A quick something I put together after a late-night chat with PogueMahone, featuring the same girls (though unnamed in the story) as my previous short fic posted here. PogueMahone edited and cleaned up my sloppy 2am writing, lots of love to him for his help <3
The lights flicker on, revealing a small, faux kitchen setup on stage, a la Jacques Pepin. A small live audience surrounds a large, wooden prep table, and a countertop with knives, bowls, pots and pans, joined by a freestanding fridge, oven and sink. Two women, one in a chef's apron, slender, blonde with blue eyes, and her partner, a brown-eyed brunette in a short white dress and opaque leggings, follow the light onto the stage.
“Well I am sure you all know how to get your butchered girls from the market, wrapped in plastic and sitting in the shelf for days, but the finest in haute cuisine needs the freshest! that's why you should always butcher your own ladies or gentlemen - I recommend your significant others, personally. love is the magic ingredient!” The lady standing beside her just smiles a little and waves to the crowd before her partner gets her up onto the big cutting board and has her strip off her clothes while explaining to the crowd, holding up a knife.
"Now you should awlays make sure your knives are in top condition," she says, running the tip along her partner's finger and drawing just the slightest line of crimson on the pad of her fingertip to show its edge. "So sharp you won't feel it, ma cherie. Well, you will, but the point is that if I'm here sawing away at your bones or trying to struggle through your ligaments, you're going to end up bruised. Someone could end up with a bone chip in their soup, and no one wants that." The naked girl reclines luxuriously before flashing her a grin and nodding, adding: "Don't butch meat of my quality with a bad knife job! Get it? Botch? Butch…er?" The chef looks at her solemnly before shaking her head sadly. "Let's not get ahead of yourself, dear, before you lose yours."
"Now! With a lady this size ("hey!" she protests), you will want to take her disassembly in stages. The important parts of her are here -" she uses the knife to prod her calves, thighs, rump, back, breasts, and arms in order, naming them as she goes before jabbing her in the cock with it - hard. "And lastly, any genitalia she might possess. You may notice that I do not include her head on this list, because while some people may possess a lovely brain worth preserving or reducing into a lovely fatty cooking base, my partner in particular has a brain full of lint and eggshells (her partner scowls and pouts, in the process of pinning up her hair behind her head so it won't get in the way of her girlfriend's knife), and would doubtless be of little interest to any discerning palate. Do make sure to get her cheeks, though - they are second only to her belly for tenderness and marbling."
"First, we begin with her leg - lift your leg for me dear, that's a good girl - I have seen many home cooks, inexperienced with working with anything larger than a chicken, attempt to lift the leg themselves before removing it from the trunk. This is nonsense - make your meal work for you, and you will save yourself some effort and your carcass ("I'm still – I'm not a carcass yet, hun" "hush, you will be in just a moment, I work quick") the embarrassment of looking like she was mangled by a dog. Take your knife and feel right here - along the axis of rotation of her thigh, against the pelvis, and cut -" here she makes one long incision with the knife, plunging it into the crook of her leg and curling it under and around her crotch, then stopping just under her right asscheek. "and once more, right along the outside. Curve the motion, follow the lower plate of the pelvis like so - dear, could you shift a little so they can see?" The girl moves awkwardly on her hands to turn her crotch towards the audience, lifting her leg higher so they can see the strip of red encircling her upper thigh. "Magnifique. Second cut, like so -" she makes another long, tight incision along the outside edge of her leg, curving around her ass and then cutting under it, before meeting at the ball and socket where her thigh bone meets pelvis.
"Now, at this point, you may be tempted to saw through my lovely girlfriend's hip, and simply be done with her, but I say non! Once again, you must make your meal work for you, and use her anatomy to your advantage." She hands the knife to her partner, slick with a thin sheen of red, before clasping her knee and thigh together and folding them up towards her assistant's chest. "Now, with her legs distended as such, you simply twist to the side -" There's a startled, pleasured yip! as she pulls down hard on the knee, and a snapping sound as the joint at her hip collapses as her leg swings outwards from her body like a butterfly's wing. "And there we have it. I will take my knife back, my dear, but please show them what has become of you while I work on the other side."
Dutifully, her assistant (now looking a little bright eyed and glassy, open-eyed stare, as if she had just come off an orgasm - which of course, she had), hefts her dismembered leg up, showing it to the crowd, running her fingers along the calf and arch of her foot, and turning it to show the stump where it had come off of her trunk. Meanwhile, the girl behind her is repeating the process on her left leg: "Now, curve the blade like so, gather under the rump, and smooth and nice all the way down to the hip. Would you try your best to break this one, my dear?" "W.. huh? Oh! Yes, of course. Make your meat work for you, right." She folds her knee up to her chest, and placing one hand on the tabletop and the other against her knee, she pushes down hard while clutching onto the edge, torqueing her trunk in the opposite direction as her leg comes free with a loud cr-crack!
"And there you have it, mon amis. So easy that even your dinner can do it for you! Now - at this point, we will turn her over onto her front. Her connective tissue in her arms is mostly tethered at the shoulder, you see, and that is better accessed from behind, where you have a good view of her spine. How are you feeling, ma cherie? Hungry, yet?" The girl, struggling to turn herself over, grins back at her. "A little hungry, I do hope you save enough of me for me. It'd be awfully rude of you to hog my whole body for just yourselves. Also, if I may make a few recommendations - later on, she'll show you how to butcher the different parts of my wayward legs. I keep my ass in good shape so you'll want to do it low and slow, maybe braised. Calves are one of the most worked muscles in the body, and mine are no different - maybe all those years in heels on stage didn't do me any favors there, so if any of you are modern gadget saavy, try them sous vide for a good eighteen hours. And for my feet, er… Any of you out there have a foot fetish?" She scans the crowd for a moment, then points at someone in the back row. "That lady, in the blue with the red hair. Ask her."
"Right, then, enough chatter, meatball. As for her arms (now laying facedown, she waggles her fingers towards the audience playfully), sadly, there's not much meat to be found here. However, in the case of beef, we might refer to this section as the fore shank, and you may know it for being used in the dish osso bucco! I don't know if any of you are interested in, er, Prisso… bucco? but at the very least, we should take these off her hands - er, well… you know what I mean." Without much preamble, the knife plunges into her back, just under the plate of her shoulderblade, following along the ribcage. "Start here, and cut down behind the ribs but in front of the shoulders. Unlike the cow, a human girl's shoulder blades run along the ribs, instead of perpendicular, so we must be careful with our knifework here. Run the blade up through the tendon connecting it to the neck, and then curve around her armpit here" (The girl suddenly twitches and starts giggling as the blade slices through her skin, earning her a sharp look from the chef and the unpleasant sound of metal on bone for a second before the chef can reorient herself). "Ahem. If you find your meat to be unruly, when it comes to certain parts of her body, you can just cut right here (she points at an inch-long section right along her spine) and sever the connection to her arm. However, once you've made this incision, you simply turn -" here she twists the arm backwards, bending the elbow as she does until her forearm is parallel with her neck, pointing upwards. "And then twist, just like we did with the leg." Crack! The arm pulls free, leaving a stringy, red and white mess of tendon at her shoulder, which the chef quickly clears away with her blade.
After another few minutes repeating the procedure on the opposite side, the chef sets down her knife and reaches for a large cleaver under the table. "Right, so as of now, we've removed most of the interesting parts of her body, and have only to contend with her viscera and her empty head ("Hey!"). Some chefs prefer to cut through the stomach to open the visceral compartment and remove her organs, but I prefer to go through the back. Simply take your cleaver, align it to the sides of her spine, and crack through the ribcage until the spine pulls free." She takes her blade and aligns it with the pale skin of her back, and is about to swing it down on her when the girl on the table yelps out: "Wait!"
"Wait, wait, you forgot! We have a special sponsor tonight!" She turns her head the best she can without limbs, and smiles out at the audience, while her partner takes a couple steps away from the table, looking a little confused. "That's right everyone! Tonight's show is sponsored by GutsGone, maker of the Spleenghetti intestine remover! My partner here was getting ready to show you how to crack me open like an egg, the way Julia Childs would, but we're living in the twenty first century, people! Here with us on stage tonight are two representatives from GutsGone to demo their newest model of… the Spleenghetti!"
Two women, each wearing skin-tight glittery red dresses and sporting a suspiciously impossible waistline come out onto the stage, towing what looks like a large stainless steel winch behind them. Nudging the chef out of the way and to the wings of the stage, one of them lifts up the reduced trunk of the girl and places a meathook through her lower jaw to leave her dangling about three feet from the ground, while the other stuffs the end of the winch into her ass. Her words a little slurred because of the hook in her mouth, she continues: "GutsGone's proprietary technology mnserts directly into the anus of your favorite meatgirl, and with just a single twist! – MMRRPGHGRUGHHH. HHHhHHuuuuu WOW alright, that– right. Okay. So it feels like it's got like, fifteen million little needles that stick into your asshole, and uh, correct me if I'm wrong here ladies, but you push the button and the winch rolls up your guts right out of your body like a fork with spaghetti. Ok, that's – is that all that was on the card? Alright, ok - go ahead and – hhhuuuuuuhhoooollyy shiiiiiittt thta's w-w-w-w-wierd!"
The winch whirrs to sudden life, and with surprising alacrity, begins to spin rapidly in its seat. The rope goes taut, and then there's a schlorp as something gives way inside the dismembered girl's body, and a thick tube of something deep crimson pops free of her anus. With a sucking sound, it's yanked up into the spindle of the machine as it continues to whirr, transitioning to loops of something long, slender and pale white, with multiple clusters of dark red or purple sacs hanging off of it, connected by thick, fleshy membranes. A few of them squeeze and burst as they're spun up into the tight coils made by the winch, and as the girl on the table is about to make another comment she instead gags suddenly. She clutches at her throat, then – for lack of a better way to explain it, her face gets pulled down her neck.
The tearing of skin signals the finale of the winch's tear through her body, as stomach, esophagus, and then the lining of her mouth, tongue, and the attached skin of her face streak in a red blur out of her ass and roll up with a satisfying squelch. The faceless woman, still wobbling on the hook, mumbles a quick, "W-well that's all for our sponsored message! T… tune in next time for the uh, the I don't know, the name anymore, we'll add that in in post." As the girl is let down from the hook and set onto the table again, and the two women roll the device away, the chef steps forward again, cleaver gleaming menacingly in her hands. "Is that all for your little side show, dear? You didn't tell me we'd uh, branched out into As Seen on TV." She smiles the best she can without skin or lips. "Hey, well, y'know. They made a good offer, and I have one of those at home. They're really handy." The chef hesitates a moment. "Y… actually you're right, that did seem kind of useful. I'll look into it. But for now, my dear, we have a show to finish and not much time left to do it in. Head down, ass up please."
"You're always so serious," she grumbles in return, wiggling uselessly to try and assume the position. “Liven up a lit–" Crack! the first blow of the cleaver crushes half the ribs on her left side, forcing the girl on the table to exhale sharply in a gasp. Crack! Crack! Two, three more swings, and the chef has cut through the entirety of her ribcage where it meets with her spine. Taking her kitchen knife back in hand, she cuts straight down along the line of her spine, down to what's left of the exposed bones of her pelvis, on both sides, before tearing it free from her body with a crackling squelch.
The chef continues her work, gripping onto the exposed edges of her ribs and beginning to force them apart while the girl on the table explains with the last of the air in her lungs: "My spine! I recommend chopping it up, along with my neck, and whatever you can get from that Spleenghetti, and cooking it down with butter, onions, and some herbs to make a thick, rich gravy. Great for mashed potatoes, or like, to spoon over roasted….me." Snap! Her sternum splits in two as the two halves of her ribs pull away from each other. The chef sets them down, breasts-up, on the table, where only her head and nearly completely voided pelvis remain. "Almost done," she says with a look of satisfaction, while the head sticks her tongue out at her. "Let's carve these breasts and give my unruly assistant something to keep her occupied so she doesn't run her mouth again –" She plucks up the head and sets it down onto the still-erect cock poking out of the disembodied pelvis, pushing the head of it through the puncture in her lower jaw from the hook and letting the tip peek out of her skinless face.
The knife makes two quick passes along the curve of her ribs, liberating the soft, fatty tissue into two fist-sized lumps, and then a pass of the knife along the lower arch of her ribcage cuts loose the soft, well marbled tissue of her flat belly. These she sets alongside the two arms, two legs, lumps of ass meat, and the two halved racks of ribs onto a platter. The rest of her - the head and pelvis and cock, the chef regards with a sudden aura of mischief. "Well, I'm sorry to say folks, that's about all the time we have for today." (There's a muffled, indignant outcry from the head speared on the cock that sounds like 'whut about my brain!') "The rest of her will just have to go into the grinder, because we just don't have time to disassemble her properly, sorry!" She leans with one hand over her ear to the crowd, listening to their disappointed groans. "What's that you say? A certain someone was so excited to see her brain after all of this work? Well, if you say so - I guess antiques roadshow will just have to wait."
While she's saying this, a large, person-sized meat grinder, with four gleaming stainless steel barrels of burrs clearly visible just under the lip, is wheeled out onto the stage. "Earlier in the episode, I spoke on the importance of keeping your knife sharp, but I've never taught a class on how best to do that. Well, a meat grinder wheel and a grinding wheel, and a head and a knife are close enough, right?" She kicks the machine once, sending it whirring into loud, cacophonous life. The cameras zoom in on the head in her hands, eyes suddenly very wide and eager. "First, let's send her cock through to make sure this thing is working properly," she says, cradling the faceless head under one arm and yanked the cock free, leaving a trail of spittle, blood and cum connecting it to her mouth before dropping it unceremoniously into the grinder. It crunches, groans, and slowly begins to consume the entire complex bone, her penis spraying one last gush of cum b efore being consumed by the machine.
"Well, that seems to answer that. And now - my sweetheart, give me one more kiss for the road - to sharpen a knife, or a head, I guess, it's all about angle. Too deep, and you'll break the skull and damage the brain - er, grain, of the knife. Too shallow, and you'll just strip the skin without making a dent on the bone, and you can't cut anything with that." To illustrate her point, she lowers the head against the burrs, eliciting a silent gasp and scream of excitement from the girl, and creating a spray of scraps of skin that confetti outwards from where the bone and blade meet. She eases it down further into the teeth, and the spray of skin and muscle turns into chips of bone. After a moment, she withdraws the head from the grinder, and shows it to the audience - her entire left side is a hash of crushed bone chips and pristine brain, drooping slightly as it extends out from what's left of the skull. A dreamy, goofy grin is on what's left of the girl's face, cut off just beside the nose bridge. "And now the other side," she murmurs, grinding the bone again into the whirring blades, now with one hand gentle cradling the exposed brain and protecting the tiny remnant of her wife from the spray of needle like skull chips and sticky, shredded mucosal membranes that shred through her face. The one remaining eye dangling from its socket, and the chef catches it before it tumbles in.
When the head emerges this time, all that's left is a small fraction of the jaw (the front, middle teeth - her wife always did have pretty, straight teeth, and this was a lovely chance for everyone to see that… even if there was only enough jaw for eight of them. There was also a bit of nose bridge, and even a tiny scrap of her brunette hair plasted over the remnants of a forehead. Gently, she pried the soft, squishy brain free of the little bit of brain, placed the eye in between the teeth and kissed it tenderly.
"Bonne nuit, ma cherie!" She croons, then drops it into the whirring teeth, leaving only the sound of crushing bone and the squishy lump of her wife's consciousness clasped between her hands. "And zhat, my friends - is how you disassemble a woman. Goodnight! I will see you next time, when we cook what we have harvested, and let my dear partner (she squishes the brain softly) be the centerpiece of our spread."