by Owl
Lori's fast-track career in international investments looked like it would come crashing down. She had just made a big mistake. Just one mistake, but it was a really big one. She had just lost one billion dollars. She was only in her second year at Chang-Fisutsu-Foxworth, but she had already had made a name for herself all over Wall Street. Straight out of school, with a MBA in finance, Lori moved to New York and went to work as a Junior Broker for CFF, the highest rolling international investment company in New York, indeed in the world. Not content to work her way slowly up the ranks in the traditional way, Lori used her fluency in Japanese and Chinese to quickly build a client list of some of the wealthiest tycoons in Asia. With that kind of money rolling in, she soon developed moneyed investors from New York, New England and Europe. In two years,
she went from an intern in a cubicle to an Executive VP with a corner window office on the 100th floor. Looking out at the magnificent nightscape of Manhattan from this lofty perch, Lori couldn't believe that things had gone so terribly wrong. She stepped back from the floor-to-ceiling windows and peered with disbelief at the computer screens that lined her expansive desk.
There was no doubt. The Asian markets were crashing. In that she had not hedged her investments with any bonds, she was taking a bath and her prestigious clients, some of the richest men in the world, were getting soaked with her, because of her. She had put all their money into the most speculative Asian futures, convinced that those markets could never go anywhere but
up & up. Lori nervously tabulated up the losses on her 10-key. She looked in disbelief - the damage was 1.3 billion dollars lost, gone, unrecoverable. She looked around at her plush office, furnished with Chinese antiques; thought about the penthouse she had just moved into a few months before and the custom Jaguar she bought with cash just last week. All gone she thought. She was just about to type up her resignation, when there was a knock at her door.
Being after hours, her secretary long gone, it did not surprise Lori that this knock came unannounced. What did startle her was who was politely waiting at her door when she opened it:
Mr. Chang, Mr. Fusutsu and Mr. Foxworth, the owners of CFF, were politely standing there. No executive assistants, no other VP's or officers, just the three most prestigious investment brokers in the world. She knew that Mr. Chang and Fusutsu must have just flown in from Hong Kong and Tokyo, and it turned out that Mr. Foxworth had just driven down from his Connecticut estate and picked up his Asian partners at Kennedy International. What surprised Lori the most is that they were smiling! They didn't seem angry at all. "My God" she thought, "I just lost over a billion dollars!" She was just about to launch into an impromptu apology and verbal resignation, when Mr. Fusutsu put a finger up to his mouth, in the universal sign of silence.” There is no need to apologize" he said in broken English, "money come, money go."
Lori couldn't believe her ears and eyes! Could she be forgiven for such a gigantic mistake? Maybe, she thought, in this world of super-high stakes, she was now a player. So make a billion, loose a billion; make a buck, loose a buck. Yes, she thought, these men know that risk taking is what separates the wannabe's from the elite. So when these three tycoons suggested that the four of them, Lori included, go to The Executive Club to dine, she was not that surprised. What did catch her attention was the invitation itself. You see, The Executive Club was not only the most prestigious and private club and restaurant in New York; it was also the last bastion of male privilege. Members could bring their wives, or, as rumored, more entertaining females but to be invited as a peer, a fellow executive gave Lori a surge of pride. Perhaps, even with one big mistake behind her, she had finally made it - all the way to the top!
Lori had changed from her business suit to a very sexy black dress she kept in her office closet just for this kind of occasion. Lori was in the new school of female executives, not afraid to hide her femininity or flaunt her sexiness just to make it in a "man's world". An expensive but simple designers model, the dress was strapless, clingy and showed off her tight cleavage by cinching her small but firm breasts with a corset-like top. The attached skirt was shear enough to reveal the outlines of her toned legs, and cut just above her knees. Patterned hose and very expensive strapped heels finished off her simple but elegant attire. As the limo pulled into the courtyard entrance of the brownstone mansion and the uniformed doorman opened her door, Lori felt like a million bucks! She could smell the greenery and feel the mist from the fountains as they walked through the garden courtyard and to the entrance. With satisfaction, Lori read, etched on the crystal glass of the front door, "The Executive Club". She had finally made it, she thought, and surrounded by three of the richest men in the world as her escorts, walked inside.
They were greeted politely by the headwaiter, dressed in a black tuxedo. The room was sumptuously furnished with polished antique furniture, a plush red carpet and lit with crystal chandeliers. The lighting was soft but glowed, and made everyone look radiant, including Lori, as she caught a glance of herself in one of many mirrors. She liked what she saw - although now in her thirties, Lori had maintained her youthful, almost girlish looks and looked stunning in her sexy dress. Her athletic body, toned by hours at her health club, looked positively delicious in that revealing outfit. The soft, classical music that filled her ears made her turn to the foyer where, to her surprise, she saw four beautiful women playing in a string quartet. What surprised her was their attire, or lack of it. The four young women were nude, with only their violins to hide their beautiful bodies. "How decadent" Lori thought, "I love it!" The rest of the room was filled with successful-looking businessmen dressed in expensive suits and a few of their female companions, all beautiful in their New York evening wear. Circulating between them were red-jacketed waiters balancing silver trays, filled with hors d'oeuvres and liquors in crystal glasses.
"Now this is my kind of style,” Lori thought to herself, as a waiter poured 100-year old cognac into her sifter. Having not eaten all day, Lori was famished and despite the fact that she was a vegetarian, gladly sampled several hors d'oeuvres from passing trays. The truth was that she had been using hors d'oeuvres at elegant parties & receptions in New York as a way of 'cheating' around her non-meat diet over the last year and had tried many delicacies. However, tonight she could not identify the rich pate in her palette. It was delicious but exotic, almost forbiddingly tasty in her mouth. She knew she had never tasted it before, but at once it also seemed familiar. "Curious" she thought, "Not duck or pork, I wonder what meat was used to make this?" Just as she was getting comfortable with the eliteness of this setting, Lori froze in horror. Looking around this party, she started recognizing the well-dressed men in the room.
They were her clients - Asian men from Hong Kong, Malaysia and Japan. Also French, German and Englishmen, and then several from New York and Boston. Just about every man in the room was one of her investors, and these were the very men who had just lost millions, some hundreds of millions of dollars from her reckless investment strategy. Perhaps it was the electric rush of entering this exclusive club or because she had only met some of these investors once or twice, then working their accounts by phone. But it did take Lori a few minutes to realize that she was in the company of the very victims of her foolish folly. Just as she realized this, everyone in the room stopped talking and turned, looking directly at her. "What's going on here?" Lori thought, feeling suddenly very vulnerable and more naked than the girls in the string quartet.
"I'm sure you recognize most of these gentlemen,” Mr. Foxworth said from behind her, as he took her arm in a rather raffish manner, "Why don't you say hello to your, shall we say, ex-clients."
As he said this, Mr. Fusutsu and Mr. Chang made, apparently, jokes in Japanese and Chinese, respectively, to their fellow nationals in the room. They used slang that Lori didn't understand completely, something along the lines of 'a pound of flesh', but she didn't like the sound of it.
"What's going on here?" she said, now out loud. "Nothing to worry about" replied Mr. Foxworth, "just taking care of business." Lori cleared her throat, and started to apologize for the scope of the loss she had created in these men's finances. The gravity of her mistake, gambling and loosing over a billion dollars, was now weighing on her. Her hands and knees were trembling and drops of perspiration rolled down her temples. But her quavering voice was interrupted by Mr. Chang, who repeated the same words he said to her earlier that evening at the office, "No need to apologize, Money come, money go." He repeated that in Chinese, as Mr. Fusutsu echoed in Japanese and the whole room broke into hearty laughter. Lori tried to laugh along with them, but she had this uneasy feeling, that primal feeling of fear. It was like there was a joke, and a very dangerous joke and she was the only one in the room who wasn't in on it. Maybe to these men, Lori thought, loosing millions of dollars, even a hundred million dollars, is just like a bad day at the racetrack. At this level, it's just part of the game of life. But adrenaline was surging through her gut, an imminent feeling that something very bad was about to happen. But she had made it into the club, no matter what the circumstances, so perhaps the best strategy was to play along.
"So I'm not fired?" her eyes now puppy-dog pleading as she looked up to Mr. Foxworth.
"Well, not in that sense" he replied cryptically. Lori was confused by his response, but thought it best not to ask what he meant. "Why don't you relax, and join us for dinner" he said. "Yes, yes, time to start cooking food, many hungry guests" joined in Mr. Fusutsu in broken English. Every-one in the room was now looking at her and Lori was feeling even more uneasy. "Well, I'm starving too" piped in Lori, "what's for dinner?" "You are" said almost everyone in the room, as if on cue. "No, no" said Lori, thinking that there was a language barrier, "What's on the menu?"
The headwaiter walked over with stiff dignity, and handed Lori a menu, hand-scripted, freshly printed on parchment. Lori's eyes grew wide with disbelief as she read it:
Roast Rump of Lori
Lori Thigh Steaks
Fried Lori Breasts in Virgin Olive Oil
Bad Girl Barbecue Ribs - Extra Spicy
Liver Pate a la Lori served with Lori Sausage
Lori Arm & Calf Drumsticks - Bone In
Lori's hands started shaking, and she dropped the menu, only to see that menus were being handed to each of the guests. As Mr. Fusutsu & Mr. Chang helped translate for their Asian friends, everyone in the room (except Lori) seemed quite diligent in deciding and placing their orders. This had to be a joke, wasn't it? Perhaps some kind of mental game, she thought. A way of making her pay for her greed and recklessness. Some kind of right of passage. Despite refusing to accept the reality of her situation, Lori found herself glancing at the etched glass door, beyond, which was the courtyard, and the civilized streets of New York only a few yards away. But as she looked that way, as if knowing her thoughts, the headwaiter locked the door with a heavy key.
Lori tried to laugh, and said, "You can't be serious!" But just then, she felt her arms being grabbed, in a very firm and quite ungentlemanly manner. It was her bosses, Mr. Foxworth and Mr. Chang, each securing an arm quite roughly, as they walked her forcefully over to a table in the next room. "This can't be happening, not in civilized America,” she protested, vainly.
"You play big, you loose big" said Mr. Fusutsu, with a smile that didn't seem quite as friendly as before. "Call this the ultimate old boy's club," said Mr. Foxworth with a touch of cynicism in his voice, "but when a woman wants to win in this crowd, she can win big." He looked directly into her eyes without a hint of mercy, "and when she looses, she looses it all."
"What do you mean?" she asked, tepidly. With a wry smile, Mr. Foxworth responded, "We like to keep our clients satisfied." She looked at him with disbelief as he went on, "and if they can't have the satisfaction of making a good profit with us, the least we can do is offer them a good meal." "Me?" she asked. "You!" he responded, and with that, no more needed to be said. His meaning could not have been more clear, "But first, we'll have a little fun." As he said that, Mr. Foxworth, Fusutsu & Mr. Chang unceremoniously threw her on the marble table. With the three of them, it took less than a minute to pull off all her clothes. With Mr. Fusutsu holding her ankles, and Mr. Chang her wrists, they flipped her face down on the cold marble to view their prize and their meal for tonight. What was only teased in her eveningwear was now a feast for their eyes.
Lori, without her clothes, was a five foot three inch woman of 118 pounds - very toned and firm. You could see that her legs and thighs were solid - very little jiggle or fat - the meatiness of her muscle was apparent. Even her ass, a bit small by female standards, but still with the signature feminine curve, had almost no fat on it - again - one could imagine slicing it into lean, juicy cuts (once roasted, of course). As the twenty (or so) guests gathered round the table to view their prey, it became apparent to all that, before cooking her, they had a captive naked girl stretched out on the table. This, and the anticipation of seeing her
roasted alive on a spit aroused most of the men there, and soon, throbbing hard cocks appeared from the pants of their expensive suits. The three hosts, her former bosses, deferred to their clients as they raped Lori. At least two men were in her for the next hour - one thrusting his hard cock mercilessly deep into her throat, while another plunged into her loins - her vagina or ass - depending on his preference at the moment. From Lori's point of view, it was an endless stream of hard, hungry cocks and forceful hands, grabbing her, flipping her, and holding her down in available positions. Once one cock had come in her mouth, her head was turned by strong hands and another was forced into her mouth. Likewise, as soon as she felt one cock throbbing and spurting inside her ass or vagina, she heard a male voice say (politely), "Excuse me, Pardon me, or May I?" and
a new cock, larger, smaller, longer or wider, would be plunging into her most personal places. She hated to admit it, but being taken by seemingly unlimited hard cock was actually very exciting, and satisfying.
But like all good things, everyone's fun, Lori's included, had come to completion. By this time, all the men had the pleasure of exploding their semen inside her, so this part of the fun had come to an end, and indeed, so had Lori's time. She had gone from high-flying executive to naked receptacle of men's lust, and now, it was time for Lori to become the meal for tonight's dinner.
Two waiters appeared with a thick, wooden pole. By the time she realized what they were doing, and just barely started to struggle, her hands & feet were tied to the pole, and she was lifted, facing down and hanged by her wrists & ankles, off the table. She has beautiful feet. As if a procession, she was carried by the red-jacketed waiters up a sweeping, marble staircase, followed by everyone else, a parade consisting of the men, a few of their lady guests, and finally, her former employers: Mr. Chang, Mr. Fusutsu and Mr. Foxworth.
From her uncomfortable new perch, hanging face down from a pole, this is not how Lori wanted to explore the inner sanctum of New York's most exclusive restaurant and club. Lori saw as the festive party rounded the top of the stairs was even more unsettling. There was the dining room, circled with round tables, each with white tablecloths. That was expected, but what was unexpected she first sensed by other senses, smell and feel, before she could see it. She smelled the smoke of charcoal and could feel heat as they approached the center of the dining room. What she saw, as the crowd parted, made Lori gasp! In the center of the room was a brick charcoal pit, just long enough for a human, about six feet long and three feet wide. At each end were two cast iron poles, about two feet high, each with three 4-inch arms welded on in intervals, angled up slightly. These three limbs were obviously notches to hold a pole, or spit, at different heights. The intense heat Lori felt as they approached was due to the enormous fire that filled the entire brick pit. Indeed, red & yellow flames roared a full eighteen inches above the two-foot high brick walls, and were being fueled even more as two fire attendants shoveled even more charcoal from an adjacent wheelbarrow. These two men, with coal-black skin and dressed in white chef's smocks and hats, smiled approvingly as Lori was carried by. Lori looked back at them, and the barbecue pit, as the waiters pushed through a set of large swivel doors, and Lori found herself in a brightly lit, immaculate kitchen. She could not help notice the centerpiece, for she was carried directly to it - a large, stainless steel table with chained shackles at either end. She was laid face down on this
cold table, untied from her pole, and unseen hands flipped her over and quickly shackled her wrists and ankles so she was lying, secured, spread-eagle and face up on the table.
The hands went from white to black, as the waiters turned Lori over to three men who looked similar to those tending the fire. Men with coal black skin dressed in white chef's hats & smocks. Two were tall and slim but the one who obviously was in charge was a very big, round man whose white teeth and eyes gleamed from the blackness of his face. "This is Mr. Mobutu, trained in Africa, and he'll be your chef tonight" said the waiter formally, as he stiffly turned and exited the room. Lori stated wide-eyed up to Mr. Mobutu, as he smiled approvingly back at her, but not to her face but to her body. As his assistants cinched down the chains securing her manacled limbs, Lori was stretched and pinned down on the prep table - she could not flail, move or struggle. Mr. Mobutu, or Chef Mobutu's hands explored her body, but not in a sexual way. He squeezed and handled her flesh in the same way he would feel out any piece of meat - testing for leanness, fat and texture. He smiled approvingly, and spoke with that distinct African accent that has a hint of a British lilt, "This is a prize roast that we have been given. You are lean, with much good meat on your body. It will be my pleasure to cook you tonight." He was so matter-the-fact in saying this, that Lori knew, deep inside that it was useless to reason, or beg for mercy. She did try, uttering a few protests, but by then Chef Mobutu and his assistants were busying themselves in preparing Lori as the main course for tonight's meal.
Chef Mobutu came from a long tradition in Africa, going back hundreds of generations. By the turn of the century, it became apparent to those African chefs who specialized in cooking human meat that the outside world condemned cannibalism. So what was openly celebrated and enjoyed up through the 1900’s went underground, and done in secret. To avoid the wrath of the colonialists, and to ensure good trade and commerce, the practice of cooking and eating humans went underground, and was performed within secret societies. But the recipes and cooking techniques were passed down through generations and Chef Mobutu was proud and knowledgeable of this long tradition. He learned his skills by cooking dozens of native girls back in the Congo and now was a celebrity human chef, flying around the world to prepare human roasts for special events and the culinary elite. He was used to begging, pleading and crying the living meat would protest as he prepared them for the fire. Actually, he rather enjoyed it - it was to be expected. So anything Lori said now would make no difference at all.
Lori heard a blender and saw one of the Chef's assistants pouring raisins and freshly cut fruit into the mixing bowl. "Is that my stuffing?" she could not help thinking. A bowl of steaming hot water was placed next to her hips. She looked down, between her breasts, to see her Chef was unfolding a straight razor and dipping it in the scalding water. For a moment she thought he was going to cut her and then felt relieved to feel Mr. Mobutu shaving her pubic hairs. Working carefully but quickly, Chef Mobutu had cleanly shaved her vagina bald and smooth, rinsing the hairs off in the wet bowl between each stroke. He then
took a bottle of virgin olive oil and turned it upside down and poured it generously into her vagina, enough for it to fill her up to her cervix and to flow back out onto the table. Without a word, he handed it to one of his assistants, who grabbed Lori by the hair, forcing her head back, and placed the tip of the bottle in her mouth. Lori could taste the oil and feel the slickness as he emptied the rest of the bottle pouring it down her throat. Lori's relief of not being cut during the shaving was short lived, for she saw the Chef pick up a very sharp and scary-looking knife. Singing and humming an old African folk song, Chef Mobutu happily and efficiently went about the preparation of Lori from woman to roaster.
With one clean draw of the sharp knife, he slit open the skin down her entire belly, from just below her breastbone to just above her pubic bone. The knife was so sharp and he did it so quickly, that Lori didn't even feel any pain, just sort of a brief sting. She did feel him separate the split in her skin slightly, sort of a tugging feel. He then drew the knife again, this time cutting completely through her abdominal wall. This, Lori felt more, like a shocking pain but by the time she reacted, with a buck and a yelp, he had already completely opened her up. Blood flowed down the sides of her belly, as a wisp of steam rose out of the opening. Now all three of them, the Chef and his assistants, leaned over and into her abdomen like surgeons, each holding sharp knives, tongs and shears. Having done this procedure many times, it was amazing to watch (as Lori did) to see them disembowel her in under a minute. They cut her intestines right above her anus and pulled them out along with cutting and removing her liver, kidneys, bladder and any other organs in her abdomen that could carry poisons or toxins into the roast when she was cooked. Lori thought, as she watched herself being disemboweled, that as a vegetarian, she was probably more toxic-free than most people. She even mentioned that, between gasps, to Chef Mobutu, and he thanked her for that, but said that it's a matter of good procedure to do this with all his cookers.
The organs removed, although vital and essential, we not critical for immediate life. Although in shock now, Lori was quite capable of living for several hours, and, besides, she would soon be dying by roasting over a fire. She was quite conscious too, and having her innards cut and removed provided interesting sensations for her. Although she felt her insides assaulted, and could feel her organs being snipped and removed, more than pain, she felt an incredible sense of lightness, and an empty feeling at her belly. This empty feeling would soon be relieved, though, for one of the assistants brought over the bowl from the mixer.
Yes, it was stuffing - stuffing for Lori and using large cooking spoons, the two assistants carefully ladled in the stuffing into her open abdomen and packed it in. Once stuffed, her belly would be sewn together again but first, the most important and delicate part of her preparation needed to be done - Lori needed to be spitted. With her belly still open, it was now easy to run the spit completely through her body and not risk the danger of hitting the most critical of her vital organs - her heart and major blood vessels. Lori looked to her side to see one of the assistants pouring more virgin olive oil over a long, stainless steel shaft.
"You're going to put that through me?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "Yes, you are going to look so pretty when we bring you out and put you on the fire," the Chef responded, "don't worry, this won't hurt much, and you will look beautiful as our roast."
One end of the shiny spit tapered to a surgically sharp point and after the last of the olive oil was poured on the point; the long pole was handed to Chef Mobutu. Positioning himself at the base of the table, he carefully worked the pointed end between Lori's vagina lips. Rotating it, he developed an in-&-out motion, just enough to insert it into Lori's vagina in a sexual manner, up to her cervix. It felt just like a good dildo and as planned, Lori responded sexually. This, part of the ancient African tradition, was to bring the female to orgasm just before she was spitted. The belief is that this positive energy then radiates throughout, including all the meat in her body, and makes her an aphrodisiac for all who eat her. Just as Lori orgasmed, her inner vagina pulsing on the steel shaft, Chef Mobutu's strong hands pushed on the shaft, pushing the razor-sharp point through her cervix and womb. To Lori, the sharp pain was simply mixed with the pleasure of her orgasm and her wincing on the table was from a mixture of both. As the Chef continued to push, one of the assistants reached into her abdomen and guided the point, as it emerged from the top of her womb, through her stomach and into her esophagus. The other poured more olive oil down her throat, and with this entire route well lubed, and all three chefs guiding the shaft, within a minute, the spit shaft emerged smoothly in Lori's throat. While Chef Mobutu pushed the spit into her vagina, one assistant pulled her head back by her hair while the other forced her teeth apart. Like a delivery, the pointed steel shaft emerged cleanly from her mouth, and continued to extend until it protruded another three feet.
Lori was now completely impaled - spitted and almost ready for roasting. With only her pounding heart and heaving breathing, she could only lie there, on her back, and think about what was to come next. She could not speak at this point, for the two inch thick steel shaft completely filled her mouth, and any movement of her jaw would cause her teeth to bite into the hard metal. She could breath through her nose, and she could feel the steel spit through her. She could even feel her heart pounding against the hard steel pole. She could feel it down her throat; see it extended coming out her mouth, filling her line of sight. But
most of all, she could feel it between her legs, in her vagina. Although she had orgasmed just before she was spitted, she could feel, and knew, that she was doing to come again, and again, before the evening (and her life) was over.
Lori's preparation was almost complete. With the rigid spit now through her throat, she could not move her head anymore, and only look down the end of the spit protruding from her mouth. She was now dependent on other senses - hearing and touch, to tell what was being done to her.
As the assistants finished packing in the stuffing in her, she could feel her abdomen filling up. Soon, she felt a series of methodical pricks on her upper belly. It was Chef Mobutu, sewing her abdominal wall together with cooking needle and thread. Being a perfectionist, Mr. Mobutu did this sewing himself, wanting to make sure Lori looked as beautiful leaving his kitchen as when she arrived. Once finished with her abdominal wall, Lori felt a series of stings more on the surface of her skin, as the chef did a second stitching of her skin, closing up cleanly the long slice down her belly. It took over twenty stitches, but when done,
and the stuffing carefully packed in her belly; Lori's tummy had exactly the same shape as when she first arrived. Except for the nice pattern of stitches, you would not have known she had just been disemboweled.
The next sense Lori used was her ears. She could hear the sounds of a wrench ratcheting, and could feel a slight vibration on the spit between her legs. It was one of the assistants, tightening down a metal sleeve that he had slid up the lower end of the shaft, just above her knees. This sleeve had pressure screws, to hold it at that position on the spit, and that was what Lori heard - he was using a ratchet wrench to tighten it in place. On this two inch sleeve was another, smaller sleeve, about 3/8th inch in diameter, welded perpendicular to the two-inch sleeve. This was to hold the thigh spit, a smaller spit used to keep Lori's thighs
a part over the fire. With her head positioned so she couldn't see, Lori couldn't fathom what they were doing down there. She couldn't even ask, indeed, she couldn't talk anymore with the spit filling her mouth. Being disemboweled and spitted, she could not escape the inevitability of her situation. She realized this much: That she was really going to be cooked, alive, as tonight's dinner for her former clients and employers. At this point, she found herself being curious as to what it would feel like to be barbecued over a fire and, ironically, wondering what she would taste like. Strangely, she felt confident in Mr. Mobutu's culinary skills, and a sense of pride that he would make sure she was a splendid main coarse. Even being a vegetarian, she found herself wishing that she could also dine on herself.
Lori saw the assistants unshackling her wrists from the top of the table, and felt the other assistant do the same with her ankles. She felt a brief sense of relief, for they were tight and hurt quite a bit, especially when she struggled against them while being sliced and spitted. She was quite surprised as she moved her arms and legs around, actually in the wonder that she was still alive, still a human being able to move. But her respite was short lived. As much as the slicing, disembowelment, spitting and sewing had caused discomfort, it was nothing like the pain she now felt. A sharp skewer, about a 1/4-inch thick, was stabbed into her outer thigh, and pushed completely through her thigh muscle until it came out of her tender inner thigh. Lori made a high squealing sound and flailed the remaining three limbs uncontrollably. The other assistant held her down while the other two pushed the four foot skewer, threading it through the sleeve on the shaft, until the point reached the inner part of her other thigh.
Holding her other leg securely, the point entered there and with equal deliverance, and a yelp surging from Lori's spitted throat, they continued pushing until Lori's thighs were now completely skewered though, the bloody point now a foot outside each thigh. Her thighs were now fixed and spread, at about 45 degrees from her pelvis, so they could not close. The only way she could try to close her legs would be to slide them on the steel skewer, that so cruelly impaled her right through the deepest part of her thighs.
Lori was almost ready for presentation to the roasting pit. All that needed to be done was to tie her ankles to the spit, and her hands behind her back, and that was done quickly and efficiently in just a few seconds. When large, red apple was pushed down the spit down to her mouth Lori's preparation was complete. The three chefs spoke in African to each other, but the tone of their voice was unmistakably admiration. Talking to her for the last time as a person, Chef Mobutu leaned down closely to Lori's ear, and told her how proud he was to cook such a beautiful girl and thanked her for offering herself as tonight's meal. He
kissed her gently on her cheek, kissing away the tears that rolled from her eyes. In the strangest way, Lori felt grateful that he was so happy serving her. The last detail was to tightened down a crank handle on the sharp end of the spit, and it was time to bring Lori out to the roasting pit and barbecue her alive, over the fire. With the Chef grabbing the head-end of her spit, and his assistant at her feet, they lifted Lori off the prep table and onto their shoulders. As she was being carried out the kitchen, Lori noticed one of the chefs was washing out her intestines in the sink, while her liver & other organs were placed next to meat
grinder. "The hors d'oeuvres" she suddenly realized, "so that's why they tasted so familiar."
Lori had been in the kitchen only 45 minutes, but the guests were getting restless. The waiters had been peering into the round windows of the kitchen doors nervously, and so felt relief when they saw Lori being carried out on the spit. "Ladies and gentlemen, your dinner for this evening" they announced stiffly as they swung open the kitchen doors. The two chefs carried the spit, with Lori's naked body impaled on it, triumphantly into the dining room to the applause and cheers of the crowd. They walked her around the room, letting everyone get a close view of her, and after circling the pit once, brought her right to the fire. It was time to roast her.
The fire had settled now to a pit of glowing red coals, producing an even layer of orange flames which flickered five or six inches above the bed. The fire attendants, who had been raking the cured coals, now helped Chef Mobutu in placing Lori over the fire. Although Lori only weighed 118 lbs., the spit was quite heavy, so it took four of them to carefully position the spit on the top notch of the vertical spit poles at each end of the pit. This position, the highest, was for smoking and basting Lori. Her meat would be cured at this height, but the more serious cooking and roasting really took place at the two lower rungs. This
was the last time the spit would be handled with bare hands, for as the steel heated up over the fire, it would be necessary to handle it with mitten gloves as it was lowered to the notches down the poles. That was part of the secret to spit roasting – that as the steel spit got hot, it would conduct heat inside her body, cooking her from the inside out - especially her vagina. With Lori now over the fire, one chef started slowly turning the handle, rotating her, while the others started basting her with long brushes, making sure that every inch of her white skin was covered with Chef Mobutu's secret barbecue sauce.
From Lori's point of view, she knew her goose was cooked - literally! There was no doubt of her position, she could not deny her destiny. She was very aware that she was impaled on a spit - she could feel it through her, and see it extending from her mouth. She could see the black hand turning the crank, thereby turning her. And like being in a surrealistic amusement park ride, her view was slowly spinning - seeing the red hot coals and flickering flames below her, then the people to one side, the chandeliered ceiling, the people to the other side, and then the fire again.
The next sensation to hit her awareness was smell, most strongly that of charcoal smoke flavored with mesquite. Sure enough, she saw the fire chef sprinkle mesquite and other flavoring shavings on the fire with a small shovel. At the same time, she smelled the sweet aroma of the sauce that was being brushed on her, especially as they basted her breasts and shoulders. It had
a distinct flavor of berries. Indeed, one of Chef Mobutu's secrets to fine human culinary was a barbecue sauce made from exotic African berries, passed down from his ancestors. Mr. Mobutu picked these himself from deep in the jungles, crushed them and cured them in jars, and always brought a fresh batch to all his special feasts. Of course, another sense was her equilibrium - for she was being rotated around on the spit. But soon, the most dominating sensation was that of heat, of the fire below her and how it felt on her skin.
When she was first placed over the fire, it almost felt good, like a hot sauna, or leaning over a barbecue pit at a picnic on a chilly day. Indeed, she had been experiencing cold since she was first stripped and taken on the marble table downstairs, cold to the touch. And the steel prep table in the kitchen was also cold, as was the steel spit when they first put it through her. And being marched around the room, naked and exposed - the fire felt warming as they first approached it, and the waves of heat bathed her pleasurably for the first few minutes over the coals. But now the fire below her had gone from unpleasant to painful. She did not have the option of pulling away, as you would from a fireplace or barbecue pit when it got too hot (like when cooking something over it). It started becoming clear to her that she did not have that option. She was not cooking meat over a pit, she was being cooked herself. The burning and searing she felt on her skin was the beginning of her being roasted and the pain that started to flare across her entire body. Her legs & thighs, her ass & hips, her breasts, shoulders and back. It would not go away, it would only become worse and worse. And deeper and deeper - for not only would her skin start to sizzle and brown but soon the heat would start to penetrate. She would feel, alive and conscious, as the heat would be soon going deeper, cooking her muscles until they became roasted meat. This is what it is like to be roasted and barbecued alive. She found only two sources of relief from this unrelenting heat - the cool moisture of Chef Mobutu's barbecue sauce as it was brushed on her and her body being turned on the spit, which mercifully gave one burning side of her a chance to be rotated away from the flames. But then, another quadrant of her naked, exposed flesh would then be facing the hot fire below.
The top rung of the spit rack served more than the first two stated purposes -
Smoking her and basting her: This was also the most entertaining portion of girl roasting. This was the time to enjoy the sights and sounds of the most exotic torture and decadence, for the girl is very much alive, conscious and aware that she is being cooked alive. Lori did not disappoint them, for soon she was writhing and undulating on her spit - even sliding a few inches up and down the steel shaft that impaled her. It was easy to see how alive she was, because her breathing grew heavier & heavier - indeed soon her breasts were heaving as her
chest swelled rhythmically. You could even see her heart pounding as she was turned facing up. And tears were flowing down her cheeks and her eyes darted around the room, at one point in confusion and panic, at then she would look directly at the men & women in the room, with almost a heart rendering plead.
And Lori was almost pathetic in her futile efforts to avoid the burning flames below her. You could see her wince and twist, as much as she could being impaled by steel, in a pitiful attempt at avoiding the fire that was inflicting waves of burning heat on her naked flesh. And the sounds she started to make only added to the decadent spectacle. From her spitted mouth came a cacophony of female noise despite the spit going right through throat. From screams to moans, from siren-like wails to whimpering, there seemed to be and endless variety ways she verbally expressed the ordeal she was experiencing – especially when you considered that words were no longer an option for her. And it was soon apparent why the poor girl was in so much pain.
Within minutes of being placed on the fire, Lori's body was glistening with sweat. Indeed, she was soon covered; head to toe with a sheen of moisture, mixed in with reddish sauce being brushed on her. This combined liquid was soon dripping down freely from her entire body to the hot coals below, where it would sizzle and steam, sending up the flavoring of both the sauce and her essence back up with the smoke to flavor her body. But after ten minutes over the flames, the sizzling and steaming were now taking place right on Lori's body. You could see and hear her skin start to pop and react to the heat her body was immersed in. The cooking process had begun. Her white skin was changing to a glowing red - not so much from the barbecue sauce, which actually preserved her skin from burning - but because her skin was now starting to absorb the heat, smoke and fire and cook. Lori was turning into a human roast before our eyes. And a smoky steam starting rising, not from the fire but from Lori's body. The heat was penetrating through her skin and deeper, into her muscles and starting to cook them into meat. Lori's curing at the higher notch was just about complete. It was time to lower her one notch, and into the fire.
After all, the torture is fun, but the guests are hungry and this girl is tonight's meal. What they were looking at was no longer Lori the executive investment broker, the girl who lost them some money. They were anticipating the most exotic of all meals, barbecued girl, and it takes about three more hours to roast a naked girl properly.
So with padded mittens (for the spit was now too hot to touch) the chefs lowered Lori to the next rung down. She was now only twelve inches above the flames, and this is where she will stay for the next two hours, while the serious cooking takes place. Indeed, Lori, still conscious and aware but struggling a bit weaker now, was very aware of how hot the spit had become. So hot the cooks could not hold on to it for even a second without burning themselves. She did not have that choice. Indeed, it was starting to glow red itself and unfortunately, was penetrating Lori in her most sensitive places, her mouth and vagina. With the merciless heat burning her entire body. It was hard to differentiate all the different pain coming from every part of her but as the spit grew hotter and hotter, that "special" pain coming from inside her vagina was distinct. Indeed, still moist
from it's coating of olive oil, part of her undulating up until now had been her "secret" orgasming on the hard shaft. And as the spit grew hotter there, she found it easier to come on it, indeed, not only had she peaked several times, she found that the last few were the best she ever had in her life. Knowing that her life was about to end and despite the fact that this cruel shaft was now unbearably burning her inside her most precious place, she came one last time on it, as it grew so hot, it literally started cooking her from the inside out. Indeed, other than holding her captive over the pit, that internal cooking was an important
function of the steel spit.
Now close to the fire, Lori was still alive and conscious but she was going from torture to being cooked. Her skin, well seasoned from the special sauce, was now browning nicely, becoming crisper and textured by the fire. This was a very
exciting time to watch, because her eyes were still open and it was clear that she still knew what was happening to her. But it was easy to see that she was becoming a roast. Indeed, you could smell it - an appetizing aroma was filling the air around the pit, and even Lori could smell it - and despite her predicament, she was enjoying the flavorful smell. And at the same time, she realized that this tasty aroma was her own body, being barbecued alive over the flaming coals. Everyone in the room, the businessmen, their guests and the chefs, leaned in and inhaled the delicious aroma of the girl roast on the spit. It aroused there
appetites but they would be patient, for it was such an incredible sight to watch this beautiful young girl start to cook before their very eyes. Just above the flames, Lori's skin was now starting to lightly char and blisters were forming in an even, crinkly texture all over her body - her legs & thighs, her pretty little ass, and on her chest and back. Her breasts, although small, were still pointy and were turning closer to the fire. They had turned bright red, with highlights of charred brown towards the tips, blending in with her nipples, which were now smoking. Soon smoke was coming up from all over her body, as the unrelenting
heat started to cook her deeper. Her muscles were turning into meat, going from blood red to roasted pink inside her. But Lori hung on. She was still breathing, her eyes still open. She was determined not only to stay alive but at this point, to enjoy this savage torture. In the strangest way, she had gotten beyond the pain and was actually enjoying her ordeal.
During the first hour over the fire, her mind had gone from anger, self-pity, and finally acceptance. There were points of time when she was reviewing her life - sonhood, school, and her meteoric raise through the New York business elite. There were brief moments when she wondered if anyone would stop this barbarity and possibly save her. For about 45 minutes, most of her consciousness was of the pain and burning that was racking her body. Now closer to the flames, the pain had transformed to a new dimension. More severe, but also so total that it became one with her. Chef Mobutu recognized this last stage in the girl's life. It was at this point that she was no longer burning but actually cooking. It was the beauty of this moment that his African ancestors had known for a thousand years. In Lori's eyes, now glazed, he could see the transformation. Physically, her beautiful body was becoming a roast and mentally, she realized that her purpose in the last few hours of her existence was to feed the hungry guests present. Her value now was the meat on her body and the pleasure it gave for those who will eat her. Chef Mobutu smiled as he caught her eyes as she rotated around the spit. She managed to smile back, even with the spit through her mouth. At that point, feeling herself cook and smelling her own appetizing aroma. She realized her fate and hoped that her body would provide a tasty meal for all those who dined on her.
From that point on, Lori started to drift in and out of consciousness, her eyes opening and closing.
As the fire, now close, cooked her deeper and deeper to her bones, new types of pains and sensations seeped through her helpless body. Although her breathing became more labored, she was still alive for another hour, her body occasionally heaving and racking in pain. When the chefs would prod her thighs, ass, breasts and other meaty parts to see how well she was getting done, she would still jerk to this new, painful sensation. And when their sharp butcher knives cut deep into her ass, her eyes opened with the sensation the deep slice through her behind. Chef Mobutu smiled at what he saw, for her muscular, meaty ass was now brown on the outside, going to pink to red deep inside. Lori was getting done and she was still alive. By now, her skin was turning a deeper shade of brown, especially on those parts closest to the fire - her ass, thighs and breasts. It was hard
to say when Lori finally expired, for her breathing became shallower and shallower, and, in the end, her eyes finally stayed open. But she had lived almost two hours over the fire and lived up to what anyone could hope for in seeing a beautiful girl spit-roasted alive.
By the time they lowered the roast girl to the lowest rack, she was turning into a delicious roast. Having little body fat and being very muscular, it took less time than expected for Lori to be cooked and ready to serve. In her final hour over the fire, she became curiously two things at once: Still a beautiful girl with a great body and at the same time roasted, barbecued meat on a spit. Everyone could see both things at once and marveled at the beauty the two images combined. The chef, waiters and club members had seen, of course, many human barbecues before but never grew tired of the wonder of watching it. To those
guests new to this, this was the most amazing and thrilling thing they had ever witnessed. And both their anticipation and appetites grew as Lori was finally lifted off the flames and lay out on a butcher-block table nearby. After removing the crank and her thigh skewers, the spit was carefully pulled out from her vagina, slowly disappearing into her mouth, until only the apple remained there. Carrots were placed in her ass and vagina to complete the presentation and Lori was ready to be carved for dinner. It was a magnificent sight to see her, just like seeing any large feast ready for dinner and all the guests crowded around
and commented on how delicious she looked. Being famished at this point, there was great anticipation as Chef Mobutu unsheathed his long butcher knife and started to carve her.
Poking his cooking fork deep into her steaming ass to steady it, he proceeded to cut even slices from the outside of her ass cheek, carving inward, until that side was completely sliced into inch thick steaks. There was about an inch of fat on the perimeter of each slice and then the fragrant slice of meat went from well-done brown to pink to juicy red towards the inside - just like good prime rib. There were about five cuts from each of Lori's ass checks, so about ten guests got to dine on that part of her - those lucky enough to order them earlier. After finishing carving the other side of her ass, he proceeded to cut lean steaks from her thighs and then down to her calves. Ok, lets carve off the toes; I
This fed the other ten guests, at least for their first serving but there were many other parts of Lori to eat and being starved, everyone was surely going to ask for seconds. After her bottom half was butchered and carved, Lori was turned over, facing up, and her hairless vagina, now thoroughly cooked, both outside (from the fire pit) and in (from the hot spit) was carefully cut from between the stumps of her butchered thighs. Slicing up each side of her pelvic bone, then across her belly, her entire pubic area was cut and removed from her body. The breasts came off much easier with one clean slice each. Each of her sexual parts
was put on a plate and handed, by Chef Mobutu, to her three former employers: Mr. Fusutsu, Mr. Chang and Mr. Foxworth.
With a slight bow to the Chef and each other, this ceremonial first taste would start the feast.
With all the guests standing around in anticipation, the three gentlemen sat down at the lead table. As the waiters poured expensive French wine, they took their steak knives and forks, and cut into Lori's most sensual parts. With Mr. Fusutsu and Chang now with a cooked nipple on their forks, and one of Lori's vagina lips on his, Mr. Foxworth lifted his glass of wine to his associates and guests and said, "Bon appetite." Thus, by taking the first symbolic bite of Lori's flesh, everyone sat down at their tables as waiters served each the cut of Lori that they had ordered. Complimented with wild rice and butternut squash (not to
mention the stuffing cooked inside Lori), the feature of the meals was certainly Lori's succulent meat. Flavored delicately with Chef Mobutu's secret barbecue sauce, each delicious bite was an adventure for the pallet. Her meat was so tender; it practically melted in their mouths.
And the flavor! Not domestic or gamy, but truly an exotic new taste, at once forbidden and sinfully good. Mr. Fusutsu and Mr. Wang, being oriental and more culinary adventurous, enjoyed eating Lori's cooked breasts, even devouring her mammary glands. Likewise, Mr. Foxworth, who never took the chance to enjoy his protégée’s vagina, carefully ate every detail of her sexual organ - each lip, the clitoris, and finally the vaginal tube - all nicely cooked inside and out.
Of course, this was just an appetizer for these three gentlemen, and lion's share prime cut of her thighs and ass were served to them. While the guests dined on Lori's meat, the chefs busily finished carving her, stripping off the meat from her back and chest, cutting and carving her shoulders and arms. The chef then chopped off each finger, starting with the thumb. Each finger had a different taste and finally breaking off her rib cage. Brushing barbecue sauce on each slab of ribs, they put that part of her back over the fire to finish their cooking. Although smaller portions, there was still plenty of Lori's meat to go around for a second serving, in which everyone indulged. Her upper parts were leaner, with a slightly different taste, which added still another gourmet dimension to the feast. With everyone's appetites at last satiated, they got up and looked at what remained of Lori, a carved carcass on the butcher block. With her legs, pelvis, back, front and arms carved to the bone, the only thing that was still intact was her head, hands and feet. With expensive cognac poured and cigars lit, everyone made a toast to Lori, and the fine meal she provided them with her body. And they all decided to forgive Lori for her foolish, and costly mistake. In their minds, she had paid the price and to them, it was worth it.
THE END