Consumed- The Complete Works

by Kyle M. Scott

  All eyes were on him, and the air hung heavy with tension. He twisted his neck further, striving to see exactly where he lay.

  A stillborn scream wheezed from his lips.

  He was surrounded not only by guests, but by a feast of fine cuisine. There were sauces and steam-cooked vegetables and every kind of dessert imaginable. Wine bottles, full and empty, peppered the display.

  He was lain atop a massive dining table, and the table was at full capacity.

  Terror took flight in his chest as hideous realization dawned like a black sun in his psyche. The cavalcade of smiling faces leered hungrily at their prize, in each face, a terrible eagerness, an abominable excitement. Horrifying as these people were, Jack, like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, could not look away. His eyes darted from leering face to leering face, taking them all in, sensing in them an undercurrent unspeakable frenzy. It was only when Athos spoke again that the awful spell was broken.

  “Bring in Shelly!” the small man cheerfully announced.

  ***

  Confusion and terror pressed in on Jack from all sides. He felt vomit rise in his throat and fought to keep it down, understanding it would most likely drown him in his paralyzed state. Again, he raised his bloodied head, wreathed in mute dread.

  He saw her.

  Shelly.

  She was stood at the head of the table, her smooth skin glowing in the light from above. Completely naked, her long red hair flowed around her small, firm breasts. Her nipples were rigid. A faint line of moisture ran down her inner thigh, betraying her excitement.

  He pulled his gaze from her sex and looked into her eyes, searching for some sign that this was a cruel joke, a dream. At the very least he expected fear.

  There was none to be found.

  Instead, a cold determination lit her eyes, and as Jack looked deep into them, he saw an unmistakable, terrible sympathy.

  “I'm so sorry it has to be this way, Jack,” Shelly uttered softly.

  He could feel his sanity beginning to crumble as she stepped towards the table, smiling. Hot tears streamed down his face as Shelly drew closer before climbing slowly and seductively onto the table. The guests drank in her naked form with unbridled lust as she began to crawl towards him on all fours. Her breasts swung gently as she crawled between the foods, never taking her eyes off his own. Her gaze bore into Jack’s with unfettered hunger. Soon she was positioned above his penis and lowering her head down onto him. Still, she held eye contact. Sympathy and hunger. Shame and determination.

  Jack felt a sickening rush of pleasure as her warm, wet lips enveloped him and she took his whole length into her slick, tight mouth. He was disgusted to find that he was rock hard. This was the girl he had loved his whole life, raping him. He felt his cock throb as she slowly lowered and raised her head, hungrily sucking him as she stroked his length with her tongue. He was close to climaxing when she finally, mercifully lifted her head and let his stiff member slip from her mouth.

  Under any other circumstances, it would have been delicious when Shelly licked her rose-red lips, tasting what had to be his pre-cum, but right now it was pure horror. Still, his cock jutted up between his legs, demanding attention, craving her.

  Then she was above him. He could feel the hard tips of her nipples brush against his naked chest, the soft warmth of her thighs pressing against his. Her hand wrapped around his swollen shaft, and she slowly guided his cock into her wet center. Jack felt himself immediately close to exploding as she lowered herself down all the way onto him. Her slick walls squeezed his cock, milking, needing, demanding.

  Jack was barely aware when Athos began speaking. In and awed and hushed tone, he said, “It is a vital part of the practice that the girl vying for membership into our club loves the victim she procures, and that he is of impoverished means. It is only by these means that he or she can attain enlightenment and rise above the mire of mere existence.”

  Victim.

  In the throes of Jacks uncontrollable passion, the word barely registered. Despite the nightmarish scene he found himself embroiled in, his whole world was one of lust, and heat, and flesh. Shelly was moaning now, close to her own devastating orgasm. He could feel her walls closings tighter around his prick. His own orgasm was drawing near, unstoppable.

  Unheeded by his captive’s lack of response to what he had to say, Athos went on, lost in reverie.

  “Yes, empty him. Milk him dry. For the female initiate, the ritual demands that she accept, into her virgin womb, the semen of the first man on which she will dine.”

  Jack’s mind flipped on him as Athos’ last sentence sank in. Shelly screamed as she came, and in that moment Jack’s unbidden terror met with pure ecstasy as he found his own release, pumping his seed deep into the girl he loved, his rapist.

  The first man on which she will dine.

  Passion spent, horror overrode Jack’s dark ecstasy. Desperate, he fought with his every fiber to move his arms and legs, but he was as helpless as a cripple in the hands of these psychopaths. He barely had time to process the fresh terror that mainlined through his veins, before Shelly was lifting herself off his still swollen shaft.

  And reaching across the table for a carving knife...

  Jack’s heartbeat thundered in his skull like a tribal drum as he watched in horror while Shelly placed the steel blade against the base of his still throbbing shaft. He could feel the coolness of the knife edge as it pressed his blood-hot, cum-slick manhood. Shelly made sure to place the blade against the most prominent vein. The knife visibly shifted in time with the blood pulsing through his cock.

  He whipped his head from side to side, heedless now of the pain in his there, pleading with his eyes as best he could to all and anyone in the room to save him from the terrible thing his girlfriend was set to do.

  All he saw in return were smiles.

  And a mad, feral hunger.

  Some of the diners were salivating like wild dogs.

  Oh God please help me! Help me! Jack looked back, desperately, at the girl he had trusted his whole life, and saw the tears running down her face as she steeled herself for what she was about to do.

  Please, Shelly! Don’t do this to me! Please! he tried to scream.

  Then Shelly began sawing.

  Within moments her beautiful face was awash in thick red splashes of blood and she fought to cut through the meat and gristle. Her teeth shone white in a mask of red as she drew the blade back and forth till her terrible work was half-complete then, changing tact, she began pulling hard on his half-severed shaft as she tried to tear it from his body.

  Jack couldn’t scream out loud, but in the fracturing, plummeting abyss that was his mind, he screamed plenty.

  Realizing the meat would not yield, Shelly resumed cutting, slicing deeper into his flesh with every motion until only a stretched and bloodied flap of skin tethered his cock to his body. With one final pull, she ripped the meat from him, leaving only a red pumping stump.

  Something tore in his throat as he fought to scream out in his torment. Warm blood spurted from his mouth, splashing back down on his cheeks and chin. It felt like his genital region had been set aflame, and with more courage than he ever hoped he could muster, Jack peered down at the devastation where his penis had been. Nothing remained of his manhood but a small and ragged stump, little more than a dark red mess of loose skin and soft meat. Blood still slowly and rhythmically bubbled from the remains of the veins that Shelly had inexpertly severed. Jack could feel his sanity crumbling at the sight and silently prayed for his mind to release him once from this hell.

  Permanently.

  As Shelly crawled from the table, Jack’s gaze darted around the room at the people bearing witness to the atrocity. Many were spattered with his blood, their perfectly tailored suits and dresses spotted with the spray that had been unleashed by Shelly’s feverish cutting. A man was licking Jack’s blood from the soft curve of a woman’s neck, gentle as a lover. A little girl w
as laughing as she smeared blood onto her giggling guardian’s face, painting a crimson smile over the chuckling woman’s own.

  And now, at the end of the table sat Shelly.

  Poetry student and horror movie geek. Still naked, and painted the darkest red.

  She was chewing on raw meat, gore running down her chin as she fought to break through the gristle with her teeth. Her eyes never left Jack’s as she determinedly swallowed something bloodied and purple.

  When she was done grinding, and gulped the half-chewed meat down, there came a clinking of glasses. Benjamin Athos began to speak, his voice clear and ringing in Jack’s ears.

  “Shelly Parson has partaken of the forbidden flesh of her love. She has proven herself willful, merciless, driven by a wondrous greed and in all ways a perfectly splendid guest. She will prove a valuable member to our society.”

  Jack drowned in unending waves of pain as he watched the man raise his glass to the room. “To Miss Parson…the newest initiate into our hallowed club!” he proclaimed.

  In unison the room erupted with the voices of the diners. “MISS PARSON!” they cheered as one.

  “Now let the feasting begin!”

  The guests all arose, and in unison they reached for their cutlery. As one they moved forward and began to casually carve slices from Jacks trembling, tortured flesh. Though he couldn’t move or make a sound, Jack felt every agonizing cut and slice as the hungry guests dug into their meal.

  Two elderly women cut off his fingers with a cleaving knife, and still he was aware.

  A young couple laughed as they split open his stomach and felt around inside him for their desired morsels, his mind held fast.

  A teenage boy dug into the hole where his cock had been, playing with the wound as though Jack was a biology project, every probe an agony as the kid pried deeper.

  A fork pierced his sack. His testicles were yanked from his body, sinew snapping as they were lifted high, and still he remained hellishly aware.

  By the time Jack’s eyeballs were being scooped from his head with a dessert spoon, insanity had yet to claim him.

  His mind endured.

  And the feast lasted a long, long time.

  ***

  She lay on the floor in an exhausted heap, streams of warm blood running down her thighs from ravaged orifices.

  They had used her hard. She would hurt for weeks.

  She got onto her bruised knees and wiped the semen from her eyes. The thick loads that covered her lips, hair and breasts, she ignored. She had just enough time to take a breath, before another man pushed his pulsing cock into her cum-slicked mouth and released a hot jet into her throat, roughly pulling her head onto his massive member.

  Dutifully, she swallowed his load and let out an exhausted sigh.

  He was the last of the group.

  The celebration was over.

  Benjamin Athos stood over her, his blood-smeared cock dangling half-erect between his legs. Sweat rolled over his fat, naked form and dripped onto the fine Persian rug beneath them, mingle with the semen, piss and blood already lathered there. He offered a hand to her and she took it willingly, rising at his behest. She stood before him on shaking legs. The dining room fell quiet as the mass of sweating, exhausted guests gave her their full attention. The stench of sex and death hung heavy in the air. Outside the wind screamed and the lightning set the night sky on fire.

  “Welcome, Miss Parson. The celebration is over. All you ever wanted will be yours for you and your family to enjoy forever.” He gently clasped her cum-slick face in his hands and looked her directly in the eyes.

  She saw the truth of his words.

  “You’re one of us now, dear. And you must never forget...this world belongs to us. Others, the weak and the lowly, are merely here to satiate our needs. Makes sure our cars run smoothly. Clean our posteriors. Fight our wars. They are cattle. They are worthless. They exist only to suffer and die in the service of satiating our hunger, physical and financial. It’s been this way for centuries and so it shall remain. The rich will always feed off the poor.”

  The throng of naked revelers cheered their host, as the room echoed with their unbound jubilance.

  “The rich will always feed!” they roared.

  Shelly was already feeling hungry again.

  SHOPPING

  I wanna live like common people – Jarvis Cocker

  The cave was littered with bones, scattered across the cold ground like children’s toys. Skulls, shorn of all flesh, some intact and some fragmented, rested against its cold stone walls. They seemed to study him, those remnants of meals gone by, judging his actions and finding them heinous.

  He would have to think about cleaning this mess up soon. It was getting to be too much.

  Roland sat cross legged on the hard, stone floor, gnawing miserably on what was the last of his winter supply. He never ate the flesh around the foot, finding the meat of the sole far too tough for his tastes. It was nothing like the tender flesh of an inner thigh, or a well-cooked buttock, but it was all he had left.

  He was smart enough to know that this was no way to live.

  This was how Roland had been living, though, for far too long - hand to mouth, or foot to mouth, he mused with no small amount of disgust - for the last few weeks. The hills had been emptied of wanderers for too long to rightly remember. There had always been slow patches before the ‘bad times’ had come, when the land surrounding his well-hidden den was jam-packed with tourists of all shape, color and taste. Even then, he and his family still had to be very, very wary.

  Mother had taught him, “Never gather more meat than you require, or less than you can live with”. He still didn’t fully understand quite what she was talking about. Though in his own slow and drifting way, he thought he was starting to grasp the meaning of her words. The smell of rot polluting the air he breathed brought the lesson home in a most unwelcome fashion.

  He’d lived in these hills for as long as he could remember, with his brother, ‘Nathan’, and their ever-protective mother. The place had never smelled like this. Back then, they’d been a happy family, living life the way they saw fit, as their kind had for generations.

  Sadness crept like a shadow over his heart as he thought back to what had been. He stared out from the cave’s gloom at the bare and broken trees beyond and wondered, as he so often did, about the world out there, beyond the forest, down at the foot of the mountain.

  Sometimes he would travel to the edge of the cliff on which his cavern perched, and gaze down on the lighted, mysterious world below. The sights and sounds would enthrall him and fill his heart with wonder.

  They had scared his kin, Nathan. For Nathan, life was life enough, and the other world, so far below their happy home, held only terror.

  Perhaps for good reason.

  As much as Roland ached to experience that world down there, he had always known it was never to be. Down there, in the place his mother called, ‘Snivilisation’, men used metal to build machines that would speed them through the towns and cities. They used it to construct towering forts, too, taller than any man, and they lived and dwelt in these metallic monoliths. He’d only ever used metal in the act of killing, severing, tearing flesh from bone.

  Roland owned enough picture books, though, to know that ‘Snivilisation’ was no place for the likes of him. He’d often finger through the books he’d salvaged from campfire raids, scraping off any dried blood that had gathered within their pages, and ponder the wonderful things that men did down below the mountain, mesmerized as a child bearing witness to magic.

  Yet Roland knew he belonged here in the wilds. Where things were simple, understandable, and safe. Besides, Mother said the world would not ever accept his kind, however well he behaved himself, and that there was no love for his kind among the street-walkers.

  Still he would wonder…

  He knew he was different, of course. That much was obvious by simply looking down upon his very own hands. Huge misshapen t
humbs jutted out from above his wrists, and whereas his prey almost always had four fingers on each hand, Roland had only been blessed with two elephantine digits on each. And those were webbed, fused together by leathery overstretched skin.

  He could feel that same uniqueness on his head, too. The caressing of his cranium revealed huge lumps, soft and tender to the touch, on top, and hard as rock at the base of his neck and the back of his skull. His head had none of the smoothness of his mother’s or Nathan’s.

  His mother had called him “one of the Lord’s Special Children”, and he had believed her, at least in his formative years. His brother had his own distinctive abnormalities in his appearance, though he couldn’t boast of having Roland’s great strength. Nathan’s arms had reached almost down to his knees, reminding Roland of the apes and monkeys he’d seen in his picture books. His brother was a wonderful hunter, and a formidable killer of the women-folk, but he lacked Roland’s brute strength when it came to dealing with the men-folk they so often encountered.

  Anyway, that was all done now. His brother had been shot dead two winters previous, during a night-time raid on a campsite some younger men-folk had built in the forest to the east. Roland had shouted a warning to his kin on seeing the weapon revealed in one man’s hand. Nathan, not being one to look at picture books, and certainly lacking anything resembling a working brain, must have assumed it was a stick or spear of some sort.