"Story: Summer Barbecue « on: July 30, 2012, 09:04:34 AM » Re" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/cLy1uUsX Created on: Monday 2nd of April 2018 07:27:37 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:15:05 AM UTC Story: Summer Barbecue « on: July 30, 2012, 09:04:34 AM » ReplyQuote The Summer Barbecue They pulled Claudia aside as soon as she arrived and hurried her into the kitchen, giggling and whispering as they went. The two women holding onto her and hustling her down the long hallway had been her friends, confidants and partners in salon and afternoon drinks since she moved to this little bit of suburban heaven three years before, and their husbands, following along and grinning contentedly, were her husband Evan’s hunting buddies. She could tell by the mischievous looks on her friends faces that something was up, and her husband’s studied innocence told her that he was in on it, whatever it was. Not my birthday, she thought, running down her mental calendar; not our anniversary, either, just a run of the mill three-day-weekend Monday… The little crowd burst through a swinging door and into Teagan’s big tile-and-iron kitchen. Two official-looking documents were laid out on the prep island, impressively signed and embossed with the official seal of the little suburban hamlet where they all lived. The whole party stopped expectantly as she read them through. “Oh my God,” she said, “Are those really… I mean, real?” She leaned over them and looked closely. Teagan was nodding fiercely. “Absolutely, official and everything. They cost a mint, but worth every penny.” The two documents proclaimed themselves, in gold leafed lettering, to be official roasting permits, each entitling the bearer to cook and eat… and serve, to non-paying guests… one consenting, adult woman between the ages of 18 and 35… Claudia looked up at her friends, her knees weak as they looked back at her. The town of Dolcett had been sitting on its little spit of land just north of the Bay Area megalopolis for a hundred and fifty years, just too far away to be a suburb, really, but close enough to be somewhere to buy a relatively cheap house and live a quiet, happy life once you'd had enough of the city (and, of course, made enough money). It had quietly boomed and busted in muted echo of its metropolitan center of gravity, avoided becoming a Coast Guard base or a weekender party destination, and was happy to be little thought of by the world across the causeway. In the late ‘80s it began to be quietly famous as a place that feminism had bypassed, somewhere men were still lords of their castles and women were content with their barefooted pregnancies. This obscure notoriety, downplayed by the residents and mostly uncommented upon in the national press, had a curious effect: A certain type of young, single woman began to move there, finding jobs in the bookstores and antique shops that lined the main drag, waiting patiently to be… found, taken, possessed. To be sure, couples moved there, children were raised, but once the fishing business finally went bust the number of young, single men finally plummeted, and soon a type of informal plural marriage became common, one of the quiet, subservient young women taking a room with a couple in need of cooking or cleaning or childcare help and just naturally helping out with other, more wifely duties. Gradually, it had become somewhere a woman who felt oppressed by the demands of the modern world could reclaim her chatteldom. It was a town notably devoid of crime and where drugs were quietly enjoyed in bedrooms and back yards rather than back alleys and street corners; the two bars were homey places where you could get a home-cooked meal, and even the politics was laid-back and sort of lazily corrupt in the manner of small towns. The state-wide liberalization of assisted suicide laws had coincided with the discovery, in the mid-nineties, of the artist whose name the town shared, and the first Dolcett-style cookout had happened the night of the millennium. The town was quick to license and tax the practice, the proceeds of the heavy licensing fees going straight into a fund which paid for media blackout campaigns with enough surplus to fund a legal defense, should the need arrive. There had never been a serious legal threat, but fees remained steep, and the practice had never caught on quite enough to catch up with the surplus of young, single women in the town. Claudia had been born on the east coast, had married young and taken great, if mostly secret, satisfaction, in thinking of herself as her husband’s property. She’d told him how she felt before they were married, and he found the idea exciting, though somewhat foreign; their generation was, after all, the generation of the house-husband, and it took him some time to come around to the idea, but when he did he embraced it fully, if discretely. They explored their unusual relationship more and more fully over a couple of years, Claudia hurrying home after work to make dinner and get undressed or into one of the many “slave girl” costumes they’d concocted. Evan got gradually more and more comfortable simply giving her orders, and she completely abandoned any pretense that she was anything but property. Gradually, the most uncomfortable thing about their life became having to hide it from their friends and relatives; the couple of times they’d tried to share their real relationship had been disastrous. When Evan’s career had drawn them to the West Coast they’d explored some of the BD/SM communities, but had never felt quite at home; neither of them really wanted to dress in leather or hang out in dungeons. They did hear, quietly over coffee, of a small town up the coast where they might feel at home. Claudia stared at the ornately-printed pieces of paper. They were seductive, beautiful in and of themselves, and what they represented… she couldn’t taker her eyes off them. “Wow,” she said. “I mean… who are they for?” The “Name” line was noticeably blank on both of them. “Well,” said Nicole, exchanging a glance with Teagan, “You, we were hoping.” She looked Claudia in the eye. “You have been talking about how good you’d taste since you moved here…” “I…” Claudia’s knees were weak; the room did not seem entirely stable, and she was feeling decidedly damp between the thighs. She looked up at Evan, meeting his eyes. “It’s not really my decision to make,” she said. Nicole smiled and looked across at Evan. “Well, what do you think, husband? Do you want to take her home in the passenger seat or in a doggy bag?” She smiled wickedly. Evan met Claudia’s eyes and held them for three long, loud heartbeats. “I want you to be meat,” he said. Her knees didn’t give way, but she felt the world spin away from her. “Yes, husband,” she said. She turned back to her friends, looking at each in turn. "Well," she said, "I guess that's that, I'm yours. What should I do?" Teagan handed her a pen and flipped open an ink pad. "Sign here, then thumb-print here and here," she said. Claudia signed and inked. "Now what?" "Now," said Teagan, "Strip out of those clothes, and go show our guests what their meal is going to look like." Claudia stared for a second, and then reached up behind her neck and untied the string holding her halter-topped dress on; the sheer fabric fluttered to the floor around her ankles. She wriggled out of her panties and got help unsnapping her bra; everyone seemed suddenly interested in touching her… Her brain seemed numb but the rest of her seemed to be suddenly alive with sensation. She let herself be led back out into the main room of the party, heard the congratulations of the other women, their strained voices clearly conveying their pleasure that someone… else… was going to roast for the annual summer barbecue. Evan's hands rested on her hips; she felt his comforting presence pressing against her backside, and his voice, low and sensual, in her ear. "Enjoy yourself," he said, "And anybody who wants to enjoy you… well, treat them as though they were me." She inhaled, a small gasp, looking around the room at the people paying polite but intent attention to her. She was, she realized, about to have a lot of sex. An hour later, she was on her back, on the low coffee table, someone between her thighs, a cock moving inside her; her head was back, hanging off the edge of the table, another cock sliding in and out of her throat. Hands roamed over her body. She had totally lost track of the idea of time. Another body came down beside her on the coffee table, another nude woman the center of masculine attention. She could feel the other woman's movements in the table, and realized that whoever she was, her name, signature and fingerprint were probably inked onto the second roasting permit in the kitchen. When the cock in her mouth spit its load down her throat, she patiently waited, holding her breath until the cock was finally withdrawn, holding her mouth open and watching as the thread of spit-and-cum stretched between the tip of her tongue and the end of the cock, then flinching just slightly as the thread parted and flicked across her face. She looked to her left at the woman next to her on the coffee table, and was surprised to find that it was Teagan, the hostess of the party and her oldest friend in Dolcett. Teagan was doing exactly what she had been doing a second ago: sucking the cum out of a cock. As it withdrew, she looked at Claudia with a smile. "Jessica said no," she said with a shrug. "I guess it's you and me." She opened her mouth again and a cock slid smoothly into it, not stopping until its ball sack rested on her forehead. Claudia blinked, then leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth. Later, she took a break, sitting on the toilet and letting herself drain; she'd had more cocks in her in two hours than she'd had in her entire life. She had her arms wrapped around herself , breathing hard as though she'd just run a marathon. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, which allowed her to look at herself as she shuddered and sobbed. This, she thought, is the point where I should draw the line. She'd been looking, her entire life, for the point where she suddenly realized that, whoa, this was where her descent into non-personhood pulled up short; the bright line where she suddenly decided that society had a point, that she needed to stand up for herself and be a person, as opposed to a sophisticated sex toy and housekeeping robot. She had, in fact, sort of looked forward to that: the day that she would say, OK, no, everybody was right, I am actually a person and I assert my personhood. Sitting here on this toilet, literally covered in cum, panting with adrenaline and exertion, and about to be killed, cooked and served as meat, she looked into the mirror and thought: if there is a point where my inner personhood will rise up and assert itself, this is it. She waited, staring at herself in the mirror. She was in the shower when the door opened and Teagan slipped in, also panting for breath and covered in cum. Claudia peered around the shower curtain, watching her friend leaning against the door having the same inner struggle she'd just had. She smiled. "Suddenly real, isn't it?" Teagan looked up as though she'd been caught at something, then smiled sheepishly. "Yeah," she said. "I was just… I don't know, trying to figure out why I'm not more upset about this." "I know exactly what you mean," said Claudia. "I don't really know either… but since I'm not, I'm just going to, you know…" "Go with it?" Teagan nodded. Claudia held out an inviting hand. "You should get cleaned up before we head into the kitchen." Teagan looked at the outstretched hand, then up at Claudia. She smiled sweetly and took the offered hand. Claudia pulled her into the shower… Racing against the water, Claudia did her best to lick the cum and sweat from her friend's body; her lips and tongue quickly and efficiently covered every bit of skin as Teagan leaned back against the tile and curled her fingers in Claudia's hair. The friends had never actually had a sexual relationship; theirs was a friendship of mutual support and understanding, each devoted to her husband above all else. Now they spent a few minutes exploring one another's trembling bodies, each glad to be the other's last lover. In the end they curled up with one another on the tile floor of the shower, letting the water fall over them. "I can't believe this is it," said Teagan. "When we planned this party, I was sure it was going to be someone else… I'm willing to do it, but I thought I'd get to host a party first, then go at another one, later…" "Oh," said Claudia, "So you just spring it on me, hoping I'll get you out of it. You are…" She poked Teagan in the side, and the other woman poked her back; for a few minutes the shower rang with girlish laughter as they attempted to tickle one another into submission. "I'll go first," said Claudia, "That way you get your chance to watch it before it's your turn…" Teagan was very still for a moment. "No," she said at last, "I think I want to go first. It's my house, and my party, and I don't want to back out, which I am afraid I might do if I watch you go first." She snuggled into Claudia again. "And I will enjoy you watching me, knowing you're going next." They sat there for a few more minutes, talking and touching, before there was a knock on the door. "Girls, are you in there?" It was Nicole. "Claudia? Teagan? We're ready for you, in the kitchen…" The two entrees exchanged glances, each showing the other her nervousness, fear, excitement… and then they wordlessly disentangled themselves, turning off the water and toweling off, before opening the door for Nicole and making their way into the kitchen. Teagan knelt on the big butcher-block table in the center of the kitchen, knees apart, arms tied behind her. Her hair had been cut very short, buzzed close with clippers, and her skin glistened with oil. She trembled, her eyes wide, and she was making a conscious effort to breath deep, slow breaths through her nose. Claudia, likewise bound, shorn, and oiled, stood nearby, watching all the steps, carefully cataloguing everything. She was trembling as well, and although she'd had a great deal of sex in the past couple of hours, she was still dripping wet; something about the prospect of being impaled and cooked alive…. it was crazy, she was sure, but it was still extremely exciting. Evan put one hand on Teagan's chest and the other on her shoulder. "Just lean foreword," he said, "Bend at the waist, let your ass stick up and make a good target." Teagan leaned into his hand, letting him support her weight, and he guided her down until her chest rested on the edge of the butcher block, her head hanging over. He set a strong hand on the middle of her back, holding her there, as her husband, Scott, hefted the spit. The spit was hardwood, about the size of a closet pole, and even more oiled than Teagan and Claudia. Claudia watched, fascinated, as Scott lifted the pointed end and lined it up with Teagan's lovely little asshole; Claudia's own asshole clenched a bit in sympathy as the point slide in, and her eyes strayed to where the other spit leaned casually against the cabinet, waiting for its turn to force its way through her. She shuddered, eyes snapping back to Teagan as her friend's spit disappeared into her ass; Claudia could tell the exact moment when it reached the bend in her friend's colon because Teagan stiffened, her whole body clenching. Claudia started forward just a little; Scott adjusted his hands on the spit and drove it forward, one push sending it a foot into Teagan's trembling, writhing body. Teagan grunted, a high-pitched squealing sound that gradually lowered. "Oh God," she said, "I can't even begin to…" and then she began to retch. Claudia thought she was going to throw up, but instead as she opened her mouth wide the sharp tip of the spit emerged from between her teeth. Teagan's eyes were wild, looking around the room crazily, helplessly. She was obviously writhing around the central, hard, core of the spit, but her body wasn’t moving that much; the spit was keeping her rigid. After a few minutes she became still, breathing around the spit in a labored, audible pant that was obviously difficult and uncomfortable. Claudia moved from her place, walking around to where she could look into Teagan’s eyes, and knelt, carefully, to meet Teagan’s eyes. Teagan’s gaze was lucid, if a little wild; tears streaked her cheeks but were not running now.  Claudia leaned forward and kissed the spitted woman on the forehead and then the cheek. She stood, meeting her husband’s gaze over Teagan’s spitted body. The man she’d literally given her life to serve looked levelly back at her, his expression mild and unreadable. She felt herself falling. Her life… when she had given her life to this man, she had meant… well, she’d meant dedicating her time, her three-score-and-ten, to his well-being, happiness, contentment. She’d decided, a long time ago, that she was not willing to put a limit on how he spent her life; that she was happier knowing that he was getting what he wanted than she was in… whatever it is she might be doing instead. Now… now she was about to give him her life in a different way; a way she’d fantasized about, thought about, masturbated thinking about, even longed for a little, but… never actually expected. In fact, she’d been sort of wistful about it; no, no matter how amazing it was as a fantasy, Evan needed her too much, she was too important to him… Now she was unsure… unsure whether he wanted this from her as an ultimate fulfillment of her commitment, which was actually kind of sexy, or whether it was his gift to her, his sacrifice of the ways in which she made him happy for the fulfillment of a fantasy he knew she had… Or was he just tired of her, indifferent to her commitment, and ready to spend her on a momentary thrill, sure in the knowledge that Dolcett was full of young women eager to take her place? In short, was she about to make a meaningful sacrifice, the ultimate expression of her willing gift of herself to her husband? Or was she just a fool after all, wasting herself for a man who didn’t appreciate or deserve her? He smiled at her, warmth and love in his face, as he grasped the spit protruding from Teagan’s gasping mouth, and she realized that she wasn’t going to get an answer; even if she could frame the question and he could find the eloquence for an answer in the next few minutes, would she believe him? Could she? The next few minutes; in a few minutes, she realized, a few, very few, slippery minutes, she would be impaled and roasting over one of the fires outside. Evan hoisted Teagan’s spit onto his shoulder and he and Scott carried her out the sliding-glass door into the back yard; Claudia watched as they placed her over the coals and hooked the spit to an auto-rotator. Teagan became more animated as the heat began to penetrate her. She writhed and squirmed around the thick pole, until… Claudia realized that she was moving rhythmically, vigorously fucking herself on the pole, pulling and pushing with her bound feet… Something to look forward to, she thought. She turned back to the spitting-table, looking down at the step-stool conveniently placed so that she could step up. She did so, one step up onto the stool, then another; she was unsteady, her bound arms making balance difficult, so she was grateful as Nicole reached out and steadied her. She smiled at her friend, then leaned forward and kissed her, lightly but very sexually, on the lips. Claudia looked past Nicole at her husband, Charlie, who was standing awkwardly off to one side, watching avidly as her wife gave the roast a last kiss goodbye. “Hey Charlie,” she said, breaking the kiss, “Are you guys saving Nicole for Thanksgiving?” The surprised look that crossed Charlie’s face gave way to a thoughtful one, and his gaze shifted to Nicole. Nicole looked back at him like a deer in headlights for a long second, then looked up at Claudia. “God, I think you just got me cooked,” she said, and laughed. “I guess turnabout is fair play.” She patted Claudia’s ass and helped the meat girl half-step up onto her knees on the butcher-block table. She set her knees wide apart and slowly, carefully, leaned forward, shoving her ass up and letting her head hang off the edge of the table; she counted her breaths, slowly, and waited for the spit. The hubbub of voices around her rose and fell and then went almost quiet as she heard the two men’s footsteps return; the were speaking in a low voice, still debating teqnique. “You’re sure we shouldn’t gut them? The chances of sepsis…” Evan. She remembered him talking about what it would be like to slit a woman open… “No, we’ll do it after they stop twitching over the fire.” Scott, always practical. “Claudia suggested we cook Nicole for Thanksgiving, we’ll want to gut and stuff her then; it’s not really Thanksgiving without stuffing.” A pause, as all three men -- and Nicole -- contemplated the prospect of Nicole, slit open and stuffed with gourmet stuffing, roasting golden brown… She was, Claudia realized, already a thing, a not-yet-cooked piece of meat. How interesting, she thought. A cold, slippery glob of something dropped onto her puckered asshole, and was almost immediately followed by someone’s finger. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see Nicole standing behind her, staring down at her as she slid first one, then two, then three fingers into Claudia’s already-loosened asshole. Claudia smiled back at her, and then caught sight of Evan and Scott standing behind Nicole greasing the spit; they were covering it with white paste from a can marked “Girl Lard.” Wow, she thought; this is amazing. Then Evan turned and brought the tip of the spit precisely between Nicole’s fingers, Nicole letting them slide out as the spit slid in. Claudia’s eyes snapped open as her well-fucked asshole opened even further than she ever remembered, and kept opening, as the spit kept coming. Oh God, she thought, here it comes, here comes my death, it’s happening to me right now… The spit pushed into her, slowly but persistently, not stopping and jerking but with steady, slidey motion, until she thought it couldn’t possibly go deeper and then it did; something in her shifted uncomfortably and the spit kept sliding, sliding; she couldn’t really tell how deep it was, just that it kept getting deeper. It finally hit something that felt like the bottom of her asshole: a place where the point of the spit jabbed into something that didn’t get out of its way. She knew that this would be the end of her colon, where a sharp bend would catch the tip of the spit; but it felt like the very back of her asshole, and it got progressively more uncomfortable as Evan kept pressing. She wriggled her ass, shifting weight from one knee to another and then back; and finally she whimpered out loud as she felt something give, tear, inside her, and the spit slid through the hole it had poked in her insides. She could feel it, now, sliding through her; she wagged her ass and felt the rigidness of it, the point moving deep inside her with even motion. Nicole slapped her ass. “Be still now,” she said. We’ll see how still you are, thought Claudia, when they’re slitting you open at Thanksgiving. But Claudia wouldn’t see that; she wouldn’t see another meal, even the one she was going to be served at. God. The long, wooden shaft poked her in what she distinctly knew was her stomach. She belched, prompting laughter, even from her; then she felt it push through forcefully and slide up all at once into her chest. She felt exactly like she was throwing up; she had spasms in her throat and belly, and she realized she was gagging exactly like Teagan had been just before… She felt the tip of the spit, suddenly, in the back of her throat, and then it was pushing insistently between her lips. She blinked furiously and struggled to breathe around the big fat thing in her throat; it was… difficult, but she found that she could, barely. She watched as the tip of the spit exited her mouth and pushed on out, followed by about three feet of wooden pole. Oh my God, she thought, I’ve really been impaled; this thing is in my ass and in my throat and… She wriggled, and she really could feel the pole, every inch of it, transfixing her body, holding it rigid. It felt incredible. Painful, to be sure, and constricting, but… bondage like she’d never felt, held in position absolutely and with no question of cheating. She felt her knees pulled out from under her and her feet bound to the spit, and then she felt something sharp in her side: A thin, metal skewer run into her flesh, through a hole in the spit, and out the other side, holding her to the spit so she’d rotate with it. Scott and Evan were talking again but she found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to them. She was consumed by the Thing in her Core, the new, invasive, overwhelmingly literal center of her being. She wriggled, relishing the feel of it all the way through her, owning her. Scott was suddenly in front of her, lifting the spit and placing it on his shoulder, and suddenly her weight was completely supported by her Core, something… she would not have known how to describe it even if she didn’t have a thick piece of wood shoved up her throat. Then they were moving, and she swayed on the spit, the sensation… She remembered what Teagan had been doing, and she pulled agains the spit with her feet, literally fucking her whole body with its magnificent, penetrative length. It slid through her and back, taking her completely, her ultimate lover. She moaned around the spit and tumbled through her last orgasm as they approached her fire pit. She could see Teagan, her skin already golden brown, now still over her fire; so that’s it, thought Claudia, that’s the time I’ve got, however long it took to spit me and I’ll be dead, meat like Teagan. Teagan looked and smelled delicious, and Claudia’s mouth watered around the spit. The heat hit her like a judgement: Sudden and everywhere, penetrating her entire skin where the spit had merely penetrated her body. She writhed from the heat, which caused the spit to touch her entire insides, which made her writhe again in the heat. This was her life, she realized; she had nothing else to do, nothing else was expected from her, ever, except that she hang here over this fire and writhe her life away. The hum of the little motor caught her off guard; as soon as the rubber band connecting the motor to the spit was stretched into place, she began to turn, and at the same time the vibration of the motor added a whole new aspect to the experience. The sensation overwhelmed her and took her, and she didn’t even notice it happening when she died a few minutes later.