Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 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