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16

Fiction / Chuck Roast 1.1 Part Two

« on: November 13, 2021, 05:07:49 AM »

A Fantasy About How Chuck Roast Came To Be Hanged, Cooked, And Eaten
Part Two


The hanging detail having formed, the drummers continued playing a march cadence.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfhIbNIoFbk

The Hangwomen & Cooks forcibly marched Chuck Roast under duress to the gallows to be hanged. As they approached it, from a distance he could see the gallows and the noose suspended from the crossbeam above the trapdoors. He was afraid, deathly afraid, because he knew that he was going to die very soon. And he knew how horribly he was going to die. He knew that he was headed to the gallows, to the oven, to the table. He knew that he was going to be hanged, cooked, and eaten. And he was terrified.

“Please don’t hang me! Please don’t hang me! Please don’t hang me! Please, please, please, please, please don’t hang me!” he whimpered desperately.

The Hangwomen & Cooks smiled with cruelty, pleasure, satisfaction, and hungry anticipation because they knew by his response, by his panicked pleading, that he was theirs, that their domination, their control, their command of him was complete. They knew that they could make him do anything they wanted, that they could do with him and to him anything they wanted.

And what they wanted right now was to hang him, cook him, and eat him. And they knew that they would. And he knew that they would. And they knew that only by hanging him, cooking him, and eating him would their insatiable hunger and desire finally be sated. And he knew it, too, and he was terrified.

The Hangwomen & Cooks salivated, they licked their lips, their stomachs growled, and they became even more cannibalistic, more ravenous, more anxious to hang him so they could then cook him and eat him. And they knew that they would. And their ravenous anticipation increased even more.

And he knew it, too. He recoiled, but the Hangwomen & Cooks were firmly in command and control of him with their hands on his shoulders, his arms, his tie, and his belt, grabbing him and urgently forcing him onward as the drummers kept them in step.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfhIbNIoFbk

He could not resist, he could not escape, he could not avoid being hanged. And he knew it. They were in control. And he knew that, too. And so did they, for they knew that they were about to hang him, cook him, and eat him. Indeed, they couldn't wait to hang him, cook him, and eat him. He wished they wouldn’t hang him, cook him, and eat him, but he knew they would.

He could feel their touch through the roughsmooth texture of his white, oxford cloth shirt. Terrified though he was, he liked that feeling, that he liked that they were touching him, he liked that he could feel the roughsmooth texture of his white, oxford cloth shirt as they touched him through it. His erection got harder.

He could feel the pressure of their hands on him. Good feeling. Very good feeling. Beautiful women touching him. Every man would like that, and he liked it, too, in spite of his deadly situation. His erection got harder. Even better feeling. But he knew, as the hanging detail marched briskly to the gallows, that he would not feel good for long, for he was soon going to be hanged. His erection got harder.

He wondered if it would feel good to be hanged even though he knew that his hanging and any pleasant feeling that came from it would not last long. If he was lucky, he thought, and the Hangwomen & Cooks hanged him well, hanged him swiftly, hanged him surely, hanged him successfully, he would be dead when his neck snapped a second or two after he had been hanged. At least, he hoped that being hanged by the neck until dead would take only a second or two.

The Hangwomen & Cooks forcibly marched him on toward the gallows. He whimpered. He was full of fear. And his whimpering and his fear rewarded and excited the Hangwomen & Cooks, made them even more eager, made them even more anxious, made them even more ravenous, made them hurry even more to the gallows because they knew that they would very soon hang him, and after they had hanged him, they would be able to cook him and eat him, and they also knew from experience that his fear and struggling would make him taste much, much better when they did because that proved that they dominated and controlled him completely, and they knew from experience that man-meat from subdued, dominated, and controlled men tasted better.

“Silence! The victim will remain silent, or we will make your hanging and your death long and painful! If you do not remain silent, we might decide that we will only half-hang you until you are only half-dead and then cook you while you are still alive! We would love that, love hearing you moan with pleasure at first as the oven becomes warmer and you being to cook. And then we would love to hear you scream as the oven gets hotter and hotter, and you roast more and more, love watching you squirm as you try to resist the glowing heat of the oven and your man-meat cooks to a delicious doneness. But we are sure that you wouldn't enjoy that, so if you don’t want to suffer a lengthy, horrifying, painful, ignoble death, then BE SILENT!” It was a command that he was powerless to ignore and eager to obey so as to minimize his suffering, for he knew that he could not escape his fate, that he was going to die very soon, that he was going to be hanged, cooked, and eaten. His erection got even harder.

When the hanging detail arrived at the foot of the stairs of the gallows, the drummers played an execution drum roll.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbnQiadj8mY

Two of the Hangwomen & Cooks mounted the stairs first to make sure that everything was in working order for the hanging of Chuck Roast and to make penultimate preparations to hang him. When all was ready, they called down to the four Hangwomen & Cooks still guarding Chuck Roast on the ground beside the gallows and indicated that all was prepared, that they were ready to hang him, and that the Hangwomen & Cooks on the ground should escort him up the stairs to the platform of the gallows to be hanged.

When they reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the platform of the gallows, together six of the Hangwomen & Cooks swiftly and forcibly moved a still very reluctant Chuck Roast onto the trapdoors beneath the noose as the drummers continued their execution cadence. The Chief Hangwoman & Cook smoothed and straightened the collar of his hanging shirt. Then she smoothed and straightened his hanging necktie. Then she tightened his hanging necktie to the point of choking him, almost to the point of "hanging" him without having to hang him.

The Chief Hangwoman & Cook placed the noose over his head, moved it down around his neck, and tightened it loosely. Then she repositioned it so that the hangman’s knot was beneath the left angle of his jaw in the sub-aural position, the traditional position for the hangman’s knot to ensure a swift, sure, solid, silent, successful hanging. Then she tightened it much more snugly around his neck to the point that he could feel the stiff, harsh rope, the unrelenting, and ultimately fatal noose through the roughsmooth oxford cloth on the inside of the collar of his hanging shirt. She tightened the noose so snugly that he choked even more, choked as he would soon most surely choke when he was momentarily hanged. He liked that feeling though, again, he knew that it would not last long when he was actually hanged because he would be dead, unable to feel anything, unable to enjoy anything. That's what happens to a man when he is hanged. And he wanted to be hanged.

He made coughing, gagging, choking, hanging sounds, which made the Hangwomen & Cooks laugh cruelly. The Chief Hangwoman & Cook jerked sharply on the rope several times to test the noose and to give Chuck Roast a small taste of the much, much, much, much stronger jerk he would feel when he was hanged and he reached the end of his fatal drop. She rubbed her hands over his very muscular, very tempting, and very tasty pecs, and she stroked his manly nipples. They grew hard and erect, and his erection below grew even harder and more agonizingly urgent. He came in his pants, came hard, came fast, came long. He couldn’t stop it from happening, and he really didn’t want to, for it might be the last pleasure he ever felt because he was about to be hanged.

Again, he cried, “Please don’t hang me! Please don’t hang me! Please, please, please, please, please don’t hang me!”

Again, the Chief Hangwoman & Cook spoke harshly to him. “Silence! This is a legal hanging! This hanging will be dignified! Your hanging will proceed! Nothing that you can say or do will change your fate! You are going to be hanged, cooked, and eaten! There is no alternative! No matter what you say or do, you are going to be hanged, cooked, and eaten! There is no other possible outcome! There is no escape! So be silent! Stop crying! Straighten up! Be courageous, be noble, and be brave! Be a man and face your hanging like a man, for you are a man, and we are definitely going to hang you! And after we have hanged you, we are going to cook you and eat you! Face your hanging with honor and dignity, for you are surely going to hang, you are surely going to die! If you do not remain silent, we will make your hanging very long and very painful, and your death very hard!”

Again, he cried, “Please don’t hang me! Please don’t hang me! God, please don't hang me! God, please, please, please, please, please don’t hang me!”

Again, the Chief Hangwoman & Cook spoke harshly to him. "God isn't going to hang you! I am! Silence!"

As the Chief Hangwoman & Cook noosed Chuck Roast, while he stood choking on the noose and on his very snugly cinched hanging necktie underneath it. The five Hangwomen & Cooks who weren’t drumming bound him with stiff, strong rope to make it impossible for him to struggle and resist. They bound his yummy muscular arms around his yummy muscular chest, bound his yummy muscular thighs together, and bound his ankles together. He was completely immobilized, completely under the command and control of the Hangwomen & Cooks. They finished preparing Chuck Roast for being hanged.

The Chief Hangwoman & Cook read the order of execution, speaking these words: “Chuck Roast, you have been indicted, tried, and found guilty! The penalty is death! The penalty of death is to be executed upon you by means of death by hanging! You are therefore sentenced to be hanged by the neck until you are dead! When you are dead, you are further sentenced to be cooked and eaten! If you have any last words before we hang you, you may speak briefly!”

Still stunned and terrified by all that had been happening around him and to him, his lips moved, but he could not say anything. He was immobile, totally dominated and controlled by the Hangwomen & Cooks. He was silent. He had no voice. The terror he felt, the fear and horror of being hanged stole his voice from his throat just as the noose would very soon break his neck, crush his larynx, steal his voice forever, and steal the life from his very handsome, very well-dressed, very cookable, very edible, very tempting and delicious muscular body. The Hangwomen & Cooks smiled cruelly again as they eagerly and hungrily anticipated very soon hanging him, cooking him, and eating him.

17

Fiction / Chuck Roast 1.1 Part One

« on: November 13, 2021, 05:05:38 AM »

I have rewritten and expanded this fantasy, adding details to make it more interesting, more exciting, more stimulating, more delicious, and more satisfying, so I am posting this new version. I hope that you enjoy it. I welcome your comments. Thanks!
 
A Fantasy About How Chuck Roast Came To Be Hanged, Cooked, And Eaten
Part One

Chuck Roast sat on the edge of his cot with his feet firmly planted flat on the concrete floor. He consciously forced himself not to move. He was trying very hard not to wrinkle his beautiful, tasteful and tasty, navy slacks or to cause them to lose their crisp creases because he feared the consequences.

He was sitting bolt erect, too, because he also did not want to wrinkle his beautiful, crisp, freshly ironed, white, long-sleeved, button-down, tasteful and tasty, oxford cloth dress shirt; did not want to cause it to lose its creases, which had been made crisper and crispier, more tasteful and tastier with light starch, made firmer, made into something that someone could sink her teeth into. He also did not want to wrinkle his beautiful, dark, striped, tasteful and tasty, silk necktie.

He feared that he would be punished if he mussed any of his clothes, and he did not want to be punished, he did not want to face the displeasure of the stern, demanding, unforgiving women waiting for him, who had already displayed their harshness to him when they seduced him and imprisoned him, so he remained motionless. Except for his breathing, which was rapid and shallow because he was afraid. He did not know how the women would punish him, but he was sure that they would because they had emphatically warned him not to wrinkle his clothes when they had locked him in his cell to contemplate his fate, so he sat at attention, waiting.

He was thinking hard, thinking fast, thinking of where he was, thinking of where he was going, and thinking of what might happen to him next. He sat there in rigid, panicked silence because he knew if the women were going to do something to him that it would not be good and pleasant. No, their harshness strongly indicated to him, indeed, loudly shouted at him that they would make his punishment harsh as well. They would make it very harsh and unpleasant, perhaps hurtful, perhaps harmful, perhaps painful, perhaps worse, and he was afraid of what that worse might be. He dreaded punishment and pain, especially from them, for they were harsh and demanding. And cruel. Indeed, very harsh, very demanding, and very cruel.

He was thinking about how he had gotten there, thinking very quickly, and thinking very, very hard.

First, they had made him feel specially honored by inviting him for dinner. They had promised him that they had something very romantic, very special, and extremely sexy planned for him. He was curious and enticed. He knew that they were very beautiful women, and he wanted to be romantic, special, and sexy with them, perhaps with one of them, perhaps with all of them. He enthusiastically accepted their invitation. He was aroused. He had loved the attention that they were paying to him, and he loved that they were having him for dinner.

Then, right on time, he had gone to their mansion for dinner.

Then they had dinner.

Then after they had eaten, they had seduced him.

Then they had taken turns manually manipulating his manhood 'til it stood at attention.

Then they had continued to manually manipulate and stimulate his manhood to produce its thick, sweet, special, tasty, man milk.

Then they had most cruelly and most abruptly stopped manually manipulating and stimulating his manhood. They had primed him, but they were not going to let him climax. They stopped just before he was going to explode with heightened, ecstatic pleasure; just before his rock-hard manhood would have spurted his thick, sweet, special, tasty man-milk, his gooey, gluey cum everywhere.

Then, while his balls were aching in agonizing unfulfillment, they had pounced on him, wrestled him to the ground, taken control of him, tied him up, and imprisoned him.

That was then.

This was now.

As he sat motionless in his cell as he had for weeks when he wasn't sleeping, he contemplated his fate again, more keenly this time. His thoughts were as sharp as the creases on his beautiful, crisp, freshly ironed, white, long-sleeved, button-down, tasteful and tasty, oxford cloth dress shirt.

Then he heard the rapid high-heeled click of the women's determined footsteps in the hall intently approaching the door of his cell, and he tensed even more because he was even more afraid. They were coming for him, and he knew it. And he was afraid of what was going to happen next, of what was going to happen to him, of what they were going to do to him. And then he heard the key in the lock of his cell door, and he tensed with even more anticipation, fear, and dread.

Eight women swiftly, surely, and silently entered his cell. They were also dressed in beautiful, crisp, freshly ironed, white, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirts. Some of them were wearing neckties like his. Two of them wore snare drums, and they struck a marching cadence.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfhIbNIoFbk

“Stand up, Roast!” their leader ordered.

“What ... What ... What’s ...?” he stammered as he timidly and haltingly rose.

“What’s going to happen to you? You’re going to be cooked, Roast! And then, of course, after you have been cooked, you are going to be eaten!” she said in a loud, intimidating, domineering voice. “And it is we who are going to cook you and eat you!”

The order that she barked, and the tone and volume of her voice, strongly indicated that she was in command, that she was telling the truth, that she expected him to submit, accept his fate, and follow orders. Chuck Roast shook with terror. It was the kind of voice that no man would ever ignore, the kind of voice that he would never ignore, the kind of command that he could not even dream of ignoring and refusing right now, in his serious and immediate life and death situation, imprisoned and just told that he was condemned to a horrific fate, that he was going to be cooked and eaten. He started to whimper, and he trembled with fear just as any condemned man who knew that he was going to die in horrific fashion--that he was headed from cell, to oven, to table--would tremble.

He cried, “Cooked? Cooked?! COOKED?!?! I don’t want to be cooked! Being cooked will hurt! A lot! Being cooked will be excruciatingly painful! How can you make me suffer so?! How can you be so CRUEL to me?!?!”

“Silence!” the leader of the cannibal women shouted. “You won’t feel a thing when you are cooked because first you are going to be hanged!”

He felt weak, his stomach sank, his knees buckled, and he felt as if he might faint. His terrifyingly cruel cannibal captors, executioners, cooks, and consumers grabbed him and steadied him to keep him from falling and potentially damaging his man-meat. Terrified, feeling completely dominated, completely intimidated, completely unable to escape, completely unable to deal with this new and even more horrifying sentence that she had just pronounced on him, he whimpered, “Hang … Hang … HANGED? You’re going to HANG me?! And then you are going to COOK me and EAT me?!?!”

“Silence! Put your hands behind your back! Yes, you’re going to be hanged! And it is we who going to hang you! And after we have hanged you by neck until you are dead, we’re going to cook you and eat you! We are not being cruel to you! We are treating you as we should treat you, like the piece of meat that you are, the piece of meat that we want to cook and eat! We are eager, impatient, murderous, ravenous Killer Cannibals! And we can wait no more! We are eagerly looking forward to hanging you! And our wait is over! And your wait is over, too! Your time is now! You are going to be hanged! And we are going to enjoy hanging you!”

“We are also going to enjoy preparing you for being cooked, for you must be very carefully prepared after you have been hanged, prepared so that you will cook well and taste especially good when you are eaten! We will derive great joy and ecstatic pleasure from cooking you! And after we cook you, we are going to eat you! And we will enjoy eating you, enjoy every delicious forkful of man-meat that we slice from you and eat! We are salivating right now just imaging how good you are going to taste, how special, how satisfying, how yummy, how stomach-filling, HOW DELCIOUS!”

She licked her lips and made yummy sounds. Then she nibbled on his neck and his earlobe for a minute or so to taste him raw. And then she made more enthusiastic yummy sounds. Then she wiped her tongue over her lips again and made even more enthusiastic yummy sounds as she swallowed. Then she said with great gusto and desire, "You have good taste, and not just good taste in clothing standing there in your yummy white shirt and tie! Meat must be well-dressed! And well-dressed meat must be COOKED! And after well-dressed meat is cooked, it must be EATEN!! AND YOU ARE GOING TO BE EATEN!!"

Then all the women licked their lips and made yummy sounds. Then they, too, nibbled on his neck and earlobe for a minute or so, and made even more enthusiastic yummy sounds as the ran their hands over his white shirt and felt his large, well-defined, very tempting and tasty muscles. Then they wiped their tongues over their lips again, swallowed, and made even more enthusiastic yummy sounds.

Then the leader of the cannibal women declared, "I must taste you again!" She gave him an expert, long and hard, open-mouthed kiss thrusting her slow-moving tongue deep down his throat. She expertly wrapped her probing tongue around his. His enthusiastic reciprocation was automatic. He was not in control; his body was. He was aroused as he had always been aroused when kissed that way. He enjoyed the sensuous feeling of lips hungrily nibbling at each other, of tongues vigorously intertwining, embracing, and tasting each other. He got an erection. He felt very good. But he wondered how long he would feel so good because he knew that she was just tasting him one last time before she tasted him for real, he knew that she was going to hang him, cook him, and eat him.

And he was terrified.

“We are ravenous Killer Cannibals! We are your Hangwomen & Cooks! And at this very moment, we are growing more and more ravenous, more and more impatient, more and more eager to hang you so we can cook you and eat you! And our anticipation is driving us delirious with insatiable desire, ever more anxious to hang you so we can cook you and eat you! So now we are going to hang you! That sounds so good! We’re going to hang you! We’re going to hang you! Hang you! Hang you! Hang you! That sounds, oh, so very, very good, so very, very tempting! I’ll say it again! I’ll shout it with joy! WE’RE GOING TO HANG YOU! HANG YOU! HANG YOU!”

“Pinion his arms behind his back and tie his wrists together!” she ordered. The other Hangwomen & Cooks swiftly and efficiently complied, well accustomed as they were to preparing a man to be hanged. Then with their hands clamped firmly on him, on his belt, and on his tie, they surrounded him to guard him, to escort him, and to prevent him from resisting, struggling, fighting, and hanging back to stay alive instead of moving forward to be hanged by the neck until he was dead.

“Come with us!”

18

Fiction / Chuck Roast 2.0

« on: September 11, 2021, 10:45:10 PM »

Chuck Roast loved teaching. Like most grad students in the English Department, he received free tuition and a modest stipend for being a teaching assistant. And he loved it. He loved practicing to be the professor of English that he dreamed of becoming. He took his job very seriously and always dressed professionally for it. He always wore a clean, crisp, white, long-sleeved, button-down, Oxford cloth shirt; a tasteful dark necktie; and navy blue or charcoal gray slacks. He prided himself for dressing professionally. None of the other grad students did, and few of the professors did. In fact, most of them had horrible taste in clothing. He couldn’t stand that, couldn’t stand their awful sartorial missteps, so he dressed professionally to lead his class professionally. He had learned that students treated him with more respect, that they paid more attention to him, that they expected more of him, and that they knew that he expected more of them when he dressed professionally, so he did. Besides, he enjoyed dressing that way. He felt so good when he did. He enjoyed the feel of the roughsmooth texture of his shirt against his skin.

And he especially enjoyed feeling the gentle yet constricting pressure, the embracing yet sinister pressure of his necktie through the roughsmooth texture of the inside of the collar of his shirt.

He also dressed professionally to be a role model for his younger fraternity brothers. He was the chapter adviser and lived at the fraternity house, which was several blocks west of the Quad, a 20-minute walk to and from the English Building. He received free room and meals for being the adviser. With that perk and with his stipend for teaching, he lived a little better than most other grad students, he had enough money to buy the clothes that made him look professional, and he was very glad of that because he deeply enjoyed dressing well, deeply enjoyed how the other students looked at him, especially the women students.

He took his position at the fraternity seriously. Despite the widely held and often correct belief that members of fraternities were really just self-interested, hedonistic “frat boys” who drank too much, partied too much, slept too much, studied too little, and worked too little, he believed that fraternity men should be held not to a low standard, to the “frat boy” standard, but to a high standard. He further believed that men in his beloved fraternity should, just because they were members of such a great fraternity, be held to an even higher standard than members of other fraternities so that they would be the most admired men, the most sought-after men, the most desirable men on campus. And they were.

He tried very hard to help them learn how to be better brothers, better students, better young men, better adults, better workers, better husbands, better fathers, and better role models themselves. Chuck Roast loved doing all that because he loved his younger brothers. Some of them began dressing professionally, too, not all the time as he did but at least some of the time because they had learned that, as Chuck had promised, women paid more attention, special attention to them when they were well-dressed.
As his class reached its conclusion, he said to his students, “Your next assignment is to read the first 10 chapters of The Folded Leaf by William Maxwell.” It was his favorite novel and perfect for college students. It was so good that students often chose to continue reading great literature even after they had finished his class. “Don’t panic. The chapters are short, only a few pages each, and the pages are small.” He hoped that they would love Maxwell’s novel as much as he did. “Any questions?” Hearing none, he dismissed the class.

Because his class was the last of the day, no other students would be filing in to take their seats for another class, so Chuck Roast was alone. He was also very tired after having taught and taken classes most of the day, and after having worked out and run earlier in the day before classes. He sat down at the teacher’s desk. And he was very sad. He still loved Stephanie very much, and he still missed her even though she had dumped him several months ago. Being sad made him even more tired, and even more sad. He began to cry softly.

Just then, one of his students, Leslie, walked back into the small classroom to ask a question, but she never got to her question because she found him crying and she was concerned. Because she was so sweet, so kind, so caring, so loving, giving, and forgiving, she sat down next to him and asked sweetly, “What’s the matter, Chuck?” He told her about Stephanie, that she had dumped him after they had been together for two years, and that he still loved her and missed her. He began sobbing.

Leslie became more concerned. She put her left arm on his right shoulder and her right hand on his right hand. She said, “There, there. Don’t cry. It’ll be alright. I understand how you feel and how important it is for you to grieve right now, but it’ll be okay. I promise. I'll help you.”
 
She placed her head next to his right arm and bent towards it until she was gently touching it. “You’re a good teacher, a very good teacher. And you’re a good man, a very good man. You’ll find someone else, someone better. There are plenty of women out there who would love to be with you, to be your partner, to be your wife. Don’t cry. There, there. You don’t want to be alone right now. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” She smiled at him.

“I have an idea. Come with me. You can have dinner at my sorority house tonight. You can be my guest. The other women, my sisters, will love to have you for dinner. You can talk to them. They’ll make you feel better. They’ll love you. You can talk about literature and film. Please come have dinner with us tonight. My sorority house is just on the other side of the Quad and across the street.”

Chuck Roast stopped crying and replied, “Yes, I know where it is. It’s on one of my regular running routes. Okay. That’s a good idea. I’ll come for dinner tonight. I’d be honored for you to have me for dinner tonight.”

She gently took hold of his arm and said sweetly, “Come with me. Let’s walk over.” She smiled again as she led him out.

He had never been inside her sorority house before. He was impressed. It was huge, much larger than it appeared to be on the outside, for it had a fourth floor disguised under its mansard roof. It was an architectural delight with beautiful details. It was also richly furnished. He thought that her sorority must be very wealthy, probably wealthy enough to do anything they wanted to do.

As they walked downstairs together into the dining room, he immediately noticed the large, heavy, oak table. Over 50 women were sitting at it hungrily anticipating dinner. The table was more than solid enough to hold a platter of what looked to him like 100 or more pounds of meat on it. The meat smelled so mouth-watering, so tempting, so delicious. He couldn't help salivating a bit. Neither could they.

Leslie introduced him to her sisters. "This is Chuck Roast. He's my TA for Introduction to American Literature. He is my guest tonight. He is our guest tonight. Let's welcome him to dinner." They all politely smiled, waved, greeted him, and said that they were very happy that he had come to be their special guest for dinner that evening. He sat at the place of honor next to the sorority president. Leslie sat next to him. She put her hand on his shoulder and massaged it gently as she said pleasant, reassuring things to him. “It’ll be alright. You’ll be good. I’ll make sure of that.” She smiled again.

They ate large slices of delicious meat, baked potatoes, corn, broccoli, and a lovely tossed salad with a sharp and tasty, vinegar and oil dressing.

After dinner, he accompanied a smiling Leslie and several other smiling women into the living room where they talked. He enjoyed conversing with him, and they were delighted that he was there for dinner and more.
 
After what seemed to him like only minutes, it was late, very late, the darkness outside filling the windows. He had been having such a delightful evening that he had lost track of the time. Leslie said to Chuck Roast, “You really shouldn’t try to walk home now. You’re tired, you’re lonely, and you’re hurting. You don’t want to add any more stresses. You shouldn't be alone tonight. We loved having you for dinner and more, so we want to thank you, to reward you for being here, so we want you to stay here tonight. We have a lovely guest room in the basement right next to the kitchen and the dining room. Please stay. Please sleep here tonight. Is that okay with you? I want to make sure that you are not alone tonight. You’ll be here, surrounded by very friendly women including me. I’m your friend. And I want to take care of you. We all want to take care of you. And we shall take care of you. We want you to be good. In the morning, you’ll feel better. You’ll eat breakfast with us, and you’ll feel even better. Men always feel better after they have eaten breakfast.

“You can take a shower here and then go to bed. While you sleep, I’ll wash, dry, and press your shirt, slacks, boxers, and t-shirt so you’ll have something to wear tomorrow. You’ll look great! You always look so good in your clean, crisp, white, long-sleeved, button-down, Oxford cloth shirt; your tasteful dark necktie; and your navy-blue slacks (for that was what he was wearing that day). I can’t wait to see you dressed that way again!” She smiled again as he went into the guest room and took off his clothes, which she took from him. When she had gone, he went to bed nude. The sheets felt good against his naked skin. He slept soundly.

In the morning, Chuck Roast awoke and found his clothes waiting for him on hangers in his room. While he dressed, Leslie waited for him just outside the door.

When he emerged, she said, “Since you spend most of your day in the English Building except for the time that you work out and run, and since it is such a long walk back to your fraternity house, and since my sorority house is so near, you should come here for lunch any time you want! You will be my guest! You will be our guest! We would love to have you for lunch!”

He replied, “That’s so very kind and thoughtful of you. I'd like to be here for lunch every day, but I’d have to pay you because I cannot honorably continue to take your charity.”

She said, “I understand. I have an idea! Because you always wear a crisp, white, long-sleeved, button-down Oxford cloth shirt; a tasteful dark necktie; and dark dress slacks, you can work as a waiter at lunchtime to pay for your lunch! You’ll already be dressed as we require our waiters to dress! That way, you will be earning your lunch, and we will have the pleasure of enjoying your presence and of seeing you so well dressed every lunchtime!” She smiled again.

He smiled back and replied, “Okay. In that case I accept!”

She replied, “Great! We would love to have you for lunch! We would love to make you lunch!”

And so went his schedule for several weeks with him going to the sorority house for lunch every weekday; with him getting to know the women better, and liking them more and more; with them getting to know him better and liking him more and more, wanting him to be there more and more. They were beginning to think of keeping him there permanently.

One day after lunch, Leslie asked him, “Would you mind staying and serving at dinner tonight? One of our regular waiters is ill and cannot come to work. I know that you were not expecting this, and I know that you usually eat dinner at your fraternity house, but you will be doing us a great favor if you can stay. You will especially be doing me a great favor because it is my job to find men for dinner. I need one more man for dinner tonight, and I am hoping that you will stay and help me with dinner. You can eat here tonight after you finish serving at dinner, so you will not miss any meals. You are already dressed for dinner. Please stay for dinner!”

He replied, “Of course, I will stay! Of course, I will help you just as I will always help you. You have become a dear friend, and I will do anything you want me to do!”

Leslie smiled and said, “Oh, thank you, Chuck! I think of you as a dear friend, too.” And then she teased, “By the way, you look so good dressed as you are! You look good enough to eat!” She smiled and then licked her lips.

So he stayed and served as a waiter for dinner in his clean, crisp, white, long-sleeved, button-down Oxford cloth shirt, his tasteful dark necktie, and his dark dress slacks.
     
After dinner was finished, after he and the other waiters had finished serving dinner but before the beautiful young women of the sorority had left the dining room, Leslie announced, “Sisters, we now have a choice to make. Which of our four handsome young waiters this evening shall we ask to stay and serve us in a very special way, the way that we occasionally ask one of our handsome young waiters to serve us?”

She called all four waiters to the center of the dining room and asked, “Number 1?” The women responded by clapping. “Number 2?” The women again responded by clapping. “Number 3” Again the women clapped. “Number 4?” That was Chuck’s number, and the women responded by clapping the loudest, the longest, and the most enthusiastically.

Leslie thanked the other three waiters and dismissed them because their jobs were done for the evening, done until the next day, done until the next dinner.

Then she asked, “Chuck, are you ready and willing to do a very special job for us?”

“Of course! I would be happy to help you in any way that I can! I would be happy to do whatever you want me to do to do, to do whatever you ask me to do!”

All the women clapped even louder and more enthusiastically because they were very, very pleased and very, very excited. They, too, were all wearing white, long-sleeved, button-down, Oxford cloth shirts. Some wore neckties. They mirrored him, and he mirrored them. They were in command, and he was at their command. Because they were dressed so proudly and defiantly masculine, they dominated him. They were delirious with joy. Chuck thought that they seemed to be anticipating something very special of him, but he did not know what that something was.

Leslie said, “The special job that we have for you is to let us have you for dinner! We want to make you dinner! Please let us make you dinner! Please let us have you for dinner!” She smiled again.

He replied, “Of course! That sounds great!”

She said, “I don’t think that you understand. We do not mean that we want to make dinner for you and have you as a  guest for dinner. We mean that we want to make you for dinner and to have you as the main course at that dinner! You see, we are going to cook you and eat you!

Of course, we won’t cook you alive! We’ll have a necktie party first! The kind of necktie party that you always look ready for because you always wear a necktie! You'll love a necktie party! We'll love a necktie party! We’ll hang you so that you will be dead and will feel nothing when we cook you and eat you! But you will look great in your white, long-sleeved, button-down Oxford cloth dress shirt, your tasteful dark necktie, and your dark slacks! You will hang well, you will cook well, and you will be very tasty and delicious! I can guarantee that because we know how to cook men! We look forward so very much to hanging you, cooking you, and eating you!” She smiled again but this time with more anticipation and a soupçon of cruelty.

“Now it is time for us to take you to your prison cell where you will remain imprisoned under the sentence of death by hanging until tomorrow when we take you to the gallows and hang you by the neck until you are dead!

“Oh, how I love thinking about hanging you! I can’t wait! And, oh, how I love saying that! I think that I shall say it again! Hang you! Hang you! Hang you! Hang you! HANG YOU!” Again, she smiled but this time with even more anticipation and even more cruelty. She licked her lips. “Now you are my prisoner!”
 
The other women swiftly grabbed him, restrained him, pinioned his arms behind his back, forcibly escorted him to his cell, locked him inside, told him to prepare himself for tomorrow, and told him to try to sleep if he could. He could not.
 
Some of the women guarded him in shifts all night long. They smiled hungrily at him and spoke soothingly to him, to try to reassure him and to take his mind off the fact that he was soon going to be hanged, cooked, and eaten. They could not.

In the morning, the women returned to his cell and entered it. Leslie declared, “It is time for you to be hanged!” She stared right at him and smiled again but this time with even more cruelty, with even more anticipation, and with hunger in her voice and in her eyes. She licked her lips. The other women also also stared right at him, smiled at him with more cruelty and more anticipation in their eyes. When they spoke to him, they had hunger in their voices. They licked their lips.

The women took charge of him and tied him up securely. They marched him roughly to the gallows to be hanged. Leslie tightened the noose snugly around his neck.

He stood there with the tight, unyielding, unforgiving noose around his neck, terrified of what was about to happen to him.
Leslie said, “Prepare yourself to be hanged! I’ll give you a countdown! Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! …”

And then she hanged him. Although they already knew her reasons, she explained to them, “I didn’t count all the way down to zero because I liked deceiving him, liked being in complete control when I hanged him.” This time, she smiled with even more satisfaction on her lips and more hunger in her eyes. They all licked their lips.

After he was successfully hanged, the women cut him down, took him to their kitchen, and cooked him.

After he was done, they served him for dinner and ate him.

He was delicious.

They congratulated themselves on a meal cleverly well-seduced, gloriously well-hanged, deliciously well-cooked, and ravenously well-eaten.

Then they began planning for their next special meal, their next victim, their next meat. They discussed names and tactics. They licked their lips.

19

General Discussion / How would you like to be cooked?

« on: September 10, 2021, 02:53:09 AM »

Others have asked this question before but not quite in this way, I think.

In your fantasies, do you want to be cooked alive? Or would you rather be killed before you are cooked?

If the latter, by what method would you like to be executed?

Beheaded?

Electrocuted?

Shot be a firing squad?

Choked by a garotte device?

Choked from the inside out in a gas chamber?

Guillotined?

Hanged?

Suffocated by lethal injection?

Poisoned?

Strangled manually? by a garotte rope?

Please feel free to offer other suggestions. I would enjoy hearing them, adding them to my list, fantasizing, and hoping.

Thanks!

20

Fiction / Chuck Roast 1.0

« on: September 06, 2021, 06:02:55 AM »

Chuck Roast sat on the edge of his cot with his feet firmly planted flat on the concrete floor. He consciously forced himself not to move. He was trying very hard not to wrinkle his navy slacks or to cause them to lose their crisp creases because he feared being punished.

He was sitting bolt erect, too, because he did not want to wrinkle his white, long-sleeved, button-down, Oxford cloth dress shirt or cause it to lose its crisp creases. He also took great care not to wrinkle his tasteful and tasty, red and blue striped, silk necktie.

He knew that he had to look perfect.

He feared that he would be punished if he caused his clothes to lose any of their sharp creases or if he even wrinkled any of his clothing, and he did not want to be punished, he did not want to face the stern, demanding, unforgiving displeasure of the cruel women waiting for him, so he remained motionless except for his muscular chest heaving up and down as he breathed rapidly, his breathing rapid and shallow because he was afraid. Very afraid. He did not know how the women would punish him, but he was sure that they would punish him harshly because they had warned him to keep his clothes perfect when they locked him in his cell.

He was thinking hard, thinking fast, thinking of where he was, of how he got here, of where he was going, and of what might happen to him, so he sat there in rigid, panicked silence because he knew if the women were going to do something to him that it would not be good or pleasant. No, they would make it very bad and very unpleasant, perhaps hurtful, perhaps harmful, perhaps painful, perhaps worse, and he dreaded punishment and pain. Or worse.

Then he heard the rapid high-heeled click of the women's footsteps in the hall approaching the door of his cell, and he tensed because he was even more afraid. They were coming for him, and he was afraid of what was going to happen next, of what would happen to him, of what they were going to do to him. And then he heard the key in the lock of the door, and he tensed even more in anticipation, fear, and dread.

Six women, also dressed in white, long-sleeved, button-down, Oxford cloth dress shirts, and wearing long navy skirts swiftly and silently entered his cell. Some of them were wearing neckties.

“Stand up, slave!” their leader ordered.

“What ... What . . .  What’s ...?” he stammered.

“What’s going to happen to you? You’re going to be hanged!” she commanded in a loud, intimidating, dominating voice, the kind of woman’s voice that no man would ever or could ever ignore, the kind of command that no man would ever or could ever even think of refusing.

He felt weak, he felt as if he might faint, and his stomach sank. Terrified, feeling dominated, feeling intimidated, feeling powerless, feeling helpless, feeling unable to escape, he stammered, “Hang … Hang ... Hanged? You’re going to hang me?”

“Put your hands behind your back, slave! Yes, you’re going to be hanged! And we are going to hang you! And after we have hanged you by neck until you are dead—or at least close to it—we’re going to prepare you, cook you, and eat you! We are your Hangwomen & Cooks! You must obey us, slave! There is no escape! And we are going to enjoy every minute of your humiliation, your dread, your fear, your terror, and your execution! We greatly enjoy executing men! And your time is now, slave! You are going to be hanged!

“We are also going to greatly enjoy preparing you, slave, for you must be prepared very carefully so that you will cook well and taste good when you are eaten! We will most especially enjoy eating you, slave, and when we do, we will enjoy every delicious forkful of man-meat we slice from you and eat! Right now, we are salivating just imaging how good you are going to taste, how special, how satisfying, how yummy, how stomach-filling you will be, slave!

“We are killer cannibals, and at this very moment, we are growing more and more vengeful, more and more eager to kill, more and more ravenous! Our anticipation is driving us delirious with insatiable desire, ever and ever more anxious to hang you, slave, so that we can prepare you, cook you, and eat you! So now we are going to hang you, slave! That sounds so good! Hang you! Hang you! Hang you! Hang you! Hang you! That sounds oh so very, very good! I’ll say it again! HANG YOU! WE ARE YOUR HANGWOMEN & COOKS, AND WE'RE GOING TO HANG YOU, SLAVE!

“Pinion his arms behind his back and tie his wrists together!” she ordered the other women They swiftly and efficiently complied, doing their jobs well, accustomed as they were to preparing a man to be hanged. Then with their hands firmly clamped on his arms and shoulders, they surrounded him to guard and escort him, and to prevent him from resisting, struggling, and fighting.

“Come with us, slave!”

The hanging detail having formed, the Hangwomen & Cooks forcefully escorted Chuck Roast under duress to the gallows to be hanged. As they approached it, from a distance he could see the gallows and the noose suspended from the crossbeam above the trapdoors. He was deathly afraid, because he knew that he was going to die, that he was headed for the menu. He knew that he was going to be hanged, prepared, cooked, and eaten.

“Please don’t hang me!” he pleaded. “Please don’t hang me! Please, please, please don’t hang me!”

The Hangwomen & Cooks ignored his cries and smiled with pleasure, satisfaction, and anticipation because they knew by his response, by his panicked pleading, that their domination of him was total, that he was under their command, that he was under their complete and merciless control, that they could force him to do anything they wanted, that they could do anything they wanted with him or to him to him, and that he would comply. And what they wanted right now was to hang him, prepare him, cook him, and eat him. And they knew that they would. And they knew that only by hanging him, preparing him, cooking him, and eating him would their ever more and more insatiable desire finally be sated. They salivated, they licked their lips, their stomachs growled, and they became even more ravenous, more anxious to hang him so that they could prepare him, cook him, and eat him. And they knew that they would, for they were killer cannibals. And they were about to prove it.

And he knew it, too. He tried to recoil, but the Hangwomen & Cooks were firmly in command and control of him with their hands on his shoulders and his arms, with their hands grabbing him and forcing him onward, with two of them grabbing his belt and one of them grabbing his neck tie and dragging him forward. He could feel their touch through the smooth roughness of his shirt. He liked that feeling, liked that they were touching him, but he knew that it would not last long. He wondered if it would feel good to be hanged. He wondered whether it would feel good to them to hang him.

The Hangwomen & Cooks forced him on toward the gallows. He whimpered. He was full of fear. And his whimpering and his fear rewarded and excited the Hangwomen & Cooks, made them even more anxious and made them hurry even more because they knew that they would very soon hang him, prepare him, cook him, and eat him, and they also knew from experience that his fear and struggling would make him taste much, much better when they ate him.

“Silence, slave! The victim shall remain silent, or we will make your hanging and your death long and painful! If you do not remain silent, we might decide that we will only half-hang you and then cook you while you are still alive! We would love that, love hearing you moan and scream, love watching you squirm and try to resist the heat of the oven as your man-meat cooks to a delicious doneness. But we are sure that you would not enjoy that! We want to be both merciless and merciful, so if you don’t want to suffer that horrifying, painful, ignoble fate, then BE SILENT, SLAVE!”

It was a command that he was powerless to ignore.

When the hanging detail arrived at the foot of the stairs of the gallows, two of the Hangwomen & Cooks mounted the stairs first to make sure that everything was in working order for the hanging of Chuck Roast and to make penultimate preparations for hanging him. When they were ready, they called down to the four Hangwomen & Cooks still guarding Chuck Roast on the ground beside the gallows and indicated that all was in good working order, that all was prepared, that they were ready to hang him, and that the Hangwomen & Cooks on the ground should swiftly and forcefully escort him up the stairs to the platform of the gallows to be hanged because the rope and the noose were as eager to hang him as they were.

When they reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the platform, together all six of the Hangwomen & Cooks swiftly and forcibly moved Chuck Roast onto the trapdoors beneath the noose that was eagerly waiting to hang him, to snap his neck, to make him ready for cooking. The Chief Hangwoman & Cook smoothed and straightened the collar of his hanging shirt. Then she smoothed and straightened his hanging necktie. Then she tightened his hanging necktie to the point of choking him, almost to the point of "hanging" him without having to hang him.

The Chief Hangwoman & Cook placed the noose over his head, moved it down around his neck, and tightened it loosely. Then she repositioned it so that the hangman’s knot was beneath the left angle of his jaw in the sub-aural position, which is the traditional position for the hangman's knot to ensure a swift, solid, silent, successful hanging. Then she tightened it more snugly around his neck to the point that he could feel the stiff, harsh rope, the unrelenting and ultimately fatal noose through the rough-smooth surface of the inside of the collar of his hanging shirt. She tightened the noose so snugly that he choked even more, choked as he would soon most surely choke when he was hanged. She jerked sharply on the rope twice to test the noose, and to give Chuck Roast a small taste of the much, much, much, much stronger jerk that he would fatally feel when he was hanged and he reached the bottom of his drop.

Again, he cried, “Please don’t hang me! Please don’t hang me! Please, please, please don’t hang me!”

Again, the Chief Hangwoman & Cook demanded, “Silence, slave! This hanging will be dignified! This is a legal execution! Your hanging will proceed! Nothing that you can say or do will change the outcome, will change your fate! You are going to be hanged, cooked, prepared, and eaten no matter what! There is no other possible outcome! There is no escape! So be silent, slave! Stop crying! Straighten up! Be courageous! Be noble! Be brave! Be a man and face your execution, your hanging, like a man, for you are surely the man that we are going to execute, are going to hang! And after we have hanged you, we are going to prepare you, cook you, and eat you! Face your execution with honor and dignity, for you are surely going to hang, slave, you are surely going to die! If you do not remain silent, we will make both your hanging and your death long and painful! So be silent and contemplate your fate, slave, as we contemplate our dinner!” 

As the Chief Hangwoman & Cook noosed Chuck Roast while he stood there on the gallows choking on the noose and his hanging necktie underneath it, the five other Hangwomen & Cooks bound him with stiff, strong rope to make it impossible for him to struggle and resist. They bound his arms around his chest, bound his thighs together, and bound his ankles together. He was and powerless and unable to move, completely under the command and control of the Hangwomen & Cooks. And now they had finished preparing Chuck Roast for being hanged, and they were going to hang him. 

The Chief Hangwoman & Cook read the order of execution, speaking these words: “Chuck Roast, you have been indicted, tried, and found guilty! The penalty is death! You are sentenced to be hanged by the neck until you are dead! When you are dead—or nearly dead—you are further sentenced to be prepared, and cooked, and eaten! If you have any last words before we hang you, you may speak briefly!”

Still stunned and terrified by all that had been happening around him and to him, Chuck Roast's lips moved, but he could not say anything. He was unable to move, totally dominated and controlled by the Hangwomen & Cooks. He was silent. He had no voice. The terror he felt, the fear and horror of being hanged stole his voice from his throat just as the noose would very soon break his neck and steal the life from his very muscular, very cookable body.

The Chief Hangwoman & Cook said, “Since you have nothing to say before you are hanged, we will proceed with your hanging! Farewell, Chuck Roast! May you hang well, cook well, and be delicious!”

The Chief Hangwoman & Cook pulled the lever that controlled the trapdoors and hanged Chuck Roast. He plummeted through the open trapdoors. He reached the end of his rope, and that abruptly halted his haltered fall. The noose fatally tightened even more snugly one last time around his neck, which snapped like a dry twig. He dangled from the noose, and he swung like a pendulum from the end of the rope because he had been hanged. He felt no more, he feared no more, he pleaded no more, for he was dead. And he was ready to be cooked.

After Chuck Roast had been hanged, the Hangwomen & Cooks tolled the bell on the gallows the traditional 13 times to officially proclaim and announce his hanging. They posted the notice of his execution, his hanging, to make it public information as required by the traditions of hanging, as required by the laws of the Hangwomen & Cooks.

The Hangwomen & Cooks then prepared him in his roasting pan according to their special recipe for man-meat with with salt, pepper, with a little lemon juice, and with herbs and spices chosen just for him to best enhance the flavor of his man-meat.

Then the Hangwomen shoved an apple in his mouth, added olive oil and melted butter to the roasting pan, and shoved the pan into their large brick oven built specially for cooking men. They cooked him at the rate of 10 minutes per pound to make sure that the thick slabs of his man-meat were done all the way through, cooked to an especially tender, tasty, juicy doneness. They checked on him many times as he roasted. Each time they checked, they basted him to make him more flavorful, more tender, and more juicy. And each time they looked upon his cooking body, they moaned with pleasure as they thought of how tasty he would be.

When Chuck Roast was done, the Hangwomen & Cooks removed the roasting pan from the oven. They sliced the cooked man-meat off him and placed it on the special plates that they always used for displaying, serving, and eating man-meat as tradition required. They used special silverware, too, real silver, for they wanted no steel to taint his flavor. They carefully arranged his man-meat on the plates to bring out the beauty of the man-meat and of the plates themselves. They were both exquisite.

The Hangwomen & Cooks took their time as they ate him so that they could savor and enjoy his man-meat, the aroma, the texture, the flavor.

He was delicious.

After the Hangwomen & Cooks stripped all the man-meat off him and after they saved the left-over man-meat, they cut off his head, stuffed and preserved it, and mounted it on the wall of their dining room as a trophy.

The Hangwomen & Cooks cremated his remains, placed his ashes in an urn, and displayed it on a shelf beneath a picture of him hanging from the gallows on which he had been hanged. Next to the picture, they also mounted on the wall the actual noose with which he had been hanged.

The Hangwomen & Cooks engraved a brass plaque with his name, his date of birth, the date of his hanging, the date of his being cooked, and the date of his being eaten, and they mounted the plaque on the wall above with his urn so that they would honor him, remember him, and especially remember how delicious he was, for although they were cruel, ravenous killer cannibals, they were also sentimental about the men that they hanged, and prepared, and cooked, and ate; about the fear, the terror, they caused in the men they hanged, cooked, and ate; and about the absolute domination, command, and control they had over their victims.

And Chuck Roast had been their latest victim.

And he had been delicious.

21

General Discussion / A thank you and a request

« on: September 04, 2021, 04:51:14 PM »

Thank you, Mistress Lana, for this fantasy universe. I love it.

And thank you, participants of all kinds: femcans, chefs of all genders, and meat volken of all genders. I love you, too, and I love reading what you have posted.

I also have a request: would all participants please continue to post, to post more, and to post more often so that we all have more fantasies to enjoy and to comment on? I would love that, too. So fantasize away! 

Thanks. 

22

Registration / One more question, please

« on: September 04, 2021, 12:03:22 PM »

Every time I try to login, the interface informs me that my username doesn't exist. By experimentation, I have learned to use the forgotten password mechanism to request a new password. The emailed response is a link that I click to reset my password. It would be far more convenient for me not to have to do that every time I login.

Perhaps I am doing something wrong. I would appreciate your advice.

Thank you.

I am yours.

23

Registration / A few questions, please

« on: September 04, 2021, 11:56:52 AM »

1) How can I post an avatar?

2) When I click on what appear to be links to images, drawings, paintings, and the like, all I get is an error message. Perhaps I am doing something wrong. Can someone please offer advice?

3) Things seem rather quiet. Do you have any idea why? I deeply enjoy reading the posts of other folks, especially the fantasies, the fiction, and the non-fiction.

4) Because I am a newbie, perhaps I have not yet learned all of what content exists here or how to access it. Do you have manual of instructions or perhaps an FAQ?

Thank you!