18 - End

During the dinner party, the former identity of the roast had come up, briefly, between their discussions about Mr. Riggs' ovens and the spirited debates about which part of the roast tasted the finest.

"Elizabeth was a treasure." Mr. Riggs said solemnly, as he raised a beaker of the quite nice wine Mr. Grey had thoughtfully brought along with him.

His guests murmured quiet concurrence as they gently clinked their own beakers against his, then drank to his little toast.

"She enjoyed her time in my ovens, for the most part, you know, even up to the end." Mr. Riggs said.

He had then produced the tablet on which he had stored the pictures of Elizabeth, the ones where she looked like she was at least partly enjoying herself, and passed it to his guests. He let them peruse the album slowly and enjoyed the fascinated responses they gave upon viewing each new image. Miss Evans had seen many of them before, of course, but they were all new to Mr. Grey, and the shop teacher took great interest in seeing the ovens, whose parts he had helped Mr. Riggs to construct, be put to actual use. The gallery had expanded since Miss Evans had last seen it, however, and she was delighted to find that Mr. Riggs had documented Elizabeth's testing of his full body ovens thoroughly, and was especially interested in the series that captured the girl's final journey just hours before, as she had turned from raw flesh to delicious roast.

"Elizabeth's help was indispensable in building working prototypes of my ovens. I almost regret finally giving in and roasting her, especially since now she'll never get to test my latest oven, which I'm sure she would have enjoyed greatly." said Mr. Riggs, as he heaved a sigh and patted his full stomach, looking wistful.

"Which new oven is that?" Miss Evans asked, rising to his carefully baited statement.

"A filet cooker." Mr. Riggs replied, simply.

Miss Evans looked at Mr. Riggs blankly for a moment, her mouth hanging open slightly, then shifted in her folding chair slightly, crossing her legs.

"Elizabeth took so much pleasure from her time in my breast cooker that I'm positive she would have jumped at the chance to try out my new oven." Mr. Riggs continued, looking directly into Miss Evans' wide eyes. "It has, in addition to the features all my other ovens have, a heating element which is inserted directly into the girl's filet, to ensure an even, deep cook of the entire cut."

Miss Evans gulped slightly at the description, and recrossed her legs in the other direction.

"Naturally, to prevent the meat from sticking to the heating element, marinade flows continuously from a small nozzle at the tip, and the whole device vibrates, slightly but constantly, to ensure that the marinade is distributed evenly within the filet."

Miss Evans mouth fell open at this last statement, then she burst out in incredulous laughter.

"Mr. Riggs, you are a wicked man, and, dare I say, a horrible liar!" Miss Evans said, trying to hide her amused laughter behind one hand. "A vibrating heating element, indeed."

Mr. Riggs had simply grinned good naturedly at her comment, leaning back into his folding chair contentedly and resting his hands on his comfortably full stomach.

"My dear Miss Evans, if you doubt me, by all means, come by my room sometime after a school day ends and prove me false." Mr. Riggs replied easily, quirking one eyebrow up at her in challenge.

Miss Evans looked a little taken aback at his statement, then fidgeted upon her chair slightly, as if forcing herself not to recross her legs yet again.

"This isn't anything like that infernal "automatic nipple injector" device of yours, is it?" she finally asked, suspicion tinting her tone. "I swear, my left breast is still sore where that thing poked me about a hundred times in a row."

"This is completely different, I assure you. And as to the state of your left breast, I seriously doubt it can be paining you that much still, as my injector didn't even have a needle loaded into it, merely a pen." Mr. Riggs replied.

"Perhaps you should allow me to jab your body somewhere sensitive with a pen a hundred or so times, Mr. Riggs." Miss Evans said, her tone haughty. "Then you might be in a position to understand what my poor breast went through for your sake."

"That's neither here nor there, I'm afraid, Miss Evans." Mr. Riggs said. "The question at hand is if you will attempt to prove my statement, which I still insist is quite factual, false."

"I.. I think I will." she replied, defiantly accepting his challenge. "When do you want me to come back."

"Oh, any time would be fine. How about the first Monday after school resumes? We may as well get it out of the way." Mr. Riggs answered, looking satisfied.

"I'll be there." said Miss Evans, still looking defiantly at her host.

---

"Ohh m-my gahhd, it really does v-vibrate.." Miss Evans managed to gasp, as Mr. Riggs enabled all the functions of the heating element inserted deep into her filet.

Miss Evans was straddling a saddle-like oven, nude and bound, with her filet pressed into an opening at the top of the saddle. Her lean arms were bound behind her at the elbows, and her slim ankles were bound to the tops of her spread thighs, which had effectively neutralized her attempts to wiggle and squirm away as Mr. Riggs had positioned the heating element and settled it as far as he could into her waiting flesh.

Mr. Riggs flicked the switch which toggled the heating element, deactivating it, as his younger coworker continued to shiver and gasp in reaction to the device.

"Well, Miss Evans, I think someone here owes someone else here an apology, don't you?" Mr. Riggs said, amusement clearly coloring his voice.

"Okay, okay! You weren't lying. I'm sorry." Miss Evans said, her chest still heaving in shocked surprise. "Now get me off of this thing!"

"Miss Evans, we've barely even begun today's test of this oven." said Mr. Riggs. "You need to stay on it for far longer to truly experience having your filet cooked."

"Wha-what? Wait, Mr. Riggs, I don't.. Ahh!" Miss Evans started to protest, before Mr. Riggs cut her off by the simple expedient of reactivating his filet cooker's full functionality.

Miss Evans squirmed harder still at the sudden warming and vibrations the heating element within her sex started producing. It had been embarrassing enough to strip in front of her coworker, not to mention allowing him to convince her to be bound as she was, but having him brush one of her own varieties of sauce liberally over her most sensitive area, then push a thick metal rod, which he told her was full of electric heating coils, into her had been almost more than she could bear. Her pride had demanded it of her, however, so she could disprove Mr. Riggs' ridiculous assertion that the rod full of heating elements would actually vibrate once he activated it.

The damned thing actually did vibrate though, which embarrassed Miss Evans almost, but not quite, as much as her current situation did. Mr. Riggs was watching her, obviously amused at her reactions to the device he had designed and constructed. Aside from vibrating, the rod inserted into her was warming at an alarming rate, and she thought that she could also feel the first spurts of warm sauce being deposited into her by the machine as well.

"The marinade is heated as it passes through the coils inside the rod." Mr. Riggs explained, as he observed his coworker shimmy and shake upon his oven while she tried to form protests around surprised squeaks and gasps. "This helps to ensure that the filet will cook at a reasonable, even rate. The drippings that flow from the filet as it cooks are gathered in a catch pan below, to be reused by the marinade pump at a steady, constant pace."

"Considering the self basting nature of most healthy filets, I anticipate not having to refresh the marinade much during the cooking process." Mr. Riggs finished, beaming at Miss Evans as she struggled.

"Y-you're not g-going to actually cook me, are you?" Miss Evans managed to finally stammer.

"Oh, not today." Mr. Riggs replied, smiling wickedly at her. "And certainly not before you've helped me find the perfect marinade to compliment the natural flavors of your filet."

"Y-you're horrible!" Miss Evans replied, before she groaned and bit her lip, stomach trembling and breasts quivering as she rode the vibrating rod that felt like it really was starting to cook her sex.

"Only when no one else is around to see it." Mr. Riggs agreed, chuckling mildly.

"Oh, god. It feels like my pussy is melting." Miss Evans moaned.

"Unlikely." Mr. Riggs replied. "And even if it did, the catch pan would collect it all and I'd have cream of filet soup."

"S-so h-horrible.." Miss Evans managed, weakly.

"Relax, Miss Evans. You're not even near to the temperatures that our dear, departed Elizabeth regularly endured." Mr. Riggs said. "Granted, her flesh wasn't in direct contact with heated metal, but the point still mostly stands."

Miss Evans had no reply to Mr. Riggs' last statement, as she seemed quite oblivious now to anything but the hot, vibrating rod buried within her.

Mr. Riggs glanced up at the clock, then back to his coworker, enjoying the sight of her pretty, slim form as she struggled, squirmed, and gasped at the relentless sensations flowing from her cooking filet. She had only another fifty or so minutes to go, then he would get to enjoy what he was guessing would be a very well marinaded, lightly toasted, and absolutely delicious afternoon snack.

He could hardly wait.