by Chewy
Belinda stared in horror as the naked Asian girl ran for her life across the open field. Belinda could see the wild terror on the girl’s pretty face, the look of a hunted animal who knows the predator is near. The girl staggered, exhausted from constant running, easy meat for any hunter who desired her.
The girl was small, but beautiful, with jet-black hair streaming behind her, her sweat-laced body athletically trim and radiating a healthy animal vitality. Her firm-looking breasts quivered as her lungs heaved like over-worked bellows. Sleek golden legs glistened with perspiration as they pumped against the hard earth. The legs were wobbly with fatigue and lactic acid, and she swayed drunkenly as she looked back over her shoulder, expecting to see some grim killer coming for her body. Her small feet were bloody and ragged from hours of abuse, leaving a crooked trail of bloody footprints the dry soil that a son could follow. The girl was doomed, and knew it.
The girl slowed, not even the threat of an arrowhead in the guts able to keep her moving. She wrapped her arms around herself in despair, her mouth hanging open and lathered with spit, her breath sounding like wet rags sliding over stone. She girl straightened up, trying to force more air into her overwrought lungs, her pretty Asian face staring up at the cloudless sky.
Belinda’s blood froze when she heard a rustle from a clump of brush not one hundred feet away. She saw movement, of a branch eased aside, a glitter of metal, the graceful movement of a powerful body tensing for the kill. There was a hiss, and the steel arrowhead blurred towards the retching girl. Belinda wanted to cry out, to warn the poor girl of her danger, but fear kept her quite, a horrified fascinated spectator to the merciless game of life and death.
There was a loud smack, and the girl staggered back as if she had been punched. A clump of feathers sprouted from her navel. From her back rose a slender shaft of arrow, the metal head like a wet ruby in the sunlight. The girl looked down at her feathered belly, her almond eyes widening in disbelief. She touched the feathers with slim fingers, as if they might disappear if tested. Her fingertips came back dappled with her blood. She moaned as she looked at her bloody hands, then saw the thick stream of blood that oozed from her ruined belly button and down into the thicket of glossy hairs over her crotch.
Finally the wounded dear gave vent to her pain and fear. She threw her head back, her eyes wide, her whole face a mask of panic-rich pain. A shrill wail escaped from her lips.
Belinda knew she should feel horror, pity, at the sight of a girl being mortally wounded. Instead, she felt fascinated, as if she were watching a work of art being created. In a bizarre way, the blood-spattered animal looked utterly beautiful. Her whole healthy body was desperately clinging to life; like a drowning swimmer clutching a passing piece of jetsam, each breath, each movement filled with terrible urgency. The gored Oriental was transformed into a beautiful sacrificial lamb, a suffering innocent playing out a ancient ritual.
The spell broke. The skewered girl lost all control, staggering about and screaming mindlessly, nothing more than a mortally wounded human beast. Blood sprinkled freely over her legs, dappling the golden skin in a warm crimson rain. The smooth thighs grew damp as a dribble of hot piss washed over those legs, red blood mixing with golden urine, washing down over her ankles and dainty feet. The frenzied grabbed the end of the arrow in both hands, oblivious to how much additional damage she was doing to her innards. All she wanted was to draw out the thing that was causing her pain. Belly skin stretched, threatening to burst and release a flood of guts.
There was another smack, and another arrow appeared, this time buried deep in the girl’s throat. Her head jerked as the arrowhead grazed her spine. Her scream stopped abruptly, as if a cork had stoppered her airway. The girl’s body froze in mid-motion, her hands reaching up to her neck. She coughed, as if to clear her throat. Nothing happened for a second. Then her mouth flew open and she vomited a mouthful of blood. She puked her life’s fluid over her chest like a drunkard retching a bottle of cheap wine, covering her breasts and torso in red paint.
Without warning her knees ceased working. She flopped to the group like a dropped doll. She twitched a bit in the gory dirt, her face looking up at the warm sun. Blood seeped over the edges of her lips, streaking her chin and cheeks. She was on her back, her arms spread-eagled from her sides, her legs spread obscenely wide, exposing herself like a cheap whore. She jerked once and gave a wet cough, and died.
Belinda stared in shock at the still form, the remains of what had been a vibrant young woman not a second ago. The suddenness of the murder, its awful finality was stunning. Woman had become meat, all in a handful of seconds.
A form rose from the bushes. A man, a big powerfully built man clad in camaflouge fatigues, his hands clenching a bow, his clean-shaven face set in a wide, cruel smile. He looked at his kill, the woman he had just murdered, and his smile grew wider, a look of satisfaction at a job well done.
Then, to Belinda’s horror he turned about and stared right up at her, his eyes easily picking her tanned skin out from amid the brush. With a sick realization Belinda realized she had been this man’s real prey, his intended meal. The Asian girl had just been a lucky accident, an unintended addition to tonight’s feast. That poor dead girl had taken the arrow intended for Belinda’s soft skin, had given her a minute more of life.
The man’s eye’s stayed locked on Belinda as he drew another arrow. His smile never wavered, never gave any sign of empathy or pity, never betrayed any sense that killing a woman for her meat was something to hesitate at.
Belinda got to her feet in a rush. Her lightly tanned skin and long dirty blonde hair was bright against the dry green background, a perfect target. She tensed her legs, ready to run. It was those legs that had brought her here, had doomed her to death by arrow. Her legs were long, almost three feet of exquisitely curved and tapered girl flesh. There was a lot of lean muscle in those legs, the powerful legs of a dancer or a natural athlete. Those many pounds of bone and muscle were softened though by an absolutely perfect degree of fat, not too much, but just enough to lend every wonderful inch of leg with delightful feminine curves, a heavenly blend of animal power and womanly grace.
It was her legs the cannibals noticed, openly leering at them as they daydreamed about how lovely they would be turning over a slow fire, the meat already tenderized by hours of exertion and fear. She was dragged from her cage and sent to the hunting preserve, there to be hunted like a beast, then killed by some lucky hunter and carried off to the cooking pits.
If her legs had brought her here, they might yet buy her some more time, perhaps a few more hours of life before the inevitable happened. Belinda flipped the man a finger and spun about. She knew she was a fast runner, with stamina to match, good enough to outrun almost any women and most men. With a grim smile she hoped this killer wouldn’t want to work too hard for his dinner and would happily settle for the Asian girl as his day’s meat.
Belinda was fast, as fast a startled deer, but the arrow was faster. She felt a terrible pain in her side, like a gorilla had just punched her in the ribs. Her breath vanished and she slammed hard against a tree trunk, the rough bark cutting the skin on her shoulder. At first she didn’t realize what had happened. She tried to straighten up and start running, but her legs felt like cold rubber and sparks danced in front of her eyes. She felt terribly short of breath, and her chest felt oddly heavy.
She forced her eyes downward, not wanting to see, not wanting to know what had happened. There, just under her left breast, a slim red stained shaft sat quivering, the end gaudily adorned with feathers. The shaft moved as she breathed, and she felt something hard grate against her ribs. The inside of her ribs.
She sank back, her butt scraping against the rough tree bark. Her knees buckled and she slid down along the coarse surface till her ass hit the ground, her legs spread out before her. She wanted to get up, to run, to flee death for a few precious moments more, but she felt terribly weak and tired, far too tired to care any more. She was about to killed, and later eaten by her slayer, but the idea suddenly felt distant, like it were happening to someone else. Drowsily, she looked up and saw her conqueror approach.
He stood before her, his bulk silhouetted against the sun. He stepped closer, smiling as he gloated over his downed prey. He set aside his bow and quiver of arrows and squatted down before her. One callused hand squeezed her calf, judging how much meat was on it.
‘You’re a good girl’ he commented dryly, as if talking about the weather, ‘lots of good meat on your bones. I think you’ll come in at one-twenty or so pretty good for such a young lady as you.’
Belinda opened her mouth to curse him, to vent her hatred over being killed for the flesh on her bones, for the mere fact that her body would taste good. The words never came. She felt her mouth fill with hot fluid, salty and thick. She sputtered, and saw thick red drops fall onto her tanned breasts. She was hit in the lungs, and she knew enough to realize she was dying. Her fight was over, and she felt grateful that it was going to happen relatively quickly. She would be spared being put alive over the cooking fire, spared the searing hell of feeling her flesh cook, smelling her broiling body while the cannibals jeered and mocked her suffering. Belinda smiled with bloody lips, glad to be dying, for dead meat can suffer no more.
She felt her legs being thrown wide, felt her body being tugged till she lay flat on her back. She looked up at the man, seeing the body she would soon be part of. With dying amusement she felt oddly happy he was cute in a burly sort of way, glad she was about to become part of such a powerful male. She wondered what it would be like to be inside, wondered whether he would ever stop and care about the women who had died to nourish his body.
He wiped blood from her mouth, and used it lubricate her vagina, Then he roughly pushed into her, forcing her passage open wide. He was big, and she grunted as he pushed deep inside her. One rough hand grasped a breast, massaging the soft tissue, teasing the nipple as it rose in mindless arousal. Feebly, her legs lifted and wrapped around back of his, and her hips began to sway in time with his. She felt him harden still further as he acknowledged her acceptance, her submission to his hunger.
He came in a hot rush, spewing seed deep into her core. Belinda also came, her orgasm weak and distant but still pleasurable, one last taste of life before the end.
He rose and zipped his pants. His eyes were still hard, still cruel as a wolf’s. He reached for his belt, which Belinda saw was an exquisitely tooled belt of fine girl leather, the smooth aged skin a light brown, the last remnant of some darker-skinned girl he had eaten in the past. Belinda wondered if some part of her would end up as a trophy, perhaps a length of her sun-browned skin as a knife sheath, or maybe one of her tender breasts as a pouch. She would never know.
He pulled out a large glittering knife, thumbing the edge to make sure it was sharp enough. ‘Well, I guess this goodbye’ he chuckled as he eyed her belly, mapping out how he would gut her. “Shame we didn’t get a chance to get acquainted, but I’m hungry, and you’re just about to go cold and limp, so time to empty you out and get you back to the kitchens. Any last requests on how’d you like to get served? Some girls get a kick out of that, getting to pick out a recipe or two for their butts.’
Belinda shook her head numbly, her hazel eyes locked on the glittering knife blade. She didn’t want to know what it would feel like to have that foot-long razor slice open her belly like an over-ripe melon, how it would feel inside, cutting through organs like gory butter, leaving her torso a empty bleeding shell. She squirmed away, her arms moving in one final burst of energy.
The man grinned, enjoying her fear for a moment, then stepping on her ribs with his boot, pinning her spine to the earth. He leaned over with the knife, and a sudden jet of pain lanced into her abdomen just above her pubis. There was a faint wet hiss, the sound of skin and fat and fiber parting, the sound of blood gushing free and falling to earth. Belinda screamed, more blood foaming from her mouth. The pain was terrible, and grew worse as she felt the knife point travel upwards through her belly, her navel being cleaved in two, her whole torso opening up till she felt the hard steel against the base of her sternum. Her back arched upwards and her hands clawed at the chasm in her midsection.
Mercifully, her heart ran out of blood to pump. She froze for a long second, a sculpture of utter torment, then flopped limp like a toy whose battery had been cut free. The man hesitated for a second, perhaps disappointed at the sudden end to the game. Then without a sound he resumed cleaning his kill, unconcerned that a human soul had just been torn from the world. Women were, after all, simply meat.
No one would ever know if the victims would have approved of the feast, would have appreciated the care their bodies were given as they were carved and stuffed by master chefs, would have savored the sight and scents of their flesh as it slowly simmered amid spices and savory broths, whether they would have been flattered by the looks of awe that greeted their naked cooked bodies as they were carried out to the feasting hall atop huge silver platters. No gilded idol was ever looked upon with so much longing, so much desperate worship, as were the women being laid onto the dining tables. They were the hosts of this cannibal communion, sacred food to be savored and shared like gifts from heaven. For one moment, they reigned supreme, queens of the harvest.
The Asian girl was set down between rows of hungry feasters; their knives and forks keen to tear into the succulent golden carcass. She had been roasted whole, her lovely body curled on the vegetable-heavy tray like a golden dragon. Her skin was like hot amber, wisps of steam curling upwards from the moist surface, more vapor trailing from her nostrils and crotch and from her apple-filled mouth, completing the illusion of her as a slumbering dragoness. She looked alive amid the coiling mist, as if she might leap into flight unless held down by the heavy twine that bound her limbs. Her silent tapered eyes stared like a pair of black jewels, daring them to taste her flesh, to savor the fruit of the Middle Kingdom.
Belinda was served next. She had been spit roasted, and her athletic frame ramrod straight on the platter. She held her perfect alignment due to the steel pole that ran up the length of her torso from gouged anus to where it protruded from her mouth like a huge metal tongue. Her lips had adhered to the hot steel during her cooking, making it look like she was sucking the shaft like a crazed whore. Her hazel eyes were still open, though the whites were now hard jelly. Her pupils had become cross-eyed as they cooked and were now locked onto the end of the spit as if confused by how she could have ever swallowed something so large.
The poor dead girl looked quite lifelike considering she had spent several hours turning over a roaring fire. Her tanned skin had been heavily oiled, and her now dark brown skin was still moist and supple, though heavily scented and spiced with woodsmoke. Her hair had been bundled and set in an insulated bag to keep it from burning, and now the blonde locks were set free and laid over her gravy-wet shoulders like a golden crown. Her arms were curled up under her chest, the skin of her forearms soaked with melted breast fats, the hands each clenching a huge carrot with broiled fingers. The glistening back and legs bore a long line of bright red cherries pinned to the cooked flesh, interspersed with sprigs of fresh parsley.
The long muscled legs that had sent Belinda to her death had cooked up to perfection. The muscles had just the right amount of fat to stay plump and juicy even when cooked down to the bone. The thighs and calves had kept their exact shape as in life, and looked healthy enough to get up and run away. Even the feet were perfect, just a tiny bit shriveled, but still slick with gravy and each toe and nail still as dainty as ever.
A waiter came and began to slide the pole out of Belinda’s poached ass. It came out stubbornly, as if unwilling to leave its balmy resting place. The spit came free with a loud squooshing sound, large bits of savory fixings clinging to the spit’s surface and falling over Belinda’s browned legs. Steam coiled from her open anus, and small blobs of stuffing oozed out the hole as the pressure in her belly pushed them out. More stuffing oozed up into her mouth from her gorged torso, till poor Belinda was leaking stuffing from both ends.
The roasted girl’s lips puckered as the pole left her mouth and slid back into her throat. Lip and tongue clung to the shaft as it was pulled back, the tongue actually dragging back into her windpipe, giving her face a comical startled expression. The mouth stayed open in a perfect circle, the same size as the spit, her teeth pearly pebbles in an expanse of poached gums. A guest obligingly stuffed a ripe peach in between the slightly crispy lips, squishing the fruit deep into the parched mouth.
Belinda and the nameless Asian girl did not last long. They were torn into like fat lambs tossed into a pack of starving wolves. The feast grew in intensity as the guests gorged on fresh girl meat. Feasters soon began to use their hands to grab meat faster. Decorum and restraint vanished as knives gouged out great hunks of hot girl flesh. Simmered tits were torn from the ribcage by hand. Impatient diners grabbed cooked forearms and calves and twisted them free. The elbows and knees gave way with sickening crunches, lending an even more ghoulish air to the snarling feast. Skulls were cracked open to expose gooey brains, bones to yield rich marrow, organs yanked free and devoured whole. The poor murdered girls were stripped to skeletons, then to little more than a litter of gnawed bones ad greasy scraps.
The hunter sat back in his chair and loosened his belt another notch. He would positively burst if he ate another mouthful of girl. He sighed and looked at his plate, which bore a gnawed upper arm bone form the Asian chick and a pile of now fleshless Belinda ribs. Missing was the entire cunt filet for dear Belinda, which he had cut out from between her hips before the rest of the cannibals had reduced her to scraps. The vagina was incredibly juicy and rather spicy, one of the tastiest twats he had eaten. He was rather sorry to see such good girls disappear, but there was always more women, more prey. He got up slowly and headed off, already looking forward to tomorrow’s hunt, tomorrow’s kills.