Chapter 30 pt1: Banquet on a Silver Platter


The ceiling lights drifted past like slow, lazy fireflies.

Ken Doll—he was trying the name on, seeing how it fit—watched them scroll by as the cart bumped over the seam between hallway tile and dining room hardwood.

His back sang a low, throbbing hymn of pain, but the lettuce beneath him was cool and wet, and the contrast made him almost grateful. Almost.

He lifted his head. The motion cost him something—a twinge between his shoulder blades that reminded him of every lash—but the sight was worth it.

Fruit slices marched across his chest in neat overlapping rows. Kiwi coins. Strawberry medallions.

Cubes of pale melon that quivered with each bump of the cart. Vegetables fanned along his ribs—cucumber rounds, cherry tomatoes halved to show their inner chambers, bell pepper strips in green and red and yellow. Cheeses.

He counted three kinds at least: a pale cheddar cubed near his hip, something veined and crumbly arranged on his sternum, a soft white round nestled in the hollow of his throat.

The banana was a joke. It had to be. Someone with a sense of humor had laid it across his smooth crotch with the precision of a museum curator, and Ken Doll smirked despite everything.

A human charcuterie board. The board being him.
The cart stopped. Two wide doors swung open, and then he was rolling into the dining hall—a cavern of dark wood and candlelight, chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, long tables dressed in white linen.

Two servers in crisp black uniforms lifted his tray without ceremony and settled it onto a display table at the room's center.

A murmured voice. Piglet.
He tilted his head back, neck protesting, and there she was. On a silver platter of her own, knees and elbows locked in clamps, her glazed body gleaming under the chandeliers like a sculpture of amber and gold.

Pineapple rings overlapped down her spine. The apple gag stretched her jaw wide, and her eyes—those bright, beautiful eyes he'd come to know—were fixed on his face.

She was the most edible thing he'd ever seen.
"Hi, delicious." He smiled.
Piglet smiled around the apple. It was a complicated expression, involving crinkled eyes and a tilt of her head, but he understood it perfectly.

They were sharing a moment. Two pets on platters, displayed for the hungry and the curious, finding each other across the chasm of silver and glaze.

"I take it this is where the dinner celebration is going to happen."
Piglet nodded. The cored apple bobbed.

Ken Doll tried to sit up. His body refused. The paralysis was back—not pain, not restraint, but that strange, familiar stillness that had overtaken him in the barn.

He could turn his head. He could speak. He could feel every cool grape and wet lettuce leaf.

But his limbs were not his own. He looked left. Looked right. Two long tables flanked the display, set with culinary tools arranged with menacing carving instruments.

Stations for the pets who were to be carved up and served.

Deliciously roasted as they desired.

A commotion swelled at the doors.

The guests filed in—ordinary farmers and ranchers, the kind of people you'd pass at a feed store without a second glance.

They wore their Sunday best: pressed shirts, modest dresses, the occasional bolo tie. The Howdy Gang entered as a group, Gramps walking slow and steady, his gait troubled. Piglet's laugh was silent but unmistakable—her shoulders shook, her eyes crinkled. She may have broken his dick.

The old man found his seat with a grunt and a grimace, and Piglet filed the memory away for later.

Mr. Smith entered with a woman on his arm. Half his age. Possibly twenty. Jet-black hair spilling past her shoulders, a dress that promised everything, calves that flexed with each step.

Polynesian, Piglet guessed. Perky breasts. A short stature that made her look compact and lethal.

Piglet seen her scanned the room with measured hunger, knowing exactly what she wanted and expecting to get it. She wanted a life on a silver platter-she just may get her wish.

Ms. Baker would call her a trophy wives. Piglet perverse thoughts was running wild, imagining Mr Smiths wife’s head mounted on a plaque hanging over a fire place.

The diners settled into their seats, greeting each other with nods and handshakes, and Piglet felt the weight of their glances. Eyes tracked her from across the room. Hungry eyes.

The salt of the earth, these people, with their calloused hands and their weather-beaten faces—and yet the looks they gave her were anything but wholesome.

They looked at her the way a man looks at a prime cut of pork. Piglets pussy moisten the carrots, she wish it would vibrate of move to scratch that horny throbbing between her legs.

Farmer Fred entered with Dora on his arm and her sister trailing behind. All fancied up. Fred's hair had been combed, though it hadn't cooperated—a cowlick stood sentinel at his crown.

They took their seats near the carving station. Passing a young teen girl.

A country girl peeled away from one of the groups and drifted toward the display table. She had a pretty Southern hotness, the farmer's-daughter type from the movies, curves that came from whole milk and hard work.

Home-grown milking breasts.

She looked about Piglet's age. Her eyes lingered on Piglet's glazed body with something that might have been envy, then shifted to Ken Doll's spread.

She plucked a cube of cheddar from his hip. Popped it into her mouth. Walked back to her party without a word.

"You're welcome," Ken Doll said, just loud enough for Piglet to hear.

Piglet's shoulders shook again. The apple gag muffled her snort, but Ken Doll caught it. He grinned.

The had a center view of the whole room, watching it fill up with hungry guest.

Coach Bart walked in, beer in hand. A leash in the other. At the end of the leash crawled Milly Miller—head cheerleader of piglets middle school Muskrats, her perky body squeezed into the familiar blue-and-white uniform, bobby socks and sneakers pristine.

A ball gag stretched her mouth. A leather collar circled her throat. She crawled at Coach's heel with the placid obedience of a well-trained pet.

He gave Piglet a smirk as he passed the other sitting guest, then settled at Farmer Fred's table. Milly knelt at his feet, her eyes unfocused, her breathing slow.

The room hummed with casual conversation. Farming stuff. Weather. The price of feed.

Serving staff circulated with wine and notepads, taking drink orders, bending low to hear requests over the growing murmur.

Ken Doll watched the country girl who'd taken his cheese. She was laughing at something her an old rancher said, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flicking back to the display table every few seconds.

"Do you think Ms. Baker would let me call myself Ken Doll?" He pitched his voice low, for Piglet alone.

"It sounds much better than Thirty-Six."
Piglet nodded. Vigorously. The apple bobbed.

"Thirty-Six sounds like a menu item at a Chinese restaurant."
Another nod.
Another silent laugh.

The room fell quiet.
Ms. Baker had entered. She wore something elegant—a dress that held onto its country roots while reaching for something higher, something more commanding.

She moved through the tables, greeting guests by name, pausing to squeeze a shoulder or murmur a pleasantry. She nodded at Gramps, who looked exhausted but content, his earlier bluster settled into something almost peaceful.

She reached the center of the room. Stepped around the display table. Looked at her prized pet.

A simple smile.

A staffer handed her a glass of wine. She lifted it, and the room lifted with her—thirty faces turned toward the woman in the floral dress, the woman who had provided greatly to this strange and hungry world.

"Thank you all for joining me on this tremendous occasion." Her voice carried without effort, warm and maternal and utterly in control.

"The Farm Therapy Program has completed its trial phase. What began as a modest experiment in alternative treatment has exceeded every expectation."

She paused, letting the words settle.

"Our subjects arrived burdened with emotional issues—low self-esteem, identity confusion, a profound sense of disconnection from their own bodies and desires.

“Traditional therapy had failed them. Medication had failed them. They needed something more radical.”

“They needed to shed the weight of being human and discover the peace of being something simpler."

Piglet listened. The words washed over her like warm water.
A test subject.
A lab rat.

The phrases should have stung, but they didn't. They were true, weren't they?

She had arrived at the farm confused and desperate for anyone to tell her who she was. Ms. Baker had done exactly that.

"Through reinforce character development sessions as pets and farm animals, our tender subjects learned to surrender control. To trust.”

Ms Baker too a sip of wine to wet her lips.

“To find pleasure in obedience and purpose in service.

The integration of these children into the farm environment— thanks to you all for making this possible’ thanks to our volunteers, pantry providers, and our contributors—you have made this possible.

You opened your homes, your barns, your dinner tables.

You gave these young children a context in which to transform."

Ms Baker paused a moment.

“Without further ado let’s welcome our pets, our delicious volunteers who gave their all for our dinner.”

Carts entered the hall, mapping a path pass the diner for them to marvel, to have a good look at what is on the menu.

First were the chickens. Both girls faced each other on a large platter, they sat sitting in a delightful roasted chicken pose, legs spread, knees bent high up high, ankles skewers to their thighs.

Their little arms folded into themselves, looking like delicious chicken wings.

Their roasted body held upright and steady, a long spike up their anus straight reached up to their skulls, to keep the heads from tilting.

They looked absolutely stunning, the smell of roasted chicken made the diners salivate.

Chicken little and Chick-a-Dee, looked at peace, a fresh corncob stuffed in their mouths, no longer dizzy from the constant spinning, just delicious smelling chickens.

Piglet watched as they set the platter the end of the carving station to her right.

Between the chickens lap was bowls stuffing mix, retrieved from their wombs, hot and steaming.

They had been disemboweled earlier yet you couldn’t tell by the way they were displayed.
Their nipples were crispy. even their little clits stuck out, crispy as well, juices dripping.

Piglet’s Hunger awaken, Farmer Fred looked proud of his handy work.

The next cart to enter was Barbies, with baked on barbecue glaze making her look quite delicious.

Her face covered in charcoal soot and barbecue sauce, her beautiful hair scorched from the Howdy Boys lack of skill and careless roasting. She still managed to look beautiful.

$150 dollar hairdo wasted, Barbie would of been pissed if she was still alive. They did manage not to burn the cowboy hat, now prominently placed on her head.

She laid on her belly, prone, arms down her sides-still wearing the boots though slightly scorched.

The cart passes the Howdy Boys table, snickers, a “hey haw” country howdy ho!
One of them comments he wished he would of tapped that ass before the spit claimed her.

At least she has the dinner guest clapping and cheering, she would of love that. Receiving the attention she so desperately seemed and desires.

They set her serving tray on the carving station to piglets left, her lengthy prone body taking up most of the table.

Piglet looked at her, they were in the same situation they both were on display for a hungry and lustful crowd .

Yet unlike piglet, Barbie will be carved up and fed to the eager guest.

Piglet felt a hunger inside, looking at Barbie’s roasted ass, who wouldn’t.

smoke wafting off her glistening hot body, like ghost rising in a graceful dance.

She could smell Barbies mouthwatering aroma-the smell of pure delight.

The room burst into wholesome coos, mostly from the women diners. A final cart is wheeled in.

Ducky would had loved the attention she was receiving, having the guest selecting what part of her tender body to try, what part to carve and lovingly consume.

It was her greatest fantasy and she got to play it out. Even asking piglet be a part of her fantasy, to help prepare her for the Daisy’s Celebration Dinner, for Ms Baker, for the very hungry guest.

Ducky’s tray is set at the carving table next to her delicious chickens friends.

Ducky has smoke rising from her body, she had been laid on her back, posing similar to her famously delicious roast ducky pose. Her thighs spread wide, knees bent, which allow her legs to rest flouting with her feet facing outwards.

Most of the stuffing removed from her colon, along with her inners. The stuffing filled a bowl place under her upturned ass.

The egg, the ceramic one stuffed in ducky, lay on a plate, pipping hot, split open revealing the fluffy scrambled duck eggs cook to perfection.

Piglet could smelt her too, sweet citrus glaze browned and glassy. Her stomach gargles, her hunger taking over her mind, the blending of smells, who could resist a bite.

If she wasn’t on display as she was she would jump off the table to take a bit out of her. Ducky would probably of love that.

Ms Baker addresses the diner guest.

She gestured toward the carving stations, where the chickens sat in their roasted pose, where Barbie's glazed body still steamed, where Ducky's juicy form glowed under the chandeliers.

Ms Baker continue with her prepared speech.

"My Hypnosis technic assisted the transition. A bridge between the exhausted self and the obedient pet. The results have spoken for themselves.”

Motioning her hand across the bountiful feast before them.

“Our test subjects have awakened to their sexual drive, freed themselves from the prisons of low self-esteem, and discovered a better way of life—one defined not by anxiety but by appetite."

She turned. Her hand found Piglet's tail plug. Her fingers curled around the corkscrew curl.

"This fine morsel will do anything to please me. Isn't that right, my pet?"

Piglet nodded before she could think. The plug shifted. The carrots in her cunt pressed against the membrane, and the butt-plug pressed back, and the moan that escaped around the apple gag was soft and involuntary and utterly genuine.

Wetness spread between her thighs.

"Amazing, considering she has been with us for less than a week."

The room applauded. Piglet glowed. They were clapping for her. She wasn't entirely sure why, but the sound fell on her glazed skin like a benediction.

"With the test program complete, it is time to taste the fruits of our labor.”

Many stood with applause. The room was filled with lustful hunger, piglet felt a shiver down her spine, a pineapple shifted.

“This facility will become fully operational as a treatment center and exotic food catering service.

We will treat many young patients. As we speak we have a delivery of our first batch arriving this week. Place your orders for any special needs”

The smell of roasted meat hung in the air, sweet and savory, and Ken Doll's stomach tightened with hunger as well, being a Ken Doll shouldn’t have any restrictions eating meat, he’s no long considered himself a bull.

Ms Baker continue her monologue. One she practiced in the mirror dozens of time.

“We will help these young tender morsels discover themselves, learn their full potential as pets, as farm animals, and of course as delicious meals.”

“Tonight, we celebrate to the future of this program and our business arrangements.”

Piglet kind of zoned out. Adults say a lot, it was becoming background noise to her hunger, her horniness.

“The future of every lost child who needs a place to belong."

She raised her glass higher.

"To the farm. To the pets. To the hunger that brings us all together."

With that the carvers stood ready, gleaming carving knives.

More carts enter carrying all sorts of sides dishes,

“Line up at your leisure, if you wish our servers will prepare plate at you request. Cheers!”

The room drank. Glasses clinked. Ms. Baker set her wine aside and bent low, her mouth close to Piglet's ear, then to Ken Doll's.

"Piglet. Ken Doll." She used the name like a gift, and Ken Doll's chest swelled.

"Be a good boy and a good girl. Obey.
You are to forget my speech and enjoy Daisy's Celebration Dinner.

She had them in an hypnotic trigger.

“Look at all the happy guests. Look how happy Ducky is,roasted to perfection and all thanks to you piglet.”

Piglet felt ducky’s love, she wanted to repay that love by giving her was she wanted. Piglet will cherish the moment.

“Those sweet little chickens. Remember how they begged to be roasted like tender rotisserie chickens.

They too wished to be nothing more, become a benefit for the community.”

Planted firmly in their minds, the events matched up perfectly.
Even Barbie the barbecued girl looked content. In the end wanting it,

“Now you two love birds watch the feast and be happy.
Behave, I'll let you try a taste of them all."

Piglet's eyes found Ducky's. The duck-girl was radiant, her bountiful body lay still with a look of joy, her eyes closed, mouth open, orange removed, her mouth in a perfect oh shape.

The chickens were all still, their roasted pose perfect, the stuffing steaming in bowls between their thighs.

Barbie's scorched body still smoked faintly, her face a mask of soot and ecstasy, her cowboy hat somehow still perched on her head. She still looked hot, despite being roasted.

The diners rose from their seats. The feast has begun.

Piglet and Ken Doll watched. Forgetting all the words Ms Baker spoke earlier. What they do know is they were happy and they were apart of something special

They watched the guest forming a line as requested.

The chefs raised the steely carving knives ready to take orders.

Piglet hunger growing

The carving was about to commence.


NOTE:
“Chapter 30 is a two part chapter. Too big of a story to end with a one chapter finality

to be continued…