All eyes were on him, and the air hung heavy with tension. He allowed his gaze to search lower, and found himself to be surrounded 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 lay atop a massive dining table, and the table was at full capacity.
Oh dear sweet God, help me. What is this?!
Was this some sick game? What the hell was wrong with these people? The cavalcade of smiling faces filled Jack with horror. Yet like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen wheeler, he found he could not look away. His eyes darted from leering face to leering face, taking them all in, sensing in them an unspeakable frenzy. It was only when Athos spoke again that the awful spell was broken.
“Bring in Shelly!” the man cheerfully announced.
***
On please no! This can’t be happening! How did they get to her!? Confusion and terror pressed in on Jack from all sides. He felt vomit rise in his throat and fought to keep it down, knowing it would most likely drown him.
Again, he raised his bloodied head, shivering in terror at what would come next, and he saw her.
She was stood at the head of the table, her smooth skin glowing in the light from above. She was completely naked; her long red hair flowed around her small, firm breasts. Her nipples appeared rock hard. Jack tried to look into her eyes, but was disgusted to find himself drawn to the smooth, bald cleft between her legs. 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. He was shocked to find there was no fear there – instead a certain determination lit her eyes, and as Jack looked deep into them he saw unmistakable sympathy, and was it – love?
“I'm so sorry it has to be this way, Jack.” Shelly said.
She’s a part of this! He could feel his sanity beginning to crumble as she stepped towards the table, smiling.
Jack could feel hot tears streaming down his face as Shelly drew closer and climbed 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 with her breasts swinging gently as she crawled between the foods; never taking her eyes off his. Her gaze bore into his with unfettered hunger.
Shelly made her way carefully across the table, her penetrating gaze fixed solely on Jack. Soon she was positioned above his cock, and lowering her head down onto him, while holding eye contact. Jack felt a sickening rush of sheer 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, but not surprised. This was the girl he had loved his whole life. And now she was raping him. He felt his cock throb as she slowly lowered and raised her head around him, 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 lips, tasting what had to be his pre-cum; but right now it was as close to pure horror as Jack had ever been. Still though, his cock jutted up between his legs; demanding attention – craving her.
Next 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 centre. Jack felt himself immediately close to exploding as she lowered herself down all the way onto him. Her slick walls squeezed his cock, milking him.
Jack was barely aware when Athos began speaking, in awed and hushed tones. “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 Jack’s passion, the word barely registered. Despite the nightmarish scene he found himself embroiled in, his whole world was temporarily 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 rod. His own orgasm was drawing near - unstoppable.
Unheeded by his captives lack of response to what he had to say, Athos went on, lost in something close to reverie.
“Yes” he whispered, “for the female initiate, the ritual demands that she take into her virgin womb the semen of the first man she will dine on...”
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 she will dine on.
As horror overrode Jack’s ecstasy, he fought with his every fibre to move his arms, his legs – anything - but he was as helpless as a cripple in the hands of these psychopaths. He barely had time to process the fear that coursed 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 came into contact with his cum-slick manhood. Shelly made sure to place the blade against the most prominent vein, and the knife visibly shifted in rhythm with the blood coursing through his cock.
He whipped his head from side to side, heedless now of the pain in his head, pleading with his eyes as best he could to all in the room to save him from the terrible thing his girlfriend was set to do.
All he saw in return were smiles.
And 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!
Then Shelly began to saw at him.
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 sawed at him and, changing tact, began pulling hard on his now half severed shaft as she tried to tear it from his body. Failing in this, she resumed cutting, slicing deeper into his flesh with every sawing 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.
During all this, Jack couldn’t scream out loud, but in the fracturing, plummeting abyss that was his mind - he screamed plenty.
The pain was incredible. He could feel something tear in his throat as he fought to scream out in his torment. Warm blood spluttered from his mouth into the giant man’s face. The man nonchalantly wiped it away and stepped back from Jack, grinning.
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 who had witnessed this 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 his blood from the soft curve of a woman’s neck, just as gentle as a lover ever could. A little girl was la
ughing as she smeared blood onto her giggling guardians face.
And now at the end of the table sat Shelly - poetry student and horror movie geek – still naked, and painted 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, and Benjamin Athos began to speak; his voice clear and ringing in Jack’s ears.
“Shelly Pendle has partaken of the forbidden flesh of her love. She has proven herself wilful, merciless, driven by greed and in all ways a perfectly splendid guest. She will make 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 Shelly – our newest member!” he proclaimed.
In unison the room erupted with the voices of the diners. “TO SHELLY!” 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 Jack’s trembling, tortured flesh. Though he couldn’t move or make a sound, Jack felt every agonising cut and every 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 mere biology project - he felt every endless exploration as they kid pried deeper.
And as a fork pierced his sack and his testicles were pulled from his body, 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 her vagina and her anus.
They had used her hard. She would hurt for weeks.
She got onto her bruised knees and wiped the semen from her eyes. It covered her face, her hair and her breasts. She had just enough time to breathe before yet another man pushed his pulsing cock into her cum-slicked mouth and released a hot jet into her throat as he roughly pulled her head onto his massive member.
Dutifully, she swallowed his load and let out a sigh. He was the last of the group. The celebration was over.
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 to 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 Shelly. 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 within them.
“You’re one of us now, dear. And you must never forget...This world belongs to us. They 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 serve only to suffer and die in the service of satiating our hunger; both 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 revellers 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.
Fleshless skulls of all sizes, some intact and some fragmented, rested against its cold stone walls. 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 ground, gnawing on what was the last of his winter supply. He usually 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. He was simple, but he was smart enough to know 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 empty of wanderers for too long to rightly remember. Sure, there were always slow patches before the bad times had come, and even during the good times, when the land surrounding his well hidden den was jam-packed with tourists of all shape, color and taste, 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 drifting way, he thought he was starting to grasp the situation. The smell of rot polluting the air he breathed, and 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 his ever-protective mother. One happy family living life the way they saw fit, as their family had for generations. Still, be that as it may, he had often wondered about the world out there, down at the foot of the mountain. He grew wistful for its unreachable promise more and more these days.
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 scared Nathan, though. For Nathan, life was life enough, and the world so far below their happy home held nothing but misery and terror.
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. He’d only ever used metal in the act of killing; of 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.
Yet Roland knew he belonged here in the wilds. Where things were more simple - understandable and safe. Besides, Mother said the world would not ever accept his kind, however well he behaved himself and worked to fit in.
Yet still he would wonder…
He knew he was different. That much was obvious by simply looking down upon his very own hands - huge misshapen thumbs 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 his uniqueness in the weight of his head too. A simple 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 mothers or Nathans.
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, remi
nding 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 years 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.
The loud CRACK and the burst of fire that blasted forth from the shotgun had soon eradicated that possibility, along with half of his dear brothers’ head.
Nathan should have looked at more picture books...
Roland had returned home that long ago night, with no fresh meat for mother to cook, and short one family member. All that was left of dear Nathan was a mostly headless, disproportioned corpse, and the brain matter and chunks of skull that had spattered on Roland’s frock as his brother went down. On returning home, Mother had been furious – heartbroken too, but mostly furious – that he hadn’t brought back Nathan’s carcass. At least that would have fed them and made up for his inadequacy as a hunter/gatherer.
Consumed - Volume 1: An Extreme Horror Anthology. Page 4
