Pt 6

In the cooking area, two black-shirted employees were wiping down and re-greasing the spit while a third was greasing the inside of a large roasting pan. They all looked over and smiled when the party of fresh meat-girls arrived.

“Here you go,” the young woman smiled, “fresh meat!” She grinned while the girls giggled happily. “Okay girls,” she turned to them, “this is where I leave you but I promise you’re in good hands! Hope you enjoy cooking and I’m sure all three of you will be delicious!”

There was already a lot of interest in the new girls from the diners who were queueing up for a slice or two from those who had just been put out to serve. Emma looked a little embarrassed by the hungry way people were eyeing up her plump young body. Bobbi seemed indifferent, her attention far more on the spit that would very soon be passing through her, with the bonus for the queueing diners that she stood with her back to them, giving as great view of her mouthwateringly meaty rump. Rosie, on the other hand, welcomed the attention, posing and twirling to show off her meat to those who would soon be enjoying it, drawing many appreciative comments and quite a few chuckles. She saw that her mum and dad had joined the queue, lining up to get some appetisers as she had suggested, and gave them a happy wave.

“Okay! Easy one first!” the woman who had been greasing the roasting pan set it down and walked over to Rosie. “The chopped meat has been in there a few minutes but try to stir the stew with your feet while you’re in there. People enjoy when the stew girl serves them so try to do that for as long as you can but we understand how exciting it is for girls in the pot so if you need one of your hands for something else,” she winked, “that’s fine too! All just adds to the flavour!” Rosie giggled, understanding exactly what was meant this time. “Ready?”

Rosie nodded happily and, with the hungry diners, including her parents, and her two new friends and fellow meat-girls looking on, the woman lifted her under her arms and held her over the pot. The excited girl bent her knees and lifted up her feet past the edge then stretched them out again, allowing herself to be lowered into the pot, carefully and slowly so as to not slop any of the reddish-brown strew over the side and waste any.

“Now, have fun!” The woman instructed her with a smile. “Enjoy yourself, remember this is your time, but try to keep the customers happy too. If you feel yourself getting sleepy or in as lot of pain, try to give one of us a call as it probably means you’re about to die or at least pass out and we can get you chopped up quickly. If you can’t get our attention or feel too weak to try, please do try to rest your head over the side of the pot so we don’t have to fish around checking for hair.”

“Okay!” Rosie grinned, reaching over and picking up the ladle which was placed on a metal stand beside the pot. She smiled up at the first man in the queue and scooped a generous helping into his waiting bowl. He thanked her and moved aside for the next person who happened to be Rosie’s mum.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Not as hot as I thought it might be!” her daughter observed, “I guess they turn it down between girls so we get to enjoy being in the pot for a while. Smells great ‘though, doesn’t it?” She grinned happily as she filled firs her mum’s bowl, then her dad’s. “Sorry,” she smiled apologetically at the next woman in line who had two younger children with her, “they’re about to do my friends and I’d like to watch!”

“Oh no problem!” The woman chuckled, “The show is all part of the experience!” She, her children and everyone else in the line, not to mention those diners at close enough tables, turned to watch what was happening to Emma and Bobbi.

Both were stood on slightly raised platforms, their hair gathered up and wrapped in tin foil to prevent burning, being coated in some kind of light brown gloop, either a baste or sauce of some kind. Both were smiling although Emma still looked a little self-conscious. Rosie wondered if it was because, while she herself was slim and Bobbi athletic, Emma was rather chubby. Had she had negative comments about her body in the past and was now struggling to accept that people might actually be liking what they saw? Rosie really hoped so – the young blonde was sure to be a really delicious roast piggy and the physical attributes required to be great meat were very different from those needed to be an actress or model. Absolutely nobody looking at Emma’s naked body was thinking she was too fat or unappealing in the slightest!

An upright frame was rolled out for Bobbi while Emma was asked to climb into the pan. While Bobbi was being strapped to the frame, arms above her head and hands the same width apart as her feet, forming a kind of X shape, Emma got onto all fours and, as instructed, faced away from the assistant, into the oven, with her round bottom up in the air. The woman then took a piping bag, like a bigger version of what Rosie had seen her mum use for decorating cakes, and slid the conical metal tip between Emma’s cheeks and deep into her anus. She then held the end of the bag with one hand while squeezing the contents into Emma with the other. From her position in the pot, which was already starting to warm up, Rosie could see that her friend looked a little uncomfortable but she was making no complaint.

When the bag was empty, the woman gently withdrew it and pushed a small silver onion into Emma’s hole to stop any leaking out. She then wiped the nozzle and refilled the bag while Emma turned over, propped herself up on elbows and knees and presented her pussy for the same treatment.

While this was going on, the black-shirted assistants unclipped the top of the frame to which Bobbi was strapped and eased it down so that her torso was forced forward, leaving her rump sticking out behind her and giving easy access to both holes. The top of the spit was inserted between the smooth lips of her eight year old pussy and pushed inside. Remembering what the lady who put her in the pot had said before tending to Emma, Rosie reached down with her free hand into the warm stew and began to rub herself in the way she had not been brave enough to do during her butter massage, imagining what it might feel like to have the sharp, thick metal spit pushed into where her fingers were now exploring and upwards through her body.

Bobbi winced a little and the tip of the spit tore through her cervix and continued its unrelenting path through her body but, being such a sporty child, she was well used to injury and pain did not phase her too much. Once the spit was most of the way in, one of the assistants moved to the front to guide it out of her mouth and, slowly but steadily, it emerged. Once it was far enough through, the lower half of the frame was raised so that Bobbi was laying flat. Her wrists and ankles were secured with cuffs after a stabliser was slid into her anus then the spit, complete with impaled little meat-girl, was lifted onto the frame over the cooking element where it immediately started to turn, rotating Bobbi’s lovely body so her meat would cook evenly.

At the oven, the woman piped the second bag-load into Emma’s pussy, filling her womb until her already chubby belly bulged even further. As she had with her anus, the woman used a small onion to plug Emma’s pussy then helped the stuffed girl to get into position for cooking – on her knees with her rump in the air and her chin resting on her folded arms. She was then given a cored apple to bite down on to complete the look and slid into the oven.

It was not lost on the watching diners that, as the oven door was closed, leaving a tantalising view of Emma’s meaty behind through the glass, Rosie climaxed in the stew, stopping herself from crying out as she might have done at home in the bath but unable to suppress a high-pitched moan which raised an affectionate chuckle from those close by.

“Making it extra spicy, I see!” the woman next in line laughed as Rosie, blushing a little, ladled out bowlfuls for her and her two children. “Good on you! I’d try to get a couple more in before you go if I were you! Happy cooking!”

“Thanks!” Rosie giggled as the woman left and the queue continued to file past. After around fifteen minutes and two more orgasms which were not as surreptitious as she thought they were, Rosie could feel herself getting sleepy. She could not see Emma’s face but Bobbi had not blinked three or four minutes, clearly now nothing but dead meat waiting to finish cooking before being served. Rosie knew that she was dying – this was one of the signs the woman had warned her to look out for. With an apologetic smile, she passed to ladle to the next person in line, a boy of about fourteen, and asked him serve himself as she no longer had the strength.

Allowing herself to sink up to her shoulders, resting her head on the edge of the pot, Rosie called to the woman although her voice was weak and she did not know if the woman heard her or not. She closed her eyes and waited. She had expected being cooked to hurt a lot more but it didn’t seem to be that bad. The stew around her was hot, for sure, but no worse than a hot bath. In fact it was very relaxing! She wondered if there was something in the stew itself, some herbs or something, that had a relaxing effect on the girl being cooked. She could still hear the noise of the diners happily chatting about their food and could feel every thirty seconds or so as another bowl of stew was scooped out around her. Making it extra spicy – that was what the nice lady had said, wasn’t it? Wanting to experience the sensation on last time and do her bit to make the strew as delicious as possible, Rosie reached between her legs and began to rub herself once more. This time she made no effort to stifle the cry as she reached climax but all that came out was a soft gasp – her last breath.

Not more than a minute later, Rosie’s semi-cooked body was heaved out of the stew and rolled on a metal trolley into the kitchen where all the usable meat was cut to tiny pieces. Within ten minutes of her death, Rosie’s meat was back in the slightly-cooled strew pot with some fresh liquid and, most importantly, a fresh girl who happily began to serve her predecessor’s meat to the hungry patrons.

Both Bobbi and Emma were ready not long after and placed on the serving counter while two new girls were prepped to take their place. True to their word, Rosie’s parents made sure they had at least two bowls each of Rosie Stew but neither could resist trying to meat of the other girls they had met so briefly on their way to be cooked, concluding that while each cooking method had its benefits, all three girls tasted absolutely delectable!

The next morning, Rosie’s head, equipped with easily-rinsed throat-lining and glass eyes that were a very close match to her own, was put on the shelf in the gift shop with others of its kind. It was bought three days later by a rather embarrassed-looking man who said it was a gift for a friend, but who can be sure of the truth in these situations?

THE END