That first one was by Kitvander, Super Bowl Sunday.

... ok
But where to find the story?

The second one sounds like this story of mine? :)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/34372165/chapters/85532974

I know writer Edward Hyde. Even possible I missed some of his stories? Could be. I'll check it later.
I found via way back https://web.archive.org/web/20120117174857/http://aryion.com/g4/user/kitvander
But most of stories are missing. If there is any chance he has another account at another site. I tried hentai foundry, ao3 and nothing. Unless under different name.

The third one somebody's suggestion it could be on bdsm or alebeard
https://web.archive.org/web/20170228162407/http://www.alebeard.net/bdsmlinks.html

Edward Hide you are one og the best writers in this genre. If somebody like you would get finished Shannon's Special Sleepover by SweetSpicySauce who left the story. I just started with the story you sugested I think it is the story I read years ago. Thx

>>31667
Yeah, sorry about that, guy. I meant to add the story this morning to the post, but it pasted it as a wall of text, and I didn't have time to edit it and properly space everything before I had to leave for work. Here's the story.

Super Bowl Sunday

“You’re totally going down. There is no way the Goats are losing to the Cats.” Bailey stated confidently, but not cruelly to her prep table companion.

“You’re probably right, fuck! It’s total BS that your fate gets to ride on the team favored to win.” Molly replied, shifting uncomfortably on her elbows and knees. “Plus, you get to just lie there all night!”

Bailey smiled smugly, rocking back and forth a bit in her roasting pan. The sandy blonde-haired beauty with emerald eyes was currently tied up like a turkey, nestled in a roasting pan. With a perfect tan, a perfect rack, thick thighs and an ass that looked like it belonged in a museum for perfect asses, Bailey was amazed she had even ended up in the running for the post-game buffet. Though she had rubbed some customers and co-workers the wrong way a few times…

Molly was beside her, in her own roasting pan. Unlike Bailey she was positioned on her knees and elbows, wrists tied together with her head resting on her hands. More of a dirty blonde herself, Molly was the definition of plump, currently forced to pose like a pig in her pan. Wide hips, wide rump, a nice thick belly, Molly was the girl with the attitude at the restaurant.

Where Molly and Bailey worked at a famous restaurant with a number of great holiday parties and holiday traditions. This particular day, Super Bowl Sunday, saw the return of a crowd-pleasing special event. The three waitresses with the most negative comment cards were obligated to provide the food for the Super Bowl and the Post-Game Party. The restaurant charged a hefty cover for the event, but many regulars were more than willing to pay to enjoy a lovely waitress while watching the game, and one after the game.

The waitress with the most negative comments was Kelly. This came as a surprise to no one but Kelly, who was quite unhappy when she found herself impaled and cooked on a spit for a football game. Kelly was already being served, hungry guests watching the last of the pre-game coverage while devouring the spit-roasted waitress. Molly and Bailey were second and third, meaning that they had to make the ultimate sports bet: The winner gets to attend the post-game party, the loser gets to feed the post-game party.

Seeing as she was third, Bailey was given her choice of team. She picked the Goats, who were favored to win over the Cats. Molly now had all her hope resting in the hands of the underdog team.

“Oven looks hot.” Bailey remarked casually, feeling good about her chances. Both girls were faced towards the oven, though Bailey had to look at it upside down. They’re exposed backsides were facing the kitchen door, where the movement of any server in or out gave the dining room a generous look at the second course.

“Yeah, it fuckin does. Goddamn it.” Molly responded, still quite unhappy with the situation. Molly had done her best to accept her inevitable demise, but was less than excited about the other stages of preparation. The girls knew that every score meant another stage of prep would be completed, or some other humiliation. If the Cats scored, Bailey could end up with a carrot up her ass. If the Goats scored, Molly could get her tits glazed with BBQ sauce. So both girls were hoping for a low scoring game, or at least for their team to give up few points.

Cheers went up in the dining room, likely signifying the beginning of the game. Bailey and Molly made some small talk, hoping it would be a while before anyone came to bother them. Unfortunately…

“No, I don’t have unlimited data, I just try to limit watching-EEEP!” Molly exclaimed, feeling a dollop of cold oil squirt onto her backside.

“Hey, what happened?” Bailey asked, trying to lift her head to get a better view. One of the chefs was standing behind Molly, brushing her between the legs with oil.

“Goats scored a touchdown. So…” The chef trailed off, lining a carrot up with her pussy.

“Oh goddamn it. Already? That ain’t great for me.” Molly complained, feeling the large carrot enter her, resting snuggly up her filet. She was appreciative that she started with that hole at least.

G: 7 C: 0

Bailey got her first prep work not long after, when a Cats field goal left her brushed tits to toes in Siracha BBQ sauce. Molly joked about the inelegance of ending up subject to game day recipes. Both teams scored a touchdown apiece, leaving both girls with carrots up their asses, Molly able to feel the two carrots double penetrating her quite viscerally. But in an odd twist, the Goats had missed their extra point, resulting in only 6 points for their touchdown.

G: 13 C: 10

The two girls kept riffing about work, annoyed at having ended up in this position, but also laughing about how much Kelly had it coming. It was quieter for a while, likely the result of the halftime show. Molly couldn’t stop complaining about how uncomfortable piggy position is, with Bailey rubbing in the virtues of getting tied up like a turkey instead. Finally, after what felt like an hour…

“Woah, why are your hands on me!” Bailey exclaimed, feeling a cold vegetable pressed against her pussy.

“Touchdown Cats! They’re playing an amazing game, I think they could take it!” The cook responded, pressing a zucchini up into Bailey.

“FUUUUCK! Jeez, I feel full as fuck! Was that a goddamn Zucchini?” Bailey complained, the vegetable wedged inside her feeling massive.

“Sure was! I think you really could end up on the menu this year!” The cook excitedly took her leave to go watch more of the game, leaving the two girls alone again.

“No…no way that it’ll actually be me?” Bailey breathed slow, trying to rationalize that the favored team was down, putting her in real danger.

“Hey now, you weren’t too bothered about me going in there. You really mean to tell me you were so sure my ass was gonna roast?” Molly quipped, amused at the possible turnaround.

“YES! I mean, look, I know a game can go any way, but you…you seemed a lot more okay with it! And I mean, I can’t roast…”

“Look Bailey, I had to try my best to come to some terms with it being possible, but don’t think that means I really wanna go into that fuckin oven.”

Bailey tried her best to calm down, but found it hard to do. Another Cats field goal brought more glaze, this time with some jalapeno worked into the recipe. Bailey fought back tears as she imagined herself crisping up in the oven, smelling and looking like a glorified glazed chicken.

She got a bit of reprieve when the next field goal was for the Goats, bringing Molly her own generous dry rub. Every inch of Molly was buttered up, cooks rubbing sticks of butter on her like she was a greased pig. Then the dry rub was applied, spices and all sorts of coarse crystals of salt and such were stuck to Molly, causing her to sneeze several times. Both girls had been through the wringer going into the fourth quarter.

G: 16 C: 20

“That fucking extra point. Them missing that extra point means even a field goal won’t tie it up…” Bailey lamented, worrying that that single point may be what dooms her by the end of the game.”

“Yeah, that was a bitch. Can’t remember the last touchdown I saw where they missed the extra.” Molly agreed, pretty happy herself for the miss. “Plus, they hit you with a zucchini? That’s fucked.”

Bailey couldn’t agree more, still acutely feeling her zucchini and her carrot. There couldn’t likely be many more minutes on the games clock, but the fourth quarter always went slow with timeouts.

A cook came by to touch up the glaze on Bailey and the dry rub on Molly. “Lots of injuries. Only a few minutes left on the clock.” He explained when Bailey asked why the Goats were down, and how much game was left. Molly felt elated, she had never really believed she had a chance of ever getting out of her pan.

Both girls tensed as they heard footsteps drawing close, excited voices in the dining room. Clearly a big play was made, but which team?

Molly found that out quickly, as several pineapple rings were placed down her back, with a couple on her rump as well. “The Goats, they got another touchdown?” She whispered out, cursing herself for ever having had hope.

“Yup! They’re up 3 points now, only a minute twenty-five on the clock!” The cook excitedly explained. Bailey let out a sigh of relief, feeling much more confident now that the favored team had regained the lead. Molly just stared at the oven window, the temperature cranked up all the way to 425.

“I’m sorry girl. It really is scary.” Bailey tried to apologize for her insensitivity, but Molly knew she was secretly ecstatic. She couldn’t blame her, she had felt the same when the Cats were up. Maybe they could kick a field goal, push it to overtime?

Molly got her answer shortly after. A sack and an incomplete pass on the fourth down left the Cats with too little time on the clock to make a comeback. A few members of the kitchen staff began cutting Bailey’s bonds, a surefire sign that the game was over.

“There…there isn’t any chance left?” Molly asked, the blazing hot oven that she’d worked so hard to accept as a finality was looking extra menacing, now that she truly was moments from going into it.

“Nope, Goats are taking a knee. It’s probably over right now.” The cook explained, giving Molly a sympathetic pat on the rump. Another cook was touching up the dry rub and garnish one more time, and the third cook was helping Bailey to her feet.

“Ohmygod, I’m not gonna walk straight for a week after those fucking veggies.” Bailey complained, standing awkwardly to her feet.

“At least you get to walk again…” Molly grumbled, keeping her breaths nice and deep.

“Here’s the apple, its tradition for the winner to gag the loser.” A cook handed Bailey an apple, and soon she was face to face with her unlucky partner.

“So…I’m sorry?” Bailey said, holding the shiny red apple near Molly’s face. “You look delicious for what its worth, better than I did.”

“I bet that’s more a feature of not seeing yourself as a chicken dinner.” Molly retorted, recognizing this was her last conversation. “I bet your glazed tits would look a lot more appetizing to me than my dry rubbed ass. But since you’re the one holding that apple, I’m the one that actually has to fuckin roast.”

“Yeah…sorry girl. At least with it set that high, maybe it’ll fuck with your consciousness faster?”

“Feeling the heat even this far from that thing, I think I’d rather be slow roasted at a lower temperature…”

“We need to be serving the guests in five hours, so it has to be that hot. And speaking of time, we need to get this moving.” One of the cooks spoke up, he and another chef ready to hoist Molly into the oven.

“Well…any last words, girl?” Bailey asked, holding the apple close to Molly’s face.

“Yeah. I fuckin hate football.” Molly responded, then opened her mouth wide. In a moment she found it filled with a shiny red apple, and then the next she was staring at the open oven door. The chefs picked up the tray, and Molly watched the open oven draw closer and closer, every part of her wanting to reverse but having no control over her own trajectory.

Then she was inside it, slid in onto the middle rack, the heat thick and blazing around her. The last bit of cool air rushed out as the oven door slammed shut, trapping Molly in the inferno.

“FUCK ITS HOT.” Molly thought to herself, already her vision and thoughts obscuring. Every part of her felt like it was searing, there was no mistaking the immediate and intense permeation of the knowledge that “I am ROASTING alive.”

The first fifteen minutes were the worst, every breath in through her nose feeling like flame, her mind going numb from the heat and pain. But once her nerves had thoroughly given up, Molly simply started to feel less…anything. Her legs were hard to move, her ham was hard to move, her breast meat felt firmer…thoughts of varying confusion and note floated through her heat-addled mind.

“I hate football. At least I’m not on a spit on national TV, like all those Cats cheerleaders.” Molly thought to herself, though wondered if a big audience would be better or worse if you had to cook. She was beginning to not be able to move at all, not even a shake of her carrot stuffed backside.

“I really do smell delicious.” Molly thought to herself, the aroma of her dry rubbed and pineapple garnished body filling her nostrils. Molly regained a moment of clarity, and started to panic briefly, truly recognizing that the smell she was enjoying was her own body roasting. But then, in another wave of heat-addled thoughts, she returned to her calming mantra she had just recently thought up.

“I’ll make for a better meal than Kelly. No one will remember that spit-roasted bitch once my ham comes out the oven. I’ll be the pig of the town! No wait, talk?” Molly’s thoughts got jumbled, she even giggled a bit as she tried to figure out how she had botched that expression.

“Super Bowl, I’m the Super Bowl champion ham…pig…roast…” Molly thought to herself, suddenly elated to smell more of that dry rub pork aroma.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Damn, she smells good!” Bailey remarked to her coworkers, as Molly was rolled out several hours and several drinks for Bailey later. Still posed like a pig, her eyes stared off into nothingness, her expression rendered almost goofy by the red apple gagging her mouth. The dry rub gave her skin a delicious dusting of spices, and the pineapples on top gave a slightly tropical vibe to the meal. Plump and thick in every spot, everyone in the restaurant metaphorically and sometimes literally licked their lips. Bailey had never been so happy to see a roast ham on a platter.

She was given a spot towards the front of the line, and requested a few slices of rump and a couple portions of belly bacon. Eating a healthy slice before she even got back to her table, she drunkenly spun around to regard the ham dinner formerly known as Molly.

“Sorry that it was me or you, but damn! You taste AMAZING, girl!” Bailey exclaimed, going on to have an elated and spirited evening. Molly, on the other hand, was slowly reduced to greasy bones and meat in to-go containers, little more than a Super Bowl party memories and leftovers.

G: 23 C:20

Did you ever find the third story?