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!”
