A few moments later, Sophie felt a smaller but no less intrusive pole being forced into her tight young ass. She knew that this was the stabiliser which would ensure that she turned with the spit, cooking evenly, rather than remaining stuck in one position while the pole turned fruitlessly inside her. Although the spit and stabiliser themselves were of standard design, Melanie had designed the other accessories to appear more in keeping with the general aesthetic. On either end of the spit she fitted wooden bars with a hole in the middle, treated to be relatively heat-proof and secured with a thumb-screw, to which she tied Sophie’s hands ankles and wrists, once released from their straps, with soaking wet rope. Finally the strap across her back was removed and the young performer felt herself being lifted and carried over to the glowing coal pit. For a few moments, as the spit was locked into place, she remained still with the mid-afternoon sun blazing down on her bare back as the front of her body, including her incredibly sensitive, budding little tits, felt the intense heat of the coals beneath her but very soon she began to turn, feeling a breeze as she moved and then the soothing cool of sticky, sweet and smokey barbecue sauce slathered onto every inch of her delectable body from the neck down with brushes brandished by the various helpful pirates.

“Wow! Wendy really does look delicious!” Peter exclaimed to nobody in particular. “I can’t wait to try a slice!” Tinkerbelle waved her arms frantically, shook her fist, pointed at herself with both raised index fingers then turned and wiggled her rump at him. “Okay, okay, Tink!” He laughed. “Yes, I know you’re going to taste even better! Guess we’d better get you cooking, huh?” A

Just then, Tinkerbelle seemed to have another thought, opened her mouth wide and pointed at it.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, puzzled. “You want to eat an apple? You can’t eat just before being cooked, Tink! Everyone knows that!” The fairy huffed, rolled her eyes and mimed putting something in her mouth while keeping it open as if it was stuck. “Oh I see!” Peter exclaimed. “Yes! Great idea! Something throw me an apple?” Melanie obliged and Peter polished the already shiny red fruit against the front of his shirt then approached his friend. Tinkerbelle leaned forward invitingly, mouth wide open, and Peter pushed the apple in as far as she could. Her teeth cut into it to hold it in place but she did not bite through, finding it impossible to close her jaw even if she wanted to. This was far more than just presentation, of course! Her cooking method was likely to be the most painful of all and she might not be able to keep from screaming, especially at the beginning. The apple, while also perpetuating a comical cannibalism cliché, would handily double as a ball-gag to muffle any involuntary cries that may distress their young audience. “There we go!” Peter grinned. “Perfect!” Tinkerbelle gave a double thumbs-up to show she approved.

As well as making the spitting bench available for use and clearly visible so that the audience could see what was happening to Wendy in great detail, the other advantage of the cannon being turned around was that the opening was now on the back, meaning that Miranda could remove her wings, which the children had been told would melt as she cooked, and the obviously inedible bells around her wrists and ankles without being seen and spoiling the illusion for the young audience. Peter ordered the pirates to come and assist her as she happily pranced to her death, the apple stretching her jaw uncomfortably and the gold, edible body-glitter sparkling appetisingly on her lovely, smooth, light brown skin.

One of the young men from Melanie’s team lifting the slight, athletic young girl up with his hands under her arms. She supported herself by holding onto his shoulders as she lifted her knees then carefully lowered her feet into the bottom section of the barrel until she could stand. She then put her arms flat against her sides, pushing her neck as far back as she could into the smooth and rounded but unpadded half-disc that formed the closure of the gun mouth and would allow her head to poke out which sealing her in securely from the neck down. The doors were closed, sealing her in, and the cannon was turned back around so that she could look out at the audience and they would be able to see her face while she cooked.

The rim was tight against her throat, making her feel as if she were being choked, made worse by the way the apple in her mouth changed the muscle tensions in her neck, something she had not thought to check when testing out the equipment. It had to be this way, she knew, for the device to work but still it was very uncomfortable, bordering on intolerable, and she began to wish for the searing oil to attack her skin so that the pain could distract her. On the side of the cannon was a tube marked “Gunpowder” and Melanie unscrewed the cap and poured in a big jug of straw-coloured sunflower oil before sealing it back up. She then lit the fuse, a pure theatrical distraction which would sparkly prettily as it burned down but do absolutely nothing, to hold the children’s attention while she pressed the discrete button to activate the device.

Immediately, the pump at the bottom, under the platform on which she stood, started to force the oil at high pressure up the sides of the barrel, coating her skin, cool for now but rapidly warming as the heating elements embedded in the iron of the gun, insulated from the outside so it would only get warm but not hot to touch on the outside, while fiendishly hot on the inside, sprang to life. As gravity pulled the oil from the top around her neck and shoulders back down, the pump sent it back up in a constant, unending and rapidly heating circulation.


To be continued...