning pink, the broth is bubbling and she is close to losing consciousness from the heat, but her fingers are still barely visible, still teasing her pussy even as she boils. How many times has she cum?

The Uchi Tsuke continues as the two men beating the girl switch weapons. Leather whips are produced and they move behind and in front of the twitching, sobbing girl. With underhand swings, they whip upward, striking her delicate folds. She goes up on tiptoe, struggling to close her legs, to get away from the burning, cutting pain, but she has nowhere to go. Suffering, she mewls and sobs as the whips slowly, methodically turn her sex the same color as her ass and thighs. The sound of her suffering is incredible and I am not sure how long I can hold off. The girl beneath the table is inordinately talented. 

I notice that the first girl has slipped beneath the broth. Whether she has expired from the heat, or passed out and then drowned, she is now floating, head under the water. The chef turns up the heat even more. The pussy whipping of the second girl continues, as does the oral stimulation of my cock. I wonder which of us can last longer?

To my surprise, it is me. The girl, now covered from head to toe in welts and stripes, is released, her body slumping into a limp pile on the platform before me. The two men cast aside their whips and pick her up, turning to place her on the cutting board. She is almost unresponsive, barely able to move. Only her face and feet and hands are left untenderized. The two chefs approach and begin spreading her open on the cutting board, tying her wrists and ankles. I watch, mesmerized as the knife appears and to my shock, the chef slices into her bosom, cleanly cutting off most of her breast. This rouses her and she lets out a strangled scream.

There is blood. Lots of it. It spills down behind the cutting board, but he is already slicing the raw meat into cubes. A splash of sesame oil on the griddle and then the breast bits fall onto the sizzling surface. He goes back to the girl, slicing into her thigh. Her choked cries fill the restaurant. More blood streams from her body as he takes more and more, filling the flatiron surface with meat. 
I explode just as she expires, her tiny, high-pitched voice delightful as it lets out the final agonized whimper and then she dies, probably from blood loss. The chef makes short work of her then, cutting off her hands and feet, cutting loins and flank and shoulders, dropping strips of meat onto the grill. 

The waitress cleans me off, then zips up my trousers. She emerges, face bright, eyes sparkling, a desperate look on her face. I give her a smile, knowing that it won’t be long before she is down there. I can’t help hoping that she is the one to suffer the Uchi Tsuke. The idea of her being beaten and whipped appeals to my sadistic nature. I wonder what she tastes like. 

The food comes in courses. I am served Butadon, consisting of thinly sliced meat and onions simmered in a sweet soy and mirin broth, served over rice. Then comes Shogayaki. Thinly sliced loin or belly pan-fried in a flavorful, savory-sweet ginger sauce. As I am eating, the chefs remove the girl from the pot and I watch as she is dismembered, sliced, and then plated. The waitress brings a bowl out to me and I marvel at the flavor of the ramen dish, featuring the rich, creamy, and opaque broth she was cooked in, topped with seared slices of her buttocks and thighs. 

As I finish my meal, the waitress returns and once more slides beneath the table and works her magic. Except this time, as I push my empty plates away, she comes up, crawling into my lap, her breasts pressing against my lips. She straddles me and I slide into her, the perfect dessert for a truly impressive meal.

Stay tuned for Eating Wild - Episode #2: Into the Flavors of India