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 Ten

Roasted, stuffed and garnished with water-cress!

The words took Guy's breath away. That was exactly what he'd told Ruth when she'd inquired how he would like to see her cooked. Was it coincidence, or had Ruth told the chef what he'd said to her? He didn't like coincidences. They made him suspicious. Guy wondered how much of the extravaganza and the spectacle of the Butchery for real, and how much was just show, stage-managed to keep the punters amused and excited.

Annie, for instance, who was fast losing her fight for life. The water in her pot was hot now. In fact, it was scalding her. Her skin was red and blotchy, with a broad patchwork of little white blisters. Her back was bent forward, curved, with her head uppermost, and she was sliding down into the water. She was no longer fighting, no longer resisting. But had her struggle been for real? Or had she simply been playing a part for monetary reward? Screaming and hollering just to keep the customers engrossed? Guy no longer knew.

He watched her suspiciously. The water was now at crisis point, and Annie seemed more concerned with jerking herself off one final time than in staying afloat. Her hand was buried inside her bare painted cunt and she was fisting herself to a climax, slipping away, dying, no longer caring for anything but her own pleasure.

But of course, this was hardly surprising for a dam nearing her end. After all, she was a woman, and we all know what women are like...

"Roast Dam," the chef repeated dramatically, accepting the cheers and the whistles of all around him. "With bread, gravy, chips and salad. How does that sound? Who's hungry?"

"I am," Ruth quipped feistily, but sadly, kneeling on all fours on the steel table, her legs spread apart the regulation distance. One of the maids attached a black, plastic hose to Ruth's anus, greasing the nozzle and carefully pushing it in. Ruth grimaced, catching her breath. "I wish I could try a little," she continued, wincing. "It would be nice to know that my meat is tender. I would hate for anyone to think me fatty, or tough or gristly."

She left out the one concern that really bothered her, that she would hate for anyone to think that she hadn't been orgasmic...

The maid turned on the tap. She pumped several liters of warm, soapy water into Ruth's bowels, cleaning out her insides and making her flinch. Ruth had already done this herself before meeting Guy at his motor, but, even so, it would be done again. The chef was a great lover of show, and the enema pleased his customers.

In fact, they kept swiveling the table back and forth so that clients sitting on the opposite side of the amphitheater wouldn't miss out. Ruth's belly had swollen visibly, making her appear several months pregnant. "The best view is from the rear," the chef said, sharpening his knives once more on his heavy strap. They made a serrated rasping sound each time he drew the blade across the strap that went right through Ruth, making her shiver. "Don't be shy. Take a good look, everyone. Use your binoculars, it's what they're there for. After all, she's only meat now."

The second maid was patiently braiding Ruth's hair. She plaited it into a hundred tiny tresses, sealing the end of each with a ribbon of girl gut taken from a bowl. Gut is generally viewed as a waste product in a Butchery: every cooked dam produces half a bucket of the stuff, and chefs are always inventing novel ways of disposing of it. This had been cut in the kitchen into six-inch lengths, dried, and then dyed seven different colors. This decoration gave Ruth the peculiar appearance of a tamed Medusa, suddenly plucked from a carnival at which she'd been performing and deposited upon the table.

Her gorgeous breasts hung down under her body, swinging jerkily as the maid pulled the plug from her ass. Ruth gasped from thankful relief, and her swollen torso now emptied itself of the soapy liquid that had cramped her lower body. It squirted from her ass hole in a high-pressure stream, gushing out in a flood and splashing noisily into a steel bucket prudently sited between Ruth's thighs. 

She was a picture, beautiful, sexy, and exotic.

"That's how I want to go," exclaimed the blonde waitress xcitedly. "Not screaming and shouting like some I could mention, but a lady, a performer, a star!"

She moved onto her haunches, kneeling on all fours upon the leather sofa, carefully mirroring Ruth's obscene pose on the butcher's table. "I'm technically a virgin, sir," she said invitingly, facing Guy and sucking lustily upon his rock hard cock, slurping over it as she spoke. "If you wish to use me in any other way, in any way at all, front or back, sir, then I would feel greatly privileged. I'm most particular. My ass is clean enough to eat; so it's certainly clean enough to accept your manly seed. I would be most honored if you would fuck it, sir. Please. I'm sure I won't disappoint."

Guy wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepted her invitation at once. After all the stimulation of Ruth and now this girl, his cock was aching for release. He moved round the waitress to her rear, spreading her tight cheeks, searching for her hole in the dim shadows of the floodlights illuminating the stage. He found it and pressed his knob firmly against the sphincter.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you, sir!" she gasped, feeling such strange erotic sensations, all new and uncharted.

She couldn't wait.

She pushed her buttocks back, spearing herself on Guy's hot, boiling truncheon, panting as he slowly stretched her insides with it, wider and wider, filling the whole of her rectum, stretching her wide. 

"Please sir," she muttered deliriously, taking her weight on one hand and using the other to stroke her underbelly, finding her mound, pressing a single digit hard against her clit, rubbing it ruthlessly. 

"Oh, God, sir. If I may so bold... You don't know... you don't know what that does to me..."

She looked up. Her eyes were moist and glazed over. On the stage, the first maid had waited until the river spurting from Ruth's behind had slowed to a trickle. She had then reinserted it, hosing out Ruth's insides for a second time, filling her yet again. At the other end, the second maid continued to attend upon Ruth's hair, while the third now stepped forward and began applying copious quantities of makeup to Ruth's fresh face: bright pinks and blues; whites and dusky browns.

"Once more," the chef told the maid with the hose, examining the effluent filling the bucket. "Rinse her out one more time, please. The water should come out quite clear, no hint of color. This is a quality establishment after all."

The second girl, the one who had braided Ruth's hair was now greasing it, gently massaging her head, working the heavy oil into her scalp, into the tens of tiny plaits.

"I want a last fuck," Ruth said uncertainly, still worrying about the oven. She fell from her hands to her forearms. The tips of her breasts touched the stainless steel of the table, her nipples freezing and swelling at the contact. "Who'll fuck me? Somebody, please! I want to be orgasmic when the flames roast my flesh. I have to be. Everyone knows that orgasmic meat is best. But I need to be in the right mood, I need someone to help me get in the mood..."

She wriggled uncomfortably as the maid took a firm grip of her ass, and inserted the pointed nozzle into its hole for a third and final time, doing so roughly, awkwardly. This time the water wasn't just warm when the tap was turned on: it was hot. Ruth winced as it blasted her insides, cleaning out the very last vestiges of her dirt and her shit. 

It was a fire within her, hot, burning, swelling her up until she was at the point of bursting.

"Oh God!" she cried, biting into her wrist to control the pain.

"I have the perfect lover to arouse your lust," said the chef, stepping forward into her line of sight, carefully hiding his callous smile. "Not a man, and not a woman either." 

He had two large carrots in his hand, two long, thick, ugly vegetables! They were washed, but still had their green, bushy tops intact. He held them out for her to see. 

"These will stay harder much longer than any man's dong," he smirked.

Ruth groaned. "But I don't want a dildo!" she exclaimed frenziedly, suddenly sighing with frustrated relief as the maid released the nozzle from her anus and all the hot burning water flooded out into the bucket. She fought herself for control. "Not a dildo. And not a man either. Not for my final fuck. Please, sir. I think I'm going to need some help. Since it isn't possible to have the one I would prefer, Deborah, my shefriend - I know that would be impossible - what about one of these maids? Any of them could help me."

The maid waited for Ruth's ass to stop dripping and then held the bucket for the chef to examine. The water was steaming and soapy, but otherwise clear. The chef looked inside, examined it, and then nodded with approval.

"But you're rather presumptuous," he said coldly, moving back to stand by Ruth's ass, inspecting it carefully. It was wet from all the water, soapy bubbles running across her cheeks. He placed a hand at the base of her spine, holding her steady, examining her puffy vaginal purse. 

"I understand that girl's sometimes feel the need of a little friction," he observed absently. "Something to rub against. But I see no reason why I should corrupt these maids by allowing them to serve your petty whims. My vegetables are quite adequate I think you'll find." 

So saying, he slammed one of the two carrots up Ruth's ass, twisting it as he did so, forcing it in, pushing it until nothing remained but its lush green foliage, poking cheekily from between her two buttocks.

The abruptness of his action caused Ruth to howl out in pain. She tried to reach behind herself to pull out the phallic invader. Her groping hand grasped for the carrot, groped for it, but neither the chef nor the maids would allow her to remove it, slapping away her hand.

"Now, now!" the chef declared icily slapping her with the flat of his knife. "An orgasm is an orgasm. Man, woman, vegetable, whatever its inspiration, where's the difference? Whatever its cause, the effect is the same, a darker meat with a stronger flavor. No, my dear. We shall not pleasure you by hand. You will do it for yourself in the oven, as dams have done before you for time immemorial. As your flesh roasts, your juices will run and your clit will burn with desire, compelling you to perform your danse macabre for us.

He thrust the other carrot into her pussy, again leaving the greenery to protrude from the hole. On an impulse, he pushed it in and out a couple of times, slowly, teasing her, making sure that it couldn't go any deeper. Each time it came out, he noticed that it was coated ever more abundantly with her wetness.

This amused him. "In fact," he observed wryly, continuing to manipulate the carrot within her cunt, seeing how moist she was becoming. "I see that your juices are already running. Your buyer, I believe, has bought himself a bargain. I wonder if he knows it yet." 

As an aside to the maids, he added, "Turn her over. Let's not waste any more time. Get her ready for the oven."

Ruth groaned as she was forced onto her back and maneuvered into the center of the butchering table. Very quickly, without comment, the maids began fastening her arms and legs to the corners of the table in the manner they had been trained.

"I bet she screams when they open her up," the blonde waitress moaned contentedly, the words syrupy with desire. Guy's cock was deep within her ass, lighting the fuse paper of her passion. She held him there, very slowly squeezing, shuffling to pull him even deeper. 

He pulled away.

"I will scream," she added, furiously stroking underneath the hood of her clit with her wet finger. "When they do it to me." She pushed her butt gingerly backwards, trying to impale herself yet again on Guy's manhood, needing him to fill her clean ass to the brim. "I know I'll scream when I lie on that table, when the knife punctures my belly and opens me as wide as a blue shark's grin." 

She shuddered. At that moment she would gladly have swapped places with the beautiful Virgo on the stage. The thought of them butchering her: stripping her, preparing her, cooking her; all in front of so many men, was blowing her mind.

God. They had tied Ruth now. She lay spread-eagled and helpless in the center of the steel table, occasionally testing her bonds, feeling their tightness, knowing full well that shortly she would test these knots to the limit. She would. She knew that she would. It was inevitable: when they cut her open. 

The carrot protruded uncomfortably from her ass, its greenery sandwiched between her butt and the icy cold table. It was pressing painfully into her rectum. The other carrot didn't hurt as much, but was more embarrassing. She knew how she must look with it sticking out like that, cheap and obscene, the green shoots poking suggestively out of her pussy. How the customers would like that, looking at her through their binoculars! How it would turn them on!

The carrots tickled. Ruth squirmed awkwardly, trying to make herself more comfortable, but if anything this made the itch ten times worse. It wasn't unpleasant, no, not at all. It was just...

God. How humiliating. She could see herself in her mind's eye, lying on a cooking tray in the oven, using the carrots to bring herself to a climax; wriggling about like a demon, perspiring, sweating, desperate for a climax, just one, please, one, before the end. The thought made her blush. God. Would she really do that? Could she? 

But she knew that she would. Dams always did. She had seen them often, watched their moment of ultimate fulfillment, seconds before they expired.

The idea made her embarrassed. But at least her embarrassment was hidden from the crowd by her makeup. If only she could be similarly spared in the oven, instead of being so lewdly on display. When cooking, there is no place for a dam to hide.

"You look wonderful!" exclaimed the chef, standing over her. His big butcher's knife was in his hand and a maid stood by his side with an empty bucket at the ready. The music suddenly got louder, more strident, more raucous, anticipating what he was about to do.

Ruth squeezed hard on the carrots between her legs. It brought a little comfort, somehow. She was frightened, scared, with the blade of the knife hovering above her stomach, preparing for work.

"Please," she begged, shutting her eyes, gripping the ropes, bearing down shamelessly upon the carrots. "Please..."

"Please?" he asked with a sly grin. "Please, what?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't. She was a mercenary, a Carcass of Fortune. She was being paid for this. Deborah would be free of money worries. She would never have to worry again. The man, Guy, would pay with the money from his dams...

Her contract was about to be kept. This was it. So frightened. She shouldn't be, but she was. This, this, this, was finally it. God. What was he waiting for? But she was glad that he was. May he wait forever. May he never do it. May a savior pluck her from the table and whisk her to safety. May he wait until the great Zodiac ceased revolving! May he...

Fuck.

The knife plunged into Ruth's middle with a deftness that came from years of experience. One moment, her stomach was sound and whole and supple, the next it had been ripped apart from diaphragm to within a mere centimeter of the puffiness of her mound. The cut zigzagged about her navel, forming the angular shape of a large bold '<'.

Almost before Ruth had realized that it had happened, one of the maids had pulled open the loose flap of skin and muscle, plunging her hands inside the opening. A moment later out came a handful of Ruth's intestine, red, bloody tripe, and the maid was tossing it into a bucket.

Ruth felt shock, but no pain. Her endorphins and the drugged cocktail given her earlier by the blonde waitress combined to suppress the immediate misery. Ruth gazed at the horror of her own stomach in disbelief, unable to mentally accept the bloody mess that she saw.

Then she looked down at the bucket. Was that really her, quivering in that bloody, watery pile? After all the anticipation and the preparation, had it really been accomplished? Had it?

And the answer, of course, was yes, that it had.

She had to repeat that thought several times before she could finally believe it. She had been gutted. Actually gutted. Like a dumb pig!

The maid's hands were bloody too, red from her complicity in this awful deed, dripping scarlet. She picked up a small pair of scissors and cut the thin cord that connected the contents of her bucket to Ruth's belly, like a midwife delivering a baby, freeing either end of Ruth's gut from its attachment.

"Oh God!" Ruth gasped, gripping her restraints, and forcing into them the agony and the fire now building within her stomach. Her brow was burning, the sweat sitting upon her face, flooding her cheeks. She forced the pain into her groin, into the unyielding vegetables filling her abdomen, squeezing them, gripping them tight. "God. Oh God. I'm history," she panicked. "I'm dead. I'm breathing but I'm dead. There's no point in worrying now. No hope. I'm already as good as on the plate."



End of Series One, Part Ten


