by Chewy
The large steel pot was boiling furiously over the fire. The air was filled with the tangy erotic smell of cooking woman. The pot's occupant was nearly done, and her pheromone-like aroma pervaded the kitchen air. Connesieurs insist they can identify the nationality of a pot's occupant by scent alone. If so, then the scent of cooking Chinese woman is the most tantalizing perfume in the world. The girl had been stewing for several hours now, and was ready to emerge from her sweltering womb.
You had come here to enjoy the most desirable, yet darkly forbidden fruit in the world. It has been a long journey to this place. You have been restless your entire life. No matter how much wealth you accumulated, no matter how successful and well respected you became, you could never quench the terrible forbidden hunger that was a part of you from your earliest days. With the passing years you grew to realize both the depth of your craving, and the one thing that could satisfy it's terrible demands. You resisted at first, horrified by it's primal nature, yet always hearing it's seductive call. Only with the passing years did you finally surrender to the fate that had been decided for you before you were born. Your family happily raised, your wife satisfied in her idle affluence, you at long last said yes to the ravenous siren in your soul.
The first meals were quick, the wonderful sensations almost drowned in fear and stubborn guilt. You had long heard of places like this, the dark rumors of hidden societies who dared to break the ultimate taboo. Through your business contacts, you discreetly sought after more information, collecting hints and clues from dozens of sources. At last, during a trip to Asia, you had dared an open question to an Oriental associate who you have known for years. Perhaps sensing your true nature, he had often dropped hints, usually jokingly, about how in his nations past the flesh of young maidens had been considered the highest delicacy possible, and how such unspeakable pleasures were rumored to still occur. You remember the look he gave you when you finally blurted out your question, and how your spirits had soared when he said yes.
The first time had passed like a half-remembered dream, full of potent images and barely suppressed fears. You remember the small, discrete restaurant hidden near the Hong Kong waterfront, the suspicious looks of the guards, the faintly amused tolerance of the fellow guests at your virginal nervousness. Above all, you remember the beautiful face of your first victim; her sloe-eyed countenance staring back at you from a tray heaped with meats freshly harvested from her youthful body. The stared back into her now quiet eyes, willing yourself to forget that this was a woman you were about to eat, someone who had once laughed and cried, who had made love and experienced a life now ended so that you might dine on her body. You almost backed out, though that would have meant your death, until your friend patiently explained how natural and wonderful this was. This girl had been born poor, her only possible future one of drudgery and suffering. She had been raised above all that now, her body transformed into the purest gift one human can give to another. To waste her meat, to refuse her the sole gift she had left to offer, would be the true crime. No matter how strenuously one could deny it, all of life revolved around predation, the eternal dance of hunter and hunted. This woman's fate was as natural as that of any deer brought down by hungry wolves. Just as natural as your right to harvest her warm, edible fertility.
Above all, you remember your first taste. You lifted a small morsel off the tray, a piece of arm. You can still feel how soft and yielding it was, as seductive in death as it was in life. You hands tremhemorrhage slightly as you raised it to your mouth and began a new life. The taste was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Like your first sex, it was magnificent and terrifying, a door opening onto a world undreamed. Once across, there could be no turning back, no thought of sullen retreat. You ground the ambrosial flesh between your teeth, crushing it, releasing every molecule of musky flavor. At last you swallowed, and opened your eyes to the politely applauding cannibals around you. They were now your brothers and sisters, a terrible communion of wolves cheerfully feasting on their fellow man. You smiled a smile of pure bliss, and looked down into the silent face of the woman whose flesh you had just eaten. To her, you whispered your deepest gratitude for at last setting you free.
The next few years have been the happiest of your life. Your business continues to boom to the point where you start losing track of just how wealthy you really are. Friends and associates comment on how healthy and full of life you have become. If only you could tell them how you spent your frequent vacations meeting in secret with your companions for another unholy celebration of human flesh. You've met in places from Tokyo to Rio, Paris to Bangkok, anyplace overflowing with people easily missed and where the laws fail to touch the truly wealthy. Each year sees more and more young ladies being asked to make the ultimate sacrifice, appeasing for a time the dark hunger. Every year, more of the world's business and political elite join your community, swelling your numbers and power. Soon, perhaps very soon, the time of hiding will be over.
Tonight, it is again time to play out the cannibal ritual. While you and your companions gather in the dining room, two chefs carefully lifted the silvery cauldron off the fire and set it down on the floor underneath a set of pulleys. The lid of the pressure cooker was unbolted and a furious cloud of savory Asian-scented steam erupted from the opened container. The kitchen air filled with the tantalizing aroma of cooked woman. When the air cleared the eager cooks looked down on their victim with pride.
She sat squatting in her pot, her back against the side, her head bent slightly forward, as if asleep. A plastic bag covered her head, protecting her jet-black hair and delicate face from the scalding broth. A cook pulled the head back and you stare into the tapered slits of her open eyes. They stared out at you in silent resignation, as if still saddened by her fate. The rest of her features were covered in an oily mixture of sweat and body fats that had seeped from her amber skin. Her face was suprisingly peaceful considering how she had died. Her soft lips were slightly drawn back over her tiny teeth, as if she had given a small bashful smile as she drifted off to sleep. The rest of her lovely frame was still immersed in the hearty broth, and a layer of cooked vegetables floated around her face. Bits and pieces from other luckless Chines girls had been added as stock to her boiling bath, and several small chunks of stewed woman bobbed playfully against her chin.
The two cooks put heavy gloves on and gingerly reached into the thick Chinese chowder, tying ropes around her steaming shoulders. Both chefs commented on how soft her flesh felt, especially the tender armpits and the sides of her soup-slickened arms. The heat of her flesh carried through the gloves, warming their hands as they caressed her. They then hauled the lovely stewed goose up and out of her cauldron. Steams of thick consommé poured off her limbs, showering back into the pot. The waterlogged stuffing inside her made her heavy, and both cannibals grunted with effort as they lowered her down onto a serving tray. Small bits of stuffing leaked out of her boiled genitals, plopping back into the stewpot.
Even to the hardened cannibals around her, the young Chinese maiden was an incredibly beautiful sight. She had boiled to death seated in a lotus position, with her legs crossed under her padded buttocks, and her delicate wrists lying across the tops of her knees. To help her keep her serene pose, they had nailed her wrists directly to the kneecaps, ensuring she keep her dignified posture while she cooked alive. Her ankles had been bound to her fleshy thighs and her torso had been tied to a stout bamboo pole to keep her back straight. She now sat before them like a steaming Buddha, serenely contemplating her brief life. Her beautiful dark golden skin had become as red as a traditional Chinese wedding dress when the stew first boiled around her, but it had now faded into a luscious shade of burnished bronze. The pressure cooker had allowed her to cook clean through, yet kept her body intact and lifelike. The smooth derma was still soft and supple, and the impatient cannibals found themselves caressing the gentle curves of her cooked body. Her body had retained most of her fats, some of which began to seep through dark golden skin, covering her body in fragrant oils. Only the wisps of steam and bits of stew stuck to her skin kept her from being mistaken for being merely asleep.
The chefs then got to work getting her ready for the table. The bag around her head was removed, her sculpted lips opened and a ripe peach was pressed between her pearly teeth. The pineapple slices that had been packed in her mouth were removed along with her demure little tongue and set aside as desert. The nectar-glazed tongue would make an exquisite concluding course; it's slightly chewy texture and sweet taste contrasting with the heavier red meats from the rest of her body. The first chef, a powerfully built American, bored a hole in the back of the skull, and spooned the pudding like brains out onto a bowl. They would be later candied and served to some of the more daring gourmets who patronized this exclusive restaurant. Another chef, a young Chinese woman herself, undid her countrywomen's tightly wrapped hair, letting the onyx ponytail hang down against the gracefully curved back, hiding the opening. The female chef straightened the head on the somewhat stiff shoulders, setting the face slightly downwards, so her eyes would face the diners as they ate her succulent offerings.
The head done, the busy cooks began to work on the rest of the mouth-watering body. They carefully slit open the smooth stomach, slitting the bronzed skin from crotch to sternum. With slight grimaces of distaste, they uncoiled the intestines, cutting them free. Normally, girls were gutted before cooking, the hollowed bellies crammed with fixings. Unfortunately, no matter how carefully it was done, this resulted in the girl dying rather quickly once she began cooking. The traumatized body simply couldn't resist the twin assaults of evisceration, then cooking. The chefs wanted this girl to live as long as possible, so she could spend every possible second flavoring her broth with her living, pain-wracked hormones. Keeping her guts in had allowed her to be put intact into the stewpot, allowing her to experience every single second of her own boiling. The stuffing in her guts had actually absorbed a lot of the heat, helping to keep her alive for over an hour as the heat was gently raised. The results had been more than worth it. The pain-wracked thrashings kept the stew well stirred, while her young body positively bleed vibrant feminine juices into the broth. Both chefs could instantly taste the subtle, yet deeply arousing tang in the soup that only comes from a girl that had died an absolutely hellish, excruciating death.
Naturally, the girl had been given very, very thorough enemas before her death, so her bowels were squeaky clean. She then had her abdomen pumped full of stuffing. The pump had forced pound after pound of rice filling into her torso, till she screamed in agony that she felt she was ready to burst. To compliment her Asian heritage, the rice was mixed with a delicious assortment of Oriental vegetables. The Oriental stuffed Oriental then had her vagina and asshole sewn up very tightly to keep her from dumping her heavy load into her stew. The Stuffing had swelled up as she boiled, and now it was a simple matter of squeezing it out like toothpaste and re-stuffing her belly. The stuffing was then topped off with a layer of fresh watercress, and the golden belly was sewn back up.
Most of the girl's other organs were removed, some to be disposed of as garbage, others to become various dishes for the guests. The small heart was sliced into strips; to be marinated and served lightly sprinkled with almond flakes. The hearty liver was also sliced up, to be eaten with raw onions. Her stomach was saved to serve as haggis for a Scottish guest, while the intestines would be used for tomorrow's breakfast sausages. Even her kidneys and colon would be made to serve, being shipped to the Middle East where they would make for some exotic dish. Her other organs, including her ovaries, would be ground up either a scrapple or as feed for the other girls kept captive in the club's cellars. Even her bones would be used, often being used to make small pieces of jewelry or as fertilizer in the clubs spice gardens. Rarely, the head could be mounted as a trophy, though this honor was usually reserved for celebrities and other unusual dishes. More likely, her angelic face to be peeled off and served lightly fried in extra virgin olive oil while the skull ended up as fertilizer. Within days, there would be nothing left of her body, no physical trace that she had ever lived.
The broth that the girl had cooked in was ladled out into soup bowls and set ahead as appetizers. Several waitresses rushed the soup out to the ravenous crowd seated outside. The chefs could hear the compliments from the guests as they sampled the hearty concoction. The chefs smiled to one another, pleased that their efforts were appreciated.
Finally, it was time for the garnishings. No matter how delicious a girl, presentation is still critical. The American began to scoop out the vegetables from the stewpot, setting them around the Asian's cooked thighs and ass. Some crushed almonds were sprinkled on her shoulders and thighs. Soon, the stewed girl sat amid throne of greens, all soaked in her own juices. Fresh Lychees and other fruits were added to the garnishments, surrounding the stewed pig in a circle of color. The female chef set a ring of lotus petals around the rim of the tray, then sprinkled a few over the damp arms and legs. Bracelets of tiny white flowers were wrapped around her ankles and wrists, while a garland of snow-white blossoms was laid on her head.
With great pride, the two chefs wheeled their golden masterpiece out to the waiting crowd. They were greeted with warm applause, quickly followed by oh's and ah's of pleasure as the diners looked over tonight's meal. Eyes narrowed in urgent hunger, lips were licked, and knuckles grew white as hands gripped sharpened silverware in anticipation of slicing into soft woman flesh. Small wisps of vapor rose from the glistening body surrounding her in a halo of savory steam. She was wheeled around the room, so each guest could get a good look at her. They had selected their entries this morning, while the girl was still alive. Each guest remembered the look of trapped terror in her almond eyes as they selected a part of her body to eat. The memory of her warm shuddering flesh was still fresh in their minds as they gazed on her cooked carcass. At last, the small ritual was over, and the heavily laden tray was transferred to a carving block.
It is the anniversary of your initiation into this most exclusive of clubs. It is therefore your proud task to carve tonight's pig. You take the ivory handled carving knife and begin to slice away the woman's tender meats. You start with her thighs, removing thick juicy steaks from the top of her leg. Her flesh parts like butter, surrendering easily to the knife. While you are busy carving, a waitress comes and opens up her belly, spilling sticky rice and greens over the hot naked crotch. She spoons up the steaming pile, piling it onto a serving dish. Once the thighs are reduced to naked bone, you strip the shapely calves of their heavy load. You simply scrape the muscles off the top of the shin, leaving long tender strip steaks. The back of the calves are flensed in one piece, which is difficult due to the bone behind the shin. It's a testament to your increasing skill in the cannibal arts that you remove the entire gammon of girl leg without damaging it and placing both proudly before your friend who sponsered your membership. He smiled in pride at how well you had adapted to your new life.
You return his compliment, then finish the remainder of her attractive legs before beginning to work on one of the lovely arms. You remove the tricep, and the larger and slightly tougher bicep before slicing them down into smaller filets. The waitress returns and snips off the slim fingers to be served as another appetizer. Laying the knife aside, you take a cleaver and chop the other arm off at the shoulder. You lay the lovely wing before a couple who had requested the entire arm for themselves. The thank you, barely able to restrain themselves from tearing into the succulent limb while the rest of the meal was set out.
You continue around the cooked body, deftly slicing away pound after pound of succulent flesh. You take special care with her small, but absolutely lovely breasts. In contrast to the large, swollen trophies western women have, the Asian's bosom is smaller, but firmer, with more meat than those of her Caucasian sisters. Having eaten both, you prefer the silken heavenly mouthfuls of Asian breasts to the robust but largely inedible Western organs. With exquisite care, you slice each gentle mound free of her torso, your knife sliding against her ribs as you cut the heavenly morsels free. You have reserved one of the soft golden globes for yourself, and your mouth waters as place it on your platter.
It doesn't take long for the girl to be reduced to a near skeleton. The last major filet to be removed is her vagina, which will be served to the man who procured this lovely lady pig. You carefully core out the estrogen-saturated flesh and place it on his plate with a flourish. With everyone served, you all sit down to your savage feast. You are seated at the head of the table, facing what is left of the young girl.
Once again, you stare into the hard glazed eyes of a young woman who died solely to feed the animal hunger within you and your dearest companions. You smile as you study her quiet features. You raise a glass of wine to her, and salute her. Again you smile, the smile of a hungry wolf.