Even though it's what she wanted - what we both wanted - I can't help the sense of melancholy that comes over me as I hold my dead fiancée in my arms. I know she's gone, but I still cling to the mutilated remains of her once beautiful body for several long moments, soaking in her lingering warmth and scent, even though it's mixed with blood, and she's slack and unresponsive in my embrace. I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, and when I look up I see the president smiling at me sympathetically.
'I know it's hard, but you need to let her go. We need to get the last of her meat cut up, and unto the grill. And we need to get you ready fo the oven.' The last sentence is said with a mischiveous grin as she looks me over suggestively, licking her lips. I do feel a fresh surge of arousal though, and it is only with a slight sense of reluctance I hand her over the last part of Amanda's body. It is what she would want, after all. Wasting any of her meat for sentimentality would be... Wrong. We embraced being meatsluts willingly, and as the last one still alive, it falls on me to see it through. The president accepts her with more gentleness than I expected, laying her out on a large table. When she quickly sets to work with a large cleaver, dividing out the last of Amanda into mouthwatering cuts of meat, I look on with mixed fear and arousal at the brutal efficieny. After only a few short minutes, the final cuts are roasting, Amanda's head is set aside, peaceful and smiling serenely with her eyes closed, while the last of her unedible parts are unceromoniously dumped in the same pile as her the rest of her guts. While watching did give me a sense of sadness and loss, the complete transformation from beautiful fiancée, to eager meatslut, to roasting meat, is undeniably sexy, and when the president turns her attention back to me, I do feel a sense of eagerness for my own fate.
'My turn?' I ask coyly, bending my head down slightly, looking up at her through my lashes as I bite my lip sexily, slowly running my hands over my own body, drawing attention to my curves.
'Your turn.' The president agrees, looking me over hungrily as she follows the movement of my hands. 'Come with me, I'll get you ready for the oven. Going to get some lovely stuffing in you, then apply a bit of glazing before putting you in. You're going to be just as delicious as those other two meatsluts, don't you worry.' She sounds casual as she leads me towards a diffrent area of the feast hall, not even bothering to see if I'm following. She knows I'm commited, that I want nothing but to serve her with my meat.
There's a large oven, and a big stainless steel table with a person sized oven tray in the middle. I waste no time in planting my ass on the table, spreading my legs invitingly as I scoot backwards, preparing to arrange myself on the tray in the most alluring position I can think of. When the president sees, she laughs at me and shakes her head.
'Eager, huh? Well, you can get down from there, I'm going to gut you first, make room for plenty of stuffing.' She winks and licks her lips, but the moment I hear the words 'gut you' I feel my breath catching in my throat, my pussy clenching in terror and arousal.
'Gut me?' I can't help the breathy quality to my voice, but whether it's a product of fear or lust, I don't know. My nipples are hard, though, even as my stomach squirms in anticipation of it's coming destruction.
'Yeah, I'm going to cut you open and spill your guts, so get your tasty ass over here and get into position.' I swallow nervously, my breath quickening, but I comply nonetheless, walking over to where she gestures. When I get closer, I realise that the huge metal trough she pointed at is filled with offal, and I wonder how many meatsluts' insides are already in there. While I look down in wonder, I suddenly feel her close behind me, speaking softly.
'Just stand close, so your hips press against this edge, then lean forward so your belly is right above the trough, and hold on tight to the far edge. I'll take care of the rest. Do I need to strap you in, or are you going to be a good meatslut and keep still for your butcher?' Her casual attitude and soothing voice calms me down, and I do as she asks, shaking my head at her question as I look down at the bloody pile of ruined innards below me. I can feel fresh juices running down my inner thigh at the thought of how many meatsluts have been gutted here before me, standing in this same position as me, waiting for the knife to cut them open with the same mix of fear and arousal that I feel.
Then she takes another step, pressing herslef against my ass, trapping me in place with her stronger body. Her left hand carress my perfect, smooth belly, her hand warm and soft against the goosebumps on my skin. I can feel my breathing speed up further in arousal and grind my ass provocatively back against her crotch, looking at her over my shoulder with hodded eyes.
'What are you waiting for? Go on, do me! Let me feel it, cut me open and - ' Without warning she plunges the sharp knife deep into my soft body, low on my belly, just above the edge of the trough. I feel as if all the air has been knocked out of me, gasping desparately for breath as pain blossoms in my body. She holds the knife still there for several seconds while I accustom myself to the icy pain radiating from my gut, but below that also the exhilerating knowledge that my gutting has begun, my final transition from eager meatslut to slaughtered meat. I let out a low, guttural groan of mixed pain and arousal, panting to regain my breath.
'Don't stop now!' I manage to gasp out. Cut me open and spill my guts, treat me like the meatslut I am!' My knuckles are white from gripping the far edge, my belly screaming and my cunt begging, every part of me desperate for something.
The answer comes in the form of movement behind me. The presidne leans forward, pressing her leather-clad front against my naked back, even letting me feel the softnes of her breasts through her jacket as the knife starts moving in me. She fists her left hand in my hair, close to the roots, pulling my head back and holding it in place to purr hotly in my ear as she pulls the knife back just an inches before pushing it back in, slowly sawing upwards through my defenseless body. I gasp as I feel the cut lengthen, writhing in some perfect mix of pain and lust.
'You are an eager little thing, aren't you, sexy? Getting all worked up from watching your fiancée getting slaughtered like the meatslut she was, waiting patiently, and now it's finally your turn to become meat, to feel my knife...' Her whispered words are hot and wet against my ear, her mouth is that close, I think I can even feel her lips brush over the shell of my ear. I try to nod in reply, but she's got a firm hold on my hair, and instead I simply groan out a breathy 'God yes...'as she slowly cuts further up through my belly, nearing my navel. I can feel a weird, bulging pressure starting low in my stomach, and realise that it's my insides pushing against the cut, trying to escape the confines of my belly, eager to join the offal of all the meatsluts that have gone before me.
'Close!' I gasp, the way I would during sex when I'm nearly there. The pressure in my belly growing so it feels like I'm near bursting, the tension and promised release not unlike that I feel when climbing towards orgasm. She pauses with the knife for a moment, teasing me with my own disembowelment, purring sexily in my ear.
'I know... You want it bad, don't you meatslut? Want to feel that last slice, cutting you open and finally gutting you?' Her voice is low and teasing, as she slowly pushes the knife into me, letting me just feel the edge parting another millimeter of my skin.
'Please...' I squeal out, my voice high pitched and whining, squirming against her. She waits just another second, then changes the angle of the knife so the large blade cuts further up into me, without parting more of my skin. Then she rips it out forcefully, brutally slashing me open all the way to my sternum and I gasp in pain, then moan in a perverse feeling of release as the pressure finally gives and my insides tumble out, cascading down into the waiting trough with a succession of wet, meaty splashes.
For several long seconds I just stand there, gasping, moaning and quivering with the aftershocks of my evisceration, unable to tear my eyes away from my own ruined insides, hanging down from my no longer flawless body. The president remains pressed close against my back, bloody knife still held loosely in her right hand while she brushes her left over my inexplicably, yet undeniably, hard nipples.
'Mmm, you liked that, did you?' It's not really a question, she knows the answer already. It's clear from the small whimpers mixed in with my breathing, the erectnes of my nipples under her fingers, and the way my hips are slightly gyrating, grinding against her crotch and the edge of the trough. Still, I croak out a raspy 'Uhu.' in reply, earning me a dark chuckle from her.
'I knew you would... I think you might just be the biggest meatslut of the three of you, even if your fiancée was quicker to admit it. Now, I'm just going to cut all this nasty offal out of your meat, then we can get you stuffed and ready to go into the oven. Sounds good?' I nod eagerly, mesmerised by how casually she talks of my precious organs, organs that have been doing such a vital job of keeping me alive for the past 27 years, now reduced to nothing but useless waste that need to be removed from my meat. My entire existence reduced to a life of preparing my meat to be eaten by people who don't know me, don't care about me as anything but a collection of delicious cuts. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
While she works in my open belly, pulling and cutting at my insides I simply close my eyes and bask in the strange, perverted afterglow of my disembowelment, eyes closed and moaning softly under my breath as I soak in the sensations of being slaughtered. Far too soon, she removes her hands and knives, standing up and slapping my ass playfully.
'Ok, meatslut. That's as much as I can remove without killing you outright. Now, let's get you onto the table and stuffed.'
I moan my assent and let go of the far edge of the trough, leaning back and attempting to raise my hands above my head, intending to stretch like a content cat while I purr low in my throat. The purr I manage, low and sexy, but the moment I try to stand up properly, no longer leaning against the trough, I feel myself stumble, my body much weaker than I'd realised. The president is there instantly, supporting me with an arm around my now tiny waist, chuckling slightly.
'Easy there, I've got you. Here, let me help.' I smile at my butcher gratefully, putting one arm around her neck as she helps me stagger over to the table, her arm around me strong and comforting.
While the president has been gutting me, the second in command has been preparing a bed of vegetables in the tray, and there's also a huge bowl of what can only be stuffing on the table, along with two bottles of already opened red wine, a bottle of whiskey, a roll of cooking twine with a large steel needle and a few other things I can't immediately identify. I shudder at the sight, all the things needed for a good roast - only the meat is missing, and the president is leading me over as fast as I can walk in my weakened state.
They gently maneuver me into a position where I'm half lying down, half sitting, with my lower legs dangling over the edge of the table, and my head and upper body supported by the second in command, leaning back against her so I can see the president work on my empty abdomen. I can feel a brush moving through my hair, and when I turn to look I see that the second in command is brushing my hair slowly and carefully, at the same time coating it in some weird smelling liquid. At my questioning look, she smiles down at me as she continues brushing.
'Fire detergent. Keeps your hair from burning off in the oven. Much nicer than shaving it, makes the roast you'll become look better, you know. Don't worry, it won't affect the taste of your meat in any way. Close your eyes.' I do as she says, and a moment later I can feel her working the liquid into my eyebrows and lashes, nearly like makeup. 'There, you can open them again. You don't want to miss what's about to happen.' I blink a few times to get my lashes unstuck from eachother. then look down at the president who's got the whiskey in hand and is taking a healthy gulp, straight from the bottle.
'Just making sure the ingredients are worthy of you, meatslut.' She winks, and before I have time to wonder what part the whiskey will play in my preparations, she pulls my gutted belly open and pours the entire bottle into me, taking care to spread the burning liquid all over my raw flesh. I gasp in pain at the sting, but also feel an instant lightheadedness as the alcohol goes straight into my bloodstream. I dig my fingers hard into the thighs of the second in command who continues to brush my hair soothingly. As soon as the bottle is empty, the president puts it aside and holds up a custom lighter, engraved with the Sappho's Sapphires logo. 'Best way to close your wounds, stop you from bleeding out too early.' She grins, and flicks the lighter on, holding the flame down over my body.
There's a 'Whooosh!', and a surprisingly pleasant sensation of warmth as the alcohol catches fire, blue flames dancing in and above the bloody ruin that used to be my belly, and all three of us look on in quiet fascination as the flames burn hot for maybe half a minute before dying out. It's hot, but not particularly painful, and mostly it just feels like a teaser for things to come, making me yearn for the heat of the oven to slowly roast me into nothing but tender, juicy meat. Sara gone, only leaving a succulent roasted meatslut behind.
When the president pulls me open and starts spooning stuffing into my belly, I can smell a faint trace of roasted meat, and I realise that it's me, the whiskey cauterizing my wound also ligthly seared the flesh lining my abdomen, and I gasp in realisation. The president looks up at me, smirking.
'Smells good, eh? You're going to be delicious, girl, I promise. I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into your meat, but I'm afraid it'll be a few hours before I get that pleasure...' While talking she continues scooping stuffing into me, slowly filling me up. I feel a weird chilly heaviness settling in my body, after the lightness that followed my gutting. Every so often, she pulls the skin of my belly back closed, presumable to see how full I am, and when it's bulging slightly over the stuffing, she seems satisfied, putting the spone aside and instead grab the cooking twine, the large needle already threaded.
'Hold yourself closed for me while I sew you up, there's a good meatslut.' She says casually, and I quickly comply, pulling my skin tight over the stuffing, before she stabs the needle through, making me gasp more in shock than pain, before she starts sewing me back up. She works slow and methodical, making surprisingly neat stitches as I try not to squirm around, perversely pleased as she murmurs praise at me for being so cooperative throughout my own preparations. She finally straightens back up and cut the twine free, patting my slightly distended belly with satisfaction as she admires her handiwork.
'There, now let's get you into the pan and ready for the oven. I bet you look forward to that, don't you?' I blush and nod shyly, my eyes drifting to the large glass door, eager to be looking out instead of in. 'We'll get you settled in soon, meatslut, then it's just you and the heat for the rest of your life. Only a few more preparations. Ready?' I'm just about to reply when I realise that the question wasn't directed at me as the second in command grunts in reply, and I feel strong arms lifting me, rolling me over till I'm lying on my front in the bed of vegetables filling the large tray, feeling admittedly neither graceful nor dignified. The president must have guessed my thoughts, for it's only a moment before she reassures me.
'Don't worry, we'll tie you up so you roast into a real nice position, you'll see.' First my arms are pulled behind my back, hands at elbows, and I feel several rounds of cooking twine around my lower arms, tying them close. Next my feet are pulled back and up one at a time, cooking twine wrapped around my ankles and attached to my arms, pulling tight so my legs are bent backwards as far as possible, my thighs spread. The president and second in command are murmuring at each other while they do this, running their hands appreciatively over my body, my ass especially seeming to be of interest to them, proof that it's one of my best cuts. Finally, I feel my hair being gathered, tied into a knot and pulled tight, another piece of cooking twine attaching it down to my arms, forcing my head backwards and my spine to arch. Finally, I'm just resting on my hips, belly and breasts, not in a comfortable position, but I do feel undeniably sexy.
'Mmm, delicious... Just a few finishing touches, and you're ready for the oven.' Even before the president is done talking, I can smell pineapple, and feel a thick, sticky liquid being spread over my skin with a brush, glazing me. While the second in command is carefully applying the pineapple glaze to my face, I can feel the president spreading my ass open, something cold and hard sliding between my cheeks, up against my tigt hole, and I'm reminded of the meat thermometer they used on Becky. I gasp as she forces it into me, my sphincter clamping down tight around the thick steel shaft, then moan softly as I feel it slide deep into me. While the second in command continues glazing my body, the president herself grabs a large ginger root and starts peeling it right in front of me, grinning mischivelously.
'We've got an apple for your mouth, so I'm sure you can guess where this is going...' She winks and I swallow nervously, trying to nod but unable to move my head, and my throat too dry to speak. I can feel my already wet pussy clenching in anticipation, eager to be stretched open and filled one last time before I roast. While the president peels the ginger, the second in command finishes glazing me, ending with spreading my cheeks and brushing over and around the thick metalshaft in my ass, before moving the soft brush down to my cunt, the sticky glaze mixing with my own juices as she playfully slides it up and down between my lips, the hairs tickling my sensitive clit, making me moan softly in pleasure.
Finally, the president is done peeling and moves behind me, the brush replaced by gentle fingers, sliding up and down between my lips, spreading me open, and I close my eyes to relish the sensations. Then I feel the cold vegetable pushing against me, before being thrust deep into my eager, welcoming pussy in one smooth motion. I let out a low purr at the feeling of fulness, then gasp as I feel a hand cupping my entire sex from behind, palm pushing against the ginger root while long fingers play over my clit.
While I can feel pleasure spread quickly throughout me from the fingers on my clit and the ginger being pushed deep into me only to slide back out a bit repeatedly, I can also feel the inside of my pussy slowly heating up. At first it's just a pleasant warmth, but it soons starts to sting, then burn. I can feel my breathing getting ragged and my entire body flush as the mix of sensations increase, and at some point I realise tears are running down my face, mixing with the pineapple glaze. I can feel both the pleasure and the burning pain climb quickly, driving my body towards the edge as I pant and gasp, squirming and writhing in my bonds, not sure if I'm trying to escape the ginger, or grind down against it and the hand.
It's almost embarrassing how hard and fast I orgasm, a keening wail torn from my throat as I strain in my bonds, my pussy clamping down rhythmically around the thick ginger root while pleasure burns through me in waves. Images of Becky's roasted body and Amanda's slaughtered remains flash through my mind as I cum and cum, having been so turned on from watching them give up their meat, and now it's finally my turn. I feel the fingers gently work over my clit till my orgasm is completely passed before they're removed, and a few seconds later, they're presented for my mouth, covered in a mix of my own juices and sticky-sweet pineapple glaze. I suck them hungrily, sliding my tongue all over them, cleaning them completely off all the sweet and tangy moisture, leaving them coated in only a clear layer of my saliva when they're finally removed.
'Mmm, such a good meatslut... Think pineapple goes well with your taste?' I don't know if a reply is expected, but I manage a breathy 'Yes.' before a small apple is brough in front of my mouth, and I open wide, taking half of it between my teeth before biting down, not too hard, only just piercing the skin, tasting the juices. Then I hear the sound of a heavy door opening, and I feel hot air hitting my side, and though I can't turn my head to confirm, I know the oven has been opened. The president and second in command each grab one side of the large tray I'm on, lifting it and carefully sliding me into the oven, legs first. I can feel the heat immediately, and am reminded of sunbathing, the way we were when the president picked us up earlier. It's hard to believe it's still the same day, that this morning Amanda, Becca and me were just three ordinary girls enjoying a summer day, and now we're reduced to nothing but meat, Amanda and Becca already gone, and me not far behind.
While I'm been musing, the second in command is applying a bit of makeup, off all things, to my face, a look of concentration on her features, and I feel oddly grateful that she's making sure that I won't just taste, but also look, my very best. While she's doing that, the president pours two bottles of red wine into the bottom of the tray I'm on, drowning the vegetables, my nipples even poking down into the wine. Then they both pull back, the second in command looking at me critically a final time before blowing me a cutesy kiss. Then the oven door closes, slamming shut with an overwhelming sense of finality. I'm never leaving this oven again, only my meat is, as a succulent roasted meatslut.
It's very hot, and I can feel sweat running down my sides almost immediately while I stare out through the glass door. After a minute or so, I can smell the red wine, the alcohol evaporating quickly, and as I breathe the fumes in the small, enclosed spaces I can soon feel the effect, getting tipsy and a bit drowsy. I feel like I might be about to drift off, much sooner than I want, when I'm startled by someone knocking on the oven door. My eyes fly open in surprise, focusing on the second in command who's kneeling outside the oven. She's naked and gives me a sultry wink as she licks her lips slowly and exaggeratedly, grinning at me as she grasps her breasts in her left hand, her right slowly and teasingly sliding down her flat stomach. She keeps eyecontact with me as her hand disappears out of my vision, but a second later she close her eyes in pleasure, a silent moan on her lips as her head slowly roll backwards.
For several long moments I watch hungrily as she shamelessly pleasures herself in front of me, my pussy juicing up and clenching around the ginger, then a second person steps infront of the oven window. It's really just a pair of leatherclad legs, strong but feminine, with a luscious ass at the top of them, and I assume it's the president. She turns slightly, and I see the same purple strapon she used on us earlier jutting from her hips as she reaches down and fists one hand in the second in command's hair. For her part, the second in command looks up in adoration for a few seconds as she wraps one hand around the phallus, her other still working between her own legs. Then her eyes flash to me for an instant, dark with lust, as she opens her mouth and takes the tip of the strapon between her lips, eyes closing again in apparent pleasure.
I watch mesmerised as she sucks on the dildo, her lips sliding back and forth over the soft plastic, leaving it wet and glistening with her spit when it emerger from her mouth before she plunges her head back down, slowly taking it deeper. Initially, the president lets her be in charge, holding her hair loosely. Soon though, I see the grip tighten as her hips start working against the second in command, and I feel a sense of connection to the second in command as she opens her eyes to once again look at me through the oven window. Both of us are having our hair pulled painfully hard - it's clear the president is holding it so tight it hurts, but the second in command only seems to relish the pain. Both of our mouths are stretched wide open, mine around the apple, hers around the thick, purple strapon thrusting deeper and deeper into her mouth. And both of us willingly, eagerly, serving the same woman with our bodies.
Suddenly, the president grabs the second in command's head tight in both hands and thrust forward with her hips hard, forcing the dildo all the way into her mouth and down her throat, her neck bulging lewdly. I can see spit running down her chin, and her eyes starting to water as she's choked on the large strapon, her face slowly turning red as the president holds her in place, pressed tight against her crotch, her own hand seeming to pick up speed as she works her pussy. For a few seconds, I wonder if I'm going to see her snuffed right in front of me, choking to death on the thick dildo willingly embracing her fate without struggle, but the the president pulls her head back sharply, holding her up by her hair as she gasps for breath, tears streaming down her face, thick strands of saliva connecting her mouth to the strapon, looking deliciously obscene.
For a few seconds she kneels like that, partly supported by a hand in her hair as she pants for breath, then her eyes slowly open, and she gives me a wide, lascivious smile, her beauty and sexiness only heightened by her disheveled state. The president doesn't seem to have much patience for the game we play, though, roughly throwing her head down towards the floor, forcing her onto her hands and knees, head towards the oven, face close to the door. We lock eyes as I see the legs walk around behind her before kneeling down, slender hands grasping her hips, then her mouth gasps in pleasure as the strapon is thrust deep into her in one smooth motion. Impressiveyly, she keeps her eyes open and fixed on mine, even though I can tell she wants to close them in pleasure. It's like she wants to share the experience of being fucked with me, letting me feel a final thrill through the connection of our eyes even as the heat slowly roasts my body into meat.
Sweat is streaming down my sides, and breathing is becoming hard in the suffocating heat while I feel myself slowly go numb as my nerves dies, screaming in agony a final time before becoming silent forever. I can feel my body shutting down as breathing becomes difficult, my eyes slowly sliding closed. There's a dull thump, and I force my them open again, seeing that the second in command has slammed her hand against the glass door, fingers splayed out, her face desperate and pleading as she looks at me, her gaze filling me with a sense of urgency. I can tell that she's rapidly nearing orgasm, even as I get weaker I can see her becoming energised with pleasure. I fix my eyes on hers, an unspoken promise passing between us as we hurdle towards our seperate edges, yet connected somehow. Every breath seems a struggle, darkness beckoning alluringly to me, but she's so close, her eyes impossibly wide and imploring me to hold on, to stay with her, just a bit longer, her hand against the glass door so close.
Then we're there her body tensing and mouth open in a scream I can't hear as her eyes open impossibly wide, remaining fixed on mine as a much weaker shudder of sympathy passes through me, our eyes staying locked as she quivers in pleasure. Then we breathe out together, her face becoming softer as she smiles at me, basking in the afterglow, brilliant and beautiful, and I don't breathe in again, my eyes never leaving hers.