by Chewy
It was strictly a white-tie and Evening Gown affair, the height of the cannibal social season. Dozens of couples arrived fashionably late at the discreetly remote country mansion, all perfectly coifed and immaculately dressed. The men radiated alpha-male assurance in their tuxes and ten-thousand dollar suits, the women displayed like deadly angels in their finest jewelry and fabulously expensive wardrobe. The air was electric with refined chatter, discussions of business and politics, philanthropies and academia, and all the important topics of our time overlain with the casual laughter of those with little to
worry about in life.
They were served drinks as soon as they entered the grand hallway by a staff of servants both efficient and properly deferential. The tinkle of wine and champagne glasses filled with thousand-dollar a bottle plus beverages gave a musical background to the hum of conversation as the guests waited for the festivities to begin.
A ramrod-stiff butler sounded a silver chime, quieting the hallway. He solemnly announced in the starchiest English accent 'Ladies and gentleman, Let the celebration begin'. With that, he turned and opened the double doors to the grand banquet hall.
No one was so crude as to push or shove as the guests entered the magnificent chandeliered hall, but their was a definite urgency to the crowd, a restrained and polite stampede. They had all waited a long time for this event, eyeing their busy calenders as the great day approached, their impatience becoming close to obsession. Tonight they would be rewarded, rewarded for their success, for their fine breeding and superior intellects, rewarded for all their labors in guiding society like patient parents over stupid and unruly sonren. Tonight they would onto lavish themselves their proper tribute, like the lords
and ladies of elder times.
The huge banquet tables groaned under the weight of the food. Save for the bottles of wine and occasional side-dishes there was little variety to the delicacies. It did not matter, for what was being served was the queen of foods, meats that only the gods and most select and demanding of connoisseurs took for their own.
The tables were covered in....women. Women wrapped lengthwise about spits, others squatting on skewers that run up the length of their spines, women kneeling on serving boards, their backs and limbs garnished with impaled fruits and garnishes, women hunched on elbows and knees like huge succulent turkeys, all with skins gleaming with hot body fats and spices. Other platters held smaller, more select pieces. Platters of juicy arms, trenchards filled with long sultry broiled legs, porcelain soup tureens brimming with shapely ankles and feet, silver bowls of poached ears and faces, standing racks of savory spiced
ribs braised with melted breast fats, silver skewers of toes and fingers both cooked and tartare, carving boards heavy with whole roasted buttocks or thighs, ice-filled trays brimming with raw filets of belly and calf, or crowned with pink ovals of raw vagina. Heads with the tops sawed off overflowed with hearty soups of tongue and necks, some of the meaty broths leaking from the steamed nostrils or leaking around boiled eyelids and from custrad-soft ears. Other hollowed heads steamed with cubed thighs and forearm slices, still other with delicately poached ovaries in rare-herd sauces. No fragment of the female body, no matter how modest or obscure went unrepresented, went unnoticed by some appreciative connoisseur.
All dishes were made from women it was true, but the women were a cannibals parody of politically-correct diversity that was fashionable among the dumber parts of the herd. Black and white, yellow and brown, purebreds and mutts, all breeds and races were here, their gravies and juices mingling together in a harmonious medley of cooked femininity. Ethnic and religious hatreds mattered little to the slaughtered, Moslem and Jew sharing the same stew, Black and white mingling gravies, Korean and Nihongo dancing together in boiling soups.
The women who made this feast possible had one thing in common besides their ripe femininity. They were all from the underclasses, the poor, downtrodden, the passed by, the forgotten ones clinging unnoticed to the margins of this great society. Americans were here, Black and Spanish products of Americas teeming ghettos and barrios, along with the occasional bits of white-trash and other assorted breeds. Others were drawn from the grimy cities of Eastern Europe, the teeming rookeries of Asia, the lawless falavas of Latin America, the dingy souks of the Middle East, the impoverished warrens of India and the
benighted lands of Africa. No place, no color, no culture went unrepresented. There was no place safe from the hungers of the wealthy and powerful, be it the Altiplano of Bolivia or the back-jungles of Rwanda or Kampuchea.
The meats here were the murdered meats of the poor everywhere, the meats of those who were too unlucky or too incapable to be worth more than the meat on their bones. They were readily available, easy to catch, and very seldom missed. They were the runts of the human herd, vulnerable and easy pickings. And like lions patiently and cruelly culling the weak from a herd of prey, the rich harvested them. They culled and fattened the vulnerable, then used and ate them as was the natural right of predators since the beginning of time.
There was no guilt, no hesitation as the crowd sat and began to feast on the sumptuous masses of butchered flesh. Such emotions would have been as alien to these modern aristocrats as to the python or tiger. Anyone with such misplaced sympathies had been long weeded out, pushed aside by those who were not burdened by such weakness. The poor were
beasts of burden, useful for their brawn and sweat. They provided the muscle, while their betters served as the minds and souls of the worlds cultures. And like all beasts of burden, it was only right to use the excess cattle as playthings, and as food. The powerful prospered, the weak died, and the species moved on. Such was the cruel way of nature, as old as time and destined to last till the final moments of creation. The feast went on and on, one course after another A braised center-cut
of leg followed by a gammon of arm, a boned shoulder cutlet proceeded by a rich puree of heart and onions, a breast-heavy rack of ribs followed by raw slices of vagina and lemon sauce. The guests had starved themselves for days, even weeks in some cases, all to make room for more meat. There was counting of calories here, no concern for tomorrow waistline. All that mattered was meat, meat that came at the cost of someone's life.
There were discrete servings of raw living meat, the tortured girls gagged into silence so their shrieks would not disturb the refined conversations of the gourmets.. The trussed and naked bodies were elegantly sliced and divided among their captors. The quaking flesh was peeled away from their bones like slabs of bloody sashimi, then consumed before the horrified eyes of the partially eaten sows. Crowds of guests gathered around the flensed victims, laughingly watching their torture, betting on which animal last longest, how much meat could be carved from someone's body before death brought release. The gourmands carving the raw pigs possessed the skill of surgeon savants, and the last agonized creature died with little more than a head and organ-filled torso left.
The staff was equally well- trained, filling empty wine glasses in an instant, providing implements such as vices to crack open leg bones to enjoy the gooey marrow, fine boning knives to flense facial flesh from cooked skulls, or spoons just the right size to scoop out eyes. There was no request too odd, no hunger too depraved for them to unquestionably gratify. Their own payment came as the carried away the dishes, brazenly savoring the leftovers, be it a puddle of warm gravy of slender strips of girl-meat handing from bone or tendon. They were the scavengers, cleaning up after the kills of their masters, making sure nothing edible remained of the day's kills.
Small plates were set aside to collect gnawed finger and toe bones, de-fleshed ribs and vertebrae. Larger bones were piled onto side tables, heaped into pyramids like offerings to the gods on some gory long-lost alter. The grisly piles grew, then were whisked away and picked clean by the staff. Even the lowliest dish-washer delighted in the taste of human flesh, often grinding and boiling the gnawed bones into calcium-rich meal, baking it into their humble tortillas and pasta.
The guests were hungry, the dead women soft and tender. By midnight, there was shockingly little left of the victims, save for tooth-etched bones and the odd bits of gristle. Belts were let out, gowns adjusted for gorged bellies. The guests rose, satiated to the verge of vomit. The staff rushed over to provide the gorged rich with cognac and cigars and after-dinner mints, all the better to help them digest the loads of under-privledged they bore in their bellies. A poet had one exhorted the wealthy to bear the burden of the world's poor and oppressed, and these weary aristocrats fulfilled that wish, save for the fact that they bore the unhuddled masses in their guts and colons, tamed the wild desires of the son-races in by absorbing them into their own superior bodies.
Dishes were piled up and carried out of sight, bones and other unwanted evidence taken away to be rendered unrecognizable in the kilns and acid-bathes that lurked in the basement. Soon there was no trace of the deaths of well more than a dozen women, save for the odd grease stain or a contented belch from a weary gourmet, and a few scattered ashes in a remote landfill.
The poor had served their purpose, and were forgotten once more. The wealthy drove away to their estates, to their privilege and power. ...