I am very interested to know if anyone relates to this. If so, I encourage you to share your experiences 😃

A few years ago, I was very forthcoming about my cannibalism paraphilia to others. Overtime, I began to realize that some things in life are better kept as “inside thoughts” and I could only speak freely in communities such as this one. But more recently, I have found it particularly fun and satisfying to make references to my fetish and to entertain the idea of other people speculating. I really enjoy the idea of being known as that person (coworker, friend, etc.) that jokes often about cannibalism, that I would succumb to cannibalism given the first opportunity. I know better than to fully disclose the extent of how into it I really am but making passing remarks is honestly exhilarating.

Does anyone else do this?

This is my first attempt at writing a dolcett story. I wanted to play with a few of my favorite themes and ideas in the genre. I borrowed heavily from some of my favorite stories, adapting them to the sort of scenario that really gets my gears turning. I love a certain amount of reluctance in a victim without things getting too realistic. I tried to strike a balance of a victim who was more nervous and unhappy than existentially terrified, like a shy valedictorian who has to give a speech in front of her graduating class.

I hope it goes without saying that this story is pure fantasy. Readers should NOT construe the author as supporting or endorsing ANY of the acts, themes, or plot elements of this story in real life. In reality, the author abhors violence of any kind, especially against the most vulnerable. If you are having thoughts of perpetrating any form of violence in real life, I implore you to seek professional help.

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Monica bit her index finger as she considered where the string quartet should be set up. It was about 10:30 AM, about an hour and a half before guests were supposed to begin arriving. She looked around the grassy terrace as servants and hired hands bustled around, making last minute preparations. Moving her eyes from left to right, she considered possible places for the musicians, looking first at the guest house-turned-kitchen for the day, then at the cocktail tables, each arrayed with a maroon tablecloth and a tasteful white candle. She then turned her eyes to the pair of banquet tables across the terrace, each sporting matching maroon tablecloths and candles. Monica nodded subtly to herself as her eyes moved across the charger plates, silverware, and wine glasses, each perfectly in its place. But where for the damn quartet? Monica kicked herself for leaving this small detail to the last minute as she looked beyond the tables to the small wooden stage. The large cloth banner hanging between the trees flanking the stage read, "Congratulations, CW Corp!" Monica wandered across the lawn towards the stage, her finger still between her lips, making her way beneath the unilluminated string lights, considering whether to just go with the obvious choice--beneath the banner on the stage. Her 19 year old daughter, Rosemary, followed close behind in a smart looking navy blue pantsuit, notepad and pen in hand.

"Do you think the noise from the roast would drown out the strings if we put them on the stage?" Monica asked her daughter-secretary, "I'm worried that people won't be able to hear them over the screams."

"Hard to say! Maybe people will want to hear the screams more than the strings."

Monica thought hard as she looked at the large roasting pit dug just to the right of the stage. The banquet tables were arranged to give as many guests as possible a clear view of both the stage and the live roast, with the head of each table afforded an unobstructed view of the spitted meal.

"There's one person whose preference matters: Gail Thornton." Monica stated matter-of-factly.

The name of the founder, president, and CEO of CW Corp always came out as "Gail Thornton," never just Gail or even Mrs. Thornton. Such was the respect she commanded even from the upper echelon of the company's management like Monica. Would Gail Thornton prefer to hear the string quartet or the sumptuous groans of agony coming from the live spit roast?

"We'll have them set up by the cocktail tables. Close enough to be heard at the banquet tables but far enough to not be drowned out. If Gail Thornton prefers the music, she can sit by the musicians, if she prefers the roast, as I'm willing to bet she will, she can sit by the roast."

Rosemary jotted her mother's words down onto the notepad.

"They should be arriving in a little more than an hour."

"Perfect. Rosemary, why don't you go check on the entree? Make sure she's prepping properly."

Rosemary paused for a moment. Even after a month, it was still odd hearing her referred to as "the entree" rather than by her name. It took Rosemary a split second to register what Monica was asking her to do.

"Of course, mother. I'll be right back."

Rosemary turned and hurried past the banquet and cocktail tables, passing the guest house and the reception table. She saw two servants she recognized erecting a St. Andrew's Cross next to the table and a third carefully checking the guestlist one last time. She made her way up the stone steps to the ground floor of the house, threw open the French doors leading from the veranda to the sitting room, and hurried up the stairs. Knowing her time was short, she took the steps leading upstairs two at a time. Turning down the hall, Rosemary half-jogged towards a door at its terminus. Even though she knew she really didn't have to, she stopped and knocked on the door before entering.

"What do you want?"

"It's me, Rosemary."

"Yeah, okay."

The voice on the other side of the door sounded utterly fed up and clearly resented the disturbance. Regardless, Rosemary slowly opened the door and walked into the room. It was a brightly lit space with an enormous canopy bed and floor to ceiling windows. The curtains were cast open wide, letting the morning sunlight in. Rosemary's eyes immediately fell upon the object of her search: her older sister, nude save for a golden eternity collar, sitting at a vanity against wall, doing her makeup.

Rosemary was fairly used to her sister's nudity by now. Her mother had insisted upon it a little more than a month prior and Saffron's body hadn't known a stitch of clothing since. Ever since Saffron's twentieth birthday, she had remained completely naked. This was to give her time to grow accustomed to her new station, Monica had said.

It was on that birthday that Monica had sat waiting for Saffron in the entry way of the family's palatial estate. Saffron had gone out in the morning with her friends to ride horses then enjoy a luncheon to celebrate her big day: the end of her teenage years. Arriving home in the family car driven by her parents' valet, Saffron was a jumping ball of excitement in anticipation of the gifts that would surely be waiting for her at home. Opening the front door, however, she only found her mother in the entry way, dimly lit by the afternoon sun shining through the family's stained glass windows.

"Why don't you sit down, sweetie?"

Saying nothing but knowing something wasn't right, Saffron joined her mother in one of the two armchairs against the wall of the entry way. Monica was silent for a moment, clearly not sure where to begin.

"I... You know... Your father and I have decided it was best to not get you any birthday gifts this year, Saffron. It didn't seem right to..."

"Didn't seem right? Why, mommy? What's going on?" Tears began to well up in Saffron's eyes.

"You see, sweetie, I've made a decision... I..."

There was another moment of silence as Monica contemplated her words and Saffron stared at her, confused and hurt.

"Saffron, dearest, you know that a business woman of my stature has to make sacrifices."

Saffron's tears now began streaming down her cheek as her frustration with her mother grew.

"You know how much I've sacrificed for you and your father and your sister. The late nights, the weekends..." Monica trailed off. This wasn't coming out right. Better to just come out and say it.

"I've decided to throw a banquet for the CW Corp executives and a few select clients to celebrate the growth and success of the fiscal year. If everything goes absolutely perfectly, I might be offered a position as Regional Executive."

Monica took a deep breath.

"But I have to show the executives that I would give absolutely anything for CW Corp. Absolutely anything, up to and including my first born. I've decided that you will be the main course at the banquet."

Saffron's eyes grew wide as tears began streaming down her face.

"You're... You're going to sacrifice me for... for a promotion?" Saffron's voice began to grow in anger, hurt, and volume.

"Sweetie, please don't be like that. It's not just some promotion. I'd be in charge of all the offices in the entire province. My pay would nearly triple. It's for a better life for the entire family: for your father and your sister." Monica reached over to the table beside the arm chair and handed Saffron a stack of legal documents.

"This a meatgirl contract and an accompanying slave contract. The banquet isn't for another month but I want you to sign today so we can get you ready and you can have some time to get used to the idea of being a meatgirl."

Stunned, Saffron flipped through the pages, reading but not really comprehending.

"Well what if I say no, huh? What if I say fuck your stupid contract?"

Saffron let out a sob of frustration and indignation. Monica sighed.

"Honey, I'm sorry but you don't have a choice. I don't want to do this but, if you refuse, you'll be cut off. You can say no but you can kiss your allowance, your car, your horses, and your inheritance goodbye."

Saffron was again stunned into silence.

"Please, Saffron, remember it's for your family. Please don't make me get your father involved."

Saffron gritted her teeth.

"Fuck you," she sniffled, "I hate you."

"Oh, baby, please don't be like that. This happens to lots of girls your age. You remember your friend, Brenda. Did she carry on like this?"

Saffron did remember Brenda. They had been close right up until Brenda was oven-roasted for her older brother's wedding. Saffron even attended the wedding and, though sad and conflicted, enjoyed her friend's meat immensely. Brenda had accepted her fate without any fuss, happily going to her death to celebrate the union of her brother and his new wife. She had even admitted to Saffron that the prospect of being roasted and eaten turned her on.

Saffron knew there was no way out of this. She let out a frustrated sob before grudgingly mumbling, "I'll sign."

And sign Saffron did. Her mother had her shed all of her garments but at least allowed her to keep her other possessions, including her bedroom. Saffron was glad that it was late Summer, making going naked in the heat and humidity all the easier.

The day after her birthday, the entire family took Saffron to a Department of Human Livestock office for registration. Still not used to her nudity, Saffron tried vainly to cover her nipples and her sex as she walked into the office. This attempt was short-lived, however. After the clerk behind the desk recorded the details of the contract, an attendant in a white lab coat emerged from a door behind the desk. Saffron was inspected thoroughly, her arms, breasts, rump, and thighs pinched tightly to check for fat content. She was made to pose in various ways, lifting her arms behind her head, squatting near the ground, and other humiliating rituals. Worst of all, the entire process took place in the waiting room in front of the other patrons of the DHLS. Masters stared at her hungrily and other slaves and meatgirls looked on with sympathy and dread over the paces they too would be put through. Finally, the attendant had Saffron bend at the waist and spread her ass cheeks. Saffron began to cry from the humiliation but her mother tried to comfort her.

"There there, sweetie, it will all be over soon."

Saffron glared at her mother as tears streamed down her face and she did as instructed. The attendant applied latex gloves and stuck probing fingers inside Saffron's vagina and sphincter. Saffron let out another humiliated wail as the waiting room looked on at her abject humiliation.

Finally, the attendant removed the gloves and noted something down on his clipboard.

"So my preliminary assessment is an A- grade but that could still change."

Monica was clearly annoyed. "A-? Really?"

"That's what I said. You should be very proud to own such a highly graded meatgirl! I really only see A-'s once or twice daily. It's extremely rare to get higher than that."

Saffron wanted to disappear as the attendant and her own parents talked about her like she was little more than a piece of meat. But, in reality, that was what she was: meat.

After the DHLS appointment, Saffron's human rights were terminated and she was officially the property of her mother. She was no longer a daughter but merely a piece of livestock. As required by law, Monica attached a metal slave collar around Saffron's neck. However, as a sign of wealth and influence, Monica opted for a solid gold collar for the meatgirl who used to be her daughter.

That collar had not been removed since being affixed to her on the date of her registration and Rosemary found her sister still wearing it as she entered her room.

"Mom wanted me to check on you."

"Why?" Saffron sneered. Her attitude about the whole situation had improved little in the preceding month and, despite her mother's efforts to get her accustomed to the idea that she would be sacrificed, Saffron remained defiant.

"She just wants me to make sure you're getting ready, sis. That's all."

"Well I am! Now get out."

Rosemary walked over and put her arm around her sister.

"I know it's hard, Saffron. Believe me, I know."

"You know? How can you possibly know? You get to be mom's assistant and all I am is meat."

"You always wanted to help her with the business, right?"

Saffron looked away from her sister and continued applying eyeliner.

"You wanted to make a difference in the family business, right? Well that's just what you're doing today! Your sacrifice is doing more to help mom than I ever could as her assistant. Think of the look on Gail Thornton's face when she sees the lengths that mom is willing to go--the lengths you're willing to go--for CW Corp. Think of how happy mom will be when Gail Thornton takes that first bite of you and realizes there's no other woman for the job of Regional Executive than mom."

Saffron stopped putting on the eyeliner for a moment then continued.

"Just think of everything mom has done for you. I wish I had an opportunity to repay her and the rest of the family as completely as you will have tonight. I know you wish you were in my shoes and I in yours but you're the first born. That's what makes it a sacrifice. You're mom's pride and joy and she's giving you to CW Corp. That shows just how passionate she is about CW Corp's mission. I think that's pretty special, sis. You were chosen for this because you mean the most to mom. She's not throwing you away. She's raising you up to the most important position in her life."

Saffron stopped and looked at Rosemary in the mirror. For the first time in a month, Rosemary saw her sister just barely smile.

"Listen, I promise I'll be there for the whole thing. While you're on display, when you're spitted, when you're over the pit, the whole time."

Saffron, although reassured, gulped at the lurid description of her forthcoming demise. She smiled at her sister once again but still felt apprehensive about the ordeal she was about to go through.

Just then, the door opened. It was Monica.

"Saffron, aren't you ready yet? The caterers are here."

Saffron grinned at Rosemary, gave her a big hug, leapt up from her seat before the vanity, and ran to hug her mother as well. After a month of fighting with Saffron, Monica was shocked.

"Oh! What's gotten into you then?"

Saffron beamed at her mother. "A business woman has to make sacrifices, right mom?"

Monica, still surprised but with a growing sense of relief replied, "Why yes, yes she does. Why..."

"I love you, mom." Saffron then started to head downstairs to meet the caterers.

Saffron left the family home through the French doors and walked barefoot towards the guest house. As she passed the reception area and the St. Andrew's Cross, she couldn't help but shudder as she imagined herself on display there in just a matter of minutes. Despite her change of heart, Saffron was still apprehensive. She feared the pain she was about to endure and the humiliation of being cooked alive, stark naked, in front of a crowd of her mother's work colleagues and clients. There might even be guests that she knew personally. She didn't relish the thought but tried to remember the words of her sister. She was doing this for her family, for her mother.

The temporary kitchen set up in the guest house was a bustle of activity. As Saffron entered the cramped space, she saw a man in a chef's coat putting the finishing touches on a platter of hors d'oeuvres. She saw chefs rushing to and fro and assembling salads and soups for each course of the banquet. Then it caught her eye: a gleaming stainless steel spit leaning against the wall in a corner. She knew that this was her spit, the implement that would end her life.

As she stared at the spit wide-eyed and began to feel faint, a young woman, just a little older than Saffron walked up to her.

"There you are! You must be my main, am I right?"

"Your... your..."

"My main, the main dish. My roast! Follow me."

Saffron still felt woozy as she felt her feet moving to follow the young woman out the back door of the guest house to a small patio area away from the terrace.

"My name is Jessie by the way!"

"Oh, I'm... uh... Saffron."

The warmth of the sun on her face and bare chest helped calm Saffron's nerves a bit.

"Got it! I'll try to remember but it might just be 'sow' if I forget." Jessie giggled and Saffron suddenly felt faint again.

"My... uh...my mother..."

"What about your mom? We don't really have time for this. Your mom is probably a long ways away, sow. She's not coming to save you and you better get used to that real fast." Jessie clearly took some pleasure in toying with the meatgirls before ending their lives.

"No she's upstairs, my mother is the hostess." Saffron didn't know why she was saying this. Maybe she thought it would buy her some mercy or better treatment. Jessie grinned.

"You mean your mom's the one that ordered you up? Tough break, kid. I'd hate that bitch if she did that to me."

"She's not a bitch!" Saffron didn't know why she was defending her. Just this morning, she had screamed as much to her mother's face. Throughout the last month, she knew she loved her mother deep down and knew why she was doing what she was doing. If she had to die, at least she would die on her mom's team.

"Sure, sure. Sorry! Listen, we're running short on time. We need to get mommy's little roaster cleaned inside and out."

Only then did Saffron notice the chains hanging from a hook drilled into a support column for the roof of the patio. The hook was about 8 feet off the ground and the chains ended in identical handcuffs. Jessie led Saffron by the hand over to the chains just as a tall, muscular man emerged from the guest house.

"Nickie, can you get this sow locked up for me? I can't reach." Jessie giggled again as Saffron's knees got weak and she stumbled.

"You're not going to give me trouble, right, sow? Otherwise Nickie here has ways of keeping you still while we wash you."

"I showered this morning, isn't that enough?" Saffron's voice quavered as she asked, desperately hoping for one last shred of human dignity before being roasted alive and eaten. But that ship had long sailed.

"Sorry, policy. We don't know that you didn't fuck it up. Food safety and everything. It's good you're already shaved, we won't have to do that."

Saffron had shaved in the shower that morning, thoroughly removing her pubic and armpit hair. She had scoffed and laughed at herself. Why bother with routine? Let her mom get one of her pubes stuck between her teeth.

Nickie silently and forcefully pulled Saffron's arms above her head and snapped one handcuff around her wrist and then the other. Saffron shivered, although it was a warm morning (around 11 AM at this point). She was totally exposed in front of these two strangers. Totally unable to hide her body from them. Although she was somewhat used to going out and about in the nude, she felt especially naked now that she was powerless to cover herself even if she wanted to. She tried hard not to cry but could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"You might have to redo your makeup after this," Jessie laughed as she untangled a nearby hose. Jessie cared little about keeping the nude, restrained twenty year old waiting as she bustled around completing tasks. Nickie stayed in front of her, staring directly at her chest, saying nothing.

Finally Jessie took aim with the hose and began spraying Saffron with ice cold water. Saffron screamed out of surprise and discomfort as Jessie sprayed her from head to toe. Saffron thrashed against her restraints and tried to move out of the way of the frigid stream of water but to no avail. Jessie laughed sadistically at her captive as she went back over her a second time with the hose.

"Turn around!" yelled Jessie.

Saffron could barely comprehend what she was being told to do.

"I... what?"

Jessie sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Dumb bitch. Nickie!"

Saffron felt Nickie's iron grip on her shoulders as he spun her around, twisting the chain above her head. This time she couldn't see the hose before it sprayed her. She had to wait, shivering and dripping with cold water, for Jessie to spray her again. Once again, the icy stream pummeled her vulnerable body and once again Saffron screamed. The makeup she had so carefully applied streamed down her face as she cried.

"Nickie!" hollered Jessie as she went up and down her back again.

Once again, Saffron felt Nickie's hands but, this time, not on her shoulders. She saw him approach her and reach around the column restraining her to grab each one of her ass cheeks in his massive hands. Spreading her cheeks, he pushed her forward, exposing her asshole and hairless pussy to Jessie's relentless stream of cold water. Again, Saffron screamed as Jessie sprayed the most intimate parts of her body.

"Oh shut up, will you? This isn't even the worst part!"

The water finally stopped and Nickie finally let her go. Saffron slumped against her chains, desperate to be released from their bondage. But her release didn't come. She looked around in vain for Jessie but all she saw was Nickie. He was grinning at her now, still silent.

Jessie returned with what looked to be a red hot water bottle, filled to bursting. She also carried a length of tubing that made Saffron shiver with anticipation. She didn't know what was coming next but expected it to be unpleasant.

Once again: "Nickie!"

Nickie obediently spread Saffron's ass cheeks again. This time Saffron could not bring herself to resist. That is, until she felt one end of the rubber tubing being pressed into her sphincter. Saffron began to thrash against the intrusion but was held tight by Nickie's large hands. She could feel the plastic tube emerging from her ass as she once again lost the will to resist. Whatever was happening had been approved of by her mother. Saffron tried hard to think about her mother, her sister, and her father and what her sacrifice would mean for the family. She pushed the thought of how the long, silver spike would be pushed into her anus in just a few hours out of her head and braced herself for what was to come.

Jessie hung the red bag from the hook connecting her chains and opened a valve in the tubing. Ice cold water filled Saffron's body as the enema bag emptied into her. She groaned as the water caused her insides to cramp. In preparation for her sacrifice, Saffron had only consumed clear liquids for three days and was, consequently, very hungry. The fullness even felt a little good for a moment as she took the water into herself. Jessie then positioned a bucket behind Saffron and Nickie painfully lifted her thighs, causing her to hang from her wrists. The metal handcuffs dug deep into her skin as Jessie pulled the tubing from her anus. Saffron blushed as she emptied her bowels into the bucket. Jessie took the bucket inside and brought it back. Her tormenters repeated this process four more times, until the water in the bucket ran completely clear.

Another man then exited the guest house and released her handcuffs. Saffron was already exhausted and aching from the ordeal but, before she could collapse to the ground, Nickie and the new man caught her by upper arms, preventing her feet from touching the ground. They carried her in this way into the guest house and placed her on one of the metal counters on her back. She thought this must have been where the man had been finishing the hors d'oeuvres.

"Hands and knees!" commanded Jessie.

Saffron obeyed. Two women then approached her and redid her makeup and put her hair up into a fashionable updo similar to the one she had sported to prom just a few years prior. Saffron was dazed by the whirlwind of activity as the women worked but her attention was immediately drawn to the front door of the guest house as her mother entered.

"Guests are due to arrive any minute! Is she ready?" her mother asked Jessie.

"Just a few finishing touches, ma'am, and she'll be ready for roasting!"

"Mother..." Saffron squeaked as a woman sprayed her hair with a ceramic compound to prevent it from burning.

"Yes, one minute." her mother talked past her, "Just bring her out and set her up on the St. Andrew's cross once she's all ready."

Then her mother looked at Saffron, put her hand on her chest and smiled. The two women pulled away as they completed their work.

"Saffron, you look simply gorgeous. You'll be absolutely delectable, I'm certain of it."

Her mother had changed into a grey pinstriped pantsuit and looked every bit the Regional Executive she hoped to soon be. Saffron smiled weakly at her mother, remembering the part she had to play in helping her achieve that goal. Her mother then reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a ring gag. She walked up to her daughter, nude, washed inside and out, and looking like she had just finished a day at the salon. She touched Saffron's cheek gently.

"Thank you, Saffron. Your sacrifice means the world to me. Remember you're doing this for your family to secure our prosperity for generations to come."

Saffron, still kneeling on her hands and knees, smiled at her mother and pushed away the feelings of resentment she could feel welling up in her.

"Do you have any final words, Saffron? Once the gag goes in, it doesn't come out."

This was it. Her last chance to say anything as a human being. Once the gag went into her mouth, she would truly be nothing more than meat.

"I realize this is my true purpose, mom. Thank you for fulfilling my destiny. I love you."

"I love you, Saffron." Her mother smiled at her. "Now open."

Saffron dutifully opened her mouth and her mother placed the gag between her teeth. She then reached backed behind Saffron's head and secured the leather strap tightly. Finally, she took out a tiny padlock from her jacket pocket and locked the ring gag in place, turning a tiny key.

"Now it's time to greet the guests," her mother smiled broadly. Saffron could tell she was excited and that made her happy. She couldn't help but shiver at the finality of it all, however, as she saw her mother throw the key in a kitchen trash can as she walked back out of the guest house.

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

Once again, Saffron felt herself being lifted up by the strong hands of Nickie and the other man. She was carried briskly outside to the St. Andrew's cross, where she was tightly secured by wrist and ankle, suspended with her feet off the ground. Saffron felt more exposed than she ever had in her life. She had walked around in public completely nude for more than a month but never did she feel more naked than she did right at that moment. Her mother and her sister stood by her side, their conservative pantsuits contrasting with her lascivious nudity and making her feel all the more exposed. There she hung, ring gag in place, an object of display for any and all comers. Saffron heard the sounds of a string quartet playing.

It wasn't long before guests started to arrive and Saffron began to turn red with embarrassment and utter humiliation. Her mother greeted each guest and directed them to admire the main course hanging for their pleasure on a cross.

"Oh she does look just delicious! How will she be cooked?"

"A traditional live spit roast!"

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous. We look forward to seeing her spitted over the coals."

Saffron had never felt less like a person. There she was, for all to see and comment on as they passed. She was the only nude one. The only one who could not speak because of a ring gag. She was the only one who would soon be killed and devoured for the pleasure of the guests.

"And, may I ask, what grade did she receive?"

"At first, an A- but, upon reconsideration, an A"

"She truly does look like an A indeed! Quite the sow, if I do say so myself."

"She's my first born, you know!"

"Is she really? A truly rare pleasure then!"

Her mother had placed a small paper sign in front of Saffron's cross reading, "Please Do Not Touch the Sow for Sanitary Reasons" but that didn't stop many of the guests from inquiring whether they could feel the firmness and quality of the meat. A few young men even asked if there would be an opportunity to "tenderize the meat." Monica, though visibly insulted by the insinuation that her party was some sort of bacchanal in which the meat would be raped by all comers, politely informed them that, no, there would not be such an opportunity.

"Rosemary, my god, here comes Gail Thornton!" whispered Monica.

An older woman in a floor-length red gown approached down the stone steps from the house. She was accompanied by a balding man in a black suit with a matching red tie. They sauntered up to Monica and Gail Thornton extended a long, bony hand for Monica to shake.

"Mrs. Gail Thornton! What an honor to have you join us. Please let me introduce my youngest: this is Rosemary. She's also my personal assistant and a rising star here at CW Corp."

"Simply a pleasure, darling."

Gail Thornton and her husband both shook Rosemary's hand. Monica then gestured to her nude daughter hanging decadently from the St. Andrew's cross. Unable to close her mouth for almost an hour at this point, Saffron had begun to drool all over her breasts. A thin string of drool was just escaping her mouth as Monica said:

"And this is my eldest and tonight's main course, Saffron. I do hope you'll find her to your liking."

"Oh I'm certain I will, darling."

This was all too much for Saffron as she let out a furtive whimper, eliciting a haughty chuckle from Gail Thornton.

"Now, darling, I see it says here that I'm to look and not touch but surely an exception can be made."

Monica paused for a moment.

"By all means! Please, feel free."

Saffron looked on with horror, a fresh sense of betrayal by her mother building within her. How could she let this stranger fondle her? Wasn't it bad enough that she was going to be spit roasted? Again, she remembered it was all for the future. For her mother and her sister, who stood right next to her.

Gail Thornton glided over to Saffron's cross as Saffron's breath came in ragged spurts. She extended a bony hand and pinched Saffron's left nipple before slowly circling her areola with a finger. She then moved her hand slowly down Saffron's body and Saffron's body responded. By the time that Gail Thornton's hand arrived at Saffron's pussy, it was dripping wet. She slowly began massaging Saffron's clit as she hung on her cross, totally unable to control her body as it betrayed her. Gail Thornton slid a finger into Saffron's pussy as she shuddered and moaned through her ring gag. Another thick rope of drool dropped from her mouth as Gail Thornton began fucking Saffron's wet cunt with her fingers.

"Good good, nice and wet. Just like a good roasting sow ought to be." Gail Thornton wiped her fingers on Saffron's belly as she walked away.

"I truly can't wait to see her squirm on the spit, darling."

Saffron was beyond humiliated and let out a sob as her body shuddered after being left wet and frustrated by the old woman's hands.

"I told you she would want to be closer to the roast than the string quartet," Monica whispered to Rosemary.

Just then Jessie appeared, barely hiding a grin.

"Madam, I'm so sorry to say we'll have to wash and sanitize the sow again since she's been touched. It's a matter of food safety, you see."

Monica looked frustrated but understanding.

"Very well, in that case we won't be needing this anymore."

Monica picked up the paper sign, ripped it in half, and placed the scraps in her coat pocket. Saffron let out a pained groan as she realized that her torment was only about to increase. She tried to make her objection known but she could only vainly groan something that sounded only vaguely like, "Please no, mother." Her plea went either unheard or, more likely, ignored.

From that moment on, it was open season on Saffron's body for the guests. Even more guests politely asked Monica if they could touch the meatgirl on display as they entered the party.

"Monica, dear, may I?"

"But of course!"

The torment to Saffron was nigh unbearable as her breasts were groped, her nipples pinched, her pussy explored, and her body invaded in every conceivable way. Several guests even reached into her gagged mouth, toying with her tongue and inner cheek. The main aim of these invasions seemed to Saffron to be her abject humiliation and nothing more. As more and more guests entered, her arousal only built, the perversity of the situation and her sheer embarrassment only adding to the growing heat in her loins and belly. She was soon becoming desperate for release. Even the guests who had already entered returned to make sure they had a turn toying with the captive meatslave. The string quartet played on (Vivaldi's Four Seasons) as Saffron's body was exposed to more and more hungry and prying hands. The hors d'oeuvres were served, drinks from the open bar were flowing, and more and more guests extracted their perverse pleasure from Saffron's body, hanging helplessly on her cross.

As the afternoon wore on, the guests entering began to slow. Saffron was a sweaty, panting mess, moaning for someone to take pity on her and either make the torment stop or to finally let her cum. She was in this state of abject humiliation when one of her greatest fears was realized: the Katzenbaums arrived. Saffron had graduated in the same grade as Violet Katzenbaum and had always had a crush on her older brother, Cecil. Saffron knew that the Katzenbaum's father, Leopold, was the CEO of one of the corporate clients of CW Corp but had prayed that the family wouldn't be in attendance to see her roasted. Violet was never exactly cruel to Saffron but seemed to delight in lording her truly obscene wealth over her. The two families were close and would often move in the same social circles, meaning Violet and Saffron knew each other well.

"Monica, my dear!" shouted Leopold Katzenbaum, "how lovely of you to invite us."

"Oh don't be silly, Leopold, of course your family is always welcome in our humble home."

"When we got the invitation, we knew we couldn't miss Saffron's big day! Truly lovely of you to make such a meaningful sacrifice of your first born. I could never bear to part with my Violet, you know." Violet looked pointedly up at Saffron and grinned.

"Was it very hard to convince her to give herself up?"

"Why, not at all," Monica lied, "she was positively eager to offer her body up as the main course of tonight's banquet."

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous! And what, if I may ask, have you done to prepare dear Saffron?"

"But of course! When she signed her meatgirl contract on her twentieth birthday, she insisted on forfeiting her human rights and being kept as a slave in the interim before today's banquet. This allowed us to carefully monitor her diet to ensure the richest flavors for our guests. She has also been strictly forbidden from strenuous exercise for the past month to ensure that her meat is tender. We've also kept her strictly locked away unless accompanied lest she try to give in to her more carnal desires. We would be so embarrassed if her body was sullied by the advances of a young man. I can assure you that her cunt steak is pristine, having been untouched for more than a month"

Saffron's entire body was turning a shade of pink in embarrassment. Her mother was casually sharing the most intimate details of her captivity with some of her closest acquaintances. She was being spoken of like she was a common possession, as if Monica was simply sharing the ways in which the house was cleaned in anticipation of the banquet.

"What excellent work you've done, Monica. Oh! There's Gail Thornton, I had best go pay my respects. Come along, Charlotte. Children, feel free to stay and reacquaint yourselves with your former classmate. Simply charmed, Monica. Simply charmed."

With that, Leopold Katzenbaum and his wife headed towards the cocktail tables, leaving their two children, grinning sadistically with their former classmate-turned-meal.

Saffron again plaintively groaned a plea for mercy as Violet and Cecil descended on her.

The two immediately began manhandling Saffron's body, painfully grabbing her breasts. Cecil, pinching her clit, said, "I always knew you were a slut. Good for nothing but a cheap fuck or a good meal. It must have been torture for you not to fuck for a whole month."

Saffron moaned into her gag. She couldn't take it anymore; the combination of her humiliation and the probing hands of the guests made her utterly famished for the release of an orgasm. She pushed her crotch forward off of the cross to lean harder into Cecil's hand as Violet roughly fondled her breasts, eliciting a laugh from them both.

"You're right, Cecil, she really is a slut. How does it feel, slut? Knowing that I'll be feasting on your flesh tonight? You love the idea of being ass fucked by the spit, don't you?"

"An eager volunteer indeed!"

Both the Katzenbaum children laughed. Saffron moaned. Her head was swimming and she was desperately, hungrily building towards orgasm.

"Now, now. Cecil, Violet. You must not damage the meat! You'll have plenty of opportunities to play with your food once she's roasted." said Monica.

The Katzenbaums, chastened but delighting no less in Saffron's torment, both withdrew their hands immediately, leaving Saffron on the verge of orgasm and thrashing against her cross.

"Haha, I guess you'll just have to cum when you're impaled. Sorry, slut."

Saffron screamed in frustration, causing the conversation on the terrace to briefly stop and all heads to turn towards the reception table. Saffron felt all eyes on her as she moaned and thrashed against her cross, desperate for release. She turned her head towards Rosemary, trying in vain to communicate her desperate need to cum.

"Now, Saffron, that's enough. You're causing a scene." her mother chastised her. "Besides, it's nearly time for you to be cleaned again."

Barely listening, Saffron screamed through her gag again, overwhelmed by the burning desire in her loins and the humiliation of being treated like an object. A few more guests came into the banquet but, to Saffron's dismay and no matter how much she groaned at them, none so much as touched her, let alone gave her the release she craved.

Before long, Nickie and the other man had returned. The other man held Saffron tightly around the waist as Nickie unfastened her from the cross. The other man threw Saffron's body over his right shoulder and began heading towards the guest house. Saffron could once again feel the eyes of the entire assembly locked on her as she was carried like a sack of potatoes to be washed, her asshole and pussy clearly visible over the man's shoulder.

Saffron again found herself on her back on a metal table inside the guest house. Her lust was still burning inside her and, finally, with her arms free, she was able to furiously masturbate her clit. Thinking that she had a moment to herself, she arched her back in ecstasy as she finally built towards the release she so craved. She didn't care about the chefs and staff still bustling around the kitchen preparing the luncheon courses of the afternoon. Moaning with abandon, she built towards orgasm. She then noticed a flash of light coming from outside of the guest house. She looked up with horror as she saw a small crowd had gathered at the window of the guest house, filming and shooting pictures of her lurid display on their phones, pointing and laughing at her desperation. It was too late now, she couldn't stop. In utter depraved humiliation, she came. Perhaps harder than she ever had in her life, her hips bucking beneath her and the metal table becoming slick with her juices.

Monica burst through the door. "What the hell is going on in here?"

Saffron curled herself into a ball.

"Saffron, you're risking everything with your little display! Can't you control yourself? I need this banquet to be remembered as the event of the year, not as some sex show put on by the hostess's whore of a slave-daughter! Do you need to be restrained again?"

Monica sighed and closed the curtains to the guest house.

"I suppose I shouldn't have let the guests touch you if I didn't want this to happen. I'm sorry, Saffron. This just means so much to me and I need everything to be perfect."

Monica went to hug her daughter but she was too distraught. Monica sighed again.

"Let's get her cleaned up, it's almost time."

Saffron sobbed in her little ball as the kitchen burst into activity again after the brief distraction caused by Saffron's masturbation and Monica's outburst.

Nickie went to pick her up, almost tenderly, and bring her back to the patio around behind the guest house. Jessie followed close behind, carrying a bucket. This time, however, several of the male chefs also followed along, eager to see an encore of the Saffron's performance.

Monica left the guest house, returning to her hostess duties and apologizing profusely for the interruption caused by her daughter. Only a few of the guests seemed to be the least bit disturbed, suggesting that Monica really should consider keeping the meatslave restrained to prevent such unsavory performances in the future. Monica politely thanked them and assured them it would not happen again. She glared at the Katzenbaum siblings as they compared videos of Saffron's ordeal on their phones. Monica was then unexpectedly approached by Gail Thornton.

"You really mustn't fret, darling. In the old days, they used to say that an orgasm enhances the flavor of a meatgirl! Nonsense in reality, but, all the same, these things are common amongst human livestock. I do say, it seems to have elevated the party rather than detracting from it!"

Monica looked around and saw several groups of guests huddled around phones, laughing and sipping cocktails. Still, Monica couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Gail Thornton could see it on Monica's face.

"If anyone makes any fuss about this minor breach of etiquette, you direct them to me, darling. They wouldn't dare go against my word. Besides, they should be embarrassed for filming your daughter through the kitchen windows like common rabble. This is no frat party where anything goes! I guarantee no one will remember this minor transgression once they see your meatslave writhing deliciously on a spit and try a mouthful of her succulent body."

Gail Thornton squeezed Monica's hand and winked at her. Monica could have fainted from relief.

"Only one person's preference matters, right mom?" said Rosemary, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder and smiling.

Back behind the guest house, Jessie put the bucket on the ground.

"Now's your last chance to pee, sow. You don't want to piss yourself in front of mommy and all her guests, do you?"

The half-dozen or so chefs that followed Jessie, Nickie, and Saffron outside chuckled. Smart phones started coming out, pointed at the naked, gagged girl.

Saffron tried to protest but was unintelligible because of the gag. She could only sob. Shaking, she lowered herself over the bucket and covered her face. The caterers watching with their smart phones began to whistle and cheer, relishing Saffron's humiliation. She covered her face and tried to drown out the sounds around her. A few drops of urine hit the bottom of the bucket and then stopped. Saffron was too embarrassed to be doing this in front of the men.

"C'mon! Or I'll make you piss on the grass like a dog!" Jessie shouted. The men laughed again.

Finally, a stream of piss began filling the bucket as Saffron sobbed into her hands. She wondered why she couldn't just use the toilet, away from her tormenters. As if reading her mind, Jessie retorted, "Meatslaves don't have any right to privacy! You're nothing but meat now, slut."

Saffron finished relieving herself as the men chuckled and dispersed, satisfied with the humiliation wrought upon the twenty year old. Saffron was given nothing to wipe herself with, the bucket was just snatched away by Jessie who instructed Nickie to handcuff her again to the column.

"Make sure this one doesn't touch herself anymore!" Nickie let out a low, rumbling laugh as he dragged Saffron over to the column and locked her tight again.

This time, she wasn't cleaned by the hose but rather with sponges. The caterers weren't shy about using the rough side of the sponge on Saffron's delicate skin, causing it to turn a bright pinkish red. Once they were done scrubbing every part of Saffron's body, she was again carried into the guest house and placed on the metal table. Her arms were pulled sharply behind her back and she was bound at the wrists and elbows.

"It's time, sow."

Saffron was again lifted and carried by two men out of the guest house towards the waiting crowd. The servers walked among the tables ringing small bells to signal the crowd to take their seats. Many ignored this at first, opting instead to get a better view of the succulent meatslave being carried to her doom.

"This is it," thought Saffron as she was carried through the crowd towards the banquet tables and the small stage. She remembered the words of her mother about having to make sacrifices and the words of her sister about doing the most she could for the family business. She saw the Katzenbaums, whose children were filming her with their phones and grinning broadly. She recognized many of the guests who had fondled and abused her. This was the moment they had all been waiting for. She looked onto the stage and saw the fierce, long spit that would soon impale her ass to mouth. She shuddered and tried again to think of her family and why she was doing this. She saw her sister smiling sadly at her near the stage, her notepad and pen still in hand. Saffron fought the urge to scream and the thought that she wished it was Rosemary instead of her. She remembered how she was the first born and how that meant she had a special duty to the family. In this case, the duty to roast alive, spitted like a pig. She thought of the future she was securing for her mother. She saw Gail Thornton, staring deep into her eyes. She had taken the position nearest the roasting pit, eagerly awaiting its occupant. Then she saw her mother. Monica was not looking at Saffron but rather speaking quietly to Rosemary, having her jot down last minute notes. Her mother had chosen this fate for her. Her mother had removed her humanity from her, systematically breaking her down over the course of a month. Her mother did not even care to look at her now. Saffron tried as best as she could to push away one thought: she didn't have a mother anymore, simply an owner. No. It was just as Rosemary said. Her mother loved her, that's what made it a sacrifice. A business woman must make sacrifices, after all. Saffron could not stop shaking as the men carrying her placed her on her feet on the small wooden stage. Her chest was outstretched due to her tightly bound restraints. The entire crowd was looking at her in anticipation. Many had their phones out and Saffron noticed a professional photographer and videographer capturing the event for posterity.

Her mother finally looked up at her and smiled. She mouthed, "thank you" one last time before mounting the stage and standing next to her nude, bound, and gagged daughter.

She was handed a microphone by a servant and lightly tapped on it. The crowd took their seats and quieted, waiting for what Monica had to say.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for attending this celebration of another successful year for CW Corp!"

The crowd politely applauded.

"I know that I can speak for everyone in the upper management team when I say how grateful we are for all your hard work. Without you, this company would be nothing, but thanks to your dedication, grit, and creativity, we can celebrate a fiscal year of growth and expansion. Please, give yourselves a round of applause."

Again, the crowd applauded.

"Tonight is for you! Tonight is to celebrate that CW spirit that guides everything you do. Tonight is a night to honor the incredible progress that we've made over this fiscal year. As an expression of my immense gratitude for everything you've done in the past year, I wanted to give back to our CW family. That's why, tonight, I am offering you all a gift of my own flesh and blood. I am offering you a sacrifice of my first born child to nourish your bodies and feed your spirits. While I will miss my beloved Saffron, I gladly make this sacrifice to you as a gesture of appreciation and love for the mission of CW Corp."

The crowd applauded again, this time louder and more drawn out. Saffron was visibly shaking next to her mother, doing everything she could to hold back her tears.

"But I know I speak for everyone when I say there's one person who made all the difference this past fiscal year. There's one person who ensured the success of CW Corp above everyone else. Our President and CEO, our fearless leader: Gail Thornton."

The crowd applauded again as Gail Thornton humbly rested a hand on her breast and nodded, smiling.

"Mrs. Gail Thornton has done more for CW Corp. than any of us. That is why I think it only appropriate that Gail Thornton be afforded the honor of impaling the meat for tonight's roast!"

Gail Thornton looked surprised but immensely grateful as she rose to her feet amongst much louder applause and raucous cheers. Saffron's eyes grew wide as she saw the older woman glide towards the stage. She saw Jessie greasing the spit out of the corner of her eye and shuddered, her breasts visibly shaking for all to see. Gail Thornton hugged Monica.

"Honored, darling, simply honored."

Then Saffron felt Nickie and the other man grab her by her bound arms and lower her to her knees, facing away from the crowd, pushing her torso down so that the entire assembly could see her ass and pussy clearly.

"Please," Saffron tried to moan through her gag but it was too late. Jessie handed Gail Thornton the long, greased spit as Saffron trembled on the stage.

"I'm going to enjoy this, darling." Saffron heard Gail Thornton whisper. The men held Saffron down and spread her ass cheeks, giving the crowd an even better view of Saffron's anus, puckering in anticipation of the massive spit. Jessie held Saffron's head as Gail Thornton lined up the spit against Saffron's asshole.

With a quick, sharp push, Saffron was being impaled. She screamed as she felt the spit fill her up. Gail Thornton had clearly impaled a meatgirl before, her steady hand pushing the implement deeper into Saffron's captive flesh. The crowd applauded, cheered, and laughed at Saffron's agony as the sharp tip of the spit slid through her body. The spit made a precipitous crunching sound as Gail Thornton slid the spit deeper and deeper, through Saffron's torso. She screamed and sobbed as the spit made its way through her body, her body thrashing involuntarily against the intruder. The strong hands of the men and of Jessie kept her from moving too much, however, as Saffron began to gag as the spit made its way up her throat. The bloodied tip then emerged from behind her tongue, pushing through her lips, cruelly held open by the ring gag her mother had placed in her mouth.

And, with that, Saffron was fully impaled, ass to mouth. Amazed she was still conscious, Saffron vainly tried to scream against the spit as the two men secured her feet to the implement with roasting twine before lifting her and carrying her off the stage to the roasting pit.

Tears streamed from Saffron's eyes out of immense pain and utter humiliation as the photographer knelt next to the roasting pit, capturing her agony on film. The two men lifted her impaled body onto two uprights next to the pit and attached the belt of a motor to the spit. Slowly, Saffron began to turn as she felt the heat of the coals against her skin.

The crowd was absolutely enraptured, cheering, laughing and taking photos with their smartphones as Saffron turned helplessly over the firepit. This was the end. Saffron could no longer think of her mother or her family as she turned, only of the incredible pain she was enduring. She felt herself beginning to cook as the crowd looked on, entranced by the decadent sight of her young body writhing over the coals.

Jessie returned with a bowl and a basting brush, daubing a sweet sauce all over the meatgirl's body. Appropriately, the mixture was a glaze based in saffron, chosen to compliment the flavor of the long pig as well as to go well with Saffron's given name. Rosemary shuddered as she watched her sister being basted, imagining the rosemary sauce her mother would have no doubt chosen for her had she been in her sister's place.

The party continued with a new atmosphere of jubilation. Guests came and went, enjoying snacks as they watched Saffron's agony as she turned. Luncheon was served, a glazed ham, no doubt meant to call into contrast the long pig which would be the night's main course.

Saffron began feeling her body fat begin to bubble and cook as she spun, the motorized rotisserie not allowing relief for any part of her body. The fat of her breasts was beginning to drip onto the hot coals, causing them to sizzle and spit. The string quartet played on as Saffron's groaning screams began to lessen.

Gail Thornton was absolutely captivated, turning her chair fully around to get the best view of the meatgirl's agony. She simply adored fresh-roasted meatgirl and took particular pleasure in watching a meatgirl's last dance on the spit.

Before long, Saffron began slipping in and out of consciousness. Her skin had begun to turn a deep, orange-brown and her scent began to make mouths water all across the party. Jessie basted the girl once again as she started to slip away. Her mother and sister stood by her side, Rosemary holding back tears and Monica smiling proudly at her daughter's ordeal.

Saffron's last thoughts were of her family. The pain began to melt away as she slipped into unconsciousness for the last time. She remembered what her sacrifice was for. Saffron thought of the sacrifices her mother had made and reflected on this last, ultimate sacrifice. With all her heart, she hoped that all her suffering would be worth it and that she would be remembered as having opened the door to generations of prosperity for her family.

Saffron slipped away as her naked body continued spinning over the hot coals.

The meatgirl had to cook for several more hours before she was served. The sun began to set as guests continued enjoying the festivities, getting hungrier and hungrier as Saffron's body was closer and closer to being done.

Finally, Jessie's timer went off and the two strong men lifted Saffron's lifeless body off of the uprights. They carried the perfectly roasted girl over to the stage, which had been prepared with a plastic tarp for sanitary reasons. Jessie produced a large carving knife and began to get to work on the girl, still impaled ass-to-mouth. The party guests looked on in anticipation from their seats as Jessie began carving large cuts from Saffron's rump, thighs, and breasts and plating the meat. Servants began bustling around, placing juicy cuts of girlmeat in front of expectant diners. The Katzenbaums got some of the choicest cuts: pieces of Saffron's breasts. Saffron's cunt steak was, of course, reserved for Gail Thornton, who beamed as the meat was placed in front of her.

Last, once all the diners had been served, Jessie began cutting through Saffron's neck to remove her head from her body. The girl's eyes were still open and the ring gag was still firmly in place in her mouth as Jessie slid her head off of the spit, placed it on a silver serving dish, and presented it at the head of the table. With her hair and makeup done up to perfection, Saffron's head made an excellent centerpiece, turned to face Gail Thornton as she dined on the girl's tender folds.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous, darling," Gail Thornton exclaimed, causing another spontaneous burst of applause from the guests.

As the sun set, the party grew quiet as the guests feasted on the golden brown, slightly sweet flesh of the meatgirl. The silence was only punctuated with the moans of pleasure from the diners, the soft music from the string quartet, and the chirping of crickets.

Monica finally felt at ease as she looked over her guests. It was obvious that the night had been a roaring success as she heard the diners quietly commenting to one another how delicious the meat was. Her sacrifice had paid off perfectly. The night went on with many guests demanding seconds as Saffron's body slowly turned into picked over bones on the stage. Saffron's head gazed on as the diners consumed more and more of the girl, filling their bellies to bursting with her delicious meat.

It was true that Monica's sacrifice paid off. Soon after the banquet, she was offered the position of Regional Executive. Monica proudly moved into her new corner office, remembering her daughter's sacrifice and beaming with pride. She adorned the office with a large, oak desk and art from around the world. The finishing touch, however, stood watch up on a wall above Monica's stately desk. Saffron's head, still golden brown and bearing the ring gag, mounted on a stately oak board to match the desk, stood as a reminder of everything Monica was willing to do and everything she was willing to give to CW Corp.

I'm a huge fan of Agatha Delicious and a lot of the dolcett/gynophagia content she makes on delish media and clips4sale. What are some videos you would consider the best?? Like which videos do you guys think are a definite must buy or that I should consider buying?? I mostly enjoy dolcett videos with thicc girls like codi vore and great preparation scenes

What each section is for

Wanted partner: this is what type of partner you’d like, for example F4M would mean I’m a female seeking male, and A4A would mean I’m anything seeking anything.

Fetishes: this section is for the types of things that get you off. Some dolcett fantasy examples may include types of cooking, such as spit-roasting, boiling, soup, oven roast etc.

Limits: these are the things that you would not like to experience in your RP.

Non-con or con?: this means would you rather have a non-consensual or consensual roleplay scenario in your RP. If it doesn’t matter to you, just type doesn’t matter.

Possible scenarios: in this section you will write a particular fantasy you’ve been wanting to play out with a roleplaying partner. Be descriptive in this section. Don’t just say “I want to cook woman”, instead say something like “I want to cook my girlfriend for a picnic on one of the public grills. Maybe share some meat with whoever is passing by.” It doesn’t have to be a novel, but it has to paint a picture of what scenario you want to experience. Multiple scenarios are encouraged in this section, but if you can only think of one, that can do.

I really enjoy researching and reading any academic or empirical literature on cannibalism and how it can trigger a sexual response in some people (like us! 😋). I find most research is largely lacking and nonspecific. It bothers me to no end that the closest definition of what I experience is vorarephilia because I don’t personally feel it encompasses everything. It is too broad while also limited.

If anyone has the same fascination with forensic psychology and research into paraphiliac cannibalism, please DM me to share resources, research papers, etc.

Silvia woke up and instantly wished she hadn’t. Her head throbbed like a jackhammer. She had never drunk so much in her life. Ever.

Last night was a bit of a blur. They had piled into Melissa’s car—she’d said she didn’t want to drink—and Helena had directed them to one of the trendy riverside bars.

The place had been stylish and sleek, with dim lighting and a quiet hum of conversation. Silvia felt out of place in her everyday clothes, nothing fancy, but neither were the others. Helena, of course, didn’t seem to care.

“You guys get us a round. I’ll grab us a table,” she’d said with a grin.

Alexandra had marched straight to the beleaguered bartender. The bartender practically tripped over himself to serve her, wagging an invisible tail like an eager dog. Alexandra somehow had that effect; it was strange, but fun. Moments later, Silvia and Melissa were weighed down with an assortment of cocktails and shots, while Alexandra carried only her long drink.

“Get used to it, Silvi,” Melissa had said, her tone amused. “As long as you’re not accredited, you’re worth nothing.”

“When do you get your accreditation?” Silvia had asked.

“Hopefully soon. We need 3 teams,” Alexandra had replied, taking a sip casually, while Silvia and Melissa tried not to spill the load of drinks they carried.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “I’m still studying for it. It’s not an easy test. You’ve got a practical and a theoretical section. You have to show you can do the work—perfectly.”

“You have to slaughter someone for your exam?” Silvia had asked, horrified.

“No! Absolutely not! That would be wrong on so many levels.” Melissa had laughed, then added, “I have to demonstrate that I could and showcase different techniques. You are not allowed to take a life before you can demonstrate that you can do it properly and as humanely as possible. But they don’t make it easy. Last year, someone had to debone an entire side of ribs while keeping the skin intact for tanning. It’s a nightmare of precision and patience.”

Silvia had tried to picture it but couldn’t quite wrap her head around the skill it would take.

“Took you long enough!” Helena had called, grinning as she waved them over to the table she’d snagged.

“To Silvia. My new assistant. Live large and bold!”

“Live large and bold!” shouted the others, and they downed the shot.

“OK, that’s it for me,” said Melissa, but it wasn’t. They were just getting started.

They drank, they danced, drank more, and had some finger food. Alexandra had somehow drawn in two chicks out of nowhere, and she was fooling around with them openly. Melissa had passed out and was snoring on the table. Helena was doing karaoke, or something that resembled singing. And Silvia was snogging that guy in the corner. His hands were down her jeans, her tongue deep in his mouth. She wanted to fuck, she needed to fuck. She needed to feel alive. She had never experienced such a need to fuck.

Silvia sat up in the big bed. The brightness irritated her, and her head hurt like nothing else. It took her a moment to realise she wasn’t even in her own bed, or even her own house, for that matter. She was in an apartment overlooking the city. She blinked against the brightness of the morning sun, and her brain felt like it was filled with jam. There was a warm body next to her, buried under the covers. Yeah, that’s right, she had made out with that guy, needing to fuck. Apparently, they had. Silvia was naked under the covers. Hmm. She couldn’t remember much, but her pussy and, to her surprise, her butthole felt a bit used.

Sucks. She had been too drunk to remember much. Her brain had stored some weird pictures that made no sense. Still, worth it. She felt alive, even if her head hurt.

“Oh, hi, you’re up. Headache tablet?” asked a naked, very well-built man entering the room. He was probably around 30, but he did look good enough for her taste. Silvia wasn’t one hundred per cent sure that was the same guy she had made out with. It didn’t matter. She had needed to get laid so desperately.

“Please.” Her voice was as sore as her head felt. Luckily, it was Saturday, and she didn’t need to go to work. That stopped her. The bitches had done it on purpose on a Friday. The fuck!

She shuddered as she thought about her near-death experience again. It had been that; she had given in, expecting to die, ready to die. Maybe that’s why she wanted sex. Maybe.

She looked at the naked guy who came around the bed to her and then to the covered body next to her. Hold on a second!

She pulled back the blanket, and a gorgeous, voluptuous blonde protested the intrusion and turned around to cuddle into her and keep on sleeping. Her boobs pressed into her arms, and her leg lay over hers.

That was not fair. She didn’t remember anything!

The man sat on her side of the bed and handed her a glass of water where a life-saving tablet was dissolving.

She drank it fully and let herself sink back onto the bed. The naked man slipped into the bed beside her and started to stroke her body. Yes, that would work for her too.

That led to a lot more and even woke up the blonde, who was eager to join.

This time, she made sure she remembered everything they did. Her near-death experience had made her aware that she had to live. Live large and bold. She would and did. To her surprise, she really liked anal. She felt so owned as the guy fucked her butt while she ate out the blonde.

She had sent her dad a message that she was OK and would be home later. No need to worry him.

They played a bit more, but slowly, they wound down, exhausted. Silvia left them in the afternoon and made her way back to the facility to pick up her car. She didn’t even know their names, nor did they know hers. She had never done anything like that before, but she felt so alive.

She touched the Shut... up! sticker. “Hi, Nancy. Guess what I just did? You would be so proud of me,” she said softly, starting to tell her still best girlfriend what she had experienced.

When she arrived home, her father saw her and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“No, you don’t,” she said with a grin. “But it was good. You should get out there again, too. There are plenty of single women.”

He rolled his eyes but then tilted his head thoughtfully. “You know what? You’re right. I should. Maybe give me her number?” He smirked and pointed at her neck.

Silvia glanced in the mirror. There was a red lipstick mark next to some hickeys. She vividly remembered how they got there—the blonde had been in her late twenties, but damn, she had been hot.

“Sorry, Dad,” Silvia said, turning a bit red and placing her hand over the marks.

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re old enough, and you’ve got a job. I need to get with the facts of life. I’m happy your boss—Helena, right?—had the sense to call me to let me know you wouldn’t be home last night. Then she called again later to say you wouldn’t be coming home at all. She sounded pretty wasted and... well, she was pretty drunk, I guess.” Her dad turned a bit red. What was that about?

“Yeah. We really drank a lot. Talking about the job... have a look at this.”

Silvia pulled out her knife from her backpack and showed it to him. He was about to reach for it, but she stopped him. “Sorry. No,” she said firmly, holding it out of his reach. “Nobody but the butcher touches their knife’s handle. It’s a thing. They gifted it to me yesterday after…”

She trailed off, not wanting to tell him she had almost been slaughtered. The memory still made her uneasy. She had totally given up her life in that moment, completely letting go, accepting death. Maybe that was the point—you can’t take a life without accepting your own death? She shook her head, trying to focus on the here and now.

“Anyway, I’m now a proper Girl Butcher. Maybe just an apprentice, but I’m not nothing anymore.”

Her father’s face filled with horror for a second. She could see he had tons of questions—questions he wanted to ask, but wouldn’t, questions she didn’t want to answer, and questions that shouldn’t be asked. But she could guess what he was hung up on.

“No, Dad, I haven’t slaughtered anyone. I won’t—not until I’m accredited, and that’s still a long way off.”

Relief flooded his face. He exhaled and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s hard for me to know that you will... slaughter women. But I understand why you do it, and as hard as it is... you’re right. I’m proud of you.”

Silvia’s stomach twisted. She had wanted to hear him say that before she’d been slaughtered. She had wanted to hear that he loved her.

She stepped forward and into his arms. Tears slid down her cheeks as she held him tightly.

“Are you okay? What happened? Something major has happened, and it can’t just be a night of debauchery,” he said gently.

She shook her head against his shoulder. She couldn’t tell anyone. It was too personal.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I just had some major realisations, and I need time to process them.”

After a while of him holding her, she disentangled herself and wiped her face. “Dad... let’s go to the coffee shop on the beach. I want to know how you’re doing. Can we?”

He smiled happily. “That sounds like a great idea... after you take a proper shower and put on fresh clothes. It must have been quite a night... and morning.”

She smirked and went upstairs.

They spent a pleasant afternoon at the coffee shop, talking and catching up. She realised she hadn’t really focused on how her dad was doing lately—she’d been too caught up in her own issues. Living large and bold also meant caring about the other people in her life.

Sunday, Silvia spent at the beach, relaxing and doing nothing. Alone. She had a good cry as she told Nancy about her near-death experience. It felt good to let it out. It still gnawed at her, but one thing she now understood was that these women felt nothing but bliss in their final moments. She had been there. She had been cut, but she had felt nothing except the overwhelming pleasure of her orgasm.

Putting everything into words and speaking them out loud helped her let go of some of the fear and tension. But it also made her realise she needed to make new friends. Nancy was gone, and she had to let her go.

When Monday came, Helena took Silvia aside as soon as she arrived. “Today, we have something special for you. Come.”

“I’m not going to be fake slaughtered again, am I?” Silvia asked, amused.

“No. And that’s nothing to joke about. The next time will be the real deal—if you ever get your Letter.” Helena’s tone was back to its usual clipped precision. Silvia gulped.

They entered Slaughter Room 2. Alexandra, Melissa, Anne and Ramona, who were normally only doing the front of house and never in the slaughter rooms, were already waiting. The bench and spreader bar were set up in the slaughter room, not in their usual place in the prep area. Silvia stopped short. What was going on?

Melissa handed her a vibrator wand, and Silvia stared at it, confused.

“There are things you can’t learn from books, and you can’t fully learn on the job either,” Helena explained. “One of those is how to bring a woman to orgasm with a vibrator while she is in the spreader bar and stressed.”

Silvia blinked at her, stunned. “Wait—what?”

“We all volunteered to help you learn.” Helena’s tone was matter-of-fact. “You owe us real coffee from the good shop, by the way. Two sugars.”

“I do?” Silvia asked, still perplexed. Silvia wasn’t sure why this was something she needed to learn. She managed fine with her own vibrator.

“Yes, you do. Now, let’s begin.” Helena started stripping. “I’ll go first. So it’s definitely awkward for you. Strap me in.” She lay down on the bench, naked, as Melissa and Alexandra strapped her feet into the spreader bar.

Silvia could only manage an awkward, “Uhh…” This was way more than she’d bargained for. Sure, they’d all seen each other naked in the locker rooms and showers, but this? Making her colleagues cum in front of each other?

“It’s fine, Silvia,” Melissa said, noticing her hesitation, while they strapped Helena into the spreader bar. “We all had to learn this. Every good Girl Butcher does. You can’t just wing it with livestock. They need to feel safe and cared for, and the best way to learn is hands-on. Someday, you’ll be teaching the same lesson to another apprentice.”

Silvia glanced at Helena’s pussy, now at eye level, her legs spread wide. Shut… up! Yes, Nancy, I hear you.

“Silvia, hurry up. I want a coffee, and it’s getting cold,” Anne complained, already starting to strip.

“Well, maybe you should have waited your turn before getting naked. You and your eager beaver,” Ramona teased.

Silvia took a deep breath and turned the vibrator on. She placed it on Helena’s pussy.

“Too hard, too fast,” Helena chided. “Dial the power down, put it under the clit, and then push it slowly upward… yes, like that. Now increase the power gradually. Better.”

Helena gave instructions as Silvia worked, explaining how and why to adjust her movements. Then Helena came, her body trembling in the straps. But even in her orgasm, Helena still gave instructions.

The other women clapped when Helena had calmed down again.

“You thought it would be easy, didn’t you?” Helena commented as Melissa and Alexandra helped her down. “But here’s the point: you’ll know these women for only a few minutes. It’s your job to make them relax and feel good.”

“I’m next! I’m freezing,” Anne announced, and this time Helena made Silvia help Melissa strap Anne in. She had to learn that too.

Anne’s body reacted differently from Helena’s, and her cues were more subtle. Silvia hadn’t been with many women, and never in a situation like this. With past lovers, there had been kissing, foreplay—everything was slower, more intimate. This was different. As she worked, she remembered how it had felt being strapped in herself, waiting to die.

Alexandra and Helena offered tips as Silvia experimented. Anne came shortly after, sighing with satisfaction. “Thanks, Silvi. I’ll grab coffee for everyone. Your treat, of course!” she said with a wink as she started dressing.

The training session became more fascinating. Each woman responded differently—pussy shapes, sensitivities, and preferences varied wildly. All of them reacted well to stroking on the insides of their thighs, but others responded to teasing their entrance or stimulating the G-spot. Even in this relatively relaxed setting, figuring out what worked for each woman was a challenge. Silvia couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be with terrified livestock.

What really shocked Silvia was how intensely aroused she became as she worked on Alexandra. It was... as if she felt what Alexandra was feeling. Alexandra came loudly, excessively, and unapologetically. Silvia had to concentrate not to be swept away with her. It was almost like a physical pull emanating from her. After switching off the vibrator, Silvia noticed she wasn’t the only one affected by it. Maybe Helena less so; she just rolled her eyes.

After Silvia had worked on each woman twice, Helena called a halt.

“Oh, come on, one more time,” Ramona pleaded. “I don’t even have a boyfriend right now!”

“Fine,” Helena relented. “Strap her in.”

As Ramona was winched up, Helena smirked. “This time, Silvia, try to keep her right on the edge as long as possible. That’ll teach you how to read her better.”

Ramona squirmed in the spreader bar. “That’s not fair!”

“True. Silvia, get a hook and tie her arms up.”

Silvia hesitated. “Helena, she doesn’t—”

“Sure she does,” Helena interrupted, patting Ramona’s leg. “She loves to complain, but she volunteered, and she knows the rules.”

Melissa chuckled as Silvia learned how to insert the butt hook gently. Tying Ramona’s arms was harder—Ramona wasn’t making it easy.

“Think of her as a frightened woman,” Melissa suggested.

“I AM a frightened woman!” Ramona shot back, her protests laced with a giggle.

Eventually, Silvia managed to secure her arms without being forceful. Keeping Ramona just shy of orgasm proved harder than she’d expected. It took teamwork, with the others giving pointers while Ramona writhed and moaned in frustrated desperation. Silvia had never played a game like that. It was funny to keep her high and dry, but also pretty hard to judge her reactions so she didn’t cum.

“Okay, now let her cum,” Helena instructed. Silvia adjusted the vibrator and slid a finger inside Ramona, and she came instantly—hard, loud, and long.

Ramona hung limp, panting, her face flushed.

“Alright, enough,” Helena said. “We have livestock coming. Anne, get Ramona in the shower. Silvia, help clean this up.”

As they prepared the room, Helena turned to Silvia. “So? Do you think you can do it for real? Make it good for a woman?”

“Do you think I’m ready? If I can’t make her cum... I don’t want her to suffer.”

“I’m your mentor. If I didn’t think you could do it, I wouldn’t ask. But you have to feel that you can do it. There can’t be doubt. The livestock needs to feel safe.”

Silvia paused, considering everything she’d just learnt and what she herself had gone through. And now she understood more why this cruel ritual they had put her through was more for all the other women she would encounter than for her. “Yes. Every woman is different, I understand that now, and I understand how it works.”

Helena nodded, satisfied. “I will guide you. You got this.”

Thirty minutes later, Silvia stood beside Helena as Anne brought in Margaret, their first woman of the day. Her first woman. Her first slaughter as a Girl Butcher assistant.

Silvia was nervous; she didn’t want to mess it up for Margaret; she needed to give her best. Make her cum, make her forget, give her peace.

They said hello and Silvia could see how nervous she was. Breathing flat and fast.

Helena scanned her chip, and Silvia made sure she heard the right happy beep sound and saw the green light on the secure tablet that held the information for Margaret.

Silvia helped her onto the bench. Margaret was fearful but cooperative. Helena was extremely gentle, stroking her, and speaking to her softly. Silvia needed to learn that too, she realised, and paid a lot of attention to how Helena did it, but she paid the most attention to Margaret. She deserved it. She gave her life so others didn’t have to.

“So Silvia will now put a metal hook into your butt. That won’t hurt at all, and you are super clean there too. You may even like it. Silvia does, right?”

“Oh, that’s true. I like it a lot, actually. Didn’t know before I tried it.” She didn’t know how Helena knew but suspected that she was just making things up.

Silvia took a deep breath, took some of the pre-warmed lube from the dispenser, and smeared it around Margaret’s butthole slowly and carefully. Then she used her finger to open her sphincter slowly, as Alexandra had shown her in the morning, and inserted the hook.

“All good. I bet it didn’t hurt. Did it?” Helena asked, kneeling next to Margaret’s head, and Margaret shook her head. That already told Silvia that Margaret liked things in her. She was astounded at herself that she had picked that up. But now she understood why Helena had asked so many volunteers.

“Margaret, I’m going to hold your arms now so I can put them up here. It's easier for you that way,” Silvia said, and Margaret cooperated with her. She tied her hands carefully up to the hook.

“So, Margaret, we are ready to go. Let’s get you to the other room, and then it will be over very fast.”

“Please make it painless. Please. I’m...”

“I know you are afraid, but I promise you, you won’t feel a thing. Both of us know from personal experience that you will feel nothing.”

“Personal experience?” Margaret asked, her fear forgotten for a moment.

Helena just smiled and said, “Yes,” and let her ponder. Silvia could see what she was doing; she was distracting her a bit. Helena gave her a sign to open the connector door to Slaughter Room 1, and they moved her out.

Helena knelt down and stroked her cheeks. “We begin now. OK?” She didn’t really wait for the answer. Helena stared at Silvia, lifting her eyebrow. Fuck! The gut bucket. She wanted to rush to get it, but Helena gave her a look, and she didn’t. Slow and purposeful, move slow and purposeful. Fast moves scare the livestock.

Silvia placed the bucket in front of Margaret, and her eyes widened, her breathing going faster. Silvia needed to go to the cabinet to get Helena’s knife and the wand. As she had learned, she passed the knife behind Margaret so she didn’t see it. She made sure she touched only the heavy plastic sheath, not the handle of the blade. You never do that, ever.

“Silvia will now put the vibrator on your clit and will make you cum. When you orgasm, I will slit your throat, but you won’t even notice. Then you will slip away peacefully, having the best orgasm you ever had.”

That was it. She needed to make it good, make her cum, make her forget. She breathed through it and switched on the wand and was rewarded with a loud moan as she slowly hit the clit. She put one finger on her entrance, and she could feel her reaction; she liked it. Margaret built fast, and Silvia concentrated on her. Stroking her inner legs, playing with her entrance, and building her up to an orgasm.

She could feel how Margaret slowly relaxed into it, and finally, she let go of the brakes and gave in. Silvia understood that very well; she had fought it, too. Trying to stay alive as long as possible, but then ultimately giving in to the pleasure.

Margaret’s body shuddered as she came, and her blood spilled into the container. Silvia didn’t need to hear Helena say to keep the vibrator on her; she would have done it automatically. Let her ride out the last waves of her orgasm and her life. Silvia gave her the same care, and maybe even better than she would have wanted for herself. After checking the tablet that was still connected to her birth chip, Helena announced her gone. Something else she hadn’t seen in Clapton South.

Silvia switched off the vibrator, and Helena stood up. “Thank you, Margaret,” Silvia whispered to the dead body.

“Are you OK?” asked Helena carefully, putting a hand on her arm.

“Yes, I think so,” Silvia said. She took a deep breath and then said, “I think I did it well for her. I really hope so.”

“You did a good job. The more you do it, the better you get. Now...” Helena moved around the dead body. “... point out to me the insertion and exit points for the gutting cuts.”

Silvia traced her finger on the still-warm body, indicating the cut. She knew that the body itself would still work for some minutes until it realised it was dead, but it already felt... empty.

“Good. Stay back.” She did, and Helena made the cuts. Then she talked Silvia through the gutting, the removal of the organs, and finally, the removal of the head. It was fast but precise and respectful—not like in the Centre. These weren’t crude cuts. Helena cut for quality, not speed.

“OK. Move the carcass into cold storage and put the head in the incinerator. I’ll get changed, and we will meet in Slaughter Room 2 in less than two minutes. We don’t want to let her wait too long. Don’t forget to clean up. Dirty aprons, or worse, bloodstained ones, only stress out the livestock.”

Silvia understood that and hurried to move the body and dispose of the head. She thought she would have been much more nervous about her first slaughter, but she had to concentrate on Margaret to make it good for her. She had forgotten to be nervous.

Jill was next, all businesslike. She had even asked just to cut her throat and be done with it, but she enjoyed the orgasm. She even screamed out, “I never... oh... my! Oh...” but then her throat was cut, and no words came out anymore.

Helena had her talk through the whole gutting process and then move the second carcass into the cold storage.

She met Melissa in the cold storage as she brought in her carcass. “How did it go?”

“Very good, I think. They all managed to come, but I needed the finger technique you showed me on the first one. Thanks for that.”

“Sure, let’s get them cold, and then we should have lunch. You coming?”

Silvia hesitated. She had never been invited to lunch before.

Hi, my name is Sofia, I am 25 years old, 1.75 meters tall, 60.5 kg in weight, breast size 2. [My stories are set in a realistic world where cannibalism is prohibited]

I've been asking you to roast me for a long time. At some point, I started talking about it more persistently every day. And so you finally agreed. We have planned a day in a month. And the closer that day got, the more often you disappeared in the evenings.

The long-awaited day came, and we got up early, before dawn, at 3:30 a.m. You told me to strip down to my bare feet, leaving only my hiking boots, since now I'm just a piece of meat. We got in the car and immediately set off. We drove for 4 hours and drove almost 400 km. I slept most of the way. We drove deep into the woods so that the car could not be seen from the road. Then we got out of the car. You told me to take a backpack with water and a 15-liter gasoline canister. And you went light, taking nothing but the car keys. We went deep into the forest. It was very hard for me. I asked you: why don't you help me? You grinned, "so unlike you, I still have to go back." We walked another 5 km and came to a small clearing. Coals for the bonfire had already been prepared there, the bonfire was fenced off with bricks and there were two racks on the edges, on which a spit lay. That's where you've been in the evenings. You were preparing a place to roast me.

I breathed a sigh of relief that we had finally reached it. But you made me dig a hole while you were preparing a bonfire. You responded to my outrage. "Dig! You lazy bitch! All you need is to be fried! And then I'll roast you! And then I have to put out the fire, butcher you and bury your remains because I'm not going to drag your carcass back! So shut up and dig!" It wasn't until later that I realized I was digging my own grave. "Stupid pussy!" I thought to myself.

It was 11 a.m. By this time, I had dug a hole 1.5 meters by 0.5 meters and 0.5 meters deep. You came up to me, looked contemptuously at the result of my hard work, and said, "Let's go. We'll roast you since you're no longer capable of anything." I felt so ashamed. I even wet myself a little because of it.

I took off my shoes and walked barefoot over the coals to the spit. On my third attempt, I clumsily climbed from above onto the platform welded to the spit, lay down on it and turned over to face up. You tied me tightly to a spit with a metal rope. You skipped the first turn below my boobs, so it rested on the 5th rib, then wound it back onto the spit. You made another turn at the level of my pelvis. And finally he tied my feet with the third one. You tightened the cables with clamps so tightly that they dug deep into the skin. You've secured my wrists tightly with plastic clamps. 3 on each wrist. After that, you put a noose of strong rope around my throat, but you didn't tighten it. Now I was ready to roast.

The Frying Has Begun. 11:45 a.m.

You sprayed the ignition mixture on the coals and set them on fire. While the coals were burning, the temperature was kept at a mild 100°F (38°C), like in a warm sauna. At this stage, I felt a gentle, enveloping heat that can even relax. My skin started to sweat, and my muscles relaxed as the warmth began to seep into my body. This gradual start gave me the opportunity to comfortably acclimatize before starting real cooking. It lasted 15 minutes. You managed to turn me on a spit once. After that, the temperature gradually increased to 150°F (65°C). At that moment, the heat increased significantly, and I began to feel as if I had a severe sunburn. My skin turned red, and I felt a tingling, burning sensation as the outer layers began to dry out. The air around me became thick and oppressive, making deep breaths look like inhaling hot steam. It went on like this for 20 minutes and I started to panic. I begged you to stop frying, that I no longer want to be meat, untie me! I cried and moaned, trying to break the clamps, but my attempts were in vain. I screamed at the top of my voice, "Save me! Help! Help!" But it was useless, there was no one for tens of kilometers around. And I just lost my voice.

Meanwhile, the temperature will rise to 93°C (200°F), and the real cooking process will begin. The subcutaneous fat will begin to liquefy and caramelize, releasing a rich, savory flavor. I could smell my roasting meat, similar to the smell of pork or beef slowly browning in a pan. The pain increased as the nerve endings began to react to the heat, but the strong scent caused a strange, almost hypnotic withdrawal. Duration: ~1 hour. My sensations were: A sharp, burning pain when fat bubbles under the skin; A deep, meaty smell began to fill the area.

The temperature reached 121°C (250°F), and my skin began to brown and become crispy, similar to how a perfect crust forms on a roast. At first, the pain was unbearable, but as the flesh prepared, the nerve endings began to collapse, leading to gradual numbness. My vision blurred, and my eyes looked like glass. Eventually, the fever caused unconsciousness due to a combination of severe pain, dehydration, and systemic shock. It lasted like this: ~30-45 minutes (until loss of consciousness and death, respectively). You held me over the fire for another 15 minutes and then filled the fire with three buckets of water. At 2:20 p.m. (2:20 p.m.), I had the meat ready.

While my meat was cooling on the spit, you started digging my hole. You expanded it to 2 meters in length, 1 meter in width and went deeper by another 0.35 meters so that the depth became 0.85 meters.

After that, you went to the spit and cut off a few pieces from my ribs. You leisurely ate 1.1 kg of me. It was already approaching 5 p.m. (5 p.m.). You started packing back up. You bit the plastic clamps with wire cutters, removed the noose from my neck and unfastened the clamps. After that, you spun the spit, which caused my body to fall face down on the coals and sizzle. You turned me face up, took out your knife and cut off my left boob. Next, you spread my legs with a crunch and cut out my pussy, along with most of my pubis on one side and my anus on the other. You cut off my uterus and urethra from my cunt, leaving them inside me and my rectum from my anus. Then you took an axe and chopped off my left arm in the middle of the humerus with 3 blows. In the same way, you cut off your left leg in the middle of the thigh. You put the cut-off pieces of me in a backpack. After that, you poured the entire can of gasoline on my body and set it on fire. At the same time, you burned all the trash and my shoes in this fire.

By 7:20 p.m. (7:20 p.m.), my body was almost completely burned out. The fat melted, the hair on the head was burned, only small short, up to 2 centimeters wisps of hair remained, the skin stretched and tore, exposing the bones, the eyes flowed out of the sockets, the lips burned completely, exposing the teeth, some teeth cracked from the heat, the cheeks tore, causing the lower jaw to drop, the tongue burned, and the brain it flowed out through his mouth. Below, the flames completely charred the body, the skin stretched over the chest, the right tit was greatly reduced in size, and in place of the left tit there was a hole through which the ribs could be seen. My stomach tore from the strain. The liquid mass that became the internal organs flowed out through the hole where the pussy used to be. You put out the fire. The stench of fried meat, leather, gasoline, and plastic was unbearable. Because of that, you had to go get the hook. You tied him to a rope and secured him by the rib cage, near the xiphoid process, and dragged my body to the pit. You dragged him for 5 meters, after which the cartilage between the 12th thoracic vertebra and the 1st lumbar vertebra cracked and the body fell apart in half. Some of the liquid from the internal organs spilled onto the ground. "Fuck! She's a whore, and she gets me in trouble after she dies!" you swore. You dragged the top of me and threw me into the pit. Then you hooked a hook on my pelvis and dragged it into the pit the same way. After that, you collected some of the internal organs with a shovel and threw them into the pit. You dug a hole in a hurry. It was already 8:30 p.m. (8:30 p.m.). You packed up quickly and went home. You arrived home only the next day at 00:30 a.m. and immediately went to bed.

At 9:00 a.m. this morning, you threw my pussy in the microwave for 7 minutes. And while she was warming up, you threw my left boob and the stumps of my arms and legs into the freezer. You took my pussy out of the microwave and threw it into Charlie's bowl. [Charlie is my 5-year-old Chihuahua dog. He is 20 cm tall and weighs 2 kg]. Then you sat down at your laptop and put my stuff on Ebay. You took money from my cards. And by lunchtime, you went back to the frying place to clean it up.

A week later, when Charlie finally finished my pussy and anus, you declared me missing. You took Charlie to my mom, saying that you couldn't take care of him while you was "looking for" me. Two weeks later, after not finding my body, the police declared me dead. The memorial dinner was scheduled in a week to gather all the people close to me. You took my left arm and leg stumps out of the freezer, removed the meat from the bones (slightly less than 9 kg), marinated it and went to my mom with your new girlfriend. At the memorial dinner, you grilled my meat on the grill and served it to the table. My mom and her guests appreciated it and praised you for taking care of me so much, looking for me until the last moment and supporting my mom. My mom, a 46-year-old MILF with 3.5 breast size, wished you happiness with a new girlfriend.

Meanwhile, the wolves in the forest dug up my shallow grave, took out what was left of me and began to gnaw. My lower jaw completely fell off, my right collarbone was torn out, my rib cage was completely driven from the inside, the cervical vertebrae were also bitten off, the skull was torn off, the little finger on my right hand was immediately chewed off, and then the finger for the ring… I became pet food.

P.S. write in the comments did you go back there afterwards? Were you looking for my bones? What did you do to my left boob? Did you feed it to the dogs or just throw it in the trash? Have you thought about roasting your new girlfriend or my mom?

Hi, my name is Sofia, I am 25 years old, 1.75 meters tall, 60.5 kg in weight, breast size is 2.

I used to always think that girls who became meat were just too dumb to be girls. It doesn't matter if they wanted to become meat themselves or if they became meat without their consent. In any case, it's their own fault. Therefore, I did not consider it shameful to masturbate my clitoris to stories about such girls or to squirt on the image of the resulting meat.

But after a series of recent events in my life, I realized that becoming meat is a quick way to take my place.

[I prefer realism, events should take place in the real world and a place where cannibalism is prohibited. It could be your house in a sparsely populated area or your farm. You can also go roast me in the forest. In general, to a place where no one but you and your cannibal friends will find out about what happened] [also, no sex with me except for a few things that I will describe below. When we contact you, I become your meat, losing all human rights. And I really hope you don't fuck your food.]

I'm coming to your house, in my best dress, in heels, in red lace underwear and with my suitcase on wheels. My dog Charlie, a Chihuahua breed, is also with me. He is 20 cm tall, weighs 2 kg, he is 5 years old and I love him very much [any aggression towards Charlie is absolutely unacceptable! If you don't want to take care of him, then just take him to my mom, I'll give you her address.] You take me to a room or basement where I will wait for about 3 days while you prepare everything for slaughter and cooking. You tell me to undress and wait. You're taking all my things because meat can't have property. [You can sell them on eBay, have a home sale, give them to your girlfriends, and just throw them away] [You can also spend all my money, including my credit card]. During these 3 days, you don't feed me, but only give me water. At this time, I will begin to doubt my choice to become meat [but this should not affect you and your determination to make me meat]. In the end, when it's time to be slaughtered, I finally decide that I don't want to be meat. I cry, I snot, I resist, I scream, I hit, I bite. But nothing helps. [Actually, I'm a clean girl, and when I come to you, I'll have a smooth pubis and armpits. But by the third day, there will already be quite a stiff stubble].

You're chaining me by the arms and hanging me up. Then you open me up, starting from my stomach and up to the handle of my sternum. You break my rib cage and throw out the rib cartilage, the xiphoid process, the body of the sternum. My internal organs are visible inside. After working so hard, you go out for a few hours, leaving me to die in agony. When you come back, you find that I died almost immediately after you left, and my eyes are glazed. You're washing my body of blood. Then you saw off my head and put it in the fridge. Next, you take out all my internal organs, putting them in a bucket. After that, when there are no more organs in my body, you wash my body of blood. [Here you can write "whore" on my body for fun, or anything else that will cheer you and your friends up] [Next, you can pickle me, stuff me, and sew me up, or tie me to a spit right away.] [During frying, you can insert charcoal into my pussy so that I am fried from the inside or stick a stick in there to laugh with your friends at my new improvised "dick", if you don't want to, you don't have to do that].

After you and your friends roast me. But before you serve me to the table. I would like you to sew my head [from the refrigerator] to my body with threads.

And now I'm served on the table. The first thing you do is cut off my pussy, with most of my pubis and anal opening, in one piece. And you give it to my Charlie. [I am totally against eating human genitals. Not only is it not hygienic due to the specifics of using holes, but it's also solid muscles - literally impossible to chew! But it will even be useful for my Charlie.] Next, you cut off my boobs and give them to the other dogs. [The thing is, it's all fat and literally not tasty. The main thing is not to give Charlie my boobs. It's bad for him]. Well, then have fun as you want. Eat whatever you want and in whatever order you want.

After you have eaten enough, cut the threads that tied my head to my body and throw what remains of my 60 kg to the dogs. I don't want to be frozen for months! [You can use my head as a sex toy here, since it has become nothing more than an ornament. I'd rather you fucked me in the eye socket] [If you don't want to play with my head, then give it to Charlie and the other dogs too. He will sniff her and then fuck her in the eye socket to the boisterous laughter of your friends. Then he bites off part of my cheek, trying to eat my tongue. It will look like I'm saying something. Because of his muzzle in my mouth, my mouth will open and close. Finally, he will bite off part of my lip and, having had enough, will go to sleep on his favorite ottoman.]

In a week, when my meat and head are already rotten and will stink all over the yard, so that even dogs won't touch the remains. You will collect all the remains, including the head and bones in a 50-liter bag, pour out the internal organs that are rotten in the bucket and take them to the trash cans without tying them up.

The garbage truck that picks up the package will be one of the last to visit your house, so it will not press the garbage in its container, but will immediately go to the city dump where it will dump it. After dumping the collected garbage, most of the remains will fall out of the bag: an almost gnawed right arm without a hand, which is held by the shoulder blade due to the joint, and that through the muscles by part of the spine (4 vertebrae, to 3 of which the gnawed ribs are attached); part of the left foot with 3 of the 5 fingers and a gnawed heel; there is no thumb or little finger on the right hand, which ends in a core of radius, but there is quite a lot by the standards of the rest of the meat; a cleanly gnawed pelvis holds the cartilage of the stump of the right thigh, on which rotten meat weighs in pieces. The highlight is the head with a depressed right eye, which has already spread out. And the pecked-out left one. The lips and the left cheek are completely eaten away, exposing the teeth, some of which are also missing. There is no language. And there are only small pieces of rotting skin from the right cheek. And it's all filled with rotten insides.

That's how I'll take my place of trash, where I belong - in a garbage dump. Of course, rotting bones will quickly be dragged all over the landfill by scavengers. A month later, a seagull will fly up to the almost bare skull, the lower jaw, which has long since fallen off and on which there will be only a few separate piles of hair. Which first eats part of the skin from the top of the head, pierces the skull with a few blows and eats the remains of the skull. Later, on rainy days, the skull will be filled with water and serve as a drinking trough for animals and birds.

Unfortunately, even though this is my place, it might not end like this. And five years later, someone will stumble upon my bones, start collecting them, and conduct a DNA test. They will find my mother and declare the missing Sofia found. My mom, who will be 51 by this time, will want to bury me. She will order a large coffin and put 10% of me in it. There will be my empty skull without the lower jaw and most of the upper teeth, my right arm with a stub of radius from the shoulder, the left half of the pelvis, the right part of the thigh, parts of the spine scattered, several pieces of ribs. And in this form, I will be buried in the city cemetery among the graves of my family. And no one will ever know that I wanted a different ending. Therefore, I ask you, if you hear about this, then write on my grave "Whore, Meat, Garbage."

P.S. Thank you to everyone who read my story to the end. If someone decides to masturbate or cum on how I become meat, just like I did with the stories and images of other girls, I will be all for it. Please write about it in the comments.

"Next!" the Gerudo auctioneer called.

A dark-skinned Hyulian woman walked up onto the platform. The shackles around her ankles and wrists clanked with each step. She looked out at the Gerudo women, who looked at her with hungry eyes.

The nude woman looked away as the bidding started. Watching as she moved past, the former Princess Zelda looked down in shame. She was responsible for this; she was the reason why her people were being sold off as cattle. The nation of Hyrule was practically dead. The capital was destroyed when Gannon was destroyed. The army had been obliterated, and there was no central government left.

The only thing she could do was ask the Gerudo for protection. Urbosa had agreed, on two conditions. The first was that all Hyrulians would be enslaved to the Gerudo. The second was going to happen the next day on the full moon. Something that Zelda had to agree to, even if she didn't like it or look forward to it.

She adjusted herself on the lying palanquin, rattling her chains and jinging her jewellery. As part of her deal, she was being paraded around the Gerudo city. Showing off her submission to the Gerudo. She wasn't dressed like the amazonian women, but what little she did have on made it clear that she was no longer a princess. As she was paraded around, some Hyrulians looked up at her with a mixture of disdain, sadness and acceptance of their new situation. Some were eager to please their new mistresses, while others rebelled and faced strict punishment.

As she was being carried, Zelda watched as several former soldiers were being whipped. Their backs were scarred from the lashings they received. Some of the men were even castrated in one of the squares, while the women were locked in stocks and forcibly impregnated. This was their fate now, but a part of her told her that it was for the best. Better enslaved than dead.

After an hour of being paraded around, the royal guards who carried her palanquin turned to head back to the palace. This led them to the main square, where a shrine and platform were being prepared. Zelda gulped upon seeing it, knowing that her fate was already sealed.

After arriving at the palace, the guards unlocked the chains connecting her cuffs to the palanquin before using a length of chain to connect her wrists to her ankles. They then attached a leash to he collar and led her inside, taking her to Urbosa's harem. As they approached, Zelda could hear the moaning of her former lover, Link. Looking down, she felt shame again. Not only because she got him into the position he was in, but also because she didn't feel anything for him anymore.

Walking into the harem room itself, Zelda was met with the sight of Link bouncing up and down on Urbosa's thick cock. The sight of which made the former princess drool under her veil. In comparison, Link's cock was smaller and had been locked in a chastity cage that would never come off. When they had sex, Zelda didn't feel much, and Link came too soon. Now she's only accepted Urbosa's cock. Her only regret is that she wouldn't end up pregnant.

As she walked in, her mistress looked to her and smiled. "Ah, slave, have a good look at your people?"

Zelda nodded. "Yes, mistress, thank you, mistress, for taking them in," she said shyly.

Link cried out as a spurt of cum came from his cock and Urbosa came inside his femboy ass. Zelda didn't react as he climbed off his mistress' cock and lay next to her, lifting his veil and kissing her. He was no longer the champion of Hyrule. Now, he was just another harem fembody. Castrated, caged and feminised so that he no longer looked like a boy.

After they kissed, he moved to kneel next to her like a good little pet. "Now, Zelda, I'm sure you want to have sex with me. But the ritual does not allow for that. You will be taken to the temple and prepared. Make sure you pray for the Goddess' forgiveness."

"Yes, mistress," Zelda bowed before she was taken out.

OOOOO the next day.

Both Gerudo and Hyrulians assembled at the ritual site in the centre of the city. A large bowl had been placed in the middle. Oil reached the middle section of the bowl, and a pair of y mounds had been set at either end of the bowl. A platform stood just above it with a wooden block set at the edge. Behind that stood an X-shaped frame with a hole under it. Set behind that was a wooden statue of the Sand Goddess who would watch over the ritual.

As dawn began, drums began to sound. Echoing across the city. Urbosa watched from a raised platform with a throne as Zelda was carried towards the platform. In front of her walked 10 people. All of whom volunteered for this. 1 was a Gerudo Priestess; the rest were Hyrulians. The former led the procession, her jewelled yet nude form seeming to act as a light as darkness began to descend. The other volunteers were female. They didn't wear any clothing, other than the chains around their wrists and ankles, and they were all bald. Just like Zelda.

The 10 were let onto the platform first and knelt, except for the Gerudo priestess, who knelt before the wooden block. Behind her, Zelda was led off of the slab she was being carried on and walked over to the X frame, where she was locked to it. After testing the tightness of her restraints, making sure she could not move, the guards stepped away.

A large, muscular Gerudo then stepped out from the side and approached the priestess, who began chanting a prayer. Zelda didn't understand it, but watched as the priestess lowered her head onto the wooden block. The large Gerudo then tapped a curved sword onto the priestess' neck, raised it, then brought it down. The crowd cheered as the head landed in the oil with a 'plop' sound.

As the body was being removed, one of the volunteers was then brought up and positioned just like the priestess. The sword was raised and came down, followed by another plop. The same thing happened 8 more times until 10 heads rested at the base of the bowl and the bodies were taken to be butchered.

It was then that Zelda looked down to see a golden spit approaching her pussy. She had missed the click, click, click of the spit being armed. It moved up quickly and kissed her lower lips before fully entering her. She moaned at the intrusion and mentally thanked the fact that she had cast a pain nullification spell earlier on.

As the spit moved into her, she continued to moan deeper and deeper. Enjoying the feeling as a pair of Gerudo servants came up to oil her body.

"Much bigger than Link," she moaned under her breath as the spit moved deeper into her.

She knew that if this was to stop, she wouldn't last an hour. But her sacrifice would make sure that the promise Urbosa had made would be kept. At that point, she began to cough and choke as something in the back of her throat prevented her from breathing. Gagging and splutting, she watched as the spit exited her mouth and stopped 3 feet in front of her. She gazed up at the stars, mentally praying for forgiveness.

The Gerudo who oiled her then unlocked her ankles from the frame and tied them to the spit before doing the same with her hands. Two stronger Gerudo then walked up and unlocked the spit from the hole and placed it onto their shoulders. Zelda, from her view, felt the spit move as she was taken over to the large bowl.

She was then set onto the Y-mounts and looked down. The faces of those who were beheaded would now act as fuel for her demise, for her to be cooked. She didn't see who lit the oil, but she did feel the heat as it ignited and her body began to turn. She watched as her people were raped, impregnated and used. But at least they could be safe. As she turned over the fire, she died a slow death, unknowing when she truly died.

After a few hours, Zelda's cooked head, breasts and pussy were presented to Urbosa, who smiled at the food presented for her. She looked next to her at Link, who stared, drooling at the food. Laughing, she cut the nipples off of Zelda's cooked breast and fed them to her pathetic femboy champion.