EXTREME WARNING. This is intended for persons of 18 years of age or 
above. If you are not 18 then go away.

EXTREME WARNING. This story contains descriptions of violence, snuff, 
eroto-cannibalism and sexual acts. Do not read if these subjects are 
likely to offend.

EXTREME WARNING. In no way do I condone any of the anti-social behavior 
described in the story. This is an erotic fantasy, not to be confused 
with reality.



Please reply by preference to the newsgroup, or failing that to 
grim_williams@my-deja.com




The Feast of Purim
By Grim Williams


Series One, Part Eight


Guy swallowed hard, barely able to believe his good fortune at having 
two beautiful women on whom to focus his attention. 

"What will she do if I tip her?" he stammered, gazing longingly at the 
blonde waitress's huge breasts, while his fingers rubbed Ruth's aching 
nipple aggressively, pinching it to attention. 

He could think of lots of things that he would like her to do. A little 
stretching for a start, he thought hopefully. For there was no way that 
her fragile bikini could resist such pressure. He could imagine the 
straps snapping apart, and her heavy grateful bosoms tumbling loose. 
God. What a wonderful mental picture! If only...

The woman stood still and waited passively, her hands behind her back, 
accepting his hungry lascivious looks without any sign of a negative 
reaction. Her large breasts strained against the strings of the bikini 
top, the tiny yellow triangles fighting valiantly to carry their 
considerable burden. 

"What would you like her to do?" Ruth purred, slipping her own hand 
inside his shirt, reciprocating, feeling his strength and the bulk of 
his muscles. "She will do whatever you ask, for the right 
consideration. Anything. Nothing is out of bounds. What sort of things 
do you like? For a couple of shekels she would remove her top and serve 
us with her mammoth boobies swinging bare. You would like that, yes? 
I'm sure you would. For ten shekels you can order her to undress 
completely. Everything is for sale within the Butchery. Absolutely 
everything, if the price is right. For instance, what about her 
boobies? You could ask for her to be taken down to the stage, where 
they'll slice those beauties from her chest and cook them to whatever 
recipe you desire. Do you want them fried or broiled or roasted? You 
could even ask that she serve them to us herself. Anything is possible. 
Do you like her? What do you think? Would you like her to undress? Does 
she turn you on?"

She did. Very much so.

His eyes were flame with his lust. "Ten shekels," he groaned 
impetuously, reaching into his pockets and slamming the coins onto the 
table. "Ten shekels. Do it! I want her! Tell her to undress!"

Ruth fell back against him, finding his hardening cock with one hand 
and gripping it at its base, over his trousers. She pressed the fingers 
of her other hand against her own aching mound. Her eyes fluttered. 
"You tell her!" she breathed softly. "You're the boss now. In the 
Butchery the customer is king. His word is law. His slave girls must do 
whatever he orders. You tell her. You make her do it."

Guy bit his lip, enjoying the wonderful sensation of Ruth's fingers 
playing with his erection. He looked sternly at the blonde. She stood 
trembling, waiting, nervous. 

Shouting over the beat of the music, he commanded: "Take it off. Give 
me your bikini! Take it off, take it all off and give it to me. I want 
your clothes. I want them all."

The blonde had no choice but to obey. The punishment for disobeying the 
direct order of a paying customer was too calamitous to contemplate. 
First, she untied the little bow holding the string of her bikini top, 
and then, before dropping the tiny cups from her breasts, she undid the 
bow on her hips. She pulled both parts of the bikini from her body at 
virtually the same time, tossing them to the table, and then stood up 
straight, arching her back slightly, accepting the intensity of his 
gaze without a murmur.

Ruth's fingers slipped inside his trousers. They found his hot cock and 
closed over it fondly, stroking it gently. "God!" Guy muttered, his 
cock jerking upright. 

He stared greedily at this woman's straining bosoms. Everything was 
possible, that's what Ruth had said. This was certainly the place to 
be. The young blonde had big, firm bazookas that were as large as 
Esther's were small and puny. Fuck. These were tits. These were real, 
living tits. God Almighty. What he would give to be able to spear them 
through. Being in a Butchery was arousing within him those baser human 
emotions, magnifying and distorting them. God, how he wanted those 
breasts! He wanted to see this bitch bound and then prepared, cooked 
for his satisfaction, screaming in agony, begging for her orgasm.

His cock ached for it to happen. Ruth unfastened his trousers and 
gently extracted it, showing it to the blonde.

"How much?" he gasped. "How much does she cost?"

Seeing the desire in his face, the blonde flushed and immediately 
dropped her head. She'd seen that look before and knew exactly what it 
meant. She had also seen the huge erection emerge from his trousers, 
encouraged by the young mercenary. She wondered with a sharp shiver 
whether he could see her own excitement. She was sure that he must. She 
was bare now and had no way of hiding those signals that her body 
exuded. No way at all. 
 
But Ruth knew her secret. She had been in the blonde's position herself 
so many times herself and knew how arousing it was to stand naked in 
front of a man, completely open for his inspection and command. This 
woman's pussy lips would be hard and swollen and bulging with need, 
sweating with desire.

"Smell her panties," Ruth said malevolently, whipping the small yellow 
garment from off the table and pressing it against his nose. He sniffed 
the crotch, inhaling deeply, suddenly looking at the blonde with a 
completely new light. 

She blushed. Now he knew. He knew. "See how much she yearns to be eaten 
by a man," Ruth purred seductively, rubbing herself against him, 
kissing his shirt. "It's the way we are, us ladies. It's the way all 
women are. Something snaps within us as soon as we enter the Butchery. 
We can't help it. We yearn so much to be stripped naked and then cooked 
and eaten, to feel the heat of the flames and the gutting knife 
penetrating our bellies, twisting in our gut. It's the way the Great 
Zodiac made us. It made us to be abused by man."

"God!" Guy muttered, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensations 
coming from his dick, inciting them further by thrusting his mighty 
pole against her. Ruth whimpered softly, lifting his shirt with her 
free hand, kissing his chest and his stomach.

In the shadows of the darkness of his mind he saw that something was 
moving. What was it? Was it a dream, or was it real? He saw a woman's 
slender neck lying prostrate across a bloodstained log, and a mighty 
man holding a lifted sword. The man's top was bare and broad and hairy 
and his lower half bulged from his tight black trousers. His face was 
masked with a black hood and his muscles rippled in waves. Guy couldn't 
see the woman properly, only the back of her head, her hair pulled into 
an untidy bun, and her lily white neck, stretched and still, waiting 
for the sword to strike.

All around, there were people: expectant, watchful.

"Esther!" Guy exclaimed aloud, opening his eyes as if startled from a 
trance. The naked blonde waitress was no longer in front of him. She 
had gone to fetch the drinks, leaving her string bikini discarded on 
the table.

Ruth moaned suggestively, rubbing her front against his muscular 
stomach. "You mustn't worry your head about Esther," she sighed 
languidly, licking each of his nipples in turn, while continuing to 
fondle his great, thick angry piece of meat. "Esther will love it here, 
in the kitchen. I know she will. All women do. It's the way we are. 
It's a place of ultimate fulfillment."

But Esther's familiar disapproving face was haunting Guy's overwrought 
imagination, pricking his conscience.
 
He screwed up his face in alarm. "But I do worry... How can I not?"

"Then don't."

"But what about your shefriend? Doesn't she worry? I'm sure she must 
also worry..."

"She doesn't know," Ruth replied simply, sitting up. "You see, I 
haven't told her. Would you like me to undress?"

"Doesn't know?" Guy exclaimed wondrously, hypnotized by the 
repetitious, overpowering drumbeat. "How can you keep from her that 
you're a Carcass of Fortune? It isn't something you can exactly hide! 
What will she think the night you don't come home?"

"M. Hegai will tell her," Ruth replied easily, facing him, rubbing her 
breasts through the satin of her gown with the palms of her hands. She 
shuddered with arousal. "It's all part of the arrangement," she 
continued, becoming a little agitated. "I've written a farewell letter 
to her, and M. Hegai will deliver it for me. It says how much I've 
enjoyed my time here. How I long to feel the spit penetrating my ass. 
Every night before coming to work, I clean myself out. I go to the 
kitchen and ask for the enema. You see, I don't want anything to 
interfere with the satisfaction of that final moment. Would you like to 
buy me? It would give me such a wonderful climax to know that I was 
going to be served at your table, to know that your strong masculine 
hands would rip my tender titties from my chest. That my sweet flesh 
would be teased and stretched within your firm mouth..."
 
Guy swallowed hard. The woman was so appetizing, he could swear that he 
could smell her aroma: roasted and sizzling and ready for eating. "So 
how much are you?" he gulped. He was sure that even after the sale of 
the dams, he wouldn't have enough.

"Let's not talk about money," she cooed suggestively. "This is not the 
moment. The question is: would you like me?"

"Of course." 

How could he not?

She tipped her head slightly to the side. "Truly?"

Taking her hand, he guided her slender fingers back to his throbbing 
tool. "Feel me," he said hoarsely, scuffing her fingertips over his 
foreskin. "Feel that! A hard cock never lies."

She pinched the tip of his knob gently, leaning forward to rub herself 
against him again. "Then I am yours," she declared. "I give myself. 
Please. Take me."

Before Guy could respond, one way or the other, the blonde returned 
with the drinks: three whiskey glasses, each filled to about an inch 
with amber fluid. She had also found some pearls from somewhere. 
They were fake, obviously. There were several strands hanging over 
her breasts to her waist. She reached across the table, her 
beautiful bare hooters almost falling into Guy's face the pearls 
dropping into his lap. For the first time he noticed that her 
two pink nipples were each very hard and long. 

And her hands were shaking.

Carefully, she took one glass from her silver tray and placed it in 
front of Guy and a second she placed in front of Ruth.

Guy thanked her, staring greedily at her wonderful naked titties, decorated so beautifully by the strings of ivory. He picked up the drink and drained it. 

"Pheww!" he spluttered, beginning to cough. "That was strong! What is 
it?"

Neither girl answered. Instead, Ruth drank her drink, and as soon as it 
was gone, the waitress handed her the third and final glass from the 
tray. Ruth took it gratefully, and lifting her graceful neck, swallowed 
it down.

Guy looked with consternation from one woman to the other. What was 
going on here?  "Would you like another?" the waitress asked solemnly.

She spoke with great earnestness, her nipples dancing in little figures 
of eight. "Yes, please." Ruth replied nervously. "A double. Dutch 
courage, eh?"

"And one for me, too," Guy added, with great sarcasm, irritated. "If 
that's okay with everyone? Am I allowed a drink too?"

The blonde blushed bright red at once. She nodded quickly, nervously, 
and then left, her bare butt swaying anxiously.

"You mustn't judge her too harshly," Ruth reassured him, fondling his 
balls lovingly, teasing him, making him guess a little. "She's new 
here. Okay, she slipped up. We all do it from time to time. But that's 
not so very terrible. You see, she'll want to make up for her mistake, 
she'll want to do her best now to please you, and you will like that. 
You'll like it a lot. Yes?"

Guy scowled at her dubiously. Maybe.

On the stage, the second dam was now to be cooked. 

The chef announced on the public address system that her name was 
Annie, and that she was just sixteen years of age. All four limbs were 
still available at five hundred and fifty shekels per kilo. She was a 
snip, he said, because Annie was going to be butchered organically, 
without the aid of drugs.

There was an audible murmur of approval, followed by applause.

Annie didn't seem to appreciate the privilege of being butchered 
organically. She was sobbing hysterically in the second chair, begging 
for a draft, just one small one to help with the pain. 

Ruth winced. "God! That's cheap! Five hundred and fifty shekels! I hope 
I don't have to wait until I'm that cheap. It would be so embarrassing. 
How come she's so cheap? Where are the buyers? Why are there no buyers? 
Doesn't anyone eat meat anymore?"

The blonde waitress returned, and quietly slid another glass in 
front of Ruth, a bigger glass this time, almost filled to the brim 
with the familiar amber liquid.

And one for Guy.

"She looks good to me," Guy decreed, joining in the general applause. 
He watched with unashamed voyeurism as their waitress walked shyly from 
their table. She would want to make good, eh? He followed the crack of 
her butt to where it joined the vee of her legs. Maybe things weren't 
so bad.

"What do you reckon?" he asked. "Should I buy in for a couple of kilos? 
Annie's legs maybe. I really fancy a bit of that thigh!"

Ruth drained her glass, making sure she'd imbibed down to the very last 
drop. "If you do," she said darkly as her body began to lubricate. 
"Then you must use my belly as your dinner plate." She kissed him 
urgently and repeatedly on the neck. "And my cunt must be your cup. You 
must fill my vagina with your wine and then lick Annie's gravy from the 
crevice of my belly button. Make me feel your hunger, kind master, and 
your desire. Can you do that?"

She had his cock once again and held it firmly, rubbing at it urgently. 
It bucked in her grip, jerking with excitement. 

On the stage, the chef was dancing towards Annie to the ironic thump of 
the drums. The young dam's grip upon her chair became frenzied and 
desperate. She'd already seen the suffering of her companion and heard 
those horrible inhuman cries before she'd died. She wailed horribly as 
he waved an ironic goodbye to her, pulling the lever controlling the 
fatal mechanism. The chair jerked forward, throwing Annie sprawling 
into the waters of the cooking pot.

There was a splash as she hit the surface and then submerged beneath 
it, little bubbles racing from her skin to the surface, clouding the 
crystal clear water for a moment. She touched the bottom and then 
struck out, her head bobbing up out of the water. She came up 
screaming, yelling, panicking. But this was blind fear expressing its 
instinctive voice. Her conscious mind had still to realize that the 
water was cold, not hot. Boiling water is not a good crowd pleaser. Her 
job was to entertain the customers, to tease and to tempt. This water 
was being brought to the boil from cold and it wasn't even steaming 
yet.

Her long brown hair clung to her face and shoulders. Her painted lips 
and eyes glistened with the sparkle of the water.

Ruth's face had flushed bright red by now. Her fingers were shaking and 
her eyes were downcast.

"If that were me up there," she said, her voice crackling with 
intensity, barely able to control her emotions. "If it were me being 
cooked tonight, then how would you like me cooked? Would you like me 
boiled like that, like Annie, or would you choose another way?"

Guy regarded her darkly, feeling her yearning and her fear. His face 
clouded over and became black with menace. His eyes closed to slits. 
His cock was so hard. He felt such an animal passion. "I would like to 
see you roasted," he hissed, with an audible intensity that made her 
quiver with excitement. "I would like to see you trussed on a platter, 
well stuffed, and with a garnish of watercress peeking from your pussy. 
That's what I would like."

She pushed away her empty glass. Her hand was shaking. "Come," she 
said, letting go of Guy's cock and jumping to her feet. Her legs were 
as jelly; they would barely carry her. She pulled him after her. His 
cock sprang to the vertical in front of him, bouncing around like an 
insane jack in the box.

"What? Where are we going?" he cried, following her reluctantly, 
hastily pressing his unwieldy penis back into his trousers before 
anyone else could see. He cursed her under his breath for exciting him 
so much and then leaving him unfulfilled.

"We must buy you dinner!" she stuttered hoarsely. "God! Roast dam! 
You're hungry. You must eat!"



End of Series One, Part Eight

