A Debt Honorably Paid

by Chewy

Sura stood naked in the huge brightly-lit kitchen, surrounded by people who were about to kill her.

She had come to these killers willingly. Her family was deeply in debt, so deep a lifetime of honest toil could never break them free. But there was a way out for them, something so valuable that her entire family could be free if the price was paid. And Sura, the youngest daughter, was here to pay that price on her own free will.

Bangkok was a vast vibrant city, full of the energy that the faded western lands once had. People fulfilled their dreams here, made new, brighter lives for themselves by dint of toil, risk and luck. But this brilliant had an older, darker side. Ancient cruelties were practiced in the shadows, terrible crimes committed and lavishly rewarded. And there were always enough of the foolish, the luckless, the downtrodden to provide a limitless supply of victims.

Sura’s family was among the victims. Once prosperous, Sura’s father had gamhemorrhage and drank away the hopes of his wife and sonren. He went wildly in debt to the local criminal gangs to fuel his hedonism. Then, when even the greediest gangster would lend him no more money, he killed himself, leaving his family to pay his impossible debts.

Sura knew her brothers would be reduced to penniless wretches, unable to marry and working for nothing till they died from overwork and despair. Her sisters would be forced to become prostitutes till their battered minds and bodies gave out.

But there was a way. There were people who would pay a great deal of money for the right to do anything…anything to a beautiful young girl. These perverts paid an even higher price for a willing victim, as if the acceptance of her fate made her death even sweeter.

And so Sura sold herself, freeing her family. The price was giving herself willingly and without reservation to those that would kill her. And not just kill her, for her death would only be the beginning of what they planned. Bangkok was host to a coterie of predators who ate the people they killed. Cannibals. Those who lived to taste the flesh of the young and beautiful. Such monsters had their own society, a dark hungry heart that beat savagely in the midst of this shining city. And these monsters believed that the flesh of a willing victim was a prize above all else, a rare feast that they would gladly pay a fortune to obtain.

The people gazed at Sura with looks that would chill a cobra. Hard eyes lingered over her ample breasts, her shapely arms and smooth rounded legs, her full ripe ass. But there was little lust in their eyes, only cruel implacable hunger. Despite her great beauty these people were not interested in sex. They were interested in her meat, how many pounds of flesh could be sliced from her bones, how that fresh bleeding meat would taste in their mouths

Sura was purchased and locked in a cage just like the pigs and fowls in the food markets. She was fed a rich diet, all to add precious more pounds of flesh to her frame.

There were others caged here with her, less valuable livestock, inventory for the ghastly culinary rituals that occurred nightly. Prostitutes, petty criminals, even wretches some sold by their families to pay debts, squatting forlornly in their cages, force-fed till sleek; the knowledge of what awaited them dulling their minds into a numbed horror. Every night one or more of them were dragged from their cages, screaming and weeping, led away to the kitchen where their cries rose into shrieks then faded to wet gurgles. Then the sounds of chopping as the still bleeding arms and legs and torsos were portioned out into individual meals.

Worse of all was the smell, the horridly mouth-watering scent of human flesh being cooked amid spices and a medley of side-dishes. Sura tried to block the smell, and the shameful ideas and urges they released in her chained young body. The cannibals had laughingly told her that eating human flesh was more sensually addictive then opium, that preparing and consuming the meat of a fellow human was as close a mortal could come to experiencing what it must be to be a god. Sura assumed they were merely, taunting her with her fate.

As an amusement they fed her some of the exquisite flesh. A slice of thigh taken from a young prostitute was offered to her by a group of sneering cannibals. They held out the awful flesh to her. The flesh smelled and looked….beautiful. Sura recoiled in horror knowing where it had come from. The girl who had once owned this piece of flesh had squatted in a cage next to hers for a few days. They had talked, shared memories, shared prayers that this was some horrible dream. Sura had watched the cannibals come for her, watched her friend’s lovely eyes grow huge in terror, heard her screams and watched her frantically struggle in the grips of merciless killers. Then heard the sounds of her murder, smelt her flesh cooking.

And now a piece of that poor murdered girl’s thigh was being offered to her as food. It was a thin circular slice, the leg bone an ivory circlet in the middle of the pinkish-brown meat. The meat was encircled by a glistening rim of golden-yellow fat, then a crust of crispy skin. Sura shuddered when she remembered how lovely her friend’s coppery skin had been, how soft, and now it was a crispy rind of crackling surrounding a half-pound of feminine meat.

It smelled delicious. It looked delicious. But it was evil. A poisoned offering. To eat it would be acceptance of the horror these creatures inflicted on others, an acknowledgement that even a victim of their madness shared their craving for the most exquisite of foods.

To her credit Sura refused, though her stomach roiled in awful treason. The fattening slurry they fed her left her ravenous for real food, for meat. Her mouth watered as the piece of woman was put before her. Part of her wanted to eat it, wanted to know what unholy passion the consumption of such food would unleash. But still Sura refused, unwilling to give in to these monsters.

The cannibals laughed as they sensed their victim’s confusion, her temptation. Then they reminded Sura of her bargain. Her promise to accept her fate without condition, to yield to these creature’s every whim so her family could go free. Would she condemn her family to death or worse just because she refused to eat a mere piece of meat?

With a shudder she took the meat into her hands. It was warm, almost hot, like a lover’s flesh in a moment of passion. Juices, the melted fats and proteins of a beautiful woman ran over her fingers. The meat was so tender it tore in her hands. So tender and fragile, so desirable, so like the woman it had come from.

Sura took a bite, hoping she would find it revolting, hoping her body would refuse the unholy morsel..

It was….words could not describe it. Ambrosia, bliss, maddened lust, all could describe parts of what Sura experienced. But they were single notes in a dark symphony. The cannibals were right. There was something utterly, darkly unique about human flesh. It was not just some animal’s meat. Maybe somehow the soul clung to the flesh even after death, a murdered spirit as the rarest of spices. Maybe it was the violation of an ultimate taboo. Maybe it was that a smudge of ancient bestial evil inhabited every human soul, waiting to be fed flesh stolen from another human being. Maybe it was all of the above.

Sura gasped and finished her first bite, hot juice and shredded female thigh filling her mouth. She chewed, reveling in the Elysian flavor. Her body gave an involuntary shudder, and her loins suddenly grew very, very wet. She gave in.

The caged woman suddenly tore at the flesh like a wild beast, gnawing and ripping it, shoving as much as she could into her mouth. She chewed till her teeth ground together, crushing the pulped mass till every molecule of flavor was shorn free and sampled. She ate like a beast, her humanity flung aside by a wave of awful need. Only when the piece of thigh was reduced to rich gravy did she swallow. The crushed human flesh descended into her belly like a mouthful of narcotic syrup. Her shudders grew deeper as she climaxed.

Sura looked up at her laughing captors, her mouth drooling, human flesh stuck between her teeth. She knew now how these people became monsters, became predators of their own species. It was so easy. A woman’s flesh was truly the ultimate narcotic, making all who knowingly tasted it their slave. To her utter shame Sura knew that if ever given the chance she too would join these monsters in their depraved feasts, driven by the memory of what it felt like to devour to woman’s beauty to repeat the sin again and again. That was the point of this whole game, to let Sura understand the unholy need that would be her death.

They left Sura alone to weep in shame and self-loathing. Alone with the memories of human flesh and the knowledge that she was no more pure then those that hunted such delights. The only difference between Sura and the cannibals was they were predators and she was their prey.

Outside the feast went on for hours. Distant laughter and music echoed into the larder where the livestock listened to the celebration of their flesh. By midnight they had eaten every edible scrap of the woman Sura had tasted, reduced that poor girl to greasy bone and offal.

Finally it was her turn. No one else would share her fate tonight – as a willing victim she was considered special enough to not have to share a platter with anyone else. She was pulled from her cage by two unsmiling men. Sura smiled and wiggled her body ever so slightly, trying to make a connection, trying to arouse some sympathy. The two men barely noticed, they had worked here for years and had helped butcher hundreds of women, Sura, no matter how beautiful and available was just another animal that need processing.

They spoke not a word as they bathed her, inside and out. The enema was painful and humiliating. Shopping the amazing food markets of Bangkok taught her how live animals were prepared for butchering. The people who were about to eat wanted her meat unspoiled, not even an ounce of lowly intestine tainted and therefore rendered inedible. A silent woman joined them shaved every trace of hair from her body save the lustrous mane on her head. That was fixed into a tight bun, later to be released and coiled around her head when it was presented as a table decoration to accompany her served flesh..

Then it was time to walk into the kitchen and meat her fate. Sura wanted to thrash and scream, give way to the terror that threatened to bubble forth any second. But she forced herself to be serene. She had seen too many people go to their deaths like livestock, howling and flailing like animals, their shameful antics only amusing their killers. No, Sura would show these beasts that they were killing a person, not a sleek two-legged food-animal. She would meet her fate with dignity, not giving so much as a whimper until she absolutely had to.

Sura straightened her shoulder and walked forward, her head held high. Her captors looked at her quizzically, eyes suddenly uncertain. For the first time they seemed to see as her as more then an object, and that made the doomed Thai girl even more certain to show dignity and grace even as her flesh was cut from her bones.

She blinked in the brilliant light of the kitchen. Metal gleamed everywhere, knives and cauldrons, cleavers and ovens, needle-sharp hooks and polished well-used woks. Her captors allowed her a second to compose herself, an unprecedented concession that did not go unnoticed by the waiting chefs.

The group of eager chefs were dominated by a woman who stood in front, dressed in brilliant whites, her arms crossed as she considered how best to cook tonight’s offering. The woman was unremarkable, nearing middle-age, rather plain looking, a bit tall and well-fed but otherwise looking like a typical Thai matron. It was the way she held herself that proclaimed that she was the queen of this hellish kitchen. She stood with complete self-assurance, confident that no one even in this vast city could match her talents when it came to serving a woman for dinner. Her jet-black almond-shaped eyes took in every detail of Sura’s naked and slightly trembling body, already seeing it in bleeding chunks and pieces, already seeing how each gammon and filet needed to be spiced and cooked.

The woman noticed the tiny signs of respect from Sura’s captors. That and the fact that the doomed woman was not begging or simply screaming her silly lungs out was intriguing. She had killed and prepared hundreds of people in her time as long-pig chef but only a handful stood before her with serenity. She knew this beast was a volunteer, but many before her had volunteered only to lose their nerve when they saw the knives and ovens and descend into whimpering madness. Not this one, and that made her special. The chef smiled, a hungry cruel smile but a smile none-the-less. This animal was very rare and it was the chef’s obligation to make sure her cooked flesh retained that unique quality all the way up to the time it was devoured.

There would be no torture for this magnificent animal. Torture could toughen a woman’s flesh, though the cannibals rarely cared about a bit of toughness when it was the taste of fear and agony that they so craved. No, this proud animal’s flesh would be best harvested unsullied and quickly, to seal in every nuance of her courageous acceptance of her fate.

To Sura the woman in the chef whites seemed as cold and uncaring as the others. She looked at Sura’s wet naked body, her calm face lost in thought as she calculated how best to cook the trembling young woman before her. From the professional way the chef went about grading Sura’s body, calmly commenting on how each piece of her body would cook and what spices each cut and filet required, Sura knew this woman had cooked many, many people. That thought shocked Sura, that a fellow woman could casually inflict such horrors on her own sex. She flinched under the woman’s gentle knowing probes, unable to endure the touch of such a being.

T hen, to Sura’s shock, the ghoulish chef met her eyes and gave a brief happy smile. No, this woman did not casually kill and cook her own sex, she ENJOYED it. Sura would die at the hands of a woman who loved slow-butchering fellow females, loved reducing them to piles of bleeding meat, and above all, loved eating them.

Without a word the demonic cook took a gleaming butcher knife in her hand. Then slowly, tenderly she brought the razor edge up to Sura’s bobbing throat. The two stood there for a long moment, a trembling naked girl and a cold cannibal killer, staring into each others eyes. They could understand one another, but they could never be equals. One was a predator, the other prey. There was only one way for this to end. Still smiling, the chef drew the knife across the soft golden throat, opening it to the spine.

Sura’s gasp was lost in a crimson flood. She staggered, only to be held up by the woman who had just cut her throat. She sagged against her killer, her hands instinctively clutching the now gore-soaked chef’s white clothing. Blood pulsed in torrents over the snowy cloth pooling about their feet. The chef held on, crooning softly as her prey hemorrhage out, enjoying the sensation of hot dying life flowing over her skin. She held the dying Thai girl close, feeling every tremble of the young body as it drained, seeing the light slowly dim from Sura’s lovely dark eyes.

The chef looked down on Sura’s pale lifeless face. She brushed some dark hair from the still features, her fingertips leaving bloody trails across the exquisite silent features. This animal had died beautifully, with grace and dignity and the chef knew it was an honor to prepare such flesh for the table.

The butchery was done slowly, almost reverently. The now pale body was laid on a wooden table. A team of cannibal’s worked on the bleached-gold body with the dedication of world-class surgeons.

Sura’s torso was splayed open from neck to pubis. Her organs were removed like unneeded machinery, to be used or discarded as required by the whim of the clientele, who often had a taste for even the most humble portion of a girl. Almost no piece of Sura, no matter its original function or texture was overlooked in the pursuit of culinary adventure.

Her torso was stuffed with a moist padding of rice and fruits selected carefully for their compatibility with a young woman’s body. The stuffing would steam during cooking, keeping Sura’s flesh from drying and enhancing the delicate flavors of slow-roasted woman flesh.

The dead Thai girl was sewn shut. The threads were light and the terrible wounds bound tightly, so once Sura was slathered with oil one could almost overlook her mutilations.

She was set in a sitting position, arms pinned to her chest, cradling her breasts. That would keep her exquisite bosom from sagging as she simmered and ensuring the leaner arm steaks would stay moist as scalding mammary butter seeped over them. Her anus and vagina were kept open so they could vent the steam building up inside her body. In the oven the soft holes would weep steam and juices, the vagina in particular absorbing the oils and flavors seething from her roasting body.

Her legs were twined before her in a lotus pose. Her lap was filled with layered pineapples and lychees, which would drown her crotch in sweet syrup as she cooked, glazing her loins and sealing in every drop of musky genital juice. More pineapples were pinned to shins and back, anywhere where there was the least danger of her valuable flesh scorching. Her very slender feet were encased in snow-white linen booties along with more fruit and herbs so they could poach until the lean but rich flesh was like custard over the petite bones of her feet.

She looked like a serene pale Asian angel as she was set in her oven. Vegetables and fruit were piled about her like offerings to some goddess of pallid beauty. More oils were rubbed onto her skin till she gleamed. Her face was as serene as a dreaming Buddha, eyes closed and lips back in a small enigmatic smile. The oven door was shut, sealing in her body.

The oven was especially made for cannibal cooking. The top of the oven had a hole, where Sura’s head could be positioned so it was outside the oven and spared the searing heat. It was done to keep her delicate face from shriveling in the infernum, keep her lovely and vulnerable until it was time to be served to a roomful of ravenous cannibals.

Sura cooked for hours in the convection oven while impatient gourmets watched and licked their lips in savage anticipation. Steam began to coil out of her nose and mouth as the temperature in the core of her body soared. She was the image of an Asian dragon-lady, serene and lovely, exhaling sultry mists that coiled about her head like a shroud.

The glass front of the oven allowed the gathered carnivores to watch every detail of her cooking, allowed their hunger for her flesh to build. When the perfectly roasted Thai woman was finally released from her oven the gathered cannibals could just barely restrain themselves from falling on her scalding carcass like sharks, ripping her cooked body apart and devouring it on the kitchen floor.

Sura was carried out into the richly-appointed dining hall, a procession of drooling and ravenously hungry men and women trailing in her wake. She was sat upon a table still in her lotus pose. She sat amid a bed of brilliant flowers, glistening beads of thick golden oils slowly working their way over hot flame-kissed skin. Wisps of steam coiled off her skin. Thicker, headier steam vented from her anus and vagina where her simmering innards vented their flavors. No one could miss how some of that steam condensed on her puffy vaginal lips in a grotesque parody of feminine passion. The cannibals stood frozen for a quite moment, lost in contemplation of the steaming Asian queen sitting quietly amid a field of color.

Then it was time to bring the unholy bargain to a close. Knives flashed and soft hot flesh parted. Crispy golden skin split, amber fats leaked, exquisite pale meats were exposed and excised from ivory bone. Sura’s body shook under the assault, her ethereal beauty marred by the removal of pound after pound of flesh, entire gammons of muscle slashed free from her frame. Her torso was opened, spilling an avalanche of white rice simmered in woman fats and oil onto her lap on over legs that were being defleshed with unseemly speed.

The feast degenerated into a feeding frenzy.

One man simply cleaved off an arm and dropped it on platter where he and his young wife set upon the gleaming wing like they had not eaten in weeks. He began to slice the bicep into strips, the tender muscles offering little resistance to the razor steel knife. He stabbed a slice and brought it to his mouth, juices dripping on his lips, a fragment of poached skin falling onto his tongue. His eyes lost any trace of humanity as he bit down, rending and ripping, pulping what had once been part of a graceful limb into sublime paste, letting it fall down his throat and into his snarling belly.

His young wife surprised him when she grabbed the cooked hand and bit off Sura’s little finger. The tendons in the hand had softened when cooked so the appendage was still floppy and almost life-like in how it moved and felt in the cannibals grip. She chewed the gristly morsel with satanic glee, spitting out de-fleshed bones as her husband sliced away a hefty chunk of skin-clad bicep.

The hunger-maddened woman wrenched the hand off the end of the forearm and she held up the ghastly trophy. She smiled as she licked the hot oils off of the palm, nibbling crispy skin and elusive bits of lean meat. Her husband joined her, savoring the intimate appetizer till Sura’s once graceful hand was a bit of spat-out bone and gristle. Then they gorged on the main course, several pounds of human arm that was just enough to sate their murderous hunger.

Sura’s feet were hacked off just above the ankles, each appendage ending up in a separate cannibal’s belly. Eating a woman’s foot was an exercise of pure love for the meats clinging to the forest of slender bones took patience to find and harvest. But it was worth it for the meat itself was lean and quite dense, but richly flavored. The skin was very soft, the derma from the top of the foot almost satiny. The skin from the sole was thicker and required more chewing to release its full suite of flavor. Even the tiny bones were a treat, each easily snapped stick yielding a dollop of dense nourishment.

Racks of ribs were gripped in greasy hands and ravenously shorn of marhemorrhage flesh. A kitchen assistant hacked the ribs free with a cleaver, not willing to entrust such a weapon to a hunger-crazed cannibal. Cannibal feasts were a delicate affair, for those that partook of human flesh were slaves to their hunger and it was all too easy for such passionate appetites to get out of control. The maid took care to keep her own limbs away from those flashing teeth and vise-like jaws as she hacked ribs free and parceled them out to any cannibal might be tempted to turn his or her hunger on a fellow gourmet. It was a dangerous job, but very, very well paid. And rewarding, for the staff was given the table scraps to dine on after the banquet was done and like the wealthy carnivores they served the staff too had acquired a addict’s need for the flesh of their fellow human.

The ribs were parceled out till Sura’s spine was a column off tendon-garbed vertebrae and shards of hacked bone. The spine swayed on softened sinew, threatening to topple onto the guests. None of the feasters noticed or cared, each lost in their own private heaven. But the assistant saw and quickly chopped away the remaining arm and both shoulder, piling them on the table. A rather refined-looking butler grabbed Sura’s head and wrenched it free, the ligaments of her neck parting easily. The head was set aside to prevent the serene face from being gnawed. The naked spin remained, a pathetic spindle of bone rising above flensed pubis and hacked hips, above legs that were rapidly being reduced to blade-knicked femurs and bare shins.

An older man and woman succeeded in pulling one of Sur’s curvaceous calves free from the mêlée that had formed around the diminishing carcass. They had been married for a long time and had been cannibals for years and years. Wealthy and with their own sonren raised, they were free to travel the world, visiting cannibals societies around the globe, indulging in their shared passion for human flesh. Grinning like giddy schoolkids, they huddled around the hot glistening leg.

The joint of meat was missing the foot and ended at the shredded remains of the knee joint. The husband grabbed the gammon by the stump of ankle bone and held it up between him and his wife. Together they dug their teeth into the tender hot meat, ripping fat-slick skin away, tearing deep into the muscles of the upper calf. They gnawed from opposite sides of the leg, occasionally using their hands to rip away hunks of muscle from the bone and clinging tendons, pausing to spit out the occasional gobbet of gristle. Sura’s murdered flesh fed them, allowing them to share her youth and vitality. They ate till bursting, then tossed the gnawed shin bone aside as trash, holding hands while they sleepily digested a woman young enough to be their granddaughter.

The beautiful chef who had the honor of cooking Sura was there to enjoy the fruits of her labors. She carved away a wedge of dense buttock, followed by a few tidbits of shoulder and, in a bit of luck, one of Sura’s breast-tips. The chef was very lucky that such a fine tidbit had survived this long but her fellow cannibals were so hungry that they were simply ripping away the thickest pieces of muscle, leaving such lovely treasures to those who were more patient in satisfying their needs.

The chef set the breast-tip atop the wedge of pink-white buttock. The fats just under the puckered nipple oozed over the steak, congealing at the edges of the meat and forming a glistening coating of liquidified mammary. The chef cut into the morsel delicately, eating small pieces, savoring each blissful mouthful.

She disdained the more animalistic feasting that most of her companions engaged in. She, who had cooked and carved countless women still appreciated the small things, the way a clitoris swelled as the juices inside it cooked, the way a woman’s skin glistened as the roiling fats underneath worked their up through the pores to flow over the derma in scalding rivulets, the way a girl’s breasts swayed as they boiled, the nipples leaching drops of oily mammalian gravy till it caramelized and formed a protective crust over the now rubbery knob of flesh. She loved every tiny bit of a woman, every second of harvesting it, every nuance of its cooking, And above all, how each sliver of femininity tasted. Let the others devour their prey like wolves, she was a epicurean and saw to it that now fragment of her victims went unappreciated.

She chewed each breast-flavored mouthful, her face rapturous. The nipple itself was divine, chewy and complex on the tongue. She swallowed it with a pang of regret, knowing another woman must die before she could enjoy such a rarefied sensation on her tongue again. Then she reached into the hollowed abdomen and retrieved a lobe of liver, the nutrient-packed tissue still a bright-red amidst the paler sinews remaining amid the strip-mined belly. The chef ate liver with bacon-thin strips of shoulder set atop, the flavors and textures complimenting one another. She ate till her own belly strained against her clothing, then she sat back, satisfied at a job well done.

The crime boss to whom was owed the money got his selection of her finest meats. He sat amid a gaggle of concubines, like a fat shark accompanied by a school of tolerated scavengers. Her sliced away several thick slabs of thigh, the meat dripping as he greedily cut it away from the femur. He negligently tossed a few pieces of succulent thigh to his concubines who tore into the flesh of a fellow women with their teeth, disdaining utensils in their greed for feminine flesh.

He smiled at his concubines as they greedily gorged their already sleek bodies. He was amused that these frivolous creatures would someday share Sura’s fate, though he doubted any of them would possess Sura’s dignity when it was their turn to feed the hungry pack of human wolves. He relished fattening them, enjoying their pampered bodies in every way, knowing that the soft flesh he made love to would be on his tongue and in his belly whenever her tired of their company. So he let them share his kills and grow sleek, for they should be wiser than to dine with cannibals without considering the risks.

The crime lord set a great chunk of Sura’s upper thigh on his plate, the edges of the pinkish meat girded with buttery fat and crispy spiced skin. But he did not devour it right away. There was a greater prize. Her slapped away the rice and stuffings that lay in Sura’s lap, exposing the rise of her pubis, her heat-engorged labia hiding down there like a rare shy flower.

Even cooked the vagina smelled musky, exuding the headiest of perfumes, driving all who breathed it half-mad with the desire for sex and the need to eat the meat that made that sex possible. It was hypnotic, and all the gathered cannibals slowed their feast to sniff the air and look greedily at the most sublime of all foods. The boss looked each of them in the eye, daring even one to show defiance, to challenge his alpha-right to this elysian prize. None did. He smiled and with a low snarl he cut into Sura’s pubis, his scalpel-sharp blade tracing an oval centered around the glistening lips, coring out her vagina in one swift motion. Her speared the vagina dead-center with a fork and slid the whole narcotic ally-spiced plug of femininity free.

The tender meat quivered as it was pulled free from its home. The boss criminal overlord took a minute to simply gaze on his prize, the fruits of all the terrible deeds and sins he had committed over the years. He regretted none of those innumerable sins, though his soul was dammed by their weight, for those sins allowed him to experience…..this. This most sought-after of all things, all the richer for it being surrendered. He touched the still-hot labia with the tip of his tongue…yes, this made eternal damnation an easy price to pay.

The boss ate Sura’s vagina, labia, clitoris, cervix and even ovaries, every last tidbit of the dead woman’s life-giving tissue. He utterly consumed the stolen fertility, imagining her could taste every spark of pleasure this vagina ever felt, taste all the life that the custard-soft womb might have created. He ignored all else, for nothing else mattered. He experienced a private nirvana amid a roomful of feasting cannibals, chewing on heaven while others gorged on meat.

The feast went on till Sura was bone, gristle and odd bits of unidentifiable fragments. The kitchen staff would clean up, crack the bones for marrow, harvest even the most humble edible scraps, then dispose of the pitiable remainder of what was once a beautiful young woman.

Her head would be preserved as a trophy for the crime-lords private collection, a lasting reminder of the superiority of meat freely surrendered. He, and many of the other cannibals in this elite society had the means to obtain girls almost at will. Such screaming chattel would feed their baser needs, but in the future they vowed to hunt willing sacrifices, meat that for whatever terrible reason wanted to be eaten. Such meat was far more challenging to acquire, far more rewarding when consumed.

The cannibals left, sated for a while. Outside the city awoke to a new day, blissfully unaware of the sins committed here. That was as it should be, for the herd was vast and easily spooked.

Sura’s family was released from all their debts, though they never knew the details, other then Sure had sacrificed herself for them. They went on to lead good lives, making the sacrifice an ever more noble deed for every day they lived. For in every herd there must be those that sacrifice themselves to spare the others, those that sacrificed their lives to feed the predators and keep them at bay for another day.