Chapter 12: The Lost Explorer.

The curtain rose revealing a wall of artificial broadleaf fronds as the dining room filled with the scent of damp earth piped from hidden vents.

Penny’s camera clicked from somewhere near the stage apron.

Torches guttered in iron sconces. From the shadows stage right, a twelve-year-old girl burst into the firelight—safari jacket torn at the shoulder, khaki shorts streaked with stage mud, pith helmet askew over a cascade of auburn curls.

She ran barefoot across the bamboo matting, chest heaving, and when she turned her face toward the diners, her eyes were wild with a terror so perfectly performed it took Terri’s breath away.

“Help me!” The actress—Amy—clutched the edge of the stage prop tree.

“They’re chasing me! Cannibals! Please—” Her voice cracked on the last word, and then she was running again, disappearing into the wings stage left.

Four men loped onto the stage. Grass skirts swayed around their hips. Cock visible through the grassy strands, Bare chests gleamed with oil.

Their bodies were built for spectacle—broad shoulders, thick thighs, the kind of musculature that looked sculpted under stage lights.

One wore a necklace of painted bones. Another carried a wooden spear with a dildo as a tip, another carried a net, the last cannibal had a real menacing knife in hand.

They fanned out, nostrils flaring, scanning the dark tables with the patient hunger of predators who knew their prey had nowhere left to run.

With grunts they gathering then decided to spread out.

Two split left. Two split right in dramatic fashion.

Amy reappeared from the left wing a moment later, skidding to a halt.

“What do they want with me? I’m just a kid!”

She looks left. “Oh no they found me”, she see two cannibals enter stage left, she runs off to the right.

Only stop short, the two other cannibals enters stage right.

She spun. The other pair closed in from the opposite side.

Trapped.

Center stage.

She turned in a slow, helpless circle, her chest rising and falling, her voice a thin wail as they surround her.

“Oh no—what can I do?”

Nothing apparently as a net is thrown over her head. She dramatically drops to the floor.

“What will these animals do to me?” She cried out to the audience. Fingers poking through the holes in the netting.

They easily lift her netted body, flipped her inside, until they held the net ends like a sack, sliding the spear through its corners to creating a bundle. Amy sits helpless inside, as two cannibals hoist the spear up and onto their shoulders.

“Thank you Jungle’ for providing us food for our tribe!” One of the cannibals shouted.

“To the village!” another called out and they all bust out in song, marching around in a circle on stage. They would sing “We have something sweet to eat, all so tender with juicy meat.”. Amy would break in between with her own singing. “Please don’t eat me, I’m skin and bones!” A cute song with a great melody

Doing a little dance, cocks swinging to a tune as they low walking off stage right.

Terri laughed. A musical number in the middle of a little girl captured for food.

Terri’s thighs pressed together beneath the tablecloth.

The curtains lowered momentarily. The audience cheered act one.

Behind the curtains stagehands moved props around. Adding a cardboard Hut in the background and a sacrificial stone prop in the center of stage. The block was waist high and square.

Curtains rose again to the new scenery. The audience could hear the hunting party singing about jungle lives matter and being thankful for their captured bounty.

They entered stage left, Amy swinging in the net.
“Oh no, please don’t eat me, I’m come to experience your culture!”

They set her net on top the stone. Removing the spear, the net fell around her.

She stood up on the stone. Finally being talker then her captors. Each smiled up at her. Hands touching her.

“Please mister cannibals!
I—oh my—mean you no—ouch—harm.” She tried to get the words out as they fondled her. As well as pinching here and there.

Amy’s eyes grew wide. One of the cannibals brandished his knife.

Two cannibals held her arms, heart pounding, yet he mainly used it to cut the buttons her safari jacket.

They stripped Amy with the efficiency of men who had done this a thousand times. The pith helmet went first, flung into the wings. The safari jacket—already torn and buttons removed—ripped away with a single yank.

She had budded early, sweet little titties the size of lemons, nipples were dark peaks against the sudden cool of the stage air.

Her shorts were peeled down her legs, the damp cotton sticking to her thighs before coming free with a wet, reluctant sound.

Her underwear followed. Amy twisted in their grip, her protests high and breathless and utterly unconvincing.

Her bald pussy and thighs was already glistening, and Terri saw it—saw the wetness that had nothing to do with the sweat beaded on her skin.

—

“Close your eyes kiddos were about to tenderize the meat.” The audience laughs.

He pulled out his cock, stroke it at the audience. “We must always tenderize meat before we cook,” the bone-necklace man said again, greeted with cheers and whistles from the audience, and then the diners responses died as Amy is forced down naked over a stage stone prop.

She laid over it, on her belly, obviously design for this very purpose.

A cannibal fed his cock into her mouth, wether ready for it or not. She gagged, yet she pushed through, throat opening, eyes watering, strong hands gripping her head.

The next cannibal waited, stroking himself, watching her sucking a cock. Then he positioned himself to her rear to fuck her cunt.

He nudged against the slick lips, opening her with gentle force.

Pressed.

Breeched.

Amy screamed around the cock in her mouth—a muffled, wet cry that was part agony and part something else entirely.

Her body shuddered.

Stretched.

Accepted.

Two cocks inside her now, one in her pussy and one in her mouth, and they found a rhythm, alternating, each thrust pushing her forward onto the cock in her throat and then pulling her back onto the vaginal invasions.

She was being spit roasted in the traditional way.

Penny’s shutter fired in rapid bursts. Terri could guess what is on Penny’s mind.

The man in her mouth gripped her hair. The men behind her gripped her hips. Amy’s body became a conduit, a thing to be passed between them, and she surrendered to it.

Her moans grew louder, less restrained. The sharp edge of discomfort softened into something deeper, something that made her spine ripple.

She could feel her arms being pulled back, hands bound—one of the men had tied her wrists together with a strip of leather.

Terri noticed—clench into her little fists. She was trying to jerk off the cannibal who tied her.

It all ended with a wet pop. Amy’s pussy looked a mess, stretched, distorted from the performative assault.

A second cannibal dropped to his knees and buried his face between Amy’s thighs.

With cock still in mouth, with only brief pull-outs to let her breath. It was amazing she could make any sound at all.

Her moan was not theatrical. It was guttural and it pulled something loose in Terri’s chest.

The man’s tongue worked her with brutal focus, no teasing, no buildup.

Hands gripped her ass cheeks and spread them, it was another cannibal stepping in behind her, his greasy cock already in his fist, already aimed.

He pushed aside the cunt licking cannibal. Forcing his rival actor to step aside or get balls in his face.

He pushed inside her asshole without preamble, one long thick stroke that made Amy’s back arch and her head fall forward and her cock filled mouth jab the back of her throat.

The ass fucking cannibal pound into her, her asshole offering bo resistance, accepting all of his cock.

Amy body held down. Taking everything given.

Did she ask for such brutal treatment? She was taking the ass fucking incredibly well considering the size of the cock in her ass.

Terri remembered an issue of Yummy Girls when a tween girl said it’s not the size of the body, it’s more about the plumbing. Terri thought it an odd statement back then until now.

Amy must have spend a lot of time with anal play. It was the only explanation.

Amy moan on the cock as her add received a reaming.

The other cannibal were stroking their cocks, waiting their turn.

Amy lift her legs and spread them, seemingly helping her cannibal get as much cock in her ass possible.

He surprised her by lifting her off the table, the other cannibals cock flopping out just as he shot his load.

Terri wasn’t sure if any of this is scripted, probably not, yet it made a wonderful moment in theater history.

He dropped her hard to the hilt. She deadweight straddled his embedded cock.

Shooting his load deep into her bowels. Amy flopped down, energy gone, held up by the cock she is impaled on.

Finished she was handed over to the other two hungry cannibals.

They laid her back onto the stone, this time on her back. Hands still tied behind her back.

One of the cannibals lift her legs, bending them to her chest, folding her in half and holding her in place. Amy gave no resistance, who could after that brutal fucking

What surprised Terri was the smile on Amy’s face. Terri worried about Penny, rambunctious, insatiable. What had she written down for Philip, for the dinner show she wants to be a part of.
“Harder,” she gasped when the cock slipped from her lips for a breath.

“Please—harder. Break me. I want—I want to feel it.”

He obliged.

The cannibal entered her pussy slammed deep. Lifting her hips he pulled his cock out then ran it up her asshole. The other cannibal holding her feet, stuck his cock into her mouth, not deep yet enough to give her something to suck. The other cannibal continued to alternated her abused cavities—her cunt reacting to the thrust at such a folded angle, it made her whole body convulse.

The man in her throat—the bone-necklace man—took her head in both hands and fucked her face with short, hard strokes, and Amy’s eyes rolled back until only the whites showed.

She came to in time to swallow the load pumping into her mouth, the other cannibal finish Ed in her asshole when he came.

Even Amy came, dazed, still smiling

Terri saw it. Saw the way her inner thighs had quaked, the way her cunt pulsed visibly around the cock decimating her insides, the sound she had made during the tendering.

Amy collapsed onto the stone. Her body was wrecked. Slick with sweat and saliva and the thick, pearly evidence of their pleasure.

Her pussy gaped, swollen, dark pink. Her asshole winked, still stretched, a slow trickle of cum leaking onto the stage. Her throat worked around swallowed air.

But her smile—her smile was beatific, radiant, the smile of a little girl who had been used exactly as she’d begged to be used and had endured every second of it.

The cannibals did not give her time to recover.

A cannibal—the one with the bone necklace—grinned. His hand found a rope hidden among the fronds.

He pulled, and a painted caldron rolled into view, steam rising from its wide iron mouth.

“Boiling oil,” he announced to the audience, his voice a theatrical baritone.

They lifted her. Four pairs of hands. Leather strips were produced—long, supple, oiled. They folded her like a piece of fabric.

Knees pressed to her shoulders. Arms wrapped around her own legs. Her spine curved into a tight, compact sphere. The bonds wrapped around her shins, her wrists, her folded elbows.

The leather cinched tight, tighter, until Amy was no longer a woman but a ball of bound flesh, her head tucked forward, her ass presented upward, her cunt and her asshole both exposed and leaking and still twitching from the fucking they’d given her.

She could not move.

She could barely breathe beyond shallow, rapid sips of air. Her eyes found the front row, and the smile that curved her swollen lips was pure, unguarded bliss.

A basket of vegetables were set by the stone table, Amy trussed up body lay on the table top. Holes exposed to a traditional tribal stuffing.

“Please kind cannibals, don’t eat me I’m just a child.” Amy is back in performance mode.

Terri thought the line was silly. It’s like telling a crazies rapist, please don’t rape me, I’m a virgin.

The cannibals took turns adding veggies into Amy’s colon and vagina.

Most disappearing effortlessly. When they no long slip in—they used the spear with the dildo.

Packing as the continued to stuff.

A wooden tub was dragged out from the wings. Inside it, thick, dark muck glistened under the stage lights—warm mud,

Terri realized, its heat rising in lazy wisps of steam. Two of the men lifted Amy’s bound sphere of a body and dropped her into the tub. The mud swallowed her.

It closed over her curved back, her bound limbs, her upturned ass. The men rolled her. Slowly, deliberately, hands pressing her under the surface, then turning her, then pressing again.

The mud coated everything. It filled the spaces between the leather straps. It caked her hair, her face, her parted lips. When they lifted her out, she was unrecognizable—a dark, dripping shape, a cocoon of wet earth, only her eyes and the gleam of her smile visible through the crust.

The mud began to dry almost immediately. The stage lights beat down, and the dark coating hardened, cracking at the joints, sealing her inside.

She was encased.

From her curled head to her sweet little toes—Terri could just see the tips of her feet protruding from the ball—the mud formed a hard, protective shell. A chrysalis of earth.

The caldron bubbled.

The bone-necklace man lifted Amy’s encased body. He held her aloft for one long, dramatic moment—a sacrifice display—and then he dropped her into the bubbling pot. Steam plumed upward in a white, hissing column.

The liquid—raging oil, thickened with herbs, perfectly ready to fry—splashed over the rim. Amy’s screams only last a millisecond, from inside the caldron.

It was a cry of completion, of transformation, of a little girl with a big dream who desires to be hunted and captured, sexual used and bound and cooked.

A girl who had loved it every step of the journey.
The steam thickened.

The caldron bubbled, and the audience rose to its feet, applauding, cheering, and the curtain drew closed on the final image: four cannibals standing sentinel around the steaming pot, their bodies still slick with sweat and cum, The broke out another song number, song of a good hunt, song of a lost Explorer.

Penny’s camera lowered. Her cheeks were flushed. Her dress had ridden high again, and she made no move to adjust it.

Terri watched her, watched the curtain, watched the faint wisps of steam still curling from beneath the heavy velvet.

Her own body was a live wire, humming, aching, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a single thought crystallized.

She needed to taste whatever was in that pot.