Only Cannibals In the Building.

by Scipio42

What?! Someone will do something similar – eventually. Intended as pastiche only, only the vaguest similarities to characters in something else with a similar name are intended.

Ethel Hernandez – late twenties, about 5 ft 4, a meaty Latina woman (about 120 pounds), with good hips, a noticeably jiggly bosom and an enticing ass – Prince would have wanted to pack a lunch and spend some time there, but Ethel always thought that that was his loss - walked through the hallway of the Asteria away from the elevator that had brought her up to the floor where she lived.

There was a smell of something cooking as she got closer to her door. Something was cooking, roasting most likely, something meaty and delicious smelling. The mouth-watering aroma filled the hall; it was no surprise that Ethel’s mouth was watering. Just as she was wondering what it was that was being cooked, she ran into two of the other residents on her floor.

Henry Gray and Olivier Porteus. Sometimes she wondered if the two old white guys were gay. They were always together, in and out of each other’s apartments. Okay, Henry – who had played a famous crime fighting chef on TV, might not be, she had seen him around with female companions – though none of them seemed to last long, but she was convinced that Olivier was. The shorter of the two, he had made his mark in the theatre, or maybe, she wondered had the theatre made its mark on him. He was overly dramatic, and a little self-absorbed, but she told herself they were harmless.

They stopped her at the door of her aunt’s apartment, where she was living. The Asteria wasn’t cheap, oh sure, some of the apartments were rent-controlled, but they were still beyond her means. Fortunately, her aunt never used hers. One day Ethel would tell her that she was staying there, but ‘til then she was effectively squatting – at least until she found enough work to find her own place.

Work. It wasn’t that Ethel wasn’t looking for work, she was, sort of. But she was trying to make a name for herself as a podcaster. Ethel was currently doing a cooking podcast – exploring the way cooks in New York were melding all the different culinary influences in the city.

It was a hard market; there were so many good podcasts out there. But, she reasoned, she only needed someone to pick it up and she would be where she wanted to be, and she could move out.

However it appeared that Henry and Olivier were looking to take some of her time up.

“Ethel!” Henry called to her, “We need your assistance.”

“Mine?!” She knew the two guys from about, but this was the first time they’d ever asked for her ‘assistance’.

“Yes.” Olivier confirmed with exaggerated gestures of his hands, as if he were spouting Shakespeare not addressing a neighbour, “Only we heard your podcast on Hawaiian sauces. And I said to Henry that you’d be the perfect person to help us with a project!”

Ethel looked at them, puzzled. The two men went to either side of her and guided her back down the hallway towards Henry’s apartment.

“You’ll be perfect,” Henry told her, “With your knowledge, how can you not be?”

“Wow!” Ethel said as they entered the apartment, “You have so much room in here!”

“He’s been here for so long,” Olivier told her, “Not quite long enough to be an original inhabitant, but close enough.” There was a hint of friendly snark in the comment.

“Oh, you’re only a couple of months behind me!” Henry returned the compliment, and the snark, “At least I don’t look like I was built at the same time as the Asteria.”

“So what did you want me to help you with?” Ethel noticed that delicious aroma she had noticed earlier seemed to be coming from Henry’s kitchen.

“This way.” Olivier turned and with a flourish indicated they go through into the kitchen.

“OH MY GOD!” Ethel’s exclamation was a loud mix of shock and horror.

On the table in front of her, on a large serving tray, resting on a trolley,, lying on a bed of green leaves, decorated with various salad greens and tropical fruits, was the cooked body of a woman. She was naked, kind of obviously, lying on her front, with her ankles pull up behind her. They were tied to her wrists, which were pulled back, by kitchen twine. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was asleep. She was plump and her generous breasts lay underneath her squidged out like air balloons.

“That’s …!” Ethel gasped.

“Janet Koslovsky from 4D.” Olivier finished for her.

“You’ve …!”

“Roasted her,” Henry finished the question as he came to stand on Ethel’s left-hand side, “You can probably tell from the pineapple and other tropical garnishes, that it’s in a Hawaiian style.”

“Why?”

“Because she wouldn’t divorce Brad as he wanted her to, so he and his friends are having a luau style feast and Janet is the guest of honour.” Olivier was moving around making little adjustments to the dressing.

“Is this the sort of thing you do regularly?” Ethel asked, with some difficulty, she was still trying to process what she was seeing.

“Not as much as we used to,” Henry told her.

“Oh no!” Olivier agreed, “In the Good Old Days, we were chewing through the delicious and delectable of New York at a rate of one a week. Barbecues, stews, goulashes, roasts, pies – you name it and we’d sit down to a girl based meal – with friends every Friday night. Henry has a very fine touch when it comes to stews, his dumplings are to die for!”

“While Olivier’s pies are heaven wrapped in pastry.” Henry told the still stunned Ethel as he wrapped a chloroform soaked napkin across her nose and mouth. “But you don’t really need to know that.” He told the young woman as she folded up on the floor.

“Chloroform?” Olivier observed.

“Old school.” Henry told him.

“Where do you even get that stuff?” Olivier asked as they lifted Ethel and carried her into the living room.

Ethel came to sometime later, she had been stripped naked, handcuffed and gagged and then crammed into a cramped cage in a corner of the quiet apartment. It was dark outside so she’d been out for at least an hour, probably longer.

The door opened and her two captors entered. They appeared to be in a very good mood.

“Well!” Olivier exclaimed with his usual dramatic flourish of his hands, “That went well!”

“Janet made a lovely roast,” Henry commented, “I think Brad was impressed.”

“He certainly appeared to be!”

“Drink?” Henry asked.

“What have you got?”

“I have a nice shiraz.” Henry said as he walked through the apartment and past Ethel’s cage, ignoring her.

“Would that not be better saved for later?” Olivier asked, theatrically looking sideways at Ethel.

Henry looked out of the kitchen and over at Ethel. “Oh! Yes, maybe. I have a Californian Sauvignon Blanc which is quite nice.”

“That will do nicely.”

The two men enjoyed their glass of wine, as they sat in front of captive Ethel.

“Crisp!” Oliver declared after inhaling the aroma of the wine.

“Good fruity over-tones.” Henry commented, before both men simultaneously brought their glasses together in a toast “Janet Koslovsky!”

“A lovely woman, but a much better roast!” Olivier finished. As he did so, they both looked at Ethel.

The cage was small around her and with her knees underneath her and her hands cuffed behind her, the plump Latina was beginning to cramp up in pain. Her arms ached, her shoulders ached, her knees and shins were resting on the grill of the cage. The pain was adding to the anger building up inside her. How dare these two old white guys do this to her.

If they intended to harm her, she told herself, she was not going to go easily.

After a few minutes under regarding their captive, Olivier stood up, “It’s no good Henry, I find myself moved by the charms of the decidedly voluptuous Ethel.”

Henry who appeared to be enjoying the glass of wine, waved his hand in dismissal. “Be my guest.” He told the smaller man.

Olivier undid his trousers and dropped them to the floor before he stepped out of them. Ethel was stunned. While he was certainly the smaller of the two men, barely coming up to Henry’s shoulder, he made up for that in another way.

Jutting up between his legs was the biggest dick Ethel had ever seen – live. It was as if the man had a third leg, It was long and while it wasn’t very thick, it would certainly do some damage. When he moved towards her, she knew that it was her that he intended to use it on. That knowledge didn’t make her situation any easier.

Ethel struggled but the cage didn’t allow her any freedom to move, and her ass was in a very vulnerable position.

There was the sound of a catch opening behind her. Then she felt Olivier’s hands pressing her thighs apart. Try as she might, there was no way she could avoid his attention, even so when the head of the old cannibal-actor’s cock actually touched her, she jumped.

“Hmmmmmf!!!!”

“Now!” Olivier declared when he was all the way inside her, “This reminds me …” he began thrusting.

“Bebe Williams?” He exclaimed. “Do you remember her?”

“No.” Henry grunted.

“That’s right,” Olivier said, still fucking away at Ethel’s confined cunt. “She was only ever Broadway, never TV. But boy! Could that gal fuck. She’d do a matinee show and then fuck until it was last call for the evening show, she’d do the whole show and then come back for more. She always said, ‘it gave her lover time to recover’. Wattagal!”

Through her pain and her anger, Ethel fleeting realized that the older man’s prick was penetrating her far deeper than any she had had before.

“Now, I bet you thought Henry and I are gay, don’t you, Ethel?” Olivier asked her. “Well old Henry there is a straight as they come, but me, well, I’ll fuck anything with a pulse. Henry will not touch anyone we’re about to eat – but that’s okay, many women are so turned on by watching cannibals cook their prey he never has to worry about getting laid. Which is a shame for you, because he’s as big as I am.

“I, on the other hand,” he said, heavily emphasizing the ‘I’, “Have been eyeing you since you moved in, just waiting for a chance to get inside your pants.”

“And I have to say,” He told the captive girl as he shot deep inside her, “It was worth it. It’s just a shame it’s a one-off. Unless … Can we keep her?” He asked in a childish voice.

“No.” Henry told him, “We committed to this one.”

“Ohhh! That’s such a shame.” Olivier sounded genuinely sad, “You do have the most delicious ass, my dear. Still that’s a good thing, I’m sure the rest of you will be equally so.”

By now Ethel was beside herself, she rocked and rattled the cage as she struggled, ineffectively, against her confinement.

Henry came and stood beside her cage. “I’m afraid you’re going to hurt yourself Ethel, so this,” he held up a syringe, “Will calm you down a little.”

The injection was painless, and the effect rapid. Ethel suddenly felt very detached. She was still confined, still handcuffed and gagged, but her anxiousness subsided immediately and she calmed down.

“It always amazes me how quickly that works.” Olivier observed, his voice in Ethel’s ears sounding tinny and distant, distorted by the drug.

“Yes. One of Carlo’s finest creations.” Henry commented. “She’s completely docile now and that just makes the whole process so much easier.”

“It’s a shame he died in that shoot-out.” Olivier replied, “The man was a genuine talent.”

With the drug in full effect, the two men began to extract Ethel from her cage. Just then there was a knock on the door of the apartment. Checking who it was, Henry turned to Olivier and told him, “The Guest of Honor is here!”

Even in her drug-dominated state Ethel was surprised to see her aunt Marcie enter the room.

The older woman was supposed to be in Sheboygan performing in “A Streetcar Named Desire”.

“Well, you free-loading little slut? Surprised?” Aunt Marcie Hernandez was a good looking woman for her age, though it was obvious that she was her age, but she still looked good. She took off her Russian fur coat and placed it on a chair and stood over Ethel, now laid out on the floor. Her stiletto-heeled red shoes inches from her niece’s face, Aunt Marcie leaned down and told the captive, “I talked to your mom, she’s tired of your sponging ass as well, so we told Henry and Olivier here that they could have you.”

Ethel could see the two men grinning in the background. They turned towards the kitchen, while Marcie sat down so that she could talk to Ethel.

“It’s very sad,” she said not unkindly, “If you’d asked I’d have probably let you use the apartment. If you’d gotten a job, instead of this pod-cast malarkey, no one would have said anything but no, Ethel had to do it her way.”

Henry brought Aunt Marcie a glass of wine, she thanked him. “Your mom and I go way back with Henry and Olivier – has he fucked you yet?” She smiled, as if remembering. “Cannibal dinners here in the Asteria, were a regular thing,” She continued, “Your mom met your dad here, she used to say that it was love at first bite.

Aunt Marcie stood up, “Cannibalism is real turn-on – it’s a shame you’ll never get to understand that – but I’ve had a helluva flight, and I’m horny as hell, so I’m going drag to Henry into the bedroom, bang his brains out and after that we’re going to cook and eat that sorry ass.”



An hour later, Henry – looking well satisfied, Olivier – still naked from the waist down, and Aunt Marcie – wearing just her slip, and also looking quite satisfied, hoisted Ethel - face down - onto the island in the spacious kitchen of the apartment.

The two men bustled about while Marcie stood off to one side drinking wine.

“You should roast her alive,” she suggested, “As punishment.”

Olivier went and put his arm around Marcie’s shoulder. “Marcie, dear, I will not tell you how to play Blanche –if you desist from telling us how to cook. Though to be honest, no one will ever top Vivien Leigh,” he said hurriedly, “The woman was just divine! How are we going to cook Ethel, Henry?”

“Oh we’re going to roast her,” the other man announced, causing Ethel who was gradually becoming more aware to give a small squeak of protest around her gag. “It would be a shame not to, but whether she’ll be alive or not, is up to Ethel.”

“So?” Aunt Marcie asked.

“Most people don’t realize,” Henry began, reverting to his TV Chef role, “That you can eat nearly all of a girl – except for her screams. But if you do a whole roast you’re depriving yourself of so many options.”

“There’s nothing awful about offal.” Olivier quipped placing a torn up French stick into a blender and reducing it to breadcrumbs.

“Okay! I need you to stop her from moving.” Marcie stepped forwards and held her niece’s hands as Henry removed the cuffs they’d put on her and bound both wrists tightly with twine, Next he tied her ankles loosely, and pulled her legs back, before tying them to Ethel’s wrists,

“Let’s get her onto her back.” And the other two helped him turn her over.

Ethel now lay on a platter on the island, with her bound wrists and ankles under her, pushing her hips and her pussy upwards. Her round tits lay on her chest and she looked like nothing but a very delicious looking Thanksgiving turkey ready for cooking.

Henry placed a knife against Ethel’s skin, just below the bottom of her sternum. She squealed weakly, trying to tell him to stop, don’t do it.

The needle-sharp tip of the knife plunged down. Blood spurted onto the surface of the island and onto the floor. Marcie reached forwards and scooped a drop onto her finger. “Definitely a Hernandez!” she said, “Just a hint of spice, like her mom and me!”

Olivier had a mop ready.

The knife continued until it reached the bottom of Ethel’s stomach – her muffled screams marking every inch of its path. The opened cavity was full of her internal organs which Henry swiftly scooped into a stainless steel pail that Olivier held for him. Once again blood splashed and Marcie stood back to avoid getting any on her slip.

While Ethel writhed from the agony, Henry cut the numerous connections, tying them off with kitchen twine, allowing the freed organs to fall into the bucket. He left Ethel’s lungs in place, so that she was still alive, but the girl was slipping into shock, her consciousness ebbing away.

The two men, working quickly and with practice, separated the kidneys and the liver and diced them before putting them along with the bread crumbs, a pair of diced onions, two crushed cloves of garlic and some diced tofu back into the cavity.

“Don’t forget … ” Henry said, looking at Marcie, in the same way that he used to address his TV audience, “Salt and pepper to taste!” More of the stuffing went into Ethel’s tits, which Henry sliced underneath, scooped out the fatty mammary tissue and refilled with the dressing.

Once that was done, Henry removed Ethel’s gag – replacing that with a classic red apple. While he was doing that, Olivier was sewing up the gashes in Ethel’s belly and breasts. Marcie watched this, marvelling at the neatness and precision of his stitches.

Within minutes Ethel was sewn up, her body was brushed down, not with Hawaiian sauce but with a store-bought Jack Daniels sauce, that dribbled down across her tits and smooth flanks. A garnish of a Jerusalem artichoke went up inside of the roast’s pussy and – in a homage to classic cannibals a carrot was added in her ass-hole.

The unfortunate Ethel was still conscious and moaning weakly as she was placed inside the huge oven that Henry had had installed so many years ago.

Marcie, watching the whole intricate process closely, observed how the two men worked in cooperation, each man complimenting the other as they prepared the roast. They were good at what they did, probably professional standards, and the main thing was that they enjoyed it.

That was obvious because both men were half-erect, as the door shut and Henry announced – she’ll be ready in about four hours.

“Fuck! That made me horny again!” Marcie said as she looked in through the oven door at her niece, “Four hours you say? Gentlemen? Shall we …?”



Three hours later, and a lot of surprisingly athletic sex (for two older guys) later, Marcie, Henry and Olivier had dressed for dinner and were welcoming the rest of the guests – Ethel’s mom, her dad, and her other aunt - Selina (the three sisters were originally a song-and-dance trio called the Hernadez Sisters, before Marcie – Marcella - quit and went legit).

Cocktails were served and aperitif – before the roast was presented.

Ethel was magnificent.

She sat on the serving tray on a bed of green leaves, with the sticky-sweet, dark sauce glaze pooling between her breasts and running down between her thighs. Once she had come out of the oven =, she had been decorated with pineapple rings – one on each breast and a line down her torso over the stitches that Olivier had so meticulously completed, and cherry tomatoes finished the garnish.

She was placed on the table along with the side dishes – various sauces, corn, beans and other vegetables. It was an incredible display and none of the guests could remember a finer one.

Ethel’s father was served the cunt filet, which he devoured, and that was the signal to begin.

They began to eat.

And eat.

And eat.

And eat.

Henry sliced a deep gash in Ethel’s stomach – across wise, not length wise as in his original cut. The stuffing welled up in the incision. While people spooned some of this onto their plates, Olivier was carefully slicing Ethel’s thighs, carving long strips off them and placing them on a plate. The diners took slices and added them to their own plates along with the stuffing and vegetables. More of the glaze was available.

Often, in the past, at cannibal dinner parties there was banter and conversation, sometimes it was professional, sometimes it was flirtatious and sometimes it was just downright licentious. There was very little conversation this time. Aside from the odd ‘pass the sweetcorn, please’, or ‘more thigh meat?’ the diners were quiet, purposeful in their consumption of their neighbour, niece, daughter.

Her hands and feet were detached and set aside for a future stock. Her arms were stripped of flesh, Aunt Marcie picking one forearm up and eating from it like you would with corn on a cob. Aunt Selina was happy with slices from Ethel’s sides, and her mom took one breast – complete with pineapple ring, set it on her plate and devoured it.

However hungry they are, and these cannibals were very hungry – to dine on your own daughter/niece at the table of two such famous New York cannibals was the kind of invitation that led to strict fasting beforehand, but even so six cannibals could not completely strip a carcase as meaty as that of Ethel’s. So when all had eaten their fill – and they had made a good effort in that area, the roast was returned to the kitchen, where she would be made up into doggy bags.

Once that was gone – and as all of the guests knew how an Asteria dinner party was supposed to end – the guests began a lazy full-bellied fuck session.