by Scipio42
Brad came awake feeling cold. The reason, he realised quickly was that he was
naked. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he had woken up naked – in fact he
was quite good at it, but this time he was surprised to find he was immobilised.
His hands were fixed above his head and his legs were spread and he could not
move his ankles. He flexed his six foot two, one hundred and eighty-pound,
well-muscled body, but whoever had secured him had done a good job.
Shaking the woolly feeling out of his head he concentrated. He appeared to be
on a cloth covered hard surface and secured in a star position.
He tried the bonds again, and again and in a fit of rage at their refusal to
even move, he angrily flexed and shook, trying to even to get them to budge.
There was a tut-tut sound.
Into his eye-line walked the girl he had been with the night before. Samantha,
but a very different looking girl from the one at whose flat he had arrived.
The night before she had appeared to be a rather hunched, frumpy girl,
outwardly appearing introverted, a little out of fashion and not at all the
sort of woman a studly hunk like himself (Honestly? That was how Brad saw
himself? Studly? Whatever happens from here on in, this guy deserves it)
would normally be seen with.
This girl – and it definitely was the same girl, was assured, well groomed, her
wavy hair brushed to fall away from her face, and she wore a fire-engine red
sheath dress that showed her figure in the most appealing sort of way.
“Good morning handsome and how are you this morning?” She greeted him. Her
voice was a silk purr, oozing sex, as she stood there looking down at him, with
her red lips curled in a smile that promised a thousand delights.
“Ooooh! Is that for me?” She cooed delightedly; Brad was responding to the wet
dream that stood before him. “It’s probably a good job I skipped breakfast.”
She laughed whimsically.
So by now Brad was confused. The archetypical jock was a straight forward kind
of guy, a find ‘em, fuck ‘em and forget ‘em type. He had arrived at Samantha’s
hoping to escort her to a local bar where the unwitting student would be a
participant in a dog-fight, competing against other less blessed girls to earn
Brad the prize, and screw the damage it did to her esteem.
And screwing is where it had all started to fall apart.
Answering the door to Brad had revealed Samantha to be part dressed and showing
off a promising rack. She’s invited him in, and as soon as he was in the door
Samantha had given him a beer and made to give the walking stud muffin a blow
job. (Brad’s IQ was only marginally higher than that of a fire-hydrant but
even he knew that a BJ was something you never passed up.)
Sadly, he realised he could not remember the cum shot.
Which considering the size of the mickey finn in his beer was not surprising.
Samantha had been concerned that perhaps she had over-done it but the big man
almost painted her tonsils before he eventually drifted off to dream of MVPs
and bowl rings.
Things began to get even stranger when two more girls appeared.
“Do you remember these ladies Brad?” Samantha asked him.
“No.” He told her his voice cracked from sleeping.
“You should Brad. This is Danni.” The brunette in the tight, painted-on jeans
and man’s shirt gave the secured beef-cake a little wave. “And this is Lori.”
Another brunette Lori wore a blue sun-dress, and she nodded in Brad’s
direction.
Lori and Danni drew up chairs and sat down, both of them upright and focussed
on the manly figure in front of them, Danni crossed her right leg over her
left.
Samantha drew her chair up but sat sideways on it because of the tight red
sheath she was wearing, and so that she could lean forwards to talk to their
prisoner.
“It would have been better if you had recognised them Brad, because it might
have worked in your favour.” She reached out and was idly stroking his skin –
shaved because he thought it looked better in the gym when he was working out.
“You see, we’re three of your escorts.
“You’ve taken both Lori and Danni to one of your dog-fights, just like you did
Pauline, Jean-Anne and Christine. Just like you were going to take me last
night.”
“But I guess you didn’t realise we talk, did you? I was waiting for your
invitation because I put myself where you could see me. And you fell for it.
“You have been a bad boy Brad.”
“Bad, Brad.” Lori and Danni repeated.
“A very bad boy.” Samantha’s hand was resting on Brad’s dick now. “Hurting my
friends. Holding them up for ridicule, in the name of your man-hood.” She gave
it a sharp twist.”
“Hey! I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it I had known how smoking hot you really
are!”
“No of course you wouldn’t. And I suppose we should thank you. If you hadn’t
done it then we wouldn’t have been able to come to terms with who we are. We
only did this_” Samantha indicates the red sheath, and lips and finger nails,
“For you Brad. But now we’ve done it we can do it any time we want – kind of
like our alter-egos? You know, Clark Kent and Superman?”
Brad looked at her puzzled. “You do know that Clark Kent is Superman in
disguise, don’t you Brad?”
Brad shook his head hesitantly, unsure of the right answer.
Giving a frustrated sigh Danni went on, “We only dressed like this for you so
you could see what you’re going to miss.” She told him.
“What do you mean going to miss? What are you going to do?” Brad asked worried,
at the turn of events.
“We’re going to eat you Brad.”
‘Well that’s not too bad’, Brad thought to himself, he wasn’t keen on
pussy-licking himself but a bit of oral action sounded appealing, especially if
that was what it took to get him out of this.
Samantha continued. “You’re such a fine hunk of meat that we have decided to
cook you and eat you.” She told him evenly.
“Wait! Cook me? What? Are you fucking crazy?!!” Brad struggled harder now. “You
don’t mean tha..? Let me up you fucking psycho-bitch!!”
Samantha’s hand curled around Brad’s ball-sack, and squeezed it hard, stopping
him in mid-rant. “You really are as dumb as a stump, aren’t you?” She said as
his back arched from the sudden agony.
“Never. Insult. Someone. Who. Has their fingers curled round your BALLS!!”
“We ARE going to cook you, and we ARE going to eat you. You are going to pay
for what you did to us, with your life. More than that you are going to pay
with your meat, your bones, your blood, your dick.” Samantha gave it another
wrench.
“So? So are you witches or something?” Brad asked fearfully (when he did read
porn Brad read some really strange shit).
“Fuck no!” Danni laughed. She leaned down towards him, “Oh, we can do magic
sure enough, but it’s the magic any woman can do when she wants to. But we’re
not witches.”
“We’re. Just. Hungry. Angry. Women.” Samantha told him as she leaned forwards
and bit his shoulder, her well-shaped and rather sharp teeth sinking deep into his
skin.
“Ooooow!!!! Fuck! You crazy fucking bitch!!!” There was a cool trickle of
something on his skin by the bite, and when Samantha rose, she wiped something
off her lip, sucking her finger into that red-lipped mouth.
“You still don’t get it do you Brad?” Lori laughed, “This isn’t going to end
well for you, so behave! If you do, we’ll be kind and we won’t hurt you anymore
than we have to. Piss us off and it will be bad for you. Really bad, Brad.”
“The problem is,” Lori said, sounding almost bored, “That we can’t decide how
we’re going to do it.”
“What do you mean?” Brad asked nervously.
“Well!” Lori went on. “We could boil you in a big pot like jungle cannibals
used to cook their missionaries.”
“Or we could stick a spit all the way up through you, through your tight,
male-privileged arse, and out through your mouth and roast you over an open
fire like the spit muffin that you are.” Danni smiled down at him.
“Or we could put you in an oven – trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and
roast you – then poke you with a fork and when the juices run clear we can take
you out and carve you up.”
Thick as pig-shit Brad was beginning to realise that this maybe wasn’t a joke.
“So? Which have you decided on?” He asked nervously.
“None of them.” Danni told him. Brad heaved a sigh of relief, before Danni went
on.
“We’re going to bake you in a pie Brad.” Samantha told him gleefully. “A big
Brad pie. We’ve got a huge pie dish, tons and tons of flour and butter and
eggs.”
“Gallons of milk,” Lori chipped in.
“Some large onions,” Danni told him.
“Two large bags of potatoes.” Lori said.
“And salt, and lots of good meaty stock.”
“And finally we’re going to make a crust and drape it over your bound form and
put all of that AND you in a big old wood fired oven to cook.” Samantha
finished before leaning in towards Brad.
“Now! It’s your choice, Brad.” He looked up at her. “It’s up to you as to
whether you go into the pie in one piece or several.”
And with that, leaving Brad secured naked on his board, the three gorgeous
women stood up and walked out of the room.
There was a lot of sounds from the other room as Brad listened intently.
There was chopping sounds. There were stirring sounds. Things being peeled.
Various beaters and mixers. A blender. The sound of pots boiling and water
beating poured. There was the sound of drinks being poured, music, vivacious
laughter, joking (Put simply all of the sounds of three women making a truck
load of stew fixings, a large amount of pastry, drinking wine and generally
having fun doing it.)
Brad dozed off.
He woke to the sound of women’s voices again.
Samantha, Lori and Danni were back and with them three more equally stunning
girls.
“You’ve already met Pauline, Jean-Anne and Christine haven’t you Brad?”
Samantha asked him.
Pauline – rubens-esque, a voluptuous red head with long curls flowing over her
shoulders looked down at him, she wore black leather trousers that looked like
they had been stitched onto her legs and full hips, while the thin mustard
coloured sweater emphasised her breasts. “Hi Brad!” She said lightly.
Jean-Anne waved at him and smiled sweetly. Tall and slim, some would have said
thin, she also went with black leather but her trousers were matched with a bustier that seriously helped her less than ample chest.
With a gulp, Christine asked, if they were still going to do it. The others
assured her that they were.
Her dark hair was cut in a Velma Dinkley page-boy cut, but there the
resemblance ended. Her cute smile wasn’t matched by the hard-eyed glare she
gave to the boy secured to the gurney in front of her. Black linen trousers and
a black cotton blouse made her look slimmer than she really was – not that she
was that heavy in the first place. But she was surprisingly sexy as she leaned
down and looked Brad in the face.
“I wanted them to spit roast you, you fucking scrotum, I wanted them to roast
you alive and I volunteered to turn the spit – very, very slowly.” She said.
Brad looked up at the anger in Christine’s face, “I suppose it’s too late to
say that I’m sorry?”
“Yes.” Samantha leaned in, taking Christine’s shoulders and drawing her away to
the kitchen.
“You see Brad,” Danni told him as they could hear the sound of wine being
poured, “We’re all so very angry with you. But now.” She said reaching behind
her, she took a glass of red wine and brought it to Brad’s lips. “It’s time for
the drinking to begin.”
It was drink or drown so Brad swallowed down the glass of wine. With an empty
stomach it didn’t take long for Brad to feel woozy, though another mild
sedative added to that effect.
When he came too this time Brad found himself lying on his back in a deep pan,
with a block under his hips lifting them up. His ankles were bent under him and
tied securely to his wrists (he did try), but his legs were spread
exposing his cock and balls to the assembled women.
“Relax.” Danni told him, lifting his limp dick out of the way. “This may sting
a bit though!” She said as she showed him a large syringe like device.
“What the fuck!!!” Brad slurred.
“This?” She laughed, “It’s just a bit of stuffing.” And with that she took the
big-bore device and stuck it into Brad’s ass. “Some riced potatoes and finely
chopped vegetables.”
His back arched as the cold steel nozzle pierced his sphincter, then again as
he felt the mixture fill his bowels.
“Won’t it taste of his shit?” Jean-Anne asked.
“Not really.” Samantha assured him, “We cleaned him out last night while he was
under the sedative.”
“That was a job, that was.” Lori laughed as she walked past to the refrigerator.
“It’s no fun manhandling a big guy like this when he’s totally relaxed, and
you’re trying to stick a hose up his ass.”
She took a large bundle of pastry out and turned back to the kitchen table.
“Believe me though, that is one clean puppy!”
Two more applications of stuffing seemed to satisfy Danni and she took the
wedge from under Brad’s hips so he now lay down in the pan.
“Ladies?” Samantha indicated the bowls of ingredients on the table, and they
all took one and started scattering the contents around Brad in the bottom of
the pie-dish.
The wine was beginning to wear off and realising that the oven was getting
closer Brad started babbling and pleading with the girls, trying to get them to
release him from the baking tray.
“Can it Brad!” Samantha told him, “It’s way too late for that that!” And she
stuffed an apple into his mouth.
Christine looked at the apple, “Classic cannibal roast, I like it.”
Samantha looked at her. “You studied this sort of thing?”
“Of course.” Christine told her shrugging her shoulders, “I study. It’s what I
do.”
“And?” Samantha asked again.
“I’m sort of looking forwards to this.”
“What about you others?” Samantha looked around.
The others paused at her question. Then Danni, after looking around, said, “I
don’t think any of us would be here if we weren’t ready to go through with it.”
Samantha thought for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes.”
She nodded again, “Yes. I can dig that.” She said emphatically.
With the baking tray full of potatoes, chopped onions and other vegetables,
evenly distributed and pushed up against and under the unfortunate jock, it was
time for the girls to unfold the pastry.
Carefully they lifted over Brad before they lowered it down all over him like a
blanket. Only the boy’s head was left uncovered. But they each took care to
carefully pinch the edges of the pie.
Samantha took a knife and made several holes in the pastry blanket – avoiding
piercing the imprisoned Brad, before taking a funnel and using the holes to
pour gravy into the pie’s interior. The hot gravy caused Brad to squeal through
his gag, but his discomfort made the women laugh.
Next Jean-Anne, Lori and Danni took cups of egg wash and brushed it all over
the short crust pastry.
Soon they were done.
And it was time.
Standing three on each side of the baking tray/pan, they each took hold of one
of the handles on front of her and lifted it.
Slightly built Danni struggled a bit with the load, especially as the pie kept
wriggling as they carried him. But it was only a moment before she could rest
her corner of the tray on the lip of the oven – the heat blooming out through
the open door. Once that was done Danni moved to the back and helped to push
the pie dish inside the oven.
“MPPPH! MPPPPH!” The pie screamed as the door shut, but although several of the
assembled girls paused thoughtfully, none made any effort to try to stop the
baking.
“Drinkies?” Samantha asked cheerfully, as she held up a bottle.
Even though the muffled grunts of the struggling Brad – Baking Brad now – continued
through the closed door, no one paid them any notice as glasses were filled.
“How long ‘til he’s cooked?” Christine asked.
“Well it’s going to take a long time, four or five hours. We’re starting off
with a low heat, so that he cooks, but doesn’t over cook the pastry, then we’ll
increase the heat at the end.”
It may have been a ‘low’ heat but Baking Brad was stifled by it. The apple
jammed into his mouth didn’t help, but try as he might, he struggled to get air
into his lungs. As might be expected he was panicky but tied as he was there
was little he could do, especially with the heavy blanket of pastry pressing
him down into the tray. His chest rose and fell rapidly but with each desperate
breath he drew less and less oxygen, so little he was starting to suffer from
hypoxia – a lack of oxygen to the brain, Brad was dead but didn’t realise it
yet. He’d stopped trying to yell through his gag, now he stopped struggling.
Light headed from the lack of oxygen he laid his head down and drifted off to
sleep and Brad the studly jock slipped from being man into being meat. And
deliciously, mouth-wateringly smelling meat at that.
“Hmmmmmm!” Christine said suddenly, putting her Cards Against Humanity hand down, “Something is starting to smell really good!”
Samantha checked her watch – shouldn’t be long now.
All afternoon the girls had patiently tended the wood fire under the over
checking the temperature, resisting the urge to open the door and check the
pie. It had been an afternoon of chatting and card games, some nice wines and
hanging out. The planning of Brad’s demise had brought them together; the
eventual plan had cemented them as a group. Now they were all bound by an act
of murder, and soon they would deepen that bond with one of the oldest taboos –
cannibalism.
And it was time.
The gurney was brought, the girls - their glam make up and finery gone,
exchanged for sweats and t-shirts – dragged the pan out onto it.
Baked Brad came out feet first. The pastry shone from the egg-wash and when
Lori tapped it, it sounded solid. Brad’s face when it eventually emerged, was
browned and the now baked apple was still between his lips, even though those
lips had been pulled back in his deathly rictus.
There was a hush on the room. They had done it.
Not only had they entrapped Brad, but they had drugged him, imprisoned him and
killed and cooked him. Each girl looked at the other, searching each other’s
faces for a sign of hesitancy, looking for a pause – there was none. If not
eager there was a common resolve to see this through.
Plates were brought, knives and forks. Serving spoons. A carving knife –
freshly sharpened.
“Cut it here!” Jean-Anne suggested, indicating a spot where the pastry dipped
over Brad’s thighs. “There’ll be plenty of meat there.”
“Just meat?” Lori asked, “Or maybe his ‘meat’?” She said slyly.
“I thought Samantha had reserved that.” Lori told her, “I want to try his thigh
meat.”
It was done. The pastry was thick, but the underneath was still soft. The thigh
meat carved easily, the knife making quick work of Brad’s muscular thighs. Lori
spooned some of the vegetables, and the gravy onto her plate. Danni brought
Samantha a large dish and more meat was piled on that.
The girls watched as Lori brought a forkful of Brad to her mouth.
Placing it between her lips, she explored the taste, chewing it slowly. The
others watched her intently.
Her neutral expression slowly changed to a smile as she chewed more vigorously
before swallowing.
“Well?” Danni asked as the piece of meat went down.
“Tastes like chicken.” Lori laughed. Before the other girls could react, she
laughed. “No! No! I’m joking. It’s doesn’t taste like chicken.
“It’s_ It’s_ I don’t know. It’s like pork but not like pork.” She struggled to
describe it. “It’s such a delicious taste, the texture’s fine – we nailed the
cooking, it’s so tender. But it’s like nothing I’ve ever eaten.”
By now the others were spearing chunks off the serving dish.
They ate in silence, each one of them enjoying the meat, enjoying the taste,
savouring the cannibal act.
“I can see,” Christine finally observed, “Why cannibalism is so taboo.”
“Why’s that?” Danni asked.
“If everyone knew how delicious humans were, we’d eat ourselves extinct.”
“Damned straight!” Samantha told her, “This is incredible!” Soon there were
murmurs of agreement all around the kitchen, the table was set and the
cannibals sat down to dinner.
For a long time, there was nothing but intense dining. Some ‘pass the salts’, a
few ‘refill?’s, more than a few burps and subsequent ‘pardon me’s (all of
these were well brought-up girls) and the occasional, drawn out, heartfelt
‘mmmmmmmmmmmmm’s.
Eventually pie crust, vegetables, gravy and baked Brad were consumed, some
girls (fuck the diet!) pushed themselves back from the table in that
“I am never, ever, ever going vegan after that!” Pauline declared as she
loosened the tie at the waistband of her sweat pants.
“Is it bad that the worst thing about becoming a cannibal is the amount of
washing up?” Danni groaned as she tried to stand up.
Samantha and Jean-Anne stood up with her, and they went through into the
kitchen.
Brad’s pan sat on the gurney. The pastry had been largely cut away showing the
ruin of the jock’s once tall, body. Both thighs, and arms had been largely
stripped. There were large amounts of meat gone from his chest and flanks.
White bones showed in many places, nestling in what was left of the potatoes
and other vegetables, stained by the rich gravy. His head and his cock remained
untouched.
Working carefully in the large kitchen, three of the women washed the dinner
things, while the other three extricated Brad’s remains from the pie tray and
stripped the flesh down into a pile and then into sealable freezer bags. His
internal organs were ground in a blender, and the pulp flushed down the toilet.
The head and the bones went into a wood chipper in the shed. The remains from
that were thrown into the old house’s furnace. Then the ash would be scattered
at a number of locations.
“What are we going to do with that?” Samantha asked, looking at Brad’s cock as
it sat on a plate.
“I thought you were going to have it?” Lori told her.
“I’ve tasted it already.” Samantha replied, making a blow job motion, which
made the other’s laugh.
“Who hasn’t?” Pauline replied dryly. The girls all looked at each other before
laughing.
“So? Are we just going to throw it away?”
It was Christine who took a steak knife and sliced the offending article into
six smaller pieces. Jean-Anne took some cocktail sticks and impaled each piece.
“Cannibal Gals!” She said as she took a piece and held it up.
“Cannibal Gals!” The other’s responded, before putting the sliced cock into
their mouths.
“Still think it tastes like chicken,” Lori told them after she had swallowed
it.
All in all, the weekend was considered to have been a success, and though –
when Brad’s disappearance became news there were some tense moments, it was
resolved that they would do it again.
6 months later
Justin woke with a dry mouth, it was funny, he did not recall drinking enough
to give him a hang-over, but he must have. He went to roll over but couldn’t
move.
He was hand-cuffed he realised as he opened his eyes.
There was a girl sitting watching him – Kirsten? Kristin? Christine! She’d been
at the bar the previous night.
“Hello Justin.” She said smiling, though the smile did not go all of the way to
her eyes.