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Ship's Rations
by TheKnecht (address withheld)

***

Castaway on the wreck of their boat, with all their 
food swept away, a man and a woman seem doomed to die 
of hunger before they drift ashore. But really, there 
IS meat aboard, isn't there? (MF, tor, can, v, nec, 
rom)

***

And I tell you, the next time I go on a long ocean 
voyage, I'm resolved to bring more food...

When it hit us, we were several hundred miles west of 
Hawaii, heading for Japan. We - my girlfriend Lena and 
I - were transferring a midsized motor launch to a rich 
client in Japan. The passage was expected to take only 
two weeks, the strong engines easily up to the task.

Only two days out from Hawaii, though, the first 
calamity struck. I was dozing at the command post, just 
keeping the usual half-awake night watch out on the 
open sea, when the engines rumbled and suddenly died. 
Then I smelled something strange. Rooting around at the 
back of the ship, I opened one of the coverings above 
the engines. First mistake. The cable fire smoldering 
below leapt into open flame almost immediately.

We fought that bastard of a fire with a vengeance and 
several powder extinguishers. When you are far, far 
away from land, on a ship with almost a ton of easily 
combustible fuel, you kinda know what's at stake.

But cable duct fires are tenacious, and by the time we 
had extinguished it, our ship was a total wreck. 
Engines, steering, electric power, all gone. The fire-
damaged engines might have been repaired by a competent 
mechanic (which I was) if he'd had some spares and the 
necessary tools. I had neither, not of the order needed 
for this work.

Worse was that the fire had also reached our radio 
installation and reduced it to melted plastic and metal 
scrap. So we were mute in addition to lame. 

We tried to jury-rig a sail, and I found myself cursing 
all the time at the fact that we were on a lumbering 
(now that the Kawasaki engines were useless) hulk of a 
motor yacht. On a sailing ship, we'd simply turned 
around and been back at Hawaii in a few days.

Not only didn't we have almost nothing to work with to 
build that sail, if we ever managed to make one, we 
would barely be able to tack against the wind, and both 
water and air were tending west in these seas, taking 
us further away.

The yacht was still mainly unfurnished and unequipped 
inside, due to the fact that the interior work - luxury 
stuff - was only supposed to go in, in Japan. In fact, 
the yacht (which we had simply christened it 'Nameless' 
for our voyage) was a rush job. Probably why the cable 
fire had happened in first place. Shoddy work for a 
client who hadn't wanted to wait.

So we drifted slowly west. But we were not really 
bothered yet. We had enough supplies aboard to last us 
two or three months. We had an emergency beacon (short-
range only, but powerful enough to make any passing 
ship or rescue plane notice us). We even had a handheld 
GPS, so we knew where we were. With the strong ship 
traffic in this area, we'd be found in a few weeks at 
most, at latest after we became overdue in Japan.

So we settled in for the duration, spending our time 
not that much differently from the planned-for journey. 
Reading a lot of books, screwing our brains out at all 
time, joking about our adventure.

Only no one found us in those first days, and then the 
storm came.

* * *

If you have never been at sea during a storm, you have 
missed something. If you have never been at sea during 
a storm on a motor yacht, lumbering about without 
steering, without a deep keel to keep her steady, you 
are blessed.

We had rigged a big steering oar from some metal poles 
and fixed it to the boats stern with ropes. The power 
steering was useless, obviously. 

The thing during a storm is to keep your ship at a 
ninety-degree angle to the wave-crests. If you get 
turned sideways, the breakers will roll over you, and 
possibly capsize your ship. On a motor yacht, that will 
usually mean you stay upside-down, a death sentence in 
such a storm. So we fought to keep her stern to the 
wave.

Soon the storm was strong enough to move us forward at 
six or seven knots, which is fast if you don't have any 
sails. But our two-level upper structure was large 
enough to provide quite some drag for the howling 
winds.

Still, we weren't fast enough to outdistance the waves 
following us on our mad rush south-west. Every once in 
a while, one would hit us from the aft, breaking over 
us and almost skewing us out of our path as it hit the 
superstructure. Not to mention almost drown the poor 
wretch lashed fast to the steering oar, trying to keep 
us level. We couldn't work the oar from inside the 
cabin, so one of us was always stuck outside, fighting 
the elements.

I don't think it would have made any difference if I 
had been at the helm during the moment when the second 
calamity struck, after two full days of storm. Lena got 
hit by a ferocious wave, got knocked with her head onto 
the oar, and was out for a few moments.

Long enough for the ship to get turned sideways, and 
the second monster wave to hit our superstructure full 
on broadside, just as it broke.

I awoke from my fatigue-induced stupor down below to an 
enormous tearing crash, and to see the water rushing 
inside the ship proper through the break. The pale 
light of what would otherwise have been day shone 
inside. I was holding on to a handrail in rapt 
fascination, for I realized that our whole top deck had 
been sheared away. It was only a fiberglass structure 
bolted onto the steel hull, and so we had suddenly lost 
it all, swept into the sea.

To my relief, Lena had been almost unscathed, something 
which I realized only after fighting to turn the ship 
back onto its path, and then, I regret to say, kicking 
her a few times until she came to. I was not thinking 
all too clearly.

Suffice it to say that the rest of the final day of the 
storm were - obviously - even worse than the first two 
days. We roughly closed the gap in the decking with 
some planks (thankfully, the only connection was a 
large hatchway - if it had been fully open under the 
superstructure, we would have been swamped and sunk in 
minutes). One of us was always working the pumps. hand-
pumps, obviously.

The next morning, the storm broke, and we went back to 
drifting rather idly on the still choppy seas, dazed in 
body and spirit and ship. We only took stock of our 
fate after almost a day or so of coma-like sleep.

* * *

We had lost almost everything that we had. From well-
equipped castaways, we had become paupers in a night. 
For like fools, we had stored most of our equipment and 
almost all of our supplies in the superstructure, the 
only part of the boat that was partly furnished. Now 
all of our food was gone, and our emergency beacon was 
gone as well.

We took heart from the fact that we had survived, and 
that our water supply was still safe, deep down in the 
hold, in the steel tanks. Humans are tough - if they 
have water and shelter, they can survive months.

However, our GPS also showed us that we had been swept 
clear of all shipping lanes, far to the south of where 
we would have gone normally. It would be a long, long 
drift south-west. If nobody found us, our ship would 
someday reach the coasts of Vietnam or the Philippines. 
In months.

The next part of our 'adventure' would make a rather 
boring story. We went on as we were, trying to keep us 
hopeful and occupied (sex figured a lot, sometimes 
violently, when we got frustrated), drifting slowly 
southwest, at barely more than 1-2 knots most of the 
time. We saw nobody, and we grew very, very hungry.

We had one more storm during that time. 'Nameless' was 
actually better equipped to handle it this time. With 
the superstructure gone, we had a lower center of 
gravity, less drag for the wind and less area for the 
waves to hit us on. The hatchway was well fixed with 
what we had scrounged up. We weathered it okay, even 
though we were already much weaker. Hunger was closing 
in strongly, especially on me.

* * *

We saw no ships. Not even a gull. Fishing turned out to 
be fruitless, as we had no bait, and no takers. The sea 
seemed as empty and flat as a mathematical plane, a 
symbolic abstraction of reality. Or unreality. We 
usually went around naked, as the heat was often very 
oppressive.

After almost a month of this, we realized that we were 
not going to make it this way. We had gone barely a 
third of the way to the next land, and I was starving. 
Only I? Well, Lena wasn't as doing as badly as I.

Lena (a brunette, her hair usually fixed in a loose 
ponytail) had always been a rather plump girl. Not 
overweight, but well-proportioned. Small, lots of 
curves, nice big titties, She had a beautiful, wide 
ass, which she called fat - even though I loved it, 
whether fucking it, or punishing it during one of our 
more violent games. 

Me, though, I have always been a very thin fellow, and 
while Lena was approaching her figure ideal, I was 
getting even thinner. She was full of guilt about it, 
but couldn't do anything. She even made me punish her 
during sex, for being a 'fat selfish cow'. Knowing she 
had always liked some pain with her pleasure, and not 
being in all that a good mood, I used the opportunity 
quite heavily during some of those sweltering nights. 
We really didn't need an emergency call beacon - with 
her shrill screams of pain and ecstasy ringing out for 
miles and miles, and for hours and hours.


* * *

A week later, we had the quintessential castaway's 
tragic moment. Far away on the horizon, we saw a big 
container ship go by. But there was no way to make them 
see us, and by the time we had a small smoky fire 
going, they were gone in the evening's gloom.

We sat there at the edge of the ship, and I, in half-
starved madness and exhaustion, thought about giving 
up. Lena placed her arm about me and leaned close. 
Sighing, she said, "Well, if this goes on like that, 
you'll just have to eat me after all!"

Realizing what she had said, she gulped, but didn't say 
anything more as I turned to her, looking her over. She 
was still curvaceous, though more fit than plump now. 
My stomach had stopped grumbling, but not my inner 
hunger.

That night, we played out that particular fantasy. As 
we had done so often before - though not on this 
journey since the fire. It would have seemed rather 
tasteless, but this time, I didn't ask and she didn't 
complain. Not more than usually, and no less excitedly, 
that is.

As I lay next to her still tightly-bound body 
afterward, I looked her over with an appraising eye. 
She was bound like a piggy for roasting, kneeling bent 
over with her arms bound in front of her. In place of 
the apple I usually forced between her teeth during the 
game, she carried a ball of stiff rubber I had dragged 
up from the bilge somewhere. Instead of the usual 
carrot in her ass, I had first used my cock and later a 
wooden dowel to which I had whimsically tied some 
streamers of paper.

She watched me watching her out of the corner of her 
eye and gulped. Today, the game had been a lot more 
serious than usual. When I had placed the (blunt) knife 
to her private parts, or played it around her throat, 
she had shuddered like the first time we had enacted 
this tableau.

But she had come as violently as ever.

Now I lay beside her on our bed in the hold, and let my 
hand roam over her succulent flesh, so tasty, and felt 
my hunger growl inside me. I squeezed her tit hard. 
Wasn't she mine? My fingers roamed the moist stretches 
of her shaved pussy. She had said that she was mine, 
soul and body, hadn't she? I felt a desire to bite her 
warm meat and chew down, and not stop like I did during 
the game. To eat.

I looked her in the eyes. She realized my thoughts, and 
her body shuddered in... fear? But she did not look 
away. She seemed willing to accept whatever I decided. 

I dropped my hand from her juicy, appetizing pussy and 
turned around to go to sleep. That too was part of the 
game, her not having any say about how long she would 
stay bound.

Sometime during the night, I untied her.







* * *

We had not talked about it for a few days, but one 
afternoon, she came to sit next to me on the shade of 
our jury-rigged sunscreen on deck.

"I did not think you would untie me again... that 
time." she said, no reproach in her voice. She laid her 
arm around me. "I thought you would do it. You looked 
so hungry."

I nodded, but then looked at her and shook my head 
sadly. "I wanted to. But I couldn't do that. It 
wouldn't be fair." 

She shook her head decisively. "No. It's not fair that 
you starve to death while I feel fine. I have decided. 
You can do it. You can... eat me."

I looked at her, shocked. "No!" I said. "I do not want 
to lose..."

"Sssshhh!" she said, putting a finger to my lips. "You 
do not have to kill me. Just, well, you could take one 
of my legs..."

I could not resist looking down at her legs. Visions of 
those doe-like flanks on a barbeque suddenly made my 
mouth water.

But I resisted again. "No." I said, but weaker this 
time.

"Okay. Not yet. Wait a few more days. If we have not 
been rescued yet then, I give you permission to do it, 
before you become too weak. You do not have to ask me 
again. Simply take what you need." she said, with full 
sincerity.

I watched her a lot during the next few days, and she 
realized that. In fact, it seemed that she was often 
posing for me, showing off her wonderful legs, letting 
them dangle in my sight. Like an advertisement - an 
enticement - for a butcher.

No ships came. 

* * *

On a Friday, I told her that I would do it: "But we 
have no drugs or even alcohol to put you out for the 
operation." I said. "And..." I gulped. "We do not even 
have an axe or a machete." I added. "I will have to use 
a saw." I was sure she would retract her promise then.

She did not. "Tie me down securely. Then you fuck me 
until I am swimming in orgasms. Then - you do it." she 
said, again looking me fully into the eyes.

So I tied her down on top of the hull, on her back, 
fixing her as tight as I could. I splayed her legs wide 
open, resting one - the food - on a raised bulkhead. I 
forced the rubber ball deep between her teeth and tied 
it fast. I had to hurt her there, and it must have felt 
to her like I was dislocating her jaw, but I was not 
going to be able to do it while she was screaming. Not 
this time. So I made sure that all she could make were 
muffled groans.

Then I fucked her good, as long as I still had the 
power to. I gave my love to her, the way she was giving 
me... her body. By the time she had her third orgasm, 
twitching violently in the little slack the ropes gave 
her, I stopped frigging her cunt, and picked up the 
saw. 

I hesitated another short moment, but realizing that 
she would be leaving her orgasm-haze soon enough, I 
steeled myself and placed the saw on her right leg, 
above the knee.

If I had not done some butchery as a youth on my dad's 
farm, I would not have been able to do it. As it was, I 
began sawing through her flesh with deep sure strokes.

Lena began trashing again, in horrible pain this time, 
twitching and pulling at the ropes, trying to break 
free. Gritting my teeth, I went on, sawing through the 
bone and then the flesh on the other side, until I had 
finally removed the leg from her body.

I quickly pulled out the tourniquet from our emergency 
set (which had survived) and bound her leg to stop the 
blood from spurting. Then I carefully bandaged the 
stump. By that time, shock had long since made her pass 
out.

By the time she woke up in bed and asked me to help her 
up to the deck (she was still too weak to drag herself 
up on her own remaining leg), I had started the 
barbeque (another part of equipment that had survived, 
working on our copious amounts of otherwise useless 
fuel).

I had not expected that she would have wanted to look 
at it, but she did. I had not carved the meat from her 
leg, but instead placed her leg on the grill whole, 
slowly turning it so it would not burn or char. She 
gulped, seeing her body part on there, like a bit of 
meat - which it was, by that time - but then she 
nodded.

I was tempted to slink away with my food once it was 
done, but she said she wanted to look while I ate it. 
So I did, slowly, guiltily cutting away at the bronzed 
meat. She looked on, more with curiosity than anything.

"Do I taste good?"

"You taste good."

I offered her some, unsure how she would take it. But 
she demurred gracefully, saying that would only make 
her hungry too, unsettling a stomach that had adapted 
to fasting now. 

* * *

That night, she soothed me as I lay on the bed, full of 
food, and full of guilt as well. "It's okay. I want you 
to be okay. And I'll give everything for that."

I nodded. Caressing her, mindful of her heavily 
bandaged stump leg.

"And don't tell me some part of you did not love it. 
You have always fantasized about slaughtering a girl, 
of eating her. Don't tell me you did not love it!"

My stiff cock would have betrayed any lies. I fucked 
her hard, and she responded violently. 

Yet the story was far from finished, for ships did not 
magically appear afterward, and the drift was as lazy 
as ever. For a week or two, I remained strong on the 
meat she had sacrificed for me, then I began to weaken 
again.

Eventually, we decided to take off her other leg. I 
wanted to cut at the same place as before, but she 
joked that I was just proposing doing that for 
symmetry. As we would be on the sea for at least one or 
two months more before touching land, it really made no 
sense to take such short steps, she said. So we decided 
to take it off just below her crotch, leaving her with 
only a very short (though fleshy!) stump.

I had also decided that we needed another method of 
cauterizing the wounds. It was too dangerous otherwise, 
as they might get infected, or bleed too much. So I 
devised a way to heat a flat metal tool to red hot heat 
in the barbeque boilers. That would do nicely, though 
it would put her into shock as well. But better than 
the other ways.

"You could just as well brand me as prime grade beef, 
too!" she joked as she saw me preparing my hot iron.

"I could just as well." I said musingly. "Where do you 
want it?" I asked.

She thought a bit, then she said gaily: "Uh, somewhere 
on my butt, I guess!" She laughed.

When she came out of her shock-coma the next time, I 
turned her head around and showed her the black 
branding-mark on her ass-cheek, above her new short 
stump. It was a round circle with an A+ inside, about 
the size of a big watch. I had made the mark with wire 
I had heated together with the cauterizing tool.

When we were in bed again that night, she pulled 
herself to me. Looking up at my well-sated self, love 
in her eyes, she said, "I feel honored that you think I 
am prime grade meat. Thank you, Master. Thank you!"

"You are the best meat I have ever eaten." I said while 
she sucked my cock. It was true.

* * *

Two weeks later, I had taken of the longer stump off of 
her right leg as well (for symmetry and hunger both!), 
and soon we were again faced with a hard decision. We 
had entered the doldrums, that zone, or time, when no 
wind blows, and everything was still, nothing moving. 
Including our ship.

"Its not enough." she said. "You need more food. You 
have eaten some during the last month..." she added, 
both of us looking at her stumps. She looked strange, 
with her arms looking way too long for her already 
scabbed-over leg stumps (she was still shaving that 
pussy between them). I caught myself thinking that she 
would look much more harmonious if her arms were 
shortened to stumps too!

"You have eaten some, but not much! And so your body 
needs more sustenance regularly, or it will have to 
switch over to fat burning again, and you don't have 
any. That would kill you." 

She wasn't fat in any way anymore herself, after almost 
two months of fasting, but still looked very pretty to 
my eyes. Her tits were still full, and her ass tight 
and round.

"Uhhhh... what?" I said, having lost myself 
contemplating her body.

"I said that we need to start on my arms." she said 
resolutely.

"But we decided to.... I mean without your legs, 
okay..." We had decided that when we were rescued, we 
would claim that something had crushed them, and that 
they had to be amputated for medical reasons. With her 
arms missing as well, that excuse would be hard to keep 
up.

"I know. But if only one of us survives, it should be 
you."

There, she had said it.

* * *

I'll not bother you with the details of how I removed 
first her left arm, and then her right one a week 
later. Lena had gone very contemplative by now, mostly 
spending her time propped up on a cushion at the stern, 
watching the sea, or asking me to fuck her. 

It was clear that she was saying goodbye.

I said I would not bother you with the details here, 
yet I have to say that she looked absolutely gorgeous 
after I cut off her last arm. Arranged on the cushions 
on our bed down below, her leg stumps splayed open (not 
that she could have hid much now), her arm stumps 
healing well. You did not even need to tie her up 
anymore, she wasn't going anywhere.

And while I sometimes missed those shapely legs and 
warm arms, all the important bits were there - 
emphasized by the lack of anything unnecessary. She was 
a tight little package now;  pretty face with a soft 
mouth, two silky, big breasts, a curvaceous ass with a 
tight rosette and the fleshy folds of her bare cunt. 

Quadruple amputee, she had become the perfect sex 
object, with all holes open and willing, totally 
helpless and soft and beautiful. It was sad I could not 
keep this toy forever. 

She seemed to feel the same way, and so in the kind of 
madness we had descended into, it is perhaps 
understandable that, after the last amputation, we even 
used her right arm/hand as a fisting tool. No girl has 
ever got her hand as deep into her own holes as she!

* * *

All joy has to end, however, for we were drifting on, 
and still about a month away from the Philippines. 
Hoping for some ships, maybe fishermen, to find us, I 
held out on the inevitable.

I tried fishing again, using bits and pieces I cut from 
her, but nothing.

One day she told me that I would have to kill her soon. 
This time I did not say no, but I tried another delay: 
" I could carve some big slices out of your ass..." I 
said.

She wriggled around, her stumps moving until she was 
presenting her round ass to me. "Is it still looking 
good to you? It's not exactly fat anymore, I guess."

"No." I said, groping her flesh. But it was still good 
meat, many pounds in fact.

"Mmmh..." she said. "I fear that won't do, though. I 
think the blood loss would kill me that time. I would 
not be able to stand that now. Too weak."

"We could cut off your tits instead..." I mused. I had 
often roped those meat bags, but only with all her 
extremities gone was she light enough so I could hang 
her from them for hours on end, beating or fucking her 
carcass as I wanted...

"Mmmrph!" She interrupting my train of thought with a 
scoff. "You know as well as I do that boobs ain't good 
eating. Fatty tissue only. And you can't even milk 
these things!" She wriggled herself on the bed, shaking 
her titties angrily as if making a point. "No. It's 
time."

"If you say so..." I allowed slowly.

"You will have enough food to last you until you 
arrive. You can smoke what remains of me by burning the 
rest of the wooden panels."

"Okay."

"But I would like you... uhmm..." she said, hesitating.

"What?" I said.

"Before I go, I'd want to taste some of myself. And I 
want to see you eat my cunt as I die."

* * *

We made preparations for her final meal during the day. 
First, I had thought about cutting out her cunt, and 
throwing it on the barbeque, but the blood loss would 
likely have killed her before that was even done. 

So we decided on grilling her cunt in place. I devised 
a contraption of some metal spars and ropes that would 
fix her straddling above one of the barbeque burners 
(which I had rigged to produce more heat than flame 
this time). We would then cook her cunt for as long as 
possible, and carve at least part before she died from 
it all.

Lena was strangely cheerful through it all, and this 
infected me as well. She got some last fucks, and a 
good internal basting as well, as I mused about what 
I'd do with her various parts. She joked what her 
parents would think of me now, when they had never 
liked me, after I had "used up" their daughter. I 
reminded her that she had a sister, and she nodded: 
"Fair enough".

Finally, it was time. I rigged her above the burner, 
and turned on the flame.

Soon, the heat between her legs became unbearable, and 
she began groaning and bucking. She swayed a little, 
but couldn't move enough to keep her pussy away from 
the horrible heat. She did not scream into her cloth 
gag yet, as she had gotten used to quite a little bit 
of pain during those last few weeks. But that would 
change soon enough.

Between her stumps, her cunt lips were slowly turning 
from rosy to red, and her whole body was covered with 
sweat, dripping down, smelling of roasted girl. I kept 
her upper body cool with water, so she would not die or 
pass out too early.

By now, she was screaming loudly, a piercing, pain-
filled "Raaaaaaaaagh!" which would have bent metal if 
she had not been gagged carefully. I experimentally 
poked a fork into her cunt and then deep into her Mons 
Veneris. Not yet done.

I looked at her glistening ass, as it slowly began to 
turn from living flesh into roast beef. There was my 
meal for the next few days. But first, the piece de 
resistance!

By now, she had become unconscious, and I judged at 
least the outer parts of her cunt to be well roasted. I 
turned off the burner, and removed her from the 
contraption.

Putting her light form (I judged her weight at no more 
than maybe 80 pounds by now, of that maybe 60 pounds of 
usable meat) onto the table I had rigged in the 
cockpit, I began setting up the utensils for her last 
dinner. 

Using some water, and a few judicious slaps, I slowly 
brought her round again. 

"Wha-what?"

"It's time for your dinner."

"Uh... oh! Yes." she said, wondering. She looked down 
between her legs. Her cunt lips had turned a rich 
brown, and gave off a mouth-watering smell.

"Am... am I done?" she asked uncertainly. "I... I don't 
feel anything down there anymore."

"Mmmmmh." I said, poking her most intimate parts with a 
sharp fork, getting no response at all. "At least the 
outer parts are done, well enough for eating. Your 
inner cunt may still be a bit rare, though."

"Strange." she mused, propped up halfway on the table. 
"I didn't even feel anything when you stuck that fork 
into me."

"Do you feel that?" I asked conversationally, spearing 
one of her tits fully with the long fork.

"Aaargh!" she shrieked. "Yes, yes, I do!"

"See, they are still alive. But your pussy is just meat 
now. Cool, huh?" I said. "But let us eat." I added, 
when she nodded tiredly. 

I sat down between her stumps and pulled out a sharp 
small carving knife. Under her fascinated eyes, I 
slowly cut away her hood. It was a strip of well-done, 
almost crisp meat. I slowly chewed some, and then bent 
over and offered her some as well. She took it in her 
mouth slowly, chewing meditatively, her first meal 
since months, and her last as well.

"It tastes wonderful." she said. "It does." I answered 
solemnly.


* * *

After having eaten her whole outer lips and hood 
together with her, I started to carve deeper into the 
smoothly yielding flesh, finally placing the whole of 
her pussy (complete with the inner lips and some 
surrounding meat) on my plate. Lena had fallen 
unconscious again from pain and shock while I ate the 
steaming meal. I was watching her breasts rise and fall 
slowly, wondering how they would taste.

Finally, I bent over her, and woke her for the last 
time.

"It's time." I said. She nodded. "Goodbye" she 
whispered.

"If it's okay, I will use the knife. I won't put the 
rest of you on the barbeque until later." I told her, 
unsure if she still understood.

She nodded. "Enjoy me." she breathed, her last words.

In fact, in bending over her, I was just entering her 
as well with my cock. Her cooked vaginal canal was hot, 
warmer than usual, though not as flexible. But the 
muscles had tightened a bit during the time over the 
fire, so even though I was mostly fucking dead meat, it 
was a nice fit.

I started humping her. She seemed to understand what I 
was doing and smiled.

Placing the knife (sharp this time, no game anymore) at 
her throat, I leaned in to kiss her, and she kissed 
back hungrily, gasping. While I was French-kissing her, 
I steeled myself, and then sliced the razor-sharp blade 
deeply through her windpipe.

She startled gurgling, her kiss slackening. I pushed 
the knife deeper, my kiss still fixed on her lips. 
Slowly, shuddering heavily, she stopped twitching after 
many long seconds, and then died, her eyes still open.

I came inside her then, spilling my sperm inside a 
piece of dead female meat.

* * *

The final part of the journey was uneventful. I 
lovingly roasted her ass, tasted her tits (which as 
feared, where a disappointment), ate ribs for a few 
days... Sadly, all too soon, I had to get rid of her 
head - though not, I admit it, before having it give me 
a few more sendoffs with that tight (if now shortened) 
windpipe. Her tongue and cheeks were delicacies.

As if to mock me, I started catching fish then, using 
her intestines as bait. I did not eat the fish, only 
smoking and keeping them as reserves, if it should take 
longer than expected to reach land after all. 

Sighting the Philippine fishermen in the distance, I 
celebrated by eating the last tender parts from her 
throat, enjoying her taste for the last time. I did not 
have anything left over. On the other hand, I had taken 
possession of her more completely than anyone else.

So for my next sea voyage, I resolved to take on more 
food. Or at least, another well-fed girl.

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 41