A Medium-Rare Talent
 
 
By Xyd and Iciclit
 
 
 
 
Vaughn checked the address of the building written on the paper, looking upwards to see a rather massive concrete building in front of him with two large glass doors. The building's numbers were painted in large, simple lettering on the side of the wall, just below it was the title of the business inside: 'EAT ENTERTAINMENT U.K.' This was definitely the place. Taking a deep breath, the brunette opened the heavy glass door, where he entered a sleek looking waiting room with a girl sitting behind a modern desk in the front, busy on her headset with a call. He managed to interject once she had transferred the line.
 
 
"Pardon me, um," He cleared his throat, pushing the papers forward, "I-I was told to show up here at this time, and whoever I gave this to would know who to talk to." He stated, reaching up to hold his right earlobe as it started to throb harder than it had previously, thumbing at the plastic tag he had been given earlier this week when his number had come up.
 
 
The receptionist looked up at him, a slight frown furrowing her brow, before seeing the neon green tag hanging from his ear and smiling brightly.
 
 
"Oh, of course! The main ingredient..." she quickly glanced down at the papers, "Sorry, Vaughn. Didn't want to be insensitive!" She laughed, slightly nervous and artificial as she pulled the papers over, quickly scanning down the front page and then flipping it over, before reaching over for a rubber stamp and thumping it down in a box. "There we go! I think they're pretty much ready to get started, did you come by bus?" She asked, breezy and casual as she scooted her chair back and pulled open a drawer under her desk, depositing the young man's papers and then pulling forward again and dialing something into the phone on her desk.
 
 
A shade of blush creeped onto the boy's face as she referred to him as the 'main ingredient,' hardly giving him time to react before she states that she's only teasing.
 
 
"O-of course, no worries," He tries to mirror her casual tone, but it's obvious his brain is preoccupied in thought, staring off for a moment as she speaks, not realizing she was making conversation -with- him until he had caught her looking for an answer expectantly. "Oh, sorry, bus you said? Yes, bus and the underground." The trip over here had been as normal as taking public transit ever had been, despite Vaughn knowing that it would be the last time he'd ever take it. "It was actually not too long of a trip. about 20 minutes."
 
 
She nodded, "Ok, that was sensible! Sometimes people drive and then we have to have someone move the car later." She held up a hand suddenly, as if asking for silence, her other raising to the earpiece of her headset. "Oh yes, hello, is this Michael? Oh good, we have our volunteer for this afternoon's filming down in reception. Mmhmm. Oh yes…well, he looks pretty tasty to me anyway!" She turned her hand into a thumbs up and gave Vaughn a slightly cheeky wink, "Ok, so, you'll send someone down? Brilliant!" She pressed a button on her phone and lowered her hand. "They're sending a runner down to pick you up." She sat back a little, looking him up and down, "So, you a fan of Chef Larsen? Or is it more the old fifteen minutes of fame?" there was a strange look in her eyes, like despite her chirpy tone and demeanour, she was looking at him less like a person, and more in the way that a hungry person would look at the menu in a restaurant.
 
 
Vaughn pressed his lips together tightly and mirrored her thumbs up, really having no clue what else he could do in such a situation. He had been given a high meat grade after all, and it was because his meat was of such high quality that this opportunity was even available for him. He was even told at the conversion office that he should consider himself lucky he had such good genes for meat yield.
 
 
"O-oh, Well I've heard of her, definitely." He replied once prompted, "Seen her on TV every now and then, even back in the states. But... I mean I did always -want- to be an actor, but... " As he answered, he watched her eyes trace over his body. He was relatively short, but his body was dense, the soft definitions of muscle visible throughout his clothed anatomy. He almost felt like she had undressed him in that instance, feeling his clit throb involuntarily against the cool, still hidden new metal ring he had been given earlier that week that matched the one in his septum as well, "I guess it was just a good opportunity to get a few things off my bucket list before it's all... over." He finally finishes, just as the doors on the side of the room swing open, the presumed runner holding the door open for him and nodding his head back towards the hallway.
 
 
"This way mate." The runner nodded back down the hallway. He had a film student sort of look to him, hip, but harassed looking, holding a large paper coffee cup in one hand and a bundle of papers tucked under the other arm. He didn't seem awfully interested in conversation at first as he directed Vaughn to a door elevator and pressed the call button. "So, c-boy, huh?" He asked as he was waiting for the elevator, nodding towards the colour-coded meat tag, "Kinda the fashionable meat right now, ain't it? Must be kinda weird. Then again, I don't suppose male meat will ever go out of style." He shrugged as the doors opened, ushering Vaughn through for a short ride up.
 
 
The corridor they entered felt very different to the downstairs. The floors were bare vinyl, showing scuff marks from heavy equipment being dragged back and forth, and there was plenty of activity, the runner having to step back just as he exited the elevator as a woman carrying a set of floor lights move by at a half run. "Careful there!" He shook his head, "We don't go out live," he explained as he led him down a maze of corridors, "but there's a live audience, so you can't delay things too much, otherwise they get all antsy." He stopped suddenly in front of a door that was distinguished from the others they'd passed on the way only by a gold star and the simple legend 'DRESSING ROOM #1', with a slot beneath it which carried the name 'F. Larsen'. The runner knocked, and there was a sound of movement from within and a soft curse. "Who is it? Come in!"
 
 
Vaughn couldn't help but scoff at the comment on how his meat was 'fashionable' now. "Ever since that one pic from one of the dinners at paris fashion week came out, it's like suddenly we're this ultra-rare item." He comments, though it's obvious that the runner isn't paying much attention to him as we walk, "It's just weird because no one really noticed before, I guess." he adds. They were certainly going to be noticing now though, Vaughn in particular, since he was here to be -the- example on how to prepare your standard cuntboy.
 
 
He navigated the back halls as well as he could, barely keeping up at times, and once they arrived at the door he took a look at the name on the door as well as the voice from within calling out to them. "Oh woah. It's really her...?" He commented, trailing off as the assistant reached to open the door, leading him into the room first.
 
 
Fiona Larsen looked a little different in the flesh, or at least she did at the moment. She looked to be about three quarters of the way through her make-up, her hair pulled back in scrunchy, wearing a white dressing gown. A dark-skinned girl holding an airbrush, obviously interrupted mid-work. Stood patiently to one side, giving Vaughn a look as he was ushered inside. Fiona immediately took in the ear tag, smiling broadly, her teeth television white. She spoke quickly, "Hello there! You must be the volunteer for this afternoon's show. My name's Fiona...if you could call me Chef Larsen on air, that would be great, are you comfortable speaking? It's kind of expected in high end dining to know a little about the history of your meat. Oh, sorry, I'm rabbitting on. Why don't you strip off, I just need one more coat, I think."
 
 
Vaughn stared forward for a moment, in shock at the reality of the situation he had just been put into. His eyes quickly darted away from the makeup artist, obviously not needing this interruption being on such a tight schedule. He looked behind him; the runner had shut the door, leaving him alone with them. His eyes stayed trained on Fiona as she spoke to him, while she certainly looked different in real life than on TV, she still had the same vivid charisma that poured out of her words as she spoke. He felt obliged to answer when she gave him the opportunity.
 
 
"S-sure... My name is Vaughn Kelvin, I'm 24, born & raised in New Mexico, been living here studying abroad..." The act of stripping was surprisingly easy for him, minus having to be careful around his new piercings. He pulled his shirt off, minding his nose and ear, and kicked off his pants and briefs, leaving them all in a small pile on the floor next to him. He was now totally naked in front of the chef who would convert him, and despite the complete imminent doom awaiting him, his body was buzzing with adrenaline, his heart pounding, his snatch hot. "Th-the piercings are all new. Put in by the Agency." he felt the need to add.
 
 
Fiona nodded, turning her head a little to let the make-up artist continue her work, the airbrush leaving her HD-ready "Of course, they're standard in this country. Clitoral for femmes and cuntboys, a prince albert for males and dickgirls. You won't need to explain those to the audience." Her eyes continued to look him up and down. "I'm guessing you're about 65 to 70 kilos? That's about 140-150 pounds. That should be absolutely perfect. I'm planning on a pretty simple classic dish today, live-roast cuntboy, with a few touches of flair of course. Would you mind masturbating a little? There's some toys in the top drawer over there if you need them."
 
 
Her eyes flicked towards a little cabinet, before a cough and a gentle "Ms. Larsen..." had her turning her head away for a moment for the make-up artist. "No need to orgasm or anything, I just need to taste you. They'll fluff you up again backstage before filming starts."
 
 
He felt his throat dry up at her decided tone as she spoke out 'live-roast cuntboy', the ability to swallow completely unavailable to him, his lips agape and every hair on his body standing on end as he visualised what he would be experiencing first hand. Roasting. Alive. In an oven. In front of a live audience. For a split instance, every instinct in his body told him to run away, to bolt out those doors and chance himself with the consequences as long as it meant he'd actually fight for his life and not sign it away just like he had.
 
 
Thank goodness Fiona was the master of conversation segways, because being told to masturbate was honestly the last thing Vaughn was expecting to come out of her mouth, and it brought him back to reality. He'd never get passed the elevator, anyway.... And they’d just bring him right back in here. "Um... s-sure, just like, right here, now?" A hand reached down affirmatively to stroke at the base of his clit, his face flushing even further as he found how absolutely drenched he was, his surprise causing his finger to accidentally brush against the piercing, causing a cry to escape his lips as he jerked his hips back, "Ah-!!"
 
 
Fiona turned her head back, tilting it slightly as the make-up artist worked on erasing the sharp line near her ear. "Yup. Looks like you're already pretty worked up actually. Don't worry, it's quite normal! Makes for good television as well of course..." she leaned over a little, turning her chair, her hand reaching out to squeeze the inside of Vaughn's thigh before tracing up towards his slit, "Hmn, Very good tone as well, just a little bit of body fat. That's one thing people really rave about with cuntboy you know. The mixture of that lean gaminess you get with fit male meat, but with a more feminine marbling, and you look like a pretty high quality example. American you say?" the skin on her fingers was quite hard, evidence of manual labour, and there was a buried strength in her hands as she moved up and ran her forefinger carefully up his labia, swiping a bead of moisture and bringing it up to pop on the tip of her tongue, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together as she withdrew it, running her tongue around her mouth like a wine taster, "Hmm, yes, a little of the corn-fed note, not too salty, quite a good natural flavour, I'd say. That's good. I want to go quite simple with the spices, the idea here is to show you don't need to be Michelin starred chef to enjoy cuntboy. Traditionally it's a very low-demand meat in this country, you see. Quite a lot of you guys just end up in sausages and burgers, it's a real shame, and I want to do my part to open people's eyes to what they're missing."
 
 
The way Fiona talked about his meat was unlike any way he had ever been spoken to before. Rather than complimenting his appearance, her words seemed to be breaking him down into components as she examined the ingredients she'd be working with. He'd seen plenty of parted cuntboy at the butcher's before, but being referred to as meat while he was still 'Vaughn' only sent a further onslaught of fluids between his thighs. The way she spoke about bringing cuntboy meat to a broader audience was commendable, though he had to admit, if this trend had happened six months later than now, he may have never even had his number called. But there was no use for thinking things like that now...
"That's... that's really cool, I've always enjoyed how you broke recipes down. I-I'm grateful to be your capable volunteer for this." He managed to speak, though he couldn't quite explain how his spoken words were so different from his resistant internal monologue. Perhaps it was her keen confidence in just what she knew she could accomplish, or that him being used by her was probably the biggest accomplishment he'd ever achieve.
 
 
Fiona grinned back at him, tilting her head back as the make-up artist worked under chin. "That's a great attitude! And no need to try and flatter me. Really, I like to think of the food as the star of the show, and that's you Vaughn!" she winked at him, "Just try not to get too nervous and it'll be fine. Now, you won't need to say much. Just a little bit like what you just told me will be fine. Would you like to be gagged for the prep work, or would you prefer being a 'screamer', as we say in the trade?" She asked this question as casually and cheerfully as she'd asked the others, "We'll give you a little something to drink back stage of course, but no heavy painkillers I'm afraid. You'll just have to soldier on through it." She was mindful of not spooking the poor lad, but these questions needed to be asked, and he needed to be prepared, "If you have any questions, ask them now by the way!"
 
 
Vaughn felt rather flattered himself by the way Fiona spoke of him, so much that when she started asking the more serious questions, it took a moment for him to process them, his head tilting as he did his best to stay cool about answering such questions. "I-I'm...gagged? -screamer-? I mean? Wait, no, Uh..." Before he could make a clear decision, she went onto saying there would be no pain killers... at -all-. He recalled seeing some of the prep work on other episodes; some meat seemed to be able to handle it better than others, whether they were gagged or not. He had no idea they weren't sedated or anesthesized in any way. "S-so that means roasting too, right? The screaming, I mean. How much of that do you hear?" He bites his lip. He wasn't certain he wanted to be gagged for his duration on television, but at the same time... "I mean, I get pretty loud... but I like to scream, so.... no gag?"
 
 
She grinned, "I'm a trained chef and butcher, Vaughn. I'm used to hearing all sorts of things, it doesn't matter to me either way. It's normally a courtesy thing, to let you choose. No gag is fine. Make any sort of sounds you like; it's all part of the experience, and they can always turn your volume down in the final mix." She winked at him, "You won't be wearing a personal microphone anyway of course." The make-up artist took a step back, and turned Fiona's chair slightly away from Vaughn, "Sorry..." the chef said as she was forced to turn this way and that by the make-up artist, who now looked rather impatient, "Yes...Yes...it looks great! A lovely job as always Dani!" She turned her chair back round, opening up the dressing gown and revealing herself dressed just in a set of plain white panties and a white bra. "Can you turn around for a moment?" She asked Vaughn.
 
 
Vaughn nodded, feeling reassured knowing that he could be vocal without any repercussions. His goal was to not make noise unless it was really pulled out of him, granted, he had no idea what sort of pain he was going to be in for. His face flushes as Fiona's body is revealed, hardly dressed, and obeys without question, turning his backside to the half-dressed chef.
 
 
Fiona stood up and took a few steps over to him, giving no warning as she gently grasped both of his buttocks, squeezing them with her fingertips "hmmm..." She moved her hands up to his flanks, fingers probin as she moved round to his stomach, then one hand moving up and running up across his ribs as the other slipped down between his legs, moving in a strangely unsexual way as she prodded his pubic mound and ran her finger around his outer labia. "Proper grade A cuntboy, if you don't mind me saying." Her hand slipped up to squeeze his upper arm. "We're doing a pre-filmed segment at one of the meat Agencies where we talk about grading. That's another one of the problems of course, people just don't know what to look for." She let go of him for a moment, squatting down and running her hands down the backs of his thighs and on to his calves, "Very good indeed!" She said, standing up. "Right, I need to get in to my chef's whites, is there anyone you wanted your clothes sent to, or shall we put them in the charity box?"
 
  The squeeze on the butt was a surprise, , but he didn't dare edge away, instead he stayed perfectly in place as her expert hands traced up his form, as if she was predetermining where she'd make cuts just by touching him. "Th-thank you, chef..." He managed to stutter out as his form was manipulated at Fiona's will. Getting Grade A admittedly felt like an accomplishment in itself, his body trembling with pleasure knowing how much those words mean coming from her expertise.
 
 
"My clothes? You can donate them..." He nodded, looking down at his own body, teeming with arousal after being touched all over and assessed.
 
 
She nodded, pulling some clothes off the rack. "Ok then, I'll make sure that happens, now, you'd better get back stage..." She turned to the make-up artist, who was nearly packed up, "Can you take Vaughn down to the back-stage area? There's some leashes just there by the door." She pointed to a peg by the door from which a number of leather straps were hanging. The make-up artist frowned a little, as if about to say that was not her job, but then sighed, "Of course Ms. Larsen." She finished packing her case and walked over to the door, taking one from the peg and, unceremoniously, clipping the end through the little ring attached to Vaughn's clit. "Wouldn't want people thinking you were a stray, would we?" She said, breaking into a smile and giving him a wink as she opened the door and gently flicked the leash, transmitting the motion through to his piercing. "Come on then."
 
 
Vaughn watched idly as he was literally handed off to the makeup artist like he was a pet, leash and all, except these leashes didn't go around the neck. He felt the weight of the clip tug down on his new piercing, eliciting a small groan from the boy's lips, quickly followed by a quick yelp as it was flicked, the naked meat boy hustling quickly behind the makeup artist as to not incite further unnecessary tugging on his still somewhat raw piercing on the hood of his clit. At the same time, it turned him on incredibly to be lead this way, and a part of him wished he had thought to try this years ago, his labia and inner thighs hot and drenched with his apparently tasty fluids, according to the chef.
 
 
The make-up artist lead him down a few corridors, passing staff not even seeing to notice the naked cuntboy being lead on a leash, that sort of thing being quite normal in this sort of work environment after all. She lead him to another nondescript double door, this one without handles, and pushed it open. The triangular space beyond looked half-finished, the bare back of the set, all support struts and wires, making up one wall, and a few chairs arranged near the wall. She lead Vaughn over to one of those and handed him the leash once he sat down. "I have to be off. Someone should be round soon...I'd say break a leg but, well..." She gave him another wink and turned, just as the door swung open, the runner from before entering, without his coffee and papers now, but holding a portable wand vibrator. He saw Vaughn, then looked down at the wetness between his legs, "Hey, did you already fluff him?" He asked Dani, as she slipped past him. "Nope, he's just into this shit!" She called back, and the door swung closed.
 
 
Being handed his own leash made being touted around on it that much more humiliating; they could have just lead him here and just had him sit down. He fiddled with the wrist strap between his fingers as the two associates exchanged words, Vaughn's face lighting up as Dani calls him out on his kinks as she leaves. As much as he hated to admit it, he was crazy turned on right now, even with the thought of imminent danger and death coming just around the corner for him. Why on earth did that thought turn him on even -more-?? He concluded that he certainly wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe the situation was forcing his optimism to surface in a more sexual manner, Or maybe his brain wasn't still fully convinced that this was really about to happen, that he really was about to be oiled, gutted, stuffed and roasted alive, and it still caused some part of him to challenge that fantasy. Either way, at the sight of the wand all the boy could do was sink further into his seat and spread his legs, hoping this runner would give him some stimulation regardless.
 
 
The runner frowned at her retreating form before turning back to Vaughn, crossing over as he undid the cuffs on his flannel shirt and rolled his sleeves up, "Well, anyway, I don't suppose doing a bit more would hurt, if that's what you're getting at spreading your legs like that." He looked to be in his early twenties, taking the leash surprisingly gently from Vaughn's grip and then slowly moving his hand to one side, tugging on the clit ring. "So, you like the idea of getting roasted do you? On national television?" he gave another little tug and bent over, using the head of the wand to tilt Vaughn's head up. "My name's Sam. Care to tell me yours? Or shall I just call you meat, or something?"
 
 
A glint of excitement caught in the boy's eye as the runner decided to engage with him, letting go of the leash and gasping hard as his ring was tugged, hips lurching upwards and head jerking back. The first questions he was asked seemed rhetorical, it was rather obvious the boy was turned on from the premise by his slickened folds, and yet asking him that only caused his cunt to leak even more as his imagination took him there, answer being forcefully pulled out of him by the second tug on his leash, “A-ah-!! Y-yes... yes.... Yeah....hhhahh...." He managed to stutter out.
 
 
The wand guided his chin to look up at the male above him, his cheeks darkening further as they made eye contact, feeling compelled to answer once again.
 
 
“I-I’m Vaughn,” He stated, his mouth agape from his moan-laden breathing, “B-but, ‘meat’ is fine too, it’s, ah, what I’m gonna be soon anyway, hhhhn…” his legs trembled, answering the questions making him even more aroused than he anticipated.
 
 
Sam slowly turned his hand holding the leash, gathering up the slack in a fist before pushing the palm of his hand against Vaughn's shoulder, pulling the leash almost taut across his belly and chest and pinning him back against the slightly cold painted concrete wall. "Yeah, let's stick with meat, shall we?" Sam grinned; his put-upon look from earlier completely vanishing. It was times like this he remembered why he took this job. A work-booted foot slid into place inside Vaughn's ankle, pinning his right leg wide, as Sam pushed the thumb control on the vibrator and it began to buzz powerfully. "The squirming, moaning ones are much more fun than the tense or the quietly sobbing ones. Much easier to make cum." he bought the vibrator down slowly, touching it to Vaughn's inner thigh and slowly moving it up towards his drooling cunt, "Though you can normally get them to cum as well. Do you know much about the effects of orgasm on the flavour of...well, you, meat?"
 
 
The meatboy’s pupils contracted as he was pushed back, eliciting another yelp, his legs kicking up into the air somewhat as his lower body was tugged upwards in pursuit of his tugged clit. Referring to him as meat once again caused a flush of arousal to stirr throughout his body as he grinned; even with his low rung position on this show, he still had power over him, and that fact alone made his snatch drip once more. The foot held him spread open as he watched him turn on the vibe and sllowwwly brought it to the boy’s skin. The second it did the boy yelped excitedly, eyes wide as he watched the tool gradually gain in distance from his leashed clit, desperate for that unyielding vibration, listening to him make conversation and trying to keep up as he spoke, “I uh… I know it -helps-, but I-I...h-hnn...d-don’t know why,,,”
 
 
Sam slowly ran the buzzing head of the vibrator up Vaughn's inner thigh, letting him feel the vibrations pulsing through his flesh, "Part of it is the de-stressing effect. And the release of all those tasty sex hormones. That works with everyone. But with cuntgirls and cuntboys, well..." he bought the vibrator in closer, running it down and nestling it in Vaughn's perineum as he dialled up the intensity even more, causing the man's drooling lips to begin visibly quivering, "...there's other things to consider. The spit, or the stuffing that's going to be the last thing to fill this needy hole, well, it needs an easy passage in doesn't it? Nothing like a bit of stimulation to loosen everything up, get everything nice and naturally lubricated, make the meat ready for its fate..." he slowly dragged the buzzing head of the vibrator up across Vaughn's labia and touched it against the ring.
 
 
Vaughn’s eyes darted back and forth between the position of the hitachi and the lips speaking to him, it becoming far more obvious that this was one of the runner’s more favorable parts of the job by the way he spoke to him, his tone seductive and making Vaughn whimper erotically as he visualized the benefits being explained to him. His mouth flung open to moan loudly as the toy hit his perineum, his vocal pitch increasing as the intensity of the vibration did so.
 
 
“A-Ahh~!! Ahhhn, ohh fuck oh fuckk oh fuckkk~!!” His hips jerked, hands gripping the seat beneath him to keep him in place, though that boot in his ankle was doing a pretty good job as well. He thought about his cunt being stuffed, turned into a convenient pocket for breading, his labia slathered with baste, ready to pop into that scorching oven where he'd… As the vibrator travelled up and directly onto his piercing, the fated boy began convulsing, eyes lulling upwards and mouth agape as he came hard, a gush of fluids bursting from inside him to drench the toy pleasuring his snatch.
 
 
Sam kept the vibrator pressed in place, tugging on the leash as he did so, causing the piercing to stand up, the vibrator making it ring with a high metallic tone as Vaughn's juices ran down the toy and across his hand. He gave a good natured frown. "Tsk tsk, look at that meat, you got my hand all wet." He kept the vibrator in place for a few more seconds, then released the leash and withdrew it at the same moment, keeping his hand pressed against Vaugh's shoulder as he turned the toy off and bought his hand up, darting out his tongue to taste the man's juices, "Hmm, not bad at all...but I'm trying to save my appetite, so you'd better clean me up." he held the hand and the toy up to Vaughn's face, saying a little more softly, "Cast and crew get whatever's left after the audience each have their piece. Their portions are quite small. Plenty of good meat left, normally. I'm looking forward to it."
 
 
As the toy left his body Vaughn collapsed into the chair, gasping and catching his breath as he watched Sam taste his cum covered fingers, heaving and letting out a more exasperated moan as he was told to clean the hand up so he could ‘save his appetite.’ As the boy leaned forward and lapped at the hand, he listened to the other speak about how he was going to get to enjoy eating him, his body tremouring once again and wrapping his lips around the fingers to moan against them. He was at a loss for words. This production-assistant type guy just got him off, and was bragging about how he was going to eat him afterwards. Vaughn never in his mind had anticipated himself reacting this way towards being roasted and shared with several dozen strangers. He hadn’t even thought that the audience was going to be able taste him too… He was going to be a feast for a hundred plus strangers, and it was going to give them fantastic ratings. His body was still buzzing from the vibrator, hips jerking from the aftershocks as he continued to lap the hand and wand clean.
 
 
Sam was patient, keeping Vaughn pinned in his seat, the moisture from between his legs dripping on to the floor. He turned his hand this way and that, pressing his fingers for a moment into Vaughn's mouth allowing his tongue full access, letting him do a pretty decent job at cleaning him, before finally letting go of his shoulder. "You realise that was your last meal, right?" he grinned, moving his hand up from Vaughn's shoulder to his head, ruffling his hair, "The next thing you taste will be the apple shoved between your teeth, and then perhaps your own tongue, poaching beneath it..." he was cut off by a series of five buzzes, "oh shit, that's five minutes till you're on stage. Quick..." he took a step back, looking at Vaughn critically, taking a moment to smooth his hair down and wipe a smear of shiny mixed drool and cuntjuice from his lips, "Ok, so, remember, it's a live audience, but it's not a live program. If you stutter or stumble over your words or anything they'll just edit it. You'll come out looking good, both on the screen and from the oven. Fiona knows her stuff...here..." he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a hip-flask shaped bottle of vodka. "Have a few swigs of that, if you can, it'll help." There was another series of buzzes, four this time. "Four minutes."
 
 
The disheveled boy was pulled from his dreamy post-orgasm haze by the loud buzzes, promptly cleaned up and pushed towards the stage as Sam gave him the run down of what he was supposed to be doing. His heart was racing, eyes darting between the runner and the people rushing around to make sure the set was ready in time. Seeing the flask, he takes it in his hand, and goes for it. Usually he could only handle a sip at a time, but he manages to guzzle half the flask on the first swig, coughing mildly and letting a shiver run up his body, before going for it again and finishing the flask, handing the empty container to Sam and wiping his lips, “Thanks. Hope you uh… enjoy me, later.” He states with a nod as he feels the rush of alcohol sweep through his body, wavering ever so slightly where he was standing before reaching out to hold onto Sam’s shoulder until he was told to go on. He prayed the alcohol would help, he certainly knew it would help him taste better. He listened to the next couple buzzes, three, then two, awaiting for his cue to go onstage.
 
 
Sam reached out and gently took the bottle from Vaughn's hands, tucking it back in his pocket, "I'm sure I will." he winked in response to that, then came quite close as a single buzzer sounded. "Ok, now you're looking for the light to turn green. When it does, just walk through the door in front of you and turn right." he draped Vaughn's leash carefully over his arm, "You'll be on the soundstage and Fiona will take you from there." As he spoke his hand was gently stroking down Vaughn's back, eventually finding his buttocks. He gave an appraising squeeze, then, as the light came on, a quick, playful smack, stepping backwards at the same time "Good luck!"
 
 
Vaughn quite enjoyed the gently stroking fingers on his back as he was instructed what to do, the alcohol settling in and arguing with his sensibility that... maybe the prep won't be so bad, maybe he'll even enjoy it? Who's to say, he's certainly never experienced it before, and he tries his best to not make assumptions either. Seeing the light come on, followed by the quick smack on his hind side, he lets out a squeak and moves forward, looking back at the flirtatious PA and grasping at the door in front of him, realizing it merely needed to be pushed forward to open. As he opened it his vision was promptly flooded with the lighting from the stage, blinking hard as his eyes adjusted, and looking forward towards the audience, but only seeing darkness, the light blinding him from anything that wasn't the stage in front of his feet.
 
 
"...and please welcome our main ingredient, Vaughn!" Fiona gestured towards him and there was a decent round of applause. The stage was set up typically for a cookery show, looking a bit like a very well-equipped kitchen in a particularly upscale house, furnished with all the necessary gadgets and gizmos, all sized appropriately for cooking whole humans. The glass-fronted bulk of the combination oven-rotisserie dominated the back wall, facing the dimly seen audience as Fiona walked over in her chef's whites, gently picking up the end of Vaughn's leash. "As I was saying, we all probably know a few cuntboys, if we're not one ourself; I mean, 1 in 10 people in this country is! Yet cuntboy meat is criminally neglected in the UK, despite being considered a delicacy in many countries. Vaughn here is a Grade A meat boy who's kindly volunteered to help me show you just how delicious his sex can be." She gave the leash a little tug, towards the central kitchen area. "Why don't you sit down for a moment and tell us a little about yourself Vaughn, then I'll talk a little bit about your meat."
 
 
Vaughn, in his daze from the overwhelming amount of light and applause, smiles dumbly as he's touted across stage, waving to the obviously enthused audience that was applauding at his entrance. He's almost relieved to see chef Fiona again, although her being in her professional attire felt far different than when she was in the dressing room. He listened to her as she spoke, his eyes trailing off to the very, VERY large oven that he could feel the heat coming from as they passed in front of it, it was definitely preheated for him. It took him another moment to register that it was his turn to speak, silent for a moment before he realized the expectant look on his chef's face. "O-oh! oh me. okay, well," a few people in the audience giggled as he gained his verbal footing, "Well, I'm 24, from New Mexico, a-and I-I've been living here for a few years studying abroad," he finishes, a round of applause following his conclusion, eyes still wandering over the stage, occasionally traveling back to that giant oven behind them.
 
 
Fiona had lead Vaughn to a bar-stool seated near to the central kitchen island, a large granite-topped prep area with cupboards and other storage areas beneath, polished stainless steel plates at each corner concealing a set of sturdy restraints. She stayed standing, loosely holding the leash, while he said his little introduction and received his round of applause. "For those who are worrying, it's not necessary to look to foreign imports to get high quality cuntboy meat, though of course, just like with the more popular sexes, different origins and diets can offer their own unique flavours." She stepped behind Vaughn, draping his leash over his shoulder and leaning across his back, her clothes feeling starched and heavy as she turned him towards the audience, and the blinking lights of one of the large television cameras, spreading his legs. "When you're selecting a cuntboy, as with a cuntgirl, you should always start with the prime fillet." She explained, gesturing to Vaughn's rather juicy and slightly flushed looking example. "Remember that cuntboy juices, like cuntboys generally, tend to be a little more strongly flavoured. One of the most common myths about cuntboy meat is that it 'just tastes like lean dickgirl', but I assure you that anyone telling you that hasn't had a high quality, well-cooked cuntboy."
 
 
 
 
Vaughn stilled as he felt Fiona press her body against his, gasping and taking a deep breath in recovery as his legs were spread open, recognizing in his head that he was being used as the prime example for what should be used when selecting tasty meat. He glanced down as her hands moved, gesturing over his sex for the audience to admire, and proceeded to close his eyes for a moment to collect himself as she continued to talk about cooked meat, well-cooked cuntboy meat at that, realizing she was referring to him, and doing his best to not react in any way, but his sauced up body couldn't help it and dribbled a small helping of arousal between his smooth cunt lips, sighing as the chef reaffirms that the audience has yet to taste a dish quite like what he will be.
 
 
The less-than-autonomous boy listened as his body was described, a shiver running up his spine as his thigh was squeezed, his head falling back and letting out a small groan. He imagined the insides of his muscles as she spoke, not to gamey as she described, but with enough marbling to make his meat melt off the bone... he was brought back by the light flash and Fiona explaining the pre-recorded segment, his eyes following her expert hands as she procured a buttplug and proceeded to cover it with oil to presumably push into his ass. he's definitely taken buttplugs before, but every instance has him sexually on edge, knowing that this was the last time he'd experience, well, anything, really, before he was a tasty feast for this audience of strangers.
 
 
  Fiona gently pushed him round so he was leaning a little forward over the counter, giving the audience, and the still-filming camera a good view as she pressed the plug up against his rear entrance, "Good B-roll material!" She whispered to Vaughn, soft enough that her microphone didn't activate, then slowly pressed it in using the palm of her hand against the handle. Lubricated by the oil, it slipped inside very easily. She turned the handle perpendicular to his arse crack, then gave his rump a pat, "Very good Vaughn! Now, if you'll hop up on the counter, we'll get you secured in place and we can start filming properly again!"
 
 
Vaughn couldn't help but let out a noise as the plug pressed into his hole, mouth agape and gasping as the thickest part breached his sphincter, closing in around the narrow stem at the base. He moaned as she spoke to him, trembling as he moved himself in place on the counter, putting his limbs in the general position of where each clasp for his limbs were. He was honestly astounded at how easily manipulated he was, he was anticipating putting up much more of a fight at this point. Perhaps the alcohol he had downed did more good for him than he thought; either way, he was laying down on the counter, ready to be locked down into place for chef Fiona's convenience.
 
 
Fiona used only a few light touches and gentle words of encouragement to get him up on the counter top, the stone surprisingly warm under the studio lights. "Obviously, having a co-operative main course makes live roasting much less challenging." She remarked, getting some laughter from the audience as she pivoted open the first of the metal covers and pulled out a well made leather and canvas cuff on a length of chain, the sound of a strong ratchet fairly loud as she clicked it out and moved Vaughn's left arm up, securing the wrist snugly and firmly before moving on to his other arm. "That clanking's one of the reasons I like to skip this part!" She remarked as she moved round. She could see, despite the glare of the lights on her glasses, that some of the audience were already masturbating. She hoped they had some stamina; there were still a couple of hours to go before food, and the inevitable post-food orgy. "But it's very important to use strong restraints. Heavy weights tied to each limb can be used in a pinch if your home isn't properly equipped of course, but those can damage the meat..." she moved down to Vaughn's feet, repeating the cuffing process, working with practiced ease as she talked.
 
 
It was only after the chef had joked about how co-operative he had wished somehow he hadn't been so compliant; yet, his compliance was required of him and it didn't much matter at this point if he really did want to do what he was told or not. He felt each limb snugly locked into place, moaning nervously as he felt his body stretched across the marble, each of his limbs secured down. He looked out at the audience, obviously enjoying this, and then back at Fiona, who looked like she was was getting ready for her next step, whatever that may be, he wondered with bated breath.
 
 
Fiona finished securing the last cuff and moved round behind the counter, so that the cameras could see her and Vaughn clearly as they swung up a little higher. She smiled as the light flashed on the camera. "Now, as you can see, our main ingredient has been secured and we're ready to start cooking. Our main ingredient has elected not to be gagged. I always find it polite to ask the meat, though of course you may wish to gag your meat simply to avoid irritating the neighbours, particularly if you're cooking at unsociable hours." She half-turned; the knife block was in place just behind her, and she pulled out a long, glinting blade, setting it down for the moment on the counter in front of her. "Always remember, when preparing meat for a live roast, that though you should never rush, time is of the essence. People simply can't live very long with their digestive tracts removed. An hour at most, and many under half. Vaughn's quite young and fit, so we'll be looking to get him into the oven within about twenty minutes. Now the first stage of course, is to dress the anus to avoid any unpleasant cooking messes. Today I'm going to be using a kitchen gadget provided by one of our sponsors, Kenwood. I inserted the twin of this device into Vaughn while I was getting him secured." She reached down and pulled open another drawer, revealing a butt plug identical to the one in Vaughn's anus. "Note it's unthreatening appearance. And yet..." she gripped it just below the handle and twisted. The flush-set metal parts turned, and there was a metallic snick as the bulb sprung open revealing an array of eight barbed hooks. "...and resetting it is simple enough." Another twist and a pull on the handle, and the barbs shot back. "Let's activate the one inside Vaughn and I can show you its proper use." With that, she reached down between Vaughn's legs and, resting her other hand on his abdomen, teasing his slit as she dextrously unclipped the leash, she twisted the piece of metal on the handle of the implement inside Vaughn.
 
 
While Fiona explained their previous exchange of desires, Vaughn wondered if choosing not to be gagged had been the right choice after all. He didn't want the last moments of his life to be stifled by some piece of cloth, and yet, the plausible comfort of being muffled had been removed from his access by his own choice. He tested each of the restraints he had been placed in; they certainly were stronger than he was; no backing out now, he told himself. Just as he did so, his attention was brought to an exact replica of the buttplug that had been put in him before they had started recording again. He watched as she twisted the knob, revealing the deadly engineering underlying it's ergonomic design, and his throat let out an intimidated squeak as each of the barbs shot out in the air, realizing that was just about to happen to him, but -inside-. Immediately his breath increased in pace as she reached down, his brows knitting as she toyed with his slit, knowing it was only delaying the inevitable as her fingers unclipped the leash and traced down between his now shaking thighs. He heard the sound before he felt it, strangely enough, but it was only delayed by a millisecond; his pupils promptly contracted and his head tossed back as he gasped in pain, feeling a harsh stabbing sensation inside as those same barbs pierced through his colon and gripped the tissue.
 
 
Fiona felt the plug jump a little as the powerful springs fired. "You can feel the ring locking into place, and you should of course get some idea from the meat whether the barbs have successfully deployed. Now, just give the device a small tug to seat the barbs..." She transferred her grip to the handle-like base and gave it a little pull, just enough to sink the sharp barbs fully into Vaughn's flesh. "...now it's firmly in place, we can see the real convenience of this design, especially for those of us who might sometimes get a little squeamish. All you have to do is grasp the handle firmly..." she did so as she spoke, "...and then turn it one half-turn in either direction. It requires a little bit of effort, but shouldn't be beyond most people. There are some similar powered devices on the market." She gripped firmly and slowly twisted the plug around, feeling the initial resistance as the barbs sliced between Vaughn's rump muscles and his anal sphincter, twisting his intestines neatly closed behind. "Then, simply pull. You may need to give it a small wiggle, but not too much, or you risk rupturing the digestive tract." She shook the plug a little from side to side, and there was a wet noise, like someone tearing a stack of damp paper, and a wetter squelching sound as the device jerked back in her hand, a surprisingly small amount of blood spilling on to the counter top as she slowly pulled it out a foot, then another, laying it between Vaughn's legs, the glistening pink rope of his lower intestine separated cleanly from his body. "It's that easy! While personally I think I'll stick with the knife-and-finger method, this could be a real life-saver, particularly if you're looking to prepare a friend or family member and you want to make sure there's no slip-ups."
 
 
Having the barbs jutted into his skin was already an experience on it's own, but he would be sensorially unprepared for what was about to happen next. As she twisted, he could feel the barbs turning inside his body, gripping the intestinal walls and separating them from the sphincter the bulb penetrated from. A stuttered cry fell from his lips as she pulled, feeling at once the release of his digestive tract from his anus, and then the feeling of inch after inch of it being pulled outside of him, causing his mouth to gape, eyes lulling up as his ass twitched around the girth of his own digestive tract, too stunned at this point to keep up with her fantastic sales pitch on the tool's convenience anymore.
 
 
"Now just use a standard pair of locking forceps..." she produced one from the same drawer, clamping down the colon before taking the knife and, with a single rolling cut, severing the anal muscles from the end along with the bulb. She held it up and twisted another concealed ring, and the barbs became loose, allowing her to work the meat down on to the handle area before retracting them. "Make sure you don't get too much gunk inside. Thankfully it's dishwasher safe." She pulled the little piece of waste meat up over the bulb and set it aside in a large bowl, which she then bought forward on to the counter next to Vaughn, before leaning over and using the forceps to tie a sturdy knot in his digestive tract, removing them and placing them on a nearby draining board next to the anus remover. "And there we go. However you do it, you're now free to open up your cuntboy. The incision is the same as you'd expect to use with a cuntgirl..." she picked up the knife as she spoke, resting the tip down against Vaughn's abdomen, the incredible sharpness of the blade clearly felt as she just held it against the skin. "Find the top of the pubic mound and insert the tip of the blade until you can feel that you've gone through the skin, any subcutaneous fat, and the muscle beneath." She pressed the blade down. A little bead of bright red welled up. "Then, without varying your depth, simply cut steadily up towards the sternum. A sharp blade is essential!" She began to move her arm as she spoke, Vaughn's flesh unzipping at a steady pace in the blade's wake, displaying a perfect anatomical cross-section of his belly, the uterus and intestines visible beneath, a deep, rich, earthy butcher's shop smell starting to fill the studio. Working mostly by touch, Fiona could see that some of the audience were openly fucking now, an assistant producer whispering to a couple of them to be a bit more quiet.
 
 
“H-hah…! Ahhh, Ahh, oh sssshhhhit….!!” Vaughn cried out as he felt the blade easily peeling through layers of tissue, his limbs shaking and brow visibly sweating as his body was opened up. He felt the cool air stinging his insides, the light from the set showing off all of his innards that had previously been tightly tucked away inside his torso. Tears started falling from the corners of his eyes, his mouth agape as the intensity and volume of his breath increased, breathing through his clenched teeth as he fought through the pain. Twenty minutes, he had twenty minutes left, Fiona had said. She was going to truss him up and have him in the oven in less than twenty minutes… His cunt had started weeping as well, his fat, pierced clit prominently pushing through the folds, an accumulation of moisture beginning to drizzle down to his cored ass. Even after being cut open, death more surefire than ever before, his body seemed to want to try to counter it, or give him other things to thing about rather than the harsh sting of the blade, the bright lights, or the wet sounds and moans coming from the audience getting off to him being dressed for the oven. He’d been just like those people in the audience, except it was on TV at home for him, masturbating as he watched Fiona’s expert hands turn the meat on stage into a feast. He even remembered going on a date, then going home and fucking on the couch with it on the background… and he remember it being one of the hottest one night stands he’d ever had. He wondered how many people would use this recording as background noise for their own one night stands. A big part of him hoped it would be a lot.
 
 
Fiona finished her incision, moving the blade steadily up across Vaughn’s belly, slicing easily through his navel and stopping as she felt the tip of her blade coming to rest against his sternum. She placed the blade, glistening red along its leading edge, down on the stone counter-top and leaned forward a little as she worked her fingertips into the warm, glistening wound, enjoying the feeling of raw, living meat as she slowly spread the wound open, knowing that a camera was zooming in. “As you might expect, internally a cuntboy is pretty much exactly the same as a cuntgirl. For this recipe we’ll be leaving the uterus in situ, but removing the kidneys, liver, digestive tract, bladder and so on. Make sure to keep the edible organs set to one side; cuntboy kidneys go very well particularly with dickboy meat in a traditional steak and kidney pie, and cuntboy liver with cuntgirl bacon is a delight. But we’ll save offal dishes for another day and focus on the main attraction.” as she spoke, she pulled her left hand back, raking her fingertips and gathering up a loop of intestines, deftly transferring them out into the waiting bowl, making space to work her hand up inside him up to the wrist, locating his stomach. “Unfortunately, no one makes a good labour saving tool for this, but it’s not too difficult, just find the oesophagus, clamp…” she did so, “...then use a small knife, you don’t want to nick a bile duct or anything like that.” She picked up a tiny knife, the blade just a couple of inches long, and slipped her second hand inside Vaughn, just up under the diaphragm. Her movements were as deft as a surgeon’s, but much more final as she cut the other end of the digestive tract, her hand emerging holding the stomach, which she dumped in the bowl.
 
 
His upper back jerked in response to his intestines being pulled out of him, gasping and lulling his eyes up before taking a breath and glancing down at the hands holding a spilling handful of his guts and plopping them onto the side, immediately feeling a loss of volume internally. It incredibly odd feeling as well as looking at it, her hands disappearing past his upper chest. He whimpered and moaned throughout the process, his legs shaking, fingers and toes flexing, shuddering as she cut his stomach cleanly from his body. It didn’t hurt as much as the cut up his chest did, the length of his body aching every time he took a breath, but seeing his own stomach was enough to… well, now he couldn’t really get sick now that it was gone, so his head fell back in a semi stunned state. He also noticed that the chef hadn’t made eye contact with him a single time since she had pulled him onto the counter, either directed at the cameras, the audience, or the “meat” (his body) and he could tell just by the way she handled him that she had done this countless times before, one of many meatsluts she’d easily dismantle & elevate into salivating dinners, and that alone sent another shiver down his spine.
 
 
Fiona finished up inside Vaughn’s stomach cavity, her arms now streaked with gore up to the elbows where her white sleeves were rolled. She went over to a nearby counter and picked up a blowtorch. “It’s important to try and stop bleeding as much as possible. Not just to keep the meat alive, but also to avoid getting too much blood soaked into your stuffing. You can get quite a lot of the blood vessels to close up very easily though.” She put the blowtorch down next to Vaughn and reached her hand under the counter, keeping her hand over the label of the bottle of dark rum, since they hadn’t paid for the endorsement. “Any high strength alcohol will do, above 40% preferably. I think the flavours left behind by dark rum work best with cuntboy, smoky but with a sweet edge, sophisticated. You might also try bourbon whiskey.” She unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured about a quarter of it into Vaughn’s wound, making sure to shake it from side to side and move the bottle up and down. Then she put it to one side, closed the lid and picked up the blowtorch. There was a whoomph of blue and orange flame and an appreciative gasp from the audience as Fiona leaned back sharply away from the fireball, just the faintest hint of something like frying bacon undercutting the strong smell of the liquor as the visible flames settled down and a little white steam came up from the hole. “You can’t argue with those results!” Fiona said, directing the camera towards the wound. “Now, let’s talk about stuffing.”
 
 
 
 
Vaughn winced and hissed as the bottle of alcohol was shaken down his split body, burning every inch of open skin and inner walls of meat inside the cavity, his fists and feet shaking in their restraints. He hadn't noticed the blowtorch from where he had been laying, his eyes having mostly been fluttering open and closed with each sting of the dark liquor. He only had the split second visage of Fiona lighting the tool before realizing what was coming, his head tilting back as he screamed in surprise as the heat flooded his body and shot above him in a burst of flames, far hotter than anything he had experienced before, causing a flush of sweat to his forehead, groin, and underarms. Feeling the moisture of his bloody cuts being singed into coagulation as the flame licked it up with the alcohol caused another wail to leave his throat, and by the time the heat had subsided the meatboy was in shock, trembling in place, eyes wide and watery and breaths shallow as the burn continued to ache through his empty core.
 
 
Fiona waited for the flames to die down, then leaned forward, spreading the wound open again, apparently ignoring the theatrics from Vaughn, though of course she was not immune to the perverse thrill of what she was doing. She was a professional however; outwardly she stayed calm, smiling and friendly. Her concern, after all, was with the viewers at home and in the audience, many of whom had now shed their lower garments, than it was with her meat, to whom she now owed nothing except the same craftsperson’s respect she would show to any other high quality ingredient. Everything she did was not for the sensations that it would cause in him, but for the sensations he would cause in their mouth. And her mouth, of course. She gestured to the open cavity.
 
 
“There’s nothing too remarkable about the internal dimensions of a cuntboy. It’s best I’ve found to use the same estimations you would for a cuntgirl, if you’re leaving the uterus in place, for obvious reasons.” She moved her bloody hand down now between Vaughn’s legs, spreading his well-prepared lower lips. “Now it goes without saying, by the way, that a cuntboys prime asset should be prepared just the same way a cuntgirl’s is, traditionally. Now, for this recipe, we’re going with something fairly simple and classic. Womb stuffed with chestnuts and minced cuntgirl, topped off with a honey glazed pear. Now, attentive viewers will remember Ciara, the rather delicious Irish lass who volunteered three episodes ago?” In the edited version, images or clips would be inserted at this point. She paused for a moment, to let them make a cut. “Well, let’s bring her back into the studio one last time.” She smiled as she walked over to the fridge, bringing out a clingfilm-wrapped ceramic bowl and placing it down next to Vaughn on the opposite side from the bowl containing his giblets, then a large mason jar containing some creamy yellow substance next to it. “This is what I managed to render down from her breasts, which she was so disappointed were surplus to requirements for the recipe that day. Well, I don’t like to put anything to waste. Of course, you can use any cooking fat with your cuntboy, but the breast fat of a slightly plump dickgirl has a certain quality to it that should really compliment Vaughn’s meat.”
 
 
An extended groan carried out from the boy’s throat as Fiona spread him open once again, the touch even more painful than before if he could believe it. If the experience of the blowtorch had shown him anything, it was that he was still just scratching the surface of what he would be experiencing. It was hard to believe that live roasting was even legal, though he had never given it much critical thought before. It was always touted as something good for the meat, those in favor arguing that the process was necessary for flavour and that anyone with an experienced tongue could tell the difference. Another argument that was verifiably false but still carried it’s own cult following is that the roasting process was actually enjoyable for the meat, that the screaming and writhing was actually just the meat experiencing the ultimate pleasure of it’s chemical conversion. It was a completely deceptive argument of course, but it had gained a lot of popularity since it was easier to convince meat to volunteer if they believed it would feel good, and once they were under the heat source there’d be no way for them to argue otherwise.
 
 
Vaughn had admittedly idealized the conversions of other meat, while he was no fool to think it wasn’t painless he’d hoped there’d be -some- part of it that felt good or arousing, but so far it seemed he himself had conflated his own fantasies with reality, at least when it came to the physical process. The only redeeming factor seemed to be Fiona’s words, her glossary of knowledge painting pictures in his now slightly sizzled imagination as she walked back and placed the bowl and jar of dickgirl leftovers next to him, causing a warm flush of fluids to rush down to his cunt at the thought of using another volunteer’s refrigerated remains to enhance his own dish.
 
 
“Now, to stuff the womb, first we need to make our way through the cervix.” she pulled out a drawer and picked out a tool, around a foot and a half long with a handle on one end and a flared metal cone on the other, with a subtle blunted screw-thread pattern on it. She opened the jar of breast fat and scooped out a load with a finger, smearing the lubricating blob on the tip of the tool. “Of course, if you’re still using the handle of a wooden spoon the way your grandmother did it, that’s absolutely fine, but a decent cervical penetrator makes the job much easier. You can see how wet this cuntboy is, it slides straight in.” She slipped the cold metal tip of the tool up inside Vaughn, the breast fat melting and mixing with his juices, twisting and turning it ever so slightly to work it back down inside him until she could feel it resting against his back walls, then she began to twist it properly, half turns clockwise, keeping up a steady pressure as she felt it slowly sink into and expand his cervical canal, her own genitals wincing in a combination of sympathy and lust as she violated the young man in yet another way, twisting and twisting until finally she felt a lessening of resistance as the tip popped through into the uterus proper. Then, leaning back a little to use her weight, she tugged the tool back out again, the much sharper gradient of the base stretching the abused flesh back out still further, a little trickle of blood running from the lowest part of Vaughn’s cunt as she pulled it out, streaked pink. “There we go. You shouldn’t worry about minor tearing, it will seal itself up during the cooking process.” As she spoke, she made a small ball of the pre-mixed stuffing, added a dab of the breast fat, and then, grasping it with the tips of her fingers, began to work it deep inside the abused cuntboy, spreading open his stomach wound so the cameras could see his uterus twitch, the outlines of her fingers vaguely visible as she packed it deep.
 
 
The thought had crossed his mind earlier about how the stuffing was going to get into his womb, half figuring/hoping it had to do with cutting the vessel open rather than going in the hard way, but at the mentioning of ‘through the cervix’, he knew it was only wishful thinking.
“Fffuck….really...? H-hnnn...” Vaughn couldn’t help but curse and jerk in his restraints. He’d only ever had his cervix dilated twice before, for birth control and to take it out, and each time wreaked havoc on his body for the next few days after. However, this time havoc has already been wreaked, and instead of dilation with a rod or forceps, it was literally to just screw it opened until it popped. He was already sobbing to himself before the tool even pressed passed his labia, tense legs jerking sharply as the cool metal touched him and easily pushed on through. His stomach contracted as he felt the pressure of the tip, then a gradual increase of force as she wedged it in and twisted it deeper, and harder, and deeper still into the little ring, showing no mercy.
 
 
“O-ooh fuck, oh god oh god oh god oh godhhaaaaAAH-!!!” his tone got louder and eyes shut tighter, face red as it ripped on through, every muscle in his arms and legs flexed and shook, followed by a screachy gagging noise uttering from his throat with his tongue sticking out as the head of the screw pulled back on through with an audible -pop- from within his body.
 
 
“Guuhhcgkk-!!”
 
 
Now that it was done, his body had gone limp, a large amount of his remaining energy exhausted from the necessary treatment for Fiona’s next step in her recipe. The violated meatboy softly sobbed and whimpered as he was stuffed, closed eyelids fluttering and his backside shuddering as he felt the fingers press inside, feeling an obvious sense of a new material volume being left inside of him.
 
 
Fiona pulled out her fingers, glistening with Vaughn’s juices and a few pinkish streaks. “Now, as you can hear, that really got our cuntboy making some noise. You wouldn’t expect that to be worse than being literally disembowelled, but that’s one reason to do it afterwards. Although you should always work quickly, it’s never a bad idea to take the time when you can to encourage and reassure your meat.” She reached over with her left hand to the bowl, rolling up another ball of stuffing while her other hand moved to Vaughn’s cheek, feeling the almost feverish heat as she pressed the backs of her fingers against it and leaned over, making eye contact with him for the first time, her tone calm and reassuring, almost tender, despite her brutal actions as she worked her fingertips deep inside him, his womb starting to bulge. “You’re doing very well Vaughn. Just try and relax. You’re going to be such a feast; I can feel the quality of your meat now even more working with it, it’s absolutely perfect. You’re a grade A cuntboy. Just focus on that, you’ll be meat soon. All these people are going to be enjoying you.” She worked another ball of the stuffing up inside him, staring into his eyes for a few more moments before turning back to the camera, her voice her usual breezy announcer style. “Some people feel self-conscious talking to their meat, but you really shouldn’t. It’s basic respect for your ingredients, and it’s really not that difficult. It’s just like pillow talk. Of course, it works so much better with a piece of meat like Vaughn, who’s still wet, by the way...in case you were wondering at home.” She winked at the camera, glancing for a few seconds up around the audience, many of whom barely seemed to be paying the action in the filming area any heed at all. She shrugged, inwardly, and went back to the task at hand.
 
 
 
 
The touch of the back of her hand pulled him out of his sobs, looking up at her eyes and listening to her words immediately creating a calming effect within the boy, his breaths slowing down from the pained panicked state he had been sustaining. Being told about how tasty looking and high quality his meat was had a cathartic effect as well, even as his womb was stuffed fuller and fuller, taking another deep breath as he nods up at her kind eyes before she turns away to get back to business. ‘You’re a grade A cuntboy’, he repeated to himself, ‘You’re being prepared by an expert chef, who’s going to take your nice meat and make it even better...tastier… for this whole damn room. None of this will matter, you’ll just be meat soon….’ he seemed to meditate on her words, his state completely cooled from his previous state of panic. ‘Just focus on being meat, and being enjoyed…’
 
 
After about the sixth ball of stuffing, Vaughn’s womb was starting to feel nicely full to the touch. “Remember, the uterus is an elastic organ, but not too elastic. The stuffing will swell as it cooks, so don’t overdo things at this stage!” She produced a small tray covered with a gingham cloth from under the table, whipping off the covering to reveal an assortment of ingredients surround a bowl containing an ever so slightly under-ripe pear. “For the final stuffing of a cunt, whether that cunt belongs to a girl or a boy, sometimes you can’t beat the classics. All we need is to mix up a little liquid honey…” she drizzled some into a ramekin using a honey dipper, “...a little dickgirl semen, unsweetened for preference, a few teaspoons will do...and a pinch of sea salt, a pinch of black pepper, a pinch of brown sugar, now, paint the glaze into the cunt first…” She picked up a brush and dipped it in the sticky mixture, applying a coat to either side of Vaughn’s inner labia with careful, even strokes. “Now coat the pear with the rest, remembering to leave a little at the top for your fingers…and then it’s simply a matter of working it in. He should be nice and relaxed now.” She pressed the bulbous end of the pear against Vaughn’s abused cunt-lips, extending out the middle finger of her right hand and making little circling motions around his clit as she slowly and firmly pushed it in.
 
 
Vaughn’s womb felt the fullest it had ever felt before, really he had nothing to gauge this sensation off of, except that the place where he knew his uterus belonged felt swollen up and tight, but not very heavy at the same time. The pear embellishment was probably Vaughn’s favorite part thus far, both listening to Fiona describe the decadent ingredients mixed with the sensations on his lower lips being glazed and parted by the pair, a small smile curling on his lips as his clit was stroked, only gasping slightly as the wide pear pushed deeply inside of him, his vulva enclosing around the fruit and leaving the tip of it barely sticking out of the hole.
 
 
Fiona swirled the brush around the bowl containing the semen and honey glaze, picking up the last of it, then painted that on to the tip of the pear that was left sticking out of him. “There we go. Just one little touch down here to create a culinary marvel…” she picked up a slim metal rod with a spike on one end, the other flaring to a thick cylinder, surmounted by a metal disc. “This is from the same range as the anal corer I used earlier, but a much gentler device, and I think a little more ingenious, if only because it combines two absolutely essential functions.” She twisted the cylindrical part against itself, and the rod began to buzz quite violently in her hands. “Not only do we have an oven-safe, long action vibrator, but…” she twisted it again to turn it off, and moved up to the metal disc, working her nail underneath the heat-proof silicone sealed edge and popping it off to reveal the dial underneath, “...it’s also an accurate meat thermometer. A minor marvel of modern engineering. Just make sure you have contact with your meat’s clit piercing, like so…” she slipped the sharp tip through the ring so that the metal closure ball was on one side of it and the clit itself on the other. “ then push down into the stuffing and make sure it’s seated nice and firmly.” She slid the cool metal tip inside him until only the flared part emerged. “Now, just a turn in the opposite direction, and you should hear a click…there we go! Now it’s set to be activated by the ambient air temperature of the oven; it only takes sixty degrees or so to set it off, so be careful with your blowtorch!”
 
 
Now this was the kind of tech that Vaughn was here for. While he was admittedly swimming in his thoughts, the pain in his body mixing with the knowledge of intent on what will be happening to it, hearing the familiar sound of a vibrator was enough to get the boy to raise his head slightly and watch her demonstrate, setting his head back down once her hands moved back down to his honey glazed snatch. He felt the tug of his piercing as the rod was fed into the hole, and while he was excitedly anticipating a vibration once Fiona had clicked the wheel, a moment of confusion filled his expression until he heard that it was the -oven- that would be activating it. “Hrm,” he huffed to himself, wishing for it to be on now, but knowing he had no room to argue. And what was this talk about the blowtorch again…?
 
 
Fiona picked up the catering blowtorch again as she spoke, twisting the nozzle to create a broad, relatively ‘cool’ flame. “Before we think about other preparations, now would be a good time to quickly deal with any ‘peach fuzz’ our meat has lying about.” She moved the torch quickly from ankle to upper thigh along his left leg, a few little curlews of white smoke coming up and the faintest smell of burning hair as she moved on to the next leg, avoiding his torso, which had already been quite well depilated by the burning alcohol, and on to the arms. “We’ll leave the head hair for the presentation. Of course you can choose to remove it if you wish. Now…” she walked over to the side, where, throughout the whole show, a couple of large pots had been bubbling away unnoticed. “...for the main cavity stuffing, we’re going to start with a selection of potatoes and root vegetables. Nothing too fancy…” she slipped on a pair of oven mitts to pick up the first pot, bringing it over and beginning to lay out parboiled carrots and parsnips inside Vaughn, working quickly to create a bed, then snapping some rosemary and scattering a few crushed garlic gloves, before picking up the pots of honey and dickgirl semen again, drizzling each out across the bed she had laid in the bottom of his body cavity. Then she started on the potatoes, giving each one a few scores with a fork to create a fluffy surface ready to crisp up in the secondary oven that Vaughn’s stomach was shortly to become. “Remember, work quickly, but not hastily.” She realised she was making it all look rather easy, her thoughts straying a little towards the poor cuntboys destined to be rather inexpertly butchered by well-meaning amateurs in the program’s wake “And with roast potatoes, you can’t go wrong with plenty of breast fat.” She dumped the creamy contents of the mason jar out with a tablespoon, spreading it around a little with the back of the spoon, leaving a crater in the middle for the stuffing proper.
 
 
Vaughn’s second encounter with the blowtorch was far less traumatic, and somewhat enjoyable, feeling the current of heat gliding up and down his limbs, his body hairs curling up into dust and smoke. She was finished in an exceptional amount of time, again likely attributing to her doing this nearly every day, and before he knew it Fiona had gone and come back with a pot of hot vegetables to put into his empty cavity. “A-ah…! hhahhh….hhhahhhh…!!” The boy breathed heavily as the steaming veggies were laid into him, feeling the heat in his body rise as well as the weight of his body, not nearly as heavy as when he had all of his organs, but still better than the emptiness it had been prior. After a few moments, either the vegetables had cooled down, or his body had acclimated, because it was far less miserable by the time she was topping it all off with the breast fat. The smells were already incredible, mixing with the lingering smell of his singed hair had another erotic effect on the boy, hips wiggling slightly and feeling the fullness.
 
 
“And now to finish off, some of my long-pork, cranberry and apple stuffing. This is made with dickboy meat, mostly, you can, as always find the recipe on my website.” She plonked the bowl from the fridge inside the now nearly empty bowl that had held the womb stuffing, using a wooden spoon to heap a neat mound of the stuffing in the hole left amidst the potatoes, then finally reaching into the pocket of her whites and bringing out a heavy, curved needle and a bobbin of heavy black twine. She threaded the needle with a seamstress’s ease as she continued to speak. “And now to sew him back up again. If you’re cooking at home, remember, it’s spacing that’s important here, not neatness. You want to leave a decent bit of room for the stuffing that’s inside him to expand and vent as he’s cooking.” As she spoke she easily threw the first stitch, the curved needle slicing easily through Vaughn’s skin, and again, and again, closing up his belly with a loose, wide but perfectly even running stitch. It took less than a minute before she was snapping the end of the twine, inspecting her work critically. She leaned forward again.
 
 
“Now Vaughn, you’ve been an excellent piece of meat so far, but now it’s going to be time to trim your hands and feet. Would you like me to put your apple in before I do that, or do you still prefer to be ungagged?”
 
 
A trembling sensation carried through his body as FIona spoke “to finish off,” those words obviously implying that she was getting ready to wrap this up. It had been a long time coming, and Vaughn had been awake for the entire process at that. In no time at all she had finished stuffing his belly and had begun sewing him up, his clit tinging at the visualization of stuffing venting and cooking in his loosely sewn up belly. He thought about how fucked up it was that he still felt an urge of arousal to this moment, even being a nearly completely ready roast for the oven, and still the thought of sharing himself, his meat, brought him into a blubbering mess of arousal. His daydream was broken when he realized the chef was in fact speaking with him, and after a moment of thinking, after all he’d been through so far, the idea of an apple in his mouth while being dismembered seemed to be a better trade off than without one. “I-I uh, gag, please…” he rasped out, clearing his throat briefly after not really speaking much this past… had it really only been 20 minutes? He could still feel the effects of the alcohol he had downed before going on stage, not that it had helped all of his pain, but he was now realizing that the ‘easy’ part was just about over, and his heart raced at that thought.
 
 
Fiona smiled gently and nodded, producing a large green and red apple from under the table and buffing it a few times on her thigh before bringing it over to his mouth. “Open wide…” she urged, and then forced the apple down with the heel of her hand, lodging the hard fruit solidly behind his teeth and stretching his jaw painfully wide, slightly sour apple juice running down the back of his throat. “Don’t worry it you dislocate the jaw.” she remarked to the camera as she gave the apple an experimental tug, “You can easily reset it, or not as long as the apple remains firmly in place. Now, let’s get his hands and feet off before we transfer him to the roasting pan for the final prep.” She went over to the knife block and pulled out a heavy cleaver and a much-nocked wooden chopping board from beneath the block, returning over to Vaughn and placing them down before picking up the bobbin again and passing the thin, tough thread five times around Vaughn’s left forearm before pulling all the loops tight, the black twine biting deeply into the flesh. She then repeated the same operation on his right arm, and then did something similar to his legs, just below the meatiest part of the calf. “By the time you’ve done the last limb, blood flow should have slowed to the first part you did, and sensation should be fairly dulled.” to prove her point, she picked up the needle and pressed it into the palm of Vaughn’s left hand, drawing a bead of blood but little in the way of automatic reaction. “Now…” she slid the chopping board in place and pressed down hard with her full body weight on his forearm as she removed the cuff. “Blood loss and general fatigue will mean that this shouldn’t be too difficult, even if you are quite slight.” Fiona of course was not slight; she was a well built young woman, and easily pinned the cuntboy’s weakened limb down with one hand as she picked up the Cleaver with the other. “Remember, you’re aiming for the spot between the bones, right at the top of the wrist, about...here!” And with that she bought the cleaver down sharply. There was a meaty, crunchy noise as the heavy blade sliced through ligaments and cartilage almost as easily as it did skin, the metal sliding over the bones of the wrist and the tip embedding itself in the chopping board. Dark blood oozed, more than spurted, out on to the already darkly stained wood and made the blade slick as she rocked it back, slicing through the last piece of connecting skin. The severed hand, which had curled up into a half-fist, like a dead spider, began to open up slowly as the tendons, unanchored, began to relax. “It’s as easy as that!”
 
 
“Ahhh..” Vaughn vocalized as he was told to open up, the apple being pushed in far deeper than he’d anticipated, his entire mouth practically enveloping the entire fruit. His teeth sunk deep into the sides in such a way that it’d be near impossible to bite through it or pull it back out. All the same, he supposed, since he wouldn’t be needing to speak anymore; his only remaining job was to taste good, and that also heavily relied on the final stages of Fiona’s prep. He winced slightly as each limb was tied around tightly, by the time she had finished with his last leg, his upper right arm was prickling with the sensation of pins & needles, hardly even feeling the prick of blood being drawn from his palm. He looked above him as the cleaver was raised up in the air above him, being aimed carefully before it careened downwards and straight through his wrist with a loud -crack-!! An initial scream left the boy’s apple filled mouth, followed by a pained moan, his noise level muffled down completely as he recognized his hand was gone from where it once was. He imagined the tourniquets and the apple helped, but...holy fucking shit, his hand was gone, it was -really- gone… and it was only the first of four that needed to be ridded from his delicious body.
 
 
Fiona picked up Vaughn’s hand, laying it to one side as she continued speaking to the camera, moving down to his left leg. “There’s a lot more strength in a leg, so if you’re worried about your meat kicking, even if it’s just moving about too much, it’s always a good idea to break the shin-bones first.” As she said this, she turned the bloody cleaver over in her hand, raising it up and bringing the blunt back edge down hard against Vaughn’s shin with a dull thudding sound. “Don’t worry if you don’t break it the first time.” She remarked, swinging again, rewarded this time with an audible ‘snap’. “There we go, you should be able to feel the break…” she ran her fingers across the already bruising shin, “...now you should be able to uncuff the ankle and keep the whole leg pinned with minimal pressure on the knee or foot. Speaking of the knee, some people do prefer to do this by drilling out the knee, or by dislocating the hip, but dislocating a hip is a lot of effort without special tools, and I think this works better for the presentation.”
 
 
She undid the cuff as she spoke, turning the cleaver back over and grabbing the top of Vaughn’s foot, twisting it down to stretch and expose the ankle. “Even with the best skills, using a cleaver, the foot can take two or three swings.” Tiny spots of blood spattered up her crisp white uniform as the blade hacked into Vaughn’s meat once again, a gristly three quarters cross-section through the ankle. “There’s a lot of tendons and ligaments in the back.” Another swing and the foot jerked away in her hand. She held it up for the camera to see, blood trickling down the sides of it, and then placed it carefully next to the hand. “While Vaughn’s in the oven, I’ll be preparing my own twist on a simple but hearty hand and foot stew.”
 
 
Had the apple not been lodged in his mouth, Vaughn would have been happy to beg & promise that he would keep his leg still through Fiona’s hacking process, but alas, this giant apple embedded into his bite prevented nearly all vocalization, save for some muffled noise past whatever vibrations the fruit absorbed. Had Fiona always broken the shins of her volunteers, or was he just special? Either way, she seemed confident in her ability, and all Vaughn could do is watched in horror and shake as the flipped cleaver was raised, and whacked down onto his shin. The force of the first hit shocked him through his whole body, yelping and blinking hard. He knew it wasn’t broken, but it was the equivalent of smacking your leg into something hard when running, and immediately felt bruised. The second hit came crashing down, hearing a grotesque crack as the bone snapped and screaming in pain as a result, feeling his whole leg throb in injury, completely incapable of moving his left foot now, vs the other one kicking around in it’s cuff. The boy screamed the next time the blade came down, the apple vibrating in his mouth as it cut deep into his broken leg, unable to stop himself from sobbing as the accumulated pain throbbed through him, taking one more painful final -thwack- as the foot and ankle were cut away. He looked up for a brief moment to see his gorey foot in her hand, letting out another sob and dropping his head back onto the surface, repeating to himself that it was gonna be over soon, it would all be over soon, everything she did was for the betterment of his meat that would be shared with this very room…his mind came back to that runner backstage, wondering if he was watching and getting his kicks out of this too, knowing he was the last person to pleasure him before he was painfully processed into a perfectly prepped roaster.
 
 
Fiona moved around to the next leg and repeated the same grisly process. This time, it took three blows for her to break the shin, the first one bouncing off and scraping down. “Don’t worry if you can’t get it first try. A little bruising this close to the roasting won’t really have any effect on the final taste. Indeed, arguably it enhances it. As with a dickboy, the calves can be quite a tough cut on a cuntboy.” She pressed down on the shin just over the bone, feeling the movement under the skin as she undid the ankle cuff and flipped the cleaver over. Two whacks and it was done, and then on up to the right hand. As she undid the cuff, Vaughn was now technically free to move, but there was little the mutilated boy could do to resist her as another meaty crunchy thwack rang out around the studio, answered almost comically from the audience by an orgasmic moan as someone came in concert with the last limb coming off. Fiona grinned as she placed the hand alongside its fellow and leaned over, placing her hand against Vaughn’s cheek. “It’s almost over now. You’ll be in the oven in five minutes; you’re going to be absolutely delicious.” She turned her attention back to the camera as she walked over to near the oven, making an almost theatrical, tennis player’s grunt as she picked up a large baking tray. “Now it’s time to do the final prep, and to transfer your meat to the oven. He should be quite easy to move around in this state; we’ll roll him over once to garnish his anus and prepare his hair, then once again to get him into the pan.” she set it down next to Vaughn with a metallic clang, and then walked around behind him, slipping one hand under his buttocks and the other under his ribs and heaving. The stuffing within him shifted slightly, mixing the layers as his somewhat lightened body was moved over on to his front.
 
 
The removal of the second foot was arguably as bad as the last, the extra whack hardly adding to anything more with one limb already gone. He couldn’t stop blubbering against the apple as his foot was twisted over, feeling the two shattered ends grind against each other and the flesh around it. He screamed through the next two hacks into his leg, and soon enough, all he could feel was the ache of his severed muscles and the inner throb of his bones. He was so disheveled in his tears and bawling that the last whack of his wrist hardly added anything to it, albeit the action sent a final shock through whatever parts of his body were still connected to him. He laid their shaking, hurting from all four sides, too weak to even move without external force anymore. He cut his sniveling short at the touch of Fiona’s hand once again, though it was hard to control it completely, still heaving and whimpering under his breath as she spoke to him, nodding weakly and closing his eyes as she walked away. 5 minutes, she said. He’d be roasting alive in 5 minutes… It was really happening. He heard the clang of metal next to him, followed by Fiona’s strong hands gripping his meat and turning him over belly down onto the pan. He flopped forward with no effort by him, all work of the chef’s and gravity. He teetered back and forth slightly as the weight settled, feeling the vegetables inside him knocking and rolling against each other as they settled back down. He stared forward in a weak but very obvious ‘holy shit’ face as each moment brought him closer to his date with that glowing oven on the back wall of the set.
 
 
Fiona picked up a small paring knife and reached into the vegetable pot, picking up a particularly large parsnip she had saved for this occasion, giving it a quick trim. “Now for the final bit of stuffing, there’s only one major orifice left…” she winked at the camera as she reached down, spreading Vaughn’s buttocks, streaked with blood from his anal coring, exposing the wound that was now between them and driving the vegetable into place with the heel of her hand, feeling the stuffing inside him shift as it lodged neatly into place. “If you’re having trouble here, a long skewer through the rump meat can help, but I think we’re good. Now…” she reached under the counter again, retrieving a catering size box of tin foil and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil.
 
 
“Make sure you use an oil with a high smoke point here; we’ll be cooking Vaughn at a fairly slow and steady 180 degrees, gas mark 4, so rapeseed, for example, would also be fine, but of course you want to avoid palm oil, for the environmental issues as much as anything.” She glugged a generous portion of the olive oil into Vaughn’s hair and worked it with her fingers, the oil trickling down his forehead from his scalp as she massaged it in, before styling his hair slickly back and pulling out a large sheet of foil, tearing it off on the perforated edge. “What you want to make sure is that none of the head hair is exposed directly to the oven’s heat. Don’t worry too much about appearance; you’ll be taking this off before serving.”
 
 
She placed the sheet over the meat’s head and artfully scrunched it up, angling her clip-on microphone so it missed the worst of the noise, creating a sort of foil cap that covered Vaughn from just below his hairline, all down the side of his head to the nape of his neck. “It’s a good idea to cover the ears as well, the tops do tend to burn. Now, just one final touch, remember to use a sharp knife for this…” She picked up a short blade and ran it gently across his forehead, collecting some of the oil, then, with a couple of masterful flicks of her wrists, removed each of his eyebrows in a single steady stroke, cleaning the hair off with her thumb in between. “And there we are, we just need to arrange him in the pan and he’s ready for the oven!”
 
 
Another groan escaped his lips as the parsnip was pressed into his ass, sinking deeper and deeper until only about an inch and a half was exposed, it staying perfectly in place once her hand left it. As time passed, his breath slowed and the feeling of everything becoming rather hazy and throbby as she went to grab the tools needed for his head. He figured his body had acclimated somewhat to the pain in his limbs, making him appear somewhat faded. He blinked upwards as the oil was dunked onto his head teary eyes lulling under fluttering lids as he took in the final treatment with a mild look of gratitude as the oil made it’s way soaking into his brown curly locks. The crinkling tinfoil easily wrapped around his head, and he watched as she made the final move of slicking up the oil on the blade and easily shaving his brows off, and proceeded to announce that he was ready.
 
 
He swallowed hard, the apple leaking more of its juice down his throat as it sunk in. Here he was, just this morning as average as any other person walking down the street, now trussed, trimmed and stuffed, undoubtedly looking as appetising as any other roast he may have casually watched while hanging out at home. Despite all the pain, there was still a thrum his loins, a warmth growing that he was about to be used for what he was good for, and really, what he was meant to be from the start. Even through the whole process and the pain, Vaughn knew deep down that he was actually relatively lucky to be here. Not very many meatboys or meatgirls got to be handled with such expert care, and he knew for a fact that with Fiona’s expertise, he was sure to turn out mouth watering, which at this point was all he could aspire for as she motioned to him for the cameras and audience to admire.
 
 
Fiona got her hands under Vaughn again, lifting him at the shoulder and hip, and flipped him over one last time, fully into the centre of the pan. She produced a ball of strong cooking twine, talking to the camera as he worked. “Now, you may be wondering why we haven’t glazed or basted Vaughn; we will be, but we want to encourage his body to produce as much natural jus as possible before he expires. We’ll be pulling him out the oven three times during the roasting process…” she bent Vaughn’s right leg up, tying the twine around both thigh and calf, feeling the broken bone shift again, “...First after fifteen minutes, at which point he should still be alive, where we will apply a light glaze of unsweetened dickboy cum mixed with some honey, oil, a pinch of black pepper and a touch of balsamic. Then he’ll go in again for another thirty minutes…” She repeated the operation with his other leg, leaving his groin obscenely exposed as she moved up to his arms, tying his right arm in a similar manner, forearm to upper arm, “...during which time he will expire. We’ll baste him then in his own juices and the last of the dickgirl breast fat, then an hour before the final basting, and another thirty minutes at a slightly higher temperature to finish him off and get some good crackling.”
 
 
She finished tying his arms and added the final few touches, snapping some twigs of rosemary and scattering them over him, along with a few pinches of sea salt. “And there we go, ready for the oven.” she did not need to ask for the applause, which swelled as the audience members turned their attention from the impressively messy orgy that was ongoing amidst the seats to give Vaughn a send off, as a couple of production assistants in black t-shirts moved in to help her with the pan. “Now of course, at home if you don’t have anyone to help you you might want to use a trolley to move your cuntboy to the oven, but I have this burly pair...and really, a meal like this shouldn’t be enjoyed alone.” Another wink as she moved over to the oven and opened the enormous steel and tempered glass door, the orange glow from within lighting her up, the heat within hitting her in the face, making her sweat a little under her chef’s whites. “We’re starting him off a little lower as well, about 120, to really get those live juices marinating.” The production assistants lifted the pan and, with practiced ease, Vaughn slid into the oven, the pan knocking against the gleaming back wall and the fierce heat making his skin glow even before she shut the door, to another thunderous round of applause.
 
 
Hearing Fiona describe why and how he was going to be basted was admittedly horrifying to think about, and yet his own cannibalistic lust had him dripping onto the pear and thermometer inside his cunt as she spoke. He was quickly pulled out of it though as his leg was gathered and knotted together, his whole body tensing as she squeezed the stumped muscles and bones tightly together, paired with muffled squealing along with each following stump. Still, as Fiona continued her description, he couldn’t help but visualise it happening, his brain swimming between throbs of pain, the arousal of being so perfectly repurposed and enhanced for other people’s benefit, mixed with the unsettling realisation that he was moments away from experiencing his excruciating peril for the sake of these stranger’s taste buds. He heard the applause as she finished seasoning his body, arms and legs folded and perched at his sides, staring upwards past the lights and cameras as he soaked everything in. Then, he felt the odd sensation of being elevated up, looking weakly around and seeing two large silhouettes carrying him upwards and over to the oven door where the chef held the door to his destiny. As it dropped open the heat wafted forward towards him, the orange light seemed to flood the entire stage as they brought him closer to push inside.
 
 
He could see the heat wavering, distorting the bars with a rapid flickering. As the first corner of the pan was set onto the rack, Vaughn felt the first brunt of how really hot this actually was. His eyes darted around in a panic as more of his body was exposed to it as he was quickly pushed completely inside, the oven door swinging shut with a hard -thunk- and allowing for the full temperature of the searing hot oven to envelope the prepped meatboy. Within seconds of the moment the vibrator lodged inside him immediately lit up in activity, vibrating at full intensity against the now-roasting boy’s ringed clit and snatch. Vaughn bucked in his pan at the reaction, his body beginning to seize and struggle simultaneously as the oven-hot air began penetrating the layers of his skin, in seconds creating a glistening layer of sweat over his entire body that began to drip and flick onto the pan as he did so, the sound of sizzling beginning to audibly increase in volume as he let out his first violent scream under the heated pressure of the oven, as strong as it was coming from his throat, it was practically inaudible through the apple and heavy door that separated him, the meat, from the people outside.
 
 
Fiona watched as a couple of production assistants wheeled in stands with monitors which would relay to the audience footage from the various heat proof cameras inside the oven. Filming outside had stopped for the moment. The entire prepping process had got Fiona quite as much aroused as the boy in the oven, but there wasn’t really any time at this point for relief, and certainly not for anything that would threaten her make-up, so she turned her attention away from the audience that had renewed its fucking to the footage of Vaughn, and instead let one of the production assistants bring out a folding chair and a bottle of water. She sat down and drank carefully with a straw, watching through the tempered glass. In the minute Vaughn had been inside the oven, liquids were already beginning to collect in the base of the pan and run down his skin; sweat mostly, along with a little blood from the wounds, to begin with. It was an important part of live cooking to sweat the meat as much as possible, without completely driving out the moisture. She watched, as fascinated as she had been the first time she roasted someone, as Vaughn’s skin, which had become quite pale from blood loss during the prep process, began to flush pink under the warm glow of the oven elements, glistening with a sheen of sweat that was already beginning to sizzle.
 
 
One of the cameras inside the oven was pointed straight between Vaughn’s legs, catching the sensuous drip of honeyed cum mixed with the boy’s own juices as it drooled from his buzzing cunt on to the warming metal. Over the next few minutes, the pink flush deepened, becoming a little crimson as the sweat continued to gush, his body desperately trying and failing to cool itself, the liquid around his belly wound starting to bubble a little. The skin on top of the apple began to crinkle ever so slightly, his teeth sinking a little further into it, the juices running down the side of his cheeks and across his lips, which were just starting to crack and swell. She watched, fascinated, as the skin began to blister a little at certain spots, the starts of burns which would not have time to fill with fluid before he died. She finished her water and checked the timer. Another six minutes to go. She stood up, the chair disappearing as she went over to take the pre-mixed glaze and a wooden-handled brush, ready for the cameras to start rolling again.
 
 
The heat that Vaughn was experiencing was beyond anything that he had experienced before. In seconds his body had gone from weak & sluggishly moving in the pan to suddenly far more alert than he ever had been. His arms and legs wriggled desperately in their binds, his muscles heaving and straining as every ounce of his existence fought against the omniscient heat sinking inside him and changing his chemical composition. Indeed, it seemed he was incapable of not moving, his head shaking back and forth as he shrieked uncontrollably as his skin turned to a deep pink, every inch glistening in his own sweat that once poured out, continued to heat and bubble on his body, stinging the heat even further into the layers and starting to effect the fat beneath the dermis as it began to melt and seep into the skin and muscles it was sandwiched between.
 
 
The vibrator was as relentless as the oven, and seemed to increase in intensity as his internal temperature increased as well, wreaking havoc on his clit as the juices coating it sizzled and popped. His eyes, wide and crazed looking, out of chance made out the shape of a dark circle within the design of the oven, and realized it was a camera, and everyone was watching him roast to death and probably enjoying the fuck out of it…. The thoughts mixed with the unyielding heat and his screaming, bound down body created an explosive reaction within the boy, his hips lurching as a burst of fluids streamed from his cunt and onto the pan, a hot flash of steam filling the oven chamber shortly after as it bubbled beneath him and seared the flesh on his back. His hips jutted forward over and over, squirting once, twice, three times, until he collapsed back down, the pan making a loud clatter beneath him, the oven continuing to work on cooking the slowly perishing boy.
 
 
Filming started up again just as the audience were treated to the incredibly erotic sight of Vaughn’s final orgasm relayed over the monitors, a genuine cheer going up, mixed with applause as Fiona, having just finished re-adjusting herself, turned to the nearest camera. “That of course is the reaction that any chef will be hoping for. The mixture of flavours that will be developing within Vaughn’s prime fillet are going to be absolutely exquisite.” Steam was beginning to rise now as well from his belly, the specially designed camera lenses resisting fogging, though the glass was starting to mist up. The first faint smells of cooking were also beginning to seep into the studio. Fiona returned to the oven door. “It’s important to check visually on your meat, especially in this early stage. Sometimes, a climax like that will be enough to stop a meat’s heart, but it seems our boy is still squirming.”
 
 
She bent her head to look inside through the mist. Vaughn was just beginning to really start cooking in earnest now, the edges of his belly wound starting to turn a pinkish brown. “It’s important to be able to adjust your cooking times on the fly.” She took a step back and opened the oven door. The smell suddenly increased, the long pork edge mixed with the notes of cooking fruit and boiling cum as she pulled on a pair of oven mitts and reached up under the grille that Vaughn’s roasting tray was resting on, sliding it a few feet out of the oven so she could work better.
 
 
“Now, remember, we want him to last as long as possible, and a little cool water on the head will give us some precious extra minutes, as well as deglazing the pan a little bit, we don’t want him to stick, after all.” She carefully poured a cup of water over Vaughn’s hair cap, the water sizzling and hissing as it came into contact with the tray, then used a teflon spatula to work underneath Vaughn’s back and buttocks, which had already started to begin to stick to the hot metal. Steam wafted up around the boy as she picked up the bowl of thick, fragrant glaze. “ You’ll want to try and make sure you get as much of him as possible.” She remarked, holding the large bowl in the crook of her left arm and painting with the right, starting at Vaughn’s face, wiping the thick, sticky mixture across his forehead and down across his eyes, stinging him as she continued to brush around his now rather plump and tender lips and on down to his neck, working methodically. Then she worked down his chest to the nipples before doing the arms, feeling the heat of the oven herself as she reached over to do his far limb, the cool mixture immediately beginning to heat up and bubble from both the radiant heat and what was residually left within his skin. She painted down across his belly, and on to the thighs, before finally pouring the rest of the bowl over him, starting the pour just above his cunt, so the thick glaze oozed down between his legs and over his flanks, bubbling and thickening already as it gathered up the salty thickened sweat in the bottom of the pan.
 
 
“Now, we’ll turn the heat up to 150 and put him in to snuff.” She adjusted the oven temperature, turning to look at Vaughn again as she did so. “Thank you, Vaughn, for being such a wonderful meatboy. There’s nothing left for you to do now. I’m sure everyone will enjoy you very much.” And with that, she donned the oven mitts again to shove him into the warming oven and closed the door for what would be, for him, the last time.
 
 
Vaughn felt the pressure of the air change as the sealed hot door was pulled open, the steamy, aromatic air bursting from the oven and rushing outward to fill the room and share the warm smells of Vaughn’s cooking meat mixed with cum and veggies. He continued to wail raspily beneath the apple caramelising against his lips as he was pulled out, the cool air somehow painful in it’s own way as it filled his half-cooked lungs once again, wheezing in and out fast and hard in short little gasps. He realised as he was pulled out that his vision was significantly worse; the heat had cooked into them and made everything outside dim and hazy, barely able to shift them as he looked around to the outside world for the first time as cooking meat.
 
 
The water hitting his forehead and scalp caused another scream to come out, the reaction against his skin, although may be helpful for his prolonged survival in the oven, still managed to sting as it attempted to slightly neutralise the heat. He bleated as parts of his body were peeled up from against the hot pan, quickly continuing it’s deep sizzling once it had been replaced.
 
 
He jumped at the initial sensation of the glaze, the texture unfamiliar to him as it draped over his frying layers of meat, causing a whole new sensation to unfold. As Fiona continued downwards, he could feel the glaze drip down all over, soak in, and begin to acclimate to the scorching temperature of his skin. It seeped into his flesh, and immediately began to work itself deeper into the layers, taking the heat along with it to help tenderise his flesh further. His eyes fluttered and his body twitched, his nips were peaked and harder than they’d ever been in his life, his cunt sizzling particularly hard as well, clit and edges of his labia having already begun to brown. Vaughn had always imagined that this part was some sort of last minute relief for the meat’s behalf, but as it worked into him he realised that it was definitely just going to insulate the heat and make him cook even better.
 
 
When she had finished and thanked him, he felt another deep pang of arousal in his loins as he sizzled, nipples standing upright, half cooked clit at attention. She was right, he had done a good job, he fulfilled his duty. There was a part of him that wished he could do anything but raspily wail beneath his gagged mouth in this moment, but it quickly passed as she pushed him right back in for the oven to continue its work, his volume readily increasing in reaction. Now not only was his body cooking, but the hot glaze that coated every inch of him seeped deeper and deeper to break down his muscle tissues and let the flavours mix with the taste of his flesh.
 
 
He could feel the oven get hotter, hotter, and holy shit, he thought it was as hot as possible but somehow it seemed to be far more intense than even before, his body bucking uncontrollably as the heat poured all of its energy into converting his muscles, which were doing everything in their power to resist, and failing. In one big instance, his whole body seemed to burst with fight, every muscle flexing for what felt like eternity as he wheezed and screamed as loud and as long as he possibly could….and then…. It stopped. The movement, the struggle, the noise. His body had remained in place, strained, legs lewly spread wide, face engorged and tilted back as the heat continued onward, cooking deeper and deeper into the meat, now even more efficiently that the subject was cooked in place.
 
 
Fiona took a step back, hanging up her oven mitts and walking over to the kitchen counter, picking up the mason jar still about a quarter full of dickgirl breast fat and moving over to the hobs. As she melted the fat in a pan, she watched a monitor set up back-stage, out of sight of the cameras. The higher heat had a rapid effect, both on Vaughn and the gaze covering him. The apple in his mouth crinkled and browned still further, hot juices trickling down his throat and his face, the pear between his legs going as well as his belly started to swell a little, the vegetables inside him beginning to roast. His eyes began to turn a milky yellow, fat oily tears welling up in the corners and mixing with the glaze; still he trembled, alive even as his skin beneath the bubbling mixture coating him began to turn a deep golden brown, the layers of skin separating and crinkling.
 
 
Then she saw it; the death spasm, one last brave but futile attempt by the dying boy to live. The pan was full now of golden fat, and she carried it to the oven even as the audience, realising Vaughn was dead, began to applaud again. She let the fat simmer away, the clock ticking on as Vaughn continued to cook. The lips of his labia curled like bacon around the intruding pear; his erect nipples swelled even as they started to crisp, his body continuing to tighten up as the ligaments cooked, then slowly starting to relax. Inside him, she knew, the blood that remained in his veins was starting to transform into a thick brown gravy, some it already leaking out from his stumps and from between his legs as his exposed meat browned. His skin began to split, the first golden juices of his molten subcutaneous fat weeping out to join the delicious jus that was accumulating in the base of the pan.
 
 
Finally, after another twenty minutes or so had passed, she opened the oven door again, the heat inside fierce, and poured the hissing liquid out across the base of the pan and across Vaughn’s chest and belly before shutting the door again, sweat glistening on her forehead despite the make-up. The cameras stopped rolling, and she turned to the audience. “There will be a short break now of about an hour until his next basting; feel free to continue fucking while you watch the meal finish cooking, and remember to stay hydrated.” On cue, production assistants with trays of water bottles began to circulate as Fiona, after a quick bow to the applause, retreated back-stage, where her folding chair was set up next to a monitor. It was all she could do not to tear her chef’s trousers off as she pulled them down, her plain white panties visibly soaked through. She turned her attention to the monitor as her hand snaked down between her legs, her eyes lidded, letting out a soft moan as she began to masturbate, steady strong strokes of her finger as she watched the feed from the oven, the rich smell of roasting cuntboy now filling the studio.
 
 
Vaughn would be long gone by the time the audience acknowledges his death and applauds for it, his body continuing to sizzle further as the heat continued to permeate through his flesh. His skin had tightened and darkened in color, turning a hot golden brown as the glaze mixes with his own juices and bubbles on his now crispening skin. His body was positioned in a way that seemed rather erotic, hips splayed open as the fluids seeping out of his cunt bubbled and popped, the vibrating thermometer still actively working inside. What had started as a young, attractive and dubiously willing volunteer had now transformed into an erotic feast before their eyes in a matter of moments.
 
 
As the heat continued at its gruellingly consistent pace the meat within it didn’t stand any chance of resistance as it was gradually cooked through. The skin of his body began to get tight around the joints as the fat of his body began to seep out in various fissures from the heat splitting him open. His eyes had completely glazed over, pupils faded and obscured into pale brown blobs that had glossed over by the increasing amount of fat being pushed externally from within. With every passing moment he was looking more and more appetizing, and though it was a slow process, audience members seemed quite content getting off to it multiple times, dirty talking each other, making comments about getting the other to volunteer for the next show. All the little moments gradually added up over time as the boy continued to roast at the leisure of the TV show’s production scheduling.
 
 
Fiona was soon joined by one of the production assistants who had helped her manoeuvre Vaughn into the oven, a burly young dickgirl by the name of Sarah, who without a word knelt down in front of the chair, giving her a wink. She spread her legs a little wider, resting her hands behind her head and focused on the feed from the oven as the girl began to pull her panties down with her teeth. Vaughn looked less like a person and more like meat with each passing minute. His stuffed belly swelled delightfully now, the stitches stretching, fragrant steam wafting forth from inside him as the sides cooked, his uterus just visible puffing up at the base of the gash.
 
 
The cracked portions of his skin were browning, thickening slowly into delicious cuntboy crackling as the fat ran out. Underneath, the muscles were transforming to rich, dark pink meat, the loosening joints seeming to lewdly invite the inevitable teeth of his consumers. His eyes were almost pure yellow now, rimmed with a saucy crust, and within his head his brains were liquefying into a thick, rich soup, dark jus running from his ears beneath the tinfoil cap as his tongue poached in the fragrant juices of the apple, his cheeks sucking in a little as his face cooked. The fat coating his gravy filled heart had melted, his deflated lungs swelling again as the cooked inside him.
 
 
Fiona gasped as Sarah’s tongue got to work on her own dripping folds, reaching out to turn the monitor to the feed from the camera pointed between Vaughn’s legs. The sight of his cunt made her mouth drool as much as her own slit, the pubic mound thick and meaty beneath its layer of crackling, the juices of the glazed pear keeping his more delicate folds from overcooking even as parts began to crisp up, thick juices bubbling around the parsnip in his ruined anus as the cooking muscles relaxed, the tense, tortured meatboy becoming more and more tender by the moment, the spice of adrenaline and sex hormones that had flooded his body still coursing around him as the gravy in his arteries flowed with heat rather than the pumping of his heart, cooking him from the inside out as well. She flooded Sarah’s mouth with fresher, more vital juices and invited her up for a kiss as she checked the timer. Another fifteen minutes or so. Dani appeared from somewhere, helping her touch up and get back into her chef’s clothes, her panties lost somewhere in the confusion, to end up on some online auction no doubt, not that it bothered her much.
 
 
When she emerged again on to the studio stage, she could see the audience had obviously been working up quite an appetite. You could barely have clothed three or four people in everything the fifty strong group was still wearing, and there were obvious signs of fatigue to their coupling. She got a round of almost drunken sounding applause as she came out on to the stage, approaching the oven as the cameras began to roll again. “One final basting, and a little bit of the higher heat, and then I’d like to invite the studio audience to join me next door, where we will be serving today’s roast.” That got even more applause. She let it die down before opening the oven door again, the heat blasting her in the face along with an indescribably delicious, rich smell of roasted, garnished cuntboy. She used a long handled ladle to gather up the juices in the bottom of the pan, anointing the hissing meat with the thickening golden brown mixture, then put the temperature up one final time.
 
 
It was always such an act of patience to allow a roast to finish cooking completely; after all the excitement of initially putting the roast in, there was a surprisingly large amount of waiting for the whole roast to cook through. Inside the oven was a constant, loud chorus of boiling fat and juice as it reacted to the enveloping heat. The skin that encased the boy had a glossed over, wet look as it continued dripping and darkening to a mouthwatering deep golden brown tone. Vaughn had the experience himself of meeting someone who was roasted alive shortly after several times; some he knew personally better than others, but one thing remained the same; their faces all looked grotesquely erotic, like their tortured screams actually brought them immense levels of pleasure.
 
 
While no one could live to tell if that was certain, it was always a trait he admired and what ultimately melted him into an orgasm whenever he got the chance to watch it happen. This time however, the expression was painted on his own face, seared permanently as the heat cured him of his humanity; he technically hadn’t been considered human since he signed the papers, but now that the process was well underway it was obvious; he was meat, and positively mouthwateringly juicy meat at that, the cameras catching every pop and crack in the roasted slut’s form, showing off how excellent of a job Fiona had done prepping him and making sure his meat was well basted throughout.
 
 
There was another short break in filming, while the cameras were repositioned to catch Vaughn’s emergence from the oven, leaving Fiona with little to do for the moment. The segment on how to make the hand and foot stew would be filmed later; Vaughn’s now cold trimmings had already been washed and stowed away in a refrigerator somewhere. She sat in her chair, enjoying the afterglow of a good orgasm, watching the meat finish off, the crackling bubbling, the jus thickening, the eyeballs sinking in their sockets as the expression on the dead boy’s face became somehow even more blissfully obscene.
 
 
Finally, a timer chimed, and the camera crew bustled into position as Fiona turned the oven off and slipped on the mitts for the last time that day. The orange glow ever so slowly began to fade as the door swung open, Fiona’s glasses fogging for a second as the heat washed up over her. The cameras captured everything, ready to be edited into a mouth-watering montage as Fiona carefully slid the roasting tray out on to a waiting trolley. Steam wafted from Vaughn’s belly and mouth, and from between his legs. Filming stopped again, and the production assistants began to usher the audience through towards the room where the feast would be served.
 
 
As the door swung open and the oven’s steam poured out, the aromatic sweet & savory notes of cuntboy filled the room. As the tray from the oven pulled out, the stage lighting caught every glimmer of crispy skin, a crust of glaze forming as the roast began the cooling process. Vaughn was now unrecognisable, in colour, shape, and form, completely converted into an exquisitely crafted meal. Bubbling oils gradually slowed down as the air carried the excess heat away, steam pouring out of his cunt, face, belly, and every other crevice and orifice it could find as the sizzling slowed down. The golden-brown skin was taut around every cooked muscle that bulged from beneath to display it’s tenderness, his swollen belly starting to deflate ever-so-slightly now that the hot air pressure wasn’t keeping the air ballooned inside of him. The nipples and clit stayed permanently peaked, reaching upwards as the oils coating them fizzled down, darkened and crispy and looking ready to cut off and pop into someone’s mouth. The roast’s lips were sealed around the tenderly cooked apple in his mouth, tender glossy yellowed eyes bulged in their sockets, his final expression appearing like he had orgasmed as his soul was ripped from his being.
 
 
What started as a writhing and screaming slut in the oven, like so many before him, was now a perfectly curated roast, designed and produced by a master chef for the sake of cannibal food television. Once everything was edited down and put to the public the whole world would see Vaughn’s conversion, and likely inspire anyone with a cuntboy in their life to give them a try for their meat for once.
 
 
Several members of the audience crowded near the door for a chance to get an autograph or a selfie. Fiona smiled cheerfully as she indulged them; she wasn’t an A-list celeb, really just skirting around the outer edges of C-list, but she did have her fans. The audience members had mostly re-dressed, though some of them had not exactly been wearing the most modest outfits to begin with; what loose standards did exist in cannibal society could easily be abandoned for the sake of a chance to wave your genitals about on television. There seemed to be more attention, though, on the main dish, as it was parked in position in the middle of the room. Each audience member clutched a plate with a number printed on the underside. “Form an orderly queue please!” Fiona said briskly, pulling back from her last selfie and advancing towards the wheeled table. Another small table next to it held a pair of carving knives, some serving spoons and a meat fork, all razor sharp and gleaming. A couple of camerapeople with on-the-shoulder units were scattered about, catching everything. “Now, to make things fair, we’re going to call your numbers at random one at a time to be served. My glamorous assistant will do the calling.” She indicated Stefan, one of the production team, who stood by looking fairly unglamorous in his black crew shirt, despite designer stubble. She idly remembered, from the play room at the last Christmas party, that Stefan was himself a cuntboy, and she thought she detected an unusual flush to his cheeks as he tapped his tablet and read out the first number.
 
 
“Thirty four!” A young man, wearing only jeans that showed off a slim, hairless physique, the glisten of someone else’s saliva visible on his nipples, gave a sort of joyful whoop of surprise, several other audience members breaking out into spontaneous applause, despite some jealous glances as he moved forward. It was obvious what this lucky fellow’s selection would be. She asked anyway as she picked up the fork and the longer of the two knives. “Lucky you. What would you like?” He held out his plate almost sheepishly. “I’ll have half his cunt, and a few slices of upper arm.” Fiona was impressed at his restraint, willing to share the delectable cut. She ran the tip of the blade down the line of stitches on Vaughn’s belly, the threads parting easily, his stomach gaping open to reveal the roasted sides within, then, with an assurance that came from great practice, she speared the fat, juicy fillet with the fork, one tine either side of the pear, and began to carve with the knife along the natural line between abdomen and leg.
 
 
Clear pink juices dribbled into the base of the pan, the room strangely quiet except for the sounds of slicing meat and crackling as she worked her way down one side and up the other, before joining the two cuts at the top, gently levering out a thick triangle of mouth-watering meat, the boy’s inner muscles a deep, rich pink fading to a light brown at the edges, a thin layer of fat solidified within the crackling. She had carved right back to the cervix to left the entire pear out, and the meaty stuffing began to bulge from the boy’s well cooked uterus as she laid the cunt down in the bottom of the pan and switched to the shorter blade. She started her bisection at the lowest point, near what would have once been Vaughn’s perineum. The meat parted easily, the pear beautifully soft and cooked to golden brown perfection; she took especial care with the clit, the razor sharp blade parting that prized morsel cleanly down the middle, the two halves finally falling apart, revealing a cross-section that would have the viewers at home drooling from both mouths and genitals. She speared one half and laid it on the lucky audience member’s plate, careful not to disturb the appearance, quickly moving up to slice the twine on Vaughn’s right arm, the one she had noticed he favoured in masturbation and thus traditionally the first to be served, digging the fork into his bicep and slicing in deep at an angle, shaving a couple of generous slices of cuntboy meat to add to the plate, followed by four of the roast potatoes, some vegetables and a portion of the stuffing from within him, all artfully and perfectly arranged. “Bon appetit!” She said, with a smile and a wink.
 
 
Many in the audience moaned and drooled as the cunt filet was so artfully removed from the roasted boy, hardly a scrap of meat left behind, opening the first glimpses of inside the succulent meal, a wave of freshly cooked vegetables and stuffing taking dominance in aroma as the belly was easily parted once the twine was gone.
 
 
Stefan himself had watched, mesmerized as the delectable cut was removed and then split perfectly in half, a hard zing pulling at his own sex that mirrored the plate being bisected. It had taken him a few seconds, plus the producer hurriedly reminding him to keep going in his earpiece, to keep going. “Ah… S-Sixty Seven!” He called out next as he hastily pulled the next number up on the screen. Another cheer and applause as a busty girl with a black bob hurried on up, just wearing a black bra and a short jean skirt. “I’d love the other half of the cunt filet, and some breast meat, extra stuffing please!”
 
 
Other members were discussing amongst themselves what they’d like, hoping no one would take their choice cuts, a few people cursing every now and then when the cut they wanted was taken, one or two of them going to whichever lucky person it was and seeing if they could persuade them to give them a bite. The sexy cuts almost always went first, often followed by bicep and quad meat and the ribs. As the meat was cut apart and distributed, pretty soon the noisy clattering of forks and knives against plates filled the room, the audience members eager to eat and taste the flesh they had just been introduced to hours earlier. A few talked about how they’d never had even considered the possibility of roasting a cuntboy before, or how it just had never crossed their minds. Others were quick to defend, boasting that they -always- enjoyed the taste of cuntboy, and how noble it was for Chef Larson to take it on herself to bring her knowledge to a broader audience. Despite their differences, everyone was in agreement that it was one of the better dishes they had tasted.
 
 
Although carving Vaughn’s meat was a pleasure in itself, there was something a little torturous about having to watch so much of the boy’s prime meat disappear into the mouths of the audience, along with most of the side dishes. By the time they had all eaten and the camera work finished, the last of them being ushered away by the production staff, more than half of the boy had quite simply disappeared; his whole crotch was gone, his legs skeletal down to the knees and missing more than a few slices from the calves, the arms in a similar situation. His breast was cleaned away, ribs removed in sections with the aid of a small saw. Inside, his heart was gone, the lungs still mostly in place, a little too exotic for most. His disarticulated jaw lay next to his head, the cheeks flensed away, the eyes scooped out for one slightly more adventurous but slightly annoying woman (who talked loudly about how she had tried it before on her gap year in Indonesia).
 
 
Almost nothing else was intact, and the whole feast had cooled and congealed somewhat, his limp, oiled hair the last reminder of his humanity. Once the last of the public had gone, it was finally time for the crew to have their share; Fiona always swore that the number of people working on the production doubled in this time. This time though, it was her turn first; she had managed to discreetly hide some of the uterus stuffing under a potato; along with a generous portion of belly, some vegetables and a little dark meat from his forearm, she had her selection. Her task was now over, and she sat at a nearby table to eat as she watched the rest of the crew descended on the carcass like vultures. Some had bought their own tools; as she carved into the belly and put the first morsel in her mouth, chewing slowly and savouring the flavour, she could hear the distinctive tapping as someone took a chisel to the forehead. Brains were best served hot and fresh, but they’d hardly be unappetising now. Dani joined her after a minute, her plate piled with what looked like about half of one of the remaining calves, and no sides whatsoever. Fiona envied her metabolism. “This is really good!” She remarked, mouth already full as she ate with her fingers, already coated in grease, “Not that I’m surprised. My compliments to the chef!”
 
 
Fiona shook her head as she finished chewing her mouthful of tender meat.
 
 
“Nothing to it! My compliments to the meat!” and she raised a bottle of water in a toast as the sound of Vaughn’s bones being cracked for their marrow rang out over the cheerful conversation that filled the room.