Mummy's Special Turkey
By
Edward Hyde


“Okay, Mummy! I’m ready!” eight year old Bobby smiled proudly as he stood on the warm tiles of the kitchen floor in nothing but he spectacles. “I used the special soap you told me to!” His mum, Angela, who was peeling potatoes over the sink, wearing the apron he had given her for Christmas over her pretty dress, turned to look at him with a smile.

“Oh my!” she grinned. “Don’t you look tasty! All my friends are in for a real treat!” The naked little boy was stood with his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest, and his mum could not help but notice that his cute little willy was stood at full attention. “Oh!” she chuckled, looking pointedly at her brave little soldier’s brave little soldier. “I see someone’s looking forward to being dinner!” Bobby giggled and blushed a little but did not deny it, nor did he make any move to cover himself. Mummy had told him that was the piece she was more looking forward to and he was happy it was making itself nice and big and juicy for her, and proud that she had noticed.

Bobby’s parents, Angela and Harvey, had been married for ten years and, to celebrate, they had decided to take a second honeymoon, in Aspen where they had spent their first. But knowing that it would not be much of a “honeymoon” with their little boy in tow, they had looked for someone to leave him with over the holidays. When this had proved more challenging than they had hoped, since all their friends either had full houses over the Christmas period already or had made their own plans that having to look after an eight year old would royally screw up, it had actually been Bobby’s suggestion to cook him for Angela’s book club. The ladies there were always kind to him and happy to see him when they met at his house, and many told him how delicious he looked and how they hoped to get a taste of him one day!

The suggestion had come as a bit of a surprise to Angela and Harvey but, once they discussed it, they realised that it made perfect sense! Not only would they not have to worry about what to do with him while they were away, but since it was a second honeymoon, they could enjoy themselves working on his replacement, and enjoy several months of child-free respite when they got home to work on things around the house before his little brother or sister showed up. And so it had been decided that, for their last meeting before breaking for Christmas, Angela would roast little Bobby and serve him to the ladies of her book club.

When they told him the news, Bobby could not remember ever having been more excited and, since then, he had diligently followed the recommended diet and exercise plan to get himself nicely fattened for the oven and to ensure that he would be as delicious as possible! As part of his preparations, Mummy had given him nightly massages, after his bath and before he went to bed, first rubbing vodka into his meat all over his body like that Japanese farmers do with the special cows for the luxury beef, before covering him head to toe with melted butter and really rubbing it in so he’d go to bed feeling like an oven-ready turkey and dream about the oven. Very quickly, these meat-preparation sessions had become the absolute highlight of his daily routine and he looked forward to them very much!

Sometimes, if he’d been very good during the day, helped out and cleaned up his toys when he was asked, when his willy got hard during the massages, Mummy would give it what she called a special kiss, licking and sucking on it ‘til it spat hot cream into her mouth, which she told him was very tasty and made her look forward even more to eating his willy and balls. Of course, if he’d been fussy or disobedient, it would mean no special kisses for him and he would have to go to bed with his willy uncomfortably hard and an ache in his marble-sized balls. Fortunately, Bobby was a very good boy most of the time and evenings when he had to go to bed without his special kisses were pretty rare and now his big day had finally arrived!

“Is the stuffing ready, Mummy” he asked sweetly, looking at the big roasting pan surrounded by various bowls of ingredients on the kitchen table.

“Oh yes!” Angela dropped the last potato into the bowl and carried it over to the table. “But we need to get you oiled first!” Bobby held his arms up as if asking for a hug and she lifted him with her hands under his arms. He wrapped his arms around her neck for extra stability as she carried him to the table and carefully set him down standing in the roasting pan. She gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek then unwrapped his arms from around her and had him stand with his arms loosely by his side.

“Garlic oil!” She smiled, picking up a fancy glass bottle and shaking it a little to re-mix it. “I hear it goes really well with boy-turkey!” Bobby giggled and looked very proud, watching as his Mummy took off the lid and poured a large quantity of oil into her hands then began to rub it into his pale, chubby chest and tummy. Her hands were nice and warm and the oil was not cold like he’d expected. It reminded him of visits to the beach where she would rub him head to toe with sun-lotion, something she insisted on doing before he put his trunks on so that nothing would get missed, or when they would get home from such an outing and she’d have him go to his room and undress then come rub his liberally with After-Sun.

Next she coated his arms then had him turn around so that she could oil his shoulders, working her way down his back to his round, juicy rump which seemed to receive a little more than its fair share of attention and oil. Mrs Nutford from the book club often complimented him on his “cute bottom” and he was sure that she would be looking forward to some nice tasty slices of it! When she finally moved on from his rump, Angela made sure that Bobby’s deliciously meaty legs were well oiled before finally, carefully, oiling up his tight little ball-sack and willy, trying not to touch it too much for fear of “setting it off” and leaving her with a smaller treat!

“There we go!” she gave him a sharp, playful smack on the behind. “Now for the stuffing! Kneel down, please.” She held his hand to help steady him as her tasty young son gingerly got down onto his knees then bent forward, pushing his bottom into the air and resting his chin on his folded arms.

“Like this?” he asked, sweetly, as if it was not a pose he had practised almost every night in his bedroom, imagining how nice it would feel to have his bottom and insides filled with delicious stuffing that would make him even more tastier for the ladies of the book club to enjoy! Behind him, Angela picked up the large piping bag and filled it with the delicious stuffing she had made while Bobby was taking his final bath! He gave a little yelp of surprise as the metal nozzle was pushed into his tight little ass-hole. Unlike the oil, it was very cold indeed! But fortunately the liberal coating of oil in and around the puckered orifice meant that it slid in easily. Bobby could feel himself filling up as his Mummy squeezed the stuffing out of the bag. His tummy was starting to swell and he could feel his insides being stretched. It was uncomfortable but not really painful and, after all, it was a small price to pay for being an extra-delicious young turkey!

Eventually, just as he was feeling that his bloated insides could not possibly be stretched any more without actually bursting, Bobby’s Mummy gave him another pat on the rump to signify that she was finished and carefully drew out the nozzle.

“Try to relax!” she told him soothingly as she took a small silver onion and pushed it firmly into his ass-hole to plug it shut. Bobby tried to do as he was told and felt that hard, round vegetable force its way into him before his hole closed around it, leaving only a quarter-inch circle of white onion visible. “Right! Let’s have you on your back!” Angela told him then took his hand and helped him to roll over. It was more uncomfortable than he expected due to his over-filled insides and swollen belly but soon he was as comfortable as he could reasonably expect to be, grinning up at his beautiful Mummy who was the best cook he knew and who was helping him be utterly delicious.

“Looks like we need to deal with this, next!” Angela chuckled, pushing down the tip of his rock-hard willy and looking amused at the way it sprung back up. “Now if we’re not careful, it will shrink when your heart stops, and we don’t want that, do we?”

“No, Mummy!” Bobby shook his head. “What can we do?”

Seeing the very sharp little knife his Mummy picked up, the one she used for filleting fish, Bobby gulped a little but she seemed to think better of it and put it back down on the table before picking up the little pot of wooden tooth-picks.

“I think we’d better do this first!” she grinned down at him. “After all, everyone likes sausages on sticks, don’t they?” Bobby giggled although he felt a little nervous as she took a sharp wooden stick in one hand and his hard, oiled-up willy in the other. “Now I’m sorry,” she looked genuinely apologetic, “but this is going to hurt a bit.”

“It’s okay, Mummy.” Bobby smiled sweetly up at her. “I knew being cooked was going to hurt some but that’s okay,” he assured her, “I want to be delicious for you and your friends and I know how much you’re looking forward to eating my sausage!”

“You’re a sweet boy!” Angela smiled. “I know you’ll taste so good!”

“Thank you, Mummy!” grinned Bobby. “But I’m not a boy, I’m a turkey! And I’m pretty sure turkeys are savoury, not sweet!” Angela chuckled and shook her head in amusement.

“Okay, here we go!” she exhaled slowly then carefully inserted the tip of the toothpick into the hole in the tip of Bobby’s willy. Slowly but firmly, she pushed it down. The little boy winced and could not help squirming. It stung painfully, after all that hole was never designed to have anything going into it at all, and nothing solid going either way but something about it felt good too and he knew that it was all part of making sure his Mummy and her friends from the book club got the best meal possible! He gritted his teeth together and whimpered a little as she continued to push until he felt the spike pressing into the base of his hard willy.

“There we go!” She stepped back, a look of accomplishment on her face. “Looks like there’s a little bit sticking out the top!” With the tip of her finger, she wiggled the exposed end of the wooden stick making the tight, penetrated tube inside him sting once more but also sending a wave of pleasure through his tasty little body. “let’s see…” She looked at the jar of onions from which she had taken the one that plugged his well-stuffed bottom. “Yes, perfect!” She picked out the smallest and pushed it firmly onto the end of the stick. “That should keep you full-sized, so to speak!” she chuckled. “Now for this!” Angela picked up the knife once more and Bobby winced a little as the pickle juice from the onion ran down the stick and made his injured willy sting even more sharply from the inside but he was pleased to see that it stayed hard as ever. More important, however, was his curiosity as to what the knife was for!

“What are you going to do, Mummy?” he asked curiously but with a nervous edge to his voice.

“We want these little oysters to be flavoursome, don’t we?” she grinned, lightly tickling his tight little ball-sack making him giggle.

“Yes but…” He started to reply but Angela put a finger to her lips.

“Just a little cut.” she told him. “It might sting a bit but the knife is very sharp!” Bobby nodded then lifted his head, trying to watch as his Mummy pulled the skin of his scrotum out and pushed the knife in just below the base of his willy, cutting from one side to the other, then pulling it open with the fingers of her other hand. Then, as he watched, she used the bloody knife to scoop out a large portion of garlic butter from the little packet on the table. She then pushed it into the open sack, squishing it around Bobby’s little balls. The cold butter gave him a bit of a shock and it tickled.

“Good boy!” Angela smiled at him, slipping her fingers out and licking the mixture of blood and butter from them. “Mmm!” she exclaimed. “You certainly are very tasty!” Next she took a strip of streaky bacon and wrapped it over the wound, sealing it up well enough for cooking. Next she used her fingers to rub more of the garlic butter onto his sack and willy. As her fingers caressed and stroked, Bobby felt the same kind of explosion he usually did when he got one of Mummy’s special kisses after his nightly meat-massage but this time nothing came out and he got an uncomfortable feeling of pressure inside, like when he needed to pee but held it in for too long! His Willy, however, remained hard and erect – clearly the toothpick was doing its job well!

Once she was satisfied that enough butter had been applied, Angela wrapped more bacon around the rest of the scrotum and her little boy’s impaled willy.

“Looks like you’re turning me into an Egyptian mummy!” Bobby giggled, despite the pain and discomfort between his legs.

“Sort of!” chuckled Angela. “Although mummies are really try and this is to keep you moist and juicy!” She looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments. He really did look like a tasty little morsel! Two days earlier, she had clipped his already short hair down to little more than blonde stubble with her husband’s beard-trimmer so there was no need to wrap that for the oven, the way she had often seen done with roasted little girls or boys with longer hair. Of course his glasses would have to come off before he started to cook but, since she knew how poor his eyesight was without them, she wanted to let him keep them on until the last moment so he would be more comfortable any enjoy the preparation experience. Smiling to herself, Angela decided that she would put them back on when he was ready to serve – it would be a fun little touch and would be sure to amuse her friends.

“Right!” she grinned at her son. “The oven should be warmed up enough by now, but there’s still one problem! You tell me you’re a turkey but you look far too much like a little boy!”

“Well you’d better make me look more like a turkey, then!” Bobby giggled, pulling his knees up and folding his arms to make them look more like wings. Pleased with how cooperative he was being, his Mummy took some cooking twine and tied his arms in place then parted his knees and tucked his feet into the bottom of the pan. “Don’t forget!” Bobby called out to her, looking worried. “Those things I made for my hands and feet? Like in the cartoon?”

“Oh those go on once you’re cooked!” Angela explained. “Otherwise they’d burn up in the oven! But don’t worry,” she assured him, “I know how hard you worked on them, I won’t forget to put them on!” Bobby looked happy and relieved by this.

“Gobble gobble!” he giggled, wiggling his bottom in the pan as his Mummy loaded up the space around him with the vegetables and potatoes she had been preparing when he came down, along with some balls made with the left-over stuffing that had not fitted inside him. Once they were all in, she poured cooking oil over the top, drizzling some over his chest and belly too to make him giggle, then smeared the rest of the garlic butter over the little pink nipples on his softly meaty chest and a final blob in his belly-button.

“There we go!” she grinned. “One oven ready turkey!”

“Gobble gobble!” Bobby exclaimed quite urgently before translating, “That’s turkey for don’t forget the apple!”

“Oh yes, of course!” Angela chuckled. She went to the fruit bowl on the counter and picked out a big, juicy, rosy-red apple and polished it against her shirt then quickly used the extra feature of the peeler to cut out the core. “Open wide!” she grinned, looming over her bound and stuffed little meat-boy, surrounded by vegetables in the pan where they would all roast together, their flavours mingling in the heat of the oven until his pale skin turned golden brown and he was ready to serve to her friends who had all so admired his cute tastiness in the past.

“I love you, Mummy!” Bobby smiled. “I hope I’m a really good turkey dinner! Gobble gobble!” he giggled. “That means goodbye in turkey!” His last words completed, he opened his mouth as wide as he could, awaiting the apple.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” his Mummy told him with genuine affection as she pushed the apple into his waiting mouth. “Now bite into it so it stays in place.” Bobby did as he was told then she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “That’s Mummy’s good little turkey!” she cooed. “Now it’s into the oven with you!”

Even from the table, Bobby could feel the wave of heat as his Mummy opened the big oven’s door. He turned his head and looked at the cavernous space and felt grateful that there was a light in the top, and that the door was mostly glass. He had never much liked enclosed spaces and, of all the aspects of being cooked and eaten, it was really only the thought of being trapped in the oven that frightened him but he knew that he had to be a brave boy, a brave turkey, for his Mummy and at least it wouldn’t be dark. Angela reached over and took his glasses off, setting them on the table and turning his world into a blur of fuzzy light and colour. Since he really couldn’t see anything anyway, Bobby decided to close his eyes and relax as best he could as he was carried over to the oven. Carefully, Angela slid the roasting pan onto the wire shelf then, after one last good look at her little boy, the last time she was ever likely to see him alive, she closed the oven door.

The inside of the oven was already very hot and the searing air burned the inside of Bobby’s nose, making him sneeze, although he managed not to spit out the apple. Although the core had been cut out, the hole was outside his mouth so the only way he could breath through his mouth was what little air he could suck in from the corners, around the apple. Although he breathed deeply, as much as he could through his mouth and some through his nose, quickly adjusting to the heat of the air, his chest inflating and deflating to capacity as he struggled for oxygen, the oven was airtight and there was already precious little left to breath. He started to feel dizzy, like when he and his friends challenged each other to see who could hold their breath for the longest, or swim the furthest under water.

The heat against his skin felt like mid-day sun at the beach but the metal pan was quickly beginning to warm up and, where his skin touched it, it felt searing like the time he had accidentality touched the pan on the stove, not realising that the gas had only just been turned off underneath it and it was still incredibly hot. The heat and lack of oxygen was making Bobby very sleepy. He kept trying to breath but it took more and more effort each time. With his eyes still closed, he tried to take his mind off the discomfort by imagining how he would look when he was fully roasted, how excited the ladies would be to see him on the table and, most importantly, how his Mummy would enjoy his special little sausage and the oysters cooked in garlic butter! After less then ten minutes, he took a big, deep breath, swelling his buttered chest, and when it fell as the searing ait escaped around the apple, it never inflated again.

Out in the living room, the wine was flowing and there was much gossip, chatter and laughter as the ladies of the book club discussed their Christmas plans and waited for their special meal to be ready. After putting Bobby in the oven, Angela had laid the table in the dining room and set out a platter on the kitchen table, ready to transfer the roast turkey and vegetables onto once they were done. She had just got the first bottle of wine out of the fridge and set out the glasses on the living room coffee table when her guests started to arrive. From time to time she excused herself to go check on the meat, refusing offers of assistance as she wanted their first glimpse of the roast to be when they came through to the dining room and saw her golden-brown turkey son presented on the platter in the middle of the table, waiting to be carved.

Approximately two hours and three bottles of wine after she Angela had put the meat into the oven, Bobby was roasted to perfected and ready to serve. Having excused herself from her guests, she put her apron back on and, with her thick oven mitts, carefully pulled the roasting pan out of the oven and set it down on the rack on the kitchen table, so that it would not damage the wood, next to the serving platter. Little Bobby did look incredibly delicious, his once pail skin now golden brown, a smile visible around his apple and the bacon wrapped around his intimate parts crispy and very appetising!

Using two paddles designed for taking pizzas out of the oven, she lifted the roasted turkey-boy out of the pan and onto the platter. Hoping that what she had read about the behaviour of a cooked human body was accurate, she snipped the cooking twine and was relieved to see that his arms and legs stayed in place – classic turkey pose! Remembering her promise, she fetched the little paper “chef’s hats” that Bobby had been very excited to make and had put a lot of effort into and fitted them carefully over his hands and feet. She then scooped out the roasted vegetables and arranged them around him before adding the juices from the bottom of the pan to the rich gravy that would accompany the feast of roast Bobby. She looked him over and could not shake the feeling that something was missing. Suddenly, with a giggle, she realised what it was, fetched his glasses from where she had left them beside the sink and put them back on his face. The lenses steamed up almost immediately, of course, but it did not matter – the desired effect was achieved!

Grinning, she carefully carried the heavy platter through to the dining room and set it in the middle of the table, carving set by the side and the rest of the table taken up with crusty bread rolls, platters of boiled green vegetables and steaming gravy boats.

“Come and get it!” she called through to the living room with a giggle and the ladies of the book club all excitedly made their way through. Just as Bobby had hoped when he imagined the scene, there was much cooing and excited compliments as they examined his roasted body, many exclaiming what a sweet boy he had been and how much they were looking forward to tasting him. Once everyone had taken their seats, Angela picked up the carving set and, to the delight of her friends, sliced off Bobby’s little willy and balls, putting them on her own plate before adding several thick slices of thigh and rump. She then went around the table serving all the guests, making sure to cut open his belly so that they could help themselves to stuffing.

Once everyone was served, Angela sat back down in her seat and speared the bacon-wrapped willy, infused with garlic butter, on the end of her fork. Holding the end of the tooth-pick, she bit into the special sausage, savouring the contrast of the soft inner meat within the crispy bacon. The taste was exquisite, better even than she had imagine or Bobby had dared to hope and it reinforced her desire to make another baby with her husband on their second honeymoon. After all, if all their children would be as delicious as Bobby, she wanted to have as many as possible!

All the ladies of the book club went home very happy that afternoon, with full bellies, happy memories of their friend’s sweet son and several with ideas in their heads about their own children, many of whom would likely not make it to New Year!

That evening, Angela and Harvey talked excitedly about their upcoming vacation then made love with more energy and passion than they had enjoyed in several years, after a delicious dinner of cold Bobby meat and salad.

The End