Erotica Con Carnal

Gynophagia and Cannibal Erotica


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The kitchen was the largest room in Opal's spacious home, and it still felt almost cramped. The work surfaces were roomy enough, but they didn't leave much floor, and neither did the large ovens, the indoor grill with a removable barbecue hood, and the oversized pots and racks of every implement imaginable.

As cluttered as it was, it was a tasteful and organized clutter... charming, like everything else in Opal's house. Jasmine had never been in the kitchen before, and the only thing that surprised her about it was the size. It made a kind of sense, though. While Opal's dinner parties--which she'd also never been to--were legendary in their circle of friends... at least, that part of the circle that had gone to them.

It was more like Opal's circle, really. There had always been a part of Opal's life that was separate from her friendship with Jasmine, even as more and more of Jasmine's life had seemed to revolvea round Opal . They'd been friends for almost a year, ever since Opal spotted Jasmine shopping for fresh vegetables at the farmer's market in town. They'd struck up a conversation, and then exchanged numbers, and there had followed a friendship that bordered on courtship as the wealthy Opal had lavished attention and gifts on her, serving as her passport to the sort of life she'd always dreamed of living.

There had been some awkward moments early on during their friendship, as Jasmine suspected the older woman might have been interested in her in a physical sense from a few surreptitious glances she'd noticed, but Opal had never acted on her inclinations and gradually Jasmine relaxed about it. She was in the prime of her life and she decided to find the attention from the older woman flattering.

They were a strikingly different pair, physically. Opal was tall and thin, with long, clever fingers and platinum blonde hair in a flapper bob. She had a flapper's sparse frame, too: all angles and no curves. Jasmine was short and plump, with wide hips, an overhanging tummy, and a round bottom. She was blessed or cursed with a chest that required architectural levels of support.

"So what do you think?" Opal asked Jasmine, pouring the buxom young woman another glass of her excellent red wine as they sat on high stools at the main prep table.

"It's amazing," Jasmine said. She giggled and looked around, sipping the wine. "I don't know how you manage it... I'd get lost."

"Oh, I hope not," Opal said. She laughed, a low and throaty sound that made Jasmine a little uncomfortable but also a little... curious, in spite of herself. Opal reached over and patted her on the knee. "I'm not done with you yet, my dear."

"So... why don't you show me where I'll be staying?" Jasmine said. She suddenly wanted a little space to herself, and a chance to unwind. "Since the dinner isn't until tomorrow night..."

"Well, actually, you're going to be in here," Opal said. "We've got a lot of work to do before then."

"You mean you want me to help? But Opal, you're such a fantastic cook... I don't know what I could possibly add," Jasmine said.

"Just be your luscious self, dear," Opal said, giving her an indulgent smile and reaching out to cup the side of her face. "That's all you have to do."

"But, really, I'm hopeless in a kitchen," Jasmine said. "I always have been. Anything I touch ends up a disaster."

"You'll cook beautifully with my help," Opal said. She got up and carried the empty bottle and wine glasses over to a sideboard, then said, "If you would please hop up on the table, we'll get started."

"Hop up...?" Jasmine repeated.

"Yes, dear," Opal said. "Just climb on up."

"I don't understand," Jasmine said. "You want me..."

"It's a very simple request, dear," Opal said. She was still smiling, showing her small, perfectly white teeth.

"Um, okay," Jasmine said.

She stood up, feeling a little light-headed as the wine seemed to slosh around in her skull. She used the rungs of the stool she'd been sitting on like they were a stepladder and clambered up onto the high work table, turning around and sitting on the edge of it with her legs hanging off.

"All the way, please," Opal said, gesturing with her hands for Jasmine to scoot back. "Towards the middle and lie down."

"Why, what's going on?" Jasmine asked, even as she complied. Opal's voice was so low and soothing, so friendly... not just friendly. She's coming on to you, Jasmine thought. She's finally doing it.

She didn't know how she felt about that. Jasmine was nineteen and Opal was supposedly over forty, though she barely looked a decade older than Jasmine herself. She'd never had a lesbian experience. But Opal had, through her kind words and gentle reinforcement, made her appreciate her own amply curved--no, fat--body, and she'd exposed Jasmine to music and art and other forms of culture she'd never experienced in high school.

Jasmine had agreed to put starting college in order to stay closer to Opal, trusting her at her word when Opal said her future would be taken care of. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

I love Opal, she realized. I really do.

"I love you, Opal," she said as she leaned back, reclining on the table and spreading her arms and legs wide, sprawling across it. Whatever came next, she was ready for it... as long as it happened before she sobered a little. She could deal with it sober afterwards, but she wanted to be at least tipsy.

"That's so sweet," Opal said. She was right next to the table now. Jasmine had lost track of things for a moment, or she hadn't heard Opal's sandals clattering on the stone floor somehow. She slipped something over Jasmine's hand. "I'm certain I'm going to love you, too."

Jasmine realized her left wrist had been bound with a leather strap as Opal similarly bound her right one.

"Opal?" she said, suddenly questioning whether she really was drunk enough for anything. Opal had a forceful personality, but Jasmine would never have expected bondage from the socialite. But then, from whom did one expect bondage? "I'm not sure about this," she said as Opal went around to her legs, pulled off her shoes, and then bound her legs by the ankles. Opal ducked beneath the table and there was a sound of a crank turning and the leather bonds pulled taut, pulling Jasmine's limbs into the shape of an X.

"That's fine, Jasmine, dear," Opal said, straightening up and brushing some of her hair back into place. She grinned at the restrained girl. "I'm quite sure enough for both of us. I have been since the moment I first spotted you in the market." She chuckled as if at a private joke. "I pick up more girls at the market. Somebody could be making a killing."

"I... I trust you," Jasmine said, making up her mind to just go with it all. Opal had enriched her life so much, and now she'd promised that Jasmine could be at one of her ultra-exclusive dinners... it seemed like they were on the cusp of something huge. She didn't want to ruin that.

Opal looked at her, her eyes tracing the contours of Jasmine's body.

"That really is adorable," she said finally, then turned and walked off towards the other end of the kitchen. She came back in a few moments holding a gleaming stainless steel carving knife. Jasmine tensed. What was this? "Ordinarily," Opal said, "I would do this with a scissors, for added safety, but since you trust me... well, it's more fun for me this way, and this really is one of my favorite parts of the process. Hold perfectly still."

Jasmine had to turn her head away and squeeze her eyes shut as Opal came closer and closer with the gleaming blade, but she barely felt a pressure passing down the length of her leg as her stocking split open, leaving her skin untouched. With the practiced care of an expert skinner, Opal bared Jasmine's legs. She cut away the red dress she herself had purchased with more of a flourish. Even with the very good knife, Jasmine's bra was more of a challenge... she had to be both mechanic and surgeon to remove it.

Finally, Jasmine lay revealed before her, wearing nothing but her surprisingly sodden panties.

"And I was almost worried you wouldn't enjoy this," Opal said, looking down at her with something more like approval than arousal on her face. "That's good. That's very good. It improves the taste so much." She was so clinical, so distant about it. Jasmine didn't think Opal sounded aroused herself, though there was a kind of hunger in her eyes. "That's the prime cut, you know," she said, pointing the knife blade between Jasmine's legs. "The filet mignon, as it were... not so much the racy bits as the meat behind it, where the muscles come together... though the whole affair does make for a unique presentation when carefully removed whole."

"Removed?" Jasmine repeated.

Opal had confused her with the talk of cuts and meat. There was something ever so slightly exciting about being talked about in such terms, as if she were nothing more than a slab of meat... but even as she felt that, she knew intellectually that it was objectifying and horribly sexist.

Was it still sexist if another woman said it? Jasmine couldn't work that out. And Opal was so flat, so matter-of-fact about it... like it was literally true, like there was nothing sexual about it. Did that make it better or worse?

"Oh, do not fret, dear Jasmine," Opal said. "I'm planning on preparing you whole--live, even--so there will be no need to break your lovely skin until you're long past the point of carrying about such things. There is a kind of pleasure in butchering another woman, in breaking down a beautiful body into joints and chops, but it's a different kind of pleasure than I want from you."

It's some weird roleplay thing, Jasmine thought... but even so, it wasn't something she was comfortable with. Pleasure in butchering women?

"I don't like this, Opal," she said.

"My dear, I don't think you understand your position," Opal said, leaning in close to her. "So let me make this abundantly clear to you: you are meat. Meat to be cooked, served, and eaten at my table. Do you understand?"

"I don't... that's crazy," Jasmine said. "You can't..."

"I do it on a monthly basis, at least," Opal said. "Though I frequently dine on a bit of femme in between my little get-togethers. Not all of them are such a production as this one will be. You are quite the dish, dear... or at least you will be, when I get through with you."

"Somebody will..."

"Somebody will what?" Opal asked. "Or even more to the point, who is somebody? Over the past year as I've brought you in closer and closer, you've drawn further and further away from your family and your old friends... at this point, you're almost completely cut off from everybody but me."

"But... I'm your friend," Jasmine protested, seeing nothing but deadly seriousness in Opal's face.

"My friend? You are meat. To be specific, you are my meat, bought and paid for... or did you think all those gifts, all the money and the tickets and the clothing, were free?"

"I thought... I thought you wanted me," Jasmine said.

Opal threw back her head and laughed. When she looked back down at Jasmine, the expression on her face was something Jasmine had never seen on her... unrestrained, unabashedly joyful craving. She was still smiling, wider than ever, and light danced in her eyes like fire.

"Jasmine, darling," she said, "I positively hungered for you. You can't imagine what it's been like, denying myself all these months, procuring lesser ladies and serving lesser meals when I had such a magnificently fatted calf in my barn... but I couldn't let myself consume you prematurely. A year spent grooming you, altering your diet, your exercise habits... seasoning your meat in a thousand little ways to bring it to its full potential. To do any less would have been a deadly insult to you."

"You can't just eat a person!" Jasmine cried.

"Not a person. Meat... but you're absolutely right, I can't just eat you. There's a lot of work that must be done first. Live cooking is something of an art," Opal said. "Cooking the whole carcass of any large meat animal requires time and care, so that the outside does not overcook before the inside has heated through... when that animal is intact, as a living animal must be, the time must be positively geologic or else there can be unsightly bursting. But I would like to enjoy your company throughout as much of the process as I can, and I do like a challenge. We're going to start with your skin... oh, don't cringe, dear, I'm not going to flay you. I told you I'm not going to cut your skin until you're done and it's time to carve."

She began to work on Jasmine's exposed skin, rubbing it with a coarse salt scrub that smelled of herbs and very faintly of lime. It felt nice... almost like a day at the spa, except for the leather restraints. Opal kept talking as she worked, starting with Jasmine's plump arms. She did one section of Jasmine's skin with the salt, then brushed it with olive oil.

"It would be a sin to skin you before cooking, a positive waste. You see, women have a subcutaneous layer of fat that moistens the meat and gives it a light buttery flavor as it cooks," she said, kneading Jasmine's upper arm. "Take that away, and you might as well be cooking a pig. If one is going to go through the time and trouble of procuring a meat animal that takes eighteen years to mature... that carries so many potential legal complications if something goes wrong... then one ought to take steps to fully appreciate that animal's special qualities, don't you think?"

"I'm not an animal," sobbed Jasmine.

"But of course you are," Opal said. She finished Jasmine's second arm and began to knead her chest. "An animal with a little education and good nutrition, but an animal nonetheless. Now please do relax... not only will it make you a better meal, but there is every chance you will enjoy the early preparations if you let yourself."

In spite of herself, Jasmine found that Opal was right. Being on her back meant her massive breasts were less of a strain on her, and the stimulation Opal gave them was... interesting. Mechanical and methodical as it was, it had an effect on her. The smell of the salt rub was oddly tantalizing, too.

My mouth shouldn't be watering, Jasmine scolded herself. That's seasoning for my meat.

Instead of decreasing the reaction, that thought only made her mouth water more. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the surreal quality of the situation, but it was oddly arousing: my meat.

I have to shake myself out of this, Jasmine thought as Opal massaged her breasts. Her skin tingled from the rub, especially around her nipples.

"Opal... please just let me go," Jasmine said. "I'll do anything, give you anything you want."

"You don't have anything to give me," Opal said, and she moved on to Jasmine's stomach. "Except the one thing I already have."

"You can't eat me!"

"Of course I can. I'm sure you'll be perfectly delicious," Opal said. "Now, I'm afraid it's time to take another little piece of your dignity, but the good news is that the more of it you lose, the less you'll care." So saying, she took up her knife and slit Jasmine's underwear, removing it. "This next bit, you will either enjoy quite a bit or find to be deeply uncomfortable... the reaction to the rub tends to vary from girl to girl."

Jasmine wasn't sure which to hope for. Salt rubbed on her vulva, possibly even inside her vagina, sounded more than uncomfortable... but if she enjoyed it, she was afraid that Opal might feel more justified in what she was doing.

It was no use worrying about it, though. The lightest touch of Opal's fingers on her labia sent an electric thrill up her spine, and the coarse salt rub tingled deliciously on her skin. The combination of lime and herb and salt did burn, but it was a distressingly good burn, and Opal's rough treatment had her building to a climax far faster than she'd ever managed on her own. She was coming before she knew it.

The woman she'd thought of as her friend--now her cook--took it in stride.

"Excellent, dear Jasmine," she said, working another finger inside Jasmine, stretching her out. With her other hand, she squirted some olive oil. "The salt preparation is really only one half the proper seasoning for that particular cut, and you've supplied the other half... and you said you were hopeless in a kitchen."

Jasmine couldn't rouse herself to reply. It was all so absurd, so unbelievably impossible... and yet it was happening to her.

Opal reached beneath the table and pulled out a large, firm pear. With one hand she continued to work at Jasmine's pussy until she had all four fingers stuck in, slightly spread.

She's not going to... Jasmine had just thought when Opal's entire hand penetrated her. She turned it around, flexing her fingers to stretch Jasmine out further, then slowly withdrew the hand and quickly inserted the pear, narrow end first, where it had been. Jasmine's eyes bulged out. She felt like she was fucking a football.

"A woman's meat is so sweet," Opal said. "Fruit acts as a nice compliment to it, without overwhelming the subtle undertones... usually with a full-bodied girl like you, I would use something like a caramel apricot sauce, but I have a feeling your flavor will be so delicate as to be overwhelmed even by that, so I've devised a pear-base glaze instead. This will be the first time I try it... I'm very excited."

Opal shivered in genuine delight at the thought. Jasmine couldn't help but feeling flattered by this idea, even as she was horrified by it. She was rapidly sobering up, and her increasingly clear mind was increasingly sure that yes, this was really happening... Opal really was serious. Her mysterious monthly dinners were certainly real enough, she definitely knew what she was doing, and the oversized kitchen and its oversized furnishings had to have some purpose.

Unless something changed Opal's mind, or somebody unexpectedly... very unexpectedly... came to her rescue, Jasmine was going to die in this kitchen.

I'm going to die, she thought. She'd been thinking in other terms before: butchered, cooked, eaten. Now it was coming into focus for her: she was going to be killed.

"I don't want to die," she said.

Opal gave her a look of pity, but it wasn't pity at her plight... it was the pity an adult might have for a simple-minded child.

"Oh, you poor, stupid thing," Opal said. "Don't you know anything about life? The strong eat the weak. I'm wealthy and you're not. I'm above you on the food chain. This is what you were meant for. If you weren't meat for me, you'd be meat for somebody else, literally or metaphorically: chewed up by some soulless corporation, consumed in marriage to some man. This is really the best end you could hope for. The girls you went to school with all face lives of drudgery and toil. You're being harvested in your prime, to be appreciated by some of the most discerning palates in the country. What more could you ask for?"

Jasmine didn't have an answer for that. Part of it was that Opal didn't seem to be right in her head... at least, she saw things so differently from the way Jasmine did that she didn't know how to argue with what she was saying. Part of it was the tingling in her erect nipples and her throbbing clitoris and swollen labia, and in her stuffed vagina.

And part of it was a nagging feeling that Opal was right. What had she been looking forward to, before Opal stopped her in the market that day? A stint at community college and trying to get married before she wound up an old maid.

But that would still be better than this, she thought, without much conviction. Stupid stimulation, it was so distracting... so hard to think.

"You see? It's for the best... don't think of this as the end of your life but the completion of it," Opal said, and she took up the bowl of salt rub and went to work on Jasmine's legs. She worked Jasmine's meaty thighs, praising their quality, and then slowly trailed down towards her ankles. She paid particular attention to her toes and the soles of her feet. "You know, a great many cooks cut off the extremities and throw them away before cooking, considering them to be garbage cuts... and if one isn't careful, they do dry out rather badly, but cooked with proper care, the feet can turn out quite nicely."

"How... how many women have you cooked like this?" Jasmine asked, morbid curiosity getting the better of her. She couldn't just lie there silently, and she didn't know what to say to talk Opal out of it.

"Live and whole? Fewer than twenty, I should think, but not by much. In total? I couldn't begin to say. My father was something of a traditionalist... not any tradition that you'd know, mind... and believed that all women were meat. He cooked my mother when I was very young and had worked his way through all my sisters when he died of a heart attack, leaving everything to me," she said. "Family meat was only for special occasions, but there were always girls and girl parts in our larders. Some were from servants, some were bought from specialty breeders, and some were, ah, free range. It wasn't until I started school that I found out what cows and chickens tasted like. Believe me, I was not impressed."

Jasmine didn't want to believe a word of it, but there she was, strapped to a table, stuffed and salted. Opal finished her feet and then a miracle happened: she unbound one leg, and then the next, then went around and undid her arm.

Free! Jasmine thought, and as Opal released her other hand she went to get herself up and off the table... and found out why Opal had been so sanguine about letting her out of her bonds. Her limbs felt like lead after laying there restrained. Opal took Jasmine's helpless flopping momentum and simply flipped her over onto her belly, re-bound her, and then began to go to work on her back as she'd done the front.

"Time for another piece of dignity," Opal said, plunging an oiled-up finger inside Jasmine's tight back entrance. She worked it up and down, then added a second finger. When she judged Jasmine to be sufficiently opened up, she shoved a hard rubber plug. "This is just a placeholder," she said. "I'll have to get you into position before I put the thermometer in, or it will never go in properly."

She worked her way up Jasmine's shoulders and neck, then took her hair, coated it in oil, and piled it up in a beehive on top of her head, where she wrapped it in a thick plastic bag.

"Hair is another tricky issue," she said. "It's easiest to shave the animal bald before cooking, but with the meat intact, the hair makes for a nicer presentation, if you can keep it from singeing. Fortunately, this is easiest to manage when cooking at low temperatures, as I plan to do with you. The bag will shield it from heat, and the oil will keep it moist without burning or boiling away."

"If you want to keep me looking nice, you could just keep me alive," Jasmine said. She was beginning to feel desperate as she could feel that the initial preparations were nearing an end. "You could put me on display or something while you serve the meal."

"Except what would I serve? I don't have another entree lined up... it's far too late to get another whole live girl of any quality, much less yours," Opal said. "And if I tried to serve a lesser animal such as venison or pork to my guests, they'd very likely eat me alive." She gave Jasmine a slap on her bare, well-seasoned ass. "You may as well stop trying to convince me... you're already meat. Cooking is only a formality."

She laughed again, and Jasmine felt her heart sink even as an odd thrill went through her. Opal undid the bonds once more, this time flipping Jasmine over and moving her limbs into a position resembling a trussed turkey, legs bent and knees out, feet bound together at the ankles. Her arms were bound to her side, folded beneath her chest so that they framed her ample breasts on three sides.

"Some people regard the breasts as a waste of meat," Opal said, manipulating one of them. Jasmine resented how much it turned her on... how much the whole thing was starting to turn her on: being bound like that, having her vagina stuffed with a pear, her skin tingling and smelling faintly of citrus and herbs, Opal playing with her breast. "Too fatty, too many glands... but when you start to cook, that fat will melt and keep your ribs moist. Slow-cooking means the glands will break down, too. They'll lose quite a bit of their mass, but I'll be injecting them with seasoned broth mixed with your own drippings as you cook so they keep their shape for the final presentation. Again, all part of the the challenge of cooking a whole girl. By the time you're finished, they'll be the most unique cut of meat on the planet, since no other animal... not even other mammals... has breasts like a human female."

It would have been a disturbing conversation, but with all the other stimulation and with Opal's hand on her body as she spoke, Jasmine found her mind turning the idea over and over: the most unique cut of meat on the planet. What did a girl taste like? What would she taste like? Had she been born wealthy and powerful, had she truly been one of Opal's circle and not just some girl she'd picked up to make a meal of, would she know?

"I'm afraid it's time for the last bits of dignity," Opal said. "I said I wouldn't break your skin, but I'm afraid I need to make two exceptions." She held up a pair of what looked like long sharpened sticks. "These are seasoned stakes. They impart flavor, and much like a tent pole, they'll help your breasts retain their structure as the melting I mentioned occurs, and they'll provide a vent so they don't split open in an unsightly fashion. They go in through the nipples, in order to not mar your otherwise splendid pair of breasts. Feel free to scream... I have to confess, I don't consider it a proper job of cooking without a little visceral pain. One might as well cook a pig if one isn't going to enjoy a touch of sadism."

The pain was unimaginable. Jasmine blacked out as Opal forced the first of the thin stakes through the center of her nipple and down through the meat of her breast. The cannibal chef waited until she was roused back to consciousness before doing the other. When she'd finished, Jasmine's breasts were held up like circus tents.

"Next comes the thermometer," Opal said, pulling the plug out of Jasmine's ass. She slid a long, cold metal pole deep inside her. It was thick and solid, but Jasmine barely felt it with the searing pain in her chest. "And for the final touch... an apple is traditional, but I'm working with a theme here," she said, holding up another giant pear, which she forced into Jasmine's mouth, working the top of it towards the back of her throat and then wedging it into her teeth. It was big enough and firm enough that Jasmine could not spit it out or bite through it. "Now, let's get you into the pan."

Jasmine heard a clatter of metal and then the squeaking of wheels. Opal slid her off of the table and onto a bed of new potatoes, sweet onions, and more pears, then wheeled the cart with the tray of produce and Jasmine over towards the ovens.

"I don't preheat for a slow-cooking," Opal said. "You go into the oven cool. I won't lie... the experience will become quite painful for you long before you succumb, but it may be tolerable and even pleasant when it first begins. I won't apply the glaze immediately, as it would just dry out... that's one reason I oiled you up so well. I'll keep you oiled until you begin to cook properly, at which point I'll be able to start basting you with your own juices. You'll still be quite conscious at that point, especially as your head will be in an alcove not directly above the heating element. That's all part of preserving it for the presentation, you see. If I'm able to time it right... and there's no reason I shouldn't... then one of the last things you should experience is the cool, sweet glaze being dripped on your sizzling skin. That will seal in the moisture and flavor."

As Opal explained the process, Jasmine heard the first signs of what seemed like sexual excitement in Opal. This was what turned her on, Jasmine thought. Not sex with women but cooking them. As terrified as she was of what laid ahead, as much as her whole body wanted to shrink inward and disappear, as much as she longed for the strength to burst her bonds and escape, Jasmine was turned on, too... they were about to become lovers of a sort, she supposed: chef and entree, diner and dinner. Nobody had ever expressed as much interest in Jasmine as Opal had, and certainly nobody had ever cared for her so attentively as Opal was in what would be the final hours of her life.

Jasmine felt an urge to tell Opal that it was alright, that she accepted what was happening... and then she realized that was crazy, that she was going to die, and die painfully, so that Opal could fulfill some twisted tradition.

One look at Opal's face was enough to tell her that it would have been superfluous, anyway. There was no doubt in her mind that it was alright. Jasmine was meat to her, nothing more and nothing less. Another animal, to be cooked and eaten.

"I'd say that this is goodbye, but we're going to be seeing a lot of each other in the next few hours," Opal said, opening the oven door. "What with the basting and the glazing... but that won't be necessary for a while, while the oven warms up. You'll have an hour or so to yourself, to come to terms with things, before I open you back up... I'm sorry there isn't a clock on the top of the oven, but you'll know it's almost time when you start to smell something wonderful."

With that she slid the pan off of the wheeled tray and into the oven, then closed it. Jasmine could turn her neck to look out through the door. She tried to plead with her eyes for Opal to let her out, but Opal wasn't looking... she was dragging a chair over towards the oven. The older woman sat down with a book to wait for Jasmine to be ready for basting... until that time came, it seemed, there was nothing interesting about her.

With nothing else to do, Jasmine watched her, feeling the air grow warm. The oil coating her skin seemed to heat up quickly, especially that on her back and bottom. She wasn't actually in direct contact with the metal of the pan at any point, but things were definitely heating up down there.

Opal got herself a glass of wine and continued to read her book while Jasmine sweated. Her tits felt huge and swollen around the fragrant seasoned stakes. Each heaving breath increased the pain she felt in them. The air became hot and heavy, hard to breathe. At first it tasted of pear and citrus, and olive oil and onion, but gradually she became aware of a savory, meaty tang beneath it all. The oil coating her skin was not a cool, goopy coating any more but a sheath of pure liquid heat. Opal had said she'd remain conscious for a good while, but Jasmine thought she'd be proven wrong at any moment.

And then the oven door opened, and a wave of cool air washed over her... like frozen sandpaper on her heat-fried nerves. Opal pulled the tray out, a large basting tube in her hand.

"There now," she said, using the tube to suck up juice from the bottom of the pan. "You're coming along nicely." She squirted the juices all over Jasmine's body, brushed more oil over her feet and her sizzling pussy, and then closed her back up, saying, "I'll be seeing you soon."

Opal basted Jasmine frequently, each time pulling her out just when it seemed like she would succumb to the heat. Every time, Jasmine was amazed at the amount of juices that had dripped off of her cooking flesh... she really was cooking alive. The pain was becoming more than she could bear, but Opal kept dragging it out longer.

"Big girls like you are always stubborn cookers, dear," Opal said at one point, checking her thermometer. "But that just means you get to experience the oven longer... and it is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Soak it up while you can."

Almost as bad as the pain... not quite but almost as bad... was the aroma that filled the oven, her aroma. Her own cooking meat was the most tantalizing, tempting, mouth-watering thing that Jasmine had ever smelled... and not only would she never get to taste it, but it meant that her life was nearing its end. She was going out trussed up like a turkey and roasting in an oven, a humiliating end... but then, she'd given up her dignity. She was just meat.

Just meat, she thought as Opal pulled the tray out of the oven once more and began to drizzle something sweet and cool over her. Just meat, I'm just meat...




Everyone who attended the party the next evening agreed that Opal had simply outdone herself. From the moment she had the entree wheeled in, a wonderfully fat brunette with cinnamon skin cooked to perfection beneath a succulent pair glaze, her dining companions were spellbound. Her companion of the evening was afforded the honor of carving, and he expertly excised the choice cut from between her legs, presenting it to the lady of the house on a plate. With a less bountiful beauty, there may have been arguments or hurt feelings, but there was plenty of Jasmine to go around... everybody got a choice cut, whether they were the proverbial tit or ass man, or whether they fancied a cut of thigh.

While her guests gorged themselves, Opal closed her eyes and savored each bite of the sweet, slightly fruity meat of what her beau vulgarly referred to as "the cunt steak". Eating another human being was an intimate act, in her opinion... the most intimate one, in fact... and she would not insult a meat animal of Jasmine's caliber by giving her less than her full attention.

When she finished that, she enjoyed a couple of juicy ribs and one of the feet, which she'd had reserved, but when the meal was finished and everybody else was completely stuffed, Opal felt an emptiness inside her. Jasmine had been her ongoing project, and now that had been brought to completion. All the better meat had been eaten. Her less attractive organs had been sent to the kitchen, where they could be ground for sausage filling. Her head remained in the center of the table, a cheerful reminder of the beauty that had been her.

It was time to move on, Opal reflected.

There were, as her father had so often observed, plenty of fish in the sea.

You often have the meat girl getting off on the preparations as they are being cooked. I wonder if a woman who actually knew she was being prepared to eat, and was in no way a volunteer, would be aroused sexually. I know it's all fantasy, anyway; but it's just something I wonder.

In my cannibal stories, the women sometimes know they are going to be eaten, but they don't get off during the cooking process.

On the other hand, the preparations you described in this story, do seem that they might be somewhat sensual.

Andy

It really varies with my mood. What I get off on myself is mainly the fantasy of being non-consensually used, so my stories aren't usually consensual... but I'm writing them to get off on, and so I often acknowledge the sexual aspect.

In reality? I don't imagine a woman would be aroused except possibly in the most mechanical physical sense in response to adrenaline and/or direct physical stimulation... and just as in rape, that wouldn't mean she's enjoying or consenting to what's going on.

Hi there! I was just wandering the internet for gynophagia stories tonight, and I came across this one and was AMAZED at how closely it follows my own fantasies of being eaten! Granted, in my fantasies the person preparing me and eating me is male, and he fucks me with just as much clinical coldness as he describes how I'm nothing more than meat that doubles as a convenient fuck toy - but aside from that this story is SO much straight out of my head!

I LOVED every bit of it, and just wanted to tell you so! FANTASTIC story - VERY well written - and I can't wait to read more (although that will have to wait for tomorrow!).

Thank you for posting it! ^__^ Diana

Re: WONDERFUL story!!!

concarnal

2009-05-27 10:09 pm (UTC)

Thank you for reading it, and commenting! I'll be writing more stories soon, too. It seems like the Livejournal community has a whole universe of kink on it but not a lot of gynophagia... yet.

MORE!!!!!!!!

Love it!

(Anonymous)

2010-03-15 11:16 pm (UTC)

Your story is amazing and totally turns me on. I love non consensual and finding good ones can be hard but yours is great. I cant wait to read more of your work. Thanks.

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