17 - Holiday Feast

Elizabeth cooked to perfection in Mr. Riggs' oven.

She had passed out completely soon after he had turned up the heat, and had passed on entirely shortly after that, the rising temperature finally transforming the girl from beautiful young woman to beautiful roast in progress.

Her first basting, a few minutes later, had been quite emotional for Mr. Riggs. Instead of squirming and groaning from the heat, as she usually did, Elizabeth's form simply lay there, limp and unmoving, as he refreshed the sauce covering her flesh. He was soon distracted from the melancholy of his former student's departure by the delightful scent of, for the first time, her truly baking meat emanating from within the oven. He started to perk up at the thought of finally being able to taste her as he had always wanted to.

Mr. Riggs stayed with Elizabeth the entire time she cooked, re-basting her like clockwork every few minutes, determined that she should achieve what he knew she was capable of: delicious perfection. It took hours and hours for Elizabeth to cook fully, and Mr. Riggs took only quick breaks to dash to the restroom or to retrieve a fruit drink, for stamina, from the school's cafeteria. He watched her the entire time, as she transmuted from simply a dead girl into a lovely, mouthwatering, perfectly proportioned roast, completely fascinated by the process.

Once he determined her to be, finally, done, he removed her glazed and baked form from within his oven, experiencing something akin to reverence as he did so.

He had done it.

Mr. Riggs had actually baked one of this students, Elizabeth, and she, fulfilling her entire culinary potential, had turned out marvelously.

He set what was once Elizabeth down on top of his workbench gently, then simply sat back and gazed at his accomplishment with awe and happiness.

He shook himself a few minutes later, then looked around and stood up, realizing that he still had much to do to prepare for his little dinner party. He spoke aloud for the first time in hours, as he looked down at Elizabeth one last time, mostly to himself, but also a little to his memory of her.

"Got to let the meat rest." was all that he said, softly.

The dinner party went grandly. There were just two guests, besides Mr. Riggs himself. He had invited Mr. Grey, the shop teacher, out of appreciation for his help and assistance in designing and fabricating the parts that went together to make his ovens. He had also invited Miss Evans, whose advise had proved so valuable in the preparation of the night's main and only course.

Both of his coworkers and co-conspirators were very voluble in their appreciation of his invitation and of how spectacularly his roast had turned out, and they spent the entire night listening, between heaping helpings of succulent meat, to a recounting of the long journey Mr. Riggs' ovens had taken from simple idle fancy to wildly successful reality.

Mr. Riggs had, perhaps somewhat greedily, appropriated an entire breast for himself. The other he had split between his two guests. He then he shared out select portions of thigh, rump, and belly for everyone to sample, as he was very curious how different areas of the roast tasted.

After several hours and numerous samplings of many different areas from upon the roast, it was agreed by all that the inner thigh, close up to the filet, was by far the most tender and succulent cut of meat. The outer thigh was also good, but after some discussion, it was felt that perhaps it would do better as steaks rather than roasted. The rump was greeted with similar feelings, by Mr. Riggs and Miss Evans, at least, but Mr. Grey, a self admitted fan of feminine rumps, cooked or not, made an impassioned case that it should be considered a close second to the upper thigh cut in both flavor and texture.

The belly, it was agreed by all, was good, but would definitely be better employed as a cured, perhaps even smoked, slab of bacon rather than roasted. The calves were similarly dismissed, for, tasty and flavorful as they were, they were deemed simply too tough to make for a good roast. Miss Evans opined that stewed, perhaps overnight in a crock pot, they would fare much better. The breasts, which they had all returned to time and again, each devouring their share completely by the night's end, were, by unanimous consent, found to be perfectly sublime. The only criticism that could be fairly leveled at the delicious globes of fatty girlflesh was that they were perhaps too rich, and that trying to polish off a pair as generous as this particular roast's had been, without the aid of good company, was purest folly, which would surely result in inevitable and well deserved heart failure.

Of the prime cut, the filet, there was politely made no mention. The reason for this was due to the fact that Mr. Riggs had consumed it himself, in its entirety, before his two guests were scheduled to arrive.

He had sat, his preparations for his guests complete, before the whole roasted girl on the folding table in front of him, simply inhaling her intoxicating, delicious scent for several minutes. She was trussed still, and more resembled a holiday bird than ever, with her filet presented to him most appetizingly, practically in his lap.

Mr. Riggs had, hands trembling in an excited mix of anticipation and trepidation, sliced a small sliver from the inside edge of one of the folds of the filet, and had slowly brought the still slightly steaming piece of aromatic meat to his mouth. He knew, by smell, just how good it would taste before it even touched his tongue, but he couldn't have anticipated the sheer scope of the reaction the sliver of meat would engender within him.

He broke out in goose flesh the moment he first tasted Elizabeth's fully cooked filet, inhaling sharply as his body straightened up of its own accord and his hair stood on end. The taste of the bit of flesh on his tongue wasn't just good, nor was it merely delicious. It tasted orgasmic, in a quite literal sense.

"My god, if my mouth can come, then it's coming right now." was all Mr. Riggs could think as he savored the slice of meat in his mouth.

When he pressed the slice between his teeth, crushing out Elizabeth's natural flavors and the marinade Mr. Riggs had injected into her, his eyes rolled up and his head tilted back as he moaned in unadulterated gastronomic ecstasy. In the same way a man dying of thirst might appreciate a draft of cool water, or the way a drowning man would savor a gasp of clear air, Mr. Riggs enjoyed the taste of the slice of a girl's sex on his tongue. It was something he had needed, desperately, his entire life, and he was only just now realizing that fact.

He had been tempted, sorely tempted, to simply discard his utensils and rip mouthfuls of what he now knew he needed so very much from the roast before him, but had managed, barely, to control himself enough to continue on with his appetizer in a relatively civilized manner.

He had made his filet last, spacing out each slice of meat with a fork full of steaming stuffing, which proved to be nearly as delicious as the filet that contained it. Mr. Riggs' only regret was that the sausage in the stuffing was simple pork, which paled in comparison to the girlflesh around it. Thankfully, Mr. Riggs now had ample amounts of real girlmeat to use the next time he wanted sausage in the stuffing he filled a filet with.

Once he had finished his filet completely, he had waited for his guests to arrive, with a level of happiness and contentment that he had never suspected it was even possible to achieve. His agonized decision to reduce Elizabeth's future to helpings on a platter was, as how her filet had tasted had made him realize, eminently justifiable and, he now felt, quite objectively the right and correct course of action.

The dinner party ended as morning neared, and Mr. Riggs sent his guests away with parting gifts of meat, to be savored later at their leisure. To both Mr. Grey and Miss Evans each he bequeathed an entire arm, separated at the shoulder. Mr. Grey requested and received a generous portion of rump, as well as select cuts from the inner and outer thigh. Miss Evans received similar cuts of thigh, but forwent her portion of rump and asked instead for one of the roast's small, well glazed feet. Miss Evans, quite full from their night of feasting, still managed to lick her lips and gaze down on the separated appendage in hungry anticipation as she wrapped it up to take home with her.

Mr. Riggs spent another hour parting out the remains of the roast, wrapping most of the meat in first butcher paper, and then plastic wrap, labeling each carefully as he did so, to be placed in his home freezer to be enjoyed later that winter. The head, remaining foot, and several other selected portions he simply wrapped in the butcher paper or entombed within resealable containers, as he intended to consume them much sooner. After that task was complete, he finished by cleaning the back room thoroughly, wiping up stray splatters and drips of sauce and meat juice from the floor and folding table, washing dishes and cutlery, and tidying up in general.

Mr. Riggs, happy but tired and spent after a long day and night's work, preparation, and celebration, left his classroom for the last time that semester, lugging a large ice chest full of meat, along with a smaller sack of bones and waste, with him as he headed for home.