"No...I won't. Today is Dolcett Day. And I'm not going to consent to anything I don't want to do."
You see a look of shock in Charlene's face, as she considers how to respond. There's a sudden hush in the crowd, a tension. You realize that just saying no isn't going to be enough. You're going to need to do more. And, since today is a day of mediocre work speeches, you decide to do one of your own.
"Think about it. All day you say you celebrate consent. You celebrate women. You celebrate...the right to choose. And yet, you ask that I surrender myself to the same fate as someone whose currently turning over the coals. You ask I surrender myself to being a roast.”
Saying the words "being a roast" knocks the wind out of you, as a sudden rush of arousal floods your senses. You nearly fall over, but just as your knees are about to touch the ground, your hand plants in the cool grass, bracing yourself as you teeter on the edge.
Charlene leans her head over to see if your knees have touched. But, what she sees instead is something that takes her aback. You look up, and flash something she's never seen in a woman's eyes before. A fierceness. A determination. A resolve.
An announcement that's about to be made.
You slowly rise, and stand on your feet.
"I am Scarlett Sky, of NORTH Carolina. That is where I am from, and where I will return, in ONE piece. If it is your intent to make me into a meal, to take me against my will, to rob me of my consent, know that you do not honor the day you claim to celebrate. I honor Penny's sacrifice. I honor her meat. And to honor her life, and what's she's given to us, I will not kneel, as what she believed in doesn't matter if I'm forced to my knees on a day that is about…the right…to stand together.”
Not bad, you think to yourself. Maybe you could've been a leader, a Morgan, in charge of a major corporation, in some other life.
Charlene slowly walks forward, collar in hand, stalking you. As she gets close, you see her thumb sliding the collar open, eyeing your neck. She leans in, slowly, as if she's going to whisper something in your ear, her hand slowly reaching forward, her fingers posed to slip right inside you and rip any resolve you have out of you in one glorious, mind melting orgasm.
But then, she pauses, and stares at you. Standing close enough for a kiss. Eye to eye. Shoulder to shoulder.
"I honor your consent...darling." she says, softly.
Charlene slowly walks back to the front of the line of kneeling women.
"I acknowledge you, Scarlett Sky, and I do stand for the same things that you do. For choice. For consent. For...surrender. I also stand...for inevitably. I stand for fate. I stand for destiny.
She opens the collar.
"We'll see each other again. I just know it." she says, with that smile flashing again, that she knows something that you don’t.
You watch as Charlene slowly slides the collar around Stephanie's neck, who starts to breathe in heavily, overwhelmed. Charlene drinks in Stephanie's expression, her control over her new pet cemented, as Stephanie is lead to the podium next to Charlene - collared, submitted, enslaved.
"I hope everyone has a great rest of their day, and a great meal. Penny will be scrumptious, I'm sure. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She pauses, eyeing Stephanie's quivering body. "I'd like to play with my new pet." Stephanie is lead off to the office, by her neck, with Charlene peering back at you one last time, before walking off into the ether.
**[[Advance to: Friday Evening->Friday Evening]]**“I’m willing to partner with you, Charlene.” You say, confidently. “But, I need a favor from you, to seal our business arrangement.”
“Anything, darling. Name it, and it will be yours.”
***
A week later, you welcome Charlene back into your office, and she doesn’t come empty handed. As she sits at your desk, she smiles and pulls out a delicious looking turkey sandwich from her purse, neatly wrapped in plastic.
But, as you know, the meat isn’t turkey.
“Yes, I would’ve preferred to serve you something other than cold cuts, but getting through your immigration department is just SO dreadful, darling. I prefer no questions on such a momentous occasion.”
“How do I know it’s really her? I need confirmation.” You say, with coldness in your voice. Ordering Jenna’s death has changed you.
“You know what I like about you, darling? You really think of EVERYTHING. But you know what, so do I." Charlene says with a glow.
She pulls out her phone, and begins scrolling through her photo gallery.
“Yes, yes, you were absolutely right, of course. Brendan had her at Le Table d'Truie, and darling, there was NOTHING I could do, as he has a deal with them, of course.”
You wait patiently, as Charlene finally finds what she’s looking for on her phone, and looks up to finish her story.
“So, we worked it out. He had…Foie Gras, I believe, they got their cut of her meat, and I bought her hock to fix you a nice sandwich. But, since you need proof…”
She slides her phone to you.
“…I made sure they let me watch.” She says with a devilish grin.
She presses play on the video. You watch, as Jenna hangs upside down over a large sink in the kitchen of Le Table d'Truie, crying wildly, begging, screaming for her life as she spends her last moments in absolute terror. You don’t look away, you don’t even blink, as you watch as she’s brutally stabbed in her throat, her blood flushing out, as she struggles in vain to gasp for air, her glasses falling off into the sink, along with the rest of her identity. They even take time to gut her before she passes out, her eyes rolling in her head as she suffers an absolutely terrible demise.
Charlene carefully studies your expression as she slowly takes her phone back.
“You and I, Scarlett, are not so different. That’s how I know we are going to do great business together. Business…as usual.”
She slides the Jenna sandwich across to you. You look down, expressionless, and slowly unwrap it from the plastic. You take a big bite, looking up at Charlene, nodding in approval.
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” You say, as you swallow Jenna, letting her flesh digest in your stomach.
***
Business booms at the newly named SkyCorp, with the “accounting” firm more profitable than ever. In fact, you use your new found understanding of the cravings meat girls experience to expand operations. You hire Edward to develop new social media clips that contain subliminal messaging that easily lure the most willing women to Dolcett. But, they also seem to be taking hold of the ones that normally wouldn’t have been willing, which you happily sign up for a percentage of their travel fees – and a percentage of their meat.
The program becomes so successful that it seems that with enough exposure, any woman can be convinced to travel to Dolcett. Some even go with no intention to end up meat, just for the experience, and are never heard from again. That doesn’t matter to you. They are just a number on a spreadsheet, a profit to be realized.
Just to cover all your bases, you arrange for Edward to go missing, too. This type of paranoia, of constantly looking over your shoulder, a lingering mistrust becomes as normal as the air you breathe. Any previous friendships you had drift away. You stop attending your family engagements entirely. It’s just Charlene, SkyCorp, DolcettCo, and...business.
No, better than that, it’s just money. You’ve got more money than you ever dreamed of, and you still can’t get enough.
In slaughtering Jenna, you’ve slaughtered yourself.
One day, years later, your door opens. You knew this moment would come. You welcome it. You're tired of this life, of these choices, of the path you’ve chosen. You can’t take yourself off this ride, but someone else can.
Your latest transfer program candidate has come back alive, like you before her. She's come for the money, sure, but she's come for something more important. She's come for you.
You pretend you don't see what is coming next. You just close your eyes, and sit up tall, proud, ready. You welcome her as she advances to snuff you, you don’t even care how. The circle of life must go on.
You just close your eyes, and just for a moment, you remember who you once were. Your values. Your beliefs. Your soul. A tear wells up, but you do not cry, before the end.
Because that part of you was snuffed years ago.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
After you’re snuffed, your replacement offers your body to Charlene, as a token of their new business partnership. She was your fall-back plan, and will inherit an even greater operation than you did. She doesn’t realize the challenges ahead, but she’s happy to be alive, happy to be rich, and is willing to do anything to stay that way, like you before her.
Charlene slowly circles your lifeless body. She’s disappointed she didn't get to roast you alive. But, she's happy her "soon to be prime rib roast" has *FINALLY come home.
They clink glasses and seal their new business partnership over your oven roasted flesh.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FINAL DAY ->Monday AM 2]]**Charlene’s grip on you has weakened JUST enough for you to step backward, not forward. You pivot on your heels, turn toward your hotel, toward whatever has Charlene so frightened.
"Scarlett, darling, I'm warning you. You don't know what's out there. You can't." Charlene pleads, her tone desperate.
Your heart is racing, beating through your chest, the thumping overwhelming your emotions. It's signaling to you something. If you go inside that limo, your heart won't be the loudest voice in your head any more, it'll be your cunt. And one that happens, you might as well slide yourself into the oven. Fuck, you'd probably help her fix you on a plate.
You take a large inhale, and you run off, as fast as you can, down the street.
Charlene sighs. "I hope you die well.” She says, watching as you run out of her sight. Her respite is interrupted by a sudden shriek, a female voice, far in the distance. She carefully scans the streets surrounding this place.
“Niles. Take me home." Charlene says.
As you race through the streets, you quickly run out of breath, partly out of panic, partly from stress, partly of not having a proper meal in days, but mostly that you're just not in shape, anymore.
*"If I knew I was going to be chased like this for my meat, I would've kept up with my cardio."* You think to yourself, as you bend over, breathing heavily.
Then, you suddenly realize, that you’ve just referred to yourself as MEAT for the first time.
"...what's happening to me?" you wonder, despondent.
You don't have a lot of time to process the quicksand that you feel in your heart. As you look up, you slowly scan what should be a busy metropolis, a city center bustling with activity, but, there's not a person in sight.
Then, a memory of Monday night, a conversation with Brendan.
"Subjugation laws are only in effect on Wednesdays, Scarlett." he said.
You don't know what that means, but you don't like the sound of it. You resolve yourself to run despite the burning in your lungs, before pausing for a second.
"Wait, did I see Brendan and Stephanie ki-"
You don't finish this thought, as you suddenly see someone. A tall, slender, expressionless man. He's standing a few blocks away, just staring at you. He's patient, business like, restrained. It's like he's been watching you like this for days, longer than you've been able to notice. He slowly reveals a rope he'd been holding behind his back.
You decide to run, and you see him spring into action, like he was waiting on you for his next move. You dart down an alley, and quickly realize that you have NOT recovered from your last effort.
You're honestly not sure if you can out run him or not.
[[Keep running down the alley. You see a stack of trash cans that you can knock over, hopefully impeding his progress, giving you a chance to create some distance.->Wed PM Hung]]
[[You see a service door cracked open to some type of building. You don't know where it leads, but anywhere is better than here.->Soup Kitchen]]You put the headphones on in a rush, Edward’s face flashing a rush of excitement. He nearly fumbles his phone as he opens an app, "Ed-RASE" and press a button that says "Quiet." The ringing does stop immediately, there is a silence, a numbness in your brain. There is also a hum, a drone sound, a beat that makes you head feel heavy and your jaw become slack. You no longer hear the sound, but it feels like you no longer hear any sound. It's becoming difficult to think. No, rather, you feel like you no longer need to think. Your eyes glaze over, and you nearly pass out on the floor.
Edward helps you to your feet, takes you by the hand, and leads you down the emergency stairs through the lobby, towards the exit. He takes off your work badge, hands it to the front receptionist, and tells them you won't be in tomorrow. He looks over at your blank, expressionless face and says "as a matter of fact, she won't be coming back at all."
Edward takes you home to finish reprogramming and erasing whatever is left of your personality. He has just the software to do so, and in a matter of hours, you are a blank slate. There is nothing left of who you were, just your body, and complete, unwavering obedience to him. He celebrates by mounting you and taking your pussy, staring into your hypnotized, dead eyes, as he revels in the success of his genius.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Edward had been waiting for a girl like you all his life. It was one thing to show off Ed-Rase to the scientific community with a girl from Dolcett, but there were always skeptics, as women are born and bred to serve there. It was another thing entirely to take an outsider, an independent, and completely submit her in less than a day. You become his living proof. You're brought to various science fairs, Ted talks, and other scholarly endeavors to show off what true submission really is. He sometimes brings you onstage still leaking his cum as an example of how perfect the world can be.
Dr. Edward PhD is now one of the most regarded scientific minds in the community. Plans are made for an expansion of this device worldwide. Dr. Edward’s headphones are marketed as the latest and greatest in audiophile technology, but really, are just a means to take over the female population across the globe. And all of this, is thanks to you.
After some months, your brain and other bodily functions begin to breakdown, a side effect of your intense conditioning. Dr. Edward makes plans to dine on you, but then decides that you're too important of a specimen to just be eaten. Every part of you is to be studied, so he has you taken to a lab, painfully dissected, your muscle and brain studied to see how much tissue saturation is really absorbed by this new technology.
Due to your cultural significance, it is decided to have you stuffed and placed into a museum. Your skin is reupholstered to create a lifelike model of you, with a prop of the original Hypno-Phones, in the biggest Museum in Dolcett.
Below it, reads a sign, "Scarlett, last name unknown, the woman who made all women's last names obsolete."
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: TUESDAY AM->Tuesday AM]]**"Alright, I guess I choose Brendan." You mutter, and walk over to him.
"Excellent, everyone please follow me SLOWLY down the stairs, we will head SAFELY off into mass production of ALL of your most savory prepared foods." The Safety Inspector then gestures for you to head down the stairs.
You watch as the dozen or so co-workers go down the stairs ahead of you, with you and Brendan waiting on the platform last, you reluctant to give him any ground. You suddenly feel very naked, standing next to this man, with just a couple missteps from falling helplessly into a machine eager to grind your flesh.
You nearly trip as you go to rush down the stairs, with Brendan extending an arm, grabbing you, his sudden touch lighting a fire within you.
"I thought I told you not to FUCKING touch me!" You yell, shoving him back off of you.
You can only watch helplessly as his body, almost in slow motion, flies backwards, over the open lip, and down into the meat grinder. A very male scream echoes through the Dolcett Meat Production Company until it touches the grinder wheels, which are automatically activated by a laser sensor, eager for its next kill. You peer over the ledge just in time to see Brendan's body disintegrate into bright red hamburger.
You hear a loud, high pitched, scream, as at least one of your co-workers saw this display. A flashing red light suddenly floods the room, with a loud, robotic voice coming on over the intercom.
MALE MEAT DETECTED. COMMENCING EMERGENCY PROCEDURE AND SHUTDOWN.
There's a clear panic in the room now, an absolute chaos as people scatter, especially the ladies, for some reason. You run up to Stephanie.
"What have you DONE?" She screams at you, crying, before she sprints away, like even being near you could be a deathly offense.
You walk up to Charlene.
"It...was an accident. I didn't mean to."
Charlene gently hugs you, and kisses your forehead.
"I'm so sorry this has happened to you, darling. But, there's nothing I can do. Really."
You hear a door kicked open, and look down over the edge of the platform, to see two men, dressed in riot gear, storm in. They talk to the safety inspector, who simply turns and points at you. You watch, frozen in terror, as they slowly march towards you, and gather yourself, preparing to explain what happened.
You’re simply scooped up and carried away like a log. You're allowed to scream, and squirm, and make an entire scene. It's important that other women are reminded of what awaits them if they ever make the same mistake you just did.
You're only silenced when you're out of sight.
[[Advance to: The Stocks->Stocks 1]]You ache as your hips buck in the heat, as your brain start to scramble from the delirium, the oncoming heat stroke, the death. You try and shake your way out, but the binds are just too tight. You feel your energy, your life, slipping away…
You don't want it to be over. But, you can already SMELL yourself cooking, the flavor of your flesh, your meat, slowly absorbing the glaze, herbs, and spices. You're tied to a roasting pan, without an inch of your body able to budge. You're in an impossibly hot oven, with a cannibal who has spent an ENTIRE week of her life planning for this exact moment.
And you know what? The smell, the binds, the heat, is intoxicating. You start to feel your hips buck for another reason, as you’re suddenly IN heat. You lose yourself, your identity as a person, and crave release. You want to cum before you’re cooked. No, you need that one, perfect orgasm you’ve seen so many times, because deep down, you realize…
You're meat.
You look over at Char, who is sitting on a barstool, watching. As you lock eyes with her, she leans in, like she can hear your thoughts. No, you can hear hers. She's asking if it's time. If you finally understand. If you accept what your purpose in life has ALWAYS been.
You shake as you slowly blink twice.
She smiles widely, an intense flash of pleasure and satisfaction on her face. She slowly walks over, leans, and blows you a kiss. You see her mouth the words "I'll miss you, darling" through the glass, just as she's turning a dial.
A bright orange light suddenly glows above you, and it's SO fucking hot you feel like it's going to melt your eyes if you keep them open. You instantly start squirming in the pan; any moisture left on your body simply sizzles off from the heat.
The pressure on your body from this immense heat is overwhelming. You feel your skin split like a hot dog that's been cooked too long. You feel your muscles literally roast inside you, like they are being cooked off the bone. You feel your organs slowly boil, whatever liquid in them become so hot that they feel like they'll explode.
There's no doubt now, or even again. You're tonight’s dinner. You'll be on Char's plate, with a crispy exterior that perfectly complements your juicy, supple, fork tender flesh underneath. That perfect slice of turkey you've enjoyed so many Thanksgiving is going to be YOU.
That thought of being Thanksgiving dinner overruns your mind, and you feel your cunt ache, screaming for release. You let out one final scream through your apple as your hips thrust up wildly, your body going so tense that you can feel every muscle on your body contract. You’re hit with a rush of pleasure that soothes every sore, answers every question. Your body falls limp with a thud, your eyes glaze over. A fluid ejaculates out of your pussy, only to quickly be evaporated into vapor.
You always wondered what that final, perfect orgasm felt like.
It felt like fate.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Char walks over to the kitchen island to fetch the fresh batch of quartered potatoes, carrots, onions, and other garden vegetables she's prepared. She slides your pan out briefly, observing your resting, surrendered body, before dumping your planned side dishes in the tray, spreading them out to best catch your juices. She then slowly slides you back in.
Hours later, Charlene slowly opens the oven door, your perfect aroma filling her kitchen, and pulls you out. She lets the anticipation build as she slowly slides you on her rolling cart, and up on her kitchen island. She slowly slides two fingers inside your hot cunt, and then slips those fingers in her mouth, having her first full taste of your surrender, your acceptance, your bliss.
"Your cunt knew what you were all along. Delicious."
She then rolls you to the kitchen table, as you’re just the perfect centerpiece for the huge spread she’s prepared. There’s all of those potatoes and vegetables she roasted with you, and a big bowl of the stuffing soaked in your juices. She’s also made a nice carrot soufflé, a lovely Caesar salad, freshly baked bread, and corn on the cob. She blows off a bottle of wine that’s been in her family for at least fifty years, and sets out two glasses.
She beams. This minute in time is so perfect that she takes all sixty seconds of it to relish in the look of orgasmic bliss on your face. You were *meant* to be the perfect meat girl, and you could not have turned out better.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FINAL DAY ->Monday AM 2]]**Bob the butcher holds the shop door open, the literal precipice between existence as person and existence and meat, as Jane slowly walks into the back, her body disappearing into the darkness.
"Coming, miss?" Bob says, the double entendre causes you to moisten a little.
"Oh, no, I'm just...um, here to watch."
You also walk into the darkness, with the door loudly closing behind you, sealed with a BEEP and a CLICK. You turn, and catch up with Jane, just as a quick flash is taken over her face, as she was looking up at what looks like a security camera.
"Even though you're a visitor, and honestly, especially as you're a visitor, we need to take a photo, for liability reasons." Bob says, gesturing up at the camera lens.
You're already way too deep into this to start arguing with someone about procedure now. It's probably better that it's known that you're here, than not, so you comply. You don't smile, you don't really know what to do, so a photo is taken, with your confused, but consenting face.
You follow Bob, who walks with a bit of a limp and a waddle, to what appears to be a large shower area. There are several drains on the tile floor, as well as some handheld water sprayers attached to the wall. You suddenly notice, and you stop dead in your tracks, at the assortment of perfectly lined, perfectly spaced out meat hooks that hang in the center of this otherwise sterile environment.
"Are you ready, Jane?" Bob says, kindly, with a protective, father like voice.
"I've honestly been ready for this for so long. I just needed time to accept it." She says, smiling, and steps forward.
"Wait." You say, and you see both of them turn to face you, and you very suddenly DO NOT like the attention you've brought on yourself. Old you would just apologize and quietly leave. But new you has a boldness, a curiosity, a willingness to trust yourself you haven't had before.
You have to know.
"I just wanted to ask. Why would you choose to do this? Are you in debt? Is someone after you? Bad home life? Are you sick? Is it because-"
Jane shushes you.
"No, it's none of those things. Honest. I'm only doing this for one reason. Watch, and you'll see. Observe, and you'll feel it, too."
She nods, having said everything she plans to ever say to you.
"I'm ready." She says to her butcher, confidently, and spreads her legs to a wider stance, preparing an opening within her for the transition.
Bob effortlessly picks her up with one arm, rotates her so she faces away from one of the shining, clean, razor sharp hooks, and quickly drops her down on it, impaling her through her asshole.
She squirts immediately at the moment the hook enters her.
"Jesus." You can't think of anything else to say as you look down at the puddle of cum under her now dangling legs.
The butcher takes a few steps back, and picks up a large electric knife. It's part meat cleaver, part chainsaw. A bit cleaner than the latter, but more effective than the former.
"Meat on the hook!" The butcher yells, his voice echoing through the bowels of the store.
"Meat on the hook!" Another voice yells, from somewhere in the back.
"Meat on the hook..." Jane whispers, her face red with sexual desire, her legs quivering, another orgasm building.
*"...meat on the hook."* You think to yourself.
You watch as the butcher takes a quick, but precise slice to her neck, splattering fresh blood all over his smock. He then does another breastbone to belly button, and her abdominal cavity opens.
Jane squirts again, a splash of liquid crashing on the tile floor, just before her organs follow suit, loudly smacking the tile.
You are memorized as he slowly removes her limbs, one after another, leaving them on a large butcher block for later processing. You swear to yourself that she's still cumming, over and over, even as life has left her body, and her head is removed.
*"Is that all it really comes down to? Horniness? Is that all this is?"* You wonder quietly to yourself.
And yet, you feel something inside of you, a cauldron, heat rising, slowly bubbling over as you watch her body finally surrender. You wonder. You imagine. Yourself. Her. You. On the hook.
The butcher wipes his brow, having finished his work, for now. He turns to you, slowly, and extends a hand, beckoning you forward.
"I have time for one more tonight."
[[It's definitely time to go. You need to make a break for the back door before a hook is in yours.->Not Packaged]]
[[You saw what Jane experienced, and you want, no, NEED it for yourself. Step forward and join Jane on the hook.->Meat Hook]]Penny smiles and waves like she's at a beauty pageant, except that she's naked, sans the collar and leash that Charlene leads her by, towards the giant circle that’s been dug into the ground surrounding the two spits and picnic prep tables.
As Charlene walks Petty inside the circle, she gives her pet a kiss, and whispers something in her ear, just as she slides two fingers inside her. Penny spasms, and she squirts all over Charlene's hand.
You're undeniably aroused by this show. But more than that, you're somewhat jealous. You remember all of the times Charlene has touched you over the last few days, her grazes, her squeezes, her gropes. They've all brought you closer to exactly where this woman is now. The only difference is Char-, ahem, Charlene, has never slipped a finger inside you, yet.
But, with just one touch, and one whisper, this woman just had as intense of an orgasm as you've ever seen, and she's eager and ready to be spitted for dinner. You're envious. What could Charlene have said to her? What would it be like to experience pleasure like that? Why do you almost NEED for this to be you?
You look down and your jeans are visibly wet. Did you cum?
"You can feel it, too, can't you?"
You look up and see that Penny is looking directly at YOU, like she's looking inside YOUR mind, inside YOUR soul.
"You're sitting there now, hearing the sound of my voice. It's calling to you, isn’t it? You're tired of pretending. Tired of going to work every day. Tired of being anything else than what you really ARE.
“You're meat. You've known that since the very first orgasm you ever had. You were made and meant to be eaten. You've dreamt of being cooked so many times. You've imagined yourself on a plate. You know exactly how you'd like your cuts to be prepared.
“This feeling has gotten stronger as you've gotten older. Each passing year, your desire grows. There's no denying this. You think about it every day. The only thing that stops you is opportunity. The right moment.
“You want to be dinner. You've always wanted to be dinner. That is your sole purpose and you know it.
“Step forward, embrace your destiny. Allow yourself to be digested. Be the good little spit muffin you were born to be.
Be meat."
[[Everything you just read is exactly right about you. Step forward, and finally accept your destiny.->Long Spit]]
[[Holy fuck, she just read your mind, but you have to resist. You can still resist, right?->Pet Project]]You scream as loudly as you can, trying to get his attention, divert him from his planned course, but your effort was in vain. He was never going to let you go, there was never any hope of escape. He presses the button.
You hear what sounds like a garbage disposal turning on, a whirring, as all four cuffs start to shake and vibrate. Then, in one succent movement, the cuffs blades release and slice through anything in their way, namely, your wrists and ankles. Your feet and hands unceremoniously fall to the ground, while the cuffs seal any potential lost blood with a cauterizing heat. Your limbs are now reduced to stumps, with shiny new horseshoes on them.
Before you can fully process this and scream in agony, your mouth O ring releases a scissor forward, quickly slicing off your tongue. It falls out of your mouth, with the O ring searing the inside of your mouth, to again, stop too much blood loss.
The farmer casually picks up your severed hands, feet, and tongue, and puts them in an old metal bucket. He looks at the terror in your eyes, staring into your shattered soul.
"It would be best for you if you just cooperate. Things can get MUCH worse for you, I promise, and it's important I break you now before you get any big ideas. You're not a person, you're livestock, got it? And come Thanksgivin' you're expected to be a good pig and feed thirty."
Without a tongue, you're unable to respond. You can only tremble in fear as you're released from the table and crash to the floor. You cower and close your eyes, hoping the worst is over. Just then, you hear a zipper, and look up as he pulls his hard cock through his sweat soaked jeans. He's been looking forward to this.
You don't even try to escape. You're ruined as it is. You just watch as he walks over, kneels down, and folds you up like a pretzel. Your pussy is dry in the evening air as he slides his cock inside you, his sweat enough lube to effortlessly take you, his stink soaking your flesh as he thrusts inside.
He mounts you like this, like an animal, as that's all you are to him. You're a fuck toy, a pocket pussy, something he's going to cum in and use for relief for the next few months, whenever he feels like it, without a word, as there's nothing to say to you. You are reduced to simple carnal, and soon, culinary pleasure.
You close your eyes and try to cry, but you just grunt like an animal, the only sound you're capable of making, as you're just livestock, after all. He uses you like this, for longer than you expect, before he empties inside you, leaning his weight on you for a while after. Slowly, he gets up, puts on his pants, and leaves without a word, shutting out the light.
You lay in the dark, not moving, not bothering to do anything, not trying to escape. You just lay there and stare into the dark, processing your fate.
You don't know how much time passes before he enters again. In one hand, he has a metal pail. In the other, an antique soup bowl, steaming hot, a spoon hanging out.
He places the soup bowl down on a small table next to a stool. He sets the pail down next to you. It has a stink to it, and you notice no utensils, not that you could use those anymore.
"THAT will be your nourishment from now on. It doesn't taste the best, which is partly why you no longer have a tongue. It's high in calories and fats, it's meant to...thicken you up. You'll be eating three meals a day, until your big day...or ELSE."
He goes to the barn wall and pulls down a bull whip, and uncoils it. He stares into your eyes, and cracks the whip on your back, just once, to send you a message. Your skin splits open and you double over, writhing in pain.
You look up as he raises the whip again. You don't want any more punishment. So, you crawl over, on your stumps, and...stick your face in the bowl. It's disgusting, but you swallow it, and whatever was left of your pride, with an audible gulp.
You look up, and see he's taken a seat on that stool, with the bowl now in his hand. He takes a big spoonful of her dinner into his mouth, chewing it, staring deep into your eyes.
"You make good chili. The rest of you is going to be EVEN better."
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
It's been months since you've first been brought to this barn. You've given up counting how many bowls of slop you've had to eat, how many times you've been raped, but both numbers have to be over one hundred.
You don't care anymore, as you just want it to be over. And today, finally, it will be.
You're paraded out by your owner, not even on a leash, as there's no desire left in you to do anything except what you're told. You are brought inside to a large, worn farmhouse, where it looks like thirty or so people have gathered, you've forgotten how to count. They eye you hungerly, some of them pinching and squeezing your now very obese flesh, hardly resembling a human being at all, just a round, thick hog, ripe for slaughter. You struggle as you lose your breath as you move, as you’re not use to doing *anything* since you went into that red barn door.
Shortly after, you're led outside to a meadow. You're told to look over a small clearing, with a small pond, the first bit of nature, of peace, you've seen in so long. You take a moment to enjoy that view.
You don't even see it coming when a baseball bat cracks you on the back of the head. You're dead before you hit the ground.
Several hours later, over two different dining tables, this large assembly of farmers, gardeners, laborers - people of the earth, assemble to enjoy their feast. Once a year, for Thanskgiving, they pool their money together to purchase just one meatgirl, as it's all they can afford. You're served as a full torso roast, expertly stuffed, seasoned, and garnished. Dozens of sides surround you as a part of this potluck.
Just before you're carved, they join hands, bow their heads, and say a prayer. They thank God for this food, somehow completely oblivious, ignorant, or indifferent to the irony of thanking a God who, if he exists, would subject you to this torment.
Amen.
You're carved, and your bones are picked clean, quite literally. There isn't an ounce of you that goes to waste.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**You shake the table as hard as you can for the few seconds he affords you, but your effort was in vain. He was never going to let you go, there was never any hope of escape. He presses the button.
You hear what sounds like a garbage disposal turning on, a whirring, as all four cuffs start to shake and vibrate. Then, in one succent movement, the cuffs blades release and slice through anything in their way, namely, your wrists and ankles. Your feet and hands unceremoniously fall to the ground, while the cuffs seal any potential lost blood with a cauterizing heat. Your limbs are now reduced to stumps, with shiny new horseshoes on them.
Before you can fully process this and scream in agony, your mouth O ring releases a scissor forward, quickly slicing off your tongue. It falls out of your mouth, with the O ring searing the inside of your mouth, to again, stop too much blood loss.
The farmer casually picks up your severed hands, feet, and tongue, and puts them in an old metal bucket. He looks at the terror in your eyes, staring into your shattered soul.
"It would be best for you if you just cooperate. Things can get MUCH worse for you, I promise, and it's important I break you now before you get any big ideas. You're not a person, you're livestock, got it? And come Thanksgivin' you're expected to be a good pig and feed thirty."
Without a tongue, you're unable to respond. You can only tremble in fear as you're released from the table and crash to the floor. You cower and close your eyes, hoping the worst is over. Just then, you hear a zipper, and look up as he pulls his hard cock through his sweat soaked jeans. He's been looking forward to this.
You don't even try to escape. You're ruined as it is. You just watch as he walks over, kneels down, and folds you up like a pretzel. Your pussy is dry in the evening air as he slides his cock inside you, his sweat enough lube to effortlessly take you, his stink soaking your flesh as he thrusts inside.
He mounts you like this, like an animal, as that's all you are to him. You're a fuck toy, a pocket pussy, something he's going to cum in and use for relief for the next few months, whenever he feels like it, without a word, as there's nothing to say to you. You are reduced to simple carnal, and soon, culinary pleasure.
You close your eyes and try to cry, but you just grunt like an animal, the only sound you're capable of making, as you're just livestock, after all. He uses you like this, for longer than you expect, before he empties inside you, leaning his weight on you for a while after. Slowly, he gets up, puts on his pants, and leaves without a word, shutting out the light.
You lay in the dark, not moving, not bothering to do anything, not trying to escape. You just lay there and stare into the dark, processing your fate.
You don't know how much time passes before he enters again. In one hand, he has a metal pail. In the other, an antique soup bowl, steaming hot, a spoon hanging out.
He places the soup bowl down on a small table next to a stool. He sets the pail down next to you. It has a stink to it, and you notice no utensils, not that you could use those anymore.
"THAT will be your nourishment from now on. It doesn't taste the best, which is partly why you no longer have a tongue. It's high in calories and fats, it's meant to...thicken you up. You'll be eating three meals a day, until your big day...or ELSE."
He goes to the barn wall and pulls down a bull whip, and uncoils it. He stares into your eyes, and cracks the whip on your back, just once, to send you a message. Your skin splits open and you double over, writhing in pain.
You look up as he raises the whip again. You don't want any more punishment. So, you crawl over, on your stumps, and...stick your face in the bowl. It's disgusting, but you swallow it, and whatever was left of your pride, with an audible gulp.
You look up, and see he's taken a seat on that stool, with the bowl now in his hand. He takes a big spoonful of her dinner into his mouth, chewing it, staring deep into your eyes.
"You make good chili. The rest of you is going to be EVEN better."
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
It's been months since you've first been brought to this barn. You've given up counting how many bowls of slop you've had to eat, how many times you've been raped, but both numbers have to be over one hundred.
You don't care anymore, as you just want it to be over. And today, finally, it will be.
You're paraded out by your owner, not even on a leash, as there's no desire left in you to do anything except what you're told. You are brought inside to a large, worn farmhouse, where it looks like thirty or so people have gathered, you've forgotten how to count. They eye you hungerly, some of them pinching and squeezing your now very obese flesh, hardly resembling a human being at all, just a round, thick hog, ripe for slaughter. You struggle as you lose your breath as you move, as you’re not use to doing *anything* since you went into that red barn door.
Shortly after, you're led outside to a meadow. You're told to look over a small clearing, with a small pond, the first bit of nature, of peace, you've seen in so long. You take a moment to enjoy that view.
You don't even see it coming when a baseball bat cracks you on the back of the head. You're dead before you hit the ground.
Several hours later, over two different dining tables, this large assembly of farmers, gardeners, laborers - people of the earth, assemble to enjoy their feast. Once a year, for Thanskgiving, they pool their money together to purchase just one meatgirl, as it's all they can afford. You're served as a full torso roast, expertly stuffed, seasoned, and garnished. Dozens of sides surround you as a part of this potluck.
Just before you're carved, they join hands, bow their heads, and say a prayer. They thank God for this food, somehow completely oblivious, ignorant, or indifferent to the irony of thanking a God who, if he exists, would subject you to this torment.
Amen.
You're carved, and your bones are picked clean, quite literally. There isn't an ounce of you that goes to waste.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**You squirm anxiously and begin to panic as the barn door is opened. You hop forward, and try to knock him over with a shoulder tackle, but you just bounce off of his fat and land awkwardly on the ground. He simply leans over and picks you by the hair.
"Now now, quit yer fussin, me and my kin paid good money for you and we can't afford to let you get away. You got that?"
He gets you back up and walks you into the barn, where he has a couple horses, some cows, and an empty pen, filled with hay, a bucket, and a trough for...you. You fear the worst, and that fear gets even darker as he walks you over to what looks like an operating table. You notice it also has four-point restraints, and he gruffly lifts you and throws you on it, breathing heavily from the effort.
You try to struggle and escape as he unties one bind at a time, but he’s skillfully able to hook one limb at a time into what appear to be wrist and ankle restraints. You notice they feel sharp on the inside, like there's a blade sticking out from underneath. He also grabs a metal O ring mouth gag and roughly attaches it to your face, replacing your rope gag. You are really worried now.
"This is going to hurt. A lot. So brace yourself." These are the first words he's said to you since he "purchased you" and you'd prefer they'd be anything else.
He grabs an attached control pad, an older model that uses worn, physical buttons, and flips some switches. He takes one last at you, as a person, as someone who has any hope of escape, and leans his thumb on the button, that changes all of that, forever.
[[Scream as loud as you can. Maybe he will take pity on you for a second and you can have a chance to tell him you'd make a better slave than a meal.->Can't Beg]]
[[Shake your body as hard as you can, and to break the metal cuffs open on this old table. If you can get free, you can get out.->Can't Escape]]You squirm anxiously and begin to panic as the barn door is opened. You slowly try to hop away, like a rabbit, and you get about four or five hops in before he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back.
"Now now, quit yer fussin, me and my kin paid good money for you and we can't afford to let you get away. You got that?"
He gets you back up and walks you into the barn, where he has a couple horses, some cows, and an empty pen, filled with hay, a bucket, and a trough for...you. You fear the worst, and that fear gets even darker as he walks you over to what looks like an operating table. You notice it also has four-point restraints, and he gruffly lifts you and throws you on it, breathing heavily from the effort.
You try to struggle and escape as he unties one bind at a time, but he’s skillfully able to hook one limb at a time into what appear to be wrist and ankle restraints. You notice they feel sharp on the inside, like there's a blade sticking out from underneath. He also grabs a metal O ring mouth gag and roughly attaches it to your face, replacing your rope gag. You are really worried now.
"This is going to hurt. A lot. So brace yourself." These are the first words he's said to you since he "purchased you" and you'd prefer they'd be anything else.
He grabs an attached control pad, an older model that uses worn, physical buttons, and flips some switches. He takes one last at you, as a person, as someone who has any hope of escape, and leans his thumb on the button, that changes all of that, forever.
[[Scream as loud as you can. Maybe he will take pity on you for a second and you can have a chance to tell him you'd make a better slave than a meal.->Can't Beg]]
[[Shake your body as hard as you can, and to break the metal cuffs open on this old table. If you can get free, you can get out.->Can't Escape]]"Listen, I had a long day yesterday, well, I've had a long week..." You say, gently pushing away Charlene's hands. "And I'm not in the mood for whatever Dolcett traps are waiting for me today. I'm just going to go to my office, work, and then go home, please, and thank you."
"Oh Scarlett, darling, my precious little morsel, there's no working today. Today is Dolcett day. It's a day of celebration."
"So it's a day off? I can just go home?" - you ask.
"No, you still have to come to work. But, you come to celebrate what it really means to be a part of Dolcett."
"That doesn't make me any more comfortable. I don't want to be eaten, and I mean that."
"Perfect. Did everyone hear that? Scarlett does NOT want to eaten today." She yells the last part, like she's announcing something to the room. You find this strange, like saying this matters, or something.
"That's it. It's all settled.” Charlene says. “You don't have to worry anyone laying a finger on your supple flesh. Today...is about consent."
"I have a hard time believing that." You retort, your attitude changed by the hunt. You’re ready to take on all challengers, even Charlene.
"No, no, you see darling, on Dolcett Day, any woman who is cooked MUST consent. And many do. It's quite the honor, to give yourself up on the one day you REALLY don't have to. It's the foundation of everything we believe in, the gift of our essence, our…flesh." She eyes you up and down. "In fact, you'd be quite the gift, if I do say so myself..."
You feel yourself get wet again, but roll your eyes and play it off. Charlene seems to have picked up on the change. You can hear her wheels turning as she is clearly plotting against you. For you?
"As a matter of fact, for our lunch BBQ today, my lovely pet Penny is the guest of honor. She's going to be spitted in just a few minutes. Why don't you come watch?" Charlene beckons with a wave of her hand to follow her to the courtyard area.
"I'll take her to lunch!" A familiar voice, a feminine voice, a voice that you once identified as a friend says. Stephanie takes you arm and arm and leads to the elevator, with you peaking back to see Charlene texting frantically on her phone.
"Jeez girl, I thought you were WELL DONE FOR when you tried to go home by yourself on Subjugation night. But then, that soup kitchen lady came looking for you, and we had some hope.” Stephanie says, shaking her head.
Your heart sinks as you remember Betty's rough tumble and your signing a contract to be her "volunteer."
"Am I in trouble?" you ask.
"What, in trouble? No. It's just...FUCKED UP you'd volunteer to be soup and then run out like that. Are you sure you're all there?" she says.
"In a matter of speaking, I guess I am. At least, most of me is. I'm honestly not sure what I've become."
You can tell Stephanie is only pretending to be interested as you hit the courtyard area. It's booming, and you fit right in with your casual attire, as it's more of a yard party than a business event. Cocktails are served, there's yard games, and...a very large BBQ pit, with two human size spits over hot coals slowly turn, ready to claim whoever would "consent" to ride them.
"Wellll, you still owe me lunch. Maybe I can have you tomorrow? Since today is Dolcett Day and all, and you clearly don't WANT to be lunch." She says in a teasing way, like she's trying to guilt you into being lunch.
"...I saw you kiss Brandon. You don't think I know?" You say, abruptly, ready for the confrontation. You haven't had a lot of time to think about this, but it's lingered in your mind for the last 48 hours.
Stephanie looks dejected for a moment, a tear forming in her eyes. She then stands taller, faces you, and you can tell from her body language she's not going to back down.
"...You want to pass your morality on to me?” she says. “You don't know what it's like to grow up here. You've been here 5 days. My mom was cooked and served as my Christmas dinner when I was 13. My dad made me help carve her off the fucking bone."
You go to hug Stephanie, to give her some of the love, and trust, she so deeply needs, but she pushes you away, wiping away her tears, her emotions.
"Don't feel sorry for me. Really. You don't get this far, being this beautiful, without being even smarter. Sure, it would be nice to have love, but in this world, it's not who you love, it's who you fuck, that keeps you alive.
“I'm very proud to be a Dolcett girl, and I won't apologize for planning to eat you. And...when Charlene roasts you alive in an oven, which trust me, will be VERY soon, I'll be first in line with a fucking plate."
Stephanie stares at you as she walks away, and your eyes don't follow where she goes. Instead, your eyes drift to the show about to start, a commotion, as Charlene walks a very fit, very young, very naked blonde towards the two spits.
[[Advance to: Friday Afternoon->Call of the Spit]]**"Alright, I'd like to be Charlene's." You feel a twitch between your legs. You wonder why you said it like THAT as you walk over to Charlene.
"Excellent, everyone please follow me SLOWLY down the stairs, we will head SAFELY off into mass production of ALL of your most savory prepared foods." The Safety Inspector then gestures for you to head down the stairs.
You follow Charlene's lead as she places a hand on your low back and pulls you in close. She walks you down the stairs in this very romantic gesture, her completely unbothered that you're in the middle of your group of coworkers, for all to see.
"If I can be honest, darling, this is a DREADFUL machine. How…uncivilized." A pause. "Especially for someone like YOU, a prime roast, if I've ever seen one."
You laugh, for a second, and feel a bit too comfortable. You also notice you get a little wet.
You notice a flash in Charlene's eyes, like she can tell exactly how she's affected you.
"Oh, don't worry, I prefer somewhere more...
"...intimate."
You feel an invisible collar clasp around your neck, with the leash firmly in Charlene's hand. It's not locked, yet, but her control over you is clearly growing. And yet, you don't mind this. She makes you feel special, valued, even…loved?
So, you let her lead you through the rest of the tour, hand gently at your back, or squeezing your wrist, or rubbing your shoulder. You feel your lips release a slight moan at a few of these touches, and as the various meals are prepared in front of you, she slowly describes what she'd do with the same cuts of YOU.
"Do you know why I'm going to roast you whole, my little oven-muffin?" She says sweetly, as you feel yourself gently nod along. "The meat always taste better when it knows it's cooking. But, even more than that...it’s the acceptance that matters. The anticipation, the release, the orgasms you'll have will make you absolutely DIVINE."
You feel your face flush, and a bead of your juice runs down your leg. You feel yourself craving IT. You don't know what IT is yet, but you know you need to be IT.
"So, I'm going to cook you whole, and I'm going to eat as much of you as I can tonight. But I promise..." Charlene pauses, and leans in, like she's going to give you a kiss. "...I promise I won’t let any of you go to waste."
You moan. You're losing yourself. You feel yourself nearly fall over, but her grip on you pulls you towards her as the tour continues. You can no longer hear what the Safety Inspector is saying.
"I'm going to carve you up tonight...portion you out, and I'm going to make SO many meals out of you. Gosh, I can't wait. I'm going to write your name and your date of conversion on little labels, and store you. And eat you. I'm going to eat you ALL up, darling."
As you doze in and out of this reality, you feel Brendan and Stephanie watching, pointing at you, and as they giggle you notice that they seem a lot closer than you initially thought.
"I promise, Scarlett, my little lamb, that when I...gut you...that I'll be savoring your little organs too. I'm even going to eat your tight, wet, juicy little CUNT."
You're nearly broken now, nearly helpless, just one suggestion away from being on her plate tonight. You quietly hope you taste as good as she says as your pussy soaks.
Your blurry vision catches, for just a second, Stephanie pin Brendan against a wall and shove her tongue in his mouth.
"…I was going to be meatloaf..." You mutter to yourself, the haze that Charlene has over you has left you indifferent to this betrayal.
"What's that darling? What do you want to be? Tell me." Charlene says, excited, with her hand slowly lowering towards your cunt. She's never touched you *there* yet, but when she does, when she slips inside you, it'll be over, for sure.
"Oh, I, um, I, would, like......to be......"
Your panties are soaked through, you notice, as you feel her hand slip inside your pants. One finger slowly begins rubbing against your outer lips, then your inner lips, and then inches inside.
"Tell me." She commands.
"I want to be...your…oven...ro-"
Suddenly, a loud, whistle like horn sounds. It shocks you back into reality, this reality, where you're a person, and not tonight's main course. As you look around, you don't see where the sound came from, its almost like the alarm came from outside of the factory. It's an odd placement for an end of work day sound.
"Well, you all know what THAT sounds means." The safety inspector says, looking at his watch. "Please follow me, single file, to our designated parking lot and pick up area. No rushing, no pushing, no accidents, please. NICE and safe."
You follow the herd, the grip Charlene had on you loosened, just for a moment. As you wander towards the exit, you notice a change in her. Her patient, siren like charm has disappeared. She seems anxious, like she's worried about something. But what would scare Charlene?
"Scarlett, my little Ham Hock, let me give you a ride to my home. It's not safe for you to be on the streets tonight."
You look at her with a flushed face. You heard what she said. HER home. Her oven.
"You'll eat me." You say, the flood of sexual energy from before rushing back.
"Yes, I will." She responds, echoing you.
"But, I...don't want to." You feel like you're speaking in one voice with her.
"You HAVE to want to." She says back, but her voice sounds like yours.
"Why is that important?" You plead, knowing Charlene understands the secret to what you've been wondering about all week, the same secret Jane embraced, but you still can’t accept.
A limo pulls up. A well-dressed driver walks over, nods at Charlene, and opens the back door.
"It's important to ME." She pauses, and for the first time since knowing her, she drops her sexuality and gets very serious.
"There are worse fates than being my dinner tonight. Come along, before it's too late."
[[You have a feeling if you go into that limo door, the next door you'll come out of will be her oven. But, whatever is scaring her, scares you. Take your chances with Charlene.->Hump Day Dinner]]
[[Run home. The meat plant is only a fifteen minute walk from DolcettCo, and if you run, it'll be even less. You're better off going it alone.->Born to Run]]“I’m going, Charlene. I don’t care what happens to Morgan. I know I’m not going to get paid, and I also know that I’m not going to roast.” you say, adamantly.
“You don’t know everything, yet, my little…well, I guess not, after all.” She says, a bit disappointed. “SOMEONE has to run Bates Accounting, and it turns out, that person is YOU.”
"Why should I? I can only imagine the types of deals you and Morgan made to make this business so profitable, and I’m not interested in continuing them. Period.” You realize that you’re not the same you after this journey, money or not, you’re a better you.
"It has to do with Dolcett law, darling." Charlene says as she examines her former Mistress, her future roast. "We were business partners, Morgan and I. She has a rather *large* stake in DolcettCo. But, no woman can own property, or stock, or a vested business interest in a Dolcett business without having ALL of her assets registered with a listed "fall back" person in the event of their sudden...roasting." She licks her lips again.
"I was her fall back person? But then why did she send me to Dolcett?” you ask curiously.
"Well, Dolcett law also requires that a fall back person is informed yearly, in writing, of the asset they hold. So each year, just as the notice goes out, she has the last person snuffed, and a new person listed. That way, she stays in complete control. Rather ingenious, really.”
You realize that you were hired in just over a year ago as an intern. But, through your hard work, or so you thought, you were quickly promoted when the person formally in your role suddenly quit without notice. But, she didn’t quit, you realize now, she was sent to Dolcett, and likely eaten by Brendan.
Your eyes widen, a sudden realization coming over you.
Jenna.
You look down at your watch and see it’s just past 10:00am. Jenna could be still alive, but she’s unlikely to last the day.
“What is it, darling? Is there something I can do for you to seal our new…business partnership?”
You have a final decision to make, one that will shape your very future, if not the future of the world. On one hand, Jenna risked her life to save yours, and you owe her the same. On the other, she is the only person who knows about the fraudulent paperwork, and she’s a liability.
[[Ask Charlene to rush back to Dolcett and send Jenna home. It’s a risk, but you have to stick your neck out for her, you owe her at least that.->Good ending]]
[[Ask Charlene to return to Dolcett and ensure that Jenna never leaves, at least, in one piece. In fact, to seal your new business arrangement, ask that she brings back a cut of Jenna next Monday for your lunch. You just can’t take the risk that she’ll betray you someday.->Bad Ending]]You rush over and step in front of the large table, just as it is being wheeled to a large observation style boardroom.
"Just one second, I need a quick peak." You say, without waiting for permission.
You lift up one of the serving trays, to see a THICK cut of...butterfly girl meat pork chops, freshly carved, with some of the bone still attached. You realize your mouth suddenly, and instantly feel regret for thinking this is appetizing. But, you forgive yourself, as you didn't eat last night. You put the tray down, snap back into reality, and prepare to apologize.
Suddenly, the board room door bursts open, and a Eastern European looking man comes out, engaged, screaming at you in a language you don't understand. You try to apologize, but he waves you off, as he next starts yelling at the head chef. He's very upset, until they share some words you don't understand, and then he calms. You feel a cold sweat on your forehead as they both turn to look at you, look at each other, and shake hands. The not as angry man gives you one final glance, up and down, as he returns to the board room.
"What…just happened?" You ask, visibly shaking.
The chef looks at you, impatiently, and then looks up and something behind you. You turn to see a giant analog clock, with it just passing 9:00 AM.
"In his culture, food is sacred." You hear as you turn back to face him, watching as his expression changes, as if he's processing something *else* as he's talking to you. "No one is allowed to look at the meal that is served until the leader has given his approval. YOU have looked. YOU have dishonored an entire culture. And now..."
He crosses his arms, shaking his head, and puts his hand on his chin, contemplating.
"Now, I am going to have to think of something *else* to serve for breakfast, quickly, before we have a diplomatic issue on our hands."
"You don't mean...me?" You say, your stomach turning in knots.
"Well, OF COURSE I mean you, that's not the hard part. It's what are we going to do WITH you in a short amount of time."
He flashes a glance at his two assistant chefs and snaps his fingers. You are quickly grabbed up, and even as you struggle, and scream, you are carried off towards the kitchen, never to be seen again. At least, not as a person.
The chef mutters to himself.
"Maybe a Frittata. No, it takes too long. Something quick. Something I can have ready in a few minutes. Something filling. Something unique." He snaps his fingers again. "I've got it."
You're carried into the kitchen, stripped, and wrapped in kitchen twine. The kitchen twine in Dolcett is impossible to break, but you squirm regardless, fighting for your life. You engage in this fruitless struggle as the kitchen staff work feverously. Soon, you're carried again, and dropped into a large mixing bowl, with raw eggs cracked and dumped on you, the assistants working furiously to ensure the egg is rubbed all over your body.
"Batter, I need batter. Who’s making the FUCKING batter?" You hear the chef yell.
Next, raw flour is dumped on you, so much that you cough, and you blink repeatedly to get it out your eyes. A button is pressed, and the bowl throws you around, like a carnival ride you desperately want to get off, until you're fully coated.
Before you can get your barrings, you're carried for the last time. As you approach what's next, it gets warmer. You're coated in egg, flour, and now you get the smell of...grease?
"Oh no." - Your last words.
You're dumped unceremoniously into a fryer basket, and a button is pressed that drops you into the boiling oil. You SCREAM, but the oil floods your lungs and fries you from the inside. You only last a few seconds in intense, searing, soul destroying pain as you're deep fried alive.
Your ass is the first part of you that floats when you're done.
**GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.**
Negotiations continue in a stressed boardroom, who have waited nearly 30 minutes for their early morning meal. Suddenly, the head chef pushes in a large table, with about a dozen plates, towards the head of the board room, the leader of the visiting nation, and bows, as is customary.
The chef steps back, anxiously, and waits. The leader walks over, gives a stern glance to the chef, and then places a hand on the lid.
"May I present..." The chef says, in anticipation.
The lid is lifted, to show slices of your expertly deep fried meat resting on a bed of waffles, topped with a light syrup. The plate is completed with assorted berries.
"...girl meat and waffles."
The leader stares down at this plate, for about twelve seconds, not moving, or gesturing, or saying a thing, before gently placing the lid down to the side. The chef is relieved. Placing the lid near, but not back over the dish, is the sign of approval in this culture.
The leader smiles, and shakes hands with the chef. Everyone in the room claps. Dishes are passed to the assembled members.
A crisis is averted, and a deal today between two cultures will be made. You've actually ended up playing a large part of it, even though no one bothered to learn your name.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: MONDAY AM->Monday AM]]**"You should take me doggy." You mutter, still pretending to be dead. "I’m so tight from behind, you can get so deep, and I'll still pretend like I'm snuffed.”
You don't have to tell him twice. He pulls out, flips you over, pulls your hips up, and faces you towards the headboard, holding you in place by the root of your hair. He slides in roughly, and your eyes nearly gloss over at the depth of his penetration.
He starts to fuck you, and you let your body go limp, with him pulling your head back so he can stare into your "dead" eyes. You play the role, thinking of what to do next. Just as he releases your hair, he begins to thrust even harder, and you hear what sounds like a crack. You look, and one of the wooden support beams on the headboard has broken, and you can grab it. This is your chance.
You reach for it, and get two fingers on it, but, there's just one problem. He's hitting it DEEP and he's practically scrambling your brains. You can't see straight. There's a little voice in your head that's SCREAMING "almost there, almost there" and you go legitimately limp as your body quakes and erupts with a wild orgasm, the pleasure flooding every ounce of your body.
You collapse on the bed after that release, panting, with nothing else in those seconds mattering, not even your life.
"Glad you got your wish." He says, with some inflection of pleasure. But, not from your orgasm, but from what he’s going to do next.
Before you fully process the graveness of that statement, and just as you try and reach forward for the broken wood, he picks your head up off the bed and smashes it in the concreate wall. You can’t make out anything from your concussed vision, flailing to grab something, anything, as he smashes your head into the wall a second time, breaking your nose. Your body is only operating on its base instincts when a third, decisive smash into the wall ceases all of your brain function.
He never stops fucking you, even as he’s murdering you. He doesn’t last much longer after, though, as your last moments were one HOT scene.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The sound of your corpse being fucked echoes in the room, with hard thrusts from your murderer as he enjoys your still warm cunt. Well, enjoys is probably a strong word. He's more business like, more restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine. Everything he does is purposeful, he doesn't alter his routine even when small changes or decisions come up.
Once he's done, he slowly unties you from the noose, as the frying pan smokes in the distance. He drags you by the hair into the bathroom, your lifeless face staring blankly in defeat, a fresh load of his cum drying on your forehead. He's already tied some additional cords to the shower rod setup, to hoist up your body.
He casually hangs you by your ankles, pulls your head back, and cuts your throat. He also slits your wrists and lets you bleed out while he runs the bathwater.
He comes back into the kitchen. He looks in your cupboard and finds salt, pepper, and a little olive oil. He shrugs. It's enough.
He grabs his briefcase and goes back into the bathroom, and opening it to access his collection of various knives and tools. He pulls out a large saw, and gets to work cutting through your spine to sever your head.
He carries your still dripping head by the hair back into the kitchen area, and places it in his cooler. He makes sure to cover it with some ice.
He then goes back into the bathroom, looks you over, and uses the various knives in his kit to make small cuts into you. He's not really interested in a full meal, just a taste of your various parts. So, he slices off some rump, some rib meat, some backstrap, and some thigh. He brings them into the kitchen, rinses them off, seasons them, and pours some oil in the pan, a bit late, as the pan has been heated to the ideal temperature for some time. He shrugs quietly at his timing, noting the extra time with you was well worth it.
A loud sizzle fills the room as your dry, still warm meat hits the pan. He pauses for a second or two, and then goes to wash off his equipment, packing it back into the briefcase. He's got everything packed and in order just as you're ready to eat.
He casually eats while staring at the wall - cold, thoughtless, indifferent. Once he's had his fill, he picks up the cooler, briefcase, and takes one last look at the room. There's blood on the floor. The dishes are dirty. There's a corpse hanging in the stained bathtub.
He sighs. He reaches in his pocket to leave some cash. But then, he stops, and instead grabs the hotel notepad and writes "Tip in bathroom."
Maybe the maid will get a good meal out of what's left of you.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**You step forward towards the lake, but feel your body hesitate. That lake is in a VERY open clearing, and Catori could probably see you rushing towards it from wherever she is now. It’s best to keep going, you tell yourself, realizing that if you do end up in close quarters combat with this woman, you’re better off surrendering than fighting this de-hydrated.
Just as you go to keep moving through the forest, you see Puma Catori across the lake, studying it, waiting. She’s expecting you to drink from it, waiting for you to make this mistake. You realize that you’ve outsmarted her twice, so far, and your resolve grows that you can survive until sunset.
You slowly work your way through the forest, trying to walk in irregular patterns and pointing your feet in odd directions. You go on this way for two, maybe three hours, without another sighting from Puma Catori. You’re well into mid-afternoon by the position of the sun.
Suddenly, you hear a large crack, as a branch of a large tree falls to the ground, crashing into the forest floor below. You look up and see a flock of birds fly up, all of this happening very close to your current position.
[[You sprint, making a run for it, as fast as you can, for as long as you can. She’s close, and you have to make distance. ->Ribs]]
[[You see a tree nearby that you think you can climb. Hiding worked well the last time, and maybe you can get the drop on her. ->Moves Quick]]You nod and ready yourself for your fastest sprint of the day. She’s close, too close, and you’ve got to make distance. You take in a big inhale, feeling your ribs expand, and take off, running like your life literally depends on it.
You’re crashing loudly through the woods, but you’re committed to this. You run, and run, and run, farther than you even thought was possible, until you literally double over in pain, stopping to take long, heaving breaths. Your chest aches, your ribs feel like they are going to snap. You take just a moment to kneel, and just as you get back to standing, you feel a bullet rip through your oblique and settle firmly in your lung.
You immediately cough out blood, getting one, two steps forward, before you crash down face first in a pile of leaves. You realize that you’ve been shot right where a hunter would shoot a deer, to preserve the meat, but ensure there would be no escape. You’re no different, you’re just an animal like any other, soon to be on a hunter’s plate.
You can’t breathe as blood fills your throat, and the last thing you see is Puma walking over to stand and watch as you expire. Everything is so quiet now, after all the noise you just made.
You drift away from this world, settling into the meat you were meant to be.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Deeper in the forest, in a lovely clearing with a meadow, a log cabin sits cozy with a smoking chimney.
Inside, your huntress has a slab of your ribs on a baking sheet, the bullet hole that took your life visible, which she is coating with an ample amount of dry rub. She's decided to oven bake them for a nice barbeque dinner, as you spend so much time running around and scampering, that she might as well have those first.
You'll be served with a baked potato and a nice glass of red wine. Not her best glass, but you weren't her best hunt.
You spent so much time heaving in your last minutes, that she realized that your mouth, going so wide, and then so narrow, would make a cute faucet in her garden. She’s going to paint your skull with a flower pattern, and attach it to a spicket, so you can take a big exhale every time she wants to water her vegetables.
The rest of you is wrapped in butcher paper and stored in her freezer. She plans to have you again later this week.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**You take a deep breath, trying to find the words that will stop this terrible fate.
"Yeah, you know what, I do have something to add, and it's the truth. You think you're in control here?" You pause, giving her a chance to respond.
"Um, yeah, duh, I'm pretty sure you're the one whose tied up and about to be eaten, sooooo..." She says, with some break in character, as she's taken aback.
"That's what you think for now. Sure, you might eat me, but sooner or later, your husband, who just sees you as some object, some servant, he'll get bored of you. And then - he's going to eat YOU. He doesn't respect you, none of THIS is actually yours. You're just trying to stay on his good side before you're replaced with someone younger, someone hotter, someone with a deeper throat." That last part really makes you happy, you're clearly enjoying this. "If you really want to be in control, you should let me go. Take his money, start over, and really live your life on YOUR terms."
You exhale as you conclude, hoping that did the trick.
"Well, that was just, it was...I've never thought about it like that. But the thing is..."
The "but" does not sit well with you.
"...you're right."
You give a sigh of relief. Thank God. Thank fucking God.
"...one day, my husband may want to replace me, and I may consent to being eaten, as it's the RIGHT thing to do, something YOU clearly know nothing about. But, for today..." She pauses to bop you on the nose with a finger. "...YOU are going to be the one on a plate. And that's all matters."
Your heart sinks, as she smiles, and then turns to the camera, and puts that million dollar smile back on. "So next up, we are going to hang the meat by the wrists in our smoker, remember - anticipation makes the meat taste better! As she gets all SOAKED in her juices, I'll show you how to make my WORLD famous potato salad!"
You sigh. Your plan did not work. You close your eyes. There's no way out of what comes next.
As your eyes open again, you're in a white hot smoker, feeling your skin start to turn the texture of leather, the smoke burning your lungs and the sweat pouring into your eyes, making them useless.
As you hang there, you realize something. You've spent your entire adult life trying to lead the charge of feminism - you've paved your own way, not taken shortcuts, climbed the corporate ladder. And now, after all that, on the cusp of your potential financial independence from everything...you're going to be some tradwife's dinner. Worse yet, once you're good and smoked to perfection, she's going to pull your feminist rump apart and present you like a trophy on a plate.
You realize that despite all your efforts, you've lost, and as you take one last exhale of smoke, you surrender yourself to a social structure that despite your best efforts, has been around long before your time, and will go on long after.
You spent your whole life fighting the patriarchy, and now, you're the patriarchy’s dinner.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
A perfectly balanced BBQ plate, still smoking, sits, beautifully arranged, on a pristine marble countertop. It's you, well, rather, it's Scarlett Pulled Pork, arranged next to "famous" potato salad, scratch made mac and cheese, and a slice of cornbread. It's Friday now, Dolcett Day, a sort of holiday you know nothing about, since you didn't live long enough to experience it.
Becky looks into the camera, puts on her best June Cleaver smile, and presses record.
"And there you have it, everyone! A meal fit for a king, YOUR king, as Men really DO rule the world. Here's another secret - give your man a HEAP of meat from your barbeque - it doesn't matter if he finishes his plate, only that HE gets nice and full. You don't want to leave room for seconds, after all." Becky gives the camera wink.
"Because after all - Men make decisions, women make dinner! Don't forget to like, subscribe, share, and if you'll PARDON me, I'm going to dig in!"
She takes a large forkful of your pulled pork, and slides it in her mouth. She nods exaggeratingly and gives out a loud "mmmmmmmmm", nodding into the camera.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**As you say the words "Today is the day I get eaten" something breaks in your brain. You think you can pull yourself back, but you were just TOO close to the edge for that joke. You feel a numbness in your head, and a willingness in your body for surrender.
Char can smell the submission on your lips as the words exit your mouth. She's eaten enough women to know when one is "flirting with the pot" and is ready for a good snuffing. She seizes the opportunity.
"That's right, darling. Today is the day you are eaten. Say it again. Louder. Now." Char commands you.
*When did you start thinking of her as Char?* You wonder, before she walks over and places her hand in your jeans, right onto your clit, and gently strokes your love button. You completely lose control of any other thought except your arousal.
"Today is the day I am eaten." You respond, the sarcasm in your voice gone, replaced with a matter of fact statement. A declaration. A need.
"Did anyone else here that?" Char exclaims in excitement, with a couple co-workers chiming in that you have given "consent."
You don't push back, you're asleep standing up. Or rather, you're wide awake, and very aware of exactly what you are, for the first time.
"Looks like we are going to have TWO over the coals this afternoon." Char says, sliding two fingers inside you, while keeping her thumb pressed on your clit. You nearly fall over in ecstasy, and she tugs you by the hook she's created inside you down the hall, towards the courtyard area.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
“I would’ve preferred she roasted in an oven, but THIS really does suit her.” You hear Char’s voice, but you can’t see where she’s standing.
Your view of the world is different now, it sort of spins, ever so slowly, on an axis. You can only look forward, as this is, of course, the only neck position for someone with a spit skewered through their body. Well, actually, their meat, as you stopped being a person with a body a long time ago.
You don't remember anything of how you got here. Once Char put her expert hands on your mound, everything else is a blur. No details, no pain, no memories. Just this.
So you spin, slowly, and cook. You can smell the BBQ sauce, seasonings, and herbs mix in with your own flavor, and are sad that you won't get a taste of yourself. Sad that you passed on so many chances to taste girl meat. Especially with how delicious that broth was last night.
You spin slowly over the spit, and close your eyes.
You're glad to finally have your purpose in life.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FRIDAY AM ->Friday AM]]**You take a deep breath, trying to find the words that will stop this terrible fate.
"Listen, ummm." You look at her at first, but then, alternate your gaze between her and the camera. "I'm not from around here. I don't know how or why I got caught up in all this. But, you seem like a really, really great person." You choke back your words as you continue on with this lie. "You have the perfect house, the perfect hair, the perfect life..." You see her blush and place a hand on her chest, as she is flattered.
"And, if I'm being honest? I really don't want to die. And I don't think someone with such a good heart, like YOU would want to...eat...someone, a person, a human being, who wasn't willing. So, could you please let me go?" You plan to stop there, but then think of one last bit, that you feel is right up her alley.
"Pretty please?" You say, in your best mock tradwife voice, dying inside a little bit, for the hope of not dying on the outside.
She stops and ponders your thoughts for a little bit.
"Well, that was just, it was...I've...never met meat before that didn't want to be cooked before. How...progressive. Like the soup!” She giggles. “But, the thing is..."
The "but" does not sit well with you.
"...you're right."
You give a sigh of relief. Thank God. Thank fucking God.
"...I do have the perfect life. The perfect...everything. And, I'm going to keep it that way, by making sure my husband is well fed, whether you’re willing or NOT."
Your heart sinks, as she smiles, and then turns to the camera, and puts that million dollar smile back on. "So next up, we are going to hang the meat by the wrists in our smoker, remember - anticipation makes the meat taste better! As she gets all SOAKED in her juices, I'll show you how to make my WORLD famous potato salad!"
You sigh. Your plan did not work. You close your eyes. There's no way out of what comes next.
As your eyes open again, you're in a white hot smoker, feeling your skin start to turn the texture of leather, the smoke burning your lungs and the sweat pouring into your eyes, making them useless.
As you hang there, you realize something. You've spent your entire adult life trying to lead the charge of feminism - you've paved your own way, not taken shortcuts, climbed the corporate ladder. And now, after all that, on the cusp of your potential financial independence from everything...you're going to be some tradwife's dinner. Worse yet, once you're good and smoked to perfection, she's going to pull your feminist rump apart and present you like a trophy on a plate.
You realize that despite all your efforts, you've lost, and as you take one last exhale of smoke, you surrender yourself to a social structure that despite your best efforts, has been around long before your time, and will go on long after.
You spent your whole life fighting the patriarchy, and now, you're the patriarchy’s dinner.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
A perfectly balanced BBQ plate, still smoking, sits, beautifully arranged, on a pristine marble countertop. It's you, well, rather, it's Scarlett Pulled Pork, arranged next to "famous" potato salad, scratch made mac and cheese, and a slice of cornbread. It's Friday now, Dolcett Day, a sort of holiday you know nothing about, since you didn't live long enough to experience it.
Becky looks into the camera, puts on her best June Cleaver smile, and presses record.
"And there you have it, everyone! A meal fit for a king, YOUR king, as Men really DO rule the world. Here's another secret - give your man a HEAP of meat from your barbeque - it doesn't matter if he finishes his plate, only that HE gets nice and full. You don't want to leave room for seconds, after all." Becky gives the camera wink.
"Because after all - Men make decisions, women make dinner! Don't forget to like, subscribe, share, and if you'll PARDON me, I'm going to dig in!"
She takes a large forkful of your pulled pork, and slides it in her mouth. She nods exaggeratingly and gives out a loud "mmmmmmmmm", nodding into the camera.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**After surveying the three options, you decide that the farmer type will be the easiest to hopefully talk out of dining on you. You try to remain still, sickly, and otherwise unappetizing as the tradwife and hunter take their time having a pass at you. But, when the Farmer type has his turn, you try to look lively, stick out parts of your body that you assume he wants to eat, and otherwise are pleasant, smiling, and lively.
You aren't sure what's appetizing, but you do your best.
Your plan works, for better or worse. You don't know this for a while, as you're forced to wait, but eventually, you’re freshly tied up, completely immobilized as a rope encircles your torso. Your ankles are also freshly bound, only allowing you to gingerly walk. Your hands are lastly clasped in front, allowing you to be easily hung by the wrists, if needed. You're lastly gagged, which you resent the most, as you'll need to be able to speak to get out of *whatever* comes next.
You're led outside to a worn pickup truck, with the Farmer waiting. His truck has certainly seen better days, probably over 20 years ago, but it must've proven reliable to last as far. You notice that it has a little more rust than it has paint, but hey, it's not your place to complain, not in the current position you are in. He pulls down the bed of the truck and gruffy throws you in, like he's tossing a barrel of hay, and then then uses ratchet straps to tie you to the bed. He takes a last look, nods, and closes the door.
You spend what feels like the next two to three hours wondering about the predicament you've ended up in. How you will get out of it. He hasn't spoken a word to you, or really, anyone, and you wonder if you're going to be able to through to him.
Suddenly, the truck stops with a jerk, with you looking around and not seeing any ambient light. You correctly surmise that you are somewhere in the country, and as the truck bed is let down, you see a rather large, rustic farm. He leads you to a weathered red barn, and you REALLY don't like your chances if you end up going in there.
He leaves you standing by yourself briefly to go lift the large 2x4 that keeps the barn door closed.
[[This isn't looking good, and your binds are really tight. Maybe you can hop away?->Can't Run]]
[[This feels hopeless. Try charging him, maybe you can knock him on his ass?->Can't Fight]]“Um, I’d like to see your house, I’m sure I’d like it there.” You try to sound casual, hoping to keep the friendly vibe going long enough to plan your next move.
She nods, slowly, like she understands something you do not.
"Yes, I have quite the view picked out for you, as a matter of fact."
She begins to crawl up, once again mounting you. She pulls you into her, hugging you in so tight that it strains your neck.
“Thank you for providing me with such a worthy hunt. I will not forget you, your sacrifice, your meat. I take what you give me and I promise to use it well.”
You don’t like the past tense of this, but she’s holding you so tight that you can’t say or do anything.
“I offer you a painless death. Go to the other side, and wait for me there. We will meet again.”
Before you can say anything else, she snaps your neck, leaving your body limp. She continues hugging you close for several minutes, soaking in the moment of her best ever hunt.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Deeper in the forest, in a lovely clearing with a meadow, a log cabin sits cozy with a smoking chimney.
Inside, Puma Catori has a cast iron pan out, heated to smoking, as she carefully lays your freshly carved cunt steak into the pan. It sears loudly, and she expertly scoops a light pan sauce on top to keep it moist. In another pan, mashed potatoes, a perfect side dish for a hunt like you.
Once you're cooked to rare, she slides you on a plate, garnishes you with an herb, and dollops mashed potatoes right next to you. Your table is shared with an earthy salad, freshly tossed from plants growing from her garden. She uncorks and pours some of her best wine, she's saved for a special occasion.
She sits, smiles, and slowly slices her first bite. She looks right into your eyes as she does so, as your now taxidermized, stuffed head is mounted on a plaque, having quite the view from over her fireplace. She smiles as she tastes you, as you are JUST as delicious as she remembers.
She's decided to not freeze all of you, leaving a large portion of you wrapped and stored in her refrigerator. She won't be making another quarry request soon. She plans on eating off you all week. No, all month.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**You allow Emile to lead you to the right, towards the center of the restaurant. He pushes open a metallic door with a glass porthole window, and walks you in...to the kitchen area.
Before you have time to process anything or react, a cast iron frying pan wacks you on the back of the head, and you come crashing down on the floor. You're completely disorientated as you feel yourself floating, being carried off somewhere.
"I'm telling you, I've been working here for THREE years, but I still don't get any of the good holidays off.” A young, but tired looking sous chef says.
"Yeah, but at least you GET holidays off. I've been working like a dog since I got here." says an even younger one.
You feel yourself hung upside down, and look down to see a large sink. The water is hastily turned on. You feel your hair pulled back, exposing your neck.
"Yeah, but like, YOU haven't worked here as long as I have. I have to work Dolcett Day, Thanksgiving, AND Christmas. It's not right." The first sous chef says, increasingly frustrated at his predicament.
You feel a knife jabbed into your throat, and cleanly sliced across. You gurgle as you wake up, as much as you can, as your head is pulled further back to allow you to bleed out more quickly. Your eyes bulge and you shake involuntarily, realizing exactly what's happened to you just as everything starts to go dark.
"Yeah, but at LEAST you get Valentine’s Day off. That's prime time for prime rib." The second sous chef says.
"Yeah, I guess it could be worse..." The first concludes the conversation, for as much of it you'll ever hear.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Brendan sits patiently, scrolling on his phone, sipping his wine. Everything has gone to plan. Another easy transaction has taken place. Sometimes, he wonders, why he isn't able to do *more* in life, but then remembers that Charlene is still there. In the way of what should be *his.*
Just then, Emile returns, with a perfectly presented plate of Fois Gras, served with a fig jam and crusty baguette.
"I'm happy to inform you that the lady enjoyed her alcohol, and as such, her liver was fattier than usual. Please enjoy." Emile bows, and goes to leave, before stopping himself. "Monsieur, the boss would like to ask if you'd like the normal percentage?"
"Twenty percent of the gross sales, Emile, please. You may keep the rest. She's both from South Carolina and a Vegetarian, so I'm expecting a high return."
"Of course. Bon Appetit. And Thank You for your patronage, as always."
Brendan takes his time eating you, savoring your flavor. You're special to him in this moment. And then, forgot the next.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: MONDAY AM->Monday AM]]**You get back to your room just at dawn. This gives you just enough time to shower, get dressed, and stare at yourself in the mirror. You're different, no doubt. You look leaner, worn, but also, stronger, determined, seasoned.
Maybe not seasoned.
The last thing you need is to reignite that flame again.
You put on some casual clothes - t shirt, jeans, sneakers. You throw your hair up in a bun and you don't fix your makeup. You remark to yourself *"If this place doesn't do casual Friday, then fuck them."*
After your hunt experience, your resolve is something entirely different. Your determination. Your strength. It's unlikely, no, impossible that anyone will trick you into being eaten at this point.
You remember the taste of the broth on your lips. There’s no doubt about it. You're here, nourished, changed, in part, due to someone else's death.
No, you correct yourself, you've been given the gift of life.
And yet, this lingering, aching feeling remains. An unanswered question. A yearning, a craving, a spark that once flickered continues to grow inside of you. A desire for that final, perfect moment.
If anything, your biggest opponent today...will be yourself.
***
As you enter the office, you realize that you haven't thought about the money in over two days. *”Maybe that entire thing was a MacGuffin.”* You joke to yourself.
As you get off the elevator and walk towards your office, you see Charlene out of the corner of your eye. She nearly trips over herself, sprinting in 4 inch heels to hug you.
"Oh, my GOODNESS, my little lamb chop! You're okay? I thought you were snuffed for SURE when you didn't come to work yesterday, but I am SO happy to see you. And not only are you back, but you're..."
You notice her hug has become more of a grope, squeezing parts of you that she’s learned trigger you, and you feel your desire to be meat slowly creep back in.
"...you've come back in ONE piece! And it's just lovely darling, because do you know what today is?"
[["Let me guess. Today is the day I get eaten."->Easy Spit]]
[[Tell her you're not in the mood for, well, anything, and go to your office.->Charlene Test]]You sit for hours by yourself, baking in the sun, in the corner of the Dolcett Day BBQ. The scent of meat fills the air. When you were offered a glass of champagne, you took the bottle.
As you soak in your final hour of your final work day, you notice that you've been staring at Penny, who is no longer turning on the spit, but is on a carving table, being served. You've watched people line up, get a plate fixed, and go eat. It's so normal, it's so like any other BBQ you've ever been to in your life, even with spit roasted girl meat as the entree.
"It's now or never." You tell yourself, but you know deep down, it's now. You HAVE to know. So, you walk over, casually at first, but as her aroma tingles your nostrils, you feel yourself sprint. You grab a plate, and race over to the chef, the same chef you saw Monday morning, your mouth watering.
"What would you like?" He says, robotically, like he's been asking the same question all day, as he has.
You really don't know how to answer, as you eye her carved carcass up and down.
"A...little bit of everything, I guess?"
He smiles. "Good choice." He serves you two slices of rump, a rib, some flank, and a little calf. "Happy Dolcett day. Bon Appetit."
"Same to you." You quickly retreat. You pass by the huge spread of delicious looking sides, but you don't stop. You have what you came for, and find an empty bench. You realize you forgot a fork and knife, but you're too tired, too hungry to care. You eat with your hands.
You fold up a slice of rump and take a huge bite, not thinking twice about this decision. It's...DELICIOUS. So Juicy. The flavor is unlike any other meat, like it has an entirely different profile, of character, of meaning.
"I can see why they eat people here." You remark to yourself, as you look down at your plate for your next bite.
Just then, you notice someone sit next to you, and realize it's Brandan. You feel your limbic brain ready itself, but then your cerebrum reminds you - he's no threat today. It's Dolcett Day. You realize you like Dolcett Day, and keep eating.
"You were really incredible earlier. I've never seen anyone stand up to Charlene like that. Ever." He begins, and you just sort of watch and listen, as you stuff your face.
"Thanks." You state through muffled breath, as your mouth is full, and you're not really interested in his exposition at the moment.
You see his expression sink, as he considers what he's going to say, carefully. You realize between bites that this man is very nervous. But, not to impress you, or manipulate you, but for some other reason...companionship?
"You know Scarlett, this used to be my dad's company. I always assumed that one day I'd take it over. But, Charlene has always been one step ahead of me. I figured when they, the board of directors that is, appointed a woman as CEO, how long could she last?
“But, I've been....regulated...to a celebratory role. I'm a figurehead of the past, instead of having any real power. I realized today that what I've lacked to change that, is you.
I...have a really serious question to ask." he concludes.
You suck on a rib, suddenly wondering if you got BBQ sauce on your face. "Mmhmm?" Your eyes bulge as you realize you have a former person's rib in your mouth, but then shrug, as it's too delicious to not pick clean.
"I'd like...I'd like to ask you to marry me." He says, struggling to find the words, his hands shaking from the nerves.
You nearly gag on the bone as you cough and process what he just said. You stare into his eyes with a blank stare and play the clip over and over in your head. Did he? He did? Asked YOU to...marry him?
"Um, no thank you?" You feel this response somehow conveys how you feel rather succulently, and nod, looking back at your plate for some flank steak.
"I don't think you understand the life you deny yourself." He continues. "Marriage in Dolcett is a legal contract that protects ladies from ever being snuffed without their consent. I'm sure you've seen ladies in the community wearing those diamond necklaces. It means they are OFF limits. All of the laws in your world, apply to them."
He's got a bit of your attention now.
"As a matter of fact, they're more valued than the women in your world as they are members of our highest social class. 99% of men never marry, as there's no reason too, as men can have, and snuff, and eat anyone they want.
“I've…never considered being married before today. But, you have something within you that I need. An intelligence. A cunning. A way of survival that I know that if I had you at my side - I'd finally be able to get rid of Charlene and take my rightful place as President of DolcettCo."
"I mean, I appreciate it, really.” You say, as you search your plate for a taste of calf. “But it's not what I came here for. I'm sorry. I have plans for my future already."
"So, I know that you're here looking for that million dollars - and before you ask, yes, I know about that. I've eaten a few of the women that have come before you looking for that very thing." Brendan says, as a crude statement of fact.
Your eyes squint, and you're annoyed, for a moment, but there's a strange part of you that appreciates the honesty. Of COURSE he has. You were one 50/50 choice from being his dinner on Monday night.
"But one million is a small pittance to what I have, already. Remember - my dad was the founder of this place. The money he had went to ME. You'll be reach beyond your wildest dreams, protected, and one of the most powerful women in this country. A queen among queens."
"I'd be a trophy wife..." You say, as your feminist instincts push back, resisting this offer of submission to the patriarchy. "...you make it sound like I'd be royalty, but you'd have me at home cooking your meat girl dinner in heels."
"I'll be honest, Scarlett." He pauses for a second, and he flashes a dominant streak, a natural leader vibe you haven't seen since Monday. "I'm old fashioned, so, yes. You'll cook, you'll clean, you'll be...freeuse." You see his eyes look you up and down, and for the first time this trip, you feel a Man looking you up and down JUST for sex, not for his next meal. It makes you very, very wet. "But, you'll also be among the richest woman in Dolcett, and you'll never have to worry about anything ever again.
“Consider my offer? Call me tonight. We'll put it in writing. We'll take this world by storm - together."
[[You tell him you'd like to look over the paperwork, but you've decided that this is the way to go. You'll be rich, pampered, and powerful.->Trophy]]
[[You tell him you can't, that you've lived your entire life as an independent woman, and you’re not sure what you’d become if you gave up your values.->Friday PM]]"Listen, I already told you no, and this is an unlawful termination. You can't just fire someone because they won't go somewhere where they'll be killed." You feel your voice raise, your body shake. You aren't used to confrontation, and you don't like it, but you also aren't used to the potential of your death. It unlocks something in you.
Morgan studies you, and nods silently.
"You're right. I don't need to send you to Dolcett...you going home is all the same." Morgan says, before breaking eye contact, looking down, and going back to work.
"That's it? I can go? I'm not fired?" You ask, but no answer comes.
You decide to take the reprieve and storm out, nearly knocking Jenna over on your way. As Jenna watches you leave, her face and expression drops. Morgan slowly walks out, her eyes following you, cat like, predatory, with a certainty in them.
"Change of plans Jenna, it turns OUT your number is up after all. Please make arrangements for you to leave Sunday."
She pauses, and looks over Jenna, from head to toe, as Jenna starts to lightly sob.
"I'm really going to miss you." Morgan says, with a fake, pursed, business like smile, before going back to work.
You don't bother to gather anything from your desk, which you later resent, as you've decide you won't work another day for Morgan. You go straight to your apartment, pour yourself a big glass of wine, and try to relax. Once the buzz hits, you start to wonder - what could you have done with one million dollars? Maybe turning it down wasn't the right idea after all. But also, you won't be fucking EATEN by some cannibal next week, so there's that.
You decide to take your mind off this conundrum by getting YOURSELF off, as that has never failed to provide a reprieve. You gather your laptop, your Hitachi, and start gooning your fucking brains out to some hardcore porn. There's something about the thought of you almost being sent to some exotic death that *really* has you going, so you are fine with the rough stuff.
Just as your eyes start to roll back in your head, and your toes curl, you notice a smell. You look over in the kitchen area, and notice one of your frying pans is on a burner, set to high heat.
".....what the fuck?" - You say, with a tremble in your throat.
Just as the fear sets in, and you feel your body instinctively take in a large inhale of oxygen to prepare itself for what comes next, you feel a rope tied around your throat.
You're quickly lifted up to where you're hanging by the neck, the rope strewn over one of those "high ceiling" girders you thought were so fashionable.
You kick wildly, fighting for your life, forgetting for a second to drop your Hitachi. You see your assailant only briefly, a thin, pale, expressionless man. He casually walks over, picks up your vibrator, and uses the cord to tie your hands behind your back.
You're helpless, hanging, and will be dead soon, if you don't do something. You try to swing, to stretch your neck, to bounce up and down to break the girder. You get a glimmer of hope at one point when you crash loudly into one of the walls, but, it's all for nothing.
You slowly go limp, your eyes glaze over, and life exits your body.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Your assailant, looking bored, casually watches your lifeless body gently swing back and forth. He's business like, restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine.
He gently lowers you down and stares into your glazed over eyes, almost like he's seeking an answer to something. Why would you even play a game like this if you were going to say no to the initial scenario?
"You must have wanted this to happen." He says to you, as you
He takes a look over at the pan - hot, but not ready, yet. He's right on schedule. He takes a long look at your vacant expression, nods, and unzips his pants.
Just as he's about to slide inside your lifeless cunt., he hears a commotion outside. You've made more noise in your attempt to survive than he expected. He sighs.
"What a waste."
He drops you, with your body crashing to the floor. He casually walks to a window, opens it, and goes out the fire escape.
The porn you carefully selected to "goon" your brains out still plays loudly in the background."Listen, Brendan, that is...a very generous offer..."
You take a moment to put down your plate. It's empty, anyway, besides the rib bone that now has your teeth marks in it.
"...and it's very tempting. Really. I'm honored that you'd ask me to be your wife. Honestly, it's a better life than I'll have when I get the million dollars. I feel like in a different life, maybe I'd take you up on it. But...I can't.
“I made a promise to myself earlier this week. A promise that I wouldn't forget who I am. And, if I can be honest with you? I've..."
You look down at the plate of devoured meat, and remember your pact to yourself on Monday afternoon.
"...drifted, I’ve changed, but, I'm still me. The real me. The one that made that promise to not lose sight of who I am, my values, and what I believe in. And, even though I've...strayed...from myself, I haven't lost myself entirely.
“I'm not sure what I'd become as your wife, and I'll never know. Because the path that's right for me is to go my own way, on my own strengths, and face my own challenges.
“I'm going to go home. I'm going to honor the promise I made to myself."
Brandan nods, stands, and offers his hand.
"I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you again, someday, Scarlett Sky of North Carolina."
You stand together, and shake hands, as equals. As he leaves, you feel strangely like you didn't reject him. That maybe, knowing you, the things you stand for, and how hard you’re willing to fight, can be enough for him to grow into the man he's meant to be.
*”Probably not.”* You think to yourself. But then you also wonder – can you get a box of Penny to go?
***
The work day is over, and you just walked in your hotel suite. You lock the door, and you let out a SCREAM. You made it. You actually FUCKING made it. You're going to be a millionaire, and better yet, you're not going to die.
You sync your phone to the little Bluetooth speaker provided in your hotel and play a familiar song, as loud as it can be played.
*Eat, Drink, and Be Merry...* The song plays.
You uncork a fresh red wine you took from a waiter on your way out, and drink it right out the bottle. You dance. You sing. You jump up and down on the bed.
*Eat, Drink, and Be Merry...* The chorus continues.
You open your take-out container and take a huge bite of Penny's rump. She even tastes better as leftovers. Fuck, women are delicious. You'll miss eating women. In your drunken state, you tell yourself you were MADE to eat women - but just the consenting ones.
*Eat, Drink, and Be Merry...* The chorus plays again.
You think back to your initial questions about this place - and you understand everything now. You resolve to return here someday. You've felt first hand why women choose to be eaten; it’s like a second language to you now. And you know what? You might help a woman take that path if she needed someone to guide her.
You drink too much, eat too much, and honestly, don't dance enough, before you stumble on the bed, and pass the fuck out. You don't set an alarm, as it doesn't matter. All you have to do tomorrow is catch a late afternoon flight.
The chorus of that familiar song plays one last time before the music shuts off for the night. But, this time, the entire lyric is clear - for anyone still awake to hear.
*Eat, Drink, And Be Merry...For Tomorrow We Die...*
**[[Advance to: Saturday AM->Sat AM]]**"I'm not participating in this, I don't want to be a part of some fucking TikTok cooking show."
"Well now, doesn't someone have just the naughtiest potty mouth? And we all know what our mothers said to do to little girls who don't mind their manners?"
You see her walk over to the sink and grab a large soap bar. You gasp slightly, and in that moment, she stuffs the soap bar halfway down your throat. It's stuck so firmly that it takes you a minute or two to spit it out.
"We wash their mouth out with SOAP, silly! Gosh, how RUDE!" She says to you, before turning back to the camera, putting on her best local news anchor face. "So let me get onto my little secret - we all love the taste of a girl on a spit. It's a classic, it's timeless, and when done right, I dare you to find a better way to prepare a live roast."
Your eyes bulge as you hear the words "live roast" and squirm in your seat, but your binds show no signs of relenting.
"But, I think there is a NEW way of approaching barbecue that's taking this world by storm. So today, for you, my followers and my supporters, and most of all, for my husband, who provides for me and takes care of me, and is JUST the most important person in the ENTIRE world, WE are going to do a whole SMOKED long-pig.
You squirm harder after hearing those words, trying to knock the chair over, but you can't fall out of your seat. Your binds were made by an expert craftsman and escape in this matter is impossible.
You see Becky look at you, with a mischievous smile.
"Do you have an opinion on smoking over spitting? Anything you'd like to add before we get you cookin', good lookin'?"
[[Try to explain to her how things really work. Her husband loves her now, but once her looks fade, she'll be on the menu, too..->Dumb Bitch]]
[[Try to beg for your life, reason with her. Kill her with kindness, before she kills you.->Explain]]“I’m willing to partner with you, Charlene, as equals.” You say, confidently. “But, I need a favor from you, to seal our business arrangement.”
“Anything, darling. Name it, and it will be yours.”
***
That evening, Brendan walks Jenna towards Le Table d'Truie, linked arm and arm. She's visibly shaking, and clings to him, but allows herself to be dragged along, as she doesn’t see any other way out. As they walk past the front restaurant window, she peaks in and sees a woman's calf, still on the bone, served on a platter as the centerpiece of a romantic dinner for two, garnished with an orange sauce.
Jenna crouches down and starts sobbing, huddled in a ball on the street corner. Brendan looks down at her impatiently.
"We have a reservation, Jenna. We really can't be late. I have a reputation here…" he pauses. "...a reputation that needs to get back in good standing tonight."
"But...but...I'm...vegan!" she sobs.
"VEGAN? Why didn’t you say so?" His eyes widen, and his mouth waters at the sight of her pale, supple flesh.
Jenna just cries, any hope of not being tonight’s entrée leaving with the tears running down her face.
"Everything is going to be PERFECT once we get you inside..." he chuckles. "...inside of me, that is."
Brendan then leans down, picks all of Jenna's 104lb frame up on her feet, takes her by the hand, and walks her to the front door. A host is waiting, and opens the door, waving Jenna inside.
"Well, I guess this is it." She sniffles, wishing she had better last words.
Just as they go to enter the restaurant, a limo pulls up, screeching its tires with a sudden halt. The back door opens, slowly, and a 4-inch heel steps out.
"Brendan, really darling, Le Table d'Truie? THIS is where you take your little…romances?” – Charlene says, with a grin.
"Charlene...I...don't you work remote on Mondays? Who told you about this?” Brandan replies, stumbling through his words, but keeping a tight grip on Jenna’s wrist.
Charlene slowly stalks around Jenna, eyeing her up and down, and then puts a finger on her own lips, making an assessment.
"Gosh, I'd have saved you too, you're JUST so adorable. You know what I’m going to do to you?” Charlene says, while leaning in, gauging her every reaction.
Jenna says nothing, a different type of panic taking over her body. Her mind doesn’t understand it, but her primal brain does. Charlene is a different type of predator entirely.
I’m going to slowly simmer you, alive, in my large stockpot. Then, just as your soft, tender flesh is ready to fall right off the bones…”
Jenna’s face blushes and her eyes start to glaze over.
“I'm going to turn the HEAT all the way up to a boil...and add some thick noodles and veggies...”
Charlene slips a hand into Jenna’s pants, and slowly slides two fingers inside her.
“Then, I’m going to crawl under a blanket, get nice and cozy, turn on a cute rom-com, and enjoy a DELICIOUS bowl of Jenna noodle soup...”
Jenna's legs shake as she quietly orgasms, just as Charlene puts the right amount of pressure on her clit. Jenna literally faints before she finishes cumming, falling right into Charlene’s arms, submitted. Ready to accept her fate as the perfect comfort food.
Charlene withdrawals her two fingers and sucks on them, eager for her first taste of soup.
"Ahem." Brendan clears his throat loudly.
"Ahem." The greeter at LeTable d'Truie also clears his throat loudly.
“Ahem.” Niles also clears his throat, now out of the limo, waiting his next instruction.
“…right.” Charlene sighs, remembering why she came here in the first place. She looks over at Niles.
"Take her to the airport, I want no trouble."
"Yes mam."
Brendan watches on in disbelief.
"AND Niles…” Charlene continues. “Walk her into the airport, all the way to security. I want no trouble, do you understand?"
"But Miss Charlene...I'm a driver...not a chauffeur."
Charlene flashes him a look, which says more than enough. Niles quickly walks over, and guides the sleepwalking Jenna to the back of the limo.
"...what's going on?" Jenna says, slowly coming out of her daze.
"I could ask the same thing." Brendan says, with a sigh of disappointment.
"Today…is your lucky day." Charlene says, giving Jenna a kiss on the forehead, before closing the limo door.
"Her lucky day, sure, but not MINE. THIS ISN’T RIGHT. This is the second North Carolinian I've lost in two weeks. Do you know what this means?" Brendan says, despondent.
"It means things...are going to be different." Charlene says, watching as the limo drives off into the night, disappearing into the dark. A sudden thunder crackles, and a light rain falls again on Dolcett.
"Yeah, but what about me? What do I do now?" Brendan says, with animated, swinging body language.
Charlene turns to face him, squints her eyes, and smiles, deciding something.
"Why don't you come have dinner with me? I have a ROAST in the oven."
(The) GAME (is) OVER. YOU WIN!
Epilogue:
"From now on, there will be no involuntary submissions of women to Dolcett." You say, confidently, proudly.
Scarlett Sky, now President of the newly renamed SkyCorp, sits behind the big desk in her now office. Sitting at a desk adjacent, recently promoted Vice President Jenna sits tall, well dressed, confident. She's a new woman.
"But how are we going to make MONEY, darling? What about our...exchange program?" Charlene sits across, with her usual inquisitive, sexual, hungry look. Although today, she's a bit impatient. She's not in control.
You look over at your VP, and nod. "Jenna, go ahead."
Jenna stands. "SkyCorp is not exiting the meat business, we are just changing directions. We will be focusing on volunteer women from now on."
"But, that's illegal here, is it not?" Charlene says, through gritted teeth.
"It's illegal to eat women here, it's not illegal to travel to Dolcett voluntarily." Jenna continues. "We are going to shift into the travel business. We do the advertising, we handle the transportation, secure the visas..."
"There's an entire community of women here who were born meat." You continue, taking over for Jenna. "But it's not an option. So, they go through unfulfilled, never knowing that perfect moment of submission, of pleasure, of true purpose. I've felt it in me, too, so I understand it, now..."
Charlene's eyes widen, and you see her tongue jut out of her lips.
"...but it wasn't my calling. My calling is to be the guiding hand to all of the willing meat girls of the world, to open the doorway and lead them to be what they truly are. That's the mission of SkyCorp."
"For a fee, of course." Jenna adds, back at her desk, typing a note. "We charge a percentage, on top of all the rest, and then, we had them off to you."
Charlene grins. "Yes, that's...honestly brilliant…but why can't we just do BOTH?"
"Because..." You say, before sitting up taller, staring into Charlene’s eyes. "It isn't the right thing to do."
"You know, Scarlett, darling, sometimes I forget why I LET you talk to me in such a DREADFUL manner..." Charlene says, leaning forward, in an effort to intimidate you.
"Then perhaps you need a reminder." A familiar, strong, voice says, from the back of the room, from a figure shrouded in darkness. Slowly, large, toned quadriceps, strong shoulders, and a black rifle emerge from the darkness.
"Oh, that's right." Charlene says, standing up to meet your official security detail at the back of the room. "Your LITTLE muscle."
"There isn't anything little on me." Puma Catori retorts.
"Yes..." Charlene eyes the Indigenous woman up and down. "My crock pot would have a FIELD DAY with you if you could spare me JUST a few hours..."
Catori steps even closer forward, accepting the challenge.
"...but under the circumstances..." Charlene turns, and faces you, again. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to accept this...restructuring…of our business arrangement. When do you suggest we begin?"
"Tonight." You say, examining Charlene's every reaction.
"We have a volunteer lined up." Jenna stands, walks over, and hands Charlene a stack of paperwork. "Everything is in order. She's a petite, eager redhead who says she's dreamed of this all her life. We’ve arranged that she’s seated next to you on your plane home." Jenna concludes.
"She has a preference for oven roast." You conclude.
"Well, as we don't have natural redheads in Dolcett..." Charlene smiles, and takes a bow. "...THIS is quite the gracious gift, darling. I accept, as a token of a long lasting partnership, and bid you adieu. For now..."
Charlene makes sure to give one last glare at Catori, and her thick thighs, before leaving.
You sit back in your chair, in your office, in your corporation. You're worth enough to retire, but you're more motivated than ever. You're now one of the strongest leaders in the world, and you did it your way – the Scarlett Sky way, without taking any shortcuts, without sacrificing yourself or your values. But, really, the thing the thing that matters to you most is...
...you're doing something to make a difference.
THE ENDBetty is really close. Like, WAY too close for you to have a clean getaway. You'll probably be grabbed, clubbed over the head, and carried back into the soup.
But, you feel like if you wait another moment in this heat, you're not going to be yourself anymore. You'll lose control. You'll be tonight's entree, your name written on some menu board. So, just as Betty turns her back, you decide to make your move.
You carefully, as quietly as you can, stand up. You notice that your quads are shaking and your calves feel numb, like both of your legs are entirely sleep. It takes a few seconds to get upright, and you nearly topple over, twice, as you try to gain your footing. That soup had really done a number on you, already.
Slowly, you extend one leg over the edge. This is especially difficult, as your arms are still behind you, and there's an apple wedged between your teeth. But you focus, and slowly get the second out of the scalding heat.
Just as your second leg comes out, it makes a slight splash, and Betty turns around.
"Now WHERE do you think you're going, Dearie?" She advances as quickly as her body is able, and you rush down the stairs, and run for the front door. You see Betty out of the corner of her eye grab a large metal ladle, raising it up.
You're not going to get away, you realize, and try and brace for the impact, hoping the blow doesn’t knock you clean out. Then, you hear a loud crash. But, you don't feel a thing.
You slowly turn your head and see Betty face up on the floor. You look and see that she has slipped on the soup that you splashed out. You feel bad, for a second, and are happy to see she's still breathing, just down for what hopefully is a quick nap.
"Finally, a break." You try to say out loud, but then you realize you're still gagged with an apple.
Just then, Betty starts to stir, sees you, and is clearly enraged. You don't waste any more time, and rush for the front door, and onto the street.
You're sure this has got to be a sight. You're naked, hands bound, running down the street with an apple in your mouth. So much for the low profile you wanted to start the day with.
You make it around the corner, back onto the main street, just as you feel a handkerchief shoved into your face. You instinctively inhale in panic, the chloroform scent flooding your nostrils. You don’t have time process what’s happened, as you quickly drift away to sleep.
[[Advance to: Wednesday Midnight->Three Choices]]You follow Brendan down the hallway to his private office at the end of the corridor. He opens the door, smiles, and gentlemanly offers for you to enter before him.
As you enter, you notice an antique desk, likely rather expensive, some various degrees and business type photos on the wall, a lot of them with an older man. His father, perhaps? Whoever it is, he seems VERY important.
You also see a black leather couch sitting in the corner. You think to yourself that it reminds you of those "casting couch" pornography style videos that you've gooned to before. This could be fun, you think, deciding to put sex in your back pocket, if needed, as a way to save your life.
You hear a metal click and some type of sliding sound...an unbuckling? As you go to turn around to address Brendan, Brendan wraps his leather belt around your neck, pulling it so tight that you can't think, not to mention breathe, and he lifts you up and slams you face down on his couch. You squirm as he mounts you from behind, pulling your head back to his, his grip relentless, as he snarls in your ear.
"You think you can just run out on me? Don't you know who I am? You think I worked this hard to get where I'm at to be disrespected by a slut like you?"
These questions are of course rhetorical, as you're rapidly losing oxygen and have no ability to respond. Brendan simply pulls up your modest skirt and rips your panties off in one tug. He forcefully slides his hard cock into your dry cunt and begins pounding aggressively, drawing blood, as you are unprepared for the onslaught.
"You think you can come from your little town and embarrass me at my favorite restaurant? I've been having little bitches like you there for years and last night really fucked things up for me. But don't worry, I'll fix it, but not before I fix you."
Your cunt moistens as it betrays you during this undeniably hot show of dominance, with Brendan leaving just enough oxygen to keep you alive as he takes his time letting out his frustrations on your pussy. You notice that as he becomes closer to climax, his grip on the belt tightens, cutting off all oxygen your brain, and narrowing your vision as everything starts to go black.
"Night night Scarlett, looks like I'm going to be eating you after all."
These are the last words you ever hear, as everything turns to darkness as your body surrenders. Just as your body gives its final shutter of life, Brendan fills your womb with thick shots of semen, loudly grunting, so that the office can hear *exactly* what he just did to you.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Brendan catches his breath and slowly wipes off his cock on your now useless clothes. He casually pulls his pants back up and walks back to his desk, picks up his phone, and presses a few numbers. He stairs at your corpse as he awaits a response.
"Yes, cafeteria? I'd like to submit a donation, and place in order." He says, back in business mode.
Your lifeless body is picked up by two generic looking workers a few minutes later, and carried over their shoulder through your office, a reminder to all of Brendan's dominance and women's place in this world. Around noon, Brendan receives a gentle knock at his door. A cute food runner enters in a waitress style outfit, with a tray covered by a metal lid. She places the tray on Brendan's desk, waits for his full attention, and then lifts the lid to reveal a thick slice of Claire ham with a simple stove prepared stuffing and applesauce - you're served as his lunch. Brendan shoos the girl away as he settles in to enjoy his meal, remarking to himself that this little display may have benefited him after all.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: TUESDAY AM->Tuesday AM]]**"Ok, I just need to find somewhere to hide. Sure, this is her forest, but she’s not perfect. She's just a person, like me." You try to step lightly and gracefully as you go deeper in the forest, not wanting to make too much noise. You consider hiding in brush, or up a tree, or even near a small lake, before settling on a small crevice, a cave of sorts, underneath a nook.
You remember that she has your scent, as well as can probably track you, so you run just past your hiding spot, making deep footprints, before gracefully gliding back. You JUST get into position as you can hear her approaching. Your heart is POUNDING in your chest, so loud you're certain she can hear it, as she walks closer...and closer...until...
She takes the bait, and walks past. She slowly gets quieter, and is gone. You decide that this is the best place for you to hide, and decide to wait here for a while. But you doubt you’ll fool her forever, so just about noon, you creep out, and quickly make your way through the forest.
You can’t recall which direction is which, so going back to the Jeep is now out. As you carefully navigate the brush, you notice that small lake, again. The cerulean hue of the water instantly makes you realize how dry your mouth is. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had a drink of anything, and you’re suddenly dizzy as extreme dehydration sets in.
[[Keep going through the forest. You’ve built a good distance, and the lake is in a very visible clearing. You’ll have to deal with the consequences of lack of water later. ->Don't Drink]]
[[Rush out and drink as much as you can. You won’t be able to outlast her in your current condition, but one, long drink should cover you the rest of the day. ->Drown]]You groan loudly at the proposition ahead of you. You crave release SO fucking bad. And this ending, after a week of building up to your oven roasting for a WEEK is just SO perfect. You have to do this, you don’t care about anything else. Holy fuck. Basted by a Hitachi brush, milked to orgasm, and roasted in your sleep into a perfect turkey dinner. You try to hide it, but your mind is made up.
"Now, now, you don't want your last moments to be struggling in a hot oven, do you?" She says, gently, knowingly.
You shake your head "no" and then slowly look over at Char, before you slowly spread your legs a tiny bit, as much as you’re able to move them. As you give this tiny gesture to her, a small moan escapes your lips.
"Good girl. Let me take care of my little turkey now. Let me give you what you've needed your entire life."
She dips the bristles of the basting brush in fresh glaze and places it on your inner thigh, just an inch or two from your cunt. She doesn't waste any time - you're very close to death as it is. She gracefully slides the brush up against your outer lips, then teases the inside, before pushing your clit up from the bottom, the bristles buzzing your head with a thick, heat relieving glaze.
You start to convulse in the pan, completely overwhelmed. She keeps the pressure on, rubbing in slow circles, staring into your eyes. She watches as any hope of being anything else other than on tonight's menu are wiped from your mind with your first orgasm, you screaming bloody murder in her kitchen as your body FINALLY, ABSOLUTELY, AFTER A WEEK OF PRESSURE, can release any other existence but this.
You're lost in this moment. You've seen this rapture before, with the girl on the hook, the girl in the spit, and now, you. You're absolutely, totally, engrossed, your commitment to being meat all that you care about.
"Oh my GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. Yes, Char, I'm meat, I'm MEAT, I'm your fucking TURKEY DINNER, ROAST ME, CARVE ME, EAT ME UP, AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
You let out one last scream, completing an orgasm that somehow was several orgasms, all at once, in one intense wave. It was, indeed, the best fucking experience of your life, surpassing any expectations, as you couldn’t even process it was possible to reach this level of joy before you had it.
And, as Char promised, you slump over, resting beautifully in your pan, sound asleep. Content. Ready. Char gently places the apple back in your mouth, careful not to disturb you, as you live your dream.
She walks over to the kitchen island to fetch the fresh batch of quartered potatoes, carrots, onions, and other garden vegetables she's prepared. She slowly dumped them in the tray, spreading them out to best catch your juices. She then slowly slides you back in, so her turkey can be just perfect come carving time.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Hours later, Charlene slowly opens the oven door, your perfect aroma filling her kitchen, and pulls you out. She lets the anticipation build as she slowly slides you on her rolling cart, and up on her kitchen island. She slowly slides two fingers inside your hot cunt, and then slips those fingers in her mouth, having her first full taste of your surrender, your acceptance, your bliss.
"Your cunt knew what you were all along. Delicious."
She then rolls you to the kitchen table, as you’re just the perfect centerpiece for the huge spread she’s prepared. There’s all of those potatoes and vegetables she roasted with you, and a big bowl of the stuffing soaked in your juices. She’s also made a nice carrot soufflé, a lovely Caesar salad, freshly baked bread, and corn on the cob. She blows off a bottle of wine that’s been in her family for at least fifty years, and sets out two glasses.
She beams. This minute in time is so perfect that she takes all sixty seconds of it to relish in the look of orgasmic bliss on your face. You were *meant* to be the perfect meat girl, and you could not have turned out better.
Slowly, she starts to carve into you, making perfectly even cuts of ham, of flank steak, of thigh. She stacks your meat on various plates, and her mind processes how she’s going to store the leftovers, how she’s going to eat off you for weeks. *“So much Scarlett, so little time.”*
She carefully slices off your cunt, and sets it on a plate. She takes a large heap of stuffing to pair it with, along with some of the roasted vegetables. She even mashes some of the hot potatoes up, pouring a bit of Scarlett gravy she made in a pan on the stove.
She sets that plate at the head of the table, and nods. It’s time to eat.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FINAL DAY ->Monday AM 2]]**You decide that it's safest to stay IN the building, as it's already dark and there's a lot of unknown out there. Besides, the hotel has your name on file here, they know you're visiting, and it's probably not a custom here to try and snuff visitors, right? So, you change into a not revealing, but flattering dress, touch up your makeup, and head downstairs.
The bar here is no joke, with craft cocktails and small plates, a tapas style joint. You ask to sit at the bar - as a smart, strong feminist woman, who has also been single most of your life, you know that staying front and center, visible, and around as many people as possible is the best bet to avoid being harassed.
As you examine the menu, you feel a pair of eyes on you, and a tall, dark, handsome type walks over with a bit of a strut in his step. He asks "Is this seat taken?" just as he's sitting down next to you. How presumptuous.
"You must not be from around here. I'm Rick."
"Scarlett. How can you tell?"
"There's a look in a newcomers eyes, a...wonder, it's part curiosity, and part...fear. But that's where I come in." He smiles, in a rehearsed way, where his teeth play the role, but his eyes tell a different story.
"Come in for what?" You say, nearly rolling your eyes at how sexually inviting that sounded. You can't be that desperate that you'll fuck this guy.
"For drinks, of course." Just as Rick says this, the bartender brings over two shots. He picks both up in his large hand, gripping them overhand, and sets them between the two of you.
"Let's have a toast. To your first night in Dolcett."
[[Take the shot, you've come here to learn the customs and the best way to do that is to mingle with a local.->Hotel Snuff]]
[[Taking drinks from strange men isn't safe even where your from, so you politely decline, hoping to not offend him.->Hotel Survive]]"To my first night." You say and smile, as you both raise a glass, and you pour the alcohol down your throat. It tastes similar to tequila, but there's something different about it you can't quite put your finger on.
"So, where are you from?" He asks, in a very disinterested way, like he's suddenly become inpatient and indifferent to what you say next.
"North Carolina, ever heard of it?" You say with a giggle, this shot already having you GOOD and buzzed.
"I've never had anyone from North Carolina. What's the cuisine there?" He says, tilting his head at you, or, rather, is your head tilting at him? You can't tell; the room is starting to spin.
"Oh, it's, famous for BBQ, but there's a special sauce we make, it's sort of a yellllowww...mus...tard..."
You slump over, with Rick catching you, and then casually hefting you over his shoulder. He places a $100 on the bar, nods to the bartender, searches your purse for your room key, and then carries you off. The bar is completely unbothered by this scene, with no one noticing, or caring, as your purse is left behind, discarded, as you soon will be. This is business as usual in Dolcett.
Rick carries you to your room and lays you on your bed. You're still awake, but everything is a blur. You can gently move your body, but otherwise have no control, like you're swimming in water that isn't there.
He takes you missionary, forcing himself into your dry cunt, before spitting on your face, wiping the fluid with his hand, and using that for lube to make things more comfortable - for him.
"So, you're from the States, huh? I hear women there think they are equal to men, that you can do anything we can. But look at you now, you haven't been here a few hours and you're going to be MY fucking dinner. Do you understand that?" - He says, laughing on how easy of a kill you're about to be, as he begins to thrust harder.
"Please..." yYu mumble, through drool and falling in out of consciousness. "Please don't...do this...I'm...a...person..."
"No, you're not a person, you were never a person, you're meat. That's what women like you need to learn. That your place in this world is to serve, obey, empty our balls, and fill our bellies when WE decide it's time. Which, the time for you is right fucking now."
You go to speak again, but he presses the palm of his hand down onto your throat, absolutely crushing your windpipe. Your legs finally get some strength back in them, kicking for a moment, but you're still helpless to stop him. He pounds your pussy, building up his rhythm, and between his thrusting, and the asphyxia, you become completely fucking overwhelmed and cum all over his dick, the orgasm making you see stars, with those stars seconds later flooded by a dark sky.
"All you women are the same." These are the last words you hear as you expire.
GAME OVER. YOU ARE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Rick carries you over his shoulder, his semen dripping down your lifeless leg, through the streets of Dolcett. A bell rings as he takes you into a local butcher/processing shop, and he nods, as he is on a first name basis with the staff. He signs some paperwork, and hands you off to be processed. He then has a thought, and does a Dolcett web search on his phone for "North Colorado BBQ sauce." He doesn't notice that his phone auto-corrects to "North Carolina" but learns that the sauce pairs particularly well with sausage.
He makes sure to tell the butcher that he'd like to pay extra for some of you to be ground up, your intestines stuffed. A short time later, he's handed a Styrofoam cooler with...what's left of you. He glances at his watch, and decides it's too late to eat tonight. He sighs, and decides that he'll start his morning with you, for breakfast, instead.
What was your name? Scarlett? Scarlett Sausage and Eggs. It has a bit of a ring to it."I'm sorry, Rick, but I don't accept drinks from strangers." You say kindly, but assertively, your pulse starting to race. You're not used to saying no to men, or really anyone, and you scan his body language as he leans back and smiles.
"You know more about our customs than I expected. I'm impressed." He takes his shot, but pours yours into the drainage area over the bar. You eyes widen in a panic at *whatever* you just avoided, whispering "Jesus Christ" under your breath, before facing him again and putting on a brave face. You decide not to question what just happened, and let him keep thinking you know more than you know.
But, you know enough to get the fuck out of here, fast.
"Actually..." you say, with your voice trembling a bit "I just realized I'm not that hungry." you say, and turn to leave, but you feel him grab aggressively at your wrist.
"EVERYONE is hungry in Dolcett, Scarlett. Stay a while." - He says, with a grip on your wrist that you're NOT going to break.
You keep eye contact with him as you discreetly use your other hand to grab the mace out of your purse. He sees this, and quickly recoils his hands, a look of shock on his face.
"You REALLY aren't from around here if you're thinking of using THAT on a man. Are you crazy? Do you realize what they do to women in the stocks?!"
You feel the room get quiet, for a moment, with eyes staring over at the scene you've made. You don't know exactly what he means, "using that on a man", with the implication of gender superiority making you more than a bit mad. But, you see the opportunity to stand up, straighten your dress, and grab your purse.
"You have a good night." Is the best retort you can come up with, and briskly leave the restaurant, rush to the elevator, and practically run back into your room. You've completely lost your appetite.
But, at least, you won't be satisfying anyone else's. At least, for tonight.
[[Advance to: Monday Morning->Monday AM]]"Okay, I'll go with you. Just keep me safe."
The ride to Char's home is a winding, but gentle drive up the countryside. It should take 45 minutes in rush hour traffic, but Char tells Niles, her driver, "steady as she goes." So, he takes the long route, taking an hour, maybe two, to reach your final destination.
All the while, Char has her arm around you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Within minutes, she has you RIGHT where she had you before, and slowly slips a finger inside you, then two. She has you begging for orgasm in your mind within minutes, but, she offers you no reprieve. She edges you over and over, her hands fingering, and squeezing, and kneading, but never providing that simple combination that would leave you screaming and satisfied.
As you step out of the limo, in front of her gorgeous, yet modest Cape Cod, your work pants are soaked through. She guides you by the hand as you mindlessly, obediently follow, your eyes half open, mouth slack jawed, just a little drool leaking out.
"I wouldn't have this any other way." Char says.
Strangely, you feel the exact same.
Char's kitchen is full of large cooking appliances. A large grill with spit attachment. A cauldron size stock pot. And of course, an oven that looks perfectly sized for YOU.
“Come here, Scarlett, darling, I need help with YOUR stuffing while I get the pan ready.” She walks you over to a cutting board, sets out a large piece of bread, along with some butter, celery, garlic, eggs, and herbs.
She lastly sets down a large kitchen knife.
She turns her back to you, picking out the perfect size pan for your height and weight. She hums to herself gently.
You pick up the knife and a vision overtakes you. You see yourself sneaking quietly behind Char and slipping the knife right in her gut, twisting it, making her regret ever trying to eat you. You see yourself throwing her in the oven, slamming the door, and watching her last moments through the glass. You see as she suffers the same terrible fate of being cooked alive she’s dreamt for you over the last three days.
You look down and see that this entire time, all of that was a daydream. In the meantime, in the real world, in the kitchen where you’re about to be roasted alive, you've been...preparing your stuffing. You’ve completely lost control of yourself, the only thing left is the lust for THIS moment, the never ending burning of what comes next.
You need release. Both from your loins and this mortal coil. It is the only thing that matters to you now.
Char walks over, with a coy smile.
"So....would you like to be served tonight with asparagus, or broccoli?" She gestures that you hand her back the knife, offering her you her open hand, her wrist. You can see her veins clearly as you raise the knife up, towards her.
"...Asparagus please." You whimper, as you slowly hand her back the knife, hilt first. "Oh, and Char..."
"Yes, my little suckling pig, tell me..." Char listens intently.
"A Sauvignon Blanc would pair nicely...." You mutter, helpless, submitted. Char simply slides two fingers inside you, and pulls you by your cunt to the kitchen island, to YOUR waiting roasting pan.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
You writhe as you bake in the dry heat of the oven. Squirming, struggling, aching, screaming. But not from pain, or agony. But from pleasure. You orgasm, over, and over, and over again, finally having your release this night.
You're not sure if you're coming or going when your body finally goes still and settles in to cook.
Much later, Char slowly carves you, making the perfect plate, exactly as you requested. This is her favorite moment. She feels a special type of satisfaction in this calling in her life. Some mistake it as conquest, or control, or defeat. For her, it's deeper. It’s providing a spiritual awakening, like helping someone understanding how to breathe for the first time. She relishes the moment where someone like you can realize exactly what they were ALWAYYS meant to be. This is her purpose.
She encapsulates this journey with a taste. She savors the acceptance, the understanding in your flesh. She resolves to remember you, and your journey, with every single last bite.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY AM->Wed AM Good]]**After surveying the three options, you decide that the hunter type will be the easiest to hopefully talk out of dining on you. You try to remain still, sickly, and otherwise unappetizing as the tradwife and farmer take their time having a pass at you. But, when the hunter looking woman has her turn, you try to look lively, stick out parts of your body that you assume she wants to eat, and otherwise are pleasant, smiling, and lively.
You aren't sure what's appetizing, but you do your best.
Your plan works, for better or worse. You don't know this for a while, as you're forced to wait, but eventually, you’re freshly tied up, completely immobilized as a rope encircles your torso. Your ankles are also freshly bound, only allowing you to gingerly walk. Your hands are lastly clasped in front, allowing you to be easily hung by the wrists, if needed. You're lastly gagged, which you resent the most, as you'll need to be able to speak to get out of *whatever* comes next.
The tall, lean, very muscular looking woman slowly walks over to you, like a hunter stalking her prey. She’s got a nativity to her skin tone and complexion, and dark, raven like hair. She stands in your personal bubble for several minutes, just breathing you in.
Slowly, she nods to herself, and easily picks you up over her shoulder, carrying you to a Jeep. The world is upside down, as you stare helplessly at the sky overhead, a rather beautiful collection of stars this night. You hear the back door open, and you’re very gently laid down on a blanket and pillow, the backseat fashioned to be a rather comfortable bed.
She slowly takes off your gag.
“What’s going to hap-“
“Ssshhh. That’s not to be decided this night.” She reaches in her center console and pulls out a small glass jar, pulls out a cork plug, and fills a small medicine cup with a green liquid. “You will drink this. It’s made from the herbs of my home, a natural melatonin.”
You don’t really have the opportunity to protest, as she forcibly opens your mouth by squeezing your cheeks with a vice grip of a hand, pouring the liquid down your throat. She then reapplies your gag, fluffs the pillow behind you, and tucks you in your blanket.
“Rest, now. You will need it.”
You aren’t even out of the parking lot when you feel the feel the melatonin take over, and you snuggle into the pillow as you drift off to sleep.
***
You awake suddenly as you hear a door slam shut, and can smell the dew of morning. You pretend to be asleep as you hear the huntress gather supplies, and through one eye open, you see she’s placed the keys to the Jeep in the sun visor. Just then, the backdoor opens, and you’re carried over her shoulder through a beautiful, lush, green forest – the sounds of birds chirping in the muggy, steamy summer air.
You’re carried like this for what seems like an hour, until there’s a break in the trees, a small clearing. You’re carefully set down on your feet, and you can only watch as she slowly draws a large hunting knife that she keeps sheathed at her shoulder.
“Hold still. Wouldn’t want to nick you.” She says with a smirk that indicates she wouldn’t mind cutting you with this knife, sooner or later.
She slowly…cuts through your binds – removing the rope over your torso, legs, hands, ankles. She lastly takes the time to cut through your gag, but, instead of removing it from the clasp, she rests the cold steel of the blade gently against your neck as she cuts through, holding piercing eye contact, studying you.
She then takes a long whiff of you, closing her eyes, as you imagine she’s somehow trying to learn your scent. A curious, confused look slowly forms on her face, and she wets a finger and traces it across your belly, before putting it in her mouth, tasting it. Her eyes narrow as she tries to determine what exactly you taste like.
“…It’s a long story.” You say, realizing that you’re likely still coated from your simmer in the Eternal Broth.
“Let us hope you live long enough to tell.” She says, before slowly taking several paces back, like she’s preparing herself for a duel. She then takes a wide stance, her chest out, looking even taller, bigger than she was before.
“I am Puma Catori, of the Sleeping Willow Forest. For many generations, before this place had a name, before my people were known to anyone else, my ancestors hunted this land. I honor my heritage by continuing their tradition.
“I've hunted many women here. You should be honored." She says, with a bravado, a boom in her voice. "Announce yourself to me."
"Listen, um, so, I'm not from around here, I didn’t know about Subjugation Day, I..."
Puma Catori slowly raises her rifle to the sky, and fires off one round, the sound echoing through the trees.
"I said, ANNOUNCE YOURSELF to ME." she growls.
You take a moment to consider her words. Your situation. You realize you’re not going to talk her out of…hunting you…but you CAN, no, you have to survive this. So it goes.
"My name...is Scarlett Sky, of North Carolina. And...I've worked too hard, and been through too much SHIT, to just let you fucking EAT me." You say, and you notice your stance widens as well, your chest sticks out. Your anxiety is replaced with adrenaline, your flight replaced with fight. You feel, somehow, prepared for this moment, ready for the challenge.
Catori's head leans back, her eyes narrow, like she's looking down through her nostrils.
"Good. Give me the hunt I deserve. If you do, there will be a reward in it for you, I promise." She says with a level of sincerity that seems genuine.
“The only reward I want is my freedom…” You take a moment to consider the gauntlet you’re about to throw down, before you continue. “…offer me a chance to have my life back. And…I’ll give you the best hunt you’ve ever had.”
Puma Catori grins, her face becoming animal like, hungry, intense. She slowly points back behind her, towards the sun, with her gaze still fixed on you.
“The forest will speak for our battle. If you can last past sunset, then you will be the winner, and I will let you go free. But, if I catch you before then…”
She takes a moment, for dramatic effect.
“…I will dine upon your flesh this night.”
You nod, and ready yourself. She raises her rifle slowly to the sky once again.
For a moment, a stillness in the forest. A quiet. Just the sounds, the laws of nature at work. A breeze shuffles the leaves on the ground, in some strange symphony of how your life, your purpose will be decided in one moment, or gone the next.
"Give me the hunt I've been waiting for!" She screams, firing another bullet into the sky.
You backpedal one, two steps, before sprinting as fast as you fucking can into the woods. You run hard for what feels like 5 minutes, until you stop to catch your heaving breath, knowing you need to plan your next move. It looks to be about 10:00am, based on the position of the sun.
You hear a second gunshot, farther away, but too close for comfort. The hunt is on.
[[She doesn’t know you saw the keys are in her sun visor. Go back the way you came, sneak past her, and steal her jeep. You’ll get lost if you go any deeper in the wood.->Stew]]
[[Find a good hiding spot. You’d like to keep running, but your lungs are already burning, and you need a minute to plan and process what’s happening. ->Hides]]You never thought in your WILDEST dreams you’d be here. No, not in a pot, or in an oven, or on a spit, at least not yet, but on a plane, on its final descent to Dolcett. But, one million dollars is too good to pass up, and you plan on being back home in one week to collect. Lest, you sigh, someone collects you first.
But how did you get here?
Two days earlier, on a slow Friday, you sit in your corner cubicle. You’ve EARNED this corner cubicle, and you’ve done it your way - no shortcuts, no rich benefactor, no sleeping up the corporate ladder. You started as an intern, and were quickly promoted through hard work – the Scarlett Sky way.
Just as you’re packing up for the day, you hear that familiar Microsoft Outlook ding, and your instinctively roll your eyes. You may not be in control of the next time your eyes roll back, but you don’t know that yet. For now, it just means a late Friday meeting, perhaps your last, with your boss, Morgan.
You’ve never really seen eye to eye with Morgan, but it hasn’t slowed your ascent up the corporate ladder here at Bates Accounting. She’s distant, cold, detached, almost like her full attention is elsewhere. Regardless, she’s been super successful, despite the humble beginnings of this small accounting firm she founded.
Heck, if she was to disappear tomorrow, you’d probably be next in line to take over, so you stick around.
You’ve never seen her sweat, or even honestly get angry. She’s not as much dismissive, as matter of fact. You’ve had co-workers meet with her on a Friday, and are just never seen again.
As you enter her office, very sparsely decorated, you notice her secretary, Jenna, is sitting in one of her two guest chairs. Jenna nods, and departs, only briefly making eye contact with you as she rushes out of the office, back to her small desk outside. It’s just you and Morgan now.
Morgan sits in her pantsuit, eyeing you up and down. She’s older than you, by how much you can never tell, with dyed brown hair except for a small portion in front she prefers to keep white. She has some secret to maintaining a youthful appearance - sans the bags, the wrinkles around her eyes. She’s someone whose carried stress, secrets, and success for many years.
“You’ve heard of Dolcett, of course?” Her way of starting a conversation - to the point, without pretense or foreplay.
“Yes, of course.” Dolcett, a fringe set of nation states founded two hundred years ago, with a penchant for elaborate BBQs. Of course you know it - it’s the one place in the world where they EAT people.
“I want you to go to Dolcett, as a part of a sort-of transfer program we have with them. You’ll work there for five days, Monday through Friday, and really, you’ll just do the same office work you do here. But, I don’t want you hiding in your hotel, I want you out in the field, learning their customs and their…tastes. That’s it. That’s the assignment.”
Your instincts take over, and you take two steps back at the thought. You don’t like confrontation, at all.
“I’d...have to be crazy to do that, no offense Morgan. They kill women there. I’m more likely to end up dead than anything else.”
“Yes, that is definitely a possibility...” She says, and you notice she gives a slight nod, like she’s agreeing with the statement. “That is why I am offering a cash incentive, paid immediately upon your return.”
“….how much?” You feel yourself ask, reflexively. But, there’s no amount that’s worth more than your life, right?
“One million dollars, cash. Off the books, between you, me, and Jenna, who will handle your…arrangements.” She places a briefcase on top of her desk, opening it, revealing your potential prize.
“So, Scarlett, what do you say?”
[[Accept the offer. It's a potential million dollars. You can live with the risk, or you won't live long enough to regret it.->Sunday PM]]
[[Push back on this. No amount of money is worth the terrible fates that await a woman traveling to Dolcett.->Second Chance]]Puma Catori slowly positions herself for your “reward,” and you watch her hand trace back for a coil of rope tied at her waist.
As suddenly as you can move, you reach forward, grabbing the knife out of her shoulder pocket. Just as quickly, you lunge the blade upward, and forward, and blood splashes on your hand. You take a breath, focusing your eyes through the concussion, to see that the amount of blood you’ve drawn isn’t nearly as much as you expected.
You look up and see that you’ve sliced her right cheek, as she was able to pull her head back just in time. You make a second attempt, but she blocks, and wrestles you for control the knife. Slowly, she is able to turn the blade towards you, with you pushing back, your lives hanging in this delicate balance.
She has leverage, and strength, and you can only taste the dryness in your throat as she lowers the blade slowly, until it is poking through the skin directly over your heart. You fight with every inch of strength you have to stop her from advancing any further, but she is able to slowly slide the blade into your chest, one centimeter at a time. Just as you feel her knife pierce your heart, your strength gives out, the blade quickly sliding into your body to the hilt, an exhale driving the last breath out of your body. Your eyes look at Catori frantically, before they slowly go still, frozen in this last gasp against the inevitable.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Deeper in the forest, in a lovely clearing with a meadow, a log cabin sits cozy with a smoking chimney.
The slice in your heart that took your life also split it nicely, starting the process of trimming and preparing it that Puma Catori now finishes. Your heart is sprinkled with salt and pepper, sliced into medallions, and gently stretched and placed in a very small frying pan. The sudden transference of heat almost makes your meat looks like it regains a pulse, but you are long gone.
Catori decides that she will have no side dishes, no distractions from the significance of this meal. She will likely go to bed a bit hungry, but she is OK with that. She has to stay hungry, if she’s going to stay alive.
She’s also decided to not tend the wound you’ve sliced in her face. She’s going to let it scar, as a reminder to herself to never underestimate her pray, never let her guard down, again.
As you’re plated, she walks past the kitchen table, and sits in an easy chair in her living room. She takes a bite of your heart into her mouth, savoring the gamey flavor of the part of you that once gave you life, and her toes curl and dig into the rug underneath.
That rug, of course, is you. She’s taken the rest of the day to skin you, making a perfect Scarlett throw rug for her den, your last gasp still evident in your frozen face that stares blankly at her fireplace.
You were a worthy hunt, worthy of being a fine trophy. She plans on gorging herself tomorrow, celebrating the battle with your flesh throughout the long weekend ahead.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**You steady yourself. Your flight is at 3:00 PM, and checkout is 11:00 AM. You need to get the fuck out of here; you can't just carry a dead man down the stairs with you. Your best chance is to get on the plane as soon as possible. You realize that you DO have an outgoing ticket, so once you're in the boarding area, you can probably just jump on the first available flight to the United States. You have all day Sunday to connect back to North Carolina, and you'll pay any price to get out of here. You're about to be rich anyway.
You go into the bathroom to take a shower, quickly washing off your body with the hottest fucking water imaginable. *"This heat reminds me of the soup kitchen."* You joke to yourself, remembering when you were nearly, well, soup. As you're showering, you notice that he had rigged some type of pulley apparatus to the shower, probably to hang you up as he removed your head.
*"What a sick fuck."* You think to yourself. You quickly get dressed, and decide that clean-up of this area is a waste of time. It's almost 10:00am as it is.
So, you quickly pack, and rush downstairs. You don't formally check out, maximizing the time until his body is discovered. You hail the first cab you can find.
"Airport, please. I'm going home."
***
Nervously, you stand in line at airport security, the wait longer than you'd prefer. But, you've got plenty of time to get to the gate, any gate - IF there's no problems.
Finally, it's your turn. You give your passport, and your ticket, your hand shaking slightly. You close your eyes and hope that it hasn't been cancelled, that no one has figured out what you've done, that you're going to get out of here. Please.
The security agent looks at you curiously, then looks at his screen as your documents are processed. He then looks at you again, and then behind you, at someone else. You don't dare turn around. You just look forward, hoping for the best, and then...
…you’re simply scooped up and carried away like a log. You're allowed to scream, and squirm, and make an entire scene. It's important that other women are reminded of what awaits them if they ever make the same mistake you just did.
You're only silenced when you're out of sight.
[[Advance to: The Stocks->Stocks 2]]This speech has really done something to you. It just FEELS absolutely right. This woman knows you. No, even more, she IS you. The difference is, she is standing inside the circle, about to be spit, and you are not.
But, you're about to change that.
You take one step forward, acknowledging the call. And then another. You stumble for a minute, nearly falling backwards, but you feel a force of gravity pull you forward, and you basically throw yourself in the circle, landing on your back.
You stare up at the sun, delirious with anticipation for what comes next. Eager for release, from both your loins and from your identity as a woman. You see Stephanie step over you, looking down, and she shakes her head.
"Jesus Scarlett, if you wanted to be lunch this badly, I would've invited you over sooner."
You're carried by two faceless coworkers whose who strip you and pin you down on a picnic table. You're face down, ass up, and the only thing left is to be penetrated.
"I've been waiting all fucking week for this." Brendan eagerly says, as he practically throws his pants off, his cock rock hard and ready. He lines himself up to enter you, and your legs instinctively spread. You've lost yourself, you're an animal in heat, and you need to be bred before you're buttered.
Just as he's pushing his head inside you, Char slaps his cock away.
"Excuse you, THAT is mine. It wasn't YOUR pet that convinced her to ride the spit, was it? Besides, if she's not going to roast in my oven as I had planned, I am going to be selfish and say her tight little cunt stays ALL mine.
She takes the palm of her hand and places it on your bare pussy, applying pressure from top to bottom, just frotting you as you slowly grind back to the rhythm.
"I think you've found your next pet, Charlene." Stephanie says, happily, with a sound of relief.
"Yes, even for a little while. She's deserving. She's been such a GOOD fucking girl. Haven’t you, darling?"
Char turns her hand and uses her fingers to grind just on the outside of your clit, with her thumb gently applying pressure underneath. You're edged to the fucking max, your body frozen stiff, craving the pleasure of absolute, total release. Escape from this is the last thing from your mind.
"Mine." Char confirms what you already know by sliding two fingers into your sopping cunt, claiming you.
The spit is lined up at the entrance of your vulva, and you barely struggle. It's time for this. You're ready. You're happy that you consented, embraced the culture, and will roast and be served.
"Brendan, dear, come here." Char says, as she looks over at Brendan sulking under a tree. "I'd like it to be you who penetrates her."
Brendan walks over, frustrated, but compliant. Charlene's rule here is absolute, even over men. He takes the spit, lines it up, and you moan as you feel the sharpness of the tip at your entrance.
"It would be my honor to take this woman's life." He says, nodding. "After all, it should be a gentleman who guides the spit on Dolcett Day."
He slowly slides the spit inside you as Charlene withdrawls her fingers, still pressing her palm over your cunt from the outside. He pauses against your vaginal wall for a moment, the breaking point from feminity to filet. He takes a breath, and then forces his way through, the spit tearing through your body.
Just as you start to become overwhelmed, Char increases her stimulation on your cunt. She gently pulls at your outer lips, rubs two fingers on your hood, and has her thumb press upward on your clit with increasing pressure.
You fill the orgasm build like a rocket, and just as you CUM your fucking brains out, you scream out, but the spit passes right through your throat, and then out your mouth, silencing you forever.
You’re reduced to shaking back and forth as the pleasure races through your body, your eyes bulging. You're close to death already, you can tell, but the experience of being spitted inch by inch while being rubbed to orgasm was SO worth it. You’ve had your perfect moment.
"Goodbye my little kebob. I’m glad you found your holiday spirit." Char says, satisfied, her soul filled will the experience she's waited all week for. "Someone please gut her and get her over the fire, we can't have our little spit muffin going to waste." Charlene says, casually, as you are just meat to cook now.
"With pleasure!" Stephanie gleefully says, and skips over, picking up a large knife.
You can barely breathe, life quickly fading from you. Stephanie leans in so close that you are nose to nose, eye to eye, your entire field of vision enwrapped in her face.
"I FUCKING told you this was going to happen. That you were going to be my lunch..."
You feel the knife stab into your sternum, and your eyes bulge, and your body shakes, giving off its last embers of life.
"...and guess what? I am going to be first in line with a plate. Bitch."
The last thing you feel is Stephanie's hand reaching into your abdominal cavity, pulling your insides out. She keeps her face so close you can feel her body heat, even as yours starts to go cold.
She squeals with delight as she watches the light in your eyes fade away.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
By mid-afternoon, Charlene's two former pets are on the carving board, slowly being sliced away and set on plates. There's a beautiful spread of barbeque side dishes to accompany your meat. The atmosphere is joyous, a true celebration of a nation's favorite holiday.
Brendan has your liver stored on ice in a small cooler, set aside once you were gutted. He's enjoying some thigh and has a nice cut of your belly on his plate. Stephanie is sitting on his lap, picking your rib bones clean, taking her time to crack each one with her hands, slowly sucking out the marrow.
Char has two cunt filets on her plate, but she decides to eat yours, first. Somehow, even though she has only known you a week, your resistance made you even more valuable than her long-term pet. She savors the taste of your surrender, eating you with her hands, your dried cum still on her hands, mixing with the flavor of your meat.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FRIDAY AM ->Friday AM]]**The call of the void is overwhelming. Your heart thumps through your chest as you slowly take one step forward, and then another, your eyes transfixed as the gleaming blades of the meat grinder inch closer.
"Oh, do we...have a volunteer? That was a joke of course." The Safety Inspector chuckles, expecting you to stop, to catch yourself, to stop what comes next.
But, you don't. You take another step forward, and another, until one foot dangles over the edge of the rail less gap, your body teetering on existence, your pupils dilated with only the image of the grinder enveloping them.
"Oh, no…" Charlene whispers, as she realizes your state of mind seconds too late.
You're falling now, you don't even realize you left the platform. A second later, your flesh hits the already spinning blades, activated by a motion sensor. You're shredded instantly, ground up, parts of you bouncing up after the initial impact before landing again, quickly being reduced into hamburger.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Your work party waits at the bottom of the stairs, as the meat grinder slowly churns out portions of your ground meat into white Styrofoam trays, which are quickly wrapped in plastic. You're passed around to your coworkers, by a clearly flustered safety inspector.
“Just so everyone is clear, she VOLUNTEERED, so that does NOT count against our accident record, THANK YOU.”
Charlene looks down at the package of freshly ground you, disappointed. "Let's all make the best of a bad situation. We all know what today is. Let's just go home and call it a day."
Brendan looks down at his package of you, staring at the bright pink flesh.
“I can’t believe you got past me twice, just to end up like this. I must be losing my touch.” Brendan mumbles.
“Cheer up babe!” Stephanie says, skipping up to Brendan, shaking a package of your ground meat joyfully. "She wasn’t anything special, just another dumb girl who wanted to be meat. Meat-LOAF, that is. What do you say?”
“You know I can’t turn down girl meatloaf, babe.”
They kiss. Stephanie looks down at the package of you.
“Looks like you kept our lunch date promise to me AFTER all.” She says, with a devilish grin.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: MERYL'S GROCERY->Meryl's]]**The scene you just witnessed was impossibly visceral. There was something about watching Jane being slaughtered that transfixed you. Your cheeks are flushed, your knees are weak, and your cunt is ACHING. It's screaming out, throbbing, like your clit is engorged to twice it's normal size.
You absolutely, undeniably, need release.
You walk over, quietly, and slowly touch the chain that holds the hook next to Jane's torso. You don't say anything. You can't bring yourself too. You just look over at the butcher, and give the slightest of nods.
The butcher wraps one arm around you, and effortlessly picks you up, and impales you on the hook, right through your work paints.
"Meat on the hook!" he yells.
"Meat on the hook!" a voice from in the back calls.
Having a very cold, razor sharp hook in your ass snaps you back to reality. Your cunt dries up. You are completely aware of where you are now, like waking up from a dream.
You see the butcher ready his electric knife.
"Wait!" You cry out.
He pauses, appearing annoyed, but still carries an expression of certainty.
"I said...meat on the HOOK." Bob stares into your eyes, before forcibly turning your head to face Jane, well, Jane's meat.
Your face flushes, that strange feeling in your gut starting to re-surface. You feel your pussy moisten. Your eyes gloss over.
"...meat on the hook..." you whisper.
He quickly, expertly, slices your neck, spilling out your blood in a flush, before you can say, or think, anything else. He just as quickly puts a slice down your belly, with your organs falling out, hitting the ground with a plop.
You shake uncontrollably as he grabs your right arm and begins to remove it at the shoulder joint. You gasp, but the air just flushes through the gap in your neck. Your eyes roll in the back of your head from the pain, lack of oxygen, and a discharge of liquid flushes out from your cunt.
You let out one soft moan on your final exhale, your head falling limp to one side, before it's quickly removed, placed neatly next to Jane's.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Two limbless, headless, gutted torsos dangle "on the hook", draining, waiting to be processed. They are indistinguishable now. Their identities were separate, but now they are simply meat.
Later, Bob the butcher emerges from the back and takes his station behind the meat counter. Supply has run low during the initial dinner rush. He picks up a tightly wrapped package, freshly labeled, and slides it down into the sale counter. It hits the edge of the counter with a smack, but settles neatly among the other cuts.
A very modestly dressed soccer mom type, with a diamond heart collar necklace, picks up the family pack of 4 DC Strip Steaks.
She reads the label.
Name: Scarlett
Aged: 35 Years
Processing date: Wednesday
Status: Semi-Con
Diet: Unknown
Rearing: European
The label is completed with a photo of your confused, but consenting face.
"Steak sounds good tonight." She says to herself, without another thought to whoever you were a few minutes ago. She places you in her cart, next to a brand name box of easy rice, a bag of pre mixed spinach salad, and a bottle of wine.
She pushes her shopping cart down to the next aisle as more cuts of you are loaded. It's business as usual at Meryl's.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: MERYL'S GROCERY->Meryl's]]**Steph has a NICE flat downtown. It shocks you how well off she has it, as it doesn't seem to match her standing in the company. But, Dolcett is a place that doesn't make sense to you either, and you don't really know how income brackets work here. Do they even have taxes? Are people taxable? Only if they’re sold? You tell yourself to stop overthinking it.
Steph offers you a glass of white wine, and explains that day drinking is common in Dolcett. She pours two glasses and lets you pick yours, and then she quickly drinks the other. You appreciate the wordless gesture. You feel like you're finally fitting in here.
She starts to mince ingredients for meatloaf, as well as peels some potatoes. You offer to help, but she implores you to relax. Now THIS is girl time, you tell yourself.
"So." You say, to begin some conversation. "How is it that Charlene of all people is the most powerful person in Dolcett? She's a woman? I wouldn't think it's possible."
"Well, she's a lesbian, for one. That saves her a lot of trouble. Most women in Dolcett get snuffed by Men because they are seeking love, or power, or what not." Steph replies, as she places a large stockpot of water over a burner, setting it to high heat. "And she's extremely clever, I don't think I've ever seen her talked out of something once she has her mind made up." she pauses. "Scarlett, could you come here for a second? I need you for something."
You get up, a little buzzed, and walk over.
"Could you watch the pot so it doesn't boil over. I'm missing something and I JUST can't find it."
You stand, facing the stockpot, joking to yourself, "a watched pot never boils." You can see Steph frantically searching her pantry, under her sink, and in the fridge for…something.
"What are you looking for Steph?" You say, with a bit of concern, as her behavior feels performative. What could have been misplaced in so many different locations?
"The girl meat." She says, her voice right behind you. Just as a sense of panic comes over you, you feel her slip her hand over your mouth just as she slides a large kitchen knife in your back.
"Oh, there it is. I found it." She says in a sinister tone, as the knife is firmly lodged in your heart. Your body simply freezes in place, like moving could somehow make this worse.
"I tried to tell you. You can't trust anyone here."
The pot slowly comes to a boil. But, you are no longer watching.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Stephanie frantically races back and forth in the kitchen. She finishes stirring the mashed potatoes just as the meatloaf is ready to be taken out to cool. She looks at the clock. Almost time. She takes a breath. Today is going to be her big day. She just knows it.
Just as you're set to cool, the doorbell rings. She takes one look in the mirror, nods, and heads over to the door. She puts on a smile, and opens it, with Brendan standing at the door with some roses.
"You shouldn't have!" She exclaims, even though she feels the opposite, like he's owed her for a long time. But, she notes, she's collecting today, with you as a dowry.
She walks him to the kitchen table, and pours him a glass of wine. She tells him to just WAIT. After a couple minutes, she walks over a steaming plate of perfectly sliced, perfectly cooked Scarlett meatloaf, nestled cozily next to the mashed potatoes, just like she said you'd be.
"My favorite." He says, excitingly, and picks up his fork and knife, ready to dig in to his surprise workday lunch. He really is an old-fashioned man, in every way.
"You'll never guess where I sourced the meat." She says, eager for his response.
He takes a bite. His eyes nearly roll in his head at your flavor. "She's fresh, that's for sure. And she tastes...almost..." He pauses, and takes another bite, savoring it. "She tastes...like...she's from..."
Stephanie grins with excitement, and tilts her head.
"You did NOT, YOU snuffed her? That little bitch from West Carolina? Wow. And you made her into meatloaf...for me?" Brendan says, as he processes this situation out loud.
"I did. All for you. The rest of her is draining in the bathroom, we can take her to get processed, or stuffed, whatever you want, hunny."
She then looks down at his crotch, in a gesture that is familiar to both of them.
"May I, Sir?"
He smiles and nods, taking a huge slice of the you-meatloaf, now knowing the full story, and savors every ounce of your flavor. Finally. Just as he swallows you into his stomach to digest, Stephanie slides his cock into her mouth.
She bobs on his cock while he dines for a while, before pausing for a second to look up.
"Hunny...I did this for you, as I wanted to prove to you that..." She takes a break to lick his balls, before continuing. "I wanted to prove that I'd make a good wife for you. I really want to make this official. I'm smart, I'm beautiful, and I'd love to submit to you, forever. If you'll have me."
Stephanie then takes Brendan in her throat, and gestures him to take a hand on the back of her head. He fucks her throat so aggressively that he nearly snuffs her, before dumping a load directly into her stomach. They both take a moment to catch their breath, for different reasons.
"So, what do you say? I'm already down on my knees." Stephanie says, waiting, hoping, pleading.
Brendan stares at Stephanie, considering her proposal, and finishes his last bite of meatloaf. He nods, knowing what he must do next.
"You know what? I think we should celebrate tonight." Brendan says.
Stephanie's face lights up. She's been waiting for this her entire life. Wealth. Safety. Love.
“Let's go out for dinner.” Brendan says. "There's this really nice French place I like downtown. We'll finalize everything there."
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: TUESDAY AM->Tuesday AM]]**You're relieved as you enter Meryl's to see that it looks like...any other generic grocery store you've ever been to. The sections are familiar, the aisles are clearly labeled. Best yet, they sell ALL the normal foodstuffs...so you'll be able to stock up for the week, and not have to worry about eating someone, or being eaten, to do it.
But, despite all of this, you feel a curiosity come over you. Your gaze wanders to the back of the store, your feet carrying you as if they are self-propelled, your brain hungry for…something. You have to know.
You finally see the "Meat" section, with a comical illustration of a blonde woman's head, looking blank, obedient, and compliant. She's drawn to imply that not only did she accept this fate, but that she...desired it.
Carefully, you approach the large spread of fresh cuts of...former women, neatly packaged and wrapped tight in plastic. Just like any other grocery store, there's a variety of options to choose from - steaks, ground meat, roasts, ribs, chops. Your hand shakes as you pick up a package of flank steak, and look closely at the label.
Name: Susan
Aged: 35 Years
Processing date: Wednesday
Status: Voluntary
Diet: Omnivore
Rearing: Dolcett North Countryside
You struggle to process that whoever this person was, that they were the SAME age as you when they...chose…to end up wrapped in plastic and placed in a butcher's counter. You wish you could’ve sat with her, just before the end, to understand. But instead, all you can do is look back at the picture of her smiling, content face...that is also neatly printed on the label.
"Why would anyone choose to do this?" You wonder aloud, lost in this sliding doors moment.
"Well, there are lots of reasons, actually." You hear a voice say, a male voice.
You look up to see a large man, who probably placed linebacker in High School, staring back at you from the other side of the meat counter. The blood on his smock looks very fresh. He's been restocking the case, but has paused to stare at you, with the same level of curiosity you have, but for different reasons. No, not different. Reasons on the same path, but at opposite ends.
He has a bloodstained name tag that simply says "Hi there, I’m Bob."
"But, I'm probably not the best person to answer that." Bob continues. "But, maybe, she is."
He gestures to a woman sitting at a chair at the end of the counter, near the service door to the back of the market. She's cute, she's young, she's fit, and she's...naked. Completely naked, sitting calmly, reading a book.
You slowly walk over to her, not noticing your body is still trembling, a vibration shift having occurred within you since you touched that package of...Susan.
The woman looks up from her book, and smiles, welcoming the conversation.
"It's a shame I won't be able to finish it, really. I'd really like to know how it ends." She says, without a hint of sadness in her voice.
"Then why don't you? You don't HAVE to do this, right?"
"Well, no, I don't, but I WANT to. Besides, there will ALWAYA be a book I won't get to finish, a story left untold. But my story, I get to have the ending I want."
"But...” Your breath has become labored, a struggle building in your lungs. You can feel yourself slipping, but you don't know into where, or into what. "…but why?"
The service door opens. Bob the butcher, from before, stands in the door way to the other side.
"Alright Jane, it's time. Come with me."
Jane smiles, and nods, standing up. She offers you her book.
"You can finish it, I won't be needing this anymore." She pauses. "If you really want the answers to your questions, come with me. It would give my life more meaning if you watched. This is just the end of my journey, but the beginning of yours."
[[Follow her into the back of the market. It's clearly dangerous, but you have to know. You HAVE to know.->Butcher Shop]]
[[You really want to know, but there has to be another way. If you go to where a woman is about to be slaughtered, you're clearly be next.->Teenage Dream]]You crawl back on the bed, lay back, lift your hips, and spread your legs wide. You smile, and give him that "come here" gesture that women do in the movies. He appears slightly amused as he takes off his shirt, and drops his pants to reveal his massive cock. You gasp, in legit shock of his size, before shaking your head and getting back into your role as “Sex starved snuff muffin.”
He crawls on top of you, and you don’t try anything yet, you wait. You didn't get this far to be that stupid. You let him believe he's in control as he slowly enters you, your pussy already wet with anticipation, as you honestly really need sex right now.
He slowly starts to pump into you, but he looks bored already. You worry that you'll be cooking on that soon to be smoking pan soon if you don't do something to spice things up.
[[Go full porn star on him. Moan loudly, buck your hips, call him Daddy. Make sure this is the best sex he’s ever had.->Pornstar]]
[[Offer to play dead while he fucks you. He did mention he’s into that sort of thing. You just hope he doesn’t get too into it and snuff you for real.->Play Dead]]You sleep longer than you expect, but it also took a LONG time to fall asleep last night, as you stared at the ceiling and replayed last night over and over and over again. Your stomach rumbles, the pretzels and trail mix you found on your hotel desk doing little to meet your needs.
*"I should've went to the sushi bar."* You lament, but decide to stop wallowing, as you'll be eating like a queen once you've got the million dollars.
You put on your best work attire for your first day at DolcettCo, a mix of high fashion, sex appeal, and professionalism. As you finish putting on your makeup, you stare at yourself, and even at thirty five, you feel model beautiful. You have a twisted thought, smile, and say "I'd eat me. I'd fucking eat me." as a way of pumping yourself up.
Only five days to go.
You walk in to a large office building, giant really, modern, one of those metallic monstrosities. You check in with reception, who gives you a laminated badge with your name and photo on it - Scarlett Sky. Where did they get a photo of you? Jenna must have been right that this exchange program has been going on for a LONG time, which must mean that she was also right about...no one ever coming back.
Just as you hail the elevator, you see a chef and several assistants pushing a large rolling table, with a white cloth, and a dozen or so metal trays and lids on it. They have a restaurant here? A cafeteria? You wonder...could that be...girl meat?
You feel some strange calling to go peak, to just lift a lid and see it with your own eyes. You salivate briefly, as you wonder about the texture, the smell, the...taste. You wouldn't taste it, right?
[[Shake this fever dream off and go up the elevator. Distractions lead to being dinner, you tell yourself.->Monday Day]]
[[Rush over and take a peak at what's under those lids. You only live once!->Deep Fried]]Your work alarm went off some time ago, but you were already up, having slept ALL day Sunday. You've showered, and are putting your hair up. You've decided to wear a black, assertive pantsuit, similar to what Morgan wears. You feel that somehow, you understand her better now, like the trials you’ve faced are somehow a mirror of what has shaped her own life.
It's not the time to try to relate to her, or wonder if you’ve become her, you tell yourself. It’s time for her to pay up, and for you to move on to the good life.
As you arrive at work, the office is empty, but that’s not irregular. Morgan has given work remote Mondays for years as an incentive, but she’s always here, taking meetings. As you head towards Morgan's office, you remember that this is North Carolina. The United States. There are laws here, laws that protect you from being snuffed. You can bring your new found confidence and assertiveness, and not have to worry about getting a knife shoved into you or being trussed and slid into an oven.
You approach her office door, your convictions made, your mind set. Jenna is nowhere to be found, her desk abandoned. You realize she's probably already been sent off to Dolcett in the exchange program, it’s quite possible she’s being digested by now. That's a problem for later.
The door to Morgan's office is closed. You can hear a conversation going on. No matter, you're just going to have to barge in and take what's yours.
You ready yourself for your destiny, your fate now firmly in your hands.
Just as you're about to enter, you see a sign over Jenna’s desk, you don't recall it being there before. It reads:
<passage-link to="Salvation Comes From Within" role="link">Salvation Comes From Within.</passage-link>
[[Go into Morgan's office and force her to honor your contract. You're as prepared for this as you can be. Right?->Tricked]]"Do they have, um, like, vegetarian options? I don't eat women, but if you're paying, I'd love a good salad." you say. You're not actually vegetarian, but you don't want to ACCIDENTLY eat someone if they are listed as some type of pig.
He smiles. "Grass fed, huh? Love it. Perfect. Sure, babe, they have salads. Lots of things for a little grazer like you."
You don't like ANY of what he just said, but since you've agreed to go with him, you follow sheepishly as he leads you to this restaurant.
[[Advance to: Monday PM->Monday PM]]You decide to play it safe, ignoring whatever is on those plates, and just get to your desk. You go into the elevator, and just as the door is closing, a hand sticks in. A blonde woman, mid twenties, about 5'3, with a killer hourglass frame enters, and looks you over. She's rather gorgeous, and as you understand it, gorgeous women like her usually don't last long. You're impressed.
"Oh, are you the new girl?" She says, with an excitement. "Where are you from?"
"North Carolina." You say, straightening yourself up, making sure you're respected and treated like an equal here.
"Never heard of it. They don't teach stuff that doesn't matter in school here."
"The rest of the world doesn't matter?" You say, in a way that you feel corrects her.
"What matters HERE is staying alive, if you're a woman. That's why I'm still here. And unless you're planning to get snuffed, which by the way, if you are, girlll, save me a PLATE, but if not, you should stick with me. I'll look out for you."
She offers a handshake. "I'm Stephanie."
You feel like you can trust Stephanie, at least, for now. You go with her as she introduces you to people, asks some questions about fashion - "They let women wear clothes SEVEN days a week in The Carolina States?"
Stephanie is your type of girl. Witty, confident, charming.
She leads you to your office, an upgrade from the corner cubicle, with an incredible view of the city. It's spacious, centrally place, and well decorated, except for...one hand drawn sketch, blown up on a giant poster. It makes your stomach turn, but also, draws in your curiosity.
It's two people having sex, with the woman riding the man's cock. But, she has a noose around her neck, and she's looking half dead as he uses the rope to pull her up and down on his throbbing cock.
"One of the master's original drawings. It's a big hit around here. You should try it sometime. Any man who gets to play THAT scene doesn't last very long. Or, she doesn't, if he pulls too hard." Stephanie says with a giggle.
"I'll, um, try not to. Thanks."
"You're going to have to do more than TRY, girl, or you'll be on a platter before mid-week. Outsiders are considered a sort of DELICACY around here. There's something about YOU that tastes better. So, people are going to try to eat you, so, um, I'd just be extra careful."
Stephanie goes to walk out the door, but turns, and gives you one last, long look. It makes you uncomfortable for a second, especially as she suddenly laughs.
"Don't look so serious, Scarlett. It's only Monday. The boss doesn't even come in on Mondays, so try to relax and take it easy, okay? Let's do lunch!"
She leaves, and you focus on work, which is easy, as you're just doing your normal work remotely from this office. You wonder for a second - What is the person you swapped places with doing right now?
*"Probably wondering why she's NOT being eaten."* You laugh.
But then, you have a serious moment. You make a pact to yourself, here and now, to not lose yourself in this place. You've already had one close call, maybe two, and you can feel the temptation to step out of yourself, your values, of who you are. So you decide - you won't eat any girl meat on this trip, you won't hurt anyone, and you won't walk blindly into trouble. You nod, and decide to skip lunch, the curiosity of what-was-under-those-trays a fleeting thought.
The rest of the day goes quietly, uneventfully, thank goodness. You occasionally have a visitor, and you're polite, but you keep it SHORT and keep them moving. It's almost like they aren't interested in talking to you, but rather they are observing you, the same way people gawk at the animals at the zoo.
The only one that was memorable was that...inventor, who visited in the afternoon. His name was...Ed? Edward? His conversation felt clinical, like he was filling out your demographic information for a medical appointment. Age, where you were born, nationality? You're surprised he didn't ask for a blood sample.
As you shut down your PC for the day, relieved, with only four days to go, you hear a knock at the door, and a rather average looking, average height, average dressed man walks in.
"I'm Brandan. I'd like to have you for dinner tonight." He says with a confidence that indicates he doesn't realize how average he is.
"I'm...sorry, what?" You stammer out.
He smiles. "Relax, it's just a little joke we have around here. A play on words. Tit for um, tat. What I'm saying is, my name is Brandan, and you're the new girl visiting, from....East Carolina, and you're name is...Stella?"
"Scarlett." You correct him.
"Right, sure, sorry, whatever, my mistake. Listen, I'm sort of a big deal here, and I always make a point to take the visitors out to my favorite restaurant on their first night in town. So, grab your stuff, I have a reservation at 5:30."
You stare at this presumptuous man, studying him for intent, unsure of what to do next.
[[You're starving, and at least a restaurant is a public place, with a large menu. He clearly has money. Tell him dinner is on him.->Monday Acceptance]]
[[You tell him no, as of course you tell him no. He's a sexist asshole, and him not remembering your name is the least of your worries.->Monday Refusal]]You feel your hand being tugged right, and you try to look ahead, your vision blurry, and see you're being led back towards the CENTER of the restaurant, towards what look like kitchen doors. You yank your hand back, and step back from Emile.
"Madam, I can assure you that Monsieur Brendan expected you to go this way." Emile says, nervously.
"I'm sure he did, but I can find my own way, thanks."
You rush off towards what you pray are bathroom doors. You hope you're right. If you're not, you've probably committed some type of cultural offense, and you’ll be added to tonight’s specials.
You go through the door that says "Dames" and are relieved to find out it's a bathroom. As you relieve yourself, you realize that you were DEFINITELY being led the wrong way. You remember how Brendan looked at you as he said 'She's going to be exquisite' and a shudder goes through your body.
You are NOT GOING BACK to that table.
So, you stand, and see that you can go out the window, which leads to an alley in the back. You take your chances, climb out the window, and briskly walk back onto the busy street.
You try to blend back in as you walk back to your hotel, not running, not looking panicked, not looking like you're about to cry as you process what nearly happened. You also can't shake this feeling you're being watched, followed, again.
You exhale as you get back to the hotel, up the elevator, and sprint to your room, bolting the door closed. You're relieved, but you're also very hungry, a bit hungover, and absolutely exhausted. This first day in Dolcett was a lot more than you bargained for, but you're through it.
You collapse on the bed, asleep as soon as you hit the pillow.
[[Advance to: Tuesday->Tuesday AM]]It's a short walk to the restaurant, just a few blocks down from your office. He *insists* on holding your hand, and shares that unmarried, unowned women like *you* can be swiped up off the street.
"That's weird, because I could've sworn someone was following me when I got here last night." You say, thinking back to the night before.
"Well, not on Sundays. Subjugation laws are only in effect on Wednesdays, Scarlett."
You blush a little bit as he says your name correctly, and you lean into him a bit. He smells good. Maybe you misjudged him. Sure, he's not a hunk, or anything, but he's confident, in charge, and is protecting you. Maybe you'll fuck him, after all. It's been too long since you've had some good dick.
The restaurant, "Le Table d'Truie", is unassuming on the outside, but extravagant on the inside. It's vaguely French, classy, and you feel a bit under dressed in business casual. But, he's not much to look at either, so you don't worry too much on what you look like. You just stay close.
You're a bit surprised as he doesn't have to give his name to check in. He simply makes eye contact with the host, nods, and you're ushered toward a table directly in front of the fireplace, one of the best in the entire restaurant. You're impressed. Maybe he IS someone.
You walk behind him briskly, trying to not look down at what, or who, is served on the plates. You notice that several women have what appears to be a collar on, with a large diamond heart hanging from a ring at the center. They appear to be well off, comfortable, and are CLEARLY not being eaten - you make a mental note to figure out whatever this custom is, as you'd love to feel that safe.
As you're seated, a waiter immediately appears with a bottle of sparkling wine. "On the house, for Monsieur Brendan, and....our special guest tonight." The waiter says, as uncorks the bottle, pouring a glass for you, as well as for Brendan. You look at the alcohol nervously, especially after what happened last night.
"Let me teach you another one of our customs." He says, and trades glasses with you, touching only the stem. "A woman should never trust a man who doesn't offer to swap drinks."
You smile, your first genuinely, joyful smile this entire journey. You gulp this glass down, eagerly, as you're feeling safe, good, and ready for a buzz. The waiter pulls you a second glass.
"Oh, and Emile, make sure you bring a vegetarian menu for the lady, please." He says, somewhat loudly. You feel like more than a few eyes are on you now that he said "vegetarian." You suddenly remember what Stephanie told you - outsiders are a "delicacy", and this is a VERY fancy restaurant. Their attention is...understandable, but also, very uncomfortable.
You try not to look over at what is served on other plates, focusing on the fire, and Brandan's eyes. He has nice eyes, you think, but your instincts are a bit blurred, as you are on your second glass of wine. The waiter brings you a menu that says "Le Bétail" at the top, which is a word that you don't know, but you do recognize soups, salads, breads, and pastas.
You smile, and settle in. You're READY to eat.
"Monsieur Brendan...are you having the usual tonight?" Emile asks, somewhat ominously. You notice Brendan offer his hand across the table, and you take it. "Yes, I think I will. I have a feeling SHE'S going to be exquisite."
You can't really process what he meant by *she*, but you assume he ordered meat girl. You shrug, as you can't expect him to *not.* This is what they *do* here. You give yourself a brief pep talk, as a woman is about to be on a plate at this table...stay focused, use good judgment, trust yourself, get that million dollars.
"And for the lady?" Emile asks, but his attention appears to be diverted elsewhere, making some type of hand signal to the other staff.
"Oh, um, I'll have..." You struggle to decide as you're distracted by a sudden urge to use the ladies room, as you look over and realize you crushed two glasses of wine in just a few minutes.
"Can I actually use the restroom first?" You ask, politely, trying to fit the atmosphere of this restaurant.
"Perfect timing. Would you please show her to the restroom, please?" Brendan says with a nod to the waiter. He smiles.
"Right this way, Le' Truie." He says, extending his hand.
You allow Emile to lead you, looking up to see the sign that says RESTROOM with an arrow pointing forward. But, just as you see two doors down a hallway that appear to be the restrooms, Emile's hand tugs you to the right.
"This way, please."
[[Follow the waiter to the restroom. The LAST thing you want to do is get lost in a Dolcett restaurant.->Fois Gras]]
[[You may be drunk, but you're not stupid. The sign said the restroom was the other way. Unless there's some mistake?->Monday Escape]]"Um, you know what, I had a late night yesterday, so perhaps another time?" You say, professionally, and gather your belongings.
He walks in closer, standing in your personal bubble, much too close for comfort.
"Listen, I don't think you understand. We have a custom here. If a man asks you, a clearly single woman..."
He gestures to your neck, which seems odd.
"...to a restaurant, you go, unless you’re property, as the right to refusal falls to your owner. Are you property?"
You don't answer.
"Then grab your shit, before I report you, and you're in the stocks. Come on. I don't like to be late for my dinner." You feel emphasis on those last two words, but due to lack of options, you sheepishly follow him.
[[Advance to: Monday PM->Monday PM]]You carefully prance over to a large tree that you can shimmy up, recalling all the trees you climbed as a child. You’re just able to get up the bark, and onto some branches, when you hear a rustling in the brush. You hold still, and lean down, trying to blend in, when you see her, Puma Catori, slowly making her way through the forest, almost like she expects to see you at any moment.
You hold your breath as she walks directly underneath. You feel a droplet of sweat form on your forehead, and can only watch as it drips down, splashing on a leaf directly behind her. She stops, turns, and crouches down, before slowly looking up, her eyes widening at the sight of her pray.
You go to shuffle down quickly, but ironically, the branch holding you snaps and you tumble down to the earth, nearly landing on her. You quickly rush to your feet and charge into her, which knocks her clean on her ass, her rifle flying off behind her. You then take off as fast as you can in the opposite direction.
You just keep moving, telling yourself – go – and don’t look back. You hear a gunshot that nearly knocks you off your feet, due to how loud a sound it makes, and you’re happy to realize you’re still running. You keep going even as you feel a stinging at your side, likely a cramp in your oblique.
You go as long as you can, until you see a giant patch of vegetation so thick that you practically roll into it, laying down to hide and recover. You finally have time to gather yourself, as you lay on your back, staring at the sun, which appears to be on its way down. You realize your side is still aching, and instinctively touch, looking at your hand to see blood. You jump up, and carefully look down to see you were grazed, but not struck, by a bullet.
“I was…” You feel where your skin, hot, has been sliced open, and measure with your fingers. “…six inches away from being supper.” You realize that choosing to be assertive, to charge her, and knock the gun away probably was the difference between being alive in this moment, or dead.
You shake your head, trying to collect yourself. *“Now I know what Bambi felt like.”* You think, shaking your head, and notice that your hand is trembling, as you feel your face flush, your breath starting to go shallow. You look down and realize your hand isn’t shaking, it’s rubbing your clit to the exhilaration of being hunted for your meat.
“What the FUCK is wrong with me?” You say out-loud, pulling your hand back, resolving that as GOOD as that felt, your lasting legacy in this world won’t be being snuffed while masturbating.
You wait a while in the shrub patch, but Catori doesn’t come. You decide it’s best to keep moving, slowly inching through the forest, noticing that early evening is setting in. The forest, as the daylight slowly fades, gets quiet. Too quiet.
You’re completely lost now, for sure. Even if you lasted until dark, you’d never find your way out of here. You realize you hadn’t thought of that earlier, that even if you got this far, how would you ever get out?
You hear a small crackling behind you, like a twig being stepped on, so you rush behind a large tree. You close your eyes, trying to blend in with the bark, and wait. Minutes pass. A half hour passes. You slowly peer your head around the tree, and see nothing. You exhale, allow yourself to relax for a second.
Just as that relaxation takes hold, you feel a sudden grip around your waist as you’re lifted from your feet and suplexed on to the ground, you landing head first on a tree root with a brutal thud. All of the wind is knocked out of you, and when you open your eyes, the trees appear blue, and the sky looks green. Puma Catori slowly mounts you, eyeing you for the kill.
“You have been an excellent hunt. I think you’ve earned your…reward.”
[[You can see her knife glimmering in the sunlight, sheathed in her shoulder pocket. Grab for it quickly and cut her throat. ->Knife]]
[[You have a concussion. Your brain says “A reward doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe it’s something sweet?”->Scarlett Sky]]You slowly back pedal away, fighting through the strange yearnings in your stomach, the desire that’s screaming in your cunt.
"Miss? Are you sure?” You see the butcher begin to approach, his smock soaking wet with blood.
You make a break for it and race to the door, desperate to get back into the market. You get to the door first, but you pull and it's...locked. You pull again, and bang on it, but there's no opening the door.
Just then, you feel the butcher's large body envelope you, his shadow cast over your frame. You turn to face him, just in time to see as the wet smock is about to soak you with blood. You close your eyes, and a vision of you, whole, lifeless, dangling on a hook, flashes before your eyes.
BEEP. *CLICK.
Your eyes open, as he gently pushes you aside to open the door.
"Thanks for shopping at Meryl's. Keep us in mind when your time comes, my door is always open." He says, again, in a warm way that reminds you of your father.
It takes you a full five seconds to do anything, but you slowly slide out from beside him and out the door. You take a second to collect yourself, sitting down in one of the same chairs that Jane chose to end her life in a few minutes before. You notice you left her book there, and look down at the title.
"Zen and the Art of Meat Girl Maintenance."
You decide to not keep it. You don't really want to know anything more about what she was thinking, it's already affected you, saturated you, moistened you in ways you can't yet describe.
Just as you're standing up to go, you hear a familiar voice.
"One more thing."
Bob is back behind the counter, with one freshly packaged cut of meat in his hand.
"She would've wanted you to have this, I'm sure. It's on the house."
Bob offers you a fresh, still very warm, cut of Jane's meat.
[[She literally asked you to share her last moments with her. She clearly wanted you to eat her, and besides, you're starving.->Tues PM Bad]]
[[You made a vow to yourself to not eat girl meat. It's been a HELL of a Tuesday, but today is not the day to start breaking your values.->Tues PM Good]]"Listen, I don't know what Morgan is paying you, but I'll double it. Triple it? I'll give you half a million. Let's work together. Please?” You feel your voice whimper a bit at the end, as you feel the rope tightening around your neck.
"You still don't get it, do you? You were NEVER going to get the money. Ever. You DID have a chance of making it back, however slim that was. And then, once you found out the truth, who knows what you would've done.”
He pulls the rope tight, and you feel your body pulled into the air.
"But, we don't have to worry about that anymore, do we?"
You gasp for air as you’re hung by the neck. You struggle with your hands to create space in the noose to survive, but it’s only delaying the inevitable. He sighs, more out of boredom than anything else, and sits back down, getting comfortable. It should only be a few minutes longer.
You frantically struggle, kicking your legs, getting out one scream as your brain just repeats "FUCK FUCK FUCK" until your wild, animal like thrashings slowly still, until you’re just a few involuntary reflexes, and then, until you’re nothing.
He loosens his grip so you can slide back down onto the bed, staring into your dead eyes, a look of frozen panic on your face. He feels his cock harden. He unzips his pants.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The sound of your corpse being fucked echoes in the room, with hard thrusts from your murderer as he enjoys your still warm cunt. Well, enjoys is probably a strong word. He's more business like, more restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine. Everything he does is purposeful, he doesn't alter his routine even when small changes or decisions come up.
Once he's done, he slowly unties you from the noose, as the frying pan smokes in the distance. He drags you by the hair into the bathroom, your lifeless face staring blankly in defeat, a fresh load of his cum drying on your forehead. He's already tied some additional cords to the shower rod setup, to hoist up your body.
He casually hangs you by your ankles, pulls your head back, and cuts your throat. He also slits your wrists and lets you bleed out while he runs the bathwater.
He comes back into the kitchen. He looks in your cupboard and finds salt, pepper, and a little olive oil. He shrugs. It's enough.
He grabs his briefcase and goes back into the bathroom, and opening it to access his collection of various knives and tools. He pulls out a large saw, and gets to work cutting through your spine to sever your head.
He carries your still dripping head by the hair back into the kitchen area, and places it in his cooler. He makes sure to cover it with some ice.
He then goes back into the bathroom, looks you over, and uses the various knives in his kit to make small cuts into you. He's not really interested in a full meal, just a taste of your various parts. So, he slices off some rump, some rib meat, some backstrap, and some thigh. He brings them into the kitchen, rinses them off, seasons them, and pours some oil in the pan, just before the exact moment the pan is heated to the ideal temperature. He shrugs quietly at his timing, noting you lasted a bit shorter than he planned for.
A loud sizzle fills the room as your dry, still warm meat hits the pan. He pauses for a second or two, and then goes to wash off his equipment, packing it back into the briefcase. He's got everything packed and in order just as you're ready to eat.
He casually eats while staring at the wall - cold, thoughtless, indifferent. Once he's had his fill, he picks up the cooler, briefcase, and takes one last look at the room. There's blood on the floor. The dishes are dirty. There's a corpse hanging in the stained bathtub.
He sighs. He reaches in his pocket to leave some cash. But then, he stops, and instead grabs the hotel notepad and writes "Tip in bathroom."
Maybe the maid will get a good meal out of what's left of you.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**You decide to offer him sex to buy you more time to think of a way out of this. It’ll only buy you a few minutes, at most, but it’s better than the few seconds you’ll have before you’re hung by the neck. You just hope it works.
"Wait, could you...grant a dying woman a last request?" You say, as sexy as you are able, and spread your legs invitingly, even tugging a bit on the rope for effect. You think you’ve nailed it, you've got a feel for this strange, but hot fetish, over the last few days.
"Well, I usually snuff my victims before I fuck them…" You watch as he eyes you up and down, not as a piece of meat, but as a sex object. You feel your face flush at the sexual validation for a second, before steading yourself. This peril mixed with hangover has you HORNY.
“…but, there's something...special about you. I think I'd enjoy being inside you when I snuff you. So, I'm going to play with you first, but...”
He looks over as the pan starts gets hot.
“...but not for too long."
[[Lay on your back, spread your legs further, and offer him missionary. You’ll be able to keep an eye on his next move this way.->Missionary]]
[[Turn around, lay flat on your stomach, and let him have some prone bone. He won’t be able to see as you plan your next move.->Prone]]You groan loudly at the proposition ahead of you. You crave release SO fucking bad. And this ending, after a week of build up to your oven roasting for a WEEK is just SO perfect. Holy fuck. To be basted by a Hitachi brush and milked to the perfect, life ending orgasm is exactly what you need.
Your head slams back in the tray, to try to shock you back into reality. You muster what little courage you have left. You slowly, with what limited muscle control you have left, shake your head back and forth.
''...no." you whimper.
"Oh, I see. I understand. I know what you really need. Confirmation. Well, THAT is almost ready, so how about you roast for a little bit longer, and then…I will give you the finality you require.
She smiles through gritted teeth and shoves the apple back in your mouth. You're then slid back into the oven, the door slammed loudly behind you.
You don't squirm as much this time. At first, you think it's because the glaze has cooled your skin, or maybe opening the door cooled the oven a bit. But, you realize, it's because you're dead. Your nerve endings, that is. You don't register pain. You don't feel all of your extremities, and you can barely move.
So, you just there, quietly, and…roast. Staring up at the ceiling. You occasionally sneak a glance at Char, who looks like she's...fixing something. Probably a side dish.
The only thing keeping YOU clinging to this world is this lingering feeling that missed something. That you were given some CLUE that could have avoided this fate, led to a better ending to this story. But, you weren’t paying attention last Monday, you didn’t remember what you were asked not to forget. Also, you realize, in that strange dream you had Wednesday night, the meaning was lost.
You look down at your even more roasted body now, and notice that your bacon is looking very lean, after not eating this week. For some reason, thinking of your belly as bacon is very comfortable to you. Your thighs are going to make great steaks, too. And your calves? You hope they are served on the bone. Speaking of bones, you hope Char boils them. Makes a nice stock, a nice broth, like the one you tasted on that ride with Puma Catori.
Gosh, you look forward to being SO much good food.
But then you realize, tonight's entree, the main course, what Char has been waiting for ALL week will be called…
A cold breeze of wind interrupts this interlude of acceptance, as you're pulled out, dizzy, confused, broken. You're placed on the rolling cart, brought back to the island, and placed over the sink.
"You look like you did a LOT of thinking in there. You're ready now, I can tell." She says, patiently, like a mother speaking to a child after a time-out.
You just mumble through your very cooked apple. Char removes it, and puts a hand to one ear to listen in, smiling.
“...no.” Fuck it, you've come this far. You can't let her know what just consumed your mind, even though you’re fine with being consumed next.
"You know what your problem is?” She says, appearing somewhat annoyed. “You think that if you don't give yourself to me willingly, that I MIGHT let you go. So...let's find out, shall we?" she says, arrogantly.
She pulls out some kitchen shears and slowly cuts off your twine, throwing it in the trash.
"Go ahead, you can go. You SURE showed me. You win." She says sarcastically, playfully, and rests her chin on both of her hands, her elbows stationed on the island, grinning knowingly.
You slowly go to lift yourself out of the pan...and...nothing. It's not that you don't want to. It's not that you've given up. It's that your thighs are literally steak now, your calves shawarma, and YOU are just a roast. Glazed, roasted, and soon to be served.
You physically can't move, as your body is no longer yours. It's hers.
Char smiles.
"I knew from the minute I met you that you'd roast in my oven. I could fucking SMELL the submission on you, darling. You resist me, but you ache for it. You've ached for fucking days, Scarlett...” She takes one final look at you as you are now. “...Iit's not that I haven't convinced you, it's that you haven't convinced yourself.”
She flashes a large kitchen knife at you.
"So let me convince you EXACTLY what you are."
She places a large bowl on the island. You look, and see it filled with stuffing, which makes you breathe just a little bit harder, as much as your dying body can tolerate. She then opens the drainage plug on the bottom of the roasting pan. She smiles, and lines up the blade at the tip of your breastbone.
Her smile changes to concentration, precision, like an artist ready to carve marble. This matters to her - she knows the finality it will bring to you, the anticipation palatable, the taste of your end thick in the air.
Slowly, the knife tears into you, the sound more like cutting paper than flesh. You're that crispy. She takes her time to feed two fingers into your abdominal wall as she cut you open, so she can create the perfect partition. The perfect doorway, from Scarlett Sky to Scarlett Roast.
She puts the knife down and delicately opens you up. She takes just a second to flash a look at you, a look of absolute certainty, as she reaches in and slowly removes your organs, placing them in a large bowl. As she finishes gutting you, you, she grabs a marker and writes "Scarlett, July 18th" on the bowl, making sure you’re watching as she wraps the top in plastic.
You can only groan as you’re suddenly washed out with her sink sprayer attachment, the water eventually running clean out of the bottom of the roasting tray. Once your insides run clear, she plugs the roasting pan, and reaches for the stuffing. She uses two hands to pack you to the brim, before gently sowing you up. She flashes you another look, drinking in the acceptance that’s enveloped your expression. She fetches the fresh batch of quartered potatoes, carrots, onions, and other garden vegetables she's prepared, and slowly dumps them in the tray, spreading them out to best catch your juices.
She slides you back on the rolling tray, and back to the door of the oven.
“You won't come out again, alive, anyway. But it's okay. I'll be with you, you'll be a part of me, always.”
She kisses you on your rather crisp forehead.
"Go make peace with it." Her last words to you.
She slides you in the oven, and the door closes, for the final time.
You feel that same spark rush through your body, the same one that flickered so briefly nearly a week ago. You've resisted it so many times. But this time, you let it flood. You let the pleasure, the acceptance, the purpose of your existence soak your body. You let the identity of roast take over.
You have no energy left. No fight. No strength. And honestly, you don’t worry about what you've lost. You relish in what you’ve gained. Acceptance. Peace. Relaxation.
It's not that you're going to roast, you ARE a roast. You're a turkey dinner. And the only thing left for you to do is cook.
You understand now.
Why Jane went on the hook.
This calmness. This understanding.
This VALUE.
There's no one you'd rather be eaten by than Char.
Char pursued you. Coveted you. Conquered you.
Loved you?
Maybe she knew best after all.
You'll be a part of her, forever.
You're dinner.
Tonight's roast.
Better. More specific. You're...
"Prime Rib Roast Au Scarlett, Served Whole."
You've never felt more alive.
Your hips slowly rise from the pan, your legs tremble, and your body releases one quiet, perfect, soul affirming orgasm, as you embrace your true identity entirely, an orgasm so intense that it rips your literal life from your body.
Quietly, through the oven door, Char watches your final seconds of realization, of surrender, of acceptance. She breathes in both the aroma of your meat, but also the scent of your orgasm. A single tear falls down her face.
"...You were worth the wait."
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Hours later, Charlene slowly opens the oven door, your perfect aroma filling her kitchen, and pulls you out. She lets the anticipation build as she slowly slides you on her rolling cart, and up on her kitchen island. She slowly slides two fingers inside your hot cunt, and then slips those fingers in her mouth, having her first full taste of your surrender, your acceptance, your bliss.
"Your cunt knew what you were all along. Delicious."
She then rolls you to the kitchen table, as you’re just the perfect centerpiece for the huge spread she’s prepared. There’s all of those potatoes and vegetables she roasted with you, and a big bowl of the stuffing soaked in your juices. She’s also made a nice carrot soufflé, a lovely Caesar salad, freshly baked bread, and corn on the cob. She blows off a bottle of wine that’s been in her family for at least fifty years, and sets out two glasses.
She beams. This minute in time is so perfect that she takes all sixty seconds of it to relish in the look of orgasmic bliss on your face. You were *meant* to be the perfect meat girl, and you could not have turned out better.
Slowly, she starts to carve into you, making perfectly even cuts of ham, of flank steak, of thigh. She stacks your meat on various plates, and her mind processes how she’s going to store the leftovers, how she’s going to eat off you for weeks. “So much Scarlett, so little time.”
She carefully slices off your cunt, and sets it on a plate. She takes a large heap of stuffing to pair it with, along with some of the roasted vegetables. She even mashes some of the hot potatoes up, pouring a bit of Scarlett gravy she made in a pan on the stove.
She sets that plate at the head of the table, and nods. It’s time to eat.
Just then, Charlene hears a door open behind her, and she stands up taller, beaming with joy, her tail practically waving behind her. She waits, the anticipation building, until finally, Morgan walks in the dining room, looking worn from a long day of work. She practically drops her briefcase down as she takes her place at the head of the table.
“Dinner is served, Mistress.” She says, in the most perfect, obedient, sexual tone. “May I present…’Cunt Steak Au Scarlett, served with and in her own juices, garnished with stuffing, potatoes, and fresh vegetables.’”
Morgan nods, her mouth watering as she looks over her plate.
“Yes, you’ve been a very good girl.” Morgan takes a moment to stare into Charlene’s eyes. “I’m going to have to EAT you tonight for dessert.”
Charlene blushes, and for once, the sexual tension in the room is overwhelming, even for her.
“Thank you…I can’t wait…” Charlene sits, sloppily, like she lost her balance, before starting to fix herself a plate.
Morgan slices into your cunt, slicing off a healthy portion of your upper mound and cunt, and places it in your mouth, consuming it, consuming your essence, the part of you with the richest flavor, as it carried so much desire, so much anticipation, so much NEED to be meat.
“She’s unbelievable. She really didn’t want this at first?” Morgan asks, looking over at Charlene.
“She thought she didn’t. It took her a LONG time to understans. But, once she…came…” Charlene says, sliding a cut of your ham in her mouth. “…once she came around, oh my goodness, did she turn out to be delicious.”
“We have to find a way to prepare our next fall back like this. “Morgan says, her mind already drifting back to work.
“No…” Charlene says, pondering, savoring your flesh, your life, that part of you that will be inside of her, forever.
“…I don’t think they’ll ever be another Scarlett Sky.”
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FINAL DAY ->Monday AM 2]]**You take one step forward, acknowledging the call. But then you resist, and you stagger, and you stumble. Every part of you that wishes to remain here pushes back. Just as you're about to fall forward into the circle, some piece of gravity pulls you back, and you fall on the ground, just outside the area of consent.
You lay there, you don't even try to get up, you’re exhausted. Brendan slowly raises you off the ground, just as you see another woman, young, thick, beautiful, slowly walk into the circle, the calling too strong for her to resist.
It will not be you on the spit. At least, not for now. You're one step closer to going home.
You notice that all of the employees are gathering near a small stage with a microphone, with the females lining up in front. You walk over, to see what all the fuss is about, but stick in the back. You watch as Charlene slowly takes the stage, the collar and leash of her former pet in her hand.
"I think we all know what time it is. But first - let us acknowledge Penny, my darling pet, for her consent, so we may have a delicious meal this Dolcett Day. She really embodied what it means to be a Dolcett Girl, and in a short while, her body will be a part of all of us. She will always be remembered, fondly."
A polite applause. You clap along as well. It wasn't the best speech, but whatever. What work speech is?
"But now, it is time for the 'Ceremony de Cuello.' I ask all the woman in attendance to please kneel."
All of the women kneel. In fact, most of them were starting to kneel even before she asked, as they are so familiar with the tradition. You just stand there, confused, and most of all, concerned.
You feel a nudge, and turn to see Brendan, standing next to you, staring.
"Kneel, stupid." Brendan says, with his tone out of concern, not as an insult.
"Why? What's going on?" - You say, starting to shake, telling yourself that again, today is a day of consent.
"Scarlett, darling..." You hear Charlene call, but you don't look over, still waiting for Brendan's answer.
"She's selecting her next pet. All women must offer themselves to her. THAT'S the tradition." He says, genuinely concerned that you're about to get yourself into a lot of trouble.
"Scarlett..." You hear Charlene's voice again, and turn, seeing her staring at you from on the stage, opening the collar. "Kneel for me, sweetheart."
[[Refuse. Tell her Dolcett day is a day of consent, and you won't be coerced into this.->Acknowledge]]
[[Apologize for the confusion and kneel.->Pot Roast]]You take a moment to gather yourself, as you're not used to public speaking, being recorded, and/or, whatever this is.
"Oh um, hi, I'm Scarlett. I'm from North Carolina. And honestly, I would much rather-"
"DID YOU HEAR THAT EVERYONE!" She interrupts you, rudely. "She's from NORTH CALIFORNIA! How...ethnic!" She exclaims with a giggle. "Maybe you'd pair well with a jerk sauce? What do you think?"
"I said Carolina, that's different than Calif-"
"Well, it doesn't really matter, because really, you're just purchased meat." She says to you, before turning back to the camera, putting on her best local news anchor face. "So let me get onto my little secret - we all love the taste of a girl on a spit. It's a classic, it's timeless, and when done right, I dare you to find a better way to prepare a live roast."
Your eyes bulge as you hear the words "live roast" and squirm in your seat, but your binds show no signs of relenting.
"But, I think there is a NEW way of approaching barbecue that's taking this world by storm. So today, for you, my followers and my supporters, and most of all, for my husband, who provides for me and takes care of me, and is JUST the most important person in the ENTIRE world, WE are going to do a whole SMOKED long-pig.
You squirm harder after hearing those words, trying to knock the chair over, but you can't fall out of your seat. Your binds were made by an expert craftsman and escape in this matter is impossible.
You see Becky look at you, with a mischievous smile.
"Do you have an opinion on smoking over spitting? Anything you'd like to add before we get you cookin', good lookin'?"
[[Try to explain to her how things really work. Her husband loves her now, but once her looks fade, she'll be on the menu, too..->Dumb Bitch]]
[[Try to beg for your life, reason with her. Kill her with kindness, before she kills you.->Explain]]You see him get bored and you decide to ramp it up. You take one second to commit to the sick thing you’re about to do, but it’s this, or being actually dead.
"So, you were planning to use me after you snuffed me, is that it? Is that what you're into?"
You see a flash in his eyes, a sparkle, for the first time. You immediately get a sinking feeling in your stomach you’ve gone too far, but press on, hoping for the best.
"Well, what if I played dead for a while, would that get you going? Huh? Watch."
You lay back and roll your eyes back in your head, sticking your tongue out like a cartoon character, remaining as still as possible. You're not sure what a dead person looks like, so you just take your best guess.
"......fuuucKKK yes. FUCK YES." You hear him mumble under his breath. You feel his massive cock somehow engorge even further, now hard as a rock, as he’s fully emersed in the scene you’ve created for him.
You realize that with you playing dead, he’s no longer bored. But, you will be VERY dead soon if you don't come up with a plan to get rid of him.
[[Offer to play dead while riding his cock in cowgirl. It's got to be a novelty, dead girls can't keep their balance, and he won't easily be able to kill you from there.->Ride]]
[[Offer to play dead from doggy style, offering him maximum penetration while you hang limp. It's your favorite position, plus, you should be able to grab something to knock him out with.->Doggy]]You see him get bored and you decide to ramp it up. You grind your hips to match his rhythm, you moan loudly, you tell him he's the best sex you've ever had. You really throw yourself into the role, hoping he will lose control of himself and you’ll get your moment to strike back.
“Yes…yes…gosh, fuck me DADDY, stick your fork in me and see if my juices run clear!” You scream out, imagining this has got to be the hottest kink for any man in Dolcett.
"That's enough out of you." He mutters, disgusted, as this is now clear that this is not his fetish.
He pulls you in very close, pinning you to the bed, and wraps his arm around your neck, applying a stiff blood choke. You feel your ears RING as the pressure from this choke immediately cuts off all blood flow to your brain. You only have seconds left, but you're completely helpless. He continues on fucking you, happy that you're finally quiet.
"Count down from ten." He commands.
You feel your eyes well up with tears as you morbidly comply, counting down in your head. You only get to six before you're gone.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The sound of your corpse being fucked echoes in the room, with hard thrusts from your murderer as he enjoys your still warm cunt. Well, enjoys is probably a strong word. He's more business like, more restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine. Everything he does is purposeful, he doesn't alter his routine even when small changes or decisions come up.
Once he's done, he slowly unties you from the noose, as the frying pan smokes in the distance. He drags you by the hair into the bathroom, your lifeless face staring blankly in defeat, a fresh load of his cum drying on your forehead. He's already tied some additional cords to the shower rod setup, to hoist up your body.
He casually hangs you by your ankles, pulls your head back, and cuts your throat. He also slits your wrists and lets you bleed out while he runs the bathwater.
He comes back into the kitchen. He looks in your cupboard and finds salt, pepper, and a little olive oil. He shrugs. It's enough.
He grabs his briefcase and goes back into the bathroom, and opening it to access his collection of various knives and tools. He pulls out a large saw, and gets to work cutting through your spine to sever your head.
He carries your still dripping head by the hair back into the kitchen area, and places it in his cooler. He makes sure to cover it with some ice.
He then goes back into the bathroom, looks you over, and uses the various knives in his kit to make small cuts into you. He's not really interested in a full meal, just a taste of your various parts. So, he slices off some rump, some rib meat, some backstrap, and some thigh. He brings them into the kitchen, rinses them off, seasons them, and pours some oil in the pan, at the exact moment the pan is heated to the ideal temperature. He nods, satisfied, at the exactness of his timing, his precision.
A loud sizzle fills the room as your dry, still warm meat hits the pan. He pauses for a second or two, and then goes to wash off his equipment, packing it back into the briefcase. He's got everything packed and in order just as you're ready to eat.
He casually eats while staring at the wall - cold, thoughtless, indifferent. Once he's had his fill, he picks up the cooler, briefcase, and takes one last look at the room. There's blood on the floor. The dishes are dirty. There's a corpse hanging in the stained bathtub.
He sighs. He reaches in his pocket to leave some cash. But then, he stops, and instead grabs the hotel notepad and writes "Tip in bathroom."
Maybe the maid will get a good meal out of what's left of you.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**You notice that everything has gone very quiet since she called your name the second time. The entire ceremony is at a standstill. You feel cold sweat run down your back, even on this hot day, and can feel how much you're standing out. You're not comfortable with this, and never have been. It's not who you are, what your purpose is.
You briskly walk to the front row and squeeze in a gap between two female coworkers, trying to blend in. You slowly come down to your knees, and get a sudden cramp in your stomach, and a wetness between your thigh, as this gesture, in itself, is an act of surrender, a choice, a signal of consent. You try not to look up at Char as you do this, but you see her smile get larger and larger as your knees touch the grass, her sharp teeth shining in the summer light.
"...sorry." You mutter. You don't want to attract any more attention.
Char takes her time, but her voice gives away her eagerness like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Dolcett Day celebrates life, not death. We celebrate how much that in this wonderful place, every single day, we are reminded of how fleeting, how precious existence is, as it can be taken from us at any time."
Char slowly walks in front of the line, eyeing each woman, who kneels with heads bowed. She slowly approaches where you are kneeling, your eyes closed, your pussy starting to soak.
"We recognize that we as women consent to be taken at any moment simply by breathing. Those that resist, suffer unimaginable horrors in their last moments."
Char gets even closer to you.
"But those that embrace their role, their destiny, their true calling in life..."
Char stands now in front of you, slowly opens the collar, sizing it for your neck with her thumb.
"They are rewarded with wave after wave of pleasure. Of satisfaction. Of bliss..."
You feel Char slowly slide the collar on your neck, locking it tightly in place.
"Of acceptance. Of never doubting who they are and what they need, ever again."
Char leans in, and the heat of her breath in your ear screams desire as she whispers "Come with me, my new pet." As you stand, you feel blank, as you're led by the leash towards her office.
She walks you inside DolcettCo casually, like she isn't concerned about an attempt to escape. She seems genuinely happy, and this calms you. Char has always been nice to you, always been honest. There are “worse fates” than whatever comes next, even if this one certainly ends in an oven.
As you enter her executive office, you stare blankly as it resembles more of a sex dungeon than a place of business. There are various whips, restraints, paddles, vibrators, and other toys lining the walls. She leads you to an office chair that very much resembles an exam chair for an OB-GYN. You mindlessly follow her gesture to sit in it, and she straps your ankles into the stirrups.
"What's happened to me...?" You realize you haven't spoken in so long, since your knelt, consented.
Char gives you a piercing look, as she finishes fastening your ankles. "Ask permission to speak." She says, with authority that you're not used to, her soft, flirtatious tone gone, at least, for a moment.
"...may I speak?" You ask, with your breath becoming short, and you realize you're panting, like you're...close to orgasm?
"May I speak, Mistress." She corrects you, standing over you, her power over you becoming absolute.
"...may I speak, Mistress?" You feel your thighs start to shake loudly in your restraints.
"Yes, my little turkey din-din, you may speak." Her flirtation is back, her joy. You feel a rush of pleasure for…pleasing her?
"...am I a slave? Property? Are you going to eat me?" As you ask your last question, you nearly convulse, your need for release overwhelming you. And yet, there's something *more*, beyond sexual release, you require. A confirmation, of sorts.
"Oh, darling, the answers are...no, no, and...someday. You are my PET. That's very different than being a slave or property. You're to be loved, and cherished, and deep down, I just want to hear you purr."
She slowly stands over you, wrapping one of her legs over yours, and traces her hands all over you. She slowly guides one hand down your body, teasing her fingers around your naval, tracing your outer thighs. You're fucking completely overwhelmed by this scene, lost in this moment, narrowing so closely to being under her complete control.
"As for your last question...that depends. Do you understand now what your fate is? Tell me."
"I...am...I want..."
You feel Char slowly slip two fingers inside you, her thumb gently pressing up on your love button. You feel your brain reset, and are ready to do ANYTHING she wants if it means you can have some fucking release.
"Tell me, darling. What is your destiny?" She says, knowing she has you now, and eager to secure the inevitable.
“My destiny…is…to be…your…dinner…” You just eek out, your orgasm building, your identity slipping, almost gone.
She increases pressure on your clit, pressing upwards, rubbing in small circles. She takes her other hand and rubs the top of your mound, pulling upwards, gently squeezing from the sides.
"Better yet..." Char continues, relishing in this moment. "ASK PERMISSION to be my dinner."
Your entire body convulses, like you're having a seizure, at the anticipation of this moment, as you seek to find the words that will please you. No, the words that will please HER.
"Please...may I...may I PLEASE roast in your oven and be your tur-key dinner?" You barely get it out, stumbling over the word turkey, as you accept what you are, what you've always been.
Char smiles. "Yes, you may."
She hesitates no further, pressing upwards on your clit, just as her fingers curl within, the perfect mix of internal and external pressure. You scream out, a guttural sound that's more like a loud moan, as you release yourself from any other identity other than this, from any other need than pleasure, as you cum over and over again, with whatever is left of you once this moment has passed completely willing to do ANYTHING Char wants.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
The next few months of your life are a blur, but the *best* blur ever. It's a world of constant orgasms, pleasure, service, and...preparation. You get used to bathing in a mix of oil and seasoning. Char changes your diet to a fully vegan blend - but only the BEST for her little pet. She teaches you to eat pussy like a pro, as you spend hours under her desk pleasing her as she casually works, her legs constantly spread and wet as you serve your master over, and over, and over again.
When she decides it's time to roast you, you show off her dominance over you by roasting without twine. You do your best to lay still, quiet, and obedient, as "her good little Christmas bird." You’re so happy she chose Christmas, you have SO many happy memories of Christmas as a child, and now, you’ll be a part of so many happy memories for others, too.
You’re also so happy that she's stuffed you FULL with a large carrot vibrator, that adds both a flavor to your meat, but keeps you cumming your brains out until there's nothing left. You completely lose any ability for rational thought in the oven, simplified to primal urges, reduced to just an animal roasting in a pan. You convulse and shake wildly in the heat. You orgasm over, and over, and over again. You've had multiples before, but this is insane. You...just...can't...stop cuming. You're not sure if you're at the beginning, or the end, of another when you finally die.
Char watches proudly as you exhale your last breath, your aroma flooding her kitchen. When she carves into you, you're the best looking roast anyone has ever seen. But the taste. The depth of the flavor profile. With all that preparation, but most importantly, with all that DESIRE from you, there's not words on this Earth to describe it.
You are simply, undeniably, perfect.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FRIDAY AM ->Friday AM]]**You turn around and lay face down, giving yourself a chance to hide your face, your expression, as you plot your next move. He comes up on the bed, leans over you, and slides his cock in you. He's HUGE, you realize, and it nearly takes your breath away as he slides into the hilt, pushing against your cervix. You immediately get soaking wet, and welcome him as he starts to pound your pussy.
You moan as your head is pressed down into the mattress, trying to think of what to do next. But, your ability to think is limited by the MUCH needing fucking, and your struggle to breathe as he's pushing your head down firmly into the mattress. You try to pull up for air, but he shoves you down harder, face down, mouth and nose buried in the sheets.
You realize that giving up your back was a mistake as you start to asphyxiate. You struggle, and squirm, but the rhythm of his cock and your need for sex overwhelms you. You feel your body going limp, realizing that you do have an upcoming orgasm, but not before your upcoming death.
He isn't sure exactly when you expire, as it's all the same to him. He just keeps going, at his pace, on his schedule.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The sound of your corpse being fucked echoes in the room, with hard thrusts from your murderer as he enjoys your still warm cunt. Well, enjoys is probably a strong word. He's more business like, more restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine. Everything he does is purposeful, he doesn't alter his routine even when small changes or decisions come up.
Once he's done, he slowly unties you from the noose, as the frying pan smokes in the distance. He drags you by the hair into the bathroom, your lifeless face staring blankly in defeat, a fresh load of his cum drying on your forehead. He's already tied some additional cords to the shower rod setup, to hoist up your body.
He casually hangs you by your ankles, pulls your head back, and cuts your throat. He also slits your wrists and lets you bleed out while he runs the bathwater.
He comes back into the kitchen. He looks in your cupboard and finds salt, pepper, and a little olive oil. He shrugs. It's enough.
He grabs his briefcase and goes back into the bathroom, and opening it to access his collection of various knives and tools. He pulls out a large saw, and gets to work cutting through your spine to sever your head.
He carries your still dripping head by the hair back into the kitchen area, and places it in his cooler. He makes sure to cover it with some ice.
He then goes back into the bathroom, looks you over, and uses the various knives in his kit to make small cuts into you. He's not really interested in a full meal, just a taste of your various parts. So, he slices off some rump, some rib meat, some backstrap, and some thigh. He brings them into the kitchen, rinses them off, seasons them, and pours some oil in the pan, just before the exact moment the pan is heated to the ideal temperature. He shrugs quietly at his timing, noting you lasted slightly shorter than he planned for.
A loud sizzle fills the room as your dry, still warm meat hits the pan. He pauses for a second or two, and then goes to wash off his equipment, packing it back into the briefcase. He's got everything packed and in order just as you're ready to eat.
He casually eats while staring at the wall - cold, thoughtless, indifferent. Once he's had his fill, he picks up the cooler, briefcase, and takes one last look at the room. There's blood on the floor. The dishes are dirty. There's a corpse hanging in the stained bathtub.
He sighs. He reaches in his pocket to leave some cash. But then, he stops, and instead grabs the hotel notepad and writes "Tip in bathroom."
Maybe the maid will get a good meal out of what's left of you.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**You ache as your hips buck in the heat, as your brain start to scramble from the delirium, the oncoming heat stroke, the death. You try and shake your way out, but the binds are just too tight. You feel your energy, your life, slipping away…
You don't want it to be over. But, you can already SMELL yourself cooking, the flavor of your flesh, your meat, slowly absorbing the glaze, herbs, and spices. You're tied to a roasting pan, without an inch of your body able to budge. You're in an impossibly hot oven, with a cannibal who has spent an ENTIRE week of her life planning for this exact moment.
But, you resolve yourself to resist, even as the heat is starting to alter your brain chemistry. You feel the desire building for that one, final, perfect orgasm that you’ve seen so many times this week, right before a woman is snuffed. But, even as your hips sway, you still your mind, and your cunt. You won’t be eaten. There’s got to be a way out.
Just then, Charlene opens the open door, a cool rush of air conditioning freezing your skin. She slides you back on the rolling cart, closing the oven door behind you. Your body exhales with a relief, happy that you've made it this far, glad you didn't surrender yet.
"You're still with me, darling? Good, good." Charlene says, as she rolls her barstool over to sit right besides you, eye level with her prospective dinner.
Charlene removes your apple. You frantically gasp for breath, for anything to cool your body down. Just then, you see Charlene with a large measuring cup, and a...basting brush. The thick, orange liquid looks like aloe in your eyes, and you ache for her to apply it to your extremely burned flesh.
The first touch of the bristle is electric, providing both a soothing sensation, but also increasing your arousal. You've literally been cooked, and now you're being basted. Your acceptance of being Charlene's oven roast is inching closer to closer, and starts to feel unavoidable.
"Are you ready yet? Can you admit to me what you are?" She says, trying to act nonchalant, as she "casually" bastes you. You know deep down that this question is EVERYTHING TO HER.
"No...please...I'm not…a roast..." You squeak out. Your chest feels so heavy. It’s so difficult to speak; your throat has dried out from the inside.
"Oh, you're not? Then, tell me what THIS is." Charlene then picks up a small beauty mirror and flashes it in front of you.
You can't believe it. You don't know how long you've been in the oven, but you've been ABSOLUTELY roasted by the heat. Your skin has turned golden brown, with a color resembling when your parents used "cooking oil" un-ironically to bronze their skin. Except, your skin doesn't like dry at all. It looks moist, supple, tender…delicious.
"So, darling, I'll ask again, what are you?”
You dare not answer, trying to process this image. Can you look as cooked as the girl you ate off the spit, and ever survive this? Is it already over?
"Still not sure, huh? Then, perhaps, another proposal for you, my soon to be VERY basted bird."
She puts the brush back into the mixing cup, and then pulls out a different brush. It doesn't look very different, but then she turns the handle over to reveal a familiar brand name - Hitachi. She presses a button with a click, and the bristles begin to vibrate, with an *oh* too familiar buzzing sound.
"I know what you need." She leans in. You want that one, final, life affirming and life ending orgasm that will shake you to your fucking core and rip you from this world. You crave it more than you crave being alive. Tell me you want it, and I will bring you a world of pleasure that your mind can’t even fucking conceive. And then, you’ll sleep, with only pleasant dreams ahead as you cook."
[[A basting Hitachi? How can you turn this down? You're literally been cooked alive already, you might as well die having the best orgasm of your fucking life.->Hitachi Bliss]]
[[Somehow, someway, you dig down DEEP and resist this offer, hoping for a chance to escape, even though you’ll never be the same, as you’re already quite roasted.->Oven Roast]]You nod and ready yourself for your fastest sprint of the day. She’s close, too close, and you’ve got to make distance. You take in a big inhale, feeling your ribs expand, and take off, running like your life literally depends on it.
You’re crashing loudly through the woods, but you’re committed to this. You run, and run, and run, farther than you even thought was possible, until you literally double over in pain, stopping to take long, heaving breaths. Your chest aches, your ribs feel like they are going to snap. You take just a moment to kneel, and just as you get back to standing, you feel a bullet rip through your oblique and settle firmly in your lung.
You immediately cough out blood, getting one, two steps forward, before you crash down face first in a pile of leaves. You realize that you’ve been shot right where a hunter would shoot a deer, to preserve the meat, but ensure there would be no escape. You’re no different, you’re just an animal like any other, soon to be on a hunter’s plate.
You can’t breathe as blood fills up your lung, and the last thing you see is Puma walking over to stand and watch as you expire. Everything is so quiet now, after all the noise you just made.
You drift away from this world, settling into the meat you were meant to be.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Deeper in the forest, in a lovely clearing with a meadow, a log cabin sits cozy with a smoking chimney.
Inside, your huntress has a slab of your ribs on a baking sheet, which she is coating with an ample amount of dry rub. She's decided to oven bake them for a nice barbeque dinner, as you spend so much time running around and scampering, that she might as well have those first.
You'll be served with a baked potato and a nice glass of red wine. Not her best glass, but you weren't her best hunt.
You spent so much time heaving in your last minutes, that she realized that your mouth, going so wide, and then so narrow, would make a cute faucet in her garden. She’s going to paint it like stained glass, and attach it to a spicket, so you can take a big exhale every time she wants to water her vegetables.
Your hunt was one to remember.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**"You know what would be really hot?" You say, while still laying as still as possible, briefly making eye contact. "You should let me get on top. Ride you like a puppet on a string. I bet you've never had a dead girl bouncing on your cock like a lifeless, snuffed little stripper."
You feel him leak a little precum at the sound of his idea. You’re glad it wasn’t more, as post nut clarity would lead to post mortem for you. He pulls out of you and lays down, and you crawl on top of him. You guide his throbbing cock inside you, and slowly start to go limp, and your brains scrambles, in more ways than once, for your next idea.
You suddenly remember that strange drawing in your office. The “master’s original.” Stephanie said it was every man’s fantasy in Dolcett, and no man could control themselves if they could experience it.
You gently hand him a piece of the rope, and nod, suggesting he pull on it. His eyes widen as he pulls the rope to lift you on his cock, and then gives some slack to lower you down. He’s in heaven.
As you "play dead" and pretend to have your eyes glaze over, you scan the room for something to use. But, there's nothing you can grab, nothing you can use to bash his brains in. There’s nothing sharp...
Then, you have an idea. It's a fucking crazy idea, and you have to take two to three seconds to process it, but you can tell by his breath he's getting close. It's this idea, or you being processed VERY soon. You take a deep breath to prepare yourself.
You feel his thighs shake and you've fucked enough men to know that he's going to cum. You also know that when a man orgasms, he's unable to really do anything else, as he's body freezes at the peak of his pleasure. You’ll have a few seconds. This is your chance.
Just then, he grabs your hips and pulls you all the way down, soaking your ovaries with his cum. This is it. You look down as he's ejaculating, his head stretched back, neck exposed, and make your move.
You quickly dive down and take the biggest, hardest bite of his neck you can, tearing right at where you assume his artery is. You grind your fucking teeth in and do whatever you can to lift up and rip open his flesh. Blood spurts into your eyes. You don't think, you just bite again, and again. He's still mid orgasm and so disorientated that he doesn't have the strength to fight back.
After a few minutes of this, you slowly sit back up, exhausted. You look down, and you see the vacant look in his eyes, as blood pools on the mattress. You slide off the bed and sit on the floor, shaking.
*"What has this place done to me? What have I become?"* You wonder. *"Is there anything left of who I was? Any decency?"* You shake your head, and are only brought back to reality by the smell of smoke. You look up and see the pan is ready, the pan that he planned to cook you on. So many people have tried to snuff you, but none have succeeded.
You’re going home, you decide.
But, first, there's the matter of a VERY dead man in this bed that must be dealt with.
[[Wash up and leave immediately. You'll be on the plane before anyone knows what happened, and you'll be under the jurisdiction of United States Law by then. It’ll be ruled self-defense.->Leave]]
[[It’s a risk to stay here any longer, but it’s also a risk of somebody finds him like this. You’ve got to find some way to dispose of the body.->Shave]]As your eyes open, you can only make out bright lights. You're not sure how much time has passed as things slowly come into focus. You try to blink your eyes, shake your head, but your body feels secured.
Eventually, you are able to make out what appear to be large overhead lights, like a doctor's office? No, not a doctor’s office. It’s…a…
A kitchen.
You try to jump up, but you realized you're...trussed...on your back in a...roasting pan. Your arms are tied down alongside your body, your legs tied tightly into your chest, spread just enough to make your cunt feel VERY exposed in the cool air conditioning. Your neck has just enough movement to look up and observe what's happening around you, which your surmise is intentional. You notice a light sheen on your skin, a smell that resembles...salt...pepper...and a citrus glaze.
"Oh, you're finally awake." A familiar voice, Charlene's voice. "I always said it would come to this, didn't I? I TRY to be a woman of my word, it's important to me that we keep our agreements, JUST as you said. So now, it’s time for you to honor yours.
You hear a prolonged BEEP, a sound that with its simple, but long duration can only mean one thing.
"Your oven is ready." Charlene says.
You feel your cunt moisten, and your legs quiver at those words.
“I…don’t want to roast. Charlene. Please. My purpose isn’t to be your dinner.” You know it’s not Dolcett Day anymore, but you realize that surrender matters to Charlene on some deeper level, and reminding her that you’re not agreeing HAS to slow her down.
"Oh, it isn’t? You still really think there's a way out of this? Gosh, you're SUCH a special roast. I can't WAIT to sink my teeth into you."
She smiles, and then walks over to grab a large rolling cart. It is adjustable by height, so it's easier for her to slide you onto it, lower you down, and then roll you directly in front of the oven door.
"But you know what? Go ahead and spend a few minutes in the oven, and think about deep down what you really are...”
She opens the oven door, and you feel the heat rush out. Holy fuck, you do NOT want to go in there.
"No, Charlene, please. I don’t want to roast. Please, I’m a per-“
She shoves an apple in your mouth, and leans in, slowly gliding her entire hand down your belly, over your mound, and against your entire cunt. She grinds her hand up and down, pressing firmly on your lips, before slowing slipping two fingers inside you. She grins as you sees your resolve to be anything else but THIS slowly melt away.
“I'll make you a deal, darling. After I slide you in, when you're ready to admit to me what your purpose REALLY is, look to me, and blink twice. I'll turn the broiler on, sear that DIVINE North Carolina skin of yours, and you won't last longer more than a few minutes. Promise."
She slowly slides her fingers out, and makes sure you're watching when she has her first taste of you. "Mmmmm. You taste SO fucking good, you're going to be the PERFECT turkey dinner."
Shes slides your roasting pan into the oven, the door gently closing behind you. You can only watch as she pulls a barstool near the oven door, and settles in to watch.
The heat is instantly unbearable, like the hottest summer day you've ever experienced. You start to sweat immediately, your body eager to cool itself in any way possible. You squirm, hopelessly, as any escape plan is not going to take place inside of this place. In fact, unless she lets you out of here, you’ll die in this oven, and very shortly after will be served as tonight’s dinner.
[[Charlene has told you from the second she laid eyes on you that she was going to roast you in an oven. There's no getting out of this. Accept your fate, blink twice, and go quickly.->Broiled]]
[[She seems to need consent from you to fully roast you. Resist, hope she pulls you out for a basting before you cook to death, and hope a chance to get off tonight's menu presents itself.->Resist Roast]]You go to step into Morgan’s office, but you pause for a second, and you remember. You remember your dream on Wednesday night. You remember what Jenna begged you not to forget.
You walk over to the sign, and place a hand on it. You notice it’s loose to the touch, so you gently remove it from the wall. It feels lopsided, like it’s weight isn’t evenly distributed, like it’s off balance. You turn it over and see a yellow folder taped to the back.
“What is this?” You say, quietly, and set the sign down. You pull off the tape, and open the folder, the documents looking recognizable to you.
“This is…”
But then, you notice something different. You nod slowly. You understand.
***
You enter Morgan's Office, throwing the door open, wanting to have the advantage on her from the jump. She's sitting at her desk, having a meeting with someone who looks familiar from behind, but you can’t place her. Neither of them acknowledge you, even as you made such a large entrance.
"I'm back, Morgan. I’ve completed our agreement and I'm expecting you to honor it." You say, boldly.
Morgan seems amused, but also a bit surprised to see you.
"But I thought you...they told me that they found you..." Morgan says through snakelike eyes.
"I told you it wasn't her…” A familiar voice says, the other woman. “…MY Scarlett wouldn't let that perfect oven roast go to waste.”
Charlene spins her chair around, smiling eagerly, clearly happy to see you. She stands and saunters over.
"Oh, Scarlett, I'm SO happy to see you again. I've been DREAMING of this moment ALL week." Charlene says, with a confidence that raises your guard again, like she again knows something you don’t.
"I have too." You say to Charlene, before turning to Morgan. "I'm back from my week in Dolcett, and it’s liked my contract paid, in full. Now.”
"WELL Now." Charlene says, with a glee. “Isn't that just perfect? SHE'S here to make sure her contract is honored, and WE wouldn't want to disappoint her, would we?" Charlene says to Morgan, with hint of double entendre that makes you very uncomfortable.
Morgan shakes her head, appearing more annoyed with Charlene than you, but Morgan never flinches, never appears out of control.
"Alright, Scarlett, come here and get what's coming to you." She opens a desk drawer, and then another, searching for your stack of contracts.
“I have them, Morgan. They were on Jenna’s desk. Let’s review them, shall we?” You say, with a confidence, a knowledge that you have the upper hand.
"YES, lets!” Charlene exclaims.
Morgan shoots her a sneer, an expression that feels like a punishment, a spanking without words.
"I am sorry, Miss, ahem, Morgan." Charlene says. "I'm just so excited." She says, with a bit more joy. She then whispers in Morgan’s ear "I'm thinking a citrus glaze."
You walk over, cautiously, making sure to keep enough distance to be safe, examining your surroundings, never giving up your back to anyone for a second.
Morgan points to the contract you signed for one million dollars.
“THIS is your contract. And it CLEARLY says that you needed to spend A WEEK IN DOLCETT, which is defined as ‘Five work days at DolcettCo.’ But, you did NOT show up to work on Thursday, Scarlett. You did not complete your contr-” Morgan suddenly pauses, her eyes freezing, widening. She doesn’t move for several seconds, as she scans the document in shock. She begins sifting through the pages frantically.
“What is it, darling? What’s wrong?” Charlene says, sensing the change of control. She saunters behind Morgan’s shoulder, reading along with her.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here…” Morgan yells at you, enraged. “…but it won’t work. These are falsified documents. I never signed…”
Charlene snatches the contract from Morgan’s hand, her wheels clearly turning.
“How DELICIOUSLY deceitful!” Charlene exclaims, glancing over at you with a new found respect, and then looking over at Morgan with…other intentions.
“Give those back to me Char, that’s an order. I’m not in the mood for your games.” Morgan growls, desperate to have the paperwork that has HER name and signature on a contract back in her possession.
“Oh, alright, Morgan, if you DO insist.” Charlene says, slowly walking back to her position behind Morgan, gently placing the documents on her desk.
“Good girl.” Morgan says to Charlene, with the world back in her hands. “As I was saying, I don’t know what you THOUGHT you were doing here, but I’m in complete contr-“
Charlene pinches Morgan in the neck, and Morgan slumps over on her desk, her forehead hitting the wood with a thump.
“Whoops!” Charlene says, before grinning, looking down at Morgan, licking her lips. “Mmmm. I’ve been waiting for this for SO long.” Charlene takes the stack of paperwork and begins to walk across the office.
“Do you mind if I use your fax machine?” Charlene says, not breaking stride, not waiting for a response, as the question was rhetorical. She slides the paperwork into the scanner, types in a number, and watches eagerly as one page at a time is digitally transferred, made official.
You slowly walk over to examine Morgan’s slumped over body, feeling bad for her, to an extent. But she had said enough. She wasn’t going to honor your contract. You aren’t even owed the million dollars, due to your Thursday mishap.
You take a breath. You’ve still alive, and you still you, for the most part. That will have to be enough. You turn, and go to leave Bates Accounting forever.
“Oh, darling, you can’t go just yet. I need you.” Charlene says, her vision turning briefly from the fax machine, her eyes narrowing on you, your purpose soon to be made clear.
[[Advance to: Monday AM, Part 2->Decision Time]]You awake mid snore, coughing like you were choking in your sleep. You immediately feel your temples throb from the hangover, and you keep your eyes closed as the morning light is piercing your brain. *It’s okay*, you tell yourself, as you only have to catch a plane today. You shouldn’t have any trouble.
You notice you're feeling more than a little bloated, as this is the first time you’ve felt full in...a week. You process how you feel about not only eating another person, but how MUCH of her you ate. You take a breath. *"She chose to be meat."* You tell yourself, as you dissociate yourself from the experience. You're not a bad person. You're not a killer. You're still you.
As you discard the top sheet to go use the restroom, you catch a smell in your nose, a gas scent. You slowly open your eyes and see a frying pan on your kitchenette burner. It's just started to heat.
"...what the fuck?" - You say, with a tremble in your throat.
You rush out of bed to stop whatever is happening, and are suddenly yanked back, as you're look down to see a noose tied around your neck. Your eyes follow the rope to a hook that's been installed in the ceiling. You continue to follow the rope, but somehow, you know just where to look, like you've felt someone else in the room this entire time.
He's there, sitting in the shadow, in a hotel chair, waiting. He has a briefcase to his left, and a cooler to the right. A tall, slender, expressionless man. He's patient, business like, restrained. He slowly reveals the other end of the rope, which is resting gently in his hand.
"I've been watching you all week, Scarlett. Waiting. For this moment. I even watched Wednesday Night when they took you for Subjugation. You could imagine my surprise when I was informed you were back at work on Friday. But, no matter, Dolcett Day is over, consent is no longer required, and I'm going to finish the task assigned to me.”
He pauses for a moment, which seems irregular for him, like he’s falling out of an established pattern.
“You should be proud of yourself. No one's ever made it this far. Bravo, really. Yes, it actually rather complicates things, as I'll need to get proof to my employer today, in person.
“But no worries, I have it all figured out." He taps his cooler, and nods, before looking over at the frying pan, which is just starting to smoke. “You have time for one question.”
"...why?" This is the best you can come up, as your brain is otherwise occupied trying to think of a way out of this.
"Do you really think Morgan would really risk you getting that million dollars? I'm her...insurance policy. The only person that will be getting paid is me, in exchange for your pretty head."
He then begins to pull the rope tighter - his intent clear - your life.
"You've made it one whole week in Dolcett, Scarlett Sky. But, this is where your story ends."
[[Offer him half of the million dollars, it's got to be more than Morgan is paying.->Offer Money]]
[[Offer him sex. It'll at least give you a few minutes more to live and think of a plan.->Offer Sex]]“I’d like my reward now, thank you.” You say, as for a second, you think you’re back in primary school, the lump on your head aching. She slowly reaches for the rope tied at her waist, and before you realize what’s happened, she’s tied you by the waist to a tree, with your hands also bound behind your back. Only your legs are free to move from this position.
“I promised a reward, and you promised to be a great hunt. So, for one good deed…”
She leans in, and gently kisses your lips.
“…cums another.”
She slowly starts to kiss down your neck, down your chest, and south, further, towards your naval. You squirm, as you're "not that way", but your body betrays you as she starts to kiss your inner thighs. You can only watch as her lips, her breath make their way inwards. She looks up, and grins.
“I’m going to have *this* as my appetizer first, and then, as my main course.”
You begin to melt, and breathe heavily, as she expertly, like she's tasted this type of flesh SO many times, places her lips on your pussy, applying firm pressure at the top of your mound while her tongue works your clit from underneath. She gazes up into your eyes as she wears you down, and you get lost in the HEAT of this moment.
You look at the horizon line, and wonder if you can make it until sundown before you release. You try to hold on, but you're just edging yourself, building the orgasm that’s clearly coming. But, you try to think of ANYTHING else, fighting with every fiber of your being to not cum.
You hear her giggle.
“You’re a warrior to the end, I see. Go ahead, fight it. See if you can out last me.” She takes a break from giving you the best oral you’ve ever had just to say these words, and is back to work eating you before you can say anything else.
You feel your belly quiver, your legs begin to kick wildly, your toes curl in, and your body fully convulse. You can feel the orgasm coming now, like a train headed straight for the exit of a tunnel, and you scream out as she brings you to an orgasm so powerful that it drives all of the oxygen out of your body.
You’re left panting, satisfied, content. Absolutely fine with whatever comes next. You slowly pick your head up to look at the sun, and it’s just a bit over the horizon line.
“Whatever.” You say, shaking your head at your predicament, realizing that holding out on an orgasm to save your life was an absurd proposition. *“But, a pretty good one.”* You think to yourself.
Puma Catori slowly licks her face clean, savoring your juices, your scent, your flavor.
“You fought even when there was no way out. You are indeed worthy of the title of best hunt." She nods, her eyes slowly squinting, considering her next move. "Do you have any final requests on how you'll be prepared?"
[[You ask to be prepared in the forest. It's probably not what she was planning on, but you've become fond of the place. ->Thurs PM]]
[[You ask to be prepared in her home. It can’t be nearby, as you haven’t stumbled by it yet. This should give you time to find some way out of being tonight’s dinner. ->Filet]]You decide to wait, as it will only be a few minutes before she's on the opposite side of the large dining hall. With her size, and her age, you should be able to get out the front door and make a break from your hotel.
So you sit, and wait, and...cook. You notice the scent of the broth has changed slightly, an aroma you recognize - it has a flavor of your own sweat. You realize that even if you get out of this pot, a part of you will remain, and you'll be dined on tonight.
With every passing second, staying awake, upright, above the thick, bubbling broth becomes more difficult. Heat stroke is setting in, your vision blurs with sweat, and you struggle to remember what your plan was. You cook a few additional minutes longer until you remember - and look up - and see that Betty isn't at the other side of the restaurant, she's wandered in some store room EVEN farther away.
You've hit the jackpot. You slowly go to stand up, but nothing happens. You've lost control of your muscles. Your legs slowly crumble down, your head slowly sinking closer and closer to being submerged in the broth.
You start to panic, and try to scream as loudly as you can into your apple gag, the sound a loud, muffled moan. Betty hears you, and she slowly walks over, with a warm, loving smile. She takes an eternity to JUST stare at you as you cook alive in this soup pot, and then grabs a large metal ladle off the wall. She dips it into the broth, blows on it, and takes a light sip.
"Mmmmmmmm. You've definitely made a contribution. Delicious. Really."
You mumble the words "let me out" but she lightly shakes her head. You watch as she takes a second ladle of the soup, and then lowers it, letting it rest just over the open flame, letting the broth inside comes to a boil. She then steps closer, and slowly holds the ladle over your head.
"Go to sleep now. You’ll serve a great purpose."
She slowly pours the thick, boiling liquid over your head, and it completely overwhelms you. You brown out, shaking, half awake and half dead, as you’re powerless to stop your head from sinking into the soup.
Betty simply turns the heating dial up and walks away to finish setting the dining room tables. The soup, freshened with your essence, and soon, your meat, slowly comes to a boil.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
An increased commotion, a rumbling, as patrons are let inside the perfectly set soup kitchen. They sit, restlessly, waiting for their turn to be called. Finally, a line is formed, and the haggard, hungry faces of Dolcett eagerly receive a ladle full of Eternal Broth. You're paired with a hand torn off portion of day old bread.
They smile through broken teeth, saying their nightly “thank you” to Betty, but also, to the pot. On a marker board, sitting behind the pot, simply reads “Tonight’s Menu: Eternal Broth – Scarlett Soup.”
Betty watches over the lunchroom, with a big smile on her face. She's proud to be a contributor in this society, to still find a way to please men, even at her age.
Slowly, all of your meat slides off your bones and is ladled into bowls, or is slowly reduced to stock. You’re a part of a great tradition now, a soup that's been going for several decades, a part of you will ALWAYS be here. Your essence. Your flavor. Even your bones, as they slowly break down, cracking, their marrow leaking out, infusing to the broth, filling the bellies of those in need.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY AM->Wed AM Good]]**"Morgan, this is life changing money, and I really would love to, but I just really can't, there's no amount of money you can offer me to take the risk of becoming.....food." You struggle to collect yout thoughts, shaking your head, your stomach getting queasy at the thought of being someone's...dinner. You nearly throw up.
"This isn't a request, Scarlett. Either you do this, or you're going home. I won't ask again."
[[Accept the offer. It's a potential million dollars, or unemployment. You can't afford to lose your job right now; you're barely getting by as it is.->Sunday PM]]
[[Really push back on this. You're not going to Dolcett. Period.->Friday Night]]You rather assertively push the clipboard back into the old woman’s hands. The last thing you need to be doing in Dolcett is signing paperwork with a meal listed on it. You rush a “Sorry!” as you run back towards the side door, the slender man in pursuit from the opposite direction.
You grab the door, and pull, but it’s stuck. You realize you’re an idiot, and try pushing, but that doesn’t work, either. There was a reason they had this door cracked, you realize, as it’s jammed.
Just as you’re about to turn around for a plan B, the slender man grabs you from around your chest, pulls you into him, and wraps his rope around your neck. He very slowly chokes you away from consciousness, almost like he's enjoying watching you struggle and panic.
You try your best to get your feet moving. But, your lungs burn, and you were already exhausted from sprinting when he caught you. As your vision narrows, you’re aren’t sure if you’ll ever wake up, your last thought being...
*I’m snuffed.*
***
You awaken suddenly, in one of those jolt wakeups you've gotten when you've passed out from drinking too much. You try to get your barrings, as your vision is blurry, and notice that you're somehow standing up, even though you were sleeping a moment before.
You scan your surroundings, noting what looks like a studio apartment, but there's no bed. In fact, there's no comfort, no decoration, no life to this place. It's dark, it's drab, it feels more like a tomb than a place of residence.
You catch a smell in your nose, a gas scent. You look over and see a frying pan on a small burner, over a portable camping stove. It's just started to heat. You then nearly fall over when you see the same man - tall, slender, emotionless. He's sitting in a folding chair, watching you.
As you regain your balance, you suddenly notice you're standing on a stool. But, there's more to it. You're also being suspended by something, there's a force that's kept you upright this entire time. You slowly look up and notice that you're tied to the ceiling by a noose around your neck.
"Who are you?" You choke out, your voice feeling very strained by the pressure on your neck.
"Who I am...isn’t really important." He says, his interest in this question minimal, like he’s been asked so many times before.
"What...are you gonna do to me?" You start to shake, but you try to stay still, as the stool legs feel like they are going to crack and give way any second.
"Well...I prefer to snuff, then fuck, then eat. In that order."
He itches some dirt underneath a fingernail, and then looks over at the frying pan. It's getting hot.
"You have time for one more question."
"...why?"
He stands up, and walks over to a wall that resembles a black chalkboard. He slowly etches a line down the wall. You look at this morbid tally, it stood at 85. You are 86.
"I'm an insurance policy from your employer. Well, former employer...”
He slowly walks over.
"...in just a few minutes. She couldn’t exactly take the risk you’d come back, could she?"
He kicks the stool from under your feet, and you drop, your full weight suddenly supported by the noose around your neck.
You kick and swing wildly, frantically looking for a way out. But, there's nothing you can do. This is a very calculated house of death. Any potential errors are absent here, any opportunities for you to escape are accounted for. Many have come before you, and all have suffered the same end, in this exact order.
You were dead the moment you arrived here.
The last thing you see is him patiently waiting - like a diner waiting to be served his plate. Waiting for that blank stare and limpness he so prefers. You realize he’s going to fuck your corpse when you're gone. You hate that.
Just as your eyes roll back into your head, you see him slowly start to unzip his pants.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The sound of your corpse being fucked echoes in the empty room, as your murderer roughly enjoys your still warm cunt. Well, enjoys is probably a strong word. He's more business like, more restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine. Everything he does is purposeful, he doesn't alter his routine even when small changes or decisions come up.
Once he's done, he slowly lowers you from the ceiling, as the frying pan starts to smoke. He drags you by the hair into the bathroom, your lifeless face staring blankly in defeat, a fresh load of his cum drying on your forehead.
To call this a bathroom is nearly a formality of what it once represented on the floorplan of this unit. The toilet, the bathtub are removed, the tile is stained and rotted. There’s just a hole in the ground, a showerhead, and a harness. He’s left the sink vanity, which has a collection of knives, a couple spices, and some olive oil.
He casually hangs you by your ankles, pulls your head back, and cuts your throat. He also slits your wrists and lets you bleed out.
He then looks you over, and uses the various knives he has in this room to make small cuts into you. He's not really interested in a full meal, just a taste of your various parts. So, he slices off some rump, some rib meat, some backstrap, and some thigh. He rinses them off in the sink, seasons them, and pours some oil in the pan, just at the exact moment the pan is heated to the ideal temperature. He nods, satisfied, at the exactness of his timing, his precision.
A loud sizzle fills the room as your dry, still warm meat hits the pan. He pauses for a second or two, and then goes to wash off his equipment, sorting it perfectly for his next victim. He's got everything set and in order just as you're ready to eat.
He casually eats while staring at the wall, his expression cold, thoughtless, indifferent. Once he's had his fill, he pulls out his phone and dials a number from memory, a number not saved as a contact.
The conversation overheard is only from his side. The words of the other person, and their identity, is lost.
“Hello? Well, I do like to be predictable. I’d say right on time.”
“Yes, well, I just happened to get to her first. I'd like to bring her in for verification and payment.”
“That's too bad. A live roast would've suited her.”
“Mm hmmm. Yes. My usual samples.”
“Above average, actually. Yes. Alright. First thing tomorrow morning I'll have her in your office.”
“Yes, give Morgan my regards. Goodbye for now.”
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY AM->Wed AM Good]]**You steady yourself. Your flight is at 3pm, and checkout is 11am. You have to think of something, quick, before housekeeping discovers a very dead man in your room. It won’t matter that he was a hired assassin; the police will be waiting at the airport, because you’re just a woman, after all.
You go into the bathroom to take a shower, quickly washing off your body with the hottest fucking water imaginable. *"This heat reminds me of the soup kitchen"* You joke to yourself, remembering when you were nearly, well, soup. As you're showering, you notice that he had rigged some type of pulley apparatus to the shower, probably to hang you up as he removed your head.
As you turn off the water, your wheels start turning, and hatch a plan. It's gruesome, and traumatizing, but it's just crazy enough to work. You drag his lifeless body into the bathroom, lucky for you he’s thin, and light enough, so he’s not too heavy to hang up by the hips. You go into the kitchen and grab his briefcase and his cooler. You also go through your own supplies and find a fresh razor and shave gel.
You take a deep breath, and get to work. You run the water, take his knife and cut his throat, slit his wrists, and let him start to bleed out. You've only got an hour, so you can only wait so long before moving on to Phase 2. You take his saw and slowly grind through his spine, removing his head. You drop that in the cooler. You then get to work removing his hands and feet, also packing them in the cooler. You then get to work on his penis and scrotum, and decide that to pull off this ruse, you'll have to mutilate this area a little bit, so you basically just carve the entire area out. Lastly, you rinse him off, shave all the hair from his body, and apply your favorite lotion to his skin.
You step back. To the naked eye, what now hangs over the bathtub appears to be...a freshly snuffed woman. "This would've been ME if I hadn't done something." You tell yourself." This is who you’ve had to become to survive this place.
With your work done, you quickly take a second shower, doing your best to get all of his blood off your body. You grab the cooler with just a few minutes to spare, and head to leave. As you go to walk out, you notice that you've never turned off the frying pan, it's smoking hot. A sinister thought enters your mind.
"Fuck it."
You open the cooler, take a knife, and slowly remove his balls from his scrotum. You rinse them, pour some oil, and throw them on the pan. You watch them pop as they cook, and when they look done enough, you stab one with a fork, blow on it, and place it in your mouth, biting down until it squishes.
It doesn't taste the best, but that's not the point. You look down and grab the other with your hand, pop it in your mouth, and grind it into nothing with your teeth, him getting one last choke out of you before you swallow him down your throat.
"Serves you right, you piece of shit. Fuck you." You say at his dismembered head, before closing the cooler lid.
You pop your head out of your hotel room, seeing that housekeeping has just started working on the opposite side of this floor. So, you slip out, and go down the emergency stairs with your cooler and briefcase. As you come out the service entrance, you see a large dumpster, and toss away any evidence that this man existed.
As you walk towards the street, there's a change in your strut, your posture, your presence. No one here would dare cross you now. Morgan better not make the same mistake he did.
You raise a hand and hail a cab.
"Airport, please. I'm going home."
***
Nervously, you stand in line at airport security, the wait longer than you'd prefer. But, you've got plenty of time to get to the gate - IF there are no problems.
Finally, it's your turn. You give your passport, and your ticket, your hand shaking slightly. You close your eyes and hope that it hasn't been cancelled, that no one has figured out what you've done, that you're going to get out of here. Please.
The security agent looks at you curiously, then looks at his screen as your documents are processed. He then looks at you again, and then behind you, at someone else. You don't dare turn around. You just look forward, expecting the worst, and then...
"All set madam. Thank you for visiting Dolcett."
He hands back your documents. Just as you walk past him, you exhale a small sigh of relief. But, you never let your guard down, not as your baggage is scanned, not as you walk through the jet bridge, not when you sit in your seat, not when the plane takes off.
It's not until the wheels touch town in North Carolina that you feel yourself finally relax. You've made it, somehow, through the week in Dolcett.
*"And now, the hard part."* You joke to yourself. You doubt Morgan is just going to pay up. She's always had an ace up her sleeve, that’s how she’s made Bates Accounting such a huge success. But, you're not the same Scarlett that left town, and you’re confident at this point that you’ll have the winning hand.
One thing is certain: Only one of you will be left standing after Monday.
[[Advance to: Monday AM->Monday AM 2]]You watch the Slender Man approach, taking wide, purposeful steps, as he closes in on your position. You've only got a few seconds to decide, and you really don't have time to read the fine print. So, with a second to spare, you grab the pen and scribble your name on the form.
The older woman turns, almost on cue, and flashes the contract in the Slender Man's face, just as he's about to grab you.
"Can I HELP YOU?" She says, in a sarcastic, take no nonsense type that reminds you of your grandmother.
He looks at the contract, and then looks at you. He looks at you again, and…lets out a growl. His arms slowly go down to his sides, and he turns on a dime, exiting the Soup at the exact pace he entered.
You're relieved, until you realize where you are, and what've you've done.
"Oh my GOODNESS gracious dear, you were about to be in a HEAP of trouble, you know that?" She smiles, and gives you a hug, and you notice she squeezes your hip and butt, your areas with just a little more fat. "What in Dolcett were you doing on the street on a Wednesday night?"
"I...didn't...what did I just sign? Please tell me I'm not going to be...soup…"
She laughs, and you can see her eyes look up, like she's thinking of something to say.
"Well, PART of you is going to be soup. Yes. That's it. But, it's not as bad as you think."
"...that sounds pretty bad..." you mutter.
"Come with me, I'll show you. Oh, where are my manners? I'm Betty Sue, but Betty is just fine."
Betty takes you by the wrist and walks you into a large kitchen area, your vision jumping around corners, not letting yourself be an easy victim. You've learned a lot in your last four days.
Betty walks you over to the Dolcett Soup Kitchen's prized possession, a large, stainless steel stock pot. It's placed over a large burner that emits a roaring flame, like a witch’s cauldron, but, a very modern version. The soup that's currently cooking is bubbling over, and you have to admit - the smell is absolutely delicious. Your stomach aches, to have soup, or to be soup, you're not sure.
"THIS is the most advanced soup pot money can buy, with all those modern advances. It's REALLY incredible, better than anything from wherever you're from. Georgia, if I had to guess...."
You don't bother to correct her, you're over it.
"We can change the temperature in 30 seconds or less. You see, this soup has been simmering for years. Decades. We call it "Eternal Broth", and it's your contribution as a volunteer here. You see, even when you're gone, a part of your essence, your soul will remain in this soup...cooking, mixing, blending with other volunteers, nourishing those in need.
"But...I don't want to be soup, honest." You shake your head, too tired to protest anything better.
"It's quite okay, dearie, really." She turns the soup temperature dial, and you notice the water temperature settle to a comfortable bubble. "We don't need your meat, just your essence. I gave you a good feeling around and you've got plenty of flavor to sweat out. So, simmer in our soup for a little while, and when it's become too much, just say so, and I’ll let you out."
"That's it?" you say, cautiously optimistic.
"That's it. Now come on, it’s nearly supper time, and we are feeding Dolcett's most disadvantaged citizens. They deserve a good meal. We all do."
Your stomach grows with agreement. So, you sigh, undress, and walk up the stairs to take a dip in the cook pot. Just as you do, you feel a tug at one of your wrists, and notice Betty has tied a rope around it, and is reaching for the other.
"We have to tie your arms, dearie. The heat sometimes causes panic, exhaustion, and involuntary movement, and if you touch the sides of this pot, it might burn you to the bone. But, the bottom is quite cool. Science. So, this bind is REALLY just a precaution."
Her voice is so soothing that you don't even realize she's finished binding your arms behind your back before you can protest. So much for that.
*"Well, I've always wanted to feed the needy."* You think to yourself.
You nod, sheepishly, and slowly dip into the pot. You feel like Bugs Bunny in one of his cartoons, trying to go one toe at a time, as it's hotter than the hottest hot tub you've ever felt, even that Hot Spring you remember from Europe. Slowly, you submerged yourself in, and are surprised to notice that she was right - the bottom is hot, but not burning you.
As you start to simmer, you notice that besides broth, there are herbs and vegetables being broken down in the pot, and you start to sweat, from all over, your *flavor* being added to the Eternal Broth. You then notice chunks of what can only be girl meat, which sets off an alarm in your mind, and then...you see it. A *very* human skull, with a large crack, like the bone itself was being melted down by the heat.
You go to quickly panic and get out, but Betty stills you with a hand.
"Now now, dearie, don't be rash. Not everyone who comes through is a volunteer. Some are different. Some are um...uh...Donors. Yes, Donors. That's the word. And they give us EVERYTHING. But you just need to relax and do your part, and then you'll go.”
You try and settle in, pushing the image of your own skull dissolving in the broth out of your mind. You keep one eye on Betty, who starts to walk away, but then she stops, and turns around.
"Oh, one more thing, dearie." Betty pulls a large apple apple out of her apron pocket. "It's tradition here." Betty gestures you to open your mouth, and just as you reflexively comply, she grips the back of your head, jamming the apple in place.
"Now just relax. You deserve a nice simmer, don't you, dearie?" Betty says, as she walks off to begin setting the dining room tables for supper.
So, you sit back, close your eyes, and allow yourself to soak. You haven't had a proper bath since you got here, and the broth is doing a wonder on your tired, stressed muscles. You can feel it making your body soft, supple, fork tender.
You really want to trust Betty, but you're losing control of your facilities. The chances of you being served in those bowls tonight, and not just your broth, is rising with the heat. You also suddenly realize you can't tell her you want out with an apple in your mouth, and you can't wave to her with your hands tied behind your back.
[[Try to get out now. Betty will probably see you and try and grab at you, but it's better than being literally cooked alive.->Got out in time]]
[[Wait a few minutes. Betty's got to set the rest of the tables, and once she gets to the back of the dining area, you can make your move.->Scarlett Soup]]She pulls you in for a hug, the first sign of genuine affirmation you've had since you got here. You let yourself melt into her for a while, and she comes off as someone used to having people blending in her presence. You start to cry, but she pulls you back up, on your feet.
"Don't cry, sweetheart. What's your name?", another first since you got here.
"I'm Sue. Nice to meet you Beth, you are just where you are supposed to be."
"Let me guess...I just signed up to be dinner, didn't I?"
Sue giggles, and smiles, in a way that both is comforting, and is...not.
"Where are you from again? You REALLY don't know about the Dolcett Soup Kitchen? We really need to get with our Social Media team..."
"No, I, um, I don't really know anything about this place..."
"Then you'll be the perfect volunteer. Come with me." she says as she takes you by the wrist.
"But, I don't want to be, I really want to..."
She shushes you again, kindly, but this time, more firmly.
"We need volunteers for all sorts of things, not just for your meat. Now, come with me, before I change my mind." she says, with a smile that you know THIS time means business.You decide that taking your chances in wherever this side door leads is much better than being chased down like an animal. So, you crash inside, sprint down a dark hallway, and look for somewhere to hide. You make out a small closet, and you rush to get inside. But, someone steps in front of your path, and you slow down JUST enough to only gently bump into them.
"Oh dearie dear, you SURE are in a hurry to volunteer, aren't you?" - An older woman, the oldest you've seen here, with a large frame, modest clothes, and glasses over a wide face says. She's holding a clipboard.
"V...Volunteer? For what?" You say, trying to catch your breath.
She eyes you up and down, in a manner you're oh so familiar with. But, there's something different about how she's looking at you. You feel like she's looking at your meat, sure, but not for herself, for once.
"Don't tell me you don't know where you are? We REALLY need more billboards and signage if people in need can't find us!" - she says, frustrated.
You take a small step back, but hear a pounding at the side door you just entered. Your crashing through it seems to have caused it to slam backwards with equal force, and it's locked, for now.
"Are you in some type of trouble, dearie? Because once whoever THAT IS comes in here, I won't be anything I can do to help you. That's the law. Unless..."
"Unless?!" You say, with the words nearly falling out of your mouth.
"Unless you VOLUNTEER, of course. But, choose quickly..."
She hands you a clipboard, with a pen, and points where you can sign. You don't have time to read the form as you hear the front door crash open, the slender man approaching. The only thing you have time to process is the large words at the top of the form: DOLCETT SOUP KITCHEN.
[[You decide to take your chances and run back onto the street, the way you came, as whoever HE is at least in the front of the store.->Second Guess Hung]]
[[You sign the form, and figure out the rest later. Volunteering can't be so bad, right?->Simmer]]I'd love to have lunch with you, Steph, just no girl meat for me, okay?" You say, trying to be endearing.
"Psssh, speak for yourself girl, I'm making girl meatloaf, but you're more than welcome to snuggle up next to some mashed potatoes. I'll just hold the gravy, K?"
You enjoy being teased, in a way that isn't a threat. You think. You can't think, honestly, between that sound still ringing in your ears, your starvation, and potentially being snuffed multiple times already. You're just excited for some home cooked comfort food in a safe place, so you practically skip with Stephanie to her place.
Advance to:
[[Tues Noon, Stephanie's place.->Meatloaf]]"Alright, I choose Steph." You say, smiling, and walk over to her.
"Excellent, everyone please follow me SLOWLY down the stairs, we will head SAFELY off into mass production of ALL of your most savory prepared foods." The Safety Inspector then gestures for you to head down the stairs.
Steph grabs you arm and arm and the "best-friends" lead the way down the stairs to the prepared foods section.
"I'm sure glad we get to spend lunch together, girl! This is going to MORE than make up for yesterday!" she gleams.
"One day early, too. I'm so happy. Girl time!" you exclaim.
As you enter the next area of the tour, you see a maze of conveyor belts, almost like you're watching a cartoon. You notice there's food at all stages of production - empty tins, packaged boxes, and of course, women. You notice a section in particular where live women are laying on a conveyor belt, smiling, looking up, looking blissfully unaware of what comes next.
"And for our next tour stop, we will see an entire production line for one of our signature meals – one that is flash baked, ready to eat in record time." He says, proudly.
You lean over to get a closer look, and watch as one woman is rolled behind a large rubber drape, out of sight of the others, but visible from your vantage point on the scaffold. She's quickly measured by a series of lasers, and only has time to blink once before she's quickly chopped up into bite size pieces, literally cubed in front of your eyes. The conveyor then rolls forward, moving this former person down the dis-assembly line, a large spatula scooping up her bits and carrying them off to the next station.
"Why doesn't they resist?" You say to Steph, in an almost detached confusion, as you've become somewhat dulled to death at this point.
"Oh, girls like this have been livestock all their lives. They have no education; they can't even read. They just don’t know any better." She says, without any hint of empathy in her voice.
"How awful..." You say, trying to process as you watch another mindless, helpless woman rolled into the culling area.
"You know what the DIFFERENCE between you and I is, Scarlett?" Steph says, a nastiness in her voice.
"What's that, Steph...?" You say, slowly turning your attention from the completely automated system.
"You think you're too GOOD to be pot pie. But you know what? I think you'd be FUCKIN delicious."
She shoves you over the railing, with you falling several feet down and crashing onto the belt, knocking one of the livestock women onto the floor. You notice you’ve landed in her exact place just as the belt activates, pulling you into the culling area. You go to stand, but you realize that your left ankle is badly broken.
You see the lasers activate to measure you, and you quickly roll down the belt, JUST before you're cubed. You take a breath to collect yourself, but its YOU that's collected by a large spatula, carrying you off so high that you don't dare jump off.
You're dumped in a large bowl, and soaked with hoses as you're washed clean. You see a large blowtorch advance next, and you can only cower as you're engulfed in flames. *"This is it, I'm being cooked."* You think to yourself, but as the flames stop, you realize you are only singed, but all of the hair has been burned off your body.
You race to climb out of the large bowl, but the large spatula returns, scooping you up, and carries you back on the moving conveyor belt, quickly dumping you into what feels like wet, soft, sticky...dough. You look around and realize you're in a very large pie tin, and just as you stand, a giant nozzle comes down and nearly drowns you in filling - celery, onion, carrots, peas, girl meat stock.
You try to swim out just as you see a giant, glowing oven, the door open, taking the pie just in front of yours inside, before slamming shut. The conveyor pauses briefly, so you race to the edge of your tin, getting your head out of the edge just as everything gets darker. You look up and see a large pie top crust hovering overhead, about to seal you inside.
"Shit, shit, SHIT!" You scream as you try to squirm out.
The dough is slowly stretched over and folded tight by the automated system. Your very bald head is the only part that gets out before the crust is sealed, trapping you in place. You try to kick and push through, but the dough is thick, and a sudden blast of heat hits your skin as you see the oven door open.
"NOOOOOOO!" This is the last thing anyone hears you scream, as the now you pot pie rolls into the oven, the door slams shut, and the oven glows a bright red.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Just a couple minutes later, a perfectly flash baked Scarlett Pot Pie rolls off the assembly line, towards packaging, and potential freezing, depending where your final destination is.
"STOP THE BELT, PLEASE!" The Safety Inspector yells, rushing over to examine what's happened to you. Your former co-workers gather as the aroma of your delicious pie fills the room. It's about lunchtime.
Charlene glares at Stephanie. "She FELL? Really now? All on her own?"
"What can I say Charlene? I just think she REALLY wanted to be lunch. Honest." Stephanie says with a smile, before sneaking a smile at Brendan.
"I say we take a break and eat." Brendan says, sharing an approving glance with Stephanie.
"I'm SO sorry for the trouble, Miss Charlene. But we all know the risks here. If there's ANYTHING I can do..." The Safety Inspector pleads, not trying to lose one of his biggest accounts.
Charlene sighs, shaking her head. She looks over at the now-you pie, and allows your aroma to drift pleasantly into her nose.
"Yes, there's something you can do. Please prepare your picnic area for us to use immediately. We will need...about a dozen plates. And two bottles of your BEST red wine, on the house. Thank you."
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY AM->Wed AM Good]]**"Listen, Stephanie, I appreciate it, but, I can't go on breaking ANY more rules here. I keep slipping up, and I'm pretty sure Charlene is planning to eat me." You say, a bit disappointed. You like Stephanie, but you've learned not to trust anyone here, for better or worse.
"Well, for the record, she's not trying to eat you..." Stephanie says, disappointed in your refusal. "She's planning to roast you alive, in an oven. Charlene is very specific. Once she decides how she's going to eat someone, she ends up doing it. Sooner or later.”
"Oh." Again, a flash, a spark of something quivers in your belly, and then goes silent. You feel something run down your leg. Did you just get wet? Why?
"You SURE I can't change your mind? People go home for lunch all the time. Come on!" Stephanie says, taking one last shot at you.
"I'm sure, thanks. I'm just going to wait this out."
"Suit yourself, I'm going to go eat. Hopefully I can have you for lunch some other time this week?" Stephanie skips off, and you feel a hint of sadness for disappointing her. You decide that Stephanie is probably worth trusting in a pinch. Probably.
You walk around to the front of DolcettCO and notice that no one is waiting outside anymore. Did everyone go home for lunch? For the day? You walk back in the door, and notice...business as usual. *"Stephanie must've been wrong."* You think to yourself.
As you walk back to your office door, you see a small microchip on the floor, blinking red. It must've been part of Edward's headphones. You stare at it, curiously, as the pulse of the light is somewhat hypnotic.
You take your shoe and press down firmly, and make sure to grind it into dust.
You spend the rest of the day in your office, with the door closed. You sit behind your computer monitor at an angle where no one can see if you're in there. Charlene comes to knock, twice, but she eventually walks off, as she can't see you. This is a tactic you plan to use for as long as you can get away with it.
As the clock strikes 5:00PM, you exhale. Two days down, three to go. You pack up your bag and head out. Just as you’re at the elevator door,Charlene steps in front of you.
"THERE you are, darling. I was getting worried." - Charlene says, with her expression of worry seeming to have a different meaning in this place than you're used to.
"Oh, sorry, I um, I was just so focused on work." This was the best excuse you can come up with.
"It's cute that you're so focused on your...purpose. Just do me a favor." Charlene again, steps in, placing a hand gently on your hip, near your love handle.
"Don't go and get yourself eaten tonight. I can't STAND the thought of my little short rib going to someone else. Perish the thought."
You stumble out of DolcettCo, almost like you're in a daze. There's something about the way Charlene talks to you that makes you....hot? But, it’s not just for sex, it’s for…some other purpose?
As you walk down the busy street, you slip off the curb and nearly break your ankle, as you're so disorientated. You realize you haven't eaten since you got here. With your hand shaking, you use DMaps to search for a grocery store near you. There's one 0.3 miles away, so you set your walking directions to "Meryl's."
You didn't have a chance to read your earlier search results regarding if you can get snuffed in a grocery store. But, you don't remember that now, you're too tired. You just need to eat something, anything.
[[Advance to: Tuesday PM->Meryl's]]"I'm not going to just sit here and be killed; I'm just going to circle back and get the fuck out of here." You say to yourself. “This is her land, after all, there’s no way I’m going to last an entire day playing hide and seek with a professional hunter.”
With a deep breath, you pick up your feet, getting a deer like gallop going, before going for a full sprint. You run back taking a curved approach, so you can run around her, not head into her. You fight off any instinct of fatigue, convincing yourself you only need this short burst of stamina, even as your quads cramp, aching from the effort and heat.
You don't get longer than a few minutes into this plan before a bullet pierces through your right thigh, knocking you off your feet and into the earth with a thud. You scream in agony, looking down at your hand to see blood pouring into it, and try to get back up, but crumble in defeat. You roll on your back and stare up into the morning light.
Puma Catori approaches, slowly, and stands over you. She hasn't even broken a sweat, and has already finished you.
"Stupid girl, what kind of strategy was that? How....disappointing." She says, taking one last look at you, before aiming her rifle between your eyes.
You only get one arm up in protest before she blows your brains out the back of your skull, leaving your body limp in the morning light.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Deeper in the forest, in a lovely clearing with a meadow, a log cabin sits cozy with a smoking chimney.
Inside, Catori stands over her stove, opening a Dutch oven lid to stir a large pot of now Scarlett Stew. *"I don't usually have stew on hunt days…"* She thinks to herself, *"…but I don't usually get to the cooking this early."* She sighs, and then ladles a large helping of your thigh meat, along with potatoes, carrots, and onion into a large bowl. She garnishes it with freshly baked bread.
She sits down at her table, scrolling her phone, signing herself up for next week’s quarry. Your head sits in her trash can, face down, disposed of, forgotten. The rest of you is hung up by the ankles outside to bleed out, to be made into jerky and other dried, cured meats.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY MIDNIGHT->Three Choices]]**You awaken suddenly, like you've been ripped from a bad dream. As you scan your surroundings, you prefer that you'd be in one. It's cold, damp, and dimly lit by a small, very old coal fireplace. You notice your arms and legs are chained to old brick, your pose resembling Jesus when he was crucified on the cross. This whole thing reminds you of a dungeon in one of those medieval times movies, except this is very real, and there's no Lancelot in this scenario planning to rescue you.
An older man, dressed in black robes, a hood resting on his neck, slowly approaches. He holds a very modern iPad, scrolling through.
"Nationality is...North Carolina? Is that in Canada? LOVELY PINES there. No, looks like...United States..."
You go to respond, but notice he is speaking to himself.
"It…was an accident..." You plea, trying to gain some sympathy, to bring some life to this otherwise morbid place.
"I'm sure it was." He says, only glancing up for a second, and then back down, to his work. "Guilt doesn't matter here. Just deterrence."
"Deterrence from what?" You ask, but you really don't want to know.
He finishes up typing something on his iPad and sets it down.
"We can't take the chance of a…female…uprising. So, we have to make what takes place next as...unpleasant...and unalluring as possible."
He chuckles. The tone, pitch, and inflection of his voice is rather effeminate.
"But also, as EFFICENT as possible. Always got to think of the taxpayer. We used to do such LONGER executions here." He sighs, and shakes his head. "I was an ARTIST."
"Please...don't I get a trial? A judge? A jury?"
"Sorry, miss, I'm all of those, and of course...”
He takes a sweeping bow.
“…the executioner. My name is Henry, and there is no due here, just process."
You start to shake, and cry. You don't want to die, but especially not like this. Anything but this.
“Let me guess. You’re going to cook me, and then I’ll be snuffed in some wretched, painful way…” You say, lowering your head, the reality of your situation setting in.
“Oh, HEAVENS NO, My goodness.” Henry has a full belly laugh, and nearly doubles over from the chortle. He has to wipe tears from his face as he takes deep breaths to calm himself. “Could you imagine? We’d have a line down the street for WEEKS. I’d never get through all the paperwork…”
Henry slowly stands and walks over towards the very old stove, before turning towards you, standing tall, clearing his throat, like he's going to recite something.
"It's important that you understand why we do what we do here. Ahem. Women are born and raised here to get OFF on danger, on pain, on suffering. They seek dangerous situations, they crave release, they dream of being meat. They...orgasm...at the thought of being snuffed."
He appears to gag for a second at the mention of the female orgasm. He then leans down and opens the small tray door of the coal stove. You notice something is inside.
"So, the first thing we have to do is...eliminate...any possibility you'll enjoy this..."
Henry reaches down, and slowly pulls out a molten hot poker. He turns and slowly walks towards you, and you notice that it's actually...dildo shaped.
"Oh my God..."
He laughs.
"We don't believe in God at the stocks, I'm afraid." He says, while casually putting on his hood.
You try to squirm, and can move your hips around, but not enough to stop what comes next. He pins you against the cold, wet stone wall with one hand and slowly slides the molten hot, bright red dildo inside your cunt. You fucking SCREAM bloody murder, which would be preferrable to anything else than this.
"Yes...we have to first neutralize your clit, but also the G Spot too...if you believe in such a thing."
You scream, tears rushing out of your eyes, the liquid rushing from your eye in an effort to cool what is now your completely ruined pussy. He then pushes the poker in deeper, melting your cervical wall, your eggs literally boiling from the heat, rending your sterile and barren as well.
As he slowly pulls this instrument of woman destruction from you, your desire to survive is replaced by a desire for something else.
"…will I at least die quickly?" You say, trying to still your trembling body, your brain chemistry completely changed by your loss of an endogenous zone.
"That...is up to you."
***
A few minutes later, you’re walked over to "The Stocks." You look and see a very medieval aesthetic guillotine waiting for you. You also see a gathering of *naked* men, glaring at you with a look of hatred, of disgust, and...of lust.
Your head is slowly lowered into the wooden block, a clasp overhead securing you in place. The guillotine blade hovers over head, ominously, secured by a rope. A line forms behind you.
You see Henry slowly untie the rope from a hook, and pulls it down towards your face, as the blades rises to its ideal height.
"Open."
Since this man has just mutilated you, you obey, deathly afraid of what the punishment would be if you do not. He sticks the rope in your mouth.
"Bite down."
You bite down, hard, knowing that your life literally depends on it.
"You will now pay back your debt to society by giving yourself to men in your final moments. They will have your ass, or what's left of your cunt, I don't really care."
Henry steps back.
"When you're had enough, when you ready to accept your sentence, release the rope and rid yourself from this world."
He raises a hand, and looks over at the line of men behind him, who wait eagerly. But then, he realizes something, and quickly asks for a pause, generating some grumbling from the assembled masses.
"Oh, one more thing. Super important, can't believe I almost forgot. Silly me." Henry chuckles again. "Women in this world also are trained to see themselves as meat. To look forward to the day their flesh is...presented, plated, savored...digested. For this to be an effective deterrent, it's important that YOU, and anyone who comes after you, knows where you will go next."
Henry points up, and only your eyes follow, as you're afraid to move your head even a small amount, not trying to trigger the guillotine. Your eyes bulge and you tremble at what you see, nearly losing your grip on the rope for a second as you suppress a scream.
You see what WAS a woman's body, headless, impaled on a stake. It's...disgusting. It’s rotted for days, decaying in the hot sun, with a swarm of flies around it. A crow slowly lands and begins picking at some flesh at the ribs, with several bones exposed already, and more to come soon.
"NO ONE will eat any part of you." Henry pauses for effect. "ALL of you will go to waste. You'll hang there until the vultures and vermin of this place tear your carcass apart, and then you'll be disposed of in a dumpster, next to the other filth."
He says this with no kindness, just malice in his voice.
"This is your punishment for defying men."
He stands, turns, and raises his hand, and then lowers it. The first man in line kneels down, pours some lube on his cock, and slides roughly in your ass.
You last a remarkable 45 minutes in The Stocks, fighting for your life. You try to tell yourself that if you last the day, you may be able to escape tonight. But with every thrust, every rape, every time your hole(s) are violated, you break down a little bit further. The fourth man, you think, as you'd lost count, leans over and punches you in the back of the head, causing your mouth to open for a second, but you barely catch a bit of the rope in your teeth. By the seventh man, your grip is slipping, and you watch as the rope slowly starts to tear away, one thread at a time, until only one piece of twine lies between this life and the next. You watch as it slowly gives way, and you close your eyes.
You hear a whoosh sound, and you feel like you're spinning. There are sounds of cheering all around you, but the sound is muffled. You then feel yourself floating, and then spinning again, before you land in a black plastic trash bag. A lid is closed. Darkness envelops you.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
(The laws of Dolcett do not allow women who die in The Stocks to be granted an Epilogue scene.)
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY AM->Wed AM Good]]**You awaken suddenly, like you've been ripped from a bad dream. As you scan your surroundings, you prefer that you'd be in one. It's cold, damp, and dimly lit by a small, very old coal fireplace. You notice your arms and legs are chained to old brick, your pose resembling Jesus when he was crucified on the cross. This whole thing reminds you of a dungeon in one of those medieval times movies, except this is very real, and there's no Lancelot in this scenario planning to rescue you.
An older man, dressed in black robes, a hood resting on his neck, slowly approaches. He holds a very modern iPad, scrolling through.
"Nationality is...North Carolina? Is that in Canada? LOVELY PINES there. No, looks like...United States..."
You go to respond, but notice he is speaking to himself.
"He was going to kill me.” You plea, trying to gain some sympathy, to bring some life to this otherwise morbid place.
"I'm sure he was." He says, only glancing up for a second, and then back down, to his work. "Guilt doesn't matter here. Just deterrence."
"Deterrence from what?" You ask, but you really don't want to know.
He finishes up typing something on his iPad and sets it down.
"We can't take the chance of a…female…uprising. So, we have to make what takes place next as...unpleasant...and unalluring as possible."
He chuckles. The tone, pitch, and inflection of his voice is rather effeminate.
"But also, as EFFICENT as possible. Always got to think of the taxpayer. We used to do such LONGER executions here." He sighs, and shakes his head. "I was an ARTIST."
"Please...don't I get a trial? A judge? A jury?"
"Sorry, miss, I'm all of those, and of course...”
He takes a sweeping bow.
“…the executioner. My name is Henry, and there is no due here, just process."
You start to shake, and cry. You don't want to die, but especially not like this. Anything but this.
“Let me guess. You’re going to cook me, and then I’ll be snuffed in some wretched, painful way…” You say, lowering your head, the reality of your situation setting in.
“Oh, HEAVENS NO, My goodness.” Henry has a full belly laugh, and nearly doubles over from the chortle. He has to wipe tears from his face as he takes deep breaths to calm himself. “Could you imagine? We’d have a line down the street for WEEKS. I’d never get through all the paperwork…”
Henry slowly stands and walks over towards the very old stove, before turning towards you, standing tall, clearing his throat, like he's going to recite something.
"It's important that you understand why we do what we do here. Ahem. Women are born and raised here to get OFF on danger, on pain, on suffering. They seek dangerous situations, they crave release, they dream of being meat. They...orgasm...at the thought of being snuffed."
He appears to gag for a second at the mention of the female orgasm. He then leans down and opens the small tray door of the coal stove. You notice something is inside.
"So, the first thing we have to do is...eliminate...any possibility you'll enjoy this..."
Henry reaches down, and slowly pulls out a molten hot poker. He turns and slowly walks towards you, and you notice that it's actually...dildo shaped.
"Oh my God..."
He laughs.
"We don't believe in God at the stocks, I'm afraid." He says, while casually putting on his hood.
You try to squirm, and can move your hips around, but not enough to stop what comes next. He pins you against the cold, wet stone wall with one hand and slowly slides the molten hot, bright red dildo inside your cunt. You fucking SCREAM bloody murder, which would be preferrable to anything else than this.
"Yes...we have to first neutralize your clit, but also the G Spot too...if you believe in such a thing."
You scream, tears rushing out of your eyes, the liquid rushing from your eye in an effort to cool what is now your completely ruined pussy. He then pushes the poker in deeper, melting your cervical wall, your eggs literally boiling from the heat, rending your sterile and barren as well.
As he slowly pulls this instrument of woman destruction from you, your desire to survive is replaced by a desire for something else.
"…will I at least die quickly?" You say, trying to still your trembling body, your brain chemistry completely changed by your loss of an endogenous zone.
"That...is up to you."
***
A few minutes later, you’re walked over to "The Stocks." You look and see a very medieval aesthetic guillotine waiting for you. You also see a gathering of *naked* men, glaring at you with a look of hatred, of disgust, and...of lust.
Your head is slowly lowered into the wooden block, a clasp overhead securing you in place. The guillotine blade hovers over head, ominously, secured by a rope. A line forms behind you.
You see Henry slowly untie the rope from a hook, and pulls it down towards your face, as the blades rises to its ideal height.
"Open."
Since this man has just mutilated you, you obey, deathly afraid of what the punishment would be if you do not. He sticks the rope in your mouth.
"Bite down."
You bite down.
"You will now pay back your debt to society by giving yourself to men in your final moments. They will have your ass, or what's left of your cunt, I don't really care."
Henry steps back.
"When you're had enough, when you ready to accept your sentence, release the rope and rid yourself from this world."
He raises a hand, and looks over at the line of men behind him, who wait eagerly. But then, he realizes something, and quickly asks for a pause, generating some grumbling from the assembled masses.
"Oh, one more thing. Super important, can't believe I almost forgot. Silly me." Henry chuckles again. "Women in this world also are trained to see themselves as meat. To look forward to the day their flesh is...presented, plated, savored...digested. For this to be an effective deterrent, it's important that YOU, and anyone who comes after you, knows where you will go next."
Henry points up, and only your eyes follow, as you're afraid to move your head even a small amount, not trying to trigger the guillotine. Your eyes bulge and you tremble at what you see, nearly losing your grip on the rope for a second as you suppress a scream.
You see what WAS a woman's body, headless, impaled on a stake. It's...disgusting. It’s rotted for days, decaying in the hot sun, with a swarm of flies around it. A crow slowly lands and begins picking at some flesh at the ribs, with several bones exposed already, and more to come soon.
"NO ONE will eat any part of you." Henry pauses for effect. "ALL of you will go to waste. You'll hang there until the vultures and vermin of this place tear your carcass apart, and then you'll be disposed of in a dumpster, next to the other filth."
This leaves a sinking feeling in your stomach, an illness. You’ve passed on being eaten SO many times, by plenty of people that you wouldn’t have preferred, but also by some that you honestly wouldn’t have minded, like Charlene. To go to waste like this…seems like a punishment worse than death.
Henry stands, turns, and raises his hand at the eager line of men.
You look up, and see a plane overhead. It’s your plane, the one that should be taking you home right now. But, instead, it’s leaving, carrying with it any chance of escape. Even if you did get out of this, there’s no exit visa for you. There’s no hope. You feel your grip on this life slipping.
Henry lowers his arm.
The first man in line kneels down and pours some lube on his cock. Suddenly, he hears a whoosh sound, and reflexively jumps back, your blood splashing on his chest. The man throws his hands up, dismayed, and looks over at Henry.
“What the fuck man? I took a day off of work for this.”
“Yes. A pity.” Henry says. “Perhaps we should revise the whole 'die on your own terms' part of the execution…”
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
(The laws of Dolcett do not allow women who die in The Stocks to be granted an Epilogue scene.)
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: SATURDAY AM ->Sat AM]]**ATTENTION. WE ARE NOW ENTERING OUR FINAL DESCENT INTO DOLCETT.
A voice on the intercom of your plane says. It's been a smooth ride.
You think back to your weekend, on your period of trying to learn about this strange place. Information was, and is, hard to come by, as it’s the established policy of every nation, since the advent of the Internet, that any media on Dolcett is *strictly* forbidden, blocked, as if it never existed. And yet, tourism there has increased - especially after a local reporter flew their for a story on <a style="text-decoration: none; color: black; cursor: none;" href="https://www.reddit.com/r/GuroErotica/comments/1lkl689/more_than_a_paradise"> Paradise</a> and ended up filming a tourism commercial before she was...roasted.
You correct yourself. Willingly roasted.
You've seen the commercial several times, as it will appear on social media, and then be gone the next, just like she was. Watching it brings a strange reaction to you – a curiosity, a yearning to know more. You feel your hand gravitate towards searching for it again, even on this very public airplane, but catch this momentarily lapse of reason. It makes you wonder.
*What would drive someone to go to Dolcett? Why would they choose to be eaten? Why would they want others to go? What is it about this place that…changes people?*
You think back to your conversation with Jenna, the very mousey, mid twenties executive assistant, on Friday.
"Dolcett is a very difficult place, but not just physically. You'll be tested mentally, too. You can't know what I mean by that yet, but if you last long enough, you will.”
Those are the words Jenna told you after she reviewed the mountain of legal documents that are required just to get an entry visa into Dolcett. You saw phrases like "death and dismemberment" and "involuntary execution" and "end of human rights" as potential outcomes, but you just pushed through. You were already dreaming of being a millionaire, relaxing on a hot beach, roasting away in the sun.
"You signed EVERYTHING, huh?" Jenna says as she thumbs through the paperwork, letting out an audible sigh.
"Is there something wrong?" You ask, slightly concerned for the first time.
"No, no, everyone always just signs the paperwork, it's just how this goes. It's okay. Really." She says.
"So I'm not the first one to receive a million dollars for going to Dolcett?" you ask, excitingly.
"Well, you're not the first to GO...but you'd be the first to come back." she says, solemnly.
"I WILL be coming back, Jenna. I'm coming back for that million dollars, count on it." You say, convincing yourself a little bit that this will be a certainty.
"I AM counting on it, actually. You see, Morgan's already decided that if you DON'T come back, I'm...going next. And I know better than anyone what will happen to me." She slumps her shoulders. "So, please come back, and..."
She pauses, and looks directly at you, making sure she has your full and absolute attention.
“...salvation comes from within. Don't forget I told you that. Please."
The wheels of the plane hit the ground hard, shaking you from this day dream, and your stomach cramps, knowing there’s no going back now. You're here, and you're in it now, as you can't fly back without special permission from this government - and the day on that exit ticket is Saturday.
***
You ride in an uneventful taxi to your hotel, as a heavy rain soaks the city. The cab driver has looked back at you several more times than you are comfortable with. He tries to make small talk, but...you're dismissive, just trying to get to the safety of your hotel. The only exchange that sticks with you is...
"So, do you like what you do, working in accounting or whatnot?" He says, trying to get the conversation flowing.
"It's fine, really. It's just..." you say, looking out the window.
"Just what?" he says.
"...I always thought I'd be doing something to make a difference."
As you exit the taxi and eagerly walk into your boutique, five star hotel, you hear footsteps behind you. As you turn, you see nothing.
Your room is a full suite, it's honestly nicer than your studio apartment. It has a dedicated living room area, bedroom area, and even a kitchenette. But, the fridge and cupboards are empty, and you're hungry.
Now that you're finally here, you start to feel very alone. But, you've been independent for all of your adult life, and are used to relying on yourself. You give yourself a quick look over in the mirror, touch up your make up, and nod. It's time to get something to eat.
You look out the window, just as the rain seems to stop, washing away the sins of this town, at least for a little while.
You can see a Sushi Bar across the street, but also signage that your hotel has a bar downstairs.
[[Go to the hotel bar for a meal.->Hotel Bar]]
[[Try the Sushi place next door.->Sushi Bar]]After examining the available options, you decide that sushi sounds good.
"At least I know sushi isn't people." you tell yourself.
As you enter the sushi restaurant, it resembles any other sushi place you’ve dined at before. No, actually, it resembles one of the very best. Your expectations immediately soar as you scan the restaurant, until you realize that the place appears to be sold out, with not an empty table in sight. "I probably needed a reservation, just my luck. Maybe they are taking walk-ins?" you think to yourself.
"Table for one please." You say, with a politeness, but an expectation that you'll be turned down.
"Sushi bar?" The host says, with a mischievous smile on his face.
"You're saying there's seating at the sushi bar? That seems fair. It is only me."
"Sushi bar? Sushi bar! Sushi bar!!! Yes yes, this way, sushi bar, yes!"
You are amused with his excitement as he leads you to the sushi bar, a row of eight seats, all of which are empty. You find this odd, but as you look into the glass case with VERY fresh looking sushi, any concern you have quickly leaves your body as your stomach growls. The food here looks to die for.
Your host walks behind the counter and puts on a chef's apron, which makes you giggle.
"So, you run the host stand and the sushi bar?" You tease, jokingly, your excitement building for the upcoming meal.
"Head of house always run sushi bar. You not must be around here. Where from?"
"I'm from North Carolina."
"Ah, Carolina roll. Very delicious. Delicacy."
"I think you mean California roll." You giggle, trying to balance your need to correct him with being polite.
He laughs. He holds up one finger, grabs a small placard, and writes "Carolina Roll" on it, and slides it in to the small glass case in front of an empty tray.
"For you, for YOU!" He gestures widely with his arms.
You find the gesture sweet, but somewhat concerning, especially based on the place you've just landed, and what they do to people here. Just as you're about to object, he continues.
"I make special order for you. I give sample...all of restaurant. No charge. My treat. Visitor out of town."
Before you can object, a runner brings a platter of some of the most delicious looking sushi you’ve ever seen. You immediately pick up your chopsticks, and quickly make a decision on your first bite. Just as you take your first slight dip in the soy sauce, you stop, and look up at your chef.
"Wait a minute, there's no, um, woman in these, right?"
"No, NO, fish, fish! All fish! One fish, two fish, you fish, blue fish! He then laughs in such a cliché way that you feel your shaming a culture just by listening in.
"Good enough for me." You say, as you take your first bite. The sushi is, of course, delicious. It makes sense to you, in a way, that in a place where women are a specialty, any other cuisine MUST be exceptional for people to want to eat anything different.
You stuff yourself, and any time you run out of even a single type of sushi, another small plate is brought your way. You lose count of how many servings you have, until you physically cannot put another bite in your mouth, struggling with your balance as you try to stand up.
"Thank you so much, that was the best meal I've ever had. But, I really need to get going back to my hotel."
"Best meal, last meal. Ha ha. You no need walk. We give lift." The host, turned sushi bar chef, gestures at one of the food runners, who you've noticed has really been waiting near you the entire time.
Suddenly, you feel yourself lifted in the air by one, and then two, of the runners. They carry you as easily as the empty trays you previously dined on.
You giggle as you feel yourself carried through the restaurant. You notice suddenly that you're going the opposite direction of the door you came in.
You wonder if there's a separate entrance, maybe a valet they use for taxi service, just as you are laid on a bed of ice. The cold sensation causes your body to jump up, but just as soon as you try to climb off, one of the runners gently pins you down by the throat. The other expertly takes a knife, that you barely register, and quickly slices from the top of your breastbone all the way down your naval. You suddenly gasp out for air, feeling a sharp pain that snaps your head back, your eyes going wide with shock. As you try to look forward, you see your clothes split in two, and slide off your body. You feel relief, for a second, until you then see, like a flower in bloom, your belly gently part open.
Your head is pushed back down as you struggle to process, well, anything, as your organs are casually removed and thrown away in a nearby trashcan. You realize, quietly, as you convulse, that you’ve been gutted like a fish, and you'll be joining the sushi bar menu tonight.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
The host, turn sushi bar chef, turned well, whatever else he does, accepts a tray and slides in the glass case, in front of the sign that says "Carolina roll."
You been expertly turned into a platter of sushi, with several different varieties made, in all of the classic combinations. Several patrons of the establishment, having seen you at the sushi bar, and knowing what would come next, have already placed their orders.
Sure, you had quite the feast a few minutes earlier, but the sushi restaurant now stands to make a heavy profit on the sale of your raw flesh.You force a smile through pursed lips. You don't want them to see right through the fakeness of this gesture, but what lies beyond that door absolutely terrifies you.
"Um, thank you so much for the offer, but I really must be going. I have to make dinner and I have a big day at work tomorrow."
"Oh, okay. Well, nice to meet you." Jane says politely. You're a little hurt that she doesn't even seem disappointed, as she's led into the back, the darkness. The door swings once, and then closes with a CLICK.
You take a breath, and try to remember what brought you here in the first place.
"I need to grocery shop." you recall.
You grab a small grocery cart and do some meal planning. No meat - you're not even taking the chance. So, you carefully plan out enough meals that will keep you full and focused for the rest of the week, carefully reading the labels. You also keep in mind to shop light; you want to carry your bags back to your hotel without too much trouble.
As you go to check out, the very young, nervous looking cashier starts to make small talk with you. You see his name tag says "Johnny." He appears to be college aged, and works gently with your selections.
"No meat?" he says, inquisitively.
"Oh, I've got plenty to eat, thanks." You say, fumbling through your purse for your debit card.
"Do you need helping loading these into your car, mam?"
His use of mam annoys you. Sure, you're old enough to be his mother, but you're not THAT old. Geez.
"No, I'm just taking these back to my hotel, thank you though." You reply, finding your card just as he's finishing up.
His eyes widen, a sparkle in them, as he seems to become more nervous, but for a different reason than before.
You quickly go to pay as he stops making eye contact. You see him nervously reach under the counter...and then he slips something onto the bottom of one of your bags. He then reaches his hand back quickly, as if he didn’t want you to realize what he’d just done.
You turn your head and lift the bag, and see a red sticker on it, with some type of barcode.
"What's that for?" You ask anxiously, but trying to play it cool.
"Oh, it...just...helps them, identify you, at the exit." He says, his voice cracking, like he's hitting puberty for the first time, even though he's clearly nineteen. “That you’re paid.”
You quickly gather your bags and march out, a strange feeling that something definitely isn't right.
Just as you go to exit, a large ALARM goes off, sealing you in the pass through to the outside. You quickly look around, but there's no way out.
An older gentleman, looking way past his prime as a security offer, slowly approaches.
"Just a minute, let me check your bags." He looks over the bags, and sees a red tag underneath. He reads the numbers to himself.
"Oh, isn't that a surprise. I didn't think Johnny had it in him." he says.
"...had what?" You ask, afraid of the answer.
"It's about time, really. Wow. Just...one second, okay?" The older man says, in a very casual, friendly tone.
Your guard drops at his friendly grandfather shtick as he casually pulls out what looks like a cell phone, but what you find out a second too late, is a taser. You just have enough time to register the shock, before you drop to the ground.
"Johnny's going to become a man today." This is the last thing you hear before a long silence.
[[Advance to: Tuesday Night->Tues Night]]You're lost in a dream. In this dream, you're trapped in a small hallway, with several doors in front of you. You try to open one, but it leads nowhere, and the walls get narrower. You try another, and the walls move so close you can't breathe.
Suddenly, you realize something. The way out has been in front of you the whole time. You just couldn't see it. You just didn't remember. It's been there, in front of you, the whole time. A secret passage. Just asking for you to reach out, and press down.
"Wake up girl, come on."
The world you've spent the last four days in slowly comes back into focus, and you blink until your eyes can focus. You're locked in a small cage, naked, with several other women. One is in the corner, sobbing. The others have a lifelessness in their eyes, a loss of any hope. The cage is only lit by a bright red light, saturating the room in a crimson hue.
The woman that woke you is staring at you, wondering if you've really woken up.
"...what's happened to me?" you mutter.
"Well, you're at the Subjugation Auction. You're about to be sold. I just thought you should know. Would suck to wake up on a spit."
She reveals a vape in her hand, how she smuggled it in here naked, who can say. She offers you a hit, and you politely decline.
"What do you mean, sold? I'm a person. You can't sell people."
"Well, that's where you're wrong, on multiple counts. First of all, you've ALREADY been sold, by whoever brought you in. He sold you HERE, and next, you'll be sold a SECOND time to whoever takes you home."
"I should've known this would happen." You say, shaking your head, processing yesterday's events, as well as those strange feelings you've had all week. "Someone's been following me for days."
"Following you? No, that's not it." She says, with a tone that makes you feel somewhat stupid. "Subjugation is only allowed on Wednesdays. If anything, whoever you think was following you-"
The bright red light suddenly turns yellow, the amber glow changing the lighting, but not the mood.
"Almost time, now." She says, looking up, taking a drag of her vape.
"Time for what? To be, sold, and then...eaten?" You can only assume you'll be sold as meat.
"Well, of course eaten, but some of *them* like to play with you first. It just depends on the buyer. The OTHER thing is - you're not a person anymore, either. Once you were caught on the street on Subjugation night, you lost all of your rights. You're just an object for someone's amusement, and, well, stomach, now."
"There's got to be a way out of here?" You say, desperate not to give up.
"Afraid not, hun. Sorry, there's absolutely ZERO chance you'll escape the auction house. Once you're sold off, you'll be tied in Dolcett's finest rope and bind, and loaded in the car. Whatever happens next is totally up to them..."
You stare blankly back, the same look of hopelessness you saw in the other women slowly forming in your own eyes.
"...sorry hun, it's best you take a moment to accept it. Send a prayer or whatever for a quick death. The people who buy from here aren't usually into mercy."
You wander away to find a quiet corner to cry. You squat down, looking vacantly through the bars, processing the despair of your situation. There's even a sadness that you won't see Charlene again. Like a promise unkept.
But, no tears come. There's something about the last few days that has hardened you, strengthened your resolve. You shake your head, and slowly stand up.
"…I'm not finished yet." You say, feigning the confidence you desperately wish you felt.
"Oh, is that right?" Your cell mate lowers her vape in curiosity, enjoying the brief flash of hope in this place.
"Yes. There's got to be..." Suddenly, an idea hits you, like a bolt of lightning. "What about after I'm sold? Can I convince them to let me go? Will I become a person again?"
Your cell mate laughs. "Oh, sure, I mean, it's happened. But the odds of it, psh, they're like...."
The yellow light suddenly changes to green. You hear footsteps approaching.
"Okay, listen quick.” she says. “If you REALLY think you can survive this, it's important that you choose well." You can feel her pace quicken, the words rushing out of her mouth.
"Choose?"
"You're going to be led to a silent auction room, and your potential bidders will get a minute or so to assess you. My advice - look lively for the one that you want to pick you, and look sick, or dying to the others. But you need to pick well - you MIGHT be able to convince one of them to let you go, but all three? No chance."
The door opens, and two men in suits grab you. You decide not to resist, saving your escape plan for once you're...sold. You look back to thank...and realize, you never bothered to ask her name. You just nod, and she waves back. You'll never see each other again, even if you survive what comes next.
As you're walked to the staging area, you see three people waiting just outside your auction door. They must be your potential buyers.
The first you swear you recognize from countless social media reels you've been targeted with. She's got that whole "Tradwife" aesthetic going on, complete with a vintage dress, heels, and an apron - who wears an apron in public? She's taking selfies, and you notice that she's got one of those diamond heart collar necklaces on.
The second gives you a chill to even look at her. A real Amazon, no, an Indigenous woman. She's over 6 feet tall, even leaning against the wall. She's got on a sort of military outfit on, and her shorts show off the most defined quadriceps you've ever seen on a woman. She's got her head down, but you can tell she's studying you, like a hunter stalking her prey.
The last is an older man, with a long gray beard. He sits, slumped over, in dirty overalls, and a straw hat. You can tell even in the brief seconds you see him that his hands are calloused, a real working man of the land. You imagine he works on a farm. No, rather, farming, and the things that go with that, must be his life.
You're locked in the waiting area. In just a moment, your buyers will get their private time to give you a closer look. The decision you make next will determine how much longer you live.
[[Choose the Tradwife. She seems ditzy and self-absorbed. You've dealt with her kind before and can outsmart her.->Tradwife]]
[[Choose the Hunter. She's probably looking for a challenge, and won't snuff you right away. There's probably a way to prove yourself to her.->Hunt]]
[[Choose the Farmer. He seems lonely and tired. You could offer him some feminine companionship and some help, in exchange for your freedom.->Farm Animal]]You feel a certain romance towards this place that’s grown over the last few hours. Maybe it’s Catori rubbing off on you, but you feel the magic, the wonder of the trees. This is your home now, too.
“Here is good. I like it here.” you say.
“The forest likes you too, Scarlett.” She whispers, breathing in the evening air. “Yes, a special feast, for a special hunt. It will take some time to prepare.” She stands, and looks around at the various trees nearby, before nodding.
Slowly, you’re untied from the bark of the large oak, with the rope refastened around your ankles. Catori then throws the rope over a branch, and pulls you up. You dangle upside down, swinging in the gentle forest wind. You mumble to yourself that you could’ve resisted further, but between the orgasm, the concussion, and the lack of any sustenance in several days, you’re fucking exhausted.
As you see Catori gather wood for what you assume will be the fire you’ll be cooked over, you pass out.
***
You wake up to a crackling, a sound of embers burning, and a heat on your face. You realize for a second that this is the sound and feeling of being cooked alive, and open your eyes to expect to see the fires dancing over your body, claiming your meat. But, as your eyes focus, you notice you’re still hanging upside down, in the same place, but the world is very different.
Catori is just finishing building the flame of a small fire. You notice that there’s a large hole dug underneath you, and a second hole just to the side. You wager that is where your blood will go, and your guts will go, very shortly. You also notice a well carved, very sharp stick, which you expect she’ll roast your cunt on like a marshmallow once it’s been carved from your body, after your existence is carved from this world.
You sigh, somewhat loudly. You’re so tired. You just want this to be over.
Puma Catori, Huntress of the Sleeping Willow Forest, stands, and walks over, her knife in hand. She looks different now – between being upside down, the likely brain bleed, and the changing in the evening lights, she almost presents like an apparition. A ghost? An angel. Here to take you to the other side.
“I am glad you have found your way back here. Do you like what I’ve prepared for you?” She says, her arm presenting the small campsite she’s built in your honor.
“It’s so nice. Thank you. Really. For being so nice to me.” You wanted to talk her out of what comes next, but you’re over it. You’re dinner, but at least a valued, respected dinner. You could’ve died worse.
Catori slowly draws your hair back, exposing your neck, lining up her knife with your carotid artery.
“Let your last words honor you. Then, become a part of me." Catori's voice echoes these words, like they are part of some song, some tradition that has gone on longer than time itself.
Your eyes well up with tears, but not from sadness. You accept your fate, really. The tears come from a sudden observance of beauty. From your upside-down view, you see the most perfect bouquet of colors surround you, as you watch the sun cross the horizon, the crimson tapestry of colors flooding your retinas, as you take in the perfect scarlet sky.
"The sun has set." You say, with finality.
"How poetic. Your words honor a true warrior such as yourself." she says, nodding.
She readies her blade, the tip pressing into your throat. Her shoulder leans back, ready to strike, but then, she pauses, considering your words.
Slowly, she turns her head, and gazes behind her to watch as the last of the sun vanishes, behind the horizon, settling beyond what could be - from what is.
"...the forest has spoken." Puma Catori's words exit her lips in a hush, like she's afraid to disturb the significance of this moment.
***
An hour later, you're sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep, under a cozy blanket, as you've accepted a ride back to town from the woman who just spent the last 10+ hours trying to kill you. She's signing loudly to the radio, she strangely has a thing for 80's pop music. You'll take the reprieve. You've somehow survived another day.
As she drives, she pulls out a large thermos that you saw her fill with *something*, and takes a sip. She did miss dinner, after all. You realize that you also missed dinner, and have, for several days.
So, when she offers a sip, you don't think about it, like a teenage girl at her first big party. You grab the container, and take a gulp, the hot broth waking you up with a jolt, as it’s thick, delicious and full of flavor. You can feel the nutrients rush through your body and for a moment, and you feel like a new person, an entirely different person, somehow. You look down at the thermos, look over at Catori, and don't say a word. You have another sip. And another. Soon, you've drank more than half of the thermos, and feel your stomach rumble a bit, and you burp. She laughs.
Just as you go to hand the broth back to Catori, you pass out, full now, exhausted.
She smiles, and turns the radio down.
[[Advance to: Friday AM->Friday AM]]After surveying the three options, you decide that the Susie Homemaker type will be the easiest to hopefully talk out of dining on you. You try to remain still, sickly, and otherwise unappetizing as the hunter and farmer take their time having a pass at you. But, when the tradwife looking woman has her turn, you try to look lively, stick out parts of your body that you assume she wants to eat, and otherwise are pleasant, smiling, and lively.
You aren't sure what's appetizing, but you do your best.
Your plan works, for better or worse. You don't know this for a while, as you're forced to wait, but eventually, you’re freshly tied up, completely immobilized as a rope encircles your torso. Your ankles are also freshly bound, only allowing you to gingerly walk. Your hands are lastly clasped in front, allowing you to be easily hung by the wrists, if needed. You're lastly gagged, which you resent the most, as you'll need to be able to speak to get out of *whatever* comes next.
"Becky" as she introduces herself, walks over, smiles, and proclaims that she has selected YOU for her Dolcett Day barbecue this Friday, whatever that means.
You are escorted to a large SUV, appearing to be a brand-new model that you haven't even seen on the market yet, and are casually loaded in the trunk, despite eight other unused seats in this large vehicle. As you sit with your thoughts, you plan for your opportunity when you're able to use your increased wit and intellect to convince this dimwitted trophy wife that being served on a platter would not be in your best interest.
Just at dawn, you are brought to a large mansion lake house in a VERY well off neighborhood of Dolcett called Stepford Lakes. You quietly shake your head to yourself, noting that OF COURSE a woman like THIS get to live in luxury, where you have had to struggle and fight your entire life. You're brought into the kitchen, and not directly spoken to as she adjusts your binds so you're tied to a chair, next to one she plans to sit in. You're puzzled as she takes time to set up her smartphone on a tripod, and completes the setup with a stage light, the type you've seen by girls who are WAY too into themselves at the gym.
"Are you ready for your BIG debut?" She says with such a valley girl, bimbo-ish sound, that it makes your brain hurt. You can only mumble in response. She giggles and turns on an app to something called "CookTok" and starts recording.
"Well hello everyone, thank you again for tuning into my channel. Make sure to like, subscribe, and share! On today's episode - it's barbecue season. We all love it, we all crave it, and we all wonder - how do we make the BEST Barbeque EVER? Because let's be honest - if you can't figure out how to satisfy your Husband's stomach, you're going to end up DIGESTING in it. Yuck! So today, I'm going to shared my SECRET recipe. Yay! But first..."
You're mostly annoyed at your current predicament, but you decide to play along, for now, out of lack of other options. You do make sure to flash a sarcastic glance at the camera, making sure that whoever the audience is for this video knows you think this whole charade is very lame.
"...let me introduce the guest of honor." She concludes, and gestures her hands towards you, in a verry Vanna White way. She then slowly removes your gag, with you coughing, but finally having the opportunity to speak.
[[You decide to make the best of it, play along, and hope that being a good co-host will lead to her letting her guard down.->Play Along]]
[[You didn't grind your entire life to be a part of your own recipe show for some housewife. You tell her as such.->Fuck TikTok]]You enter Morgan's Office, throwing the door open, wanting to have the advantage on her from the jump. She's sitting at her desk, having a meeting with someone who looks familiar from behind, but you can’t place her. Neither of them acknowledge you, even as you made such a large entrance.
"I'm back, Morgan. I’ve completed our agreement and I'm expecting you to honor it." You say, boldly.
Morgan seems amused, but also a bit surprised to see you.
"But I thought you...they told me that they found you..." Morgan says through snakelike eyes.
"I told you it wasn't her…” A familiar voice says, the other woman. “…MY Scarlett wouldn't let that perfect oven roast go to waste.”
Charlene spins her chair around, smiling eagerly, clearly happy to see you. She stands and saunters over.
"Oh, Scarlett, I'm SO happy to see you again. I've been DREAMING of this moment ALL week." Charlene says, with a confidence that raises your guard again, like she again knows something you don’t.
"I have too." You say to Charlene, before turning to Morgan. "I'm back from my week in Dolcett, and it’s liked my contract paid, in full. Now.”
"WELL Now." Charlene says, with a glee. “Isn't that just perfect? SHE'S here to make sure her contract is honored, and WE wouldn't want to disappoint her, would we?" Charlene says to Morgan, with hint of double entendre that makes you very uncomfortable.
Morgan shakes her head, appearing more annoyed with Charlene than you, but Morgan never flinches, never appears out of control.
"Alright, Scarlett, come here and get what's coming to you." She opens a desk drawer, and then another, searching for your stack of contracts.
Finally, she finds them. “Let’s review the fine print, shall we?" She says, finally breaking into a smile.
"YES, lets!” Charlene exclaims.
Morgan shoots her a sneer, an expression that feels like a punishment, a spanking without words.
"I am sorry, Miss, ahem, Morgan." Charlene says. "I'm just so excited." She says, with a bit more joy. She then whispers in Morgan’s ear "I'm thinking a citrus glaze."
You walk over, cautiously, making sure to keep enough distance to be safe, examining your surroundings, never giving up your back to anyone for a second.
Morgan points to the contract you signed for one million dollars.
“THIS is your contract. And it CLEARLY says that you needed to spend A WEEK IN DOLCETT, which is defined as ‘Five work days at DolcettCo.’ But, you did NOT show up to work on Thursday, Scarlett. You did not complete your contract." Morgan says decidedly.
"Yes, what were you doing, my soon to be venison roast? Playing Bambi?" Charlene says with a sly smile.
"That...wasn’t in my control." You say, starting to realize that you might be fucked. "I was taken against my will, I wasn't able to go..."
"And this…" Morgan goes on. “…is your Death and Dismemberment clause, which you also signed, stating "If I fail to honor the terms of ALL of my agreements, I will submit myself as restitution to one Ms. Morgan Bates."
"But...this is America...you just can't…” You whimper out, panic setting in, your body suddenly getting very hot.
"Oh, my poor, sweet little Cornish Hen..." Charlene says, solemnly, lovingly. She stands turns to you, and gives you a light hug. "You think WE aren't already here? The only thing left for you...is your destiny."
You feel a sharp pin prick at the back of your neck, and quickly fall unconscious to the floor, as Charlene lets you crash in a heap.
The last thing you hear is: "See you for dinner tonight..."
[[Advance to: Monday Afternoon->Roast to Be]]"I'd like to look over the paperwork before I make a decision." You say with baited breath. You can barely contain your excitement as you imagine the best restaurants, the best clothes, the best vacations. The good life, the easy life. You deserve this.
Later, you sit in your hotel room, with a bottle of wine you lifted from the party, reading over the marriage contract. You read it twice. A third time. It's exactly like he said - you won't be property; you won’t be snuffed by anyone. You take a moment to do an internet search on Brendan, and once you see his estimated net worth, you realize you’ll be FILTHY rich.
Heck, maybe you can even make a difference here with your wealth and influence.
You take a deep breath, chug a glass of wine, and make your decision. You pick up your hotel phone and call Brandan.
"I was hoping you'd call." He says, as he answers.
He takes you back to his place, a literal mansion on a private lake, and you fuck until the room stinks. You've got so much pent up sexual frustration from this week that you just cum over and over on his surprising large cock, him constantly hitting your back wall and resetting your brain to factory default settings. You feel yourself starting to...fall for this man? After all, he has been a gentleman, besides the whole trying to eat you thing, but hey, he always tries to eat the new girl in town.
The next morning, he takes you to the most expensive wedding dress shop in town, and you buy your DREAM dress. You’re wed that afternoon, the heart necklace secured permanently around your neck, announcing your status to the world. He immediately opens a bank account in your new last name, and transfers two million dollars into it, for “whatever comes up.”
You live the good life, just as you planned. Brendan is SO good to you, and in turn, you're good to him. You settle in to being a good little domestic, learn his favorite meals - and become an expert in all the meat girl classics. You learn he has a special taste for meatloaf, and make that often.
You notice over time, your beliefs and politics slowly change, something about being at the top of the food chain has you see things differently. You start to see yourself as different than non married women - you are one of the *ladies*, after all, and everyone else is just meat. Your desire to make a difference fades, as you realize meat girls deserve their lesser status, as they weren’t as smart as you, didn’t work as hard, and honestly, someone needs to be on your plate.
You spend your weekends among other wealthy folks, socializing, drinking, sharing recipes and meals. Once, you attend a backyard BBQ of a friend of a friend, and the girl turning on the spit seems somewhat familiar, like you've seen her before. You can't place her, and the name "Becky" doesn't ring a bell. Regardless, you feel the need to take the BBQ fork and pierce it into her rump, to teach her that you're better than her, even though she's already dead.
"Yeah, she's roasting up really good for someone who couldn't cook for shit." Her former husband says, with a thin, blank, obedient nineteen-year-old on his arm.
Later, Brendan's dream comes true, and he was right, it was you he has to thank. You suggest that he recruits “genius” inventor Edward to help develop a new type of roasting oven – which roasts a woman vertically, not laying down, as it allows the woman to suffer longer, as after all -anticipation makes the meat taste better. You suggest that Brendan introduce the ground breaking development to the board of directors without informing Charlene – and when she panics at being passed over, she offers to do ANYTHING to be help with this new project.
That evening, you’re invited to the gala held in Brandan’s honor, as he finally claims the company that was his birthright. You dress in a gorgeous 1950’s cocktail dress, diamond heart collar necklace shining in the banquet hall light, and slowly walk over to watch Charlene slowly roast in the oven you helped design. She sees you walk up with a look of resignation, not acceptance, but defeat on her face. You smile, and raise a champagne glass, and mouth that she’s a “good little oven roast.”
Years later, DolcettCo is poised to become a global brand, as you’ve used your insight into the *cravings* of being meat to increase leaked content onto American social media. Brandan signs partnerships to import girl meat into the US, as well as “take care” of less fortunate women via conversion in Dolcett. The only thing left to do is *seal* the deal.
As you are fully acclimated in the customs of Dolcett by this time, you know EXACTLY what your role should be, even if he doesn't see it at first. You offer yourself, as a volunteer, as the meal to brings these two worlds together – what could be more impactful than a native North Carolian planning herself out for the banquet meal, to prove that ALL women *really* do want this, after all.
Soon, women who consent, and plenty that don't, will be slaughtered worldwide. You beam with pride at what you’ve accomplishment. Any guilt you would’ve felt or questions of morality are long gone. You’re a Dolcett girl now.
On the day you're walking into the banquet hall kitchen, freshly showered and shaved, you turn back at your husband and smile.
"I love you." You say.
"I love you too." He replies.
You share a kiss, and then you go to serve your purpose.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Champagne glasses clink as the merger of these two worlds is complete, and cheers erupt from the room. At the large banquet table, to be shared among the most powerful people in the world, is you. You've been prepared in every which way, with some considerations made to your rearing in North Carolina, a venerable Scarlett Smorgasbord. Steaks. Ribs. Chops. Roast. Soup. A pasta dish with meatballs. Brisket. The list goes on.
Brendan beams. He'll never marry again. That place in his heart will ALWAYS be reserved for you.
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: FRIDAY AM ->Friday AM]]**You come to in the back of a large delivery truck. You notice you’re tied up in a seated position, your knees crunched up to your shoulders, arms tucked in. You’re also placed in a large brown paper shopping bag, with that red sticker on the outside of it. You see several boxes, some cured meats, and other packaged grocery orders. But, you’re the only living, breathing, person, at least for now, as being in a grocery bag does not bode well for you.
You peer through the window to the driver’s compartment, and see Johnny.
"Where are you taking me?" you ask.
“I need you for something really important. I’m sorry this is happening. Really.” he says.
“Need me for what? I don’t want to be a grocery. I don’t want to be…eaten. Please, let me go.”
“It's less about you than you think.” he laments.
You’re hurt by this, and slump back, trying to figure out how to be valuable in a world that just sees you as an ingredient.
“Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.” You notice that Johnny starts to cry.
“But…why me?” you whimper.
Well, when you said you were vegetarian, and you’re not from here, I just knew I had to use my First Time tag on you.”
You think back to your conversation earlier. Stupid, Scarlett. Real stupid.
“I don't want to die. I’m a person. I can tell you don’t want to do this. Just let me go and you won’t see me again, I promise.”
The car stops, and you hear Johnny sob for a while, quietly. You just sit, and wait, hoping you’ve convinced him to let you go. You feel bad for hurting him like this, but you prefer this over whatever comes next.
You suddenly hear his door slam, and the back of the delivery truck opens, the color of dusk flooding your eyes. He walks in, and slowly starts to take you out of the bag.
“Thank you, Johnny, really.” You say, with a sense of relief.
“…I won’t make you suffer any more than you have to. That’s all I can promise.”
He forces you to your feet. You slowly walk with him, still bound, towards a…frat house. At the top, you see a name “Phi Alpha Die.” There’s clearly a party going on, with dozens of college aged men and women flirting and playing games on the lawn.
You’re let to the backyard, a party even bigger than the front. There are yard games, a bonfire, and alcohol everywhere – a real rager. You also notice a vertical spit, sort of like a kabob stand, that has the very picked over remains of a former meat girl turning on it. Once the men working the grill see you, they point, and start to slide the carcass off the spit, freeing it up for YOU.
You shake as you’re led to the center of the party, where there is just one bloody wooden stump. Johnny tries to lower you down softly, and you resist, but several of his brothers jump in and hold you in place. Johnny is tapped on the shoulder and given an axe.
You can’t move anything but your head, so you turn, and look at Johnny, pleading.
“Please…you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be this person. You’re not.”
Johnny chokes back a tear, and buries it, like he’s locking his true emotions away in a box in his mind, never to be seen, or felt, again. You feel the blade of the axe on your neck, scratching into you as his hands tremble. You start to hyper ventilate, not sure what to do next.
“Please, Johnny. Whatever the reason is, it’s not worth your soul.”
You notice Johnny’s eyes close and his hands go limp, a single tear escaping an eye, your words clearly having broken his resolve, perhaps even saved your life.
But then, he catches a glimpse of something, and his focus on whatever, or whoever that is, is absolute.
You look over and see a beautiful brunette, with freckles, and a button nose. She’s very girl next door, with doe eyes, a fluffy, white midriff shirt, and tight, freshly pressed daisy dukes. She stares with her mouth open, with a wonder, an anticipation of what will happen next.
He looks back down at you and his gaze steels, his facial features harden, the softness of youth firming to show a very square jaw line. His arms tense and he steadies the axe.
You've seen too many John Hughes movies to not know what will happen next. Boy meets girl. You close your eyes just as you feel the blade rise up.
"Shit."
You hear a *thuck* sound and your vision spirals, before suddenly rolling still. You are looking up at the evening sky, a beautiful hue of reds, and violets, and blues, like a bouquet of flowers, like true love in full bloom.
The last thing you see is your body carried off to the spit.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Hours later, the sun has set, but the party is just getting started. There’s over two hundred people at Phi Alpha Die, with a roaring fire keeping the place illuminated. It's loud, with music blaring over conversation, games, and…barbeque.
Your corpse is impaled on a pole; your body carved into from every direction. There's little care taken as one of the frat bros chops a hunk of you off, and places it on a tray near the large propane grill. You're quickly washed off with a hose, over-seasoned with a spice mix, and slapped on the grill. There are several cuts of you currently being worked on, and several more in a tray on the opposite side, ready to be consumed. A stack of paper plates accompanies you, with some sides of potato chips.
Johnny sits quietly by himself, in a corner of the lawn, slowly sipping out of a red cup. He's quiet, his mind a million miles away from this place. He's no longer nervous looking, but he's also not comfortable, like a young man trying on a suit for the first time.
"Hey." A voice coos. A soft, feminine voice.
Johnny looks up to see his girl-next-door looking down at him, the look of wonder replaced with a look of yearning. She smiles warmly and holds a rather large plate of *You* barbeque on a paper plate. She leans down a bit, making sure to show off her cleavage, eager for Johnny’s approval.
"Um, you were, like, really great with her earlier. Really. I didn't know you had it in you." she says, softly.
Johnny doesn't say anything back, he just looks up, measuring her, never breaking eye contact.
"I um..." she continues. "…I fixed you a plate. I even made sure to get her cunt for you." She offers your meat to him.
"Share it with me." He commands. "Sit."
She sits, eager to be obedient to his authority, as she's been trained all her life to be commanded when a Man speaks.
"Johnny...I've always......"
"John." He corrects.
She listens quietly.
"Call me John."
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: MERYL'S GROCERY->Meryl's]]**You stare blankly at the butcher for what seems like an eternity. You're looking at him, but you're looking through him. The only thing you can see, as if everything else is muted, is the small package of meat, like it has a giant spotlight on it.
"...hello? Anybody there? You sure you don't want me to finish you up in the back?”
"No, I'm okay out here." You laugh at the irony, as you are NOT okay.
You step forward, and extend a hand, taking the fresh, still body temperature cut of...ribeye steak. You read the label.
Name: Jane
Aged: 22 Years
Processing date: Wednesday
Status: Voluntary
Diet: Vegan - 8 Years
Rearing: Dolcett Central City
The label is completed with a photo of Jane's peaceful, consenting face.
You look up to thank Bob, but he's already gone by the time you've fully read the label. It's probably for the best.
You go to do a quick shopping trip through Meryl's, but for some reason, you don't have any taste for sides. You just want...meat. And, you notice, you want it NOW. So, you grab a simple bottle of olive oil, and you're off to the register, with plans to give Jane your full attention.
As you go to check out, the very young, nervous looking cashier starts to make small talk with you. You see his name tag says "Johnny." He appears to be college aged, and works gently with your selections.
"Just meat today, mam? Good choice."
His use of mam annoys you. Sure, you're old enough to be his mother, but you're not THAT old. Geez.
You grab your bag and quickly head back to your hotel room. It's dark, and the city is bustling, even for a Tuesday night. You again get this feeling of dread, a turn in your stomach, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You quickly turn around, but nothing.
"Someone IS watching me. I know it." You say out loud, as confirmation, to remind yourself that the only person you can trust here is yourself.
You quickly get to work heating up the frying pan on your cozy kitchenette, waiting for it to smoke for just the right sear. For a moment, you consider looking up girl meat ribeye steak recipes, but decide that you're just going to do this the way you know. It feels…more intimate that way, somehow, to prepare her like any other cut of meat you’ve enjoyed before.
*"Because that's all she was. All she wanted to be."* You think to yourself. "No...she was more." You say, as you slowly lay her rib steak in your pan, it crackling loudly in the hot, dry pan, the light drizzle of olive oil infusing flavor into her meat.
Moments later, as you set her on a regrettable paper plate, you feel a dull pain in your stomach. Something about this isn't right, but you've come too far to go back. So, you slowly slice off your first bite, a good mix of her fat and her meat, and slide it in your mouth.
She tastes absolutely heavenly. Her flavor bursts with purpose, and the nutrients quickly flood your body, your bloodstream, your identity. You look down, and become ravenous, quickly cutting through her, and slowly reducing her to nothing, bite by bite. Just a few minutes later, the only thing left of her, is inside of you.
As you lay in bed, your belly full, the dull stomach pain has grown to a full ache. It's a weird feeling of acceptance, of regret, of purpose, and of dread. You don't know what to make of it. But, you realize, just as you drift away to sleep, that you probably shouldn't have had girl meat this early in your trip.
[[Advance to: Wednesday AM->Wed AM Bad]]You stare blankly at the butcher for what seems like an eternity. If you were still in the back, he probably would've started slicing you just for how lifeless you look. Finally, you feel your head shake and you blink slowly, coming back to reality.
"...hello? Anybody there? You sure you don't want me to finish you up in the back?”
"No…no thank you." is the best you can muster. "To neither. To either? To both. Yes, no thank you to both."
You go to rush right out of the store, but nearly faint in the produce section. You take a breath, and try to remember what brought you here in the first place.
"I need to eat."
You grab the first premade salad you see and a small bottle of olive oil that is on the display stand nearby, just skimming the contents with your eyes to make sure it's Jane free.
As you go to check out, the very young, nervous looking cashier starts to make small talk with you. You see his name tag says "Johnny." He appears to be college aged, and works gently with your selections.
"No meat?" he says, inquisitively.
"Oh, I've..." A flash of Jane's final smile flashes before your eyes, and then, a flash of her squirting on the hook.
"...I've had enough meat for today, thank you."
"...suit yourself." He says, with a tone of disappointment. You realize he almost mistook you as vegetarian. Bullet dodged.
You gather your bag and quickly head back to your hotel room. It's dark, and the city is bustling, even for a Tuesday night.
You again get this feeling of dread, a turn in your stomach, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You quickly turn around, but nothing.
"Someone IS watching me. I know it." You say out loud, as confirmation, to remind yourself that the only person you can trust here is yourself.
You've lost your appetite by the time you get back, so you just try to sleep. But, you're restless, thinking of the woman you saw snuffed. You try and place yourself in her shoes, on her...hook. She seemed to do it for…purely sexual reasons? Could that really be it?
No, you realize, it's not just sex. What she experienced was something different entirely, like the women of this realm can access a level of pleasure beyond what you've ever understood, but at the cost of their literal lives. The moment she was slid on that hook, she SQUIRTED. It couldn't have been from the pain...it was from...the anticipation, what the moment meant for her. The conversion, the finality of knowing she was meat, the flood of purpose, that made her body erupt with a life changing, no, life completing orgasm.
Could one life be worth one perfect orgasm? Could yours?
You feel yourself panting and notice that your hand has involuntarily wandered down to your clit and started to rub. You yank your hand away, embarrassed that you’d touch yourself to…this. But then, you realize, it’s just you, by yourself. You won't tell anyone you did this. So, *you consent*, with that very thought being enough to re-ignite the yearning. You take your time, slowly bring yourself to climax, thinking of you in her place, on the hook, no, instead, you imagine yourself roasting quietly away in an oven, for some reason, and you cum HARD. Much harder than you have in months. No, much harder than you've ever cum in your entire life.
You don't have time to process what this means. You pass out immediately, soaked in your own juices.
[[Advance to: Wednesday->Wed AM Good]]You have trouble calming your breathing over the next couple hours, but hey, at least you're still breathing. This Dolcett thing is a lot harder than you thought, and it's only 11:00 am on Tuesday. But, every minute that goes by, is one minute closer to a million dollars.
Your stomach growls loudly. "That's probably part of why I can't calm down." You tell yourself. You're starving, but you're not trying to go to any more bars, restaurants, or even a cafeteria. Forget that. There's got to be another way.
You do a google search for "Can I be eaten in a grocery store?" and remark to yourself - what a ridiculous query, what a ridiculous place. You can't wait to get out of here.
Just as the results populate, a LOUD alarm goes off. It's no ordinary fire alarm, it feels like it's piercing you, like there's a knife cutting into your fucking brain. You can't stand it, you've got to get out of here, and get out QUICK.
The noise permeating the hallways is relentless and you feel like your ears are going to bleed any minute. You can't think, can't really move, and crouch down in the fetal position in the hallway, about to convulse. You feel a hand on your shoulder, and see Edward, the nerdy, awkward lab geek from the day before, kneeling next to you with a concerned look. He does not seem affected by the sound.
"They invented this siren as a way of controlling a potential female uprising. The frequency can only be perceived by the female brain, you see, as the male brain lacks whatever it is that causes a reaction. They say that your brain is hearing your romantic partner say "calm down" over and over, which for some reason, is enraging to all women.
You nearly faint as you try to process what to do next. Edward pulls out some headphones from his backpack, they are the old school kind that go over your ears and on the top of your head. They appear to have several handmade attachments and devices, like they've been heavily modified to serve some purpose.
"This is an experiment I'm working on. I think you're exactly the person to test it, especially as you're not from around here. It will make the noise stop, I promise."
[[You frantically grab the headphones without another thought and put them on your ears. This alarm is so painful it may kill you.->Brain Drain]]
[[You push the headphones and Edward away, close your eyes, and try to think of something else, accepting whatever fate comes next.->Tuesday Noon]]You decide to dress much more modestly today, less you attract any more attention. You feel a nervous ache in your stomach over running out last night, but take a deep breath, collect yourself, and are prepared to meet any consequences head on. After all, you didn't come here just to so easily end up on a plate.
As you enter the office, you try to quickly get to your desk. You are confronted by Brendan in the hallway, who steps assertively in your path. You can feel his body heat as he invades your personal space, your being, and your existence.
"I need to see you in my office, NOW." Brendan growls.
[[You choose to follow Brendan into his office to avoid making a scene. The last thing you need to do is litigate your escape the previous night in front of other potential predators.->Ham Lunch]]
[[You choose to stand your ground here, try playing it assertive, and convince Brendan to back down.->Tuesday Hallway]]You aren't used to being assertive. It's the one thing in the corporate world that's held you back, as you find confrontation so stressful. But the thought of being eaten by this asshole is even worse, so you decide to stand your ground.
"No." - You don't say anything else, yet, as even saying this is a lot for you to get out.
"Excuse me? What did you just say to ME?" - You've made Brendan very mad, and he's inching closer, the way he's looking at your neck sets your limbic system on fire. It's fight, or flight, and you've chosen to fight.
"I said NO. You don't think I know what you tried to do to me last night? That you and that waiter weren’t working together on your little scheme?" You're shaking, trembling, both from the adrenaline of the conflict and the terror that floods your mind, an image of you hanging upside down in the restaurant kitchen flashes before your eyes.
"Alright, alright. Just...please quiet down." Brendan appears to be retreating, but you don't notice. You're hot. You're starting to attract a crowd, noticing Stephanie has also walked over, listening in.
"YOU DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT YOU AND...what was that restaurant called? Le? Um?"
Brendan tries to shush you, like he REALLY doesn't want this to be public knowledge. But then, he freezes, as he sees someone behind him, and he slowly backs away from you, putting his hands up.
You're very confused. Brendan is a man in a woman eating world, who could he possibly be afraid of?
"Well, well, well. Aren't you fit to be tied?" An unfamiliar voice says. A female voice.
You turn and see her, a beautiful, long-haired brunette with thick, but very fitting curves that could KILL. She's dressed very business professional, but everything she wears is just a bit sexualized - her cleavage, the way her pants hug her hips, the four inch heels on her 5'6 frame. She's really taken care of herself, just a hint of her being a few years older than you, but no more than that.
She slowly walks around you, observing you. Stalking you? No. More like, appraising you? It's like she's deciding something, that to her, is VERY important.
"Trussed, really. Fit to be trussed." She says, waiting, watching to see if your chest rises, if your pupils dilate, if your legs quiver. You don't do anything, as you don't really know what she expects. That tells her all she needs to know.
"You must be the new girl here, our latest...convert. I mean, transfer, of course. I'm Charlene. But, please, darling, call me Char."
"I'll stick with Charlene." You get the sense this woman is the kind of person who if you give an inch, she takes a mile.
"How...professional. We will see if that lasts. We will SEE if you last. Can I tell you something?" She says, leading you on.
You nod out of instinct, but you wish you’d said no. This isn't comfortable, but it's better than being snuffed by Brendan right now.
She leans in, close, to whisper, but makes sure to breathe on your neck first. You can also feel her hands slowly slide down your low back, gently squeezing your ass. The hairs on your neck stand up, and you shake, but you try not to show it. You see out of the corner of your eye that a large smile grows on her perfect red lips.
"I think you'd make a perfect oven roast, cooked whole. Cooked..."
She steps back so she can fully soak in your reaction.
"Cooked alive."
You feel something awaken inside of you, for just a second. It's like a spark of a lighter, bright, but brief. Even though it vanished, it's still there, lingering, just needing to be stoked by the right breeze, the right prevailing wind.
You don't say anything, her words have stunned you, like a deer in the headlights.
"But not yet. You're not ready yet. I can see that." - She smiles, then looks behind her, at Brendan, who has watched this entire exchange, an imprint of an erect cock on his trousers.
"Brendan, take THAT..." As Charlene points to his cock. "...and get back to work. As a matter of fact, EVERYONE get back to work, this is a place of business, is it not?"
Everyone shuffles away from this scene, even Stephanie, before you two can catch up. Charlene turns to you to one last time.
"Come to me when the time comes, my little roaster. I'll take care of you." She smiles, bearing perfectly white, but sharp teeth, and walks away, making sure to graze your shoulder one last time as she passes.
You stand frozen for a minute, but then gather yourself and rush quickly in your office, closing the door.
[[Advance to - Tuesday, Mid-Day->Tuesday 11AM]]You can't think straight, but you're thinking clearly enough that you've finally learned not to trust strangers here. As Edward goes to place his "special" headphones over your ears, you push him and them away, rather aggressively, as you're overwhelmed. The headphones go flying and crash on the floor, pieces of his custom hardware breaking off. Just as he goes to collect them, a herd of women rushing for the exit doors trample the various parts, and they shatter into unrecoverable pieces.
"...My life's work. No..." Edward lowers his head, crestfallen, and begins to cry.
You take pity on him for about half a second, before the piercing sound shocks you back into your immediate need for escape. Just then, Stephanie runs up to you and offers a hand.
"Come with me if you want to live." She smiles, her tongue firmly planted in her cheek.
She doesn't have to tell you twice. You take her hand, and she helps guide you as you rush down the emergency exit stairs, out the side door, and outside.
You're immediately relieved to be away from that sound. Grateful. You hug Stephanie and nearly cry, but you can tell she's not as emotionally involved as you are, so you slowly compose yourself.
"Yeah, that sound is ROUGH for first timers. It gets better, but not by much." She says, as you catch a glance of her looking you up and down. “Actually…that alarm is going to be going off for the rest of the day.”
"Really? Why? Isn't it for emergencies?" you ask, curious.
"Yeah, but they test it in on the third Tuesday of every month. I think they do it to keep women in their place, a reminder that we can NEVER really be on top of the food chain here." she sighs. "It sucks being a woman here, sometimes. Did Egghead try to get you to try one of his gadgets? You should never trust him. Honestly..."
A beat.
"You should never trust anyone here." She says, with a sadness, a loneliness, a longing for the very thing she just said, a thing she can never have.
"Thanks. You're a real friend." You smile. This is the best part of your day so far. It's girl time. You've missed girl time. But then, your stomach growls, so loud that you can't pretend that the sound was anything but.
Stephanie laughs. "When was the last time you ate, girl? You should come over my place for lunch. I make a killer meatloaf."
[[You tell Stephanie you appreciate the offer, but you don't want to risk breaking any of Charlene's rules. She seems to already have you as the apple of her eye, and don't want to end up with an apple in your mouth.->Stephanie Refusal]]
[[You accept Stephanie's offer, as you'll probably end up snuffed out of carelessness if you don't get something to eat, now.->Stephanie Accept]]Your eyes stare vacantly into the morning light as you process your day yesterday, but especially, your night. You can still taste Jane on your tongue, her existence lingering, now a part of yours in ways you can't understand. You decide to not brush your teeth, you don't want to be separated from her, yet.
You sigh. *"Not trying to address these issues is probably the first step to becoming dinner."* You think to yourself.
You do just the basics for your makeup today, and put on your least interesting professional outfit. If anything, you've learned that sex appeal correlates to plate appeal, and you'd rather just blend in. "Better to look like ground beef than a delicious Ribeye steak." You say to yourself in the mirror, before correcting yourself.
*"Honestly, I'd taste good as either."*
You barely make it to the office on time, which is exactly how you want it. You really don't need extended time with any of your coworkers today. And honestly, you don't know who would be safest if you had to.
Just as you emerge on the floor, you notice the entire office is waiting in the hallway. Charlene rushes over.
"Oh, darling, I was SO worried about you." You can feel her hands slide on you suddenly, but softly. "You're intact, yes, you...still have all of your parts?"
You instinctively go to push her away, but your body welcomes her touch, her hands moving strategically, seeking something. She *knows* you are physically all there. But, she's trying to figure something *else* out. You feel her hands gracefully glance over your cunt, giving the slightest pressure, and that feeling from last night, that first taste of Jane, returns.
A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. Charlene catches it with a finger, shows it to you, and then tastes it.
"Mmmmmmm. Oh, you're closer today, no doubt." Charlene remarks, sucking on her finger. "Not there yet, but VERY close. Maybe even dinner tonight."
You feel dizzy as she slowly steps back.
"Alright, everyone..." Charlene suddenly announces. "…now that we are ALL here, let's go on our little field trip."
Everyone starts to depart the office. You just follow the herd silently, like a cow being led to slaughter. You try not to think too much, and just try to stay close to someone, maybe a man, as at least you know he won't get "accidently" killed.
Just as you think this, Brendan catches up to you, tugging on your arm.
"Don't touch me." You say rashly, as you pull your arm away.
"Hey, take it easy. I just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Why? So you can try and eat me again?"
You follow the group of your co-workers down the street as you approach a large...plant. You gaze up to see "Dolcett Meat Processing Center - Main Branch."
"Great."
"It's a part of our culture here.” Brendan continues. "We try and eat people. You should feel insulted if no one tried, honestly. Besides, there isn't a co-worker on our floor who hasn't eyed you for their supper."
"I haven't!" Stephanie chimes in, taking your arm, and briskly walks forward with you before Brendan has time to say anything else. You see her look back and flash him a look that seems...flirty? But, you probably misunderstood.
"So...how was the rest of your day yesterday? Quiet I hope?” Stephanie asks, as you walk into the plant together.
"I just went back to the office; the alarm was off. I thought you said it would be on the rest of the day?" you ask, genuinely curious.
Stephanie's face sinks, she looks dejected, like she got her hand caught in the cookie jar. You feel like you've hurt her feelings, and that doesn't sit well with you.
"But…” You continue, trying to fix this icky feeling of losing your only friend. “…I feel bad about skipping out on lunch yesterday. I'm sorry."
"Make it up to me." Stephanie says, with her girlish, best friend energy returning in a flourish. "We'll do lunch tomorrow instead. Promise?" She smiles, and waves you on as you continue up a large flight of stairs.
"Promise." You say, and hold Stephanie a little closer. You just hope nothing crazy happens to you before then.
You reach the top of the stairs, and stand on a platform before a large…meat grinder. The first thing you notice is this platform has no safety railing. You could just fall right in.
"Thank you for coming everyone." You turn and see a rather clichély dressed man in a safety inspector getup. He’s wearing a white coat, hard hat, and appears to be tense, nervous, and hyper vigilant, like he’s hasn’t relaxed in years.
"We are honored to have our very own accounting firm tour DMPC today. So sit back, relax, well, don’t relax please, and SAFETY FIRST, and really, SAFETY SECOND. It’s been…” He stops to look at his watch. “…41 hours since our last fatal accident, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
You laugh awkwardly, loudly, trying to block out the strange cravings in your mind. Everyone awkwardly looks over at you, and you quiet yourself.
“Ahem, so, let us get on our with our first demonstration, unless we have any volunteers?”
[[You really shouldn't have eaten that steak. The edge of the platform is calling to you.->Meat Grinder]]
[[It's not that you want to be meat, you are meat. Walk forward and fulfill your purpose.->Meat Grinder]]
[[You realize you'd make great hamburger. If you get ground up now, you can probably be served as the company lunch.->Meat Grinder]]Your eyes stare vacantly into the morning light as you slowly chew the salad that is now your breakfast. Your hand and mouth work fast, eager to absorb calories. Your mind continues to want to ask questions about last night – but you push those thoughts away.
You sigh. *"Not trying to address these issues is probably the first step to becoming dinner."* You think to yourself.
You do just the basics for your makeup today, and put on your least interesting professional outfit. If anything, you've learned that sex appeal correlates to plate appeal, and you'd rather just blend in. "Better to look like ground beef than Filet Mignon." You say to yourself in the mirror, your jokes having lost some punch since Sunday night.
You barely make it to the office on time, which is exactly how you want it. You really don't need extended time with any of your coworkers today. And honestly, you don't know who would be safest if you had to.
Just as you emerge on the floor, you notice the entire office is waiting in the hallway. Charlene rushes over.
"Oh, darling, I was SO worried about you." You can feel her hands slide on you suddenly, but softly. "You're intact, yes, you...still have all of your parts?"
You instinctively go to push her away, but your body welcomes her touch, her hands moving strategically, seeking something. She *knows* you are physically all there. But, she's trying to figure something *else* out. You feel her hands gracefully glance over your cunt, giving the slightest pressure, and that feeling from last night, that orgasm, returns.
A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. Charlene catches it with a finger, shows it to you, and then tastes it.
"Mmmmmmm. Oh, you're closer today, no doubt." Charlene remarks, sucking on her finger. "Not there yet, but VERY close. Maybe even dinner tonight."
You feel dizzy as she slowly steps back.
"Alright, everyone..." Charlene suddenly announces. "…now that we are ALL here, let's go on our little field trip."
Everyone starts to depart the office. You just follow the herd silently, like a cow being led to slaughter. You try not to think too much, and just try to stay close to someone, maybe a man, as at least you know he won't get "accidently" killed.
Just as you think this, Brendan catches up to you, tugging on your arm.
"Don't touch me." You say rashly, as you pull your arm away.
"Hey, take it easy. I just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Why? So you can try and eat me again?"
You follow the group of your co-workers down the street as you approach a large...plant. You gaze up to see "Dolcett Meat Processing Center - Main Branch."
"Great."
"It's a part of our culture here.” Brendan continues. “We try and eat people. You should feel insulted if no one tried, honestly. Besides, there isn't a co-worker on our floor who hasn't eyed you for their supper."
"I haven't!" Stephanie chimes in, taking your arm, and briskly walks forward with you before Brendan has time to say anything else. You see her look back and flash him a look that seems...flirty? But, you probably misunderstood.
"So...how was the rest of your day yesterday? Quiet I hope?” Stephanie asks, as you walk into the plant together.
"I just went back to the office; the alarm was off. I thought you said it would be on the rest of the day?" you ask, genuinely curious.
Stephanie's face sinks, she looks dejected, like she got her hand caught in the cookie jar. You feel like you've hurt her feelings, and that doesn't sit well with you.
"But…” You continue, trying to fix this icky feeling of losing your only friend. “…I feel bad about skipping out on lunch yesterday. I'm sorry."
"Make it up to me." Stephanie says, with her girlish, best friend energy returning in a flourish. "We'll do lunch tomorrow instead. Promise?" She smiles, and waves you on as you continue up a large flight of stairs.
"Promise." You say, and hold Stephanie a little closer. You just hope nothing crazy happens to you before then.
You reach the top of the stairs, and stand on a platform before a large…meat grinder. The first thing you notice is this platform has no safety railing. You could just fall right in.
"Thank you for coming everyone." You turn and see a rather clichély dressed man in a safety inspector getup. He’s wearing a white coat, hard hat, and appears to be tense, nervous, and hyper vigilant, like he’s hasn’t relaxed in years.
"We are honored to have our very own accounting firm tour DMPC today. So sit back, relax, well, don’t relax please, and SAFETY FIRST, and really, SAFETY SECOND. It’s been…” He stops to look at his watch. “…41 hours since our last fatal accident, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
No one laughs, but this also was not a joke.
“Ahem, so, let us get on our with our first demonstration, unless we have any volunteers?”
A dead silence.
"This is the DMPC Grind-o 3000. We pride ourselves at DMPC at the most advanced cooking technology in the world – and ALL of our top-of-the-line products have bone, hair, and if requested, organ sifting technology. You only need to throw an entire meat girl in, and she's ground into delicious hamburger, the rest of her removed by our artificial intelligence scanners and burned away as waste. Efficient, clean, and most of all, SAFE.”
You turn and notice a young, naked, chubby woman walked up the stairs by another employee. She doesn’t seem to have a hint of awareness as to what is about to happen.
“Allow me to demonstrate.” The safety inspector says.
She’s suddenly shoved over the open edge, and you hear a brief scream before the grinder immediately begins shredding her flesh, a mechanical melody of cutting, crunching, splashing, and grinding. You peak over and see just as she’s dissolved into ground meat, which begins to populate on a conveyor on the opposite side.
"Incredible, isn't it? Now, let's get on with the tour - but first - let's have you partner up, for SAFETY, of course! Remember – your partner is responsible for making sure NO accidents happen to either one of you!”
[[Choose Charlene. Sure, she's made it clear she plans to eat you, but unless there's a Scarlett sized oven in here, you're probably safe.->Charlene leash]]
[[Choose Brendan. You're convinced he tried to have you slaughtered at the restaurant, but you outsmarted him. You’ll make sure he doesn’t get another chance.->Brendan RIP]]
[[Choose Stephanie. She's been kind, sweet, and you owe her one. Besides, you have lunch plans, so she's invested to keep you safe.->Stephanie Pot Pie]]You run past the cracked side door, not trying to stumble into the kitchen of a restaurant. As you pass through trash cans, you kick them over, and watch as they tumble in his direction. He was REALLY close when you did this, you probably would've been caught in a few seconds if you hadn't done something.
He hurdles the obstacle you've put in front of him in a clumsy, but effective leap, landing right next to you. Just as you turn to run again, he grabs your wrist, pulls you into him, and wraps his rope around your neck. He very slowly chokes you away from consciousness, almost like he's enjoying watching you struggle and panic.
You try your best to get your feet moving. But, your lungs burn, and you were already exhausted from sprinting when he caught you. As your vision narrows, you’re aren’t sure if you’ll ever wake up, your last thought being...
*I’m snuffed.*
***
You awaken suddenly, in one of those jolt wakeups you've gotten when you've passed out from drinking too much. You try to get your barrings, as your vision is blurry, and notice that you're somehow standing up, even though you were sleeping a moment before.
You scan your surroundings, noting what looks like a studio apartment, but there's no bed. In fact, there's no comfort, no decoration, no life to this place. It's dark, it's drab, it feels more like a tomb than a place of residence.
You catch a smell in your nose, a gas scent. You look over and see a frying pan on a small burner, over a portable camping stove. It's just started to heat. You then nearly fall over when you see the same man - tall, slender, emotionless. He's sitting in a folding chair, watching you.
As you regain your balance, you suddenly notice you're standing on a stool. But, there's more to it. You're also being suspended by something, there's a force that's kept you upright this entire time. You slowly look up and notice that you're tied to the ceiling by a noose around your neck.
"Who are you?" You choke out, your voice feeling very strained by the pressure on your neck.
"Who I am...isn’t really important." He says, his interest in this question minimal, like he’s been asked so many times before.
"What...are you gonna do to me?" You start to shake, but you try to stay still, as the stool legs feel like they are going to crack and give way any second.
"Well...I prefer to snuff, then fuck, then eat. In that order."
He itches some dirt underneath a fingernail, and then looks over at the frying pan. It's getting hot.
"You have time for one more question."
"...why?"
He stands up, and walks over to a wall that resembles a black chalkboard. He slowly etches a line down the wall. You look at this morbid tally, it stood at 85. You are 86.
"I'm an insurance policy from your employer. Well, former employer...”
He slowly walks over.
"...in just a few minutes. She couldn’t exactly take the risk you’d come back, could she?"
He kicks the stool from under your feet, and you drop, your full weight suddenly supported by the noose around your neck.
You kick and swing wildly, frantically looking for a way out. But, there's nothing you can do. This is a very calculated house of death. Any potential errors are absent here, any opportunities for you to escape are accounted for. Many have come before you, and all have suffered the same end, in this exact order.
You were dead the moment you arrived here.
The last thing you see is him patiently waiting - like a diner waiting to be served his plate. Waiting for that blank stare and limpness he so prefers. You realize he’s going to fuck your corpse when you're gone. You hate that.
Just as your eyes roll back into your head, you see him slowly start to unzip his pants.
GAME OVER. YOU WERE SNUFFED.
Epilogue:
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The sound of your corpse being fucked echoes in the empty room, as your murderer roughly enjoys your still warm cunt. Well, enjoys is probably a strong word. He's more business like, more restrained. He's a methodical man, a man of routine. Everything he does is purposeful, he doesn't alter his routine even when small changes or decisions come up.
Once he's done, he slowly lowers you from the ceiling, as the frying pan starts to smoke. He drags you by the hair into the bathroom, your lifeless face staring blankly in defeat, a fresh load of his cum drying on your forehead.
To call this a bathroom is nearly a formality of what it once represented on the floorplan of this unit. The toilet, the bathtub are removed, the tile is stained and rotted. There’s just a hole in the ground, a showerhead, and a harness. He’s left the sink vanity, which has a collection of knives, a couple spices, and some olive oil.
He casually hangs you by your ankles, pulls your head back, and cuts your throat. He also slits your wrists and lets you bleed out.
He then looks you over, and uses the various knives he has in this room to make small cuts into you. He's not really interested in a full meal, just a taste of your various parts. So, he slices off some rump, some rib meat, some backstrap, and some thigh. He rinses them off in the sink, seasons them, and pours some oil in the pan, just at the exact moment the pan is heated to the ideal temperature. He nods, satisfied, at the exactness of his timing, his precision.
A loud sizzle fills the room as your dry, still warm meat hits the pan. He pauses for a second or two, and then goes to wash off his equipment, sorting it perfectly for his next victim. He's got everything set and in order just as you're ready to eat.
He casually eats while staring at the wall, his expression cold, thoughtless, indifferent. Once he's had his fill, he pulls out his phone and dials a number from memory, a number not saved as a contact.
The conversation overheard is only from his side. The words of the other person, and their identity, is lost.
“Hello? Well, I do like to be predictable. I’d say right on time.”
“Yes, well, I just happened to get to her first. I'd like to bring her in for verification and payment.”
“That's too bad. A live roast would've suited her.”
“Mm hmmm. Yes. My usual samples.”
“Above average, actually. Yes. Alright. First thing tomorrow morning I'll have her in your office.”
“Yes, give Morgan my regards. Goodbye for now.”
***
[[**CHECKPOINT: WEDNESDAY AM->Wed AM Good]]**