by Chewy
She bolted from the underbrush like an elusive dream, her long graceful legs a blur of frantic motion. Malunga lost precious seconds gazing in awe at her lissome form; only remembering to pursue his prey when the globes of her straining buttocks grew small in the distance.
He raced after her, knowing his pride and the bellies of his village depended on bringing her down. She was a tall young one, looking to be barely eighteen summers, with long but strong-looking legs and arms, buttock hams that looked big enough to feed a whole tribe all by themselves, and a proud set of breasts so firm that they barely twitched as she ran for her life. Her meat would feed the tribe well, her skin would make strong supple leather, her ligaments become dependable bindings and glues, her bones would yield needles and awls and material for splendid jewelry.
She was a Tuli, a member of fierce rival tribe, and therefore fair game for the hunt. All foreigners, even the strange white travelers from the coast were food for Malunga’s ferocious warrior nation. His people ruled over all the land for day’s travel around, and they ate all that they met, from mere animal to the greatest of all meat-beasts, fellow humans.
The girl-beast he pursued was a magnificent animal. As swift as the antelope, graceful as the gazelle, fast as a diving hawk. Many times he drew closer to her with a lung-burning dash only to have her swerve to one side just as he was about to hurl his spear. She raced through sharp brambles to make his skin bleed like hers as he traced her path, darted across sharp rocks daring him to twist and ankle or break a leg and have the tables turned on him. If he were injured she would become the hunter, and he would find himself in the stew-pots of her tribe, his phallus an ornament dangling from her slender neck as a trophy or her own fighting prowess.
The sun began its downward path before he drew to within a dozen paces. He could see her back, shimmering with sweat, runnels of salty fluid trickling down to the heaving swell of her buttocks and washing wet lines down her dust-streaked legs. She looked back at him, her jet-black eyes defiant and unafraid, taunting him, daring him to try to take her down by hand and wrestle her meat into submission.
He was not so foolish. Fighting such a woman for her meat would be like wrestling a starving leopardess. He would overpower her in the end, but not before her teeth and nails had raked a pound or two of flesh from his bones. She might even get lucky and find his balls and crush them to pulp, leaving him helpless while she began to eat him alive. No, no sane hunter ever tried to wrestle with such a prime piece of meat until it had been wounded and weakened.
They ran on, locked together in the eternal game of hunter and hunted. A rush here, a desperate veering there, and endurance-sapping sprint again, and the race went on and on.
At last he flung his spear from mere feet away. Incredibly, she almost dodged from its path, he body angling sideways as if boneless, as supple as a young cobra.
She almost dodged it, but in the game of life and death ‘almost’ matters for nothing. The serrated bronze head cut across the flesh of her lower back, a huge spurt of blood showing where the small of her back had been carved so deep her spine showed like newborn ivory.
She gasped and stumhemorrhage, her once graceful body suddenly jerky and stiff with shock and injury. Blood flowed over her ebon buttocks and down her legs, ruby bright in the hot sun.
He circled her warily, looking for signs she was faking her injury. The wound was not fatal, but it was deep and had sliced the muscles just above her ass, making it impossible to hold herself up straight, impossible to run or fight effectively.
He retrieved his blood-smeared spear and closed in on her. He dodged a lump of granite thrown with skull-crushing force at his head. He smiled; she was feisty; he liked that in a woman. It made them more interesting to eat.
He jabbed her here and there with his spear. Not to kill, for his tribe enjoyed their meat fresh and screaming, but to cripple. A hamstring here, an elbow there, enough to drop her to the ground, her arms and legs crippled lengths of bone and flesh, incapable of effective resistance.
She screamed and thrashed and cursed as she was brought down. She tried to grab the spear, then were her arms were impaled she resorted to savage kicks, aiming for knee and crotch in short brutal jabs. She fought for meat with pure primal fury but finally dropped to the dirt a bleeding mass of beautifully helpless bleeding meat.
He bound her with leather thongs he carried. He dodged a last few feeble kicks, and a few not-so feeble bites. He gagged her with his own loincloth to eliminate the threat of those sharp gleaming white teeth. When he was done she was as helpless as a hamstrung gazelle. And far more intriguing.
He raped her, front and back. His tribe would have their fun when she was brought in, so he wanted his pleasure while she was still unspoiled. She fought as he rutted, but it merely made the experience ever more delightful. He could feel her strong body ripple beneath him; feel how much flesh she had to offer him and his tribe. He tasted the salty goodness of her skin, lapped the sharp tang of her blood, and knew her body would soon be nourishing him and his family.
He carried her home. It was a labor, for she was heavy, heavy with meat his tribe needed. It was a labor of joy, of pride at being a great hunter, a hunter that could bring down the most magnificent of all prey.
The whoops of the tribe shook the clouds as he carried her past the huts, holding her out proudly to show all what a fine specimen he had brought down. Hands groped her flesh greedily, hungry drool wet her skin, rough hands explored her holes with hungry lust. The girl-animal glared at them, hissing curses around her loincloth-gag, but the haunted look in her eyes revealed she knew it was over for her and she would soon be floating in the bellies of the hungry villagers.
He let them have her, grinning proudly as they passed her amongst them like a skin of palm wine. They all partook, men and women, and even the older sonren who eagerly aped the pleasures of the adults. Bringing in a live woman was always a great achievement, and every tribe member shared in the feral celebration. They chatted amongst themselves as they cheerfully molested her, poking her flesh and negotiating on how would get what piece of her to eat. The girl understood them, and her look grew ever more despairing as even the most modest piece of her body was claimed for meat.
At last Malunga retrieved her trembling and dazed body. He took her to the river and tossed her in, thrashing her about to wash her body off. He roughly cleaned out her holes, making sure she was clean enough for eating. She still struggled, though feebly, and Malunga grinned in appreciation at her fierce spirit. Such a tough one would make for splendid eating once her flesh had softened over a long slow cooking fire.
He brought her to his wife, Malinka. Malinka was a tall and beautiful woman and Malunga was proud to have her as a first wife. She was also a bit on the chubby side, for Malunga was a great hunter and had brought many woman home from the hunt, enough to make his own wife fat. The tribe referred to such cannibalism-induced pudginess as ‘carrying the meat of enemy woman’ and was a sign of high status. She was also a fierce fighter in her own right, and had brought in a woman of her own to eat on more than one occasion. Now this girl-animal’s flesh would be added to the wonderfully rounded flesh on Malinka’s belly and thighs and ass.
Malinka gave the captured woman a drink that would empty her bowels of all matter within an hour. They sat around while the drug worked, occasionally making love, occasionally raping the captive meat-animal, all the while joking with her on how good she would soon taste. Their sonren gathered around and played with the animal, fascinated by the creature’s fleshy limbs and gleaming wet holes. They were too young to use the beast like their elders, but were played with her like a toy. His sons were especially playful, knowing that they would grow up to be great cannibal hunters and would someday bring home women just like this to eat. They strutted around like miniature warriors, bragging how they would bring home herds of soft young women, enough to build huts with their bones, how their wives would grow as fat as elephants on the flesh of enemy women. Malunga and Malinka laughed at their playful boasts, remembering how they too once bragged like this as their parents prepared some luckless girl-thing for dinner.
The meat-woman barely spoke, for she knew it was useless. She knew what fate awaited her, and lay in a daze, praying to whatever gods her people worshipped that the cooking-fire would kill her quickly.
At last it was time for dinner. They decided to cook her whole, for the tribe had a good enough supply of leather and other goods that a woman’s body provided, and it was more enjoyable to roast a woman with her skin on and alive.
Malinka shaved the animal with a shard of sharp bronze, till she was hairless from head to toe. The Malinka started to squeeze a thick taro paste into her ass, pushing it in deep with her fingers. Later, she used a hollow reed tube that snaked into the girl’s innards, filling the animal’s intestines and gut with rich thick paste that would expand and fill her whole insides as it cooked. There were also a few hot peppers in the mix and the animal squirmed uncomfortably as the hot vegetables ate at the inside of her intestines.
Finally a mash of fruits went into the animal’s vagina, Malinka stuffing it in with her fingers till the animal’s cervix was as tight as a drumhead. Then Malinka sewed the cunt up with some thread to keep the fruits in close to the beast’s clit, where the nectar would mix with her cunt oils and make for syrup that would make a god drool.
Malinka then spit the beast with a bronze pole. Malinka had done this many, many times before till she could do with such force and assurance that the girl being spitted barely felt it till the point came out her mouth. Their daughters gathered around fascinated, knowing they would someday be spitting women for their families. Malinka carefully explained how to properly impale a woman-beast, holding one hand on the beast’s belly as she shoved the spit in so she could feel it as it moved up through the creature’s belly and into her abdomen. Then she showed how to make sure the spit was lined up properly so that it might pass between the animal’s lungs and into her mouth. The kids sat on the animal’s chest to hold her still, giggling as their mom finished impaling the woman beneath them.
The girl coughed and gagged, but did not choke, for the spit was so sharp and the thrust so sure that the spit itself sealed off most of the bleeding. Even so, hot metal stopped bleeding the best, so it was essential to get the girl on the fire quickly so her wounds would sear shut and stay alive long enough to flavor her meat even more.
The spitted animal was quickly secured to her spit. Her arms were crossed over her chest and bound so that her forearms rested under the supple globes of her breasts where they would poach as her breast fats bubhemorrhage through her skin. Her hands were sewn onto the boobs, cupped under the tips of the breasts so they would collect the melting breast fat as it seeped free. The collected fat would be spooned up and poured over the rest of her body as it roasted, marinating her in her own mammary fluids.
Her legs were strapped to the pole, slightly bent at the knees so the legs could flex a bit as they softened and cooked. A crosspiece was stabbed into the thick meat of her thighs to ensure her body rotated properly as the spit was turned over the fire. The crosspiece would also carry the heat of the fire into the core of her meaty thighs, making sure the thick layers of meat there would cook properly. Her feet were placed in small hollow gourds filled with fruit juices, so her gorgeous feet would not char in the intense heat but would instead poach into butter-tender sweet morsels.
Her whole body covered in scented flavored oil till she gleamed like polished ebony-wood. An extra-thick coating went over her face to help preserve her beautiful features and keep the meat of her face from charring. Her face and cheeks would be eaten along with the rest of her body, her skull would be just as gnawed as any other bone in her body. Once done, she looked unearthly beautiful, bald and gleaming and gently twitching from her pain.
Then the gleaming dark angel was put over the fire. The fire was so hot it singed Malinka’s eyebrows as she positioned the animal, but that was nothing to what the meat animal experienced.
The skewered animal bucked and thrashed as the heat flowed over her like a hellish massage.
The fire was so hot it actually spared her some of the pain, for her nerve endings poached so rapidly that they could barely spread the alarm before they died. The animal’s coating of cooking oil began to roil, then bubble, its’ oily sheen stirred by the boiling skin beneath. The oil grew thicker and hotter as body fats weeped through fissures in the once velvety skin, the hot body oils mixing and seething till the girl’s whole derma was one almost incandescent layer of pain.
The animal moaned and howled around the spit in her mouth, her eyes wide with agony. Those jet-black eyes then grew still as the pupils jellied and lids poached, her gaze forever locked on the metal pole that poking out of her face. Then her moans grew hoarse as she breathed searing gasses scented with her own cooking meat. Her lungs simmered on agonized flesh-scented breaths, then she died with one last pain-wracked shudder.
Malinka and the kids kept the animal-girl turning over the fire. It was patient work, turning the steaming carcass about slowly, making sure every inch of exposed flesh receives just the proper amount of heat. Fresh oils are ladled on parts that show sign of burning, keeping the beast’s skin as soft as when the beast had been alive and ensuring no part of her meat, be it a slender finger or shapely ankle dried out. Her face received special attention, till the hot oils running off her features resemhemorrhage the sweat of someone in uttermost exertion.
Her body began to steam, encasing her in a silvery shroud as she rotated slowly above the crackling flames. The aroma was so captivating that the entire village gathered around, barely able to restrain themselves from falling on the hot carcass and eating her half-raw.
She was done cooking just before sunset. A long-timed fork was slid into the thickest part of her buttocks, and when it slid in without resistance and came free in a jet of hissing-hot oils she was declared ready for eating. Several men carefully carried her from the fire and set her down on a long wooden platter. They had to playfully slap away several over-eager neighbors who tried to greedily snatch a strip of meat or two as the steaming carcass passed by.
Once she was lying on her platter Malunga pulled the spit from her ass. It slid out effortlessly, the hot metal well-lubricated with searing grease and gravy. It came out with a wet pop, the animal’s stuffing oozing out after it in a steaming clod of sausage-flavored taro.
Her face looked pinched and slightly shrunken, the fats having boiled away from her cheeks and forehead as she cooked, giving her a woeful, pained expression. Her pebble-hard eyes were open, the lids having contracted into thin wisps of gristle, the black pupils narrow and accusing. The animal’s mouth hung open, as if still sucking the shaft. The teeth were slightly crooked, having shifted from a combination of heat-softened gums and the force with which she had bit the spit in her dying moments. A thick gout of steam shot from her mouth as the pole was withdrawn, as if she were an ebony dragon giving vent to her rage and humiliation.
She carved like she were made of hot ebon butter. Malunga had the honor of carving her magnificent ass, which he performed with gusto. The skin crackled slightly, then pulled back to reveal a thick juicy mat of pinkish-tan meat. The meat was rare, just like everyone liked, the deeper cuts still oozing pinkish fluid as it was sliced away. Malunga popped a sliver into his mouth, the hooted in pain as the hot meat burned his tongue. Everyone laughed as he cooled the meat, then chewed it to paste, his face rapturous with joy.
Soon the back of the animal’s hips were bare gleaming ivory. Malinka stepped in to finish the carving. She wielded the knife as swiftly and surely as the most veteran warrior, slicing the animal up into flawless paper-thin slices of roast woman.
The meat was piled on platters, no one eating till enough meat for the entire village had been set out. The animal was a big one though, heavy with meat, and she provided enough flesh for every one, with much to spare. Malunga looked on proudly, knowing that tonight everyone would have their fill of woman due to his great skill.
The final carving was the grand filet, which Malinka proudly cut away and presented to her husband. The thick tube of fruit-jammed flesh quivered as it was cut away, the meat so soft it nearly burst from its load. The sewed end looked like a puckered toothless mouth, dribbles of nectar leaking from its lips.
Malunga ran his tongue over the hot end, licking off the nectar and buttery fat. It tasted of sex and meat, of female cum and spicy pork. He took slow small bites, wanting make the taste linger as long as possible. He nibhemorrhage on the outside of her vaginal canal, where the flesh of her pelvis had once held it in place. He worked inwards, the meat getting richer as spicier as he went, till his teeth burst into the interior of her cunt. His body was shaking by then, his dick as hard as a spearhead, the taste of a woman’s cunt so intense he thought he might fall to the ground.
The other villagers had set upon the piles of cooked meat as soon as Malunga had bit into the cunt. Only Malinka, his wife noticed how hard he was. She was busy gnawing on a generous slice of upper thigh, but she stood in front of him and leaned backward, her generous as cheeks engulfing his phallus. She began to sway back and forth, all the while eating her own piece of woman. Malunga’s dick drove between her legs and found her cunt, already wet. Eating a woman always causes arousal, and his wife was hot with lust from eating fresh long-pig. He entered her and they rutted as they chewed, the flesh of the murdered woman fueling their copulation.
Malunga came just as he bit into the still juicy clit. He rammed his wife like a mating rhino, his dick and mouth on fire with passion and the hunger that comes with it.
The villagers were busy tearing into the dead woman like famished lions, too busy to notice Malunga and Malinka’s mating. Indeed, in the feeding frenzy that followed more than one couple found themselves in coitus as they feasted, the flesh of the murdered woman fueling a fierce orgy of sex and over-eating. Grunts of pleasure mixed with the sounds of rending meat, grease-slick lips smacking, meat-filled bellies belching.
The enemy-woman tasted delicious, as only a live-roasted woman can. The men preferred the thick meatier pieces like thighs and upper arms. The women sought out the more delicate pieces, from fingers and forearms to ovaries and belly steaks. The kids simply grabbed any piece they could get their little hands on, though it was comical to see some toddler chewing on a rib almost as big as they were.
The animal was nothing more then picked bones and scraps before the villagers were done. They gorged cannibals waddled sleepily to their huts, many holding their tight bellies as they struggled off to bed. The dogs closed in, fighting over the offal and bone, further recycling what had been a living breathing woman only hours before. When they were, there was barely enough left for the mice and beetles to scrounge.
Malinga slept peacefully, content he was a good provider. Her dreamt of the woman he had hunted, killed and eaten, dreamt of how beautiful she had been, of how fruitful the harvest of her body had been. Tomorrow, the bellies of the village would again be empty. Somewhere, out there, was a woman whose destiny it was to fill them. And he would find her, and provide for all.