Out in front of the audience, Tinkerbelle was now quite as naked as Wendy. Far from being shy, however, she pranced about, performing pirouettes and cartwheels, showing off her delicious body now clad in nothing but wings and the bells on her ankles and wrists, pausing now and then to wiggle her rump teasingly. After a few minutes of this, she stopped, looked thoughtful with one arm folder across her body, the other elbow resting on it and her hand cupping her chin, tapping her lips with on finger. Then she mimed realising something, a look of delight on her face, then gesticulated wildly to Peter, pointing at her wings and rubbing her tummy.

“What does she say, Peter?” asked Wendy, ever the helpful audience stand-in.

“She’s saying,” laughed Peter, “that it’s a good job fairy wings melt when they’re cooked because she’d hate for the children to get them stuck in their teeth!” This bit of lore had of course been slipped into the script to explain why when Tinkerbelle was served up to eat, she would not longer have her pretty golden wings.

“Oh that is good news!” Wendy smiled in relief. “But there is only one spit, and it seems that the hot tide has gone out by Skull Rock!” She pointed to the set piece where the water had all drained away and the glass had retracted, leaving Tiger-Lilly draped limply over the fibreglass rocks, looking more delicious than ever as steam rose from her boiled body. The pirates returned at that point and unlocked her shackles, an easy matter with two hands, but instead of loading her straight onto a platter, Smee slung the steaming carcass over his shoulder and carried her out of sight behind the rock.

The three children centre-stage pondered the issue at hand for a few moments before Tink had another of her brain-waves and gestured to Peter to help her stand the wide, over-sized barrel of “Long Tom” upright on its wooden, wheeled base. Once the cannon was standing vertically, she pulled at the top section which broke open like cupboard doors. She then animatedly mimed pouring something into the bulbous bottom half of the iron barrel.

“She’s saying we can fill the cannon up with oil and fry her in there!” Peter translated to Wendy and the audience simultaneously. “Crispy, deep-fried fairy does sound very good!” Tinkerbelle rubber her tummy again gleefully, to the delight of the watching and increasingly hungry children.

“I see!” Wendy nodded remarked archly, her hands on her hips. “And I suppose it is pure coincidence that it means she will be cooked quickly and ready to serve at the same time as Tiger-Lilly while I am barely starting to sweat on the spit!”

“Oh don’t be cross, Wendy!” Peter assured her. “I’m sure the boys and girls will leave some room for you in their bellies. Won’t you?” They loudly assured him that they would and Wendy looked satisfied.

“Very well.” She conceded. “But you’d better get me over the coals first, otherwise they might burn themselves out before I am quite done and the poor children might get tummy-aches! It is terribly bad for you, you know,” she informed Peter, “to eat undercooked meat!”

“Very well!” Peter agreed, leaping up onto a rock and crowing to get the attention of the rest of the pirates. “Come you scurvy swabs, come get Wendy cooking! But make sure you wash your hands first!” Wendy and Tink both giggled at this, an almost sisterly moment for the former rivals. Three of the pirates carefully turned the upright cannon around, revealing a slanted wooden frame on the back of the base which was easily recognisable as a spitting bench.

“Goodbye, dear Peter!” Wendy gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “I hope I am delicious and that you have many more adventures!” She then waved happily to the audience, many of whom waved back, called out goodbyes and told her with the innocent enthusiasm of their age how tasty she looked and how much they were looking forward to eating her. She then positioned herself on the bench, the front of her body against the angled cross-beam and placing her chin in the hollow at the lower end, leaving her rump raised and her tingling spit-hole easily accessible.

Supervised and gently guided by Melanie, still in character as Billie Jukes, Sophie rested her knees in the smooth hollows either side of the cross-beam and gripped the handles at the front. Not because she thought her young starlet harboured any thought of escape but to help her keep still, resisting her body’s natural urge to fight against what it would inevitably perceive as attack, Melanie slipped a wide leather belt around Sophie’s middle and buckled it tightly, strapping her to the bench. She then used similar, smaller straps on her legs just above her bent knees and around her wrists.

“Try to relax,” she spoke softly enough that her sweet young cast-member would hear her but not the audience, “you’ve been amazing and now it’s time for your big moment!” Sophie took deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart and calm the mix of excitement and nerves that threatened to overwhelm her. Although the spitting apparatus all had a rustic look, the spit itself was smooth, polished steel, fiendishly sharp at the business end and she gasped as she felt the surprisingly warm, oiled tip pushing its way between the lips of her very well-lubricated spit-hole.

Having worked for the company for some time and other catering companies before that, not to mention her Summer job at Sidney’s between school and university, Melanie was quite the expert when it came to spitting girls of all ages and she gently rotated the spit as she kept an even pressure, helping it slide smoothly into Sophie’s tight, pre-teen cunt. Meeting resistance and seeing the way the strapped-down girl shuddered, she knew that the tip of the spike had met her cervix and she pushed a little harder until it forced its way through.

The next part would be the hardest and, for Sophie, the most painful. Strapped down and unable to move, determined not to cry out for fear of upsetting the watching children who were all still very young and simply looking forward to enjoying some of their favourite characters as a tasty meal, she felt a burning in her abdomen then an uncomfortable stretching as her fist-size uterus resisted the relentless progress of the spit until it could be stretched no further and ruptured. The mix of pain and relief was a confusing and overwhelming sensation, especially when coupled with the pleasure caused by the thick spit rubbing against her throbbing clit as it continued to pass through her vagina and onwards into her body cavity. That was it! Past the point of no return. Not turning back now. She was meat!

The sensations that bombarded the nerves of her helpless, delicious young body overwhelmed her senses and he brain gave up trying to distinguish pleasure from pain, allowing both to amplify each other until all Sophie felt was sensation. Not good, not bad, just powerful as if every nerve in her body were on fire. So all-consuming was this feeling that she barely noticed the pressure at the back of her throat and it was with curiosity rather than fear, alarm or even relief that she watched the gleaming spike emerge from her mouth and continue its apparently relentless journey forward until Melanie was satisfied that it was far enough through.


To be continued...