FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for DarkGoddessLilith | September 2020 | 6511 Words

“Cullen you dolt! Quit playing around with the hellions, we got work to do!” Gwen scoweled from the The Chop Shop’s kitchen doorway, looking out into the warehouse section of their little operation. Since their unintentional but fortuitous procurement and serving of The Daughter of Hatred, Lady Lilith, the underground trafficking company’s business boomed. This was not entirely unexpected, as word spread quickly among the nobility of the realm that the semi-legal business was able to deliver sentient humanoid meat of the highest quality. In fact, Baroness Kuznetsov herself had returned at least twice a week, her soft and noble form filled out over many trips to gorge on forbidden flesh brought in by the illicit operation, her once-dainty body beginning to soften and grow fat, forearms and calves chunky under her let-out noble garments. This hunger and lust was not just a side effect of the good food Gwen served. Even the Baroness’s hunger couldn’t finish off Lilith’s remains in one sitting, and despite her sensual death turning over the coals, the remnants of her meat down in the root cellar put off the same dangerous aura of chaos and lust that got her captured in the first place, a corrupting radiation that permeated the entire building day after day, driving guests to act upon their desires and indulge in their craven needs. This, it would turn out, was the secret to the company’s burgeoning success.

The matronly proprietor, Gwen, propped herself against the doorframe of her kitchen, stocky fingers holding a dusty broom she had been using to clean up her half of the building. “All you have to do is move the problematic ones down into the underground holding chamber.” Her accomplice, Cullen, the Sorcerer Thief known among his kind simply as “The Nightmare” had been bested by about four or five of four-legged hellions, the canine-esque demon hounds pounced upon him, their jaws slack and horrid tongues lolling out to lick and nip at his body as he tried to wrest control over the pack of creatures that had somehow gotten out of their cage.

“G-Gwen, less shaming, more helping!” The scoundrel growled as his hands flashed with magical force, trying not to harm the creatures, just hoping to push them off hard enough he could get to his feet once more. To make matters worse, a few of the remaining humanoid demons and demonesses, each one a taboo delicacy to be slaughtered, cooked and served, were laughing in their cages at the change of fortune for their captor. With a sigh, Gwen gripped her broom and gave a swat to one of the hell-beasts, a puff of dust poofing off the hellion she hit square in the nose as she slapped it away from Cullen. A few more strikes and she’d gotten enough off her hired muscle to let him back to his feet and to wrestle the creatures into individual crates. “T-thanks Gwen. I wanted to spread these things out so the building didn’t look so empty, but they uh… they wanted to get out and play, I guess.”

“I get what you want to do but focus on the humanoids. I’ve spent all month trying to put off that damn nosy enchantress…” Indeed, Gwen had reason to worry. As her business expanded, not every noble house of the Kingdom of Westmarch was allowed into the inner circle of confidants that could partake of forbidden flesh. In fact, it was Baroness Kuznetsov herself who insisted that the Cassandra dynasty be kept on the outs of this growing trend. This was easier said than done, as the noble house of Cassandra had deep pockets to pay their way to fame, and nobody loved their money quite like the famed enchantress reporter, Isabelle Greyson. Swarthy olive skinned, with flowing brown hair, the plucky young reporter was named the Chief Investigator of House Cassandra, after her independent news outlet, The Westmarch Observer, had uncovered corruption brought on by the noble house’s enemies. Ever since she became flush with House Cassandra cash, broadsheets belonging to The Westmarch Observer were plastered up and down the streets and alleys of the city, slowly working to change the peoples’ favor towards the noble’s works, while chipping away at their competitors.

It wasn’t the first time Gwen had dealt with the brown-haired bombshell, her disarming smile masking the way she would snoop about in back alleys and listen in on private conversations. At least twice she had to chase Isabelle off her property, using the same hefty cast iron skillet she had used to prepare hot Lilith and cheese sandwiches just hours prior. But by now the pressure was a little too much to bear, and Gwen relented to offering a tell-all to the nosy reporter. But just as Gwen turned her attention back from the warehouse, she was met with a sudden shock. Standing in the entry to her kitchen, having just let herself in, was the hated enchantress herself. Isabelle was already scribbling something down on her pad, her hefty c-cup breasts giving a soft bounce as she turned to face the shocked matron.

“Gwen, darling! I hope I’m not bothering, I figured it’d be good for me to swing by a little early… you know, get set up, have some tea with you and chat…” The warm smile on her face was betrayed by the soft magical glow in her eye, a rich purple that underscored her sclera as she reached out her hand to innocently shake Gwen’s. The matron turned to use her body to block the doorway, smiling as she brushed her dusky brown hair from her face, a low tone to her voice as she walked forward with purpose.

“Isabelle… you said you weren’t coming till noon.” She reached out to shake just in time to watch the fire in her enchantress guest’s eyes burn out, a deafening squawk cried out from the warehouse. Isabelle was taken back her head cocking around Gwen’s blocking body just long enough to see Cullen holding what looked like a raven with his leather gloved fist, the fingers glowing read with Horadrim magic as he walked the bird to the precipice of the kitchen and threw it to the ground.

“…your bird, Ma’am.” He growled as he slammed the door to the warehouse shut, going back to his work as the little raven sputtered and caw’ed on the ground.

Gwen’s already short patience was wearing thin as the little bird flapped its way across the floor and nestled against her guest’s classy shoe, the embarrassed enchantress stammering out a soft, “I uh… oh dear, Henry sweetie… don’t mind him, he always gets into things that he shouldn’t.”

“That makes two of you. I’ll have none of that while you’re here, Isabelle.” The stern scowl on her well-fed jowls meant business as Gwen stepped away from her blocking position, acquiescing to the decision to put tea on for her guest. “…you’re here for an interview, not to go snooping about the grounds with projected vision.”

“My dear, Henry is just but a familiar, he gives me an angle to my interviews that I can review later.” Catching herself after the slip-up, the enchantress smiled her warm, disarming smile as she sat down at the center island. She idly browsed about the room, taking in the sights of the kitchen as she settled on to a bar stool and watched her host set the kettle on the stovetop. “So tell me, Gwen, sweetie… how have you been? I feel it has been weeks since we’ve caught up.” The charm was far too thick for Gwen’s taste, but there was no use fighting it when the girl was being pleasant. Eyeing the raven which had recovered and perched up on a high cabinet, Gwen sighed and turned back to her guest.

“Well, Izzy… business has been fine. We’ve been doing a booming trade with hunters of all kinds. Beasts, hellions, quill fiends, all kinds of demonic creatures that can be turned into leathers, meats and other products.” Gwen tried to put on a smile as she settled down with the kettle, pouring a cup of fresh loose-leaf tea for her guest. But the look on Isabelle’s face seemed to show she wasn’t pleased with the response. Perhaps it was her dogged nature. Or perhaps it was the roiling aura of Lilith’s remains down in the root cellar, that chaotic miasma that pushed and drove Isabelle to her most base instinct… to explore, to find, to know… it was perhaps what made her most insistent over the past month, and now that she was in the epicenter, there was nothing that would stop her from getting her story.

“Hmm. I see. Though it seems as though your sales have been favoring very… specific hunters. Particularly of your manservant over there.” The words caught Gwen wrong, as she shook her head.

“Cullen is my business partner, and if you are going to assume he is some two-bit rake I’m going to cut this interview short.”

“Oh heavens, Gwen! No… no no no… of course, it is hard to ignore the fact he had a hand in bringing questionable Horadrim magicks to our kingdom.” Isabelle idly examined her fingernails as she spoke, irritating her host as she continued. “…it has been a boon to our society, certainly… though he does seem to control the inflow of creatures to your, heh… fine establishment.”

“Cullen is my procurer and handler. Would you rather him breaking into homes to steal valuables with his magic, or using it for the benefit of Westmarch?” Isabelle took her cup, the leaves settled to the bottom as they steeped, before taking a drink, mulling over the ultimatum she was just posed.

“Hmmpfh… fair enough, though that does make me wonder who those services benefit… I hear tell that several adventurers associated with House Cassandra have been turned away from your business.” Gwen chuckled and shook her head at the assertion.

“What? You mean when Aiden and Yacob came by trying to pawn off an Infernal Bovine upon us? Do you know what the guard would have done if we had accepted a humanoid beast into our business? We’d be strung up from the gallows for violating the laws on sale of humanoid meat… let alone the fact that nobody would purchase it.” Gwen’s incredulity flashed off her face as the enchantress waved a hand over the center island, several illusory images appearing before her of various high society dinners, their plates laden with steaks, chops and even a whole haunch roasted to perfection. The imagery was grainy, as if taken through projected vision from her familiar’s eyes. But it was clear enough to show several high society members were indeed eating illicit meat.

“Then where, dear Gwen, have these fine, upstanding people been getting their steaks from?” Gwen’s eyes shot up to the perching raven, the little thing giving a caw as it peeked about inside cupboards with its beak. She turned back to her interviewer who smiled softly, cocking her head innocently as she did.

“They could have gotten it from anywhere.”

“Pity though, they all are from noble houses who associate with your business… House Alida, House Shanthi… House Kuznetsov, the Baroness has been gaining quite the weight from her frequent visits, hasn’t she?” Gwen tried her damnedest to not react, but it was hard given the pointed barbs from her interviewer. “…you understand, it isn’t that I wish to harm your fine business, sweetie… I simply want to cross you off the list of possible sources of illicit meat, and that will be that!”

“I. Understand.” Gwen took a breath to prevent herself from punctuating her speech, a soft sigh washing over her face. “I know that I’ve been a bit cagey over the past few weeks, it’s just we’ve seen so much influx since-”

“-since the Daughter of Hatred came to Westmarch.” Isabelle grinned as she finished the sentence, not exactly how Gwen had intended but pointedly turning the conversation to the elephant in the room.

“I- Th- That was only a rumor, Isabelle.”

“Mmmhmm- A rumor… A rumor that also suggests you had a hand in turning the malevolent being’s infiltration on our fair city.” Isabelle chuckled as she stood once again, her thick olive-tan thighs straining her pants as she began to walk about the kitchen, idly poking behind knife blocks and hand cranked appliances, getting different views of the kitchen, and pausing at the right moments to listen for what might be happening elsewhere in the building. “Most people who have reported seeing her in the city were those of ill repute. Drunks, harlots, half-crazed worshippers the town watch managed to round up… but there were a few who said that she lived, just long enough to end up in a cage in this very building.” The dark, chaotic aura emanating off Lilith’s remains grew and swelled, almost pulsating as Isabelle’s lust to connect the dots grew. But as the chaos welled up inside of her, growing that burning desire to find the truth, so to did something stir within Gwen. Having worked in The Chop Shop for weeks, the chef had become almost attuned to the chaotic miasma that permeated the building. But now that Isabelle allowed it to take hold, she began to feel it too… the warmth, the lust beginning to grow within her loins. The voice of the Daughter of Hatred herself echoed in Gwen’s ears and brain… Give in… Enjoy it… She will roast as beautifully as me…

The tension was cut almost instantly by the sound of a crash from the warehouse portion of the building, the walls shaking with a rumble of wood and crackle of plaster as Cullen called out something indistinguishable from the other side of the building. Gwen stood from her seat, planning to rush to block Isabelle from the door. But there was no need to even try. It all happened so quickly, the wood plank door bulging with a loud slam, something hefty pounding on the door and causing it to rock on its hinges. It was shortly followed by another heavy crash as the door gave way, Cullen’s whole body being ejected from the warehouse and rolling backwards through the splintered wood that skittered across the floor. The thief managed to land in a crouch on his feet, a little surprised but not worse for the wear. All hell broke loose, quite literally, as a two-legged damned creature ducked through the doorframe to follow his quarry. Horned head, uttering infernal tongued growls, the horrid Balrog was only marginally less dangerous after having its wings sawn off. They had sold the tender, bony meat deep fried and served to a discerning customer with sticky sauce the day before. Now that it was free of its cage, the beast was set on revenge for its humiliation.

“…Uh… afternoon, Ma’am.” Cullen said with a soft nod to Isabelle before launching himself back at the beast, the muscled arms of the balrog swiping and missing just as he connected and tackled the creature head on, tumbling backwards into the warehouse. Gwen knew this was her moment to act, the horrified Isabelle quickly piecing together the fact that balrog meat was on the list of contraband within the city. The enchantress had no warning, just a single loud squawk from her familiar to catch her ear, turning just in time to watch Gwen bring down her favorite cast iron skillet hard upon her head, a loud resonant conk the last noise she heard before collapsing into a crumpled heap upon the ground. The fight wasn’t over yet, the little raven Henry leapt to his owner’s aid, only to be gripped and squeezed into unconsciousness by the now victorious Cullen, the second time he’d managed to catch the jet black bird. “…s-sorry, Gwen… it got loose. Uh… you want some help with this, uh… interview?”

Isabelle groaned as her head flashed with painful sparks, the sensation of her entire body rebooting as the world around her came into being once more. Eyes fluttering, she tried to make sense of the strange sensation of floating in the middle of nowhere. This floating would become clear as she came to, head lolling to the side to see one of her arms bound tight at the wrist. The rope connected from her limp hanging wrist up to the corner of a stout wooden frame, like one you would stretch an animal skin upon. To her left too, arm and leg were bound to the same frame in a spread-eagle, the wooden mount studded with metal hoops indicative of where one would draw a flayed pelt out to one side or another. She was left there, hanging helpless from what appeared to be a tanner’s rack, scaled up to the size of a humanoid creature. It was clear that the tool’s purpose was not for average sized game, and that made her shiver all the harder.

She wasn’t alone of course. Across the room, sitting on a stool next to a cage containing a bloodied balrog, was Cullen. His hands glowed with a maroon red, magic pulsing through his fingers and into the object he held. Muffled squawking caught Isabelle’s ear as she perked her head up, eyes widening as her raven arched its head in a panicked flutter of feathers, wings flapping uselessly before the bird’s eyes faded from soft purple to the same deep red that emanated from his hands.

“Heh… cute…” He said as he slowly released the bird, the little thing hopping from his lap to focus its corrupted eyes upon the hanging enchantress. “…Interesting idea to turn the bird into your recording device… but you should have put a little more effort into its willpower… Little Henry here is going to watch you patiently.”

“…watch me do what, exactly?” Asked Isabelle, grunting as she twisted her wrists softly in the restraints.

“Oh… it’s not a question of what you’ll be doing. It’s a question of what Gwen is going to do to you.” Cullen chuckled as he watched Isabelle glance down her body, her hefty c-cups hanging heavy on her chest, but not buxom enough to block her gaze as she took in the strange sight all along her body. Cullen had drawn upon her body with an indelible pigment. Finger-painted red runic marks were used to dampen her magic, the painted-on symbols flashing softly when she tested out a cantrip upon them. But more important, there was a series of white lines painted onto her body, down her belly, down each leg, and up each arm to clarify where someone should cut when the time came. He chuckled as he gave one last look over the runic marks he’d left upon her body, before stepping away, passing the matron of the business standing in the doorway, a little nod as he added. “She’s all yours, Gwen. Even got the little bird recording”

In the time that Isabelle was out cold, Gwen had prepared herself to deal with her nosy intruder, frustration boiling in her vines, egged on by the chaotic miasma permeating the building. True, Isabelle was an annoyance, but as Gwen hiked her butcher’s apron over her rounded breasts, she couldn’t help but think how much fun she’d have playing with her victim. After all, she had quite the lovely body, and by the end of the day she’d be rid of the evidence and the worry that her business would be caught. A little humiliating sexual abuse along the way was the least of her concerns. With a smile, Gwen closed the door behind Cullen, leaving herself alone with Isabelle. The remaining cages in the warehouse were filled with lesser demons and beasts, some attentively watching as their captor strode up to the pesky human.

“Gwen, hun, you really don’t want to do… this…” Isabelle’s firm voice cracked as she watched the matron lay out a set of tools on a cage to her side, smiling as she showed off an array of knives, large and small.

“You shouldn’t have gone poking into things that didn’t involve you, Isabelle. It’s a shame, really, you could have written your little story and everything would have been fine.” Gwen chuckled as she picked up an item from the roll of tools, a piece of smooth rounded wood, like a pestle used to grind spices. But as she held it, the nine-inch rod began to gently vibrate, a sheen of white magic glowing on the implement as it did.

“Y-you’re the one selling illicit meat! You won’t be able to keep it hidden…” Isabelle’s breasts bounced softly as she twisted and jerked, her hips thrusting softly, accentuating her tender folds between her legs, and just how vulnerable they were. “You… you’re not going to get away with killing me…” The words slowed her struggles as she said them, the enchantress realizing how tenuous her life was. Gwen just smirked, taking the wand to her bound beauty and slowly tracing the end down her bare chest, a tingling electrical charge jumping from wand to tit as she did. Carefully, she brought the wand down, over the investigator’s midriff, teasing the blunted end up and down her soft folds, coaxing her to relax and slicken up with the strange and intrusive sensation of crackling electricity.

Isabelle had no choice but to yield, the hanging girl moaning as she felt Gwen’s fingertips spread her pussy lips, sliding the toy up and down the tender folds until they slickened up, before forcing the thick wand between her folds. The matron was firm yet gentle as she began to work, gasping soft to herself as she felt her captive clench and react to the strange enchanted wand invading her most sensitive spots, the mixture of rumbling vibration and prickling electricity causing her to jerk and spasm, clenching her legs as far as her bonds would allow, the forced arousal beginning to burn in her loins. “Mmm… just relax, Isabelle… You’ve got such a beautiful body. It’d be a shame to waste it.” She smirked, changing her hand grip on the wand and in an instant the helpless girl began to convulse, head rolling back as the wand cracked with hot lightning. Like a cattle prod lodged deep in her folds, Isabelle began to spasm, uncontrolled clenching and jerking as she cried and moaned like a whore. “Mmm… you’re going to die in agony today, sweetheart. Try to enjoy this last pleasure.”

Pleasure was a relative term for Isabelle. The seething pulses of electricity coursed through her body as she struggled and kicked, toes splaying, fingers clenching against her palms as the wand tortured and invaded her tender folds. The insult and injury of having her pussy invaded, explored and filled was made so much worse by the tortured electricity agitating her loins. The forced arousal rocked her body, a growing orgasm blossoming deep within her body, juices dripping down her thighs as Gwen slowly forced the toy deep inside of her, drawing it in and out, grinding the smooth toy against her clit with each firm thrust. There would be no relaxation as the forced stimulation pulsed deep within her nethers, the helpless girl’s eyes rolling back in her head as the nosy reporter surrendered to the growing torture.

All the while, Gwen had begun to fondle herself, breath huffing hot as she took a fascination with the torture, licking her lips with lusty abandon as she watched Isabelle jerk and spasm. Her body was a canvas, every involuntary twitch, every ecstatic moan, every dewy dribble of juices clinging to her thighs, fascinated Gwen as she took her pleasure from her revenge. She moaned mockingly into Isabelle’s face, reaching a hand behind her apron to begin fondling herself, her caring and matronly demeanor now used to humiliate her captive with each passing struggle and gasp. It was her disdainful comments that hurt the most. Little shushing moans about how gorgeous she will look, broken down into her parts. The sensation of Gwen’s hand on her chest, fondling her breast while commenting on how lovely her bone-in rib chops will taste. The firm slap to her ass, chuckling aloud about how those thick flanks would disappear into the larder. Tears began to well in Isabelle’s eyes as she realized how true it all was. If Gwen were serious, she’d be broken down into steaks and roasts within the evening. And nobody would be the wiser that they were eating a person, a real person. A well-known and connected person.

“P-please…” The first whimpering gasps came from her broken mouth as Isabelle twisted her wrists in the restraints. “P… please Gwen… I… you… you can’t… you don’t have to…” Her words were shaky and rough as the matron ground her shock wand deep into her victim’s cunt, the enchantress losing her breath just as the first of many forced orgasms flowed through her loins. “A-ahhhnnn!!” She gasped, head rolling backwards and tongue lolling from her mouth as she felt herself lose all control, the blossoming orgasm flushing her loins as hot cum spattered out her clenched pussy, drooling down her legs into a pitiful puddle, pattering into the galvanized tub that lay at her feet. It was a strategically placed receptacle that would soon receive her offal. Gwen’s grin curled into a wicked smirk as she forced her wand in harder, not wanting to give her little slut the chance to recover. Isabelle’s breasts bounced with each sharp shock, her body was no longer hers to control as she was forced to chain orgasms.

As she began to peak, head flooded with a rush of endorphins, her cries and spasms were met with a shaky hand between her thighs as Gwen worked herself closer and closer to her own edge. The lust to torture and abuse her victim, driven into such a deep fervor and whipped up by the Daughter of Hatred’s lasting aura, fueled the butcher’s need as she edged herself closer and closer to bliss. Her free hand’s fingers played over her supple folds, slipping between her lips and grinding on her cherry red clit just underneath her moistening apron. Her groans and lusty gasps growing louder and louder with each subsequent spasm and orgasm from her captive meat. As her lust grew and grew, Gwen felt the blossoming tickly itch deep inside flow like an avalanche, timed perfectly with the third chained orgasm from her helpless and exhausted victim. Throwing her head back softly, the matronly proprietor shuddered, gasping aloud in rapt bliss as she felt herself flush with lust, the whole of her world rocked by the visceral shared experience.

Dog-tired, Isabelle collapsed into the ropes holding her tight to the frame, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath the moment the electrified wand slipped from her sloppy folds. Turning her eyes up, she started into the reprogrammed face of her familiar, the maroon glow of its sclera like a blinking ‘recording’ light, capturing every detail of her torture for later use. Use long after she had died. It was enough to break her mind, the poor girl beginning to whimper and then sob openly as Gwen rode her afterglow down.

“Ohhhh… oh god, sweetheart… are you scared at last? Do you see what is going to happen?” Gwen’s fingers were sticky with sweet dewy cum. She couldn’t help playfully suckling the flavorful essence from her fingertips as she crooned.

“P-Please… Please don’t kill me Gwen…” Was all she could muster between sobbing fits and moans, shaking her head shyly. Gwen just chuckled, adjusting her apron before reaching up to grab one of the thin bladed skinning knives from her kit.

“You could have prevented this, Isabelle…” She growled, a gentle lick of her lips as she pressed the tip of the blade just the pesky reporter’s collar bone, right on the dotted line Cullen had so carefully provided while he was dampening her power with runic magic. “…you could have left well enough alone. But don’t worry, sweetheart…” The enchantress gasped as she felt the blade slip derma deep, separating skin from flesh and fat, a horrified cry filling the room as she watched her front open like a zipper. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

Nothing could prepare Isabelle for the horror she was to face, the knife burning like fire as was flayed alive down the dotted lines, first down her front, then along each limb, around the supple edges of her pussy, and finally around her neck. Gwen worked with impeccable slowness, carefully appraising each cut before taking it as she began to peel away Isabelle’s skin like she was dressing an animal. As she teased an flayed edge off the underlying meat, the matron would occasionally stop to hook a twine line through the hide, stringing it taught on the frame that her victim was bound to. At first this created a sort of bloody winged appearance to her hanging form. Slowly, she would be separated from her hide, cries shushed by idle comments about how Gwen could use some new leather wraps for her knife set, or would look so fashionable with a fresh tanned bitch-leather handbag for her trips to the market. Now and then one of the runes on her remaining flesh would flare and hiss, her tortured and wild mind lashing out with whatever attempt it could muster to try and escape, her haphazard magic quickly backfiring from the preemptive protection Cullen had afforded.

Slowly, Isabelle was set free from her own skin, the drip drip drip of warm blood pattering into the galvanized steel tub below was only offset by the horrid screeches of the still-live woman being flayed. There were few remaining spots with skin on her body, particularly her face (Gwen pointedly told her it would be a shame to mar such a beautiful complexion) and a few awkward spots on the feet and hands. It would only take a few simple cuts down her back to finally free the last bit of connective tissue, leaving a blanket-sized human-skin pelt strung taught on the tanning and slaughter frame. Isabelle hung awkwardly, a mere inch or two from her own flayed body, her glistening and bloody bare flesh occasionally bumping backwards into the drum-tight pelt, causing her nerve endings to sear and burn touching what used to be her body.

“P-Please make it stop! Make it stop!!” Isabelle bawled, salty tears flowing down her cheeks and burning as they dripped over her shoulders and fatty breasts. Appraising her live-flayed catch, Gwen chuckled as she replaced the skinning knife with a chef’s knife, carefully running the tip over her exposed meat as she talked aloud.

“Awww, you want to die already? But I’ve not yet had a chance to sample you, Isabelle…. God your meat looks so tender.” She brushed a hand from her armpit down to her waist, the tortured girl turning ashen with growing shock as she twisted in her bonds on the frame. “Mmmm… I think… I think I’d like to start with a breast… fatty, soft… if you know how to cook it, it comes out so perfect.” She had removed the nipples and areolae of both tits from her nosy investigator, the tender nubs now lewdly topping the skin to be tanned, a cruel mockery of the person she once was. But there was plenty of sensitive flesh for Gwen to explore as her knife slipped into the hefty mound. Carving downward through the fatty tissue crowning the enchantress’s left breast, she felt the knife sink through heftier meat underneath before the blade finally tapped rib bone. With a firm hand, as if she were carving a roast, Gwen held the breast taught before slicing thin cuts from the curvaceous outside right down to the ribs. Once she had five or six thinly fanned out slices, each one capped with fatty tissue on top like silverskin on a roast, she freed each slice with a simple cut along the bone, wresting herself a handful of meat.

By now, Isabelle was groaning, her head listing side to side in such a pathetic manner, unable to think straight from the growing blood loss and shock. She was far enough gone that she hardly understood what was happening when Gwen began feeding the thin sliced tit meat through a skewer. Folded over and carefully settled together in a pile, the hefty handful of tit meat looked no different from a skewer of gyros meat one would find sold in a market stall, freshly carved from the slow cooked bundle and served straight onto soft flat bread. Leaving Isabelle’s tortured form for a minute, the agonized girl was treated to the fresh sizzle and hiss of her own breast meat searing on the grill in the other room. Gwen chuckled as she licked her fingers upon return, before playfully running them along Isabelle’s tortured folds, the flayed flesh on either side of her groin making her plump lips stand out so much more. Despite her growing shock, Isabelle moaned and listed, what remained of her breasts heaving as she felt the return of Gwen’s curious hands, egged on by a wicked desire to explore the edges of pain and pleasure.

But as the growing dribbles of blood filled the steel basin beneath her, Gwen knew that her nosy reporter’s life was fading quickly. “Shhhh… just hold on a little longer, sweetheart…” The enchantress blinked her eyes softly, head lolling from side to side as Gwen’s fingers slipped off the tender outer lips, only to be replaced with a cold knife blade. Despite her failing life, the girl was able to let one last struggling scream as she felt the knife slip along the tender flesh and began to carve thin slices from her vulnerable and overworked folds. Isabelle cried out in torture as she felt her most sensitive spot sliced from her body, tender pussy lips first, then deeper as Gwen began to carve slices off her vaginal walls. It was not an encyclopedic example of her reproductive system, but Gwen was content turning her wet and dripping vaginal walls into shaved meat for yet another skewer, the knife threatening right up to her womb but never quite invading. The deepest humiliation, though, wasn’t the loss of her lovely womanhood, the flower of Isabelle’s young and supple body reduced to nothing but meat for the grill. As Gwen turned to place her second skewer on the grill, Isabelle’s long, moaning scream was interrupted as she breathed in sharply.

That’s when she smelled it. Hot and fragrant, like fresh pork, seasoned with hearty spices as it grilled. The scent of her cooking breast meat had finally wafted from the kitchen into the warehouse where she hung. It was the last indignity. Her own cooking flesh was the last thing she would smell as her head finally settled down, listed to the side and hanging. Isabelle would die knowing she was delicious.

Gwen chuckled as she came back to the frame, having added the skewer of pussy to the grill, huffing the air as she added softly, “You smell delicious, Isabelle… thanks for sticking your nose where it didn’t belong.” One slice, from gaping cunt to breast bone, would seal Isabelle’s fate as guts and offal slopped out of the now open belly into the basin below, her quivering heart quieting down to stillness as Gwen set to work on the carcass, breaking down the evidence of her botched interview like so many other infernal beasts that came through The Chop Shop.

“Evening, my Grace.” Cullen said with a smile as he set aside a box-sized cage that contained a strange looking, squat two-legged monster so he could bow to his superior. But the Baroness just shook her head, raising a now rather pudgy wrist to stave off his courtesy.

“Cullen, dear, you needn’t be so formal.” By now it was noticeable that the Baroness had indulged in her hunger whether or not she was at The Chop Shop, her cheeks rounded and flush from fine foods and drink as she stepped inside.

“Old habits, Ma’am… when you go from a renegade of the law to-”

“To an upstanding citizen, and that is the last I will hear of that, you and your business have the protection of House Kuznetsov, and that is all you need to worry about… er… speaking of business, the place looks a little… unkempt.” As if on cue, Gwen popped her head up the ladder into the basement, handing off a second cage to Cullen as she chuckled.

“You wouldn’t believe the mess we’ve dealt with all week… we had a… er… well… let’s just say a hell boar stuck its nose where it didn’t belong. Had such a struggle getting the thing under control…” Gwen smirked as she stepped up from the ladder and towards the well-stocked kitchen. “…though, pork is pork, after all, even if it comes from a damned beast.”

The baroness could hardly contain her tongue as she licked her lips at the sight of a brace of perfectly cooked white meat chops. They were a little on the small side, but otherwise perfect. Bone-in, juicy and tender, each one resting atop the next in a platter full and laden with meat drippings. They had been seared on the grill, basted in a malty beer sauce, and allowed to finish in the oven on cast iron. Gwen quickly took two off the top of the platter, plating them with a heaping serving of mashed potatoes, propping the dainty bones upwards in a stylistic flair before ladling over a spoonful or two of pan gravy. A pinch of salt over the plate, and she presented it to the Baroness without a hesitation, the lust to eat growing within her gut as she took one of the chops by the bone and chowed down on the tender meat.

“By the gods, Gwen, you always outdo yourself…” She groaned in an orgasmic moment before biting two, three more times, teeth already scraping the rib bone as she did. “Mnnpfh! I would ask for the whole of the platter, though I don’t doubt you already have buyers lined up.”

“Oh, Ma’am, you needn’t ask! We weren’t expecting to… have to slaughter this sow. But when it went and made a mess of things, it was only right to make it repay with its meat.” The Baroness couldn’t help but smirk at the phrasing, perhaps unaware, perhaps not caring.

“Well, if you have no objections, I would be honored to help you…” She smirked and licked her fingers softly, setting the picked-clean bone down on her plate before picking up the second chop. Turning it in her hand, she contemplated the meat she was eating, before finishing, “…be rid of the evidence of such a troublesome sow.”

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