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The Emmy Stories

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The Daughter

I woke up to a day like every other for me. I sat alone in my bedroom. I didn’t dare to open the heavy shutters on the window, nor to even venture outside the room. I couldn’t get outside even if I wanted to. The bedroom door was bolted shut from the other side. A small tray with a bowl of cereal was left inside the door, placed there by my father before I’d woken up.

Since all the world’s farm animals had been wiped out by a virus, and since the wars which had followed, it wasn’t safe for me anymore. Not because I was involved. There were no more wars and no more animals to fight over. It was because I was female. During the wars, without animals as a source of food, law and order had broken down. Men had taken back their supremacy over women. The world had reverted to a primitive tribal culture with only a semblance of government remaining. Women were treated as property. Looting, muggings and rapes were common on the streets of even the most civilised countries.

My father kept me locked in my bedroom for my own safety, so he claimed. Every day, he’d bring me meals of cereal, salad, or whatever he could barter from the shops. I was allowed to spend an hour a day walking around the house to keep fit, and half-an-hour outside in the backyard under supervision to get some fresh air. He’d even built a second bathroom attached to my room.

My mother had recently been killed by a street gang, whilst my younger sister had simply disappeared one day. I now lived with my father and older brother. My father treated me kindly, despite keeping me locked up, whereas my brother liked to tie me up, hurt me, and even rape me. My father turned a blind eye.

I had a television in my room. Only one channel was broadcasting, run by the government, such as it was. Today, I switched it on. The news broadcast announced that the government had passed a new law to deal with the lack of animal meat. I watched, my curiosity turning to disbelief as the government representative outlined the new law.

Women were now to be used as food!

I couldn’t believe my ears. The government were condoning cannibalism. The man went on to explain that the growing population of the planet urgently needed to be reduced and therefore a cull of women and girls, as the child-bearers, was the only solution. This had presented a convenient solution to the meat shortage problem. Women could be used as meat. The report continued. First priority would be given to families. They could choose to eat, or sell, their own daughters. Following this trial period, a state lottery would be introduced. All females in certain age range would automatically be entered. Upon selection, they would be graded. High grade girls would be put up for sale. Low grade girls would become part of the government’s stock. It was all totally barbaric, I thought. Typical of a male society. At my young age, I knew that I would not be able to avoid becoming a meal!

Over the next few days, I watched in horrified fascination as the television devoted all its programming to shows instructing how to prepare a woman to eat. Apparently younger girls would yield the nicest meat. It showed many options for cooking a girl in the home; it explained how the lottery system would work; it explained how grading would be used. The biggest shock was when they said that the best flavour would be obtained when the girl is cooked alive… Several programmes graphically depicted struggling wide-eyed young girls being mercilessly cooked alive in various ways.

My father hadn’t mentioned anything about the new law since it had been announced. My brother, on the other hand, had been gloating and teasing me about it. He came regularly now, to rape me, and to say how much he was looking forward to eating his little sister. At first I was disgusted by the whole idea, but gradually, after watching more television, I began to think it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. There was a twisted logic. I could provide much-needed meat to my family. It was surely inevitable that they would either have to eat me or sell me, so why risk throwing my life away to some stranger who might buy me. Worse still, why risk being selected by the government and processed in anonymity?

The next day, I was waiting my father when he came to deliver my breakfast.

“Dad, when are you planning to eat me?” I asked directly. He stopped and looked at me, surprised and frowning.

“I don’t know my darling. I don’t think I could bring myself to do it,” he replied.

“My brother wants to eat me,” I said.

“I know,” he replied. “He's been pestering me about it."

“I want you to eat me Daddy,” I said, a thrill running through me.

My father said nothing. He came over to me and hugged me tightly. Eventually he broke away and looked at me seriously.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “There will be lots of pain for you, and no reward at the end.”

“My reward will be knowing that it’s my family eating me,” I replied honestly. “You can’t keep me in here forever – I’m going to be eaten eventually.”

“Okay my darling,” he said, after another moment’s thought. “I’ll talk to your brother. He'll know what to do. You won’t be able to back out once it’s started, you know that?”

“Yes Daddy,” I replied. “But it’s what I want, really.”

He smiled and left the room, locking me in as usual.

As expected, five minutes later my brother burst in my room, grinning excitedly.

“Dad tells me we’re gonna cook you up little sis,” he gloated. “I can’t wait to chew on your delicious meat…!”

With that, he pinned me to the bed, ripped open the nightdress I was wearing, and roughly fucked me. I didn’t resist quite as much as usual, in fact I actually enjoyed it. The idea of being eaten was suddenly a huge turn-on.

“The little slut wants to be cooked,” I heard my brother say in amazement outside my door.

A week passed of much the same. Now that I was at least semi-willing in bed, my brother took advantage of me at every opportunity. I felt like a slut, being fucked by my own brother, but at the same time I knew it was my last opportunity to enjoy it. I’d even started having orgasms with him, whereas before I’d forced myself not to cum despite any attempt he made to pleasure me into submission.

I had half expected my father to also use me sexually, in the absence of my mother, but he didn’t. He remained his usual self, quietly bringing me meals and watching me during the times I was allowed out of my room. He only made one change. He told me not to bother wearing clothes anymore. It was pointless, he said, for a girl to wear clothes if she was nothing more than a cow to slaughter. I guessed he was right, and happily discarded all my clothes. I now walked around naked, much to the enjoyment of my brother of course.

Finally the day arrived when my father walked into my room and announced that it was time to start eating me. A tingle of nervous anticipation rushed through me. Having set my mind to the idea, by now I was totally committed. I knew it was my purpose in life. I didn’t think of what I could have been had the world not fallen into this situation, but I just thought of myself as a walking piece of meat, destined to sustain my family.

My father took me down to the kitchen. My brother was there, waiting eagerly.

“Hey sis,” he grinned. “Time to eat you!”

“We’re not going to eat you all at once,” explained my father. “Your brother has been doing some research and it seems there is a way we can enjoy you over a few days. It’s called…”

“Progressive dismemberment,” I interrupted. “I’ve studied all the methods too.”

“Then you’ll know what to expect,” continued my father. “Are you still sure about this honey? It’s not going to be pleasant for you.”

I smiled. My brother looked worried that I would back out.

“I’m sure Daddy,” I said. “I’ve told you already, it’s what I want.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” he replied, with a hint of sadness I thought, although I was even more excited by now.

He gestured to my brother and he came over to me, holding me firmly and guiding me to the large table in the centre of the room. He sat me down in a chair. In front of me on the table was a wooden block, beside it was a large meat cleaver, an electric carving saw, and some contraption which looked like a mini guillotine. By the side of the table, my brother had already lit a small brazier and was heating up what I assumed to be cauterising irons. I noticed the nearby stove was already stacked with pans and roasting trays, waiting for my body parts.

I knew what to do. I placed my right hand on the wooden block. My brother picked up the meat cleaver. Nervous fear pulsed through me, but I stayed still. He held down my arm firmly, and I closed my eyes. I heard the ‘thwack’ of the cleaver hitting the board, then a moment later felt the fiery pain at the end of my arm where my hand had just been. I wanted to scream, but I kept quiet, instead only wincing to myself and gritting my teeth. I watched as the cauterising iron was pressed against the bleeding stump, sizzling as it burnt into my flesh. Again I wanted to cry out, but I forced myself to endure it. I looked at the table. Lying in front of me was my inert hand, the fingers slightly curled as if it were waving to me. The pain slowly subsided.

The process was repeated for my other hand. It felt weird not having hands. I felt lost. I knew that I was no longer a human being, but I was now a piece of meat being butchered. Next, my brother helped me put my feet up onto the table. I could no longer steady myself without hands so my father had to hold me. My heart racing, I closed my eyes again. ‘Thwack.’ I lost my right foot. The heavy cleaver blade cleanly slicing through my flesh and bone.

‘Thwack.’ I lost my left foot. Again, the wounds were quickly cauterised and I was left to recover. I felt weak, almost nauseous but I managed to stay conscious. My brother and father lifted me up and carried me to a waiting wheelchair. My father cleansed and bandaged the wounds. I knew I had survived only the first stage of many. My hands and feet would barely give enough meat to last one meal. I watched with a curious fascination as they boiled my hands and roasted my feet. I wondered if they’d yet had a chance to taste girl-meat or whether I was the first. I hoped I was the first.

That evening, my family dined on meat from my body for the first time. My pleasure at watching them was only equalled by the look of satisfaction on their faces as they ate. It had been a long time since any of us had tasted meat, and now they were happily consuming me! My brother carried me to bed and vigorously fucked me. I slept soundly that night.

Next morning I was woken early.

“Emily my darling,” my father explained. “We haven’t had meat in so long that we thought we’d have some meat for breakfast too.”

I was lifted out of bed and carried downstairs back to the kitchen. My brother set me down on the chair, holding my right arm out. He brought over the small guillotine I’d seen on the previous day. My arm was fitted snugly through the wooden frame, so that the blade section was resting just above my elbow. I barely had enough time to brace myself when the mechanism was released and with a dull thud I felt the familiar searing pain which meant my lower arm was now detached from my body. This time my father cauterised the wound. I guessed that his desire to eat meat was taking over from his wish to have a living daughter.

They did the same to my other arm, cutting it with the guillotine just above the elbow. I watched as both arms were fried in a large pan on the stove. At least I didn’t have to cook it for them, I laughed to myself.

For the rest of the day the guys left me alone in my room, lying on the bed, my arms now re-bandaged at the elbow. Occasionally I needed help to go to the bathroom or perhaps fetch a book that I wanted to read, which was humiliating but necessary. It was soon time for the evening meal and I was ritualistically carried back downstairs once again.

This time they wanted to take my lower legs to roast. I was placed on the table and the guillotine adjusted to fit over my knee. My father brought me a glass of wine, holding it to my lips so I could take sips. The wine helped to relax me. By now I was expecting the sharp pain of the cut, but the anticipation beforehand was still intense. My brother started to rub his hand between my legs as we waited for the cauterising irons to heat up. His insistent fingers soon found their mark, and he quickly had me gasping with heated pleasure, his fingers dipping in and out of my cunt and caressing my clit. Just as I was overcome by an orgasm I heard the guillotine release. The wave of ecstasy tingling through me was met by the agony in my leg. I looked down as my father carried my lower leg away to the waiting roasting pan.

Once again they took my other lower leg in the same way, building me to orgasm then letting the guillotine do it’s work, severing my leg just above the knee. After cauterising the pain gradually subsided again, and I was placed back in my wheelchair to watch the family eat. It took a while for my legs to roast, but once ready, even I was salivating at the smell of roasted meat permeating the kitchen. My legs were brought out, each cooked to perfection. My father carefully started carving slices of meat and soon the two men were greedily gorging themselves. Again I sat watching, tingling with satisfaction at their enjoyment of my cooked flesh. Again I was carried to bed and my brother fucked me hard while telling me how delicious I was. Needless to say, he made me cum hard too.

At the next morning’s breakfast I lost my upper arms. As the guillotine wouldn’t fit close enough to my shoulder, my brother resorted to the electric carving saw. I was held down tightly, the stump of my upper arm out on the table as he carefully did the cutting. The buzzing saw vibrated through my body as it effortlessly sliced through the flesh, before grinding through the bone. I couldn’t help squirming and crying out with the pain of it. Soon, my other arm had gone the same way; the meat cut from the bone then minced up to make a pie for lunch.

Evening came and I knew my upper legs would be next. Since agreeing to be eaten, I had decided that my thighs would provide the best meat. Most of the television programmes I’d watched also said that, giving lots of advice on how best to butcher and cook that particular area. The men were in for a treat tonight, I thought to myself.

They had decided to use the electric saw again, to cut as close to my groin and hip as possible to get the full amount of meat from my thigh. I knew this would be the biggest cut of all, so I was understandably nervous. My father gave me plenty of wine to drink beforehand, leaving me somewhat tipsy by the time my brother was ready for me. Without my arms and only the upper half of my legs remaining, I was now totally unable to even hold my body upright. I was laid down flat on the table, facing up.

“I’ve persuaded Dad to give you a treat before we take the rest of your legs,” said one brother cryptically.

I looked across to my father. He smiled at me, unclipping his belt.

“Yes my love,” he explained. “Your brother thinks it’s about time I stopped grieving for your mother and started taking full advantage of you…”

With that, he quickly stripped off his clothes and approached me, his cock already standing proudly erect as he climbed on the table and prepared to fuck his semi-limbless daughter. I was already wet with anticipation, forgetting that this man was actually my own father, as I felt his hard manhood enter me. He gasped with obvious pleasure as my tight young cunt contracted around his cock. I closed my eyes as he started thrusting. It didn’t take us long to both cum. I felt his hot jism spurt inside me as the familiar wave of release rushed over me. All too quickly he pulled out of me and climbed off the table.

My brother moved in beside me. The electric saw was already buzzing and before I had a chance to catch my breath I felt it bite into the tender flesh of my thigh. I cried out and sobbed as I was held down, the blade relentlessly slicing through my skin and muscle under the expert control of my brother. The saw grated on the thick bone of my upper leg, sending waves of agony up my body. He was quickly through and soon I looked down through the delirium of pain and saw my upper leg being carried from the table. I closed my eyes. I felt like passing out. This time it was just too painful. I felt the searing heat of the cauterising iron as he quickly worked to stop me from bleeding. Somehow I managed to hold on, gritting my teeth and reliving my father’s fuck in my head.

My brother worked on my other leg in the same way. I cried, I screamed, I couldn’t take it any more. But once again it was quickly over. I was now just a head and torso, still living and breathing, but without any arms or legs. I watched as my father carefully carved thick juicy-looking steaks from my thighs. Each one sizzled as he grilled the meat to perfection. The steaks were the most succulent meat I’d ever seen, cooked rare, it was almost still recognisable as part of my leg. The men ate with almost orgasmic pleasure. I had never felt happier or more proud in all my life. That night’s fucking was probably the best of my life. With no legs or arms to get in the way, my brother took me twice, once in my cunt and once in my virgin ass, before letting me drift into a contented sleep.

I knew the next day would be my last. After all, there was nothing left they could cook easily without causing me fatal damage. Without my limbs, I was also now small enough to fit inside the oven or on top of the stove. My father was able to lift me by himself and carry me down to the kitchen for one last day. However, they had one last plan for me before my final roasting.

I was placed on the table as usual. The bandages on the stumps of my arms and legs were carefully removed and the wound’s washed. My father came over to me.

“Emily honey,” he said. “You’ve probably guessed today is your last day.”

I nodded.

“You’ve been fantastic my love,” he continued. “You’re absolutely delicious, you know that. I thought you’d like to know we’ve invited some friends around tonight to share in our final feast. They don’t have daughters and they’re paying us a fortune to eat some of you...”

I beamed. Not only had I provided nearly a week’s worth of fine meals to my family, I could now bring in some much-needed money too. For a moment I wondered if any of my friends had undergone this same fate, or whether they’d perhaps been roasted whole over a barbeque, or boiled alive, or any of the many ways which I’d seen regularly advertised on the television.

The first part of the preparation for tonight’s feast was to wash my body. Without my limbs I hadn’t been able to wash so my brother meticulously cleaned every remaining inch. Of course they let me have a little thrill when they washed between my legs… Once I was cleaned, the hair on my head was cut and shaved off completely. My father showed me what I looked like in the mirror. I was a little piggy, I thought, almost not recognising myself with a bald head!

Next, my brother started applying a mixture of cooking oil and butter onto my skin. His hands were strong and sensual, rubbing the mixture over my stomach and breasts, and between my legs. My nipples were hard under his caress. They rolled me over and continued applying the mixture to my back and buttocks. I was turned back again and my father brought over a large pan of stuffing.

“Once you’re gone my love, we’ll cut out your insides and stuff you with this,” he explained, showing me the pan. “But for now, I thought you’d like it if we stuffed you just a little for starters…”

He scooped up a handful, reaching down and pushing it into my cunt. He continued doing this until gradually I could feel my cunt filling with stuffing. Soon, it was crammed full, my cunt stretched wide. It felt weird being so full there when it was not a hard cock!

Next, my brother showed me a long thin metal skewer. I quickly realised his intention as he pressed the sharp tip against the side of my left breast. It broke the skin and he slowly pushed it into me. By now I was used to the pain, and I didn’t make a sound, concentrating hard as I felt the metal skewer pass through the soft mammary tissue. A trickle of blood marked where the skewer broke through between my breasts. He continued pushing, letting the skewer move across to my right breast and stabbing it through that one too. Once it was right through both breasts I looked down. My breasts looked like a kebab, I thought wryly. I knew they would only be able to eat the skin and outer layer of my breasts, as they were mostly fatty underneath, but it still made me feel even more like a piece of meat.

I was now ready for the oven. My father explained that I would be gently roasted on a low heat for as long as I wanted, letting me fully enjoy the experience of being cooked. Then, when I was ready, they would take me out of the oven and they’d have a final surprise for me before it was back into the oven for the final time. I smiled, and thanked them. As my last wish I asked them each which part of me they would be dining on later. My brother wanted to taste my breasts, whilst my father reserved my prize fillet - my cunt.

I was carried to the waiting oven, positioned on a large tray facing upwards. My father had wrapped a cold towel and a piece of kitchen foil around my head. The tray was carefully slid inside and the door closed.

It took me a while to realise that it was hot at all. Only the whirring of the oven let me know that the heat was on. Gradually, however, the heat became noticeable. At first, it was no worse than lying in a hot sauna. After a while, it was beginning to be uncomfortable; and this was only a low heat I thought to myself. Sweat mixed with the sticky baste on my skin, my lips and throat dried out, and I started to feel dizzy. I wondered how long I could survive and whether I’d last long enough for my extra surprise.

My skin started to sting. I realised it was cooking, turning slowly redder. I wished I still had my arms and hands so I could masturbate. I concentrated hard to stay awake, shutting out the stinging aching pain. The baste mixture was starting to sizzle, dripping off my body into the tray below. The pain was worst against my shoulders and buttocks which were directly on the roasting tray. The hot metal was searing itself against my skin. I could smell the cooking flesh. I wanted to turn over. I tried to wriggle, but it was no use. I looked out, through the glass door of the oven and saw the men watching me greedily. I called out.

The oven door opened, letting out a rush of hot air and steam. The tray was slid out. I could tell by the satisfied nods of my brother that I must’ve smelled good.

“What’s the matter darling?” my father asked. “Ready for your surprise? You’ve only been cooking for half-an-hour.”

“No,” I gasped, taking welcome breaths of cool air. “I was just wondering if you could turn me over so I cook evenly.”

My father grinned.

“My sweet Emily,” he said. “You really do think of everything don’t you!”

With that, I was carefully turned over. The tray beneath me was still red hot which made me gasp as I was placed down again, my breasts, stomach and groin sizzling against the metal. The cold towel on my head was replaced with a fresh one, then I was slid back into the oven and left once again to the incessant and unforgiving heat. It wasn’t long before I felt the heat from the pan burning against the front of my body, particularly against my breasts and my cunt. I knew I couldn’t last much longer so I reluctantly cried out again.

This time I was taken out with no questions asked. I could see myself in a reflection from the oven door. My skin was a shiny red or brown colour. Steam rose from my body. I looked just like a roasting turkey. I wondered what my final surprise would be.

I didn’t need to wait long to find out. My brother walked around me with a larger version of the skewer which was nestled through my breasts. It was about the length of my torso, maybe a little longer. I knew immediately what they were planning. I was to be impaled like a kebab. I would be presented at the feast table with the metal spit right through me, matching the skewer already in my breasts. I smiled, it was a nice touch.

At first I didn’t feel the spit enter me. My brother was pushing it through the stuffing already in my cunt. Then I felt the sharp point pressing against my cervix, trying to find a passage through. The pain hit me as it penetrated into my uterus, my brother pushing it slowly and carefully up inside my body. From watching television I knew it was unlikely I’d survive this procedure. For the perfect presentation the spit must come out of my mouth. Only a well-trained expert could impale a girl and let her survive. My father held me steady, although I really couldn’t move anyway. Five minutes of agony later, and I felt blood in my throat, causing me to gag instinctively. Blood came out of my mouth and I felt the hard point of the spit following up my throat, cutting off my breathing for a moment until it finally emerged out of my mouth.

I was still alive! He must’ve missed my heart and lungs, I thought. My father seemed equally impressed, congratulating his son on an expert job. I was carried back to the oven and slid inside for the last time. I knew I would now be cooked until I was dead. After that, I would be gutted and stuffed, before being roasted again until cooked. Then I would be served to my family and their friends. As the oven door closed I smiled to myself, knowing I’d provided for my family and that they had enjoyed every mouthful. The heat, now turned up, quickly overcame me, my skin sizzling and slowly turning to a crisp brown as the muscles/meat beneath was cooking. I drifted off into a peaceful and contented sleep.

A few hours later, my roasted torso was sitting in the middle of the dining table, in front of the assembled guests. My decapitated head was proudly displayed next to it, still smiling. My father was busily carving slices of steaming meat from my buttocks and passing full plates around the appreciative and hungry guests. Of course he saved my cunt until last, lovingly slicing around the delicate folds of flesh until he’d carved out the steak. He happily gorged himselfon the last of his daughter, savouring every mouthful as it melted in his mouth...


 

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