This choice: is too hungry to care and continues with the preparation. • Go Back...Chapter #6is too hungry to care and continues with the pr... by: Unknown Both of you stared at Flora's bare red belly as a growl loud enough to silence a lion erupted from Flora's midsection. "I'm too damn hungry to think of a good way to punish you for your most recent of failures. Remind me to torture you once I'm full." She said. You could tell that the first part was serious, but you had no idea whether or not she was kidding about having you, the prospective torturee, remind her, the prospective torturer, to torture you. She hadn't lied yet, so far as you could tell, but she was a demon and one who liked jokes at that.
Not reading your thoughts, or deciding to keep you in suspense for the time being, Flora quickly dunked her hands into the glaze again and began jacking your half mast halfheartedly with one hand while fondling the mixture into your scrotum with the other, focusing more on coverage and consistency of the glaze than on your pleasure. Despite her unenthusiastic performance, the uncomfortable stickiness of the glaze acting as the opposite of a lubricant, and the fact that you'd just shot the biggest load of your life down Flora's throat only a minute ago, her fondling still managed to get you nearly back to peak stiffness. "Damn, for a mortal, you recover quick." Flora said, gently flicking the head of your dick and causing it to wobble back and forth. "But, alas, my stomach is telling me that there's no time for sloppy seconds. Not yet, anyway. Get on your belly, I have to coat your back now."
Obeying Flora’s command, your sticky limbs slapping wetly against the smooth wooden table beneath you, you rested yourself on your chest and open belly as comfortably as you could. That said, with your erect cock flattened against the table and your gaping stomach flaps directly above it, you were uncomfortably close to literally fucking yourself as you adjusted your position on the table. It became especially close when Flora, without warning slapped her big meaty mitts onto your scapula’s and began giving you the roughest back massage you’d ever experienced. You heard each vertebrae pop as Flora gripped and pulled her way down your back, your ribs either threatening to dislocate under the pressure or actually dislocating and your sense of pain was just too numbed to register it. Everything certainly felt looser when Flora was done with you, your entire back tenderized under her tight grip. Everything also, unsurprisingly, felt stickier, your entire body, save for your feet and head now covered in a thick honey, butter, and brown sugar glaze.
Speaking of which, "Hey, Flora, should I start glazing my face or-"
Your words are cut off at the same time as your head, Flora having either used her magic to retrieve a cleaver from your cabinet or materializing one from thin air. The pain was more intense than your gutting, your severed spine sending panicked signals up and down its separate halves, both of which you could still feel. That said, the pain still felt no worse than a particularly bad wasp sting, and wasn't painful enough to distract you from the disorienting sensation of your head rolling forward and tumbling off the table, the distance to the ground not much higher than 4 feet yet feeling like miles as you violently spun down. You felt Flora's hands hold your body down, your muscles reflexively tensing and jerking as your severed head's equilibrium was thrown into chaos. Finally, you landed cut side down on something metal which hadn't been on the ground before, the direct hit against your exposed nerve endings feeling like a good hard slap, though you supposed that you should've been thankful that it wasn't worse. That said, "What the hell, Flora?!"
"What can I say? I think that cute little head makes for a better decoration than an entree." She responded. You felt the thing your head was resting on rise off the ground with unnatural steadiness, and glancing in the direction of Flora's voice you saw that indeed both of her hands were occupied, one clutching the surprisingly clean cleaver and the other gently rubbing your body's back. Glancing down, you saw that the metal object your head was resting on was actually a large circular metal plate, which your head had landed in the exact center of. Flora's magic hovered the plate back onto the table, facing and level with the cross section of your neck. Despite the severity of the injury, you were surprised at first by the almost complete lack of blood. Only a small little spurt had stained the table where your head had been resting, one or two drops dribbling weakly out as you watched. You supposed that made sense, most of your blood had likely been drained when you got all your guts pulled out, and what was left had been pumped into your open gut cavity. Concentrating, your belly did feel a little warmer than before, and was wetter in a more liquid way. "Shit, I forgot to drain you." Flora said, reading your mind and slapping her own forehead with a sticky palm. "Shit!" She said again, pulling her hand away with a sharp peeling sound.
Flora gathered up a washcloth and wiped her forehead and hands clean, the material removing all traces of the glaze from her skin despite Flora not even using soap or water. Her powers really were a mystery to you. A very arbitrary mystery. Setting the towel aside momentarily, Flora took up the cleaver again and in two whacks lopped off both of your feet at the ankles, more painful than your abdomen stab but far less so than your decapitation. "As for these little things, feet taste like... well, feet." She explained, picking a foot in each hand and giving them both a playful squeeze as she carried them over to your tray. She set them down on either side of your neck, your toes just barely visible if you really strained your eyes. You wiggled them on impulse, knowing that you could still move them but still needing visual proof. Flora giggled at your display, and added "Plus, they're a little too cute for my taste too."
Flora picked up the washcloth once more and rubbed down your hands, the glaze magically vanishing from your skin just as it had Flora's. "And my hands?" You ask.
"Despite what certain internet llamas would tell you, hands do NOT satisfy. They're stringy and horrible." Flora said, setting the washcloth aside and taking up the knife once more, lopping off both of your hands at the wrist. Carrying them over to your tray in one of her own hands, she picked up your head by the hair and brought you to eye level, more slowly than strictly necessary as she wanted to flaunt her perfect and enlarged demon form once more.You felt your hands get set down on the plate beneath you, cut sides pressed against each other and knuckles laid over your feet. Before you could ask about Flora's odd arrangements the demon kissed you, her big lips smacking against yours and her long, prehensile, demonic demon tongue slithering right between your teeth and going right down your throat, popping out the open hole at the bottom and licking the raw cut surface of your neck. You couldn't really do much to kiss back, your tongue pinned beneath flora's and your lips not strong enough to move hers, so you were forced to simply wait and receive her kiss. Well, 'forced' was a strong word. You weren't exactly in the mood for resisting. When Flora ended the bizarre kiss, in fact, you were almost disappointed. "Don't worry, there's still a whole year ahead of us." She said, lowering your head slowly and setting your chin down on your upturned palms. "Pun... half intended."
Your chin and jaw rested on your upturned hands, your fingers curled up against your cheeks while your ankles kept your head steady and centered. She'd basically made a little throne for your out of your own parts. Finishing her living table decoration, Flora proceeded to finish body. She flipped you back onto your back and bent your unhanded and unfooted arms and legs into the classic roast chicken position before trussing you up in several bands of thick twine. She shoved a carrot into your neckhole and ass, the latter somehow feeling like one of the more uncomfortable and defiling parts of the process that involved getting gutted and dismembered, before stuffing the stuffing that she'd been making in the background into you. It was some kind of potato, carrot, and blood sausage hash with bits of liver and heart scattered around, stewed in a sweet tomato based sauce. It didn't quite fill the space to the brim, as she'd discarded your spacious lungs, but it came close enough for Flora to declare it a job well done. Opening up your your charcoal, pig sized smoker, Flora snapped her fingers and immediately summoned a hellish fire that required no fuel. Snapping again, your body was raised up and placed flat onto the grates of the grill. The heat was intense, obviously, as was the sensation of ripping hot cast iron biting into your bare back, but the pain was actually almost non-existent. If anything, the flames licking your skin almost felt like they were slowly killing off the pain, like a hot towel in a sauna.
Flora slammed the lid of the smoker shut. "Alright then, now we just wait a few hours and-" her stomach erupted in a furious wail of protest. Flora snapped her fingers. "And it's done!" She said, throwing open the smoker and revealing your perfectly caramelized caracass. While you could still sort of feel it, your entire body glowing warmly and your skin feeling both crisp and tender, something had definitely changed. Trying to move any part that had been in the smoker proved impossible, the muscles so thoroughly loosened by the heat that even a twitch was beyond you.
"I smell really fucking good." You say, the scent of your sweet, meaty flesh tickling your nostrils.
"You fucking do." Flora said, scrambling for a fork and knife. "And I bet you taste even better!"
Who does flora give the first bite to?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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