FSE

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Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for Tigerfoxx | July 2020 | 4442 Words

"Mmmmm... that's it, meat..." Huffed the broad-shouldered stallion as he slowly pushed two of his fingers into the pudgy hybrid tiger-fox boy bent over a private prep table. This back room, where the party's lead caterer conducted his own personal preparations, quickly filled with the soft sound of mewling and moaning as the helpless hybrid felt his tight asshole opened up by two oil-lubed and exploring fingers. If the meat were being stuffed the shire horse would be up to his wrist-fluff in his colon, but instead the famously sharp-dressed catering chef was simply stretching him for pleasure. The horse reached his other hand down to his groin, slowly stroking his 14-and-a-half-inch shaft to hardness. "Just relax... today is a big day for the both of us and I need you on your best behavior."

"A-ahhh... yes Sir, Chef..." groaned the obedient slave boy as he felt his owner's fingers retreat from his hole, only to be replaced by the flared cock head. While the tiger-fox was mere meat, trafficked through a system of back-channel brokers, selected for his natural fetish for masochism and snuff, and sold to the highest bidder to become an entertaining centerpiece for an affluent family's garden party, the Chef saw his life a bit more personally. He pushed in slowly, pausing just after he broke through to let his boy breathe through the pain, holding him tight around the chest as a reassurance. These days were always bittersweet, having to say goodbye to a meat slave he had hand raised. But as the mocha-furred stallion began to thrust into his future masterpiece, the care melted away into lust.

"Mmmm... I couldn't have asked for a more exquisite boy to grace my table... obedient to a fault... today is going to be beautiful, meat..." The hefty length plowed in and out nice and slow, grinding against the fox's prostate, the horse finding that familiar mark and hitting it home. His hands gripped the sides of the pudgy, rounded livestock, squishing into the love handles as he held the boy firm. The hybrid's ass slapped back against equine hips with a loud plap, hefty horse balls bumping against the swollen low-hangers of the tiger-fox. He had been trained well, kept on edge for the months it took to finish off his body. The gorgeous critter, frame and fluff built like a red fox with a brilliant tiger's pattern, didn't dare move his hands to satisfy his throbbing, chaste cock. It didn't go unnoticed, of course. "Mmmm... that's right, boy... meat doesn't cum... not until its timer goes off..."

The shire horse grunted as he finished up quick and dirty inside his little slut, leaving his own personal mark on tonight's meal, a hot and sticky load deep inside of the hybrid's tight ass. Huffing as he slopped his girthy length out of the boy's hole, the stallion put a hand on the meal's shoulder to stop him from turning around to reflexively start cleaning off his dick. Instead, the Chef gave his meat a moment to collect himself, while he tucked his cum-and-oil-slick cock back into his prim and proper working slacks. "Relax, meat... You don't have to prove anything more to me, just be a good boy today... we have to get you dressed for your big day, my little show pony."

Always aware of his looks, the chef took one last moment to smarten up his jacket, the soft tufts of his wrists fitting neatly into the broad cuffs of his sleeves. The meat waited quietly and obediently, eyes face forward, breathing slow and heartbeat palpable as he tried to focus on the remaining minutes of his life. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of clinking metal and silicone, knowing that this was perhaps to be the last moment of freedom he would get. There wasn't much time to do anything with this knowledge of course, the hefty stallion returned and draped a long, full-body harness over the boy's shoulders. He had worn it before as practice for today, one of several custom crafted pieces of gear that he had become accustomed to. And without fail, the stallion gave the expected clarification aloud, one which always sent a shiver down his spine. "Oven-safe materials..." There was no need to say it now, but the simple restating that he would die in this costume was enough to make the tiger-fox's shaft pulse.

"Y... yes Sir, Chef."

The shire horse smiled as he worked on tightening straps down, carefully tugging each one through the metal buckles, pulling them tight, and padlocking them so they wouldn't ever come loose again. Each one served to give a little jingle, like some merry sleigh-pulling horse's harness as he moved and shifted in place. The squirming became far more intense as the harness's integral silicone plug was lined up with the boy's tight ass. There was no need to lube it, of course. With his hole already slick with cum, the thick heat-safe plug slipped right inside, with only a soft pop and a gentle moan from the meat as he wiggled the attached horse style tail. Around front the stallion slipped a set of nipple clamps around one of the harness's cross-straps, tightening the tension of the springs to the point that the mewling and whimpering boy was unable to walk properly without being bent forward in a lovely faux-canter.

Of course, no horse would be complete without a way to lead him, a problem easily solved. A silicone bridle, designed with a large metal bit, slipped on like a glove, silencing the overstimulated horsey boy as he squirmed in his new hunched position. Like all good show ponies, it would be unbecoming to have the horse both uncontrollable and drooling about due to the bit gag in his mouth. The chef smirked as he spread the tiger-fox's jaws open nice and wide, carefully adjusting the tongue loller attachment on the bit until the meat's tongue was trapped in a downward position between two tight fitting pieces of silicone.

"There we go... relax, boy... you're gonna look so beautiful. And no... I'm fine with your last words being 'Yes Sir, Chef.' " The hybrid shuddered as he heard that, knowing full well the gravity of his situation. His owner carefully affixed a proud silicone mane to the back of his headpiece and harness, restricting the left-to-right movement of his head. Only a few more minor adjustments remained. his wrists were shackled with tight fitting metal bands that locked into place at his chest to mimic a horse prancing about or rearing on its hind legs. The ankles too were given tight metal shackles, hobbled together by a length of chain too small for him to run, forcing the poor boy to canter along at a gentle gallop, his hunched body causing yanking pain to his nipples every time he trotted forward. There was only one more addition to the outfit. Instead of blinders, the enforced pony-play would take an interesting turn with the addition of a blindfold. "And the last touch... to ensure only the most pure horror running through your meat... your method of cooking is to be kept a secret so we can enjoy your realization when it happens... a feast for the eyes when you finally understand what is happening."

"A-ahhhlllgghhhh..." the tongue loller did its job well, rendering the hybrid's voice completely mute save for a pony-esque snort and groan in agreement. The chef smiled and patted his entrée-pony on the back before gripping the reigns and leading the boy out at a gentle canter.

The bright early-summer sun shone down upon a fantastic garden party, presented by one of the wealthiest benefactors in the predator community. Gorgeous early-season flowers bloomed along paths of hedges and meticulously laid stonework, leading out to a private grotto for the movers and shakers of the predatory world to meet. Of course, the exquisitely adorned tiger-fox could see none of it, the blindfold tight-tucked around his headpiece. He was at the mercy of his stallion chef, the broad-shouldered and sharp-dressed man leading him into the lion's den quite literally. As they passed partygoers who had stepped down the garden path for a moment of quiet or a private chat, he greeted them, sometimes by name, pausing now and then to talk with a few rare, dignified personalities. Most of the time they would talk merely to the renowned chef, or occasionally make comment about "tonight's dinner." But if anything, it was a preview to the next hour of his life as they exited the garden path into the main party.

The hybrid took in soft, sharp breaths to calm his nerves, the scent of rose petals and fresh summer air filling his nostrils with each tentative huff. The lovely smells were wreathed with the added incense of burning wood - distant as if it were being used as a light source. Indeed, the entire garden was abloom with beautiful flowers of all stripes, the central open area arranged into seating, a dance floor, a stage for the party's live musicians, and several interspersed bars designed to keep the wine flowing, but metered so nobody got too sloshed before the festivities started. The Chef smiled wide, his imposing heavy horse form striking quite a figure among the minks and reynards of the garden party. He casually grabbed a glass of wine off a server's platter, before joining his fellow predatory socialites for lovely conversation, one hand tight on the reigns of his horse d'oeuvre.

For his part, the meat followed exquisitely, cantering along at a hobbled pace, his head bobbing as the clamps tugged and tortured his nipples, letting the little padlocks up and down his body jingle and tinkle merrily. His whines came out of his gagged mouth as an almost equine whinny, his hard-on throbbing through the integral cock ring built into his harness as the plug ground in his hole with each step, uncomfortable and irritatingly prodding his prostate to ensure he stayed nice and aroused. Despite the blindfold he could hear every word said around him as partygoers ogled his body from both afar and up close.

"My my, this one is lively."

"Far more appetizing than the one served by the Torringtons."

"It's always lovely when they're broken, look at how his arousal throbs."

"I bet he steps up with no fuss, he looks like he's got a fetish for the death he'll have."

"You're on, but I'll split you - fifty-fifty he either bucks wild before he's put on to cook OR cums hands free while he cooks."

As the chef toured his lovely young stud about the gardens, the orange fur of his cheeks flush red with embarrassment for being paraded like a show pony, he heard a distinct voice call out, "Chef Silverton, goodness man, you have outdone yourself!"

"Ah, Mister Belmont!" The Chef smiled and tugged back on the reigns, the blindfolded horse boy whining as his trot slowed and his head was forced to turn and follow the lead, "I was hoping I would see you before it was time to cook this one."

"We must think alike, Charles, I wouldn't miss an opportunity to meet the meat before your show." As the hybrid came to a stop, clopping his feet softly in the garden grass, he was met with the sensation of a hand groping against his groin, the firm grip of a businessman's handshake, clasped around his shaft and slowly stroking, examining the embarrassed arousal between his thighs. "My my... he is gorgeous. I wouldn't get this opportunity to see him up close and personal once things got hot for the boy." The tiger-fox gasped, his pudgy thighs quivering softly as he let out wet moaning noises from his bit-gagged mouth, eyes rolling behind the blindfold as the unknown person stroked him slowly and sensually. "Tell me, he hasn't the feintest idea of what's to happen to him?"

"None at all, Elijah, I've kept him completely the in dark while bringing forward the deep psychological arousal the boy has for his coming death." The hybrid shivered at the sensation of being discussed like a Michelin star meal.

"A good chef knows how to bring out the deepest flavors in his meat... is he trained?"

"Indeed, he is." The stallion let out a soft knicker noise, a pre-determined command to kneel. It was demeaning, doubly so considering a real horse used it on his pony-play dressed beast. The command was accompanied by a soft tug, ushering the hybrid to the ground. The moment he was settled on his knees, his nose filled with the hot scent of male musk as Elijah undid his breeches and undergarments. His already thickened shaft ground haphazardly against the meat's face as the gentleman took control of the reigns, yanking them back to roughly guide the pony boy's mouth to his shaft. Despite the intrusive tongue loller tucking his tongue down tight, the hybrid quickly felt a canine cock forcing its way into his bit-gagged mouth. It didn't matter that the bit was positioned awkwardly for oral, the poor thing would have to suffer, gag and choke as the gentleman forced his shaft between the bit and soft palette of his future meal.

"Mmmm... there we go... just enough room for me." The meat gagged and sputtered, his artistically bound hands clenching and splaying, eyes starting to tear up behind the blindfold as his throat became stuffed with thick cock, jamming the bit gag hard into his lower jaw in a wrenching motion.

"Careful, Zeek" The chef smirked, knowing this wasn't so much a caution as a friendly reminder. "The last one you took like this had a slack and broken jaw when we put him on the rotisserie."

"Oh don't worry, Charles... if I break him, I bought him." The brutish gentleman grunted as his hips picked up pace. The pony boy's cheeks burned bright with embarrassment. Even though he couldn't see the polite dames fanning themselves or dapper dressed men covering their mouths (or hiding their arousal), he could certainly hear the lewd comments from guests as his throat was raw fucked in front of the other attendees. And all the while the cute padlocks adorning his harness jingled with each insistent thrust, the gentleman's throbbing cock bruising the poor boy's soft palette as he forced himself on the future meal. "I'm almost... nnngh..." The mess was sloppy down his throat, the hybrid's hands curling like a show pony in front of him as he felt the hot rush of cum flood his mouth. It was pathetic, the tongue loller preventing him from swallowing properly. Instead, the pony boy was left with the taste of some unknown person's cum hot on his tongue and in his sinuses. "Oh I do love when I get to fuck them before they die... good boy, meat." The hybrid felt a gentle tap of comfort on his cheek before the gentleman turned away once again, leaving him kneeling on the ground, a little dribble of cum drooling from one corner of his mouth as the onlookers examined their now well sauced evening meal.

The tiger-fox's reprieve of life was only a short hour, blindfolded in the hot sun of the summer party and forced to mingle with high society. He was thankful that most guests were gentle, and especially that Chef Silverton allowed one party guest to pour a glass of wine down his throat to help calm his nerves a little. But after enough entertainment, the pony boy felt his reigns tugged as he was led to the preparation area for the day's events. Still blindfolded, kept acutely unaware of what was happening, the stallion chef gave the hybrid a pat on the back.

"Are you ready, meat. You've been ready for so many years..." The shire horse's familiar, coaxing hand reached down to stroke his cock, still straining as it poked out the harness, having not gone soft in the hour he'd been shown off in public. His hands wandered up again, re-adjusting the nipple clamps on his pretty show horse, another half-turn to ensure they stay taught, before finally giving him a tight hug. When he exhaled, it came out as a soft knicker, "Alright this is the spot... kneel, meat."

The hybrid felt a guiding tug on his bridle, slowly getting down onto his knees as he had practiced. The ground underneath him felt soft but solid, like someone had disturbed the dirt and then laid down flat rocks in a tight pattern where he knelt. His heart quickened as he felt a long metal pole, heavy and close to three inches thick, pressed against his back and carefully slotted into a deep pre-dug post-hole in the ground. The tiger-fox tried his best not to squirm as he felt the tight metal shackles of his ankles being chained to the post, followed by chains attached around his hips, just under his chest, and around his neck. They were tight, ensuring he could neither fully stand up nor pull away from the heavy metal stake. The only part that was loose was his neck restraint, ensuring that there was no chance he would choke himself to death too early as he cooked. His arms remained bound tight to his front, some onlooker making a comment that it'll help the arms and hands to not burn... He was momentarily aware of his chef double checking the restraints. A soft kiss on his cheek of thanks, and the sound of rustling as something was moved into place in front of him, leaving the poor boy alone, terrified, still blindfolded, and patiently trying to count his last minutes.

"My friends, thank you all joining us today on the eve of the Bellmont Downs Summer Race Series." While the chef was addressing the party guests, the pony boy tried his best to breathe and focus on his arousal between his thighs, letting his hips flex softly in the open air as a drip of sweat beaded off the side of his harnessed forehead and soaked into the blindfold. "As is tradition, we will be serving up the lovely guest of honor at tonight's party, adorned with all the accoutrements of a prize-winning racehorse stallion." It was then that the tiger-fox got his first whiff, a glowing warmth behind his head. The wind blew from behind him, carrying the hot scent of charcoal to his nose. His Chef was not the one lighting the fire... he had hoped perhaps there would be a few more minutes to sit and contemplate. The warmth behind him grew as the points of heat multiplied and surrounded him, the sound of individual fires beginning to roar about him. "We hope you enjoy the show, and please remember to thank our benefactor, Mister Bellmont, for purchasing today's feast."

"Mnnn... Hnnnngh!" The meat began to shift uncomfortably on the stone ground, whimpering and tugging at his bonds, making the warming padlocks jingle on his body as sweat began to bead off his frame. What began as individual points of heat soon became an agonizing wreath encircling him on all sides, growing hotter and hotter as the crackling heat took hold. The occasional rustle of the wind disturbed smoke, soot and even embers, whipping them against the poor boy's body, making him quiver and shake, coughing out of a growing need for air. Whenever he stretched or twisted his body, trying to crane his head back to catch a breath, the onlooking crowd would cheer at the sight of his upturned head and bucked his hips rearing like a panicked colt mid-whinny. The desperate bid to escape the swelling heat grew more and more frantic, his gagged cries becoming animalistic with each passing moment. "NNN! HNNNNGH!!" Just as the meat's noises hit a fever pitch, it began.

A single ember must have popped from the fire behind him, the helpless meal felt it land on the sole of his foot, making the already frantic boy kick his curled sole in desperation to stop the encroaching heat. It wasn't enough to put out the hot coal, and suddenly the beautiful orange and black fur about his ankles began to coil with smoke, the strands turning to soot as the little lick of flame spread. Another pop, this time from the front, spattered hot embers at his chest, each little star of flame impossible to extinguish, catching patches of dry fur alight and leaving nothing but ash to blow in the wind and reveal the blistering red skin underneath. To the crowd it lasted hardly a minute, but to the meat it must have felt an eternity as flames crept over his body from seemingly every direction. Suddenly the world flashed in a bright light as the blindfold caught afire, the thin strip of bound cloth turned to a gout of flame that took the last of his facial fur with it. The hybrid's eyes opened, blinded momentarily by the orange-hot light all about him. As his sight returned, drool dripping and sizzling down his chest from his open heaving mouth, the pony-boy's fleeting mind tried to look about his surroundings, ostensibly to figure out an escape from the horrid torture. There would not be any. He was bound tight to the metal post, surrounded by nine large wrought-iron braziers set into the ground an equidistant circle around his body. Each one had been filled with hardwood and charcoal and were glowing a beautiful orange as they slowly roasted their victim.

The shire horse chef was watching close, tending the fire directly ahead of the hybrid's body. Perhaps out of care, or simply a sardonic goodbye, he blew a kiss from the opposite side of the braziers, using a large fire poker to stir up the coals just as the pony boy tried one more time to break free. Chains clinked taught as his head upturned to the sky, bit-locked and tongue lollered mouth letting out a guttural cry that came out sounding like a panicked colt. He strained against the chains that held him kneeling in place, the thick muscles of his thighs and ass struggling to stand up, contorting his body into a mockery of a brilliant stallion wreathed in charcoal smoke laurels and showered with ashen confetti. To the surprise of the onlookers, they watched his blistered cock throb between his thighs, the horrid pain not enough to make the meat go soft. Or perhaps he was just a masochist. With his body arched at its peak, his cockhead oozed a hot drool of cum, spattering out onto the hot rocks below, the pinnacle of a virile race stallion pantomimed in the cruel death he endured.

As the blistering heat slowly turned his angry red flesh a deeper, richer brown, the tortured meat began to falter, sliding back down the stake and slumping back into the kneeling position he had started in. His chest heaved against the tight silicone harness as natural juices began to leak from crackling skin, hissing on the hot stones all around him, zephyrs of spitting steam and oils rising from spots where fluids or flesh touched metal D-rings or iron shackles. Like some kind of hell-horse, the tortured tiger-fox snorted out puffs of smoky soot with every deep breath. The meat's head listed softly, chin tucking to his chest as he began to fade. His bridled face turned one last time, slightly to the right, and then up slightly, glassy eyes half-lidded, looking out to nowhere in particular as the last conscious thoughts left his mind. His head fell for the last time, slumped against his hands which had begun to curl into tight fists due to the seething heat drying and contracting his tendons. Only when he was sure the pony boy had finally settled in for the long roast would the chef order his attendants to remove a few braziers to allow basting access to the carcass.

Come evening the braziers had burned down to a gentle glow of hot coals, the natural sunlight replaced by the beautiful glow of fairy lights and torches creating a cheerful, intimate atmosphere. The guests had congregated around several tableclothed buffet tables, each one adorned with copious amounts of foods. But the star of the show was the cavalry carvery station. Proudly displayed on his knees, curled front 'hooves' tucked up against his chest, sat the guest of honor. A meal who had given himself willingly and demanded a high price for his sacrifice now looked the part of a feast fit to serve to high society. The golden-brown sheen on his flesh, carefully basted with garlic oil and allowed to crisp but not burn, struck a stunning scene, even more so as the flesh was adorned with the same heat-safe harness he had died in. He looked as he had the moment he was settled on the stonework, obedient and patient.

Indeed, there was only one addition to the meal. The tiger-fox's neck had been broken, not in an act of mercy, but instead to tilt his head back up into a straight and honored position, affixed in a perpetual whinny with a metal posture collar. Chef Silverton smiled as he gave one last look over his prize meal before honing his carving knife, quietly proud at the show his hand-picked slave had given.

"I couldn't have asked for a better performance," he mused to nobody in particular, before setting aside his honing steel and picking up his carving fork. The metal tines gently pressed down through cooked-tender thigh meat, slipping in effortlessly until the tips touched bone. He smiled, pointing his knife to a young gentleman, a fuzzy-cheeked lemur. "Mister Astor, I do hope you enjoyed the show, can I interest you in some thigh meat?"

"Why yes, Chef Silverton, I would love some," the rare creature said with a smile as he waited patiently to be served fresh off the bone. But before he could get his plate, the gentleman marsupial was clapped on the back of his shoulder by a sharp dressed labrador retriever.

"Mister Astor, just the man I wanted to see! I do believe we have a little wager to settle." The canine sported a broad, if slightly dumb, grin across his face. The lemur's brow furrowed, but the shire horse just grinned, reaching his knife around to tap the engorged and beautifully roasted cock, the tip shining with baked-on cum.

"I can't help you here Astor, I do believe you lost the bet, my dear friend..."

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