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 No.8328

This is a long one. I think the slow build up helps the story, but if you grow impatient with it, or simply don't have a lot of time, feel free to skip to part ten.

Pep

1 - Push

	
"Elizabeth, would you stay after class please?"

	
Titters and a couple of giggling laughs from several of the students filing out of his classroom followed this announcement, but Mr. Riggs ignored them. Elizabeth, however, blushed and ducked her head, hiding her face behind her long hair.

	
"Y-yes, Mr. Riggs." she answered, a bit timidly.

	
Mr. Riggs intimidated Elizabeth a little bit, but then, so did almost everyone. She waited until the last of her classmates had left the room, then approached Mr. Riggs' desk.

	
Mr. Riggs was erasing the whiteboard, his long arms sweeping away the arcane, to Elizabeth, formulas and drawings of chemical bonds that had dominated that day's lesson. He finished, then turned around to look at her with a little disappointed frown creasing his forehead. Elizabeth gulped, her eyes flickering down from his for a moment, then she looked back up at him hesitantly.

	
She did have to look up, too. Although Mr. Riggs was quite thin, with a bald, shaved head, a large, hawkish nose, and prominent adam's apple, he was saved from being scrawny by the fact that he was several inches over six feet in height. He was at least a foot taller than she was. Several of the boys in her class were as tall or nearly as tall as Mr. Riggs, and probably much broader, but the fact that he was a mature adult, her teacher, seemed to make him much more intimidating than her peers.

	
"Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said, looking down at her, "You're falling behind. Quite far behind. You're in danger of failing this class, in fact."

	
Elizabeth inhaled sharply at his statement. She had known that she wasn't doing well, but to be in danger of failing completely?

	
"But, Mr. Riggs, I read all the chapters in the text book you assign, and I try to do my homework." She replied, hurriedly. "I'm really trying, but none of it makes any sense."

	
"You're really reading everything I assign?" Mr. Riggs asked, quirking one eyebrow up interrogatively.

	
"Er, well, most of them." Elizabeth hedged, looking a little sheepish. "I try to read them all, but sometimes I just can't finish some, uh, most chapters. They, uh.. they make me fall asleep."

	
Elizabeth's face flushed slightly as she admitted that last part, and she averted her eyes from him again.

	
"I see. Elizabeth, pardon my asking, but are you having any trouble at home? Anything that might disturb your studies, or distract you? I ask only because I'm concerned for you." Mr. Riggs said, a serious edge to his voice.

	
"Oh no, nothing like that, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth answered, hastily. "It's just me and mom, and we get along fine. She actually tries to help me with my homework, but I think she's even more lost than I am when it comes to your class."

	
"Hmm, I see." replied Mr. Riggs, cupping his chin in his hand and looking thoughtful. "Are you getting enough rest? Are you finding it difficult to get up in the morning?"

	
"Er, yeah. Wow, how did you know?" Elizabeth answered, surprised.

	
"Because you are a teenager, my dear. I've yet to know a student of mine that wouldn't rather sleep an extra hour or five than come to school on time." Mr. Riggs thought to himself, amused. He then said aloud, "I suspected as much. I might be able to help with that, if you'll allow me."

	
"Wow, that'd be great. But, um.. how?" Elizabeth eagerly replied.

	
"A special formula that I've created. A tonic, for pep. I use it myself." Mr. Riggs answered. "It's a special powder that you dissolve in water. It tastes quite bitter, but works wonders. You'll have more energy than you know what to do with."

	
"I could definitely use some pep." Elizabeth said, "Mom can hardly get me up some mornings, I'm so tired."

	
"Would you like to try some, then?" Mr. Riggs asked, with a pleased smile.

	
"Oh, yes please." Elizabeth said.

	
"Very well. Wait a moment please."

	
Mr. Riggs fished into his pocket as he turned around, pulling out the keys to the door to the classroom's back room. The room contained Mr. Riggs' office, space for the storage of the various chemicals and lab equipment necessary for his class, as well as a work bench and lab station with fume hood. Mr. Riggs entered the door, which was to the left of the whiteboard, then returned a few moments later carrying several unmarked chemical bottles, one large and one much smaller.

	
Mr. Riggs set both bottles down on his desk, then sat down himself in his chair. He carefully opened both bottles while Elizabeth watched on with interest. The large bottle was full nearly to the brim with a fine powder so white it was almost colorless, and the small bottle was completely empty. Mr. Riggs fished a small scoop out of the powder, then slowly spooned several measures of the stuff from the larger bottle into the smaller. He spoke as he did this.

	
"Simply mix, hmm, about a quarter of a teaspoon of this powder into a glass of water. It will take a moment to dissolve, so stir well. Like I said before, it will be bitter, but if you can overcome the taste you will soon be rewarded with an influx of energy and vigor."

	
Mr. Riggs finished his task, replaced the scoop, then capped both bottles. He took a permanent marker out of his desk, then wrote briefly on the smaller bottle. He then turned the bottle around, which now read "Pep Powder, courtesy Mr. Riggs" on its label, and presented it to Elizabeth.

	
"Try not to let your classmates know about this," Mr Riggs said, tapping the small bottle with his index finger, "or they'll all be wanting it. If one of your teachers asks you about it, just tell them you got it from me. They'll understand."

	
"Wow, thanks Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth breathed, as she took up the bottle and peered at it.

	
"It's my pleasure, Elizabeth. Anything to help a student of mine." Mr. Riggs replied, watching her stuff the bottle into a pocket on her backpack. "Try it out this weekend. See if it helps you concentrate better on your studies."

	
"Oh, and one more thing." he cautioned. "Don't take too much at once, keep to a just a quarter teaspoon or so."

	
"Why's that, Mr. Riggs?" Elizabeth asked, looking back down at the pocket she had just placed the bottle into. "Is it dangerous?"

	
"No, no. It's just that if you take more than that, you'll be bouncing off the walls, possibly literally. All things in moderation." Mr. Riggs intoned, piously. "Have a nice weekend, Elizabeth."

	
"Okay. Thanks again, Mr. Riggs. See you Monday."

	
Mr. Riggs watched as Elizabeth gathered the rest of her things, then exited the classroom. His eyes followed her plump form as she passed along the large windows of his room. She wasn't obese, not quite, but she was certainly a bit overweight. Mr. Riggs contemplated his student for a few moments after she had left, resting his chin on his thumbs behind his steepled fingers. He hadn't been completely honest with her. While it was incontrovertibly true that the chemical cocktail he had just provided her would give her more energy, and how, it was definitely untrue that he had ever touched the stuff himself. No, it wasn't for him. But Elizabeth, he thought, could certainly benefit from the powder's properties. If all went according to design, it might even help her lose the extra weight that he knew any teenage girl would angst over.

	
Yes, things were going well. As well as could be hoped for, Mr. Riggs thought, and smiled a cheshire smile behind his fingers.

 No.8329

2 - Achievements in Education

	
The student who returned to Mr. Riggs' classroom on Monday couldn't have been more different that the one who had left on Friday. The previous week's Elizabeth had been shy and withdrawn, nearly terminally timid. She had also been, well, not exactly lethargic, but certainly listless, seemingly unable to summon the energy to be excited or enthused about much at all. This week's Elizabeth, however, was transformed. She was outgoing, vivacious and confident, and seemingly full of a boundless energy that mostly manifested as a nearly uninterrupted stream of talk and chatter. Mr. Riggs had found it necessary to reprimand her several times on Monday alone for talking in class, forcing a stern expression on his face each time he did so, but inwardly was as pleased as he could be.

	
Her classmates had been surprised by the changes in Elizabeth as well, but, with typical teenage speed and adaptability, had accepted this seemingly new personality almost at once. All but the clique-y-est of them welcomed this energetic, happy version of Elizabeth, who insinuated herself into their groups and circles with ease.

	
Elizabeth's energy persisted all week. After Friday's lab, she stayed behind after class of her own accord. Mr. Riggs couldn't keep a small, satisfied smile off his face as she approached him as he was again wiping clean the whiteboard.

	
"Mr. Riggs, thank you soo much for the pep powder!" Elizabeth said, so eagerly that she was practically gushing. "I've never felt so great before. I'm getting all my reading and homework done the fastest I've ever done. It's awesome!"

	
"I've, ah, noticed that you've been turning in a lot more of your work than you had before." Mr. Riggs replied. "I am glad that everything seems to be working out."

	
Mr. Riggs didn't mention that while the quantity of her work had certainly increased, perhaps too much so, the quality had somehow managed to drop even lower than it had been before. Still, it wouldn't do to discourage the girl at this stage, he thought.

	
"Has your mother liked the results of your efforts?" Mr. Riggs asked.

	
"Oh, she hasn't really noticed. She gets home pretty late from work, then usually goes right to bed. She has, like, two or three jobs, I think." Elizabeth replied.

	
"Well, I'm sure that she'll notice sooner or later." said Mr. Riggs.

	
Elizabeth shrugged, apparently dismissing the matter from her mind. The girl was positively brimming with pent up energy. Even just standing still to talk to him seemed to be hard for her to do. Her hands were constantly at motion, and she seemed to be rocking back and forth a little on the balls of her feet, almost bouncing up and down on them.

	
"Mr. Riggs, I mean it. Thank you so much. I.. I.." she said, words failing her, and Mr. Riggs was surprised to see tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes. They didn't fall, however, and Elizabeth managed to rally herself to finish her thought. "I've never felt so good or so happy before. Thank you."

	
For a moment, it almost looked like the girl was going to lunge forward and embrace Mr. Riggs in a hug, but she aborted the motion almost before it started. Instead, she simply clasped her hands in front of her chest and peered up into Mr. Riggs' face with a look that was nearly adoration.

	
"Thank you." she repeated, emphatically, then practically skipped out of the room.

	
"Well, well." Mr. Riggs mused to himself, still looking at the door Elizabeth had left through. "I wonder how she's going to be feeling this time next week."

	
He chuckled, a little darkly, and his wide, satisfied smile returned once more.

 No.8330

3 - Extra Credit

	
The next Monday was different. Elizabeth's personality the week before had been all bubbly energy, but during class on Monday it looked to Mr. Riggs like someone or something had popped all of her bubbles. She looked a bit deflated, and resembled much more closely the girl of two weeks ago. She hardly talked to any of her new friends, who seemed puzzled by her sudden with drawl and downcast mood.

	
She stayed behind after class again, fidgeting nervously and glancing up at Mr. Riggs whenever she thought he was looking the other way. Mr. Riggs studiously ignored her, curious as to what she would do. He concentrated on wiping his board clean, then tidying up his desk. He heard Elizabeth sigh miserably behind him, then she picked up her backpack and shuffled out the door. He turned to watch as she made her slow way across his windows, contemplating her. She must have run through her little supply of the powder he'd given her, he thought. He had given her enough to last until Tuesday or Wednesday of this week, but it looked like she had already begun upping her dosage a bit. He wasn't surprised by this. He was, in fact, quite pleased with how events were developing.

	
If Elizabeth had looked a little deflated on Monday, by Tuesday she looked positively wilted. She drooped in her chair, head down on her arms, and appeared practically unconscious. She'd roused a little when Mr. Riggs had called on her, but hadn't seemed to understand his question, only mumbling a feeble excuse instead of an answer, before again cradling her head in her arms. He was completely unsurprised to see her remain behind again after class.

	
Mr. Riggs watched as Elizabeth plodded slowly up to his desk, her head down and hands clutched together. She stopped in front of him, swaying a little on her feet, then spoke.

	
"Umm, Mr. Riggs? You know that powder you gave me, the pep powder? I, uh.. I don't suppose that you would let me have a little more, would you. Um, please?" she asked. She didn't seem willing to look at him while she spoke, and her hands were working nervously, twisting and pulling at each other.

	
"Already, Elizabeth? I'm certain I gave you a two week supply of it. You shouldn't need more until next Monday, at the soonest." Mr. Riggs replied, allowing a small frown to cross his features. Elizabeth actually seemed to flinch a little when he said "next Monday".

	
"I, uh.. I actually ran out on Sunday. I thought that I wouldn't need any more, you know? I thought that maybe the powder had, uh, cured me or something." Elizabeth said, glancing up at Mr. Riggs' guiltily. "But I guess I do need it still. I think I actually feel worse now than I did before."

	
"Well, I don't know, Elizabeth. While your schoolwork has improved, I'm still worried about your chances of passing this class. You've got a lot of ground to catch up on, unfortunately. If you want me to give you more pep powder, you're going to have to do something in return for me." said Mr. Riggs, his tone grave.

	
Elizabeth was obviously confused by what was, it seemed to her, the sudden switch in topic. She was so focused on getting more pep powder that it seemed she had completely forgotten the reason it had been given to her in the first place: to improve her school work. Her muddled mind eventually caught up with thread of logic behind Mr. Riggs's request, however.

	
"Er, what, ah.. what do you want me to do?" she asked, hesitantly.

	
"Two things. First, I want you to stay after school several times a week for the rest of the semester, so you can work on some extra credit assignments here, with me." Mr. Riggs said, motioning to the classroom around them.

	
Elizabeth looked almost comically relieved when she heard his first condition, which amused Mr. Riggs greatly, although he didn't let it show. He briefly wondered just what she had been imagining he would ask her to do.

	
"Second, I want you to limit your intake of the pep powder to just the amount I specify, alright? It's sort of like coffee, Elizabeth. If you drink too much of it, it will stop working for you very well." he finished.

	
Elizabeth had begun nodding frantically even before Mr. Riggs had finished his second request.

	
"Okay, Mr. Riggs. I can do that, no problem." she answered, obviously eager to please and just as obviously thrilled that she was going to get more powder.

	
"Okay, then. Do you have the bottle I gave you still?" Mr. Riggs asked.

	
"Yeah! Yeah, I've got it right here, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth blurted eagerly, fumbling at her backpack for a moment before producing the bottle and almost shoving it into Mr. Riggs' hands.

	
"Okay, just give me a moment, Elizabeth." he said, placing the bottle on his desk with one hand and pulling his keys out of his pocket with the other. He went into the back room briefly, then returned with the large bottle of pep powder.

	
He sat back down at his desk, then opened up both bottles. He glanced into the small bottle for a moment, curiously. It was completely empty, not a speck of powder remained inside of it, as if it had been rinsed or even licked clean. Hiding his amusement, he carefully scooped powder from the large bottle into his student's small bottle. Her reaction, half relief, half disappointment, as he finished and recapped both bottles threatened to crack the neutral expression he was struggling to maintain.

	
"Thank you, Mr. Riggs. But, um.. isn't that less than last time?" Elizabeth asked, a slightly plaintive note in her voice.

	
"It's enough for one week, if you only use the amount I told you to use. Just one quarter tablespoon, right?" he replied.

	
"Er, right.. Okay, Mr. Riggs, thank you." she replied, clearly unsatisfied but seemingly unwilling to push the issue.

	
Elizabeth didn't quite snatch the bottle out of his grasp, but it was close. She clutched the bottle tightly in both hands as she hurriedly made her way towards the exit.

	
"Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs called, just as she was about to leave the classroom. "Your backpack. Don't forget it."

	
Sheepishly, Elizabeth returned to Mr. Riggs' desk, slung her pack over one shoulder, then turned to leave again when Mr. Riggs' voice stopped her once more.

	
"Tomorrow afternoon will be your first extra credit session. Make sure you don't forget, please." he said.

	
Elizabeth glanced back over her shoulder at Mr. Riggs, nodded a quick acknowledgement, then darted out of the room, nearly sprinting, clearly in a hurry.

 No.8331

4 - Do it Yourself

	
The new Elizabeth returned to school on Wednesday, re-energized and happy once more. She even seemed to be looking forward to her extra lesson at the end of the day, because Mr. Riggs heard her tell her peers about it several times during the group work part of the day's lesson. Soon enough, the class ended, bringing the school day to a close as well, and Elizabeth was the only student left in Mr. Riggs' classroom.

	
She approached her teacher's desk confidently, carrying her textbook and note binder with her.

	
"You won't need those." Mr. Riggs said, pointing at her books. "We're going to be doing something a bit more interesting today."

	
Elizabeth, who had just opened her mouth to ask what lessons they were going to review, quickly shut it again in confusion. She set her books down on Mr. Riggs desk, then looked up at him questioningly.

	
"Come into the back, and I'll show you what you'll be doing. I think you'll find it much less dry than balancing chemistry reactions." Mr. Riggs said, as he turned to unlocked the door to the classroom's back room.

	
Elizabeth looked around curiously as her teacher led her into the back room. She had been there before, briefly, on several occasions to help carry out equipment or supplies that would be needed for lessons or labs, as had most of the students in her class. Mr. Riggs' office desk was just opposite the door. To the left of the door was a separate small storage room with shelves chock full of bottles, bags, and boxes, all marked with chemical and hazard symbols of one kind or another. To the right of and along the same wall as the door were more shelves packed with scales and glassware and other such accouterments necessary to the teaching and learning of chemistry. Along the opposite wall, to the right of Mr. Riggs's office desk, was a long, somewhat cluttered, broad work bench. The workbench had shelves, full of odd electronic and mechanical bits and pieces, both underneath it and on top of it back against the wall. At the very end of the long, narrow room, against the short wall to the far right, was a lab station with chemical fume hood atop it. In front of the lab station, protruding from the ceiling, was a wide shower head with a thin metal chain dangling from it. Beneath the emergency shower was a tiled area of the floor, slightly sloped inwards towards a large drain.

	
"You'll be working here, at the workbench." said Mr. Riggs, pointing to a chair that seemed to be centered amidst the clutter. "Your task will be to assemble a few simple machines I've been designing. I studied mechanical engineering for a few years in college, before I switched over to a teaching major. I've never really lost my fascination with machines, though, and I have dabbled with them occasionally ever since. Mr. Grey over in the shop class has been helping me machine out the parts, and I'd like you to put them together for me."

	
"Umm, I'm not sure I know how to do that, Mr. Riggs." said Elizabeth, who was clearly a little taken aback and unsure of the task in front of her.

	
"Oh, don't worry. It's the simplest thing in the world." Mr. Riggs replied. "Did you ever play with Legos as a child?"

	
"Yeah, of course." answered Elizabeth, who was a little embarrassed about the fact that she still sometimes played with her childhood Legos when no one was looking.

	
"It's very much the same. You just have a pile of parts." Mr. Riggs said, pointing to what Elizabeth had thought was just clutter on the surface of the workbench.

	
"And an instruction sheet." he continued, picking up a sheaf of papers from the bench and waving at her. "So all you have to do is find the right parts and fit them together in the right order. They're all labeled, so you shouldn't have any difficulty. If you do run into any problems, just ask me. I'll be at my desk working on something else."

	
"Um, what will you be doing?" inquired Elizabeth.

	
"I," said Mr. Riggs, with a theatrical sigh, "will be grading over two hundred individual pieces of chemistry homework that my classes turned in today. My students, you included, will be expecting the graded homework back tomorrow."

	
"We can trade jobs, if you like." he added, smiling at her sardonically.

	
"Ah.. No thank you, Mr. Riggs. I think I'll stick with whatever this thing is." replied Elizabeth, suddenly much more sure about what she wanted to be doing for the rest of the afternoon. The stack of papers on Mr. Riggs' office desk was frighteningly tall, and she wanted nothing to do with them.

	
Elizabeth sat down at the work bench and picked up the sheaf of papers Mr. Riggs had shown her. Each page looked like a bunch of wire frame drawings of parts that seemed to have burst out from the center. As Elizabeth followed the lines connecting the pieces though, she began to understand what she was seeing. The parts were arranged in an order along the lines, almost as if someone had taken whatever it was they all came together to make apart and lined up each piece in turn as they did so. Each piece was labeled in small block text, and Elizabeth glanced down at the jumble of parts in front of her to see similar labels affixed to each.

	
This might not be so bad, she thought to herself. Her chemistry homework might not make much sense, but this.. this really was quite similar to Legos. She could see how everything fit together on the pages before her, so she just had to try to make the parts on the bench match the plans Mr. Riggs had provided. There was even a small set of tools lined up along the edge of the bench, ready for her use.

	
She worked on the machine for nearly two hours, quickly growing absorbed in the project. Each page in the sheaf of papers was another layer of the thing taking shape in front of her, and she just had to assemble each depicted component then connect it to the rest of the slowly forming machine.

	
Elizabeth was so engrossed in her task that it came as a surprise when Mr. Riggs spoke up from behind her, startling her slightly.

	
"That's very good. I think that it is coming along nicely. Why don't you leave off for today, and go on home. You live within walking distance, yes?" said Mr. Riggs.

	
"Uh.. Yeah. My house is less than a mile from the school." replied Elizabeth, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

	
"Good. You can come back tomorrow afternoon. I think you might be able to finish it up then." said Mr. Riggs, smiling down at her.

	
Elizabeth left, a bit confused about how what she had been asked to do related to chemistry, but happy none the less that Mr. Riggs had seemed pleased with her progress. As she walked home, she began to look forward to her next extra credit session. Elizabeth was very interested to know just what the thing she was building actually did.

 No.8332

5 - An Unexpected Truth

	
The next session was much the same as the first, with Mr. Riggs asking Elizabeth to follow him into the back room after class ended, then simply pointing at the work bench. He then sat down at his desk and again started grading more homework.

	
Elizabeth happily resumed her work. As time passed and she began to get closer to finishing the machine, whatever it was, her curiosity about it and why she was building it began to grow more and more acute. Finally, her inquisitiveness got the better of her, and she looked over to Mr. Riggs and spoke.

	
"Mr. Riggs, um, what exactly does this.. thing.. I'm building have to do with chemistry?" she asked.

	
Mr. Riggs glanced up from his grading to simply look at her for a moment, contemplating. Then, he quirked up an eyebrow, gave her an amused half smile, and chuckled.

	
"Absolutely nothing." he stated, bluntly.

	
Elizabeth was taken aback for a moment, looking back and forth from Mr. Riggs to the half finished contraption before her, her surprise quite evident on her face.

	
"Then.. then why am I building it?" she asked, confused.

	
Mr. Riggs contemplated her quietly for a moment longer, holding his chin in one palm and tapping his index finger against his jaw thoughtfully. Then he sighed, suddenly seeming very weary.

	
"First, let me ask you a question in return, Elizabeth." he said. "Are you planning on attending college after high school? Do you think that you will continue your education?"

	
"Ah, no, Mr. Riggs. I don't think I have the grades to go to college, and I know my mom couldn't afford to send me anyway." Elizabeth replied, surprised by the question and turn in conversation and obviously a bit embarrassed about her answer.

	
Mr. Riggs waved her concerns away, looking impatient.

	
"That's not quite what I meant. Community colleges will take pretty much anyone, regardless of previous academic achievements, and funding can be arranged. There are numerous grants and scholarships that even students with dubious marks can qualify for, not to mention the ones that are available to low income students. You could very easily attend college, if you wanted to, which is actually what I am asking about." he said.

	
"Do you want to attend college?" Mr. Riggs asked, speaking slowly and putting great emphasis on the word "want". He was staring at her quite intently.

	
"Um.. No, not really, Mr. Riggs. I, ah.. I don't care for school very much, and I don't think I would like college any better." Elizabeth replied. She wouldn't quite meet his eyes when she said it.

	
Mr. Riggs didn't look disappointed with her. He actually appeared to be quite pleased with her honesty.

	
"I see. Well then, Elizabeth, in that case I will share with you a little secret that many of your classmates probably aren't aware of." said Mr. Riggs, now smiling at her.

	
"Everything you learn in my class, all the things you've been trying to read through and puzzle out in your very thick, very dry chemistry textbook, everything I've been trying to teach you," Mr. Riggs said, very seriously, "you will almost surely never, ever use in the rest of your life."

	
"But.. but why do I have to learn it then?" Elizabeth asked, incredulous and a little outraged.

	
"Most of your classes are like this, Elizabeth. If you don't work at a job that requires a college education, you will never be asked to solve algebra or trigonometry equations, you will never need to write essays or poetry or book reports, and you won't need to know what year "Columbus sailed the ocean blue"." Mr. Riggs stated, flatly.

	
"And that is why, Elizabeth, you are putting together one of my machines rather than looking dazed and confused as I try to instruct you on electron valences and chemical bond strengths and angles and other such matters. You simply don't need those things. You will never get any use out of them. So, I've chosen to employ your time in a more constructive and entertaining manner." Mr. Riggs finished.

	
"But if I don't learn how to do that chemistry stuff, how an I going to finish my homework or pass the exams at the end of the class. Even if I don't need the stuff I learn in most of my classes, like you say, I still want to graduate from high school. If.. if I can't pass this class then I won't be able to." said Elizabeth, obviously more than a little overwhelmed by the knowledge Mr. Riggs had just given her.

	
"Elizabeth, I control the homework, tests, and grading of both. If I want you to pass, you will pass." Mr. Riggs replied, easily.

	
Elizabeth thought about that for a moment, then frowned.

	
"But.. what if someone finds out? Won't I get in a lot of trouble?" she asked, clearly worried.

	
"You? No, you are not the one who would be in trouble, Elizabeth. I would." Mr. Riggs said. "I'm the one doing the cheating, you see. If anyone found out about our little secret, I am the one who would be punished, not you."

	
"You.. you would do that for me?" Elizabeth asked quietly, looking up at Mr. Riggs with wide eyes.

	
"Of course, Elizabeth. That is why I am having you stay after school and do this." said Mr. Riggs, motioning towards the half constructed machine on the work bench. "You help me out, I help you out, and everyone goes home happy."

	
"Provided, of course, that you can keep our little secret." Mr. Riggs finished, smiling, laying his index finger across his lips, and giving her a small wink.

	
"Sure, Mr. Riggs. I can do that. Easy." Elizabeth replied quickly. "Uh, I have one other question too."

	
"Yes?"

	
"What IS this thing I'm building?" she asked, curiously.

	
"Ahh. I could tell you, but why don't you try to guess? No? Well, see if you can figure it out before you finish it, perhaps." said Mr. Riggs. "I think that would be more fun, don't you?"

	
Mr. Riggs chuckled, then turned back to his desk and his own work, ending the conversation. Elizabeth simply sat in her chair at the workbench for a few moments, thinking about everything Mr. Riggs had just told her. She had always suspected that most of the things she learned in school were kind of pointless, but to have those suspicions be so casually confirmed by one of her teachers had been a bit shocking. She wasn't quite sure how to react just yet, but she thought that it might be a good idea to put the knowledge aside for now, and concentrate on finishing the machine for Mr. Riggs. If he wouldn't tell her what the device was, she would just have to find out for herself.

 No.8333

6 - Wait, what?

	
"It's an.. oven?" Elizabeth said, turning the statement into a question half way through.

	
"Very good, Elizabeth. It is indeed an oven." said Mr. Riggs, looking down over her shoulder at the completed machine.

	
"But, it's enormous. Why is it so big?" asked Elizabeth, staring at the device that she had spent two days constructing on the workbench in front of her.

	
The oven was quite large, and a bit strange too, Elizabeth thought. It didn't look anything like a normal oven to her. It was made almost entirely out of glass, for one thing. For another, it was shaped very strangely; it was a rectangular box nearly six feet long, about two feet wide, and nearly two feet tall. The large glass panes that made up the walls of the box were joined together at the edges by metal fasteners that ran the length of each side, securing each firmly to the other. The pane closest to Elizabeth, one of the side panels, hinged open along the top, folding neatly up and over onto the top pane. It had little soft pads along its edges to prevent the two pieces of glass from touching each other when in the open position.

	
The box of glass sat atop a shallower metal box which housed long heating elements that ran back and forth along the bottom length of the oven. Thin, baffled concave sheets of metal rested above the heating elements on brackets, and a rack that, also ran the length of the oven, rested even with the bottom of the glass box on its own brackets above that.

	
"What's it for? Cooking, like, five turkeys at once?" Elizabeth asked, a look of puzzlement on her face.

	
"Hah! Well, I suppose that one could use it for that, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs answered, chuckling.

	
"But, this oven is actually designed to cook girls." he finished, looking satisfied.

	
Elizabeth looked back and up at her teacher oddly, her puzzled expression deepening. If Mr. Riggs had said what he had just said several years earlier, to Elizabeth or any other student in her situation, he would have probably received a very different response from them. The world was changing, however, and had changed already in many ways. A student of several years before might have backed slowly to the door, then run screaming out of it as fast as possible. Or perhaps they might even have laughed, assuming that what their teacher had just said to be an absurd joke. Elizabeth, however, did not respond like that.

	
"That's.. a little strange." was all she said, one eyebrow raised as she eyed her teacher.

	
"Well, like I said before, it's just something of a hobby." replied Mr. Riggs.

	
"Cooking girls?" asked Elizabeth.

	
"Hah, no. Well, not yet, anyway. I meant that designing ovens that can cook girls is my hobby." said Mr. Riggs. "This is the first time one of my designs has made it past the drawing board, though. I'm curious to see how it works."

	
Elizabeth nodded, taking in the information that, while her teacher apparently spent his free time thinking up devices to cook girls, he hadn't actually cooked one, yet, fairly calmly. She then asked another question.

	
"Why?"

	
"Why do I want to see how the oven works? Well, I'd just like to know whether my design is sound or not." said Mr. Riggs. "Something that looks good on paper might not seem nearly as good, or even practical, once actually built."

	
"No." said Elizabeth, shaking her head. "I meant why do you want to cook girls?"

	
"Oh." said Mr. Riggs, surprised. He looked like he hadn't ever even considered the "why" of his hobby before. It took a moment for him to respond.

	
"Well, I guess because girls just look like they would taste quite good." he replied, with a shrug. "And it's a fun little problem to think about, I suppose. It's rather more interesting to try to figure out the best ways to cook up girls than turkeys."

	
"I suppose that's true." said Elizabeth, conceding the point.

	
"Anyway, let's see if the thing even works first, shall we?" said Mr. Riggs, eagerness creeping into his voice. "Go ahead and plug it in."

	
At his prompting, Elizabeth picked up the plug that she had wired into the base of the oven during the previous afternoon and inserted it into one of the power outlets along the edge of the workbench. Mr. Riggs then turned the temperature knob to "Low" and placed his finger above the power switch.

	
"Well, here goes.." said Mr. Riggs, and flipped the switch to the ON position.

	
Something bright flashed inside of the metal portion of the oven, at the same time as a loud crackling pop sound came from it, and all the lights in the building went out.

	
"Hmm." said Mr. Riggs in the darkness, around the sudden smell of ozone and scorched plastic that filled the room. "I think that there may have been a flaw in the design or construction."

	
Light suddenly emanated from Elizabeth's hand, the glow of her cell phone's screen dimly illuminating the room in a faint, bluish hue. It was joined a moment later by a much stronger white light coming from a small LED flashlight on Mr. Riggs' key ring.

	
"Um.. do you think it was my fault?" Elizabeth asked, looking worried. "Maybe I didn't put it together right."

	
"It's possible, of course." replied Mr. Riggs.

	
"But it might be my fault, too. Perhaps I didn't design the wiring correctly. I'm not an electrician, after all." he continue, placatingly, after seeing a guilty expression flash across his student's features.

	
"Nothing to worry about, Elizabeth. I didn't expect the thing to function flawlessly the first time. I'll just go and reset the breakers. You can go home, if you like." said Mr. Riggs, smiling in the gloom. "You did a fine job both yesterday and today. How about we take a break tomorrow afternoon? We'll try to figure out what we did wrong on this thing after school on Monday, hmm?"

	
"Uh, okay, Mr. Riggs. I'll see you tomorrow in class then." said Elizabeth, who moved slowly towards the door to the rest of the classroom, picking her way carefully in the darkness. More light entered the back room after she left, the reflected late afternoon sunshine coming through the class's large windows picking out a very pleased Mr. Riggs, who stood in the semi darkness, grinning widely, patting the glass top of the oven with possessive pride.

 No.8334

7 - Deconstruction

	
Monday came back after the weekend, and so did Elizabeth. She didn't look quite as bad as the previous Monday, but she certainly wasn't her new usual, perky self. Unsurprisingly, the first thing she asked about, after the rest of her classmates left for the day, was pep powder.

	
"I gave you enough to last until Tuesday, Elizabeth. Surely you still have enough left to last until then?" said Mr. Riggs, as they filed into the back room.

	
"I.. uh.. I actually had just barely enough for this morning." replied Elizabeth, who held her hands up in a shrug and smiled wanly.

	
"You received the correct amount, I'm very sure of that. You didn't use any extra, did you?" Mr. Riggs asked, looking at her questioningly.

	
Elizabeth's smile faltered, and she averted her eyes from her teacher, looking sheepish.

	
"I.. might have had a little extra on Saturday.. and on Sunday. I thought I'd have enough, though."

	
"Well, I did tell you to stick to the dose I recommended." said Mr. Riggs, a little severely. "You've no one to blame but yourself, Elizabeth."

	
"I'm sorry, Mr. Riggs. I really am, but can I please have some more pep for tomorrow. Please?" Elizabeth begged, looking back up at her teacher with wide, beseeching eyes.

	
"No." Mr. Riggs answered, flatly.

	
Elizabeth started to speak again, clearly intending to whine and wheedle her teacher until he gave in, but Mr. Riggs cut her off.

	
"However." he said, loudly. "Since you're not your usual self right now, and I need you to be able to focus for the rest of the afternoon, I will give you a small dose right now if you agree not to ask about it again today."

	
"Do you agree?"

	
Elizabeth looked conflicted. She clearly wanted more than her teacher was offering her, but the prospect of a little pep immediately was making it hard to focus on her need for the next day. Reluctantly, she agreed.

	
"Okay, Mr. Riggs. Umm, thanks." she said quietly.

	
She watched as her teacher unlocked one of the drawers of his office desk and pulled out the large bottle of powder that she had seen before. As he did so, she saw several more bottles of equal size resting within the drawer. Mr. Riggs plucked up a medium sized test tube from the racks on the shelves along the wall by the door, rinsed it once, then filled it half way full of water from the sink at the back room's lab station. He then popped the cap off the chemical bottle casually with one thumb, set the bottle down on his desk, and scooped out what seemed to Elizabeth to be the smallest amount of powder possible. He dropped the powder into the test tube, swirled it around twice, then handed the tube, water, and dissolved powder to Elizabeth.

	
"Is that all.." Elizabeth started to whine, then caught the dark look on her teacher's face and quickly changed her tone.

	
"Uh, I mean, thank you, Mr. Riggs."

	
Elizabeth took the tube and drank it down at once. She left the tube tilted down at an angle over her mouth, clearly trying to get every drop of solution that she could. After a moment she started to lick the rim of the tube, then stopped and looked up guiltily at her teacher. Blushing, she handed it back to him.

	
"Now, with that out of the way, let's get on with this afternoon's activity." said Mr. Riggs, dryly. He pointed to the oven that Elizabeth had so painstakingly constructed over the previous two afternoon sessions.

	
"Just take that back apart completely, so we can see what went wrong." he said.

	
"What?" Elizabeth said loudly, surprised. "It took forever to put it together, and now you want me to take it all back apart?"

	
"Oh, yes." said Mr. Riggs, as he recapped the powder bottle and returned it to his drawer. Elizabeth's eyes followed the bottle intently, and her gaze lingered on the drawer for several moments.

	
"The process of invention is always filled with pitfalls and setbacks. I expect that we'll have to take this oven apart and put it back together a number of times, before we get everything working right." continued Mr. Riggs.

	
Elizabeth's face fell, looking at the oven that had taken her two afternoons to construct. She was quite obviously imagining taking it apart and putting it back together again every afternoon for the rest of the semester.

	
"Don't look so distressed!" Mr. Riggs cried, seeing his student's expression. "Taking it apart will be much easier than putting it together. I'll bet that you could do it in half the time, if not less. And, just think, next time you put it back together, you will already know where everything goes! I assure you, Elizabeth, that the task I'm giving you isn't so daunting as you seem to be imagining."

	
"Besides, this isn't the only design I'm going to have you work on. I've got several more ideas that are nearing the prototype phase. With your help, I'm sure everything will go swimmingly."

	
"Oh, well, okay, Mr. Riggs. I guess it isn't so bad." sighed Elizabeth, grudgingly.

	
"Now, now, don't be like that. You do remember why you are doing, this, don't you? You don't have to worry about studying for my class anymore. I'll bet your weekend was quite a bit less stressful without that hanging over your head." remonstrated Mr. Riggs.

	
Now that Mr. Riggs mentioned it, Elizabeth's weekend had been pretty fantastic, she thought. She hadn't given her chemistry work a second thought all Friday evening, Saturday, or Sunday. Perhaps a few of her afternoons spent with Mr. Riggs working on his odd ovens was worth it after all. Elizabeth began to perk up at the thought, or perhaps it was just the pep kicking in.

	
"You're right, Mr. Riggs. I'm sorry if I've been a bit grumpy today." Elizabeth said, then smiled her first genuine smile of the day up at him.

	
"Don't worry about it, Elizabeth. I know that these things can seem overwhelming at first, but if you just work on a piece at a time, you'll soon be amazed at how fast things progress." replied Mr. Riggs, reassuringly. "Just get started on taking the oven apart and see how far you can get."

	
Elizabeth did so, and was delighted to discover that Mr. Riggs was completely right. It took less than an hour to strip the oven back down to its component parts, revealing the cause of the previous Thursday's power surge. When Elizabeth had connected the wires of the main power cord to the internals of the oven, she had gotten the individual strands mixed up, resulting in the short when the power switch was flipped.

	
"Don't be too hard on yourself." Mr. Riggs said reassuringly, as they looked down at the melted plastic around the area of the short. Even the metal was slightly discolored where the electricity had arced. He patted Elizabeth on the shoulder.

	
"It's at least partially my fault too. I probably didn't label the cords correctly, or something similar. Anyway, I'm glad you've done so well. Just watching this oven be put together and taken apart again has given me several ideas on how to improve upon the design. For now, though, why don't you try putting it back together again. I'll help with the wiring, and we'll see if we can get the thing to work properly." said Mr. Riggs.

	
They both worked on reassembling the oven for the rest of the day, making more progress than Elizabeth would have thought possible. By the time Mr. Riggs set his tools down and declared the day's work to be finished, the whole oven was very nearly completely rebuilt. Just before Elizabeth left for the day, however, Mr. Riggs stopped her with a question.

	
"Elizabeth, pardon my asking, but are you losing weight?" he asked.

	
"Uh, yeah, Mr. Riggs." said Elizabeth. "I've had so much energy lately, that I've hardly felt like eating. It drives my mom crazy when I skip dinner, though, so I usually just don't each lunch. And.. sometimes breakfast. I've already lost more than five pounds! Still, I can't even go to sleep at night unless I jog a couple of miles first. I never even liked jogging before these past couple weeks. Mom doesn't like me to leave the house that late, though. She worries."

	
"Well, you definitely look better." said Mr. Riggs, encouragingly. "If you like, I know of some exercises that you can do that don't require you to leave the house. They could help you get to sleep at night without angering your mother."

	
"Oh, that'd be nice. Thank you, Mr. Riggs." said Elizabeth, beaming and obviously pleased at the compliment.

	
Mr. Riggs turned to his desk, opened up the center drawer, and fished within it around for a moment. He then turned back to Elizabeth, handing her a manila folder. Elizabeth opened the folder and leafed through the pages inside. Each page looked like it had been copied from a work-out magazine, and detailed the steps and movements necessary for a particular exercise.

	
"Wow, these look great. Thanks, Mr. Riggs. See you tomorrow!" said Elizabeth enthusiastically, clearly still feeling the effects of the bit of pep powder Mr. Riggs had given her a couple hours before.

	
"Goodbye, Elizabeth. I'll see you tomorrow, too." Mr. Riggs replied, smiling.

	
As it turned out, however, he didn't see Elizabeth the next day. At least, not the new Elizabeth. It was the old Elizabeth that came to school Tuesday. She once again laid across her desk, head in her arms, barely responsive. The only animation she showed was at the end of the day, when she quickly shuffled to the front of the room after the last of her classmates had left. She had her very empty little bottle held out in her shaking hand. She didn't even say anything to Mr. Riggs when he took it from her. She just stood swaying, head down and drooping, waiting for him to refill her bottle.

	
"No after school work today, Elizabeth. Lets plan on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays from now on, okay?" Mr. Riggs said, as he returned her partially refilled bottle.

	
Elizabeth mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative, then lurched her way quickly out the door, her backpack hanging loosely from one arm by a single strap and both hands clutched possessively around her bottle.

	
The new Elizabeth returned the next day, and happily and energetically continued work on the oven after the school day had ended. Before long, it was completely reassembled. Both she and Mr. Riggs shared enthusiastic grins when it worked perfectly after being plugged in, quickly heating up inside. Elizabeth had half expected the fuses to blow again. They spent the rest of the afternoon calibrating the oven, checking temperature readings in various places inside of it to make sure that the heat was convecting evenly, and making little tweaks and adjustments to it.

	
Mr. Riggs sent her home at the end of the session with promises of a new project to work on during Friday's afternoon, and encouraged her to try out the exercises he had given her Monday afternoon during that evening.

 No.8335

8 - An Arm and a Leg

	
The next month or so passed by, and Elizabeth's life quickly settled into a pattern. She would return to school each Monday, low on or out of pep and anxious for more. Mr. Riggs would refuse to give her enough for the whole next day, but would give her a tiny amount to keep her steady throughout her Monday afternoon extra credit session. By Tuesday afternoon, Elizabeth would clearly be out of pep and miserable, and she would wobble forward eagerly after class ended to Mr. Riggs's desk and wait, impatiently, for him to refill her little bottle. She would then be happy and energetic for the rest of the week, and quite eager to please Mr. Riggs by constructing, deconstructing, and modifying his ovens for him.

	
The ovens she worked on grew more and more strange as the weeks passed, and each time Mr. Riggs introduced a new one it would be more oddly shaped or have more bizarre "features" than the last. She had mostly given up on asking about or trying to understand what each feature was supposed to accomplish, especially since most of them were non-functional placeholders that didn't actually work yet anyway. The latest oven, however, didn't seem to have the usual array of side gadgets that Mr. Riggs had been obsessing over. It was actually quite simple, really, just a one foot by one foot by three feet rectangular glass box, with adjustable holes of varying sizes at either end.

	
It was a Friday afternoon session, and Elizabeth was feeling good. She had energy to spare, and was quite looking forward to the weekend. She had just completed assembling this latest oven for the second time, after a few minor revisions which had come after the first assembly, and was testing and calibrating it. Mr. Riggs was grading the homework that her classmates had turned in, which she happily no longer had to do, as she finished the oven.

	
"Mr. Riggs, I think this one is done." she said, leaning back in her seat and staring at the oven.

	
"Oh, good. Let's take a look, then." replied a happy Mr. Riggs. Mr. Riggs was happy most of the time, these days. He'd said that it was from seeing so many of the things he could see in his mind's eye finally becoming reality.

	
"Hmm, yes. Very good." said Mr. Riggs, mostly to himself, as he inspected the oven. He continued making little happy sounds as he adjusted the size of the holes at each end, wiggled the control dials back and forth, and opened the side of the oven to feel the heat inside.

	
"Mr. Riggs, what's this one do?" Elizabeth asked, after a few moments.

	
Her teacher looked up at her, surprised.

	
"Haven't I told you?" he asked, goggling at her.

	
"Mr. Riggs, you don't tell me what most of these ovens are supposed to do. You just give me a big pile of parts, an instruction sheet, and tell me to build it." Elizabeth replied, wryly.

	
"Oh. Well, you'll have to forgive me. I spend so much time thinking about them that I guess I forget that you don't." Mr. Riggs said. "This one is a limb cooker."

	
"A limb cooker?" said Elizabeth.

	
"Yes, indeed. The meal to be inserts one of her limbs into the oven through these holes, whichever is most convenient, then simply dials up the heat and lets it cook away." said Mr. Riggs, enthusiastically.

	
Elizabeth looked at the contraption she had helped create. Most of the time when she was working on Mr. Riggs' ovens, she didn't really think about their intended purpose. She simply focused on the very real task at hand of putting parts together or taking them back apart, rather than speculate on the uses to which those parts might eventually be put. Mr. Riggs' description had started her mind turning, though, and now she was picturing, very vividly, a girl putting an arm or a leg through one of those holes and then simply sitting there and waiting, watching a part of herself cook. Elizabeth shivered a bit at the thought.

	
"Um, why does the side open up, then?" she asked, to cover up her moment of unease.

	
"For basting, of course." replied Mr. Riggs, beaming.

	
"The limb sits in a pan, like one of these." he continued, feeling around under the work bench and pulling out a long, thin pan. "As the meat bakes, juices and sauce will drip into the pan, which can then be collected and brushed or basted back onto the roast."

	
"I.. see." said Elizabeth, doubtfully.

	
Mr. Riggs, hearing the tone of her voice, misinterpreted its origins. Elizabeth's doubts were actually about the wisdom of wanting to cook someone's arm or leg in the first place, not about whether the oven could in fact actually accomplish such a feat.

	
"Well, I can demonstrate it for you, if you like, Elizabeth." said Mr. Riggs. "I'm quite confident that it will work splendidly."

	
"Ah, no. That's alright, Mr. Riggs. I don't want to watch you cook your arm in that thing." replied Elizabeth, an expression of mild revulsion on her face.

	
"My arm? This oven is for cooking girls, Elizabeth." came Mr. Riggs amused reply, which put extra emphasis on "girls". "Why on earth would I put my arm into it. That's just silly."

	
"No, we'll use your arm, Elizabeth." finished Mr. Riggs, with a satisfied expression.

	
"Umm.. I don't want to watch you cook my arm either, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth quickly replied, alarmed.

	
"Well, of course we're not going to actually cook it, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said, rolling his eyes. "How would you put my ovens together for me with just one arm? No, this is just a test run. Practice, nothing more."

	
Mr. Riggs grinned at her, then his eyes widened as he apparently got an idea.

	
"Actually, we can cook two birds with one stone, so to speak. Elizabeth, I'm going to go fetch a couple of things, so would you please roll up the sleeve of your right arm and scrub it down as well as you can in the lab sink over there while I do? I'll only be gone a minute."

	
"Uh, I guess so." Elizabeth replied, halfheartedly, but Mr. Riggs was already on his way out through the door and probably hadn't even heard her.

	
She sighed, then rolled up the short sleeve of her shirt and soaped up her right hand and arm, scrubbing them hard with the rough green pad next to the lab sink. Mr. Riggs actually took more than five minutes getting whatever it was he was fetching, much longer than Elizabeth took to scrub and rinse her arm. During the extra time, Elizabeth simply sat and stared apprehensively at the oven she had put together.

	
When Mr. Riggs returned, he was carrying a medium sized, unlabeled, transparent squeeze bottle, which appeared to be full of.. something. He also had what appeared to be a small, rough bristled brush and a turkey baster.

	
"I've been talking with Miss Evans, the home economics teacher, about my little hobby. I've been hoping that she could help me with recipes once I actually get one of my ovens to the final testing phase. I was asking her about sauces just last week, and she said that she would try to whip something up for me that might go well with girl." said Mr. Riggs. "I think this is it. Let's give it a try, huh?"

	
Soon enough Elizabeth's arm was through one of the holes in the oven, which had cooled off quite a bit since Elizabeth had calibrated it, and resting in the pan Mr. Riggs had produced from beneath the work bench. Mr. Riggs adjusted the hole through which Elizabeth's arm passed, an arm that had become quite a bit leaner over past few weeks than it had been before, to close the gap between her flesh and the wall of the oven. The hole adjusted sort of like a film camera shutter, with lots of flat, straight pieces somehow coming together to make a neat circular opening which cinched down on her arm firmly, but not painfully. Every piece was, of course, glass, which meant that Elizabeth could see into the oven quite clearly.

	
"There we go. I'll turn up the heat just a bit, then baste your arm with the sauce." said Mr. Riggs, happily fussing over the oven.

	
Elizabeth felt the heat under her arm almost immediately. It wasn't very intense, but definitely noticeable. Elizabeth was then distracted from this fact by a squirt of cold, oily marinade splattering across her hand and up her arm.

	
Mr. Riggs coated her skin liberally with the sauce, then used the brush to spread it over and around her arm, even going so far as to ask Elizabeth to angle her arm upwards, so he could make sure the underside was coated as well. The smell of the sauce, strong and spicy, wafted out from the oven and filled the small room they were in.

	
"There we go." said Mr. Riggs, when he was finally satisfied with the amount of sauce on Elizabeth's flesh. "Now I'll just close up the oven and turn up the heat a little more. Still comfortable, Elizabeth?"

	
"Umm, I suppose so. It isn't very hot yet." replied Elizabeth, a bit uncertainly.

	
"Well, let's give it a few minutes, shall we?" said Mr. Riggs, as he closed up the side panel and turned the temperature dial up slightly.

	
Mr. Riggs and Elizabeth sat in silence for several minutes, watching Elizabeth's arm through the glass of the oven. Eventually Mr. Riggs looked over at Elizabeth, inquiringly.

	
"Um, it's warm. Er, kinda hot actually, but only like a very hot summer day hot. Not oven hot, Mr. Riggs."

	
"Very well. I'm going to re-baste you, then turn the oven up a bit more." Mr. Riggs replied.

	
He opened the oven and started using the brush to mop up sauce that had pooled in the pan around the underside of Elizabeth's arm, then slathered the sauce back on to its top. He tried sucking the sauce up with the turkey baster, but it was too viscous and not deep enough to work very well. He then closed the oven back up and turned the temperature knob up even higher.

	
Mr. Riggs repeated this procedure every few minutes, and the temperature inside the oven increased after each repeat.

	
"Ahh.. Mr. Riggs, it's really hot now. It's starting to hurt." said Elizabeth, finally.

	
"I see. You've done very well, Elizabeth. I didn't expect you to be able to endure this much heat, but you've held up splendidly." Mr. Riggs replied, smiling at her. "Let me baste your arm one last time, then I'll turn off the oven and we can get you out of it."

	
Mr. Riggs opened up the oven again, and used the turkey baster to suck up the copious amounts of hot sauce pooling around the bottom of the pan. He squirted the steaming fluid over Elizabeth's arm, producing a groan from the girl as the heat settled deeper into her flesh. Mr. Riggs had added more sauce to Elizabeth's arm during the third basting. The increased amount of sauce, and the sauce's decreasing viscosity as it heated up, meant that the turkey baster had slowly become the better tool to re-baste Elizabeth's arm.

	
Mr. Riggs closed the oven, turned the temperature dial all the way down, then loosened the glass iris that kept Elizabeth's arm within the oven. It took a few moments to open up the portal, as the glass components of the device had expanded slightly with the heat and wedged into each other tightly.

	
"Hmm, one more thing to redesign." stated Mr. Riggs, not unhappily.

	
Elizabeth started to extract her arm from the oven, but halted when she heard Mr. Riggs' voice.

	
"With the pan, Elizabeth. Let's not make a mess of the workbench or your clothes, alright?"

	
Elizabeth reached her free hand into the oven and grabbed the pan underneath her right arm. She winced slightly at the heat of it on her left fingertips, even though the fingertips of her right hand, which lay within the hot sauce on the bottom of the pan, felt only a little uncomfortable. It made her think about that old saying about frogs and boiling water.

	
Elizabeth carefully removed her arm and the pan from within the oven, turning to place them along side the oven on the workbench. Mr. Riggs hovered around her, looking ready to catch the pan if she fumbled it.

	
"Well, that looks pretty good, doesn't it." said Mr. Riggs, looking down at Elizabeth's arm after she had set it and the pan on the work bench.

	
"I suppose the only thing to do now is to have a taste."

	
To Elizabeth's surprise, Mr. Riggs promptly picked up her arm by the wrist and casually popped several of her fingers into his mouth. Elizabeth heaved in a startled breath as she felt her fingers brush over her teacher's lips, tongue, and teeth. Mr. Riggs then started sucking on her digits, rubbing his tongue back and forth against her fingertips, pushing them up against the roof of his mouth. He even started gently mashing her fingers between his teeth, almost, but not quite, chewing them.

	
"Ah, ahh.. um." Elizabeth breathed, in little gasps.

	
Mr. Riggs had a look of intense concentration on his face, and he seemed to be savoring the taste of her fingers, judging by the time he took in sampling them. Finally, though, he slid them from his mouth with a studied neutral expression on his face.

	
"Try it, and tell me what you think." Mr. Riggs instructed her, as he let go of her hand.

	
"Umm.. okay." Elizabeth said, in a small voice.

	
She peered at her hand for a moment, thoughtfully, then brought it to her mouth and sucked at her thumb. She didn't suck or chew as enthusiastically or vigorously as her teacher had, but she did run her tongue around it several times, tasting the sauce that coated and soaked into her skin.

	
It tasted.. Bad. Not really, really bad, but definitely bad enough to be unpleasant.

	
"Yuck. I taste horrible." said Elizabeth, after she spit out her own thumb.

	
"No, no." said Mr. Riggs, contradicting her. "You tasted fine, I think. The problem was the sauce. It doesn't complement you at all. It's quite revolting, really. I'll have to let Miss Evans know. Maybe it would be better if cooked in all the way, but I honestly doubt it. A pity."

	
"Still, may as well finish it off, just to be thorough." said Mr. Riggs, as he took Elizabeth by her sauce covered arm again.

	
Over next few minutes, her teacher sucked, licked, and nibbled his way up her entire arm. The oddest moment, perhaps, was when Mr. Riggs' eyes briefly met hers while he was sucking on her elbow. It was absolutely ridiculous, seeing him there with most of her bent elbow buried in his mouth. She almost burst out laughing. In contrast, the several moments he spent on the inside of her elbow was.. something else. The sensations of her teacher's mouth and tongue on her skin there made little shivers run up her arm and across the rest of her body, surprising her.

	
Soon enough, Mr. Riggs had removed the majority of sauce from her skin. He set her arm back down on the cooling pan, and heaved a little sigh.

	
"Yes, quite disappointing. Perhaps we'll do better next time." he said, covering him mouth to stifle a small burp.

	
"Uh, next time?" Elizabeth asked, skeptically.

	
Mr. Riggs shrugged and waved his hands, noncommittally.

	
"You had better get cleaned up and on your way home. You may as well wash the pan, brush and baster off while you're at it." Mr. Riggs said, motioning to the lab sink. "I'm going to go return this dreadful sauce from whence it came. I'll see you on Monday, Elizabeth. Thank you for all your help."

	
Elizabeth spent a few moments cleaning her arm off, then washing up the pan and utensils Mr. Riggs had semi-cooked her arm with. Her hands, the right one still a little discolored from the marinade and feeling a bit odd after the heat of the oven, went on autopilot as she pondered what had just happened.

	
Mr. Riggs had said that she "tasted fine", and she wasn't quite sure whether she should be happy at the positive assessment or more worried that the man who made it was a self admitted enthusiast of the idea of cooking girls. Elizabeth herself happened to be a girl, funnily enough, and thought that it might be a bad idea for Mr. Riggs to start liking how she tasted.

	
Elizabeth shook her head, dismissing her concerns from her mind. Mr. Riggs had said that he needed her to build his ovens, so she probably didn't have to worry about him trying to put her into one of them at some point. Besides, she thought, her mind returning to more immediate prospects, it was now officially the weekend, and she had lots to look forward to.

	
Smiling, Elizabeth forgot her concerns and left the classroom, happily anticipating the next few days.

 No.8336

9 - Breakdown

	
Each Monday since Mr. Riggs had introduced the pep powder to Elizabeth had been a little harder than the last. She would try to make her small supply last until Tuesday, just like her teacher had instructed, but she was always somehow just a bit short. It didn't help that it was now taking larger doses of the stuff to make her feel as good as when she had been first introduced to it, either. This Monday, however, was particularly bad.

	
Elizabeth had used up the last of her pep Saturday evening, which confused her because she had been sure that she'd had enough to get through the entire weekend. By the time Monday afternoon rolled around, she had been without pep for nearly two days, and felt quite wretched. Mr. Riggs never seemed to want to let her have extra powder, but she was hoping that, just this once, he might make an exception.

	
"No, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs stated, a little harshly. "I'll give you a bit so you can help me out this afternoon, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow for a refill."

	
Elizabeth had been entreating Mr. Riggs for nearly ten minutes, growing more desperately insistent at each successive refusal. Her teacher seemed to be swiftly growing irritated with her, which explained the harsh tone of his response.

	
"Please, please, please, Mr. Riggs. Just this once, I swear!" Elizabeth begged. She had slowly intruded further and further into Mr. Riggs' personal space during their conversation, and was now standing practically toe to toe with him, looking up into his face with pleading eyes and tugging slightly on his arm in time with her pleas.

	
"Elizabeth, I've already said no. If you ask one more time, I won't even give you some for this afternoon." said Mr. Riggs, scowling down at his student and roughly freeing his arm from her grasp.

	
"Okay, okay. Mr. Riggs. I'm sorry!" Elizabeth replied, as she backed quickly away from Mr. Riggs. The idea of being denied even the small dose of powder that she had come to rely on so heavily every Monday afternoon clearly frightened her.

	
Mr. Riggs frowned at her, then prepared the test tube of heavily diluted pep for Elizabeth, as he had done so often now. As he did, Elizabeth noticed that the amount of powder he dropped into the tube was the smallest yet, barely more than a speck.

	
"Um.. Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth said, clearly trying not to anger him any more. "Could.. could you put a little more pep in there. That wasn't very much.."

	
"This is sufficient. Take it." Mr. Riggs replied, flatly, as he made to hand over the test tube.

	
"Please, Mr. Riggs, just a little more. I need it." Elizabeth pleaded, refusing to take the tube.

	
"Take it, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said, his tone growing darker as he pushed the tube into Elizabeth's hands.

	
Something inside of Elizabeth seemed to snap, and she pushed the tube back at her teacher, hard, and nearly shouted at him.

	
"No, I need more!"

	
The tube twisted in their fingers, slipping out from between their hands. It seemed to hang in the air for just a moment, then dropped to the floor hard, shattering.

	
Both Mr. Riggs and Elizabeth stared down at the broken glass and small splatter of liquid on the smooth linoleum tiles between them.

	
"I.. I.. I'm sorry!" Elizabeth started to blurt, looking up at her teacher, scared.

	
Mr. Riggs cut her off before she could finish, though.

	
"Enough." he said, coldly. "Elizabeth, clean this mess up. While you do that, I'm going to talk to Miss Evans for a few minutes before she goes home for the day. Be ready to work when I get back."

	
"Um, okay." Elizabeth said, her voice sounding small as she flinched away from the tone of her teacher's voice.

	
Mr. Riggs looked at her steadily for a few more moments, then shook his head and turned away. He put the cap back on the large bottle of pep still on his desk, then made to put it away in its drawer. Elizabeth, seeing this and starting to panic, spoke up again.

	
"Uh, Mr. Riggs, could.."

	
"No." Mr. Riggs replied, cutting her off again. His voice was arctic. He didn't bother to look at her while he answered, he just finished locking the drawer, then turned to the door and left Elizabeth there, standing over the broken glass.

	
Elizabeth felt like crying, but managed not to let any tears out while she swept up the broken glass. As she wiped up the liquid on the floor, she had a strong urge to wring the damp paper towels out over her upturned mouth, to suck the fluid out of them, or perhaps even chew them up and swallow them, just to try and get a little of the dissolved pep inside them. She managed to resist the impulse, barely, mostly by imagining how Mr. Riggs would react if he happened to return while she was doing so.

	
She finished cleaning up the mess, then just sat at her chair at the workbench, her whole body trembling a little. She waited for Mr. Riggs to return.

	
Mr. Riggs was taking quite a long time to do so, however. The longer Elizabeth waited for him, the more acute her need for pep began to feel. Her eyes kept straying to the locked drawer that held such large quantities of what she so desperately desired. Finally, Elizabeth got up and walked slowly to her teacher's desk, glancing at the door to the back room, through which Mr. Riggs might return at any time, as she did so.

	
Bending down, she tugged gently on the drawer, hoping against hope that maybe Mr. Riggs had not locked it properly. Unfortunately, he had. The drawer stayed firmly shut. Frustrated, Elizabeth tugged harder on the drawer, getting it to shift back and forth a little bit along its railing. The contents of the drawer clunked audibly against each other as it did so.

	
Elizabeth stood, shaking with need. Without pausing to let herself think, to consider just what might happen if Mr. Riggs found out what she was doing, Elizabeth grabbed up a large straight screwdriver from the work bench and returned to the desk with it. She yanked as hard as she could on the drawer with one hand, then tried to jam the tip of the screwdriver into the tiny seam that opened up between the lip of the drawer and the desk with the other.

	
Elizabeth managed to get the tip of the screwdriver into the seam, just barely. Kneeling down on the floor, so she would be nearer the same height as the drawer and have better leverage, Elizabeth leaned on the screwdriver hard, trying to force the tool as far into the slowly widening space as she could. Grunting with effort, she worked the thin steel rod back and forth, slowly bending the metal lip of the drawer.

	
All at once, the screwdriver drove through the gap, forcing itself into the drawer all the way to the plastic grip. Slowly, so as not to accidentally pull the tool out completely, Elizabeth slipped the screwdriver back out again about half way. She then began to lever it back and forth between the metal of the drawer and the desk, widening the gap as the metal bent.

	
Her progress so far making her confident, Elizabeth then began to put more of her weight into the motions, feeling the thin metal give more and more. She could feel the drawer straining to open against the strength of the lock, the metal squeaking and groaning as it bent. She thought that just a few more moments of effort would achieve her goal, and her heart sped up at the happy thought of the large bottles of powder nearly within her grasp.

	
The sound of the door shutting behind her was loud, making her jump in surprise.

	
Elizabeth froze then, her whole body locking up in rigid fear. Slowly, she turned her shoulders and head around to look up at Mr. Riggs, who stared down at her. She expected outrage and anger to be evident on his face, perhaps even fury, but his expression was completely neutral, like he was simply looking at a rather uninteresting bug that happened to be crawling across his floor.

	
As Elizabeth knelt there, the fact that Mr. Riggs somehow appeared so calm started to infuriated her. Here she was, desperately trying to break in to his desk, to steal from him, and he just didn't seem to care. The anger Elizabeth felt flowing hotly throughout her body returned movement to her, and she stood up and faced her teacher, shaking with pent up emotions.

	
"I.. I n-need it." Elizabeth said, anger making the words stutter as she forced them passed her lips.

	
"You n-never give m-me enough." she continued, glaring up at him, tears starting to flow down her cheeks. Her shaking was increasing.

	
"I NEED more. O-open the dr-drawer."

	
"Elizab.." Mr. Riggs started to say, but she cut him off, almost screaming.

	
"Shut UP!"

	
Elizabeth was panting quickly, almost hyperventilating, and started to sway back and forth a bit unsteadily on her feet.

	
"You don't c-care! You never gi-give me enough, never!" Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "Open the drawer."

	
Mr. Riggs made no movement, he simply stood there, watching her.

	
"I m-mean it, open the drawer!" she yelled.

	
To emphasize her demand, Elizabeth brought the screwdriver, which she had been clutching tightly in both hands against her chest, out and pointed it at Mr. Riggs, as though it were a weapon.

	
"O.. o.. o-open th-the dr.. draw.." she tried to repeat, her stutter growing steadily worse, as did her swaying. The tip of the screwdriver wavered unsteadily, her arms seemingly about to give way, as she tried to roll her shoulders and upper arms against her eyes, to clear them of tears, without looking away from her teacher.

	
Mr. Riggs continued looking at her for a moment, ignoring the screwdriver completely, then slowly brought up both his arms up and away from his sides. He moved his hands, slowly and steadily, up until they were level with Elizabeth's tear stained shoulders. She made an abrupt movement with the screwdriver, as if she might poke one of his arms with it, to which he also paid no attention.

	
Mr. Riggs then carefully placed his hands upon Elizabeth's shoulders. The girl jumped a bit at his touch, wavering unsurely on her feet. She looked at his arms, steadying her, then back up to Mr. Riggs' face, confusion evident on her features.

	
"Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said, gently. His voice stuck her like a hammer, despite its gentleness, and she flinched, looking away from him.

	
"Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs continued. "I'm trying to help you."

	
It wasn't what he said that undid Elizabeth in that moment, but how he said it. There was no anger in his voice, no scorn nor fear, as she might have expected. There was some disappointment, yes, but the overwhelming emotion she sensed coming from him through his voice and his touch was of concern. He had caught her in the act of breaking into his desk and attempting to steal from him, and he wasn't angry with her at all, but worried for her.

	
Elizabeth's lip began to tremble, and the eyes she had barely managed to clear of tears moments before filled back up again. The anger which had fueled her outburst drained from her. The screwdriver fell out of her hands, clattering to the floor between them, and she collapsed against Mr. Riggs, burying her face in his shirt, sobbing brokenly.

	
Mr. Riggs spent the next twenty minutes consoling the distraught girl, holding her while she cried wretchedly into his chest and then lap. They wound up at Mr. Riggs' desk, with him sitting in his chair, and Elizabeth sprawled, kneeling on the floor, against his legs with her head in his lap. She would occasionally try to speak, to blubber out agonized apologies, but he would simply stroke her hair and shoulders and shush her. Once she had finally cried herself out, they simply sat that way, in silence, for a few minutes.

	
"Elizabeth, I know you've been having a hard time with the pep powder. I feel badly about that. Perhaps I shouldn't have introduced it to you in the first place." said Mr. Riggs softly, breaking the quiet.

	
Elizabeth looked up at him with large eyes still glistening with tears, then shook her head without lifting it from his lap.

	
"No, Mr. Riggs." she said, voice husky and a bit hollow after her long bout of crying, "It's my fault. I've been using more than you said to. Y-you told me over and over not to use too much, but I still did. It just makes me feel so much better than I was, it's hard not to."

	
"You do seem to be more happy recently, when you have enough pep." said Mr. Riggs, stroking her hair. "Perhaps.. perhaps I could give you a larger supply of it, if it means that much to you."

	
"R-really?" Elizabeth stammered, turning hopeful eyes up towards her teacher, mouth opening in surprise.

	
"Yes, I think so, if you would be willing to do something in return for me." said Mr. Riggs, smiling down at her and patting her on the shoulder.

	
"What do you want me to do?" Elizabeth asked, without hesitation, looking up at him from her position kneeling at his feet. Her cheeks were still reddened and tear streaked, but the expression on her face and in her eyes was wide and sincere. She looked like she would do absolutely anything that he might ask of her right then, and be grateful for the opportunity.

	
"Nothing too arduous." Mr. Riggs said, chuckling a little and looking down at her fondly. "I'd like you to help me test out my ovens more thoroughly. It will be similar to what we did last Friday, only more so. Do you think you can manage that?"

	
"That sounds fine, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth said, and meant it.

	
It had seemed a little strange to her at the time, but looking back at it, having Mr. Riggs half-cook her arm to demonstrate his oven hadn't actually been that big of a deal. Her arm actually had not even been half-cooked, really, more like quarter or even tenth-cooked. A little sauce and a bit of heat were a small price to pay. Maybe he would do her leg next, Elizabeth thought.

	
"Well, I don't think that we're going to be able to accomplish anything more today." Mr. Riggs said. "If you can, why don't you go fetch your bottle, and I'll live up to my half of the arrangement now."

	
Elizabeth's heart soared, and she would have jumped up and raced out the door and in to the classroom to grab her little bottle, if she hadn't just spent nearly half an hour kneeling in the same position on a cold, hard floor. It took her a moment to stand up, then she went, a little weak and wobbly, and got her bottle.

	
Elizabeth watched Mr. Riggs insert his key into the lock on the drawer, and she winced at the gouges and bends in the metal that she had inflicted on it. Mr. Riggs didn't seem to notice them, however, and unlocked the drawer easily. He pulled out the large bottle, popped both bottles' tops, and began to spoon heaping scoopfuls of powder from one to the other. Elizabeth was amazed to see Mr. Riggs fill her bottle right up to the top, nearly overflowing the brim. He had never been half so generous before, and she thought that he had probably just now given her nearly as much powder as he had given her in all previous weekly fill-ups combined.

	
Mr. Riggs seemed to realize this too, because when he handed the bottle to her after re-capping it, he didn't let go immediately. Instead, he looked her seriously in the eyes and spoke.

	
"Don't go crazy with this, Elizabeth." he warned. "Just because you've got a lot more powder now, doesn't mean that you should abuse it. I expect this to last you several weeks. If you come to me next week with an empty bottle, I'm going to be very displeased."

	
"Uh, okay, Mr. Riggs." said Elizabeth, tugging a little on the bottle.

	
"I mean it, Elizabeth." said Mr. Riggs, putting his other hand on hers, holding both the small bottle and her small hand in between his large, thin ones.

	
"I told you the first time I gave you pep that it wouldn't hurt you, and that was true, then. But now, with this much powder, you could hurt yourself, perhaps very badly. Don't take too much at once, okay?" he finished, patting her hand with his, then letting go.

	
"I won't, Mr. Riggs. Thank you, I.. I'm.." Elizabeth said, her throat working. "..Thank you."

	
"You're very welcome, Elizabeth. I'll see you in class tomorrow." said Mr. Riggs, smiling. "Be ready for Wednesday's extra credit session. I think that you will find it very.. stimulating."

	
"Uh, ok, Mr. Riggs. Goodbye." Elizabeth said, then left him.

	
Mr. Riggs sat in his chair for a few moments longer, listening to the quiet of the room after Elizabeth had departed. Then he smiled, broadly, and laughed delightedly out loud. He simply couldn't help it, because things were proceeding so utterly perfectly.

 No.8337

10 - Do You Have Something You Need to Get Off Your Chest?

	
"You're going to cook.. my breasts?" asked Elizabeth, a little incredulously.

	
"Surely. That is what this particular oven is for, after all." Mr. Riggs replied, happily.

	
Elizabeth recognized the oven. It was the second one she had put together for Mr. Riggs. She had wondered at the time just what it was for. The numerous take downs and rebuilds, however, not to mention several special "features" Mr. Riggs had designed and had her build and install, had blunted her curiosity somewhat, and she had been glad to see the back of the thing when Mr. Riggs had moved her to another project.

	
Mr. Riggs had just finished removing the last of those special features from the interior of the oven, leaving only an irregular glass box above the metal base. The irregularity of the box came from the fact that one of the sides, rather than standing at a straight ninety degree vertical, was sloped to somewhere around fifty or sixty degrees. Two centered holes dominated that side, with thin, light blue padding surrounding them.

	
"A girl simply places her breasts through those holes there, laying her chest and torso down onto that padding, and then just allows the oven work to its magic." Mr. Riggs said, enthusiastically.

	
"Uh, I see." replied Elizabeth. The process didn't sound particularly magical to her.

	
"What was that thing supposed to do?" she asked, pointing to the device that Mr. Riggs had just removed from the oven.

	
"Ah, that was supposed to be an automatic nipple injector." said Mr. Riggs, patting it fondly.

	
Elizabeth winced at the visuals Mr. Riggs' casual description of the thing had brought into her mind's eye. She had to force her hands not to come up and cover her chest protectively at the thought.

	
"I couldn't get it to work, though." Mr. Riggs continued, oblivious to Elizabeth's discomfort. "I needed it to be able to sense where a girl's nipples were, since every girl's breasts are a little different, so it could inject seasonings and such directly into the center of each breast. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to get it to differentiate nipple from non-nipple during tests, so it either does nothing or just injects at random."

	
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Riggs, wondering just how, and with who, he had performed these tests. She thought, perhaps, that it might be best not to ask.

	
"It also doesn't do well in the heat. Some of the components can't tolerate oven level temperatures. The prototype nearly melted completely." Mr. Riggs finished, sighing. "Still, I'm looking forward to this test. The idea behind this oven is one of my favorites, and I'm very curious to see how it works out in practice."

	
"Oh. Um, I thought we might just be doing one of my legs or something, in the limb cooker, like last time." said Elizabeth, a little hopefully.

	
"There's no need. We already know the limb cooker functions acceptably well, and besides, this will be much more interesting." said Mr. Riggs.

	
"Ah. I suppose so." Elizabeth replied, noncommittally.

	
Mr. Riggs heard the tone in her voice, and looked at her, wryly.

	
"You did agree to help me test out my ovens, Elizabeth. I've fulfilled my half of the bargain, so now I'd like you to fulfill yours." said Mr. Riggs, not unkindly.

	
"Yeah, Mr. Riggs. I'll do it." Elizabeth replied, quickly, remembering the scene she'd caused in this room two days before.

	
"It's just.. I didn't expect to have to be naked while doing it." she finished, a little lamely.

	
"Nonsense, you won't be nude at all. Merely topless. Think of it like going to the beach." Mr. Riggs replied, gamely.

	
Elizabeth thought about bringing up that she had never been to a topless beach before, and that she wasn't even sure if there were, in fact, any around locally at all, but decided that it didn't matter in either case. She had agreed, and the joy she had felt when she had acquired the powder that filled up her little bottle meant that she couldn't really back out anyway. Her little bottle made her very happy. If this was the price Mr. Riggs wanted her to pay for it, then she would. Besides, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, anyway.

	
She wasn't thinking that five minutes later, when Mr. Riggs was vigorously scrubbing her breasts with the rough green pad that had been beside the sink at the lab station.

	
Mr. Riggs had told her to take off her shirt and bra, then scrub herself down at the sink. She had done so, moderately embarrassed, under his watchful eye, until he had snorted, stated, "I said "scrub" girl." and taken the pad from her with one hand. He had then grabbed her by the back of the neck with his other hand, his long fingers wrapping almost all the way around it, bent her over the sink, and proceeded to scour several layers of skin off her boobs. At least, that's what it felt like to Elizabeth.

	
She stood, several minutes later, looking down at her slightly reddened skin as Mr. Riggs dried her off with a towel.

	
"There we go. All clean and ready to cook. Go ahead and slip into the oven, Elizabeth, while it's warming up. I'd like to see how the fit is." said Mr. Riggs.

	
"Um, okay." Elizabeth agreed, a bit nervously.

	
Elizabeth moved to stand in front of the oven. The padding around the holes was torso shaped, more or less, and ran down the length of the oven, so no part of her skin would directly touch hot glass. The padding wasn't terribly thick, though, especially around the edges of the holes. The oven was positioned just at the edge of the workbench, so all she had to do to put her breasts through the holes was lean down over it. She did so, feeling the warm air in the oven surrounding the exposed skin of her chest.

	
"How is it?" asked Mr. Riggs, peering at her interestedly.

	
"Uh, a little uncomfortable. The height is a bit off." Elizabeth replied.

	
"Yes, so I see. Let's see if we can adjust that a bit better." said Mr. Riggs.

	
Elizabeth straightened up with a sigh, pulling her breasts back through the holes and out of the oven. The oven had been set too low on the workbench for her. When she'd bent over far enough to reach it, the angle of the side of the oven as she leaned against it didn't match the angle of her torso. She had tried to adjust herself to it, but trying to match the odd angle of the oven with her body had meant bending her spine uncomfortably, which also forced her rump to jut out embarrassingly.

	
Mr. Riggs had Elizabeth lift each side of the oven so he could slide spacers underneath it, which brought the whole device up several inches. Elizabeth tried the angle again, still finding it not quite right. One final adjustment later, and Elizabeth was bent over the oven, more or less comfortably, leaning against it with her breasts dangling in the warming air.

	
"Hmm. This presents a problem. How am I supposed to baste you like this?" said Mr. Riggs, looking down at Elizabeth and the oven.

	
The oven opened on the side opposite of Elizabeth's breasts, which were currently facing the wall. They solved this by moving the whole apparatus to one end of the work bench, so the oven and its contents would be perpendicular to the wall, rather than parallel. There was just enough room between the workbench and Mr. Riggs' desk for Elizabeth to stand in to make this feasible. This allowed Mr. Riggs access to Elizabeth's chest, even though it was still at something of an awkward angle.

	
"One more thing to add to the list of stuff to redesign." said Mr. Riggs, standing back and contemplating his oven.

	
"Uh, Mr. Riggs?" Elizabeth asked. "Where am I supposed to put my arms? The oven is too wide to let me rest them on the workbench, and there isn't enough heat padding to just let them dangle alongside my body."

	
"Hmm. Let me think about that for a moment, Elizabeth." replied Mr. Riggs, thoughtfully. "Can you just hold them up, out of the way?"

	
"Um, probably not for the whole time we're doing this." said Elizabeth, uncertainly.

	
"Well, I suppose that we could always just tie your arms behind you, to keep them out of the way. I think that will have to do for now." said Mr. Riggs.

	
"Oh. I.. I suppose." said Elizabeth, her uncertain tone deepening.

	
Mr. Riggs poked around under the work bench for a moment, then produced a coil of white cotton clothes line. He looked speculatively over at Elizabeth's arms, then cut a short length from the coil.

	
"Come over here and turn around, please, Elizabeth." instructed Mr. Riggs, putting the rest of the line back under the work bench.

	
Elizabeth lifted herself off the oven, then stood in front of Mr. Riggs, facing away from him.

	
"Arms behind your back, if you please."

	
Elizabeth wasn't sure that she did please, but crossed her wrists behind her back anyway with a sigh. Mr. Riggs surprised her, however. Rather than looping the rope around her wrists, as she had expected, he coiled it around her elbows several times instead, then slowly drew them together. Elizabeth made a surprised sound as he did.

	
"Wha.. ah! Uh, Mr. Riggs, I don't think that's going to work." said Elizabeth, hastily, as she rolled her shoulders and wiggled her arms, trying to relieve the tension building across her upper torso.

	
"Don't be silly, Elizabeth. It will work just fine. Girls your age are usually remarkably flexible. Plus, this will have the additional benefit of thrusting your chest out, making it easier to seat as much of your breasts as possible into the oven." said Mr. Riggs. "And stop squirming so much."

	
Ignoring her continuing squeaks of protest, Mr. Riggs gradually brought Elizabeth's elbows together behind her back. He heard a few popping sounds from her joints, as cartilage and tendons adjusted to new, unfamiliar positions, but nothing that actually seemed to pain the girl, despite her squirming wiggles. Mr. Riggs looped the thin line around her arms several more times, trying to create a wide bind that wouldn't cut too much circulation from Elizabeth's forearms or hands, then tied the knot off.

	
Mr. Riggs stood back a bit, to admire the effect Elizabeth's bound arms created. The girl had lost quite a bit of weight over the past weeks, and while it wouldn't be anywhere near fair to describe her as thin, she was definitely much more slim than she had been. She actually had a noticeable waist now, instead of rolls of baby fat, and her legs and arms looked better now, too. She must have been doing at least some of the exercises that Mr. Riggs had suggested, he thought, because while her arms and legs had slimmed down, they were also filling out. There was some muscle tone now, where once there had been none.

	
Mr. Riggs turned Elizabeth around, to see what effect binding her arms had on her front. The first thing he noticed was her face, flushed red from the strain of the tension in her shoulders and from the embarrassment of her position. The second thing he noticed was how much more prominently her breasts jutted out from her chest. Elizabeth had been possessed of a sizable chest before she had started to lose weight, and they had retained their size even as every other measurement the girl possessed had begun to shrink. Mr. Riggs thought that they might even be slightly larger now than before, although, on balance, perhaps they just looked bigger because the rest of her had gotten smaller. Whatever the case, with her arms bound behind her like they were, her fulsome chest was being displayed most dramatically and to great effect.

	
"That'll do." was all Mr. Riggs said, after looking at Elizabeth for a moment longer. The girl had grown even more red as she watched her teacher take his time assessing her.

	
"I think we're ready to actually start cooking now, Elizabeth. Why don't you slide back into the oven, and we can begin."

	
"Um.. Okay, I guess." Elizabeth replied.

	
Once Elizabeth's breasts were again seated in the now quite warm oven, Mr. Riggs arranged the rest of the ingredients and implements he would need along the workbench in font of the oven. There was a rectangular, shallow, double sided pan, which Mr. Riggs slid into the oven a few inches below Elizabeth's breasts, resting it on pre-installed brackets. The pan was divided into two sides because Mr. Riggs intended to try out two different sauces, one for each breast. These sauces he placed at each side of the oven, next to the breast they would be flavoring. Mr. Riggs also had two sets of brushes and basters, to apply the sauces without mixing the flavors together, and a thermometer, which he hung from the front edge of the double sided pan.

	
"Okay, Elizabeth. I'm going to baste you now, so no more moving from the oven." Mr. Riggs said, firmly.

	
"Uh, okay, Mr. Ri.." Elizabeth started to reply, but stopped short when Mr. Riggs sprayed her left breast generously with cold sauce, letting out a breathy, surprised sound."

	
"Ah-ahh!"

	
Mr. Riggs continued to squirt sauce on her for another few seconds, then set the squeeze bottle down and picked up one of the brushes. He dipped the brush into the puddle of sauce that had formed beneath her dangling left breast, sopping up as much of the fluid as he could, then started coating all the uncovered bits of skin with gentle but firm strokes. The bristles of the brush tickled the skin of Elizabeth's breasts, which were still a little sensitive from their vigorous scrubbing a few minutes earlier. Once her entire breast was covered in sauce, Mr. Riggs proceeded to re-brush the entire thing all over again, much more methodically this time. Before every stroke, he would drag the brush around in the sauce pooling below her breast, to ensure a thick, even application. Then he would set the brush along the outer edge of her breast and slowly draw it inwards. Every stroke ended at her nipple, the rough bristles of the brush passing over it causing her to inhale sharply each time, which made her hanging globes quiver and tremble for a moment.

	
"Your left breast is getting a lemon-honey based sauce. I thought it would be interesting to try, and Miss Evans agreed, and that it would also be a good contrast to the sauce for your right breast, which will be getting a more traditional barbecue style treatment. I'm not sure on the details of the barbecue sauce; I simply liked the way it smelled." said Mr. Riggs, as he concentrated on his task.

	
Once he finished with her left breast, Mr. Riggs repeated the procedure on her right. Elizabeth could tell that each breast was being basted in its own unique sauce, because the consistencies and textures were uneven: each sauce felt different as it was applied. The sensations as the brush passed along her flesh was maddening, and Elizabeth couldn't help squirming around a little as Mr. Riggs finished with her right breast's second coat.

	
"Stop that, Elizabeth, or you'll get sauce everywhere." Mr. Riggs ordered. He frowned at her as she stopped her wiggling movements, mostly.

	
"Perhaps I need find a way to attach some straps." said Mr. Riggs, speculatively. "The roast shouldn't be able to disrupt the cooking process. I'll have to think about it."

	
"Anyway, that looks pretty good. I'm going to close the oven up and turn up the heat, so we can really get cooking." said Mr. Riggs, looking satisfied. "I'm not going to ease it up as slowly as last time, Elizabeth, so do let me know if it gets too hot."

	
With that, Mr. Riggs closed the oven door and adjusted the temperature dial. Elizabeth couldn't see how far he had turned it up, as it was on the side of the oven opposite her, but she felt the heat begin to rise almost immediately. She squirmed again in response, just a little, despite the look Mr. Riggs gave her as she did so.

	
The heat increased quickly and dramatically, and before long Elizabeth was starting to breath heavily and sweat a little.

	
"Uh, Mr. Riggs, it's getting pretty hot." Elizabeth said, weakly.

	
"Already, Elizabeth? It's not even nearly as hot as your arm got." said Mr. Riggs, peering into the oven at the thermometer. "Can't you try a bit more?"

	
"Ah, I guess, Mr. Riggs. It doesn't hurt yet, it's just really hot." Elizabeth replied.

	
Hot was understating it, she thought. Elizabeth could feel the heat roiling around inside of the oven, seeming to billow up around her breasts in waves. It didn't hurt yet, but it was uncomfortable, for sure. The heat was affecting the sauce coating her skin as well. It, along with a little sweat, was starting to drip down her breasts. At the angle she was at, her nipples were, just barely, the lowest part of her breasts. Most of the fluids flowing down her flesh accumulated on them before dripping off at a steadily increasing rate.

	
Mr. Riggs seemed to notice too, because without warning he opened the oven and reached in, with a brush in hand, to start re-coating her breasts. Much of the heat of the oven rushed out when he did so, and Elizabeth enjoyed the moment of respite from it.

	
That moment ended when the first brush full of hot sauce was slathered across her flesh. Elizabeth thought that the sauce felt at least as hot as the air inside the oven had, if not more. She bit her lip as Mr. Riggs carefully re-coated every inch of her skin, who paused only to switch brushes when he finished one breast and started on the other.

	
Completing his task, Mr. Riggs closed the oven back up, once again trapping Elizabeth's breasts in with the building heat. To her dismay, she saw him turn the temperature dial up again.

	
"You're doing quite well, Elizabeth. I'm very happy with our progress so far." said Mr. Riggs, obviously pleased. "The oven is performing according to design, even if access is a bit inconvenient. How is the temperature feeling?"

	
"It's not as hot as it was before you opened up the oven to baste me." Elizabeth panted. "But it's getting hot again quickly. Uh, how much did you turn up the temperature just now?"

	
"Not much. Don't worry about it, just let me know if it starts to hurt more than you can stand." Mr. Riggs replied, his tone reassuring.

	
Elizabeth wasn't actually reassured by his reply, but didn't say so. She just breathed, trying to slow down her panting, and concentrated on the heat building around her chest.

	
A few more minutes passed, during which Elizabeth was sure that the heat in the oven had returned to its prior level, and then surpassed it. The heat was extreme, and it felt like her skin was baking tighter around the flesh of her breasts.

	
"Mr. Riggs. I.. I think I need to be basted again." Elizabeth said.

	
"Oh, my, yes. You're starting to dry out, it looks like." said Mr. Riggs, looking in to the oven at her hot, trembling flesh.

	
He repeated his earlier actions, this time adding more sauce to the pan below her breasts before he re-basted them. The relatively cool sauce felt heavenly when he brushed it on her skin, and she almost sighed in relief as the tightness of the skin of her breasts seemed to ease with every stroke. Again, after Mr. Riggs finished with her basting, he touched the temperature dial, turning up the heat even further.

	
"Ah, Mr. Riggs. I think that's enough. Please don't go any higher." Elizabeth begged. She could feel the skin of her breasts throbbing now, the discomfort was just below the level of true pain. Her nipples seemed to be taking the worst of it. They constantly felt like they were being dipped in molten wax. Within them, Elizabeth could feel the heat emanating up from the pool of steaming fluid in the pan below, most which had probably dripped at least once from her nipples already.

	
"Yes, your breasts are now a bit hotter than your arm got." Mr. Riggs replied. "This is about how hot I'd hoped to get. All we need to do now is wait and allow the sauces to really bake in to your breasts, just basting occasionally."

	
"W-wait? How long do we need to wait?" Elizabeth asked, her chest heaving as she breathed in and out deeply and fairly rapidly.

	
"Hmm, probably forty-five minutes to an hour, give or take." Said Mr. Riggs, offhandedly. "I'd like for your skin to take in as much of the flavor of the sauces as possible."

	
"An.. An hour?" Elizabeth almost wailed.

	
"Ideally." replied Mr. Riggs. "I'm thirsty. I'll be back in a moment."

	
Leaving her resting against his oven, breasts thrust into its heat and arms bound behind her, Mr. Riggs got up and poured himself a large beaker of cold water from the lab station sink. Elizabeth watched, panting heavily, as he slowly drank off the whole thing, then refilled it and drank off half the beaker again.

	
"Cooking is thirsty work." Mr. Riggs said, with a cheery smile, as he returned.

	
He had brought the half full beaker with him, at least, and tipped it up to Elizabeth's lips and poured it, very slowly, into her mouth. She drank it gratefully, and was almost shocked by how cold it felt flowing down her throat. Once she had finished, Mr. Riggs set the beaker down and proceeded to, again, re-baste her.

	
The sauces steaming away below her breasts were everything that Elizabeth had been dreading they would be. She moaned a bit as the first brush stroke smeared the hot liquid against her skin. It felt like the liquid was boiling hot, although she knew it actually probably wasn't even close to that temperature. Still, when Mr. Riggs finished his first stroke, which ended by coating her nipple in the heated fluid, she bit her lip and shuddered in reaction, her eyes rolling back a little as she did so.

	
Of course, every brush stroke when Mr. Riggs basted her breasts ended at her nipples. It became a struggle just to hold still as he finished lathering the hot sauces back onto her flesh.

	
"Yes, I definitely need to put some straps on this oven." Mr. Riggs mused to himself, as he finished up his basting. "Relax, Elizabeth. You've only got about fifty minutes to go until you're done."

	
Elizabeth moaned again, which trailed off into a little whimper as Mr. Riggs closed the oven back up. Thankfully, he didn't turn up the heat any further.

	
The next hour or so became a trial of endurance for Elizabeth. Every six or seven minutes, Mr. Riggs would open up the oven and re-coat her breasts in hot sauce, while Elizabeth did her best not to squirm off the device. During the time in between bastings, Elizabeth would simply stare straight ahead, panting in regular, deep breaths, concentrating on the heat flowing around and into her breasts. She simply couldn't do anything else. The heat of the oven had become her whole world, and her breasts were how she was experiencing that world. So, it came as something of a shock when Mr. Riggs stood up and declared her "done".

	
"Well, Elizabeth. You're looking pretty good, I think you're about done." he said, peering into the oven happily.

	
Elizabeth, who felt like her entire life had been spent with her breasts in his oven, didn't comprehend him at first. After a few moments, though, her overheated brain processed his words, and she croaked out a reply.

	
"Done?"

	
"Yep. Let's turn the oven off and get you out of there." Mr. Riggs said.

	
He had to help her stand up. She was so weak kneed that he basically had to carry her away from the oven and around to the front of the work bench. He sat her up on the top of the bench, gave her another drink of cool water, and told her to lean back on to her bound hands.

	
"Got to let the meat rest." he said, winking at her.

	
The water Mr. Riggs had given her had seemed the most amazing thing she had ever received, even better than pep, and it soon revived her a bit. She looked around blearily, at the oven, at Mr. Riggs, who was futzing around with the oven, and then at the clock on the wall. She was amazed to discover that she really had been on the oven for only an hour, because it had seemed much, much longer to her. She sat, just breathing, for a few moments longer. Then she looked down at her chest.

	
If it was possible to get cooked, without actually, you know, getting cooked, then that was what had happened to her breasts. The sauce that Mr. Riggs had so lovingly basted on to them, over and over again, had sunk deeply into her skin. If Elizabeth had seen her breasts resting on a plate on a dining table, she would probably have assumed that they were fully cooked meat because of how dark with sauce they looked. They weren't cooked though, because Elizabeth could quite clearly feel every nerve ending in her breasts throbbing in time with her heart beat. Especially her nipples, which felt like they had been deep fried. If they weren't burnt, at least a little, then they were doing an awfully good impression of it.

	
Mr. Riggs finished whatever it was he was doing with the oven, then turned around to Elizabeth.

	
"Hold still for a moment, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said.

	
Something bright flashed several times, and Elizabeth looked up to see a small camera flash once more in Mr. Riggs' hands.

	
"Have to document the results." he said happily, finishing his photography and then putting the camera down on his desk.

	
"Now, lets take a closer look at you."

	
Mr. Riggs pulled the work bench chair in front of Elizabeth and sat down. Sitting in the chair, his head was just about perfectly level with her breasts as she sat on the bench. He put his hands around her, just above her waist, and leaned her forward, so that her chest jutted out at him. He let his hands rest on her hips as he examined her slowly heaving breasts closely.

	
"Yes, these look great. The sauce looks almost caramelized. It can't have done, the oven wasn't nearly hot enough for that, but it sort of looks it." said Mr. Riggs.

	
"And they smell heavenly!" he continued, as he leaned in close and inhaled deeply through his nose over each breast several times.

	
"My, I don't think I can wait any longer, I simply have to have a taste." Mr. Riggs said, enthusiastically. "The only question is which flavor to sample first."

	
"Honey-Lemon." he said, looking at her left breast, stained dark with sauce.

	
"Or barbecue." Mr. Riggs finished, turning his head towards her right breast, which was an even deeper, darker color than the left.

	
Apparently coming to a decision, he turned his head back towards Elizabeth's left breast, and enveloped her throbbing, sauce darkened nipple with his mouth.

	
Thankfully, he didn't chew her. At least, not at first. He seemed content to explore the flavors of her nipple with his lips and tongue, trapping the tender bud in place between his lips, and then rhythmically dragging his tongue across it, back and forth, up and down, eagerly sucking the sauce from her sensitive flesh.

	
Elizabeth wasn't sure what she would have done had her arms not been bound securely behind her back. Perhaps she would have arched her back, much as it already was, pushing out her breast and nipple, offering them up to the tide of sensation Mr. Riggs' mouth was engendering in them. Or, perhaps, she would have hunched herself down and away, attempting to withdraw her over-sensitized, nearly charred nerves, to shield them from being even further overwhelmed than they already were. Whatever she might have done didn't much matter though, because as she was, arms bound behind her and chest thrust out, there was only one thing she really could do, which was shudder and tremble as Mr. Riggs held her firmly and feasted on the nearly cooked flesh of her breast.

	
Finished with licking the sauce from the tip of her breast, Mr. Riggs then actually did begin to chew on her, just a bit. He gently nibbled on her, bringing his teeth down around her areola, then slowly dragging his mouth away until just her nipple remained trapped between them. He lashed the trapped nub with his tongue, while slowly rolling it back and forth between teeth that squeezed together with gentle but remorseless pressure.

	
If Elizabeth's arms hadn't been bound, she probably would have pushed Mr. Riggs' head away from her violently in reaction. Since she couldn't, however, all she did was jerk and spasm in futility within her teacher's grasp, her already abused and tender nipple forced to endure the further indignities he was heaping upon it, which left her gasping and spluttering, utterly incoherent.

	
Eventually, Mr. Riggs finally tired of her nipple. He began to explore the rest of the flesh of her left breast, savoring the exquisite mixture of flavors that had been baked into her. The lemon and honey and other spices had blended wonderfully with her own flavors: clean sweat and fresh skin. He drug his tongue and lips across her breasts, sucking up as much flavor as he could. He occasionally scraped his teeth along her smooth flesh as well, as if he could barely restrain himself from simply taking great, slavering bites out of the meat of her breast.

	
After several minutes of this treatment, Mr. Riggs seemed to at last grow sated of the flesh of Elizabeth's left breast. Taking her nipple in his mouth and between his teeth one last time, he withdrew his head from her breast, letting her flesh stretch out from his mouth, before finally allowing her nipple to be drug out from between his incisors. He watched, satisfied, as it bounced back against the rest of her breast, making the whole globe jiggle pleasingly.

	
Elizabeth, was, by this time, barely sane. The overwhelming amount of sensations coming from her breast, both pleasure and torment, had left her in a state that was close to epilepsy. Her whole body was shuddering and shaking, and her breath came in irregular little gasps and gulps. Her eyes had rolled back up into her head, which lolled bonelessly, and her vocabulary had been reduced to bare, sputtering syllables.

	
"Buh.. guh.. muh.. muh.. m-Mr.. ruh.. ruh.." was about all she managed to get out as Mr. Riggs leaned back and heaved a satisfied sigh.

	
"Oh my goodness." said Mr. Riggs, his tone one of complete satisfaction. "That was utterly exquisite. Elizabeth, my dear, you are simply delicious. I don't see how your barbecued breast is going to be able to measure up to your left's outstanding lemon-honey culinary performance."

	
"I am," he continued, "eager to put it to the test, however."

	
He started to lean in towards Elizabeth's right breast, then paused, looking thoughtful.

	
"Hmm. I really should have a palate cleanser before I move on to the second course. I didn't bring anything with me, though." Mr. Riggs mused. "But, I suppose that water is better than nothing."

	
Mr. Riggs got up and refilled his beaker with cool water. After he left go of her hips, Elizabeth started to slowly slump down, moaning slightly, leaning back and to the right as she did. Mr. Riggs managed to catch her just before she landed on her right side.

	
"Easy there, Elizabeth. You nearly dropped my dinner on the table. That would have been a shame. Up you come."

	
Mr. Riggs propped Elizabeth back up, keeping a firm grip on her hip with his left hand as he drank down half his water. He briefly considered attempting to give the rest to Elizabeth, to try and perk her up a bit, but decided against it. She might very well choke on it, given her current state.

	
"I've always been partial to good barbecue." Mr. Riggs commented to no one in particular as he set aside the half full beaker, then he swooped down on Elizabeth's right breast.

	
Mr. Riggs' treatment of Elizabeth's right breast, bar-be-cue flavored, was a mirror to his treatment of her left, quite literally. Instead of starting with her very prominent, very edible looking nipple, Mr. Riggs worked his way around the base of her breast, licking and nibbling sauce up as he went. He thought that his prediction was right, unfortunately, as he found that this particular variety of barbecue sauce did not complement Elizabeth's natural flavors nearly so well as the honey-lemon had. Still, Elizabeth's right breast certainly wasn't bad, and Mr. Riggs managed to enjoy licking his way up its sides a great deal.

	
Working his way up to the nipple, rather than down from it, was its own reward, which he reaped when he greedily sucked the deeply ruddy nub into his mouth. Here, at least, he thought that the barbecue sauce did better justice to Elizabeth's flesh. Perhaps because her nipple was slightly more "done" than the rest of her breast, he thought.

	
Mr. Riggs continued to eat at Elizabeth's nipple, giving it no quarter as he did so. The girl seemed to be in no condition to object, hanging nearly limply in his grasp, merely rocking her head back and forth and gasping weakly as he sucked, licked, and nibbled, a little less gently than with the previous nipple, every bit of sauce from it that he could.

	
Finally, satisfied that he could extract nothing further from the abused bud of flesh, he let it slide from his mouth. Licking his lips, he let Elizabeth down slowly to the surface of the work bench, allowing her to rest on her side. The poor girl seemed almost completely out of it now, and when he reached behind her and untied the bindings holding her elbows together and her arms behind her back, she hardly seemed to notice.

	
Mr. Riggs gazed down at her. She rested on her side, eyes at half mast and seemingly unseeing, with her arms still mostly behind her back. Her generous chest lay hanging sideways, each breast still stained darkly by the sauces they had baked in. He decided to allow her to rest for a few moments.

	
Mr. Riggs spent the next few minutes tidying up. He cleaned all the brushes he had used on Elizabeth earlier, then removed the catch pan and thermometer from the oven and cleaned them as well. He licked at the puddles of sauce still cooling in the pan curiously, and although they tasted fine, it just wasn't the same if they weren't spread on and baked into a pair of girl's breasts. He wound up washing most of the sauce leftovers off the pan and down the drain. Next, he wiped down the oven, which had managed to accumulate an impressive amount of sauce splatters from just one use. There was also a little sauce smeared on the padding on the outside of the oven, where Elizabeth's squirming had smeared it while her breasts had cooked.

	
Once he had finished with all the little domestic chores, Mr. Riggs prepared the thing that he thought might just bring Elizabeth around again. He refilled the beaker with water, then dissolved a generous dose of pep into it. Elizabeth had recovered slightly, by this point. Enough, at least, to let Mr. Riggs pour a beaker full of pep laced water down her throat without choking on it.

	
Fifteen minutes later Elizabeth was, if not bright eyed and bushy tailed, at least awake and mostly coherent. Mr. Riggs helped her sit up on the work bench, then slide down off it a moment later. Her legs were wobbly, but she managed stand on her own, for the most part. She did lean a little on his arm as he led her over to the sink to clean up, though.

	
Elizabeth balked when she heard the sound of the tap being turned on, however, and backed away slightly, hands hovering protectively over her breasts without actually touching them, her head shaking back and forth in negation. Mr. Riggs followed the direction of her bleary, fearful gaze, frowning, which was locked on the rough green pad next to the flowing tap. Realizing the source of her apprehension, Mr. Riggs chuckled, and smiled a little in amusement.

	
"That's fine, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs allowed. "You can clean off later in the comfort of your own home. Let's just get you dressed, then."

	
Mr. Riggs handed Elizabeth her bra, which she looked at for a moment, in consternation. She then glanced down at her chest, and shuddered slightly. She clearly wasn't keen on the idea of binding her tender, abused breasts within the garment.

	
"Too tight for now, huh?" said Mr. Riggs, trying cover his continued amusement with a sympathetic tone and succeeding, mostly. "Lets just get your shirt on, then. Even that might feel like a bit too much at the moment, but I think you might draw more attention than you'd like walking home just like that."

	
Mr. Riggs helped Elizabeth into her shirt, and heard her gasp as the dry cotton slid over the skin of her breasts. To Elizabeth, the soft cotton fabric felt like rough sandpaper, and she thought it might be rasping what was left of her hyper-sensitized nipples right off as it passed over them. Even after she had settled the shirt in place, just the touch of the garment against her breasts every time she moved or breathed was a small, constant torment.

	
Donning her backpack didn't help matter. Mr. Riggs set one strap on each of her shoulders, and the weight of her possessions inside of it pulled her shirt taught across her chest, redoubling the sensations her toasted nerves were screaming out at her. Matters felt even more dire when Mr. Riggs tugged on her pack, opening it up to place her unworn bra within it. Each tug and pull on the pack by her teacher made her gasp and shudder.

	
"Elizabeth, I want to thank you. You performed outstandingly today, despite the adverse conditions." said Mr. Riggs, very pleased.

	
Elizabeth noticed that he still had a little sauce smeared around his mouth as he smiled down at her. She had to fight an odd urge to reach up and wipe it away.

	
"Uhmm.. You're welcome, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth replied, a little haltingly. "I'm, uh.. I'm glad to.. to help, and, uh, glad it worked out.. so well."

	
Her statement was the first whole sentence, and first whole, coherent thought she had managed to form, since before she had come off the oven nearly an hour before.

	
"Yes, it worked quite well indeed, despite our initial difficulties. I've even got some ideas that will make next time easier still!" said Mr. Riggs.

	
"Ne.. Next time?" Elizabeth stuttered, eyes widening in panicky reaction.

	
"Yes, indeed, Elizabeth. Miss Evans and I have at least half a dozed more sauces we'd like to try out. She'll be very interest to hear the results of this afternoon's test, let me tell you." Mr. Riggs confided, happily.

	
Elizabeth's lip began to tremble slightly, and she uttered a disbelieving little whimper as Mr. Riggs ushered her towards the exit.

	
"I'm quite looking forward to it. I'll see you in class tomorrow, Elizabeth." said Mr. Riggs, as he pushed her gently out the door and closed it shut behind her.

	
Elizabeth stared at the door for a moment, her mouth working in shocked surprised. Finally, she managed to get a hold on herself and turned from the door, heaving a great sigh. She immediately winced in reaction, as the deep breath had caused her taught shirt, which was now beginning to stain through a little in places due to the remnants of sauce, to chafe at her sensitive skin. She began her walk home, legs wobbling occasionally as a careless movement or even just a stray breeze of cool air caused the nerves in the skin of her breasts to protest angrily.

	
It was a very long walk.

 No.8338

11 - Second Verse, Same as the First

	
Elizabeth's breasts felt better by the next morning, which meant that she was able to touch her own skin there without cringing in too much pain. They still didn't feel good, by any means, but the worst edge of sharp rawness her skin had felt the evening before was blunted. She hadn't had the courage to try to clean herself off the night before, so had slept, eventually, still covered in a mixture of dried sauce and Mr. Riggs' saliva. She hadn't even been able to bear the touch of her sheets or blankets to her chest, so had pulled them around the rest of herself and slept as best she could on her back, her breasts uncovered and exposed, their bare, aching skin shivering in the relative chill of the air of her bedroom.

	
Elizabeth's skin now felt kind of like it had been sunburned, badly, although there was no peeling in evidence. She had stepped into her morning shower too quickly, forgetting her condition for a moment, and had been most sharply reminded when the soft threads of water cascading out of the shower head felt like needles being driven into her skin. Her flesh had adjusted, though, and by the end of the long, hot shower she was using the detachable head to closely spray away the lather of her third attempt to remove the sauce stains from her breasts. Try as she might, her skin remained lightly colored by the sauces, even after their last sticky remnants had been washed clean.

	
She had glanced once at her bra drawer, then shook her head to herself. There was no way she was up to that yet, she thought, so she simply went without. From the looks she got throughout the school day, it was obvious to her that most of her peers had noticed the change from her usual attire. Some, not all of them boys, and not all of them students, seemed to take pleasure in noticing as many times as they thought they could get away with. It didn't help that she had chosen to wear her lightest, thinnest top, to lessen the pressure on her sensitive skin, and that the day was as typically chill as one could expect in late autumn.

	
She had thought that chemistry that day might be a bit awkward, but Mr. Riggs' attitude towards her appeared unchanged. He called on Elizabeth once or twice during class, as he did to most of the rest of her peers, and treated her exactly as he usually did. He didn't even acknowledge her, beyond a cursory glance and slight nod, as she filed past his desk on her way to the door with the rest of her classmates at the end of the day.

	
The next day, Friday, Elizabeth's skin felt even better. Certainly not normal, but her breasts no longer occupied her almost sole attention anymore, and she could stand the light touch of fabric against her skin without wanting to bite her lip in reaction to the jangling pulses of irritated nerves. Nerves of a different kind were definitely jangling within her as the end of Mr. Riggs' class approached, however.

	
Her trepidation increased rapidly as everyone in the room but she and Mr. Riggs left, happily starting their weekend, and Elizabeth immediately began a series of stammering pleas and excuses as Mr. Riggs led her to the back room once again.

	
Mr. Riggs waited patiently for her to finish, a tolerant and amused expression on his face as her long list of reasons why they should postpone her next appointment with his oven, mostly composed of just how much her breasts still hurt and how they needed time to heal, eventually trailed off into silence.

	
"Pull your shirt up." Mr. Riggs said, wryly.

	
"Um, what?" Elizabeth replied, startled by his bluntness.

	
"Pull your shirt up, please, Elizabeth. I'd like to see the horrific damage my oven caused to you with my own eyes, if you don't mind." said Mr. Riggs, an amused half smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

	
Elizabeth hesitated a moment, then complied, looking up and away from Mr. Riggs and blushing furiously as she grabbed the hem of her shirt in both hands and pulled it up to her collarbone, exposing her breasts. She couldn't help glancing back at Mr. Riggs' face as he bent down and peered interestedly at her chest.

	
"Well, they don't look particularly singed to me, Elizabeth." stated Mr. Riggs.

	
Her teacher casually reached out with his right hand and cupped Elizabeth's left breast, squeezing it gently as he pivoted it back and forth so he could see every side of it clearly. Elizabeth had inhaled sharply at his touch, and held in her surprised breath, eyes wide, as her teacher manipulated her breast with his large, warm hand.

	
Mr. Riggs released his grip, but rather than removing his hand, he instead brushed his thumb across the front of her breast several times, apparently studying the skin around her nipple and areola. Elizabeth squeaked at his touch. Her nipples were still by far the most tender part of her breasts, and his explorations had caused little lightning bolts of sensation, not entirely unpleasant, to shoot from them up her spine.

	
"You look a little stained from the sauces still, but that's not a problem." said Mr. Riggs, smiling and leaning back up from Elizabeth's bare chest.

	
"No, these are definitely going into the oven today, Elizabeth. We've still got a lot of flavors of sauce to test, and I don't want to waste any time." Mr. Riggs said, finishing his inspection and patting her breast fondly several times along its outside edge. Little jiggling quivers propagated back and forth across her flesh as he did so.

	
Mr. Riggs' ministrations, especially the little proprietary pat of her breast at the end, had caused a surge of odd emotions in Elizabeth, and she had to swallow her heart back down her throat before she could shakily reply.

	
"Oh.. Okay, Mr. Riggs. I guess.."

	
"That's the spirit. Now let's get you shirtless, scrubbed, and ready to cook." replied Mr. Riggs, beaming down at her.

	
The part of the preparations that Elizabeth had been most dreading, perhaps even more so that actually having to endure the heat of the oven or her teacher's culinary delight in her flesh afterwards, was Mr. Riggs scrubbing her breasts clean before hand. He did not disappoint her expectations in this regard.

	
She somehow endured his scrubbing, her eyes wide, biting her lip, with a frown of surprised, disbelieving consternation marring her brows, as he worked her flesh with the rough pad remorselessly. He had instructed her to grasp the lip of the lab station and thrust her chest out over the sink, and she stayed in that position, mostly, throughout the whole ordeal. Mr. Riggs had only needed to slap her hands away from shielding her abused flesh a few times before she had given up and simply let him finish his task. Her only audible contribution to the event was a continuous low sound, something between a whimper and a wail.

	
She recovered from this trial to find herself positioned before the same oven as last time, though it appeared different now. The oven itself was much the same, but instead of being located on the workbench, Mr. Riggs had apparently constructed a stand for it, ingeniously overcoming the awkward positioning that had troubled Elizabeth's last session with this device. The sturdy wooden stand stood free of the workbench, and was the exact height necessary to place the oven at a perfect level for Elizabeth's breasts.

	
While Elizabeth took in the new developments in breast cooking convenience, Mr. Riggs stepped behind her, appropriated both of her arms, and rebound them behind her back. Then, without any ceremony, he pushed her torso down on to the pads of the angled side of the oven, her breasts fitting through the holes made for them perfectly.

	
"Everything feel alright, Elizabeth? Is the height correct?" he inquired, still behind her.

	
"Uh, yeah, Mr. Riggs. Um.. everything feels the same as last time." Elizabeth replied, and gulped.

	
"Good, good. I had hoped so. Now, stay in position, please." Mr. Riggs replied.

	
Mr. Riggs then proved himself to be as good, or perhaps bad, from Elizabeth's point of view, as his word, because he produced several straps from beneath the work bench and proceeded to bind Elizabeth securely to the oven's metal frame, using hooks and little ratcheting mechanisms that Elizabeth was only now noticing had been added to it.

	
"Um, Mr. Riggs, is that really necessary?" Elizabeth asked, alarmed.

	
"Yes, I think so, Elizabeth. You nearly squirmed right off the oven several times last session. I know it was inadvertent, but now you won't have to worry about that happening at all any more." said Mr. Riggs, as he finished tightening the last strap.

	
Elizabeth was held down quite tightly to the oven by the straps. She could still breath acceptably, but she certainly wasn't going anywhere without Mr. Riggs' help, or perhaps permission, first. The thought didn't comfort her, because she hadn't been worrying in the slightest about accidentally slipping off the oven while she baked. She had actually thought that being able to get off the contraption whenever she wanted to was an excellent feature, but apparently Mr. Riggs disagreed.

	
"Now, down to business." said Mr. Riggs, happily rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

	
The process of Elizabeth's breasts being basted and baked occurred much the same as it had last time, with Mr. Riggs turning the oven up each time after the first few bastings of sauce across her flesh. Elizabeth would have sworn that Mr. Riggs had turned the oven up even higher than during her previous time on the device, but her teacher promised her that he had returned the temperature to exactly the same as she had last endured, and not a degree higher. Whether it was the same temperature or not, it certainly felt hotter to Elizabeth, and she moaned and writhed in near agony as her breasts roasted in the tremendous heat for an entire hour.

	
Mr. Riggs did try out a new experiment on her, which resulted in a few moments of unanticipated excitement. The previous time he had Elizabeth's breasts within his oven, he had basted them the entire time by brush. He was satisfied with the results the utensil had provided, but wondered whether or not it might be more efficient to use a turkey baster once the sauces pooling below the slowly baking globes had heated up to temperature and were deep enough. His first attempt to utilize the turkey baster in this way was was also his last, and very nearly brought the whole show to a crashing stop, quite literally.

	
Mr. Riggs had waited until several bastings into the session to try the turkey baster. He stuck the opaque plastic tube deep within the sauce below Elizabeth's left breast, and drew as much of the very hot fluid up in to the utensil as he could manage. Then, using both hands to aim the baster, he squirted the liquid liberally over Elizabeth's trapped flesh, quickly and effectively coating her whole left breast in steaming sauce.

	
Elizabeth's reaction to this event was entirely predictable, Mr. Riggs thought, looking back in hindsight. Each previous time Mr. Riggs had basted her flesh, he had been dragging just a little of the sauce, which was so hot that she could barely endure it, across her skin. The amount of additional heat transferred into her quivering flesh at any one time by the brush was minimal. The turkey baster, however, splashed an entire breasts' worth of sauce on to Elizabeth all at once. Elizabeth squawked loudly in shock as heat, far more than she was prepared for, flooded into every portion of the skin of her left breast, and she jerked back hard against the straps securing her to the oven in reaction. The straps held, which meant that the force of Elizabeth's sudden motion was transferred directly to the oven itself.

	
The oven, which was just a mostly hollow box of medium thickness glass and thin metal, jerked with Elizabeth. It nearly toppled off its stand, which it had been merely resting on, backwards on to the poor girl strapped into it. The situation was only saved by Mr. Riggs dropping his turkey baster and lunging forward to grab the oven hard, using his weight arrest the fall from the stand before it could properly begin. He wrestled with the device for a moment, and managed to drag both it and the girl cooking on it back to their proper place on the stand.

	
Thankfully, at least to Mr. Riggs, very little of the sauces in the pan below Elizabeth's breasts had spilled, and Mr. Riggs was able to wipe up what had quickly enough to prevent it from running down the inner sides of the oven and on to the heating elements below. Whether or not Elizabeth was grateful that not much of the sauce had spilled, Mr. Riggs wasn't able to tell, because the girl was still sputtering and moaning, eyes streaming tears, about her left breast.

	
Elizabeth had, in fact, hardly even noticed the near catastrophe, so consumed was she by the sudden eruption of heat on her breast. Even now, after most of the heat within the oven had escaped during the excitement, her flesh felt like it was still being dipped in boiling water. She hardly noticed when Mr. Riggs resumed basting her right breast in its own coating of fresh, hot sauce. He returned to using the basting brush, rather than turkey baster, to do it, however.

	
Mr. Riggs's experiment hadn't proved quite as successful as he had hoped, but it hadn't been a complete failure either, he thought. The turkey baster had coated Elizabeth's breast quite thoroughly and efficiently, after all. He just hadn't thought far enough ahead to the inevitable results of doing so. An oven more securely attached to a sufficiently heavy base, and perhaps further immobilization of the girl being baked within it, would allow for the use of the turkey baster during the majority of the cooking process. Less time basting would mean less heat escaping from the oven, which, in turn, would mean more time for the meat to bake at a more even temperature. Yes, Mr. Riggs thought, the turkey baster certainly had promise. He would need to try to accommodate it into the next round of re-designs for this particular oven.

	
After their little bout of excitement, Mr. Riggs resumed basting Elizabeth in the tried and tested way, ignoring her periodic tearful pleas for release or, failing that, at least a decrease in the temperature she was cooking at. He did, however, give her several large drinks of water throughout the process. He also paused occasionally to take up his little camera and snap photos, both wide shots of Elizabeth strapped to the oven from various angles, as well as close-ups of her sauce dripping, slowly browning breasts.

	
The water seemed to help, because Elizabeth was a little more responsive this time after her hour on the oven was up. She actually almost walked by herself the few steps over to the work bench, needing only a guiding hand from Mr. Riggs to keep her steady and upright, after he released her from the oven. He did have to help her up on to the surface of the bench though, as she couldn't do it herself with her arms still bound behind her.

	
Once she was sat up on the bench, and Mr. Riggs had taken his place in front of her, head level with her browned and heaving chest, Elizabeth had begged him, brokenly, during the time while her meat "rested", to please be gentle while testing the flavors of her flesh. Mr. Riggs, after snapping several more photos of her and her half-cooked chest, shushed her pleas with a single finger across her lips, and assured Elizabeth that her welfare was the foremost thing on his mind.

	
Once he started in on her, however, whatever restraint he may or may not have intended seemed to evaporate. He spent long minutes devouring the sauce baked in to each of her breasts, savaging her flesh even more thoroughly than he had the previous Wednesday. He seemed to especially relish every suck, every lick, every nibble, and yes, even every gentle and not so gentle chew, on the tender tips of her breasts. He ravished her nipples, taking from them everything they had to give, then demanding more.

	
Elizabeth was, by the time he had finished with her, an insensate wreck. Her only movements were a juddering, shivering, and practically continuous full body quivering, which made her to appear to be nearly convulsing. Her head hung limply back, her eyes were rolled up, and her jaw hung mostly slack, only barely managing to mouth the occasional wordless, low groan. His meal concluded, he laid her down on her side on the top of the work bench, not ungently, and left her there to recover as best she could, without bothering to unbind her arms.

	
By the time she had regained a little of herself, nearly half an hour later, Mr. Riggs had cleaned and squared away all the mess and disorder that had accumulated while he had cooked Elizabeth, and was sitting before her, simply observing the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He helped her lean herself upright, then helped her drink a beaker of pep infused water, which soon had its revivifying effect on her. Once she began to show a bit more animation, Mr. Riggs unbound Elizabeth's arms, and watched with interest the movements that the slow stretching and rolling of her sore shoulders produced within her ample, bare, baked breasts.

	
Elizabeth again declined to have Mr. Riggs clean her chest of the residue of his meal, and nearly screamed when she felt the fabric of her shirt be pulled down her torso and over her bosom by her very solicitous teacher. He mounted her backpack upon her shoulders, producing more grimacing and agonized moaning, then sent her on her way with his thanks and several pats to the rump, both of which she hardly even seemed to notice. He watched her toddle away slowly, Elizabeth occasionally pausing for a moment after several steps, as if steeling herself for the next few.

	
"I'll see you Monday, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs called, grinning at her slowly retreating form. "I'm looking forward to it."

	
No reply came from her, but Mr. Riggs thought he saw Elizabeth hunch over and shiver a little extra when she heard his words. Mr. Riggs chuckled, then pulled the door shut behind him as he reentered his classroom, his grin transforming into a broad, satisfied smile.

 No.8339

12 - Variations on a Theme

	
Mr. Riggs continued to cook Elizabeth's breasts every day she was with him the entire next week. It seemed that he had decided that, rather than building his ovens for him, she was now much better employed as a test subject for the ovens themselves. With each new session, he would also produce some new idea that he would then subject Elizabeth's trapped, vulnerable flesh too.

	
Monday's new innovation had seemed, at the time, to be particularly shocking. Mr. Riggs had waited until Elizabeth and her still very sensitive, scarcely recovered breasts were strapped into and trapped within his oven before revealing several large syringes, each full of an ominous dark fluid and tipped with a thin, wickedly sharp needle. He had waited until her panic subsided to explain to her his intentions.

	
"I've been wanting to test my nipple injector out on you, but the device simply isn't ready, and I'm not sure when it will be." Mr. Riggs had explained. "Meanwhile, there are several marinades that I've been dying to try out with the darn thing. Since it isn't working though, I thought that I'd just cut out the middle machine and inject the marinades by hand."

	
Mr. Riggs' calm, reasonable explanation hadn't produced a calm, reasonable reaction in Elizabeth. It was several more minutes before she stopped trying to escape the binds securing her to the oven, or begging him to not inject her with his syringes, to release her, or to just cook her breasts like he normally did. She didn't seem too particular on which of her demands he accede to, merely that he do so for at least one of them.

	
Mr. Riggs had waited out her struggles and vocal protests patiently, then placed both syringes on the oven in front of her, allowing her to see them clearly. He then placed both hands around her cheeks, tilted her teary face up toward his, and talked to her quietly, calmly, and earnestly.

	
"Elizabeth, you've been a great help to me so far. You've greatly exceeded what I ever really expected you to accomplish. You've been an able assistant in the construction of, and an excellent test subject for, my ovens. You have endured superbly over the past few sessions, and I am frankly amazed at how well you bounce back after each one. I've never given you more that I though you could overcome before, and I'm not asking what I don't believe is more you can withstand now."

	
"Although, perhaps asking is the wrong word. Prepare yourself, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs finished, removing his right hand from around her face and picking up one of the syringes with it.

	
"P-Puh-Please, M-Mr. Riggs, p-please." Elizabeth continued to beg, beseeching him with tears still streaming from the corners of her eyes and shaking her head gently from side to side.

	
Mr. Riggs just smiled at her warmly, patted her damp cheek with his left hand, then withdrew it. He leaned down towards the opening of the oven, moving both hands in towards Elizabeth's left breast.

	
If Elizabeth hadn't been able to watch it happening, perhaps she wouldn't have found the experience so frightening the first time. As it was, her eyes were locked on the instrument of her fear as it slowly approached her flesh. She couldn't, or wouldn't, look away. She inhaled sharply when Mr. Riggs grasped her breast firmly with his left hand, steadying it. Mr. Riggs actually paused for a moment, right before the moment of truth, the very tip of the syringe's needle gently pressing into the center of her nipple, slightly pricking her, to glance back up Elizabeth. The girl's head was still rocking slightly from side to side, in silent negation, her features frozen in dreadful anticipation.

	
Mr. Riggs then pressed the slim steel needle deep into her nipple, ignoring the girl's squeak of pain and panicked gasps. Once the needle reached as deeply as it could into the meat of Elizabeth's breast, Mr. Riggs began exerting gentle pressure on the thumb injector, while also slowly withdrawing the needle from Elizabeth. The end result of this was that approximately a third of the marinade within the syringe was deposited evenly along the path the needle had made through Elizabeth's flesh. A tiny drop of fluid, which looked to be a mixture of the liquid in the syringe and Elizabeth's blood, hung from the tip of her nipple, shining like a dark ruby, after Mr. Riggs finished.

	
Mr. Riggs wasn't completely finished, though, because he proceeded to repeat his movements, at six equidistant spots, within Elizabeth's areola and around her nipple. Each injection was less deep than the first, by a significant margin, and each received a roughly equal portion of the marinade remaining in the syringe. Once the syringe was empty, he replaced it by its mate on top of the oven, allowing Elizabeth to view it directly.

	
"There, that wasn't so terrible, was it?" Mr. Riggs asked.

	
Elizabeth slowed her panicked breathing, then swallowed several times and looked back up at her teacher.

	
"I.. I've been afraid of n-needles ever since I was l-little." she managed to gasp, and shuddered.

	
"It hurt, Mr. Riggs.. b-but not as much as I thought it would, I guess." Elizabeth continued. "It still kind of b-burns a little."

	
"Yes, that will be the marinade, I expect. Don't worry, it isn't permanent. I imagine that much of the marinade I just injected will be gone from your flesh, one way or another, by the end of this session. Anything that remains will be metabolized by your body fairly rapidly. There's no permanent damage done." Mr. Riggs replied, kindly.

	
"Are you ready for the next one?" he asked.

	
Elizabeth glanced down at the remaining full syringe, then closed her eyes and shuddered again.

	
"I.. I guess you're going to do it anyway, so.." she said, gulping. "We may as well g-get it out of the way."

	
"I knew you'd come around." said Mr. Riggs, patting her on the cheek again. "Here we go."

	
Elizabeth didn't squeak this time, but she did let out a little pained sounding exhalation, that fell just short of being a grunt, when Mr. Riggs buried the second syringe into her right breast through her nipple. She did bite her lip and squirm a little as he pumped the fluid contained within the syringe into her flesh, though. Each secondary injection around her nipple received much the same reaction, and when Mr. Riggs finally finished filling her flesh with flavoring, she heaved a great relieved sigh, closed her eyes, and lowered her flushed, tear streaked face, resting her forehead on the top of the oven before her.

	
She raised her head again a few minutes later, after Mr. Riggs had coated her breasts with their first layer of sauces and turned the heat of the oven up, and asked him a question.

	
"Will injecting my nipples with marinade really make me taste better, Mr. Riggs?" Elizabeth mused thoughtfully, seemingly almost to herself.

	
"That's the idea." Mr. Riggs agreed. "I'm not sure how well it will work, but I am quite interested to find out. I filled each of your nipples and surrounding flesh with marinades that should complement the sauces I've applied to the rest of your breasts."

	
"Granted, the marinade injections are mostly designed to flavor the insides of your breasts, which I would have access to only if I fully cooked them. That's why I used only the small amount that I did, and merely injected it near the surface of your nipples. Since we're not cooking you fully, that is probably the only area to put the marinade where I might be able to actually taste it. There wasn't any point in providing you with the full treatment."

	
"H-how much marinade would you have injected into me if you were, um, going to give me the full treatment and really cook my breasts?" Elizabeth asked, her tone conveying equal parts curiousness and nervousness, as if her curiosity had just barely overcome her reluctance to actually have Mr. Riggs speculate about cooking her breasts completely.

	
"Probably somewhere between a cup and a pint or so, in each breast, in various points. It depends a lot of the size of the breast that is going to be cooked. Yours might actually take more than a pint, but I'm not completely sure." said Mr. Riggs, thoughtfully. "A lot of this is theoretical, Elizabeth. We're blazing new trails in the culinary world, and having to make up most of it as we go along."

	
Elizabeth gulped again, suddenly imagining the size of the syringe Mr. Riggs might use if he was injecting a whole pint of marinade into her flesh. She was very glad, at that moment, that Mr. Riggs wasn't cooking her completely, for multiple reasons.

	
The rest of the afternoon, compared to the dramatic beginning, seemed almost normal to Elizabeth. She once again endured the blazing heat of the oven, and the even more intense heat of the sauce being regularly basted and re-basted on to her breasts. Perhaps Mr. Riggs hadn't turned the oven up quite as hot today, although it certainly felt like he had, or perhaps the multiple beakers of water he had brought her were responsible, or perhaps she was simply beginning to grow accustomed to having her boobs be half baked every few days, but whatever the reason, she wasn't nearly as out of it at the end of her time in the oven as she had been both times the previous week.

	
Elizabeth wasn't sure that was a good thing though, after Mr. Riggs started devouring the sauce from her skin. He seemed determined that every drop of marinade that he had injected into her flesh be sucked or licked or even chewed back out of her nipples, no matter how long it took. Being more alert as he repeatedly ground her sensitive, heat seared nubs between his strong teeth, stopping only just short of causing actual damage to her flesh as he did so, didn't seem to be much of a boon. She would have been bucking and thrashing her body against the abuse he was dealing to her poor breasts and nipples, had she the leverage to have done so and had he not been gripping her so tightly.

	
After she had recovered from his oral assault on her flesh, he had happily informed her, while unbinding her arms, that he thought that he had detected at least a small improvement in the amount of flavor in her nipples, and that they were definitely going to have to do additional tests to try to confirm and possibly even improve upon the process. Elizabeth whimpered quietly to herself on her way home, partly at the idea of being subjected to more flavor enhancing injections and partly because of the stinging of the flesh of her breasts, darkly contemplating the syringes that might be part of her new normal in the future.

	
The next session had seen the introduction of a much heavier stand, which the oven was now securely attached to. These improvements heralded the return of the turkey baster, which Elizabeth quickly came to dread far more than she had ever feared any silly needle. The heavier stand also featured additional restraints for her ankles and lower thighs, which proved their worth every time Mr. Riggs sucked up a baster full of overly hot sauce and sprayed it all over one of her poor, suffering breasts. Each time he did so, the extra straps and reinforced stand managed to prevent her from yanking herself and the oven over backwards in agonized, automatic physical reaction.

	
Indeed, the heat her poor breasts endured that Wednesday had her more than half convinced that Mr. Riggs had decided to cook her completely, despite his repeated reassurances to the contrary. Every time Mr. Riggs opened the oven to re-coat her breasts in their steaming sauces, she would beg and plead him to just use his brushes, like he normally would. When he ignored her entreaties, as he always did, and sprayed his turkey baster full of hot fluid all over her sensitive skin, her cries would be so loud that she thought, and even hoped, that someone outside the classroom would hear her and, perhaps, come rescue her from her torment. No one did, of course.

	
Perhaps the worst part of it all was, since Mr. Riggs would always spray more liquid than was actually needed to coat her flesh, how the extra sauce would drip and slide down the sides of each breast, to gather at her nipples before dripping off, bathing them in extra heat while doing so. The situation grew increasingly dire as her ordeal wore on, because whatever sauces he had chosen for that day grew only thicker and more viscous as more and more water evaporated from them. Mr. Riggs also didn't seem inclined to replenish the stocks of thickening sauce with more fresh sauce like he usually did, for whatever reasons of his own.

	
Towards the end of her time in her teacher's oven, the sauces had thickened up to be nearly the consistency of honey or molasses, and would pool at the ends of her breasts for long moments, burning her all the while, before finally oozing slowly off her nipples. Compounding matters even further was the fact that Mr. Riggs had indeed injected Elizabeth with more special marinade before beginning to cook her that day. He had concentrated his efforts solely on the little buds of flesh that were her nipples, ignoring every other part of her breasts, pumping them more full of stinging marinade than she would have thought possible.

	
By the close of her usual hour in the oven, Elizabeth's breathing had been reduced to short, sharp pants, with each exhale being a little unbelieving cry at the amount of pain her breasts and especially nipples were enduring. She longed to slip off into the oblivion of unconsciousness, but Mr. Riggs took great care to keep her awake and aware, providing constant drafts of cool water between bastings, even going so far as to slip her a little pep in one of them. When he finally removed her from the oven, she was barely breathing, shivering and trembling, and sure that Mr. Riggs had cooked her nipples completely.

	
Mr. Riggs proved her wrong a few minutes later, when he started eating the sauce from her thickly coated breasts. If her nipples had truly been burnt to a crisp, then they certainly wouldn't have screamed such bloody agony at her as her teacher nibbled thoughtfully on them. By the time he finished crushing the marinade he had injected into her earlier back out again with his molars, Elizabeth's voice had completely deserted her, and the only thing she seemed capable of doing was to stare dully down at Mr. Riggs as he mauled her tortured breasts. Elizabeth reflected, after Mr. Riggs had given each of her nipples a final, excruciating chew and laid her down on the workbench to rest, that it might have actually been better if he had cooked them completely and then ate them off, because at least then they wouldn't be hurting her so damned much.

	
The most incongruous thing about the day, though, was how Mr. Riggs talked to Elizabeth afterwards, as she recovered, about his efforts to rename his turkey baster to something more appropriate.

	
"It isn't really a turkey baster anymore, because I'm not currently basting any turkeys with it, nor have I ever." he said, musing to himself. "And just calling it a baster is functional, certainly, but a little bland, I think. There should be room for fun or interesting names in the kitchen."

	
"Breast baster is certainly appropriate, since that is what we've been doing with it this whole time. Girl baster might be better though, because I'm sure that I'll need to baste parts of girls that aren't breasts with it at some point." he continued.

	
"Perhaps I should name it after the first girl I used it on, sort of in her, er, your, honor, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said. "Hmm.. the Elizabeth baster. A bit long, I think.. The Elizabaster? That's kind of catchy. What do you think, Elizabeth? Want to have a kitchen implement renamed after you? Elizabaster, eh?"

	
Elizabeth, who was still shivering and speechless in reaction to the prior and ongoing pain in her breasts, merely looked up at him. If she'd had any energy or willpower to spare, which she most emphatically did not, she might have rolled her eyes at him. As it was, however, she simply let her gaze slide from her teacher and back down to the ruins of her chest. Mr. Riggs seemed to understand how she was feeling though, because he dropped the issue.

	
"Ah well, think about it, Elizabeth." was all he said.

	
Elizabeth's chest didn't actually look ruined. At least, it looked no more ruined that it ever did after one of her sessions with Mr. Riggs, but it sure felt ruined to her. Elizabeth thought that perhaps some kind of tipping point within her flesh had been reached. So much abuse had been heaped upon her breasts, in such a short amount of time over the past few weeks, that the sensations coming from her nerves there seemed to be becoming weirdly warped. Perhaps, Elizabeth feared, even permanently.

	
The next few days only served to confirm Elizabeth's fears about her poor breasts. The trials her chest had endured at her Wednesday extra credit session had felt the worst so far, by a fair margin, and she had feared that her breasts might not recover from them. Recover they appeared to do, though. By Friday morning, her skin looked as healthy and normal on the outside as ever, despite the sauce stains that by now seemed like they might never fade. On the inside, however, Elizabeth's breasts felt as far from healthy and normal as she thought it might be possible for them to be.

	
Immediately after her sessions with Mr. Riggs and his breast cooking oven (before Wednesday's session with the Elizabaster, that is) Elizabeth's chest would be hyper sensitive to pain stimuli, and even something as light as a breath of wind would pain her greatly. This hyper sensitivity would fade overnight as she slept, and when she awoke the next morning the flesh of her breasts would feel merely extremely sensitive. Over the course of the next several days, her breasts would usually return to feeling nearly normal, and be only moderately tender by the time Mr. Riggs wanted to cook them again.

	
After Wednesday's session, however, the hypersensitivity she felt immediately afterwards had faded very little by the next morning. She had been scarcely able to take a lukewarm shower before school. The rubbing on her skin by the fabric of her lightest top had seemed an agony, and she had held herself as still and stiff as she could the entire day, hardly daring to breath. The worst affected parts of her breasts were, naturally, her nipples. Not only had her tender nubs endured the most abuse the afternoon before, they were also the part of her chest that rubbed against her shirt the most often and most vigorously.

	
Elizabeth had hoped that another night's rest might finally restore some measure of normalcy to her chest, but she was to be disappointed. Her skin felt scarcely improved, and she dreaded the upcoming extra credit session with Mr. Riggs, sure that she wouldn't be able to withstand whatever devious surprise he was sure to have in store for her that afternoon.

	
Mr. Riggs had asked Elizabeth to come to his class as early as she possibly could that day, and she managed to arrive before all the students of his previous class had even been able to leave. Once the last one left, and before any other students of Elizabeth's class could arrive, Mr. Riggs quickly led Elizabeth into the back room, closed the door behind them, and then instructed her to remove her shirt. Elizabeth was confused, since she thought that she still had to attend her normal chemistry class with Mr. Riggs before their afternoon extra credit session would start. Mr. Riggs informed her that she would be beginning their session a bit early that day, however. While he taught class with the rest of her peers, she would be in the back room soaking in marinade.

	
Mr. Riggs then revealed a large tub full of a dark, reddish liquid, which itself was within a wide, shallow pan.

	
"Just let me scrub down your breasts real quick, so you can start marinading with clean skin." Mr. Riggs said.

	
Despite her protests that her chest couldn't possibly withstand one of Mr. Riggs intense scrubbings, she quickly found herself shirtless, with her hands once again bound behind her back, and with her breasts thrust out over the sink. After cautioning her to remain as quiet as possible, so as not to alert her soon to be arriving classmates of her presence in the back room, Mr. Riggs began scrubbing her breasts, as vigorously and remorselessly as he usually did.

	
Elizabeth found out something new about her breasts in those few, long minutes as Mr. Riggs worked her skin over with the rough pad. While the flesh of her chest was still quite hyper-sensitive to pain, it also appeared that her breasts were now hyper-sensitive to pretty much every other sensation as well. The pain of the pad scouring across her skin was very great indeed, but nearly equally shocking was the rush of another feeling the scrubbing provoked: pleasure. Granted, the amount of pleasure she was deriving from the rough cleansing was much smaller than the amount of pain that it caused. The conflicting mix of stimuli was very confusing to Elizabeth, however, but before she could think much about it, Mr. Riggs had finished with her.

	
"Okay. Now, just bend over the tub of marinade there and lay your chest down into it. Don't mind if it overflows, that's what the catch pan is for. Keep your breasts in there until I come back, alright?" said Mr. Riggs.

	
Her teacher gave her an approving smile, then left to teach his class. Elizabeth sighed, shakily, as her chest was still burning and pulsing with both the expected pain and unexpected pleasure that Mr. Riggs' scrubbing had imparted. After eyeing the marinade for a moment, Elizabeth decided that she might as well get started on soaking herself and bent carefully down to it. The marinade was at room temperature, and stung a little as she sank her breasts into it. Elizabeth could faintly smell alcohol in the dark fluid, and wondered if the marinade was based on some sort of wine or cooking sherry. She didn't know much about alcohol, but her mother did sometimes cook with it, when she had enough time.

	
The tub did overflow a bit, and while most of it spilled into the catch pan, Elizabeth felt some of it run down the skin of her stomach and soak into her jeans, joining the slight dampness that had come from splashes of water during her scrubbing. The position was a little uncomfortable, and Elizabeth wished that Mr. Riggs hadn't bound her arms behind her just yet, so she could have steadied herself a bit better. Mr. Riggs seemed to prefer her with her arms bound, though, even if they didn't necessarily need to be. Most of her time with him the past few weeks had been spent in that condition, and if the way he had completely immobilized her during Wednesday's session was any indication, she could only look forward to more of the same, and probably worse, in the future.

	
Being marinaded, Elizabeth decided, several hours later, was pretty boring. She hadn't had anything to do, besides staring at the wall and listening to the low, nearly inaudible sounds of class being taught in the next room, other than to contemplate the oven she knew was behind her and that she would soon be within. She couldn't see the clock from her position over the tub, and didn't want to lift herself out of the marinade, since Mr. Riggs had explicitly asked her not to, to check it. She was pretty sure that school had to be out by now, though, and wondered where Mr. Riggs was. She had to wait another half an hour, at least, before her teacher returned.

	
"Well, Elizabeth, it looks like you stayed in there the whole time, like I asked. Thank you." said Mr. Riggs, as he closed the door behind him.

	
"It's later than I planned, but I was talking to Miss Evans about some things after classes ended, and the time just got away from me." he said. "Still, it's probably for the best. More time for the meat to absorb the flavor of the marinade."

	
"Uh, I guess so, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth replied. "Can I stand up now?"

	
"Yes, go ahead. I'd like to get you into the oven right away." said Mr. Riggs.

	
Soon enough, Elizabeth was strapped into the now very familiar oven. Mr. Riggs had bound her legs to the stand the device was secured to as well, which worried Elizabeth. She didn't think she could handle another session with the Elizabaster, and thought that the extra restraints might mean he intended to use it. Mr. Riggs kept talking as he got Elizabeth ready to cook.

	
"I was showing Miss Evans the photos I've taken of this oven in use and the results afterward. She was very impressed, to say the least." Mr. Riggs said, chatting to Elizabeth happily. "I've been giving her a lot to think about these past few week, because I've been sharing with her every detail of how you tasted with each different sauce. She has had several excellent suggestions on how best to complement your natural flavors, Elizabeth."

	
"You.. You've been showing her pictures of me, like this?" Elizabeth asked, a bit shocked.

	
"Of course. Miss Evans trained and worked as a chef for several years before becoming a teacher, and I'm very lucky to have had her to help me, I think." replied Mr. Riggs, who either hadn't noticed or was ignoring his student's alarmed reaction at having pictures of herself wearing only sauce bandied about.

	
"Come to think of it, I haven't shown you the photos yet, have I? You look quite good in them, let me tell you. Very appetizing." said Mr. Riggs, as he finished giving Elizabeth's breasts their first coating of sauce and turned up the heat of the oven.

	
Mr. Riggs turned away from Elizabeth for a moment, leaving his student to contemplate the horror of images of herself having her breasts cooked turning up on the internet. He picked up a computer tablet, fiddled with it for a moment, then brought it over to the oven and held it up for Elizabeth to view.

	
Elizabeth's mouth dropped open as Mr. Riggs flipped from one picture to the next. There were a surprising amount of photos. It seemed that the few times Elizabeth had noticed Mr. Riggs photographing her had been but a tithe of the actual number of images he had captured. Almost every picture showed a bound, topless girl, who looked to Elizabeth like a much thinner version of herself, either leaning against the oven she was currently starting to bake in, or else sitting on the surface of a large table, the workbench, with her obviously well baked breasts thrust out in front of her, as if offering them up to the world.

	
"Tha.. That's me?" said Elizabeth, disbelief clearly coloring her voice. "I look so skinny."

	
"Well, skinny might be a bit much, my dear, but you do certainly look far more appealing than you used to. You have lost quite a bit of weight, after all. Have you been doing those exercises I suggested?" said Mr. Riggs, not unkindly.

	
"Uh, yeah. I usually have to do a dozen or so reps every night before I can get to sleep." Elizabeth replied, absently.

	
"Well, that isn't as much as each exercise called for, but that's still someth.." Mr. Riggs started to say, but Elizabeth interrupted him.

	
"No, I mean I do what each exercise in the folder says to do, as many times as it says to do it, a dozen or so times rather than the two or three times that's suggested, Mr. Riggs." she clarified.

	
Mr. Riggs blinked in surprise.

	
"Er, wow, Elizabeth. That means that you're probably doing four times the amount of repetitions the exercises actually recommend, at the very least. I'm.. very impressed." said Mr. Riggs, clearly wondering how much pep the girl had to be imbibing to need to burn off that much excess energy every night.

	
"Well, I don't do it every day." said Elizabeth. "Just the days we don't do, uh, this. I'm usually tired enough after you cook me that I just fall right asleep afterwards."

	
Mr. Riggs just nodded to that, and kept flipping through the images on the tablet for Elizabeth. The wide shot images of Elizabeth's whole form had given way to close ups of her breasts, either as they baked within the oven, or as they appeared, quite well done, after coming out of the oven. Elizabeth seemed to be particularly amazed at these images.

	
"I can't believe how.. how good they look." said Elizabeth, staring at a photo that had been taken of her chest after it had been taken out of the oven just the previous session, on Wednesday.

	
"I mean, they really look like they're completely cooked and.. and ready to eat." she finished, voice full of dawning realization and looking as if she had just had an epiphany of some sort.

	
"Yes, indeed. You can see why I get so enthusiastic about all this, and why I'm sometimes a bit, ah, overeager with you at the end of our little sessions. You always look so decadently delicious, that I can hardly restrain myself." agreed Mr. Riggs.

	
Mr. Riggs had started flipping back through the images, in the opposite direction. As he passed through the close-ups, and then back in to the wide shots, Elizabeth stopped him and asked look at one particular image again.

	
The image was also from her last session with Mr. Riggs. It looked like he had taken it just after he had re-basted her breasts with the Elizabaster, Elizabeth thought. While she remembered, very clearly, her agonized reactions that had accompanied each basting, the photo seemed to show something much different. The girl on the oven looked almost like she was enjoying her time on the device. Her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, and her expression seemed to be one of nearly sensual pleasure.

	
At her nod, Mr. Riggs flipped back through the rest of the wide shots. In each photo, Elizabeth noticed something similar. The girl having her breasts cooked was clearly enjoying the process, to some degree, in practically every instance.

	
Once he returned to the first image, Mr. Riggs set the tablet back on his desk, and got on with the task of cooking a very perplexed and introspective Elizabeth. Thankfully, he had apparently decided against using the Elizabaster, or even his marinade syringes, today, and was content to simply use his brush every time Elizabeth needed more sauce.

	
The conversation with Mr. Riggs, as well as the photos on the tablet, had distracted Elizabeth from the over sensitivity of her breasts for a few minutes. But, as soon as Mr. Riggs started working his brush against her flesh, however, their condition quickly returned to the forefront of her mind. The confused mix of signals her over stressed nerves were sending to her was nearly overwhelming, and Elizabeth quickly began to loose the ability to discern the difference between them. Was it pain that the heat of the oven was causing her? Was it pleasure she was feeling as Mr. Riggs ran his brush full of hot sauce across her nipple? Both sensations seemed to be occupying the same space within her, and a pulse of one would result in a counter pulse of the other.

	
When Mr. Riggs finally unstrapped her and pulled her off the oven, Elizabeth's chest was buzzing with sensations that were neither pleasure, nor pain. It wasn't, however, merely a mix of both, either. Whatever alchemy had happened within the nerves of her breasts, it had caused the sum of the sensations she was feeling to be greater than its parts. Perhaps due to this, or perhaps to the abundant water she had been supplied by Mr. Riggs during her time cooking, she was the most alert and coherent she had ever been coming off the oven.

	
Mr. Riggs seemed to notice this, because instead of sitting her down and allowing her to rest for a few moments before he began consuming her, he apparently decided to do a little impromptu photo shoot first. He took up his little camera and had her pose in several different positions, then had her thrust her chest out as far as she could, which wasn't much father than it already was, for a series of close up shots of her sauce and marinade imbued breasts.

	
He even unbound her arms, which he had never done during the middle of one of their sessions before, and had her hold up a tray beneath her breasts. Her baked globes rested lightly on the cool metal as Elizabeth held it before her, and Mr. Riggs had her walk back and forth several times along the small room with it as he took photos. He then had her kneel down in front of the workbench and place the tray on it, still resting her breasts upon the tray, then hold her arms behind her back, grasping her elbows with each opposite hand, thrusting her chest out, as if offering herself up.

	
Setting his camera aside, apparently finished with his photography, Mr. Riggs took the opportunity to rebind her arms, somewhat more loosely than usual, and then stood Elizabeth back up. He put away the tray, after rinsing it off, then set Elizabeth up on to the workbench. Rather than taking his usual place in front of her, however, he returned to his camera.

	
Mr. Riggs pulled a card out of the camera, then loaded it into the tablet he had been using earlier. He brought up the photos he had just taken, flicking through them swiftly, then glanced up at Elizabeth.

	
"Want to see?" he asked.

	
Elizabeth nodded, and Mr. Riggs brought the device over and held it up for her, so they could both see it. Out of the whole set, the images of her holding the tray beneath her breasts struck Elizabeth the most. When she saw the final image, the one of herself kneeling before the workbench with her breasts and the tray resting on it, a little fantasy, one like she had never experienced before, unfolded itself within her mind, practically fully formed.

	
Elizabeth saw herself in a large, industrial kitchen, cordoned off in a side area with a group of other girls, all of them nude. Their arms were, of course, bound behind them, just as Elizabeth's often were now. A voice rang through the kitchen, making all the girls jump.

	
"Breasts, table six!" it called.

	
The chef appeared then, who was, of course, Mr. Riggs. He prowled though the little group of girls, eyeing them critically, as if evaluating and appraising each one. Suddenly making his selection, he wrapped his large hand and long, thin fingers around the back of Elizabeth's neck, pulling her out from the rest of the girls and deeper into the depths of the kitchen.

	
He brought her to his oven, then strapped her into the machine and prepared her chest, just as he always did, to bake. Before he cooked her, however, he filled her breasts full to bursting with marinade, using a syringe the size of a soda bottle. He then slathered her with sauce, closed the oven, and cranked the heat higher than he ever had.

	
Once Elizabeth was finished cooking, her chef pulled her off the oven, unbound her arms, and gave her an ornate silver serving tray, which he had Elizabeth hold to her chest and rest her breasts on. He arranged two sets of shining silver cutlery, one alongside each breast, on the tray, then handed her off to a pretty, smiling waitress. The waitress led Elizabeth out of the kitchen and into a rich, tastefully appointed dining room, filled with finely dressed people eating and chatting congenially with each other, none of whom paid her the slightest mind.

	
Her waitress took Elizabeth to a small table, for two, at which a beautiful young couple sat. The waitress presented Elizabeth to them, then had her kneel before their table and place her serving tray, with breasts, upon it, to murmurs of approval and appreciation. The waitress then pulled Elizabeth's arms behind her back and looped them loosely together with a slim ribbon of silk, to better present Elizabeth's baked flesh to the couple that had ordered it. She then topped off the young couple's wine glasses, bid them bon appetite, and left them to their meal.

	
Unlike Mr. Riggs, who only ate the sauce from her breasts, Elizabeth's diners quickly proved to want far more from her. Cutlery clinked and flashed, and Elizabeth felt the wickedly sharp tines of first one meat fork, then the other, slide into her offered flesh, to hold it still for the cruel knives which came next. Slivers of meat were sliced from her, over and over, and each morsel was quickly speared by elegant dining forks and moved to hungry mouths. Each tender slice of her flesh was met with delighted smiles and moans of enjoyment, and her couple often took turns feeding each other pieces of Elizabeth's breasts, sensuously chewing her succulent meat after it passed into their waiting, eager mouths.

	
They finished with Elizabeth while she still had plenty of meat to offer, and the couple debated the merits of asking for a doggy bag. Finally, they decided that, rather than settle for left overs, if they wanted breast again the next day, they would simply return to the restaurant and order more, fresh, from another girl.

	
They abandoned her then, kneeling, half eaten, at their table, her role in their evening's entertainment fulfilled. They had no further use for her, and the only sign of their appreciation for her existence or sacrifice was a large tip on top of their bill, which the waitress was delighted to claim when she came to buss up the table.

	
"Elizabeth?" Mr. Riggs asked, breaking the spell that had taken hold of her.

	
"Huh?" Elizabeth replied, as the fantasy fell away from her mind.

	
"You drifted there for a moment." said Mr. Riggs, a little amused.

	
"Uh.. Well, I just.. I just look so.. good." said Elizabeth, nodding to the image still on the tablet, a little embarrassed. "It, uh, kinda distracted me."

	
"You're right, you do look good, delicious even, and there have been enough distractions, I think, this afternoon." said Mr. Riggs, as he set the tablet aside and slid into the chair in front of her. "I believe that it is time we got down to business."

	
Mr. Riggs may have gone a little easy on her during her time cooking that day, at least compared to the treatment she had received earlier that week, but he didn't spare her then. He dove in on her breasts with his mouth eagerly, and once again proved to have little restraint.

	
At one point during the meal, Elizabeth realized that the cord binding her arms had come loose. Rather than use her newfound freedom to try and extract herself from between her teacher's gnashing teeth, she found herself wrapping her arms around Mr. Riggs' head, gently resting her hands on his warm, slightly stubbled scalp, almost cradling him to her heaving, trembling breasts. The sensations coming from her abused nipples as Mr. Riggs assaulted them was extreme, but it was not mere pain that caused her to cry out. The sensations emanating out of her breasts was the new, strange mix of pain and pleasure, and the intensity of it made her heart feel like it would burst.

	
After he ate his fill, and as Elizabeth rested from her ordeal, Mr. Riggs talked to her about his plans for the next week. He was able to do this because Elizabeth was still far more coherent and self aware than she usually was, post consumption.

	
"I think we've done just about all we can with your breasts, Elizabeth. If you don't mind, I'd like to move on to a new little project next week." Mr. Riggs said.

	
Elizabeth, whose breasts had endured more heat and far more mastication over the past few weeks than she would have believed possible, was surprisingly ambivalent about the news. If Mr. Riggs had told her he wanted to give her breasts a break before this latest session within his oven, she would have been very happy indeed. After this afternoon, however, she almost felt regret upon hearing his pronouncement. The new sensations that she had felt within her abused breasts that day, as well as the strange mix of emotions that had flowered upon seeing herself being prepared and presented in the photos Mr. Riggs had shown her, had engendered a curious, but genuine, acceptance of her current station as her teacher's test subject and occasional snack. She no longer felt like she was merely tolerating Mr. Riggs' eccentric hobby so he would pass her in his class, but like she was now an active, willing participant in his personal quest to find better ways of preparing girl flesh, and indeed, of preparing her own flesh.

	
"Testing the breast cooker so thoroughly was certainly an instructive and stimulating exercise, but there are other designs of ovens that I would like to also expose to the rigors of actual, real world use." Mr. Riggs continued.

	
"What.. What other designs did you want to test, Mr. Riggs?" asked Elizabeth, after reflecting on his statement for a moment.

	
"Well, we've done limbs and breasts, and with great success, I might add, but I think it is time to attempt something grander still." Mr. Riggs replied.

	
"What do you mean?" asked Elizabeth.

	
"Whole roasting, my dear." said Mr. Riggs simply. "I'd like to see how one of my larger ovens performs, as well as try out several new recipe ideas that Miss Evans and myself have been, ah, cooking up in preparation."

	
Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat, and her mind flashed back to the very first oven she had constructed for her teacher. She imagined herself encased entirely within the device, laying fully prone and stretched out, covered in sauce, watching as Mr. Riggs closed the oven door upon her, sealing her in with the rising heat, to begin baking. A shivery thrill of mixed apprehension and nervous excitement ran up her body at the thought.

	
"O-Okay, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth replied, quietly, after her emotions had calmed some.

	
"Splendid! I knew I could count on you, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said, beaming at her.

	
A few minutes later, Elizabeth surprised Mr. Riggs by accepting his offer to allow him to clean the residue of sauce and his own saliva from her roasted flesh before she went home. Mr. Riggs, in turn, surprised Elizabeth when he very carefully and very gently washed her hyper-sensitive breasts, using only mild liquid soap, warm water, and his own large, smooth, and dexterous hands.

	
The feeling of Mr. Riggs patiently cleaning her skin, by the simple expedient of running his fingertips lightly back and forth across her soapy, lathered chest, was unfamiliar, but pleasant and very welcome. After loosening the sticky fluids from her flesh with one hand, he would cup water into the other, then slowly sprinkle it across the newly cleaned skin. He would then gently stroke the mix of water, soap, and sauce from her with both hands.

	
The contrast of his careful treatment of her breasts with his usual, far more direct and uncompromising manipulations of her flesh was a little startling to Elizabeth. Normally, when Mr. Riggs was touching her breasts, he was doing so indirectly, through a rough scrubbing pad, a basting brush, or by sliding slivers of steel into her flesh to fill her with flavoring marinades. The only times her skin was usually in direct contact with that of her teacher's was when he was feasting on her after she had cooked for him.

	
In all cases, it was abundantly clear by Mr. Riggs treatment of her that he regarded her breasts as mere ingredients. Elizabeth's breasts were simply objects to be prepared and consumed, with little regard for what sensations they might have to endure from the casual torments he inflicted on them during the process.

	
The way he was currently treating them, however, as he washed the residue of his earlier abuses away, made it apparent that he was, for the moment, thinking of her breasts as if they were a part of a person: Elizabeth, his student, rather than simply meat for his oven. Mr. Riggs' ministrations brought to Elizabeth's mind the one other occasion when she had received similar treatment from him, which was when he had inspected her breasts for damage after her first experience within his oven. She remembered the surge of emotions that his patting her breast fondly had conjured, and experienced more of the same as her laundering session continued.

	
By the time Mr. Riggs had finished cleaning and gently patting her skin dry with a soft towel, Elizabeth's jeans were again dampened, but from more than just the errant splashes of water that had dripped and flowed down her trembling tummy. As she walked home afterwards, her legs wobbled a bit weakly, which was also due to more than just the usual heat or other associated trials she had experienced that afternoon.

	
Mr. Riggs closed the door to his classroom thoughtfully, after watching his student depart, and returned to his office desk. Sitting down at it, he picked up his tablet and reviewed the images of Elizabeth cooking in his oven, that were stored within it, once more. The album he opened, however, was not the same one he had shown first Miss Evans, then Elizabeth herself, earlier that day.

	
The album Mr. Riggs opened and perused through contained all the other images of Elizabeth that he had taken, the vast majority of which showed her as she truly had been: protesting and in discomfort, pain, and even, occasionally, agony. It had taken him several hours the previous night to separate the relatively few images he had shown to Miss Evans and Elizabeth from the bulk of the photos. It had been, he now felt, time well spent though. He smiled to himself, then turned the device off and went home.

	
That night, in bed, after she had crawled completely under her covers, actually enjoying the wash of strong sensations her sheets caused within her bare, hyper sensitive breasts every time the fabric moved across them, Elizabeth's mind returned to the little fantasy that had popped into it earlier that day. She replayed it to herself several times. Each time she was again selected and prepared by chef Mr. Riggs, again presented on a platter to those who had ordered her, and again writhing helplessly as her breasts were consumed, slice by slice and bite by bite, from off her quivering chest.

	
Elizabeth shivered as the scene replayed itself over within her. Her fingertips found her sensitized nipples, and only the briefest of caresses was necessary to cause the surge of pleasure/pain she desired as she imagined them being pinned down and sliced off, repeatedly, to be received within eager mouths that would chew and suck and savor before swallowing her flesh down.

	
As one of Elizabeth's hands slipped down between her legs, she imagined the fantasy continuing from where it had been interrupted, with her left at the dining table by the restaurant patrons who had finished with her. She imagined having to carry her tray, upon which still rested the unwanted remains of her half eaten breasts, back into the kitchen, so the platter could be washed like all the rest of the dirtied dishes. She imagined being returned to her chef, who would simply slice what was left of her breasts off roughly, before discarding them into a can with the rest of that night's kitchen waste. She imagined hearing the cry of a new order ringing through the kitchen, "Whole roast, table twelve!", and being lead, re-bound and shaking, to a long, large oven that would bake her entire body completely, so those who had desired it could enjoy the flavors and delights her flesh would provide them.

	
After her climax, Elizabeth drowsed happily, her mind slowly turning over and examining the new fantasies that had helped her achieve such a satisfying conclusion to the day's events. She didn't understand them, nor understand why they made her feel so deliciously aroused and desired, but reveled in the unexpected, sensual pleasure that they engendered within her. Her sleep that night, breasts still tingling and entire body still gently thrumming with afterglow, was the best she'd ever had.

 No.8340

13 - Full bodied

	
The oven that awaited Elizabeth on the workbench on Monday afternoon was not the oven she had been expecting. Instead of the very first oven she had constructed for Mr. Riggs: the long, rectangular one, this oven was much more boxy and square looking. It was one of the latest ovens she had built, and it appeared that there was no way that she could lay out fully prone within it, like she could have in Mr. Riggs' first oven. The shape of this oven made Elizabeth think that she would have to curl herself up somehow to fit within its confines, and the idea wasn't a comforting one to her.

	
"Strip, so we can get you cleaned up before we start." Mr. Riggs instructed brusquely.

	
Her teacher seemed more highly excited and agitated than usual, and was clearly anxious to begin. Elizabeth had been expecting the need to be completely disrobed, but the reality of actually being sky clad in front of her teacher was making her feel more embarrassed than she had imagined. Mr. Riggs seemed to feel no such emotion, however, as he quickly began assisting her when she showed signs of hesitation.

	
"Come on now, Elizabeth. I don't much care for how cotton tastes, so you're going to have to come out of those clothes." he said, as he helped her slip off her shoes and then socks. Her face flushed a bright crimson when he squatted down in front of her and began unbuttoning her jeans. Embarrassed, she pushed his hands away from her waist clumsily, and finished the task herself. Her pants came off easily, especially since they had become several sizes too large for her over the past month or so. Her panties came next, and her rising embarrassment caused her to try to hunch over and shield herself from Mr. Riggs' view as the last of her modesty slipped down her thighs.

	
"There's no need for that, girl." said Mr. Riggs, as he rolled his eyes in exasperated amusement. "You've got nothing I haven't seen before, and you aren't going to fit in the oven like that."

	
Elizabeth's flush deepened, if possible, and spread across her whole upper body as he stood her up straight and examined her critically, eyes traveling over the parts of her bare form that had previously been hidden from him.

	
"You're building up quite a bit of muscle in your legs, Elizabeth. Especially on your thighs and rump. You must really be hitting those exercises I gave you hard." Mr. Riggs said, gauging each named part of her in turn.

	
"M-Mr. Riggs!" blurted Elizabeth, her voice filled with equal parts pleasure and outraged embarrassment at his frank assessment of her body. The way her teacher was looking at her made Elizabeth feel like she was just a..

	
"You're going to make an excellent roast!" said Mr. Riggs, happily and enthusiastically, interrupting and finishing her train of thought at the same time. "Come over to the emergency shower. We'll get you washed clean there."

	
"That is going to have to go before anything else, though." said Mr. Riggs, pausing and pointing at his student.

	
Elizabeth followed the line of his finger down to her cleft, which had a small patch of long fine hairs above and around it. Elizabeth gulped when she thought she realized what he must mean.

	
"Uh.. Why?" she asked, stalling for time.

	
"Well, no one likes hair in their food, now do they?" asked Mr. Riggs, rhetorically. "Of course not, so it has got to come off."

	
"W-wait. You mean that your going to e-eat my.. my pussy?" asked Elizabeth, her voice high and disbelieving.

	
"Please, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs replied, in a lofty tone. "When referring to the womanhood of a potential roast, one always uses the word filet."

	
Her teacher emphasized "filet" quite a bit in his reply, as he looked down at her with his thin chest swelled up and his fists resting imperiously on his hips.

	
"Er, okay. But why?" asked Elizabeth, mollified but confused.

	
"Well.." hedged Mr. Riggs, as he deflated a bit and his voice regained its normal tone. "Mostly because I don't like the word "pussy" very much, too many unpleasant alternate associations, you see, and because all the rest of the words used to describe that area of a girl's body are either far too clinical sounding or are both vulgar and offensive. So, I have decided that, when referring to it in the culinary sense, the proper term for a girl's vagina should be filet. Sort of like how flesh from a cow is called beef, not just cow meat."

	
"Um, what about just "womanhood", then?" asked Elizabeth.

	
"That sounds more like an article of apparel to me." answered Mr. Riggs, "Not something one would want to see on their dinner plate."

	
"I.. see." replied Elizabeth, unsure why it seemed to matter so much to her teacher. "But still, you're going to eat my, uh, filet?"

	
"Of course. You wouldn't want it to go to waste, now, would you?" answered Mr. Riggs.

	
"I'm pretty certain that particular cut of a girl would be quite flavorful, anyway, and besides, it IS self basting, you know." he continued, grinning down at her in a conspiring manner and bobbing his eyebrows up and down a few times to emphasize his point.

	
Elizabeth stared up at her teacher, her mouth hanging open for a moment, then burst into giggles at his words, covering her face in embarrassed amusement.

	
She wasn't laughing a few minutes later though, when Mr. Riggs very quickly and efficiently waxed her entire pubic area, stripping the hair that offended his culinary senses so from her flesh. Compared to many of the things she had endured at Mr. Riggs' hands, the pain wasn't so terrible, but it did manage to force a little yipping squeak of surprise out of her none-the-less. When Elizabeth inquired about whether or not he could simply have shaved her instead, Mr. Riggs had sniffed haughtily and said simply, "Not good enough.".

	
Her teacher had felt her newly bared skin carefully with his warm fingertips after that, running them over her tender flesh repeatedly and plucking out any strays that had escaped the wax. By the time he was finished with the area between her legs, the embarrassment that had been on Elizabeth's face had been replaced by a bitten lip, half lidded eyes, and heavy breathing. She had seemed surprised when he had stood up and certified her filet as hair free and ready to cook, and it took her a moment to get her bearing back.

	
One she returned from where Mr. Riggs depilatory ministrations had sent her, she noticed that not only was she now completely nude and bare, her teacher was now actually wearing even more garments than he had started with. Mr. Riggs had donned the apron to protect his clothes from her cleansing shower, he told Elizabeth, as he herded her under the hanging nozzle head.

	
Mr. Riggs then treated the skin of her entire body just as she had known he would, rubbing her nearly raw. He had declined to use the rough green pad at the sink, however, and had brought with him a thick bristled brush, which felt to Elizabeth like it was usually employed de-greasing engine blocks, or perhaps scrubbing barnacles from the bottom of ocean going ships, rather than cleaning skin. He had even scrubbed her face and her scalp, through her hair, just as hard as the rest of her body. She had thought that the capper would be the series of flushes he sprayed up her puss.. er, her filet, but realized that her ordeal wasn't quite over when he readied a bucket and started attaching a hose to the tap at the sink.

	
"Um, what is that for?" Elizabeth asked, dreading the answer.

	
"An enema, of course." answered Mr. Riggs. "We are trying to get you clean, after all."

	
"Is.. is that really necessary, Mr. Riggs?" she asked, obviously hoping to sway his opinion on the matter.

	
"Certainly, certainly. We're trying to get you clean enough to eat of off, and out of, and your bottom is quite the most dirty place on your body. Yes, it all has to come out, I'm afraid." answered Mr. Riggs.

	
At least he used the warm water, Elizabeth thought to herself, several stressful minutes later. Mr. Riggs had excused himself to go empty her bucket, which he had kept lidded between every flush of her bowels, and left Elizabeth to herself for a few moments. She used the time to dry herself off from her final full body rinse, and contemplated the oven she was sure she would be going into shortly.

	
Elizabeth eyed the proportions of the oven, gauging its size. There was no question about it, she would have to fold up to fit within it. Perhaps, she thought, Mr. Riggs would have her lay curled up on her side, or maybe kneeling and bent forward, head resting on her hands and elbows. Her reverie was interrupted by the return of Mr. Riggs, sans bucket, who washed his hands and arms vigorously at the sink before turning Elizabeth, obviously relieved that all the preparatory work was now done.

	
"Alright, Elizabeth, I think we're pretty much ready. Let's get you cooking." Mr. Riggs said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

	
Mr. Riggs had already laid out a large, flat, shallow pan for Elizabeth on the work bench, and rather than allow her to dirty her feet on the floor, carried her in his arms to it from the emergency shower. He set her down in the pan, making sure than none of her limbs touched the workbench outside it, then stepped back from her. Elizabeth found her balance, then sat up straight in the pan, her legs crossed together in front of her, hands at her sides, and looked up at her teacher expectantly.

	
Mr. Riggs looked back and forth from Elizabeth sitting in her pan to the oven several times, frowning slightly, then his face cleared and he smiled, seemingly relieved.

	
"I think the fit is going to be just about perfect." he said, happily. "Yes, let's just get you into position, so I can make sure."

	
"Uh, just how am I going to fit in there, Mr. Riggs?" Elizabeth asked, as her teacher picked up several short lengths of the clothes line he usually used to bind her hands behind her and approached her again.

	
Elizabeth sighed when she saw the thin rope in Mr. Riggs' hands.

	
"We," stated Mr. Riggs, in an excited tone of voice, "are going to do you Thanksgiving turkey style!"

	
Thanksgiving turkey style apparently meant on her back, with her arms and legs folded up and alongside her body. Mr. Riggs fussed around with her limbs and the rope for a few minutes, seemingly undecided on how exactly he wanted to truss her up. He had initially bound her wrists to her upper arms, then laid her folded up "wings" along side her torso. Her legs he had bound in a similar way, with her shins and calves tied to her upper thighs, but her "drumsticks" had a tendency to move out of the position he desired them to be in, which was spread apart and folded up along the outer edges of her body.

	
Mr. Riggs compromised by leaving her legs tied and folded, but had unbound her arms so they could lay out fully along the length of her torso. He then bound her ankles to her wrists, and moved and expanded the bind on her thighs and calves closer to her knees, while also adding her upper arms into the mix. The result didn't look exactly like he wanted her to, but it left her basically immobilized and allowed easy access to all of the more interesting parts of her anatomy, which was the important thing, he felt.

	
The end product of all the tying, untying, re-positioning, and retying was Elizabeth on her back in the pan, with her legs folded up and along her torso, spread wide, bound to her arms underneath them. Elizabeth's breasts, stomach, and filet were all exposed and unencumbered, ready for whatever Mr. Riggs intended for them.

	
What Mr. Riggs had in store for Elizabeth's breasts was apparently more marinade injections, with the largest syringes she had yet seen him use. After a few moments of frantic, but futile, wiggling and protesting, Elizabeth watched, trembling, as Mr. Riggs practically turned her nipples into pincushions. Her teacher slowly emptied each syringe into her flesh, piercing the little buds at the ends of her breasts from multiple different angles, leaving a little more of the marinade behind within them each time. When he finally finished with her, Elizabeth saw that her poor nubbins of flesh were literally swollen with the burning, stinging fluid. She could see and feel little trickles of the stuff seep from her nipples when Mr. Riggs grasped each of them in between thumb and forefinger, squeezing and rolling them, not ungently, to see how well the marinade was taking to her flesh.

	
Happy with the state of her nipples, Mr. Riggs then produced a small bottle of olive oil, which he set aside, and actual gallon jugs of some type of sauce, which he started spreading on her legs, arms, breasts, and stomach quite liberally. When he finally finished using his larger than usual basting brush on the rest of her skin, Mr. Riggs then bent to apply the sauce between her legs, to her filet.

	
Elizabeth caught her breath as, stroke by stroke, Mr. Riggs neared her sex with his brush. No one, save Elizabeth herself, had ever touched her there before, and the first gentle stroke of flavoring sauce that Mr. Riggs whisked across her filet caused goosebumps to break out all over her body, and her held in breath was released as a shaky exhalation of pleasure.

	
Mr. Riggs coated her filet as thoroughly as he did everything else, but Elizabeth thought that he was perhaps taking a bit more time to do it than he strictly needed, which, at that moment, was just fine with her. If her teacher noticed the little wiggles she couldn't help making every time the rough, sauce coated brush slid over her most sensitive area, he didn't make mention of it. Nor did he seem to notice the little moans that accompanied the touch of his hand as he used it to spread her filet wide, the better to slather sauce into her folds. A small, satisfied smirk was the only sign that he noticed the gasp and involuntary little full body spasm that passed through his student's quivering flesh as he pulled back her clitoral hood and ran the rough bristles of his basting brush across her engorged little nub. His smirk deepened as he passed the brush back and forth across her clitoris several times, to Elizabeth's increasingly vocal approval and energetic wriggling. He noticed that her hands and feet were writhing against his knotted ropes, her fingers and toes clenching, curling, and uncurling in time with each repetition.

	
Before Elizabeth could get too far along the path his manipulations were driving her down, though, Mr. Riggs finished with his basting and set the brush aside. Elizabeth uttered a little mew of disappointment, which he also affected to not notice. Self basting indeed, he thought, more amused.

	
"Well, Elizabeth, You're ready for the oven. I have to say, I've really been looking forward to this." stated Mr. Riggs, grinning down at her.

	
It took Elizabeth a moment to collect herself. When she did, she peered worriedly up at her teacher, looking a little apprehensive through the cloud of arousal he had instilled in her.

	
"Uh.. Um, Mr. Riggs? Y-you're not going to turn the oven up as hot as you do for my breasts, a-are you?" she managed to ask.

	
"That," Mr. Riggs thought to himself, amused, "is a question you probably should have asked me before you allowed me to tie you up and cover you in sauce."

	
"No, Elizabeth, not even close, as much as I'd like to. With your entire body trapped within that much heat and humidity, you would perish from heatstroke quite rapidly, I think." was what Mr. Riggs actually said aloud as he opened the pre-warmed oven. "The sauce won't sink into your skin nearly as well at lower temperatures, but I guess there isn't anything for it. I'll be monitoring your progress, and will only turn the heat up as high as I think is relatively safe."

	
"O-okay." Elizabeth replied, a bit uncertainly. The qualifiers her teacher had used in his last statement, such as "as much as I'd like to" and "relatively safe" worried her a bit, most especially that second one.

	
Squatting down a little, Mr. Riggs managed to pick up Elizabeth and her pan entirely, grunting with the effort. He set the pan and his student down on the edge of the rack she would be resting upon inside the oven, then slowly slid her further into his warm oven. Elizabeth's expression grew more worried the deeper into the device she was pushed, and she appeared on the verge of uttering a protest when Mr. Riggs finished positioning her and gave her a cheery send off.

	
"Good luck, Elizabeth! I'll see you in about ten or fifteen minutes for your first basting."

	
Mr. Riggs closed the door to the oven, trapping Elizabeth within it with only the heat and her doubts to keep her company.

	
The heat around her wasn't too bad yet, Elizabeth thought, after Mr. Riggs shut her in. It sort of reminded her of the sauna she had been in once, just with the smell of the sauce coating her skin replacing the pleasant odor of incense cedar that had permeated the steam bath. Her skin still tingled a little, both from Mr. Riggs brushing the sauce on it and also in reaction to her arousal at his preparations of her filet.

	
Mr. Riggs' actions confused Elizabeth, mostly due to the mix of signals she felt like she was receiving from him. Some moments it seemed that she was just a test subject for his oven to him, like she was merely a piece of meat to season and cook that, incidentally, also happened to be his student. At other moments, however, he was clearly treating her, at least in part, as an individual, a person.

	
Her teacher's actions as he had been coating her in sauce were a good example, she felt. If he had only been interested in testing his oven, Mr. Riggs would simply have covered her in sauce and pushed her into the heat. Instead, he had spent far more time between her legs than he had on all the rest of her parts, and she thought that he had obviously seemed to enjoy seeing her squirm and gasp in reaction to his touch, even if he didn't show much of that enjoyment openly. What exactly was she to her teacher: student, convenient ingredient, or something else entirely?

	
Elizabeth puzzled over her teacher while she began to cook.

	
While his student sat inside the rising heat, contemplating her situation and her teacher while slowly starting to bake, Mr. Riggs observed her with keen interest. He had picked up her panties after he had washed his hands free of sauce splatters, and was now holding them in his hands. He wasn't doing anything particularly untoward with them, he had just rolled them up and was squeezing and twisting them between his large, lean hands, using them as a stress ball of sorts to keep his hands busy while his mind was occupied with the sight in front of him.

	
When Mr. Riggs had first started designing his ovens, it had been simple whimsy, nothing more, and he had never expected anything to come of it. But with the changes that were sweeping across the world, subtly shifting long held convictions and altering established modes of thought, came the idea that maybe, just maybe, his ovens might eventually be a reality. His work with Elizabeth, guiding and shaping her into accepting his odd little hobby, had been a test of sorts: a toe in the water to see just how hot or cold it might be. If Mr. Riggs' success with Elizabeth so far was any indication, then the water was just fine indeed.

	
Mr. Riggs watched Elizabeth squirm, testing herself against her bonds, in the oven's slowly increasing temperature. She made an absolutely gorgeous picture, laying there like that, basted and trussed like an over large holiday bird. Thinking of pictures, Mr. Riggs set aside his roast's undergarments and took up his camera to document his accomplishment.

	
As he captured image after image of Elizabeth's form within the oven, Mr. Riggs considered ending their little game early. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to just crank the heat to broil and watch her really start to squirm. Him mouth watered at the thought of pulling her out of the oven, hours from now, golden brown and glistening with a mouthwatering caramelized coating of sauce. But, events were not quite ready for that, and this wasn't something that one wanted to foul up by hurrying. Not everything was in place just yet, and he really did want to try out more sauces and recipes on her anyway, before, and even if, he took the plunge and went all the way with her.

	
Mr. Riggs left Elizabeth in the oven a little less than twenty minutes before he basted her. The relatively low temperature of the oven meant that it took much longer for her coating of sauce to start to dry out, so he felt that it wasn't as necessary to be quite as punctual about the process as he had been for her breasts. Elizabeth reacted to the cool air immediately, shivering in pleasure as it washed over her and cleared her head a little.

	
The worst part, Elizabeth thought, as Mr. Riggs carefully started to return her skin to it's previous, moist, sauce covered state, was how the heat made her head feel. The inside of the oven felt hot enough on her skin, for sure, but it really seemed to affect her mind more than anything, and she felt a little fuzzy even after just so short of an exposure to it.

	
"How are you feeling?" Mr. Riggs asked, as he spent an inordinate amount of time with his basting brush on her fingers and toes.

	
"Thirsty." Elizabeth had said, her voice a bit raspy.

	
Mr. Riggs seemed to have anticipated this, because almost before she had finished saying it, he was holding a straw to her lips. Elizabeth slurped the cool water up, grateful, as Mr. Riggs held the full beaker in one hand for her. His other hand continued to brush sauce on her skin, and she almost choked when he ran it casually over her filet several times as she drank.

	
"You're doing well, nearly a third of the way through." Mr. Riggs said, smiling down at her as he pushed her back into the oven after she finished her drink. "I can't wait to taste you."

	
Elizabeth shivered again at his words, and not just in reaction to re-entering the heat of the oven. She wasn't exactly sure what Mr. Riggs was going to do to her after she finished her hour in his oven, but if what he had done to her breasts was any indication, she wasn't sure that she wouldn't rather stay inside of the device rather than face it. Especially if what he had said about actually eating her filet earlier had been true.

	
Elizabeth bit her lip and struggled a little against her bonds, unsure whether it was the heat or the idea of what her teacher might soon inflict on her flesh that made her stomach feel quavery and weak.

	
After several more bastings and an hour had finally passed, Mr. Riggs pulled Elizabeth out of the confines of the oven, eager to view what he had wrought upon her flesh. The girl was mostly out of it, the heat having addled her mind after so long at so high a temperature. Mr. Riggs had said he wouldn't turn it up too high on her, and he had mostly stuck to his promise. He hadn't been able to resist giving the dial a little goose during the final few minutes of her ordeal, however, and the extra heat seemed to have pushed her toasted brain a bit over the edge.

	
Elizabeth's skin wasn't nearly so dark as her breasts usually became after an hour at temperature, but he hadn't been expecting her to be. She was coated quite well in several layers of sauce, though, and he was looking forward to his afternoon treat greatly.

	
After taking a few more pictures of her, Mr. Riggs positioned Elizabeth on the workbench, with her head away from him and her hands, feet, and well presented filet facing him. He wanted dearly to start with her prime cut, but the girl was still partly out of it, even after more water, and he wanted her to be at least partly aware when he ate that particular dish. So, instead, he started with Elizabeth's toes.

	
Mr. Riggs was not particular about feet, one way or the other, but he had to admit that Elizabeth's looked quite appetizing to him at that particular moment. He had noted earlier, before he covered them in sauce, that her small feet were particularly well formed and smooth. It looked like she had never worn a shoe that didn't fit perfectly nor placed her bare feet on anything but soft, clean carpet, because her feet were completely without calluses or marks of any kind. Only soft skin and trim, clean toenails awaited his mouth as he bent to taste her.

	
The sauce complemented her excellently, and he delighted in running his tongue over, around, and between the soft, round little pads of her toes. He ran his entire mouth down the length of one of her soles, gathering the combined flavors of sauce and her skin as he did, relishing it. He then spent a moment nibbling on the inside of her arch, before licking clean her heel and finally nipping his way up the top of her foot. He felt the fine bones of her feet pressing through her flesh as he opened his large mouth, inserted the whole front of her foot into it and gently sucked and chewed on her for a few moments. He spent a similar amount of time and pleasure on her other foot, and ended by sucking and nibbling on each of her toes again in turn, to make sure not a speck of sauce remained on or between them. He felt Elizabeth begin to animate as he finished with them, her toes wiggling on his tongue in reaction to his feasting.

	
Her hands he treated in a similar manner, slipping each soft finger into his mouth and sucking it clean before moving on to the next. He followed her wrists and ankles up after that, switching from one limb to the next, keeping roughly even and slowly licking and sucking her skin clean of sauce as he went. The farther up each limb he went, the longer it took to remove the flavoring from her skin, and the more eager he became to reach the next part of his meal. This was especially true with her legs, which had lost considerable amounts of adipose tissue, only for it to be replaced by lean, limber muscle, and were full and plump with firm flesh beneath her skin. He briefly considered unbinding her limbs, so he could get his tongue at the areas locked away from him, such as the backsides of her knees, but didn't. He had far more of this roast to eat than its legs, and he didn't want it squirming away from him before he had taken his fill of it.

	
Mr. Riggs finished, as much as he could, with Elizabeth's limbs, then moved on from the appetizer that they represented to one of the main courses. Elizabeth was mostly recovered from the heat by this time, and she watched with trepidation as a very hungry looking Mr. Riggs approached her from an angle she had never seen him from before. His tall formed loomed over her, supported by hands and long arms placed on either side of her head, and he stared down at the feast that was her chest, practically drooling on her. His demeanor and the feral caste to his eyes made her think that he looked more like a ravenous beast right then, rather than her kind, soft spoken chemistry teacher.

	
Elizabeth's chest was heaving by this point in the meal, a little because she was still recovering from the heat of the oven, but mostly because of how Mr. Riggs' mouth and tongue on her flesh so far had made her feel. Her breath hitched in her chest as he lowered his open mouth, teeth showing and tongue lashing from side to side in anticipation, to one of her nipples still swollen with marinade. He gave her no tentative lick, no slow suckle, as he usually would, but started in on her nipple with his teeth immediately, tugging and chewing on her sensitive bud with nearly no restraint. Elizabeth gasped at his treatment, and, rather than try to escape, arched her back up as much as she could, as if offering even more of herself to him. Her eyes rolled and she shuddered and writhed as her nipple was crushed between his teeth, streaming marinade and even a little of her own blood, both of which he sucked up eagerly.

	
Mr. Riggs would take brief forays out on to the rest of her breast, licking up sauce, before returning to once again to savage her nipple for its flavor. Elizabeth's flesh, which was sending her the blended mix of pain and pleasure that seemed like shocks of pure sensation arcing directly from her nipple to her mind, felt like it might give way entirely to her teacher's relentless assault. Just as she started to believe that he might really consume her nipple, raw, right off her breast, he relented. Her respite was brief, however, because he simply moved to her other nipple and started in on it just as furiously.

	
Elizabeth's body rolled under the attack on her flesh, her hands clenching and unclenching, tugging at her bonds, not trying to escape, but simply out of reaction to what she was experiencing. Mr. Riggs had been savage with her before, but there had always been a certain measure of restraint, even if only just barely, that she had sensed within him. Now, however, it felt to her like he, if he took half a mind to, might really rend her nipple from her breast. The thought frightened her, but it also excited her. Her emotions, just like the hyper charged sensations coming from her nipple, were mixing all together and were much more powerful for that fact. When he finally finished with her chest, she felt like she was on the cusp of something. That something reminded her of how she felt before a climax, and it was thrumming through her breasts, chest, neck, and head as the assault on her nipples ended. Elizabeth almost wished for Mr. Riggs to continue, to finish her nipples off, to see if the tension she felt building there would crest.

	
He didn't return to her nipples, though, and it seemed like his bestial mania subsided as he licked his way down her torso, across her ribs, and then dipped his tongue onto the soft flesh of her stomach. He stayed there for several moments, cleaning her trembling abdomen gently of sauce with his tongue. He then slipped into her navel and lingered there too, sucking on it thoughtfully, as though he hoped to invert it. After he finished with her belly button, tongue swirling around in it one last time, he began making his way, slowly and surely, even lower, towards her buzzing, fluttery center.

	
Elizabeth's chest, which had been gasping and heaving, froze as Mr. Riggs's mouth made its way towards her filet. She wasn't sure what to expect from him when he got there; relative gentleness, such as he had displayed with her toes and tummy, or savagery, such as she always experienced when he was at her breasts and nipples. She wasn't even sure that she herself knew which she wanted from him, but the thought of Mr. Riggs treating her clitoris, the sensitive little bud at the core of her sexuality, the way he treated her nipples, was what had stopped the breath within her chest. Her nipples were acclimated, more or less, to Mr. Riggs' treatment of them, and were, frankly, far better suited to resist the power of his strong, white teeth than her clitoris ever could be. If Mr. Riggs took her clit between his teeth, she wasn't at all sure that she could withstand it, in any way.

	
What Mr. Riggs did, as he moved his mouth over her filet, was to skip her clitoris entirely. He ran his tongue, briefly, across her hood, then lifted it past the little bud peeking out from underneath it and danced her mouth across the folds below it. Elizabeth groaned at this, partly from relief, partly from frustration. The thrumming that she had felt building in her breasts had seemed to follow Mr. Riggs' mouth down her body, and had settled around and in her filet. She felt like it would take only a brief few moments for Mr. Riggs' mouth and tongue to build that thrumming up into an enormous orgasm, if he would simply turn his attention to her clitoris. He didn't, however, seeming content to suck and lap at her small pink labia instead, occasionally reaching a bit deeper with his tongue to lick up sauce and some of her natural flavors.

	
Mr. Riggs did this for some time, lingering just below her clitoris, driving her mad. Elizabeth started rocking and thrusting her hips, as much as she could, bound as she was, in frenzied need. Finally, finally, Mr. Riggs seemed to tire of her lower lips and opening, and positioned his mouth gently over her hooded clitoris.

	
Elizabeth almost cried in relief at the sensation of Mr. Riggs' lips sucking lightly on her hood. When he nuzzled in a bit further, lifting her hood up and completely revealing the engorged little nub of her clitoris, Elizabeth thought she might pass out from the flood of pleasure that flowed up her spine. Gently, ever so gently, Mr. Riggs trapped the trembling nub between his incisors, exerting only the barest iota of pressure against it as he did so, making Elizabeth quiver, once again, in fearful need.

	
Mr. Riggs brought his tongue against Elizabeth's clit, and gave it one long, slow lick with the entire length of his talented, prehensile organ. Elizabeth's back arched like a bow, despite her bindings, and her entire body sang as it felt like Mr. Riggs had plucked on a string that ran from the very tips of her toes, up through her clit, and into the center of her mind. As her back arched, her legs tried to widen, to spread apart as far as they could so Mr. Riggs would have the best access possible to her clit, so he could give it the one final lick that Elizabeth felt sure would send her over the edge of the largest orgasm she felt she might ever have.

	
What Mr. Riggs did, instead of giving Elizabeth the final boost that would allow her climax, was to chuckle lightly against her filet, breath tickling her teasingly, then release her clitoris from between his teeth and draw away from her. Elizabeth was confused for a moment, then let out a cry of pure, frustrated need as her teacher stood up and away from her completely, abandoning her buzzing clitoris and quivering filet to the cool air.

	
Mr. Riggs stood there for a moment, watching as Elizabeth pleaded, practically incoherently, for the return of his mouth and tongue. She writhed and bucked and thrust, trying frantically to tug one of her hands free, so she could satisfy her desperate need herself. He could see the despair growing within her, as the tide of pleasure that would have engulfed her began to subside, leaving her stranded like driftwood at the high water mark, desiccating in the bright glare of the sun.

	
"I'm sorry Elizabeth, but I've finished my meal for today. You tasted quite good, but I'm afraid you have nothing left worth licking up now." Mr. Riggs said, with an amused, satisfied smile, down at her.

	
His statement wasn't particularly true, as her filet had turned out to be as flavorful as he had imagined. She had proved to be an adept self baster, and it had actually been something of a challenge to make himself stop feasting on her.

	
"Please, Mr. Riggs, just a little more, I'm so close. Please, just a little more!" Elizabeth begged, still gently thrusting and rocking her hips in a vain attempt to find stimulation for her deprived clitoris.

	
"Sorry Elizabeth, I'm quite full now. I couldn't stand to lick up another single little morsel." Mr. Riggs replied, casually dismissing her plea. "How about we get you cleaned up and on your way home, hmm?"

	
Elizabeth actually seemed to panic a little when he mentioned sending her home, at least without helping, or at least allowing, her to finish the orgasm she had come so close to.

	
"Please, Mr. Riggs, if you don't wanna lick me, then can't you.. can't you please.." Elizabeth said, clearly not quite able to finish the sentence herself.

	
"Can't I, what, Elizabeth? What exactly is it that you want me to do?" asked Mr. Riggs, trying to inject as much innocence into his voice and words as he could.

	
"Oh, please, Mr. Riggs.. Please.. fu.. Please fu.." Elizabeth stuttered, before finally spitting out her desire. "Please fuck me, Mr. Riggs. I was so c-close. Please, oh, please fuck me."

	
Elizabeth was still slowly squirming in her bonds, and she thrust her hips out as much as she could as she said it, looking up at him with hopeful, glistening eyes as she begged him to ravish her.

	
"Oh, Elizabeth. That's out of the question, I'm afraid." replied Mr. Riggs, affecting regretfulness. "You are young, healthy girl who I am sure is quite fertile and, I assure you, my own count is fairly high. I'm not sure at all that it's worth the risk, you know."

	
"W-what? Mr. Riggs, I don't c-care about any of that! Please, just fuck me." pleaded Elizabeth, clearly not in a state to be overly concerned about the future.

	
"Language, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs reproved, mildly. "Well, if you think you need it that badly, I suppose there is one thing we could do.."

	
"Please, Mr. Riggs, anything!" Elizabeth wailed, hope lighting up in her chest at his words.

	
"Well, alright, I suppose. It may not be exactly what you're hoping for, but I think that it might do the trick." replied Mr. Riggs, as he picked up the little bottle of olive oil that he had set to the side when basting Elizabeth earlier.

	
Mr. Riggs poured a small measure of the oil into the palm of one hand, put aside the bottle, then dipped the fingers of his other hand into the oil, coating his index and middle finger generously in the liquid. Elizabeth first looked relieved when Mr. Riggs bent back down towards her filet, then she looked confused as his hands bypassed it completely.

	
"Wha.. What are you d-doing?" Elizabeth asked, before Mr. Riggs answered her in the most direct way he could.

	
Her teacher casually felt between her buttocks with one hand, having to lift her rump up slightly with his other to do it, and started running his oiled fingers in small circles around her bottom hole. Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up in shock as he did so, her brows then furrowing together in consternation as she realized what his intentions were.

	
"B-but what about my pus.. my filet?" she asked.

	
"I told you, Elizabeth, that your filet is quite out of bounds. I think you will find, however, that with an open mind and a relaxed attitude, that your bottom orifice can make quite an adequate alternative in times such as this." said Mr. Riggs.

	
"But.. but, my filet. Please, Mr. Riggs.." Elizabeth begged.

	
"It's this or nothing, I'm afraid, Elizabeth." said Mr. Riggs, calmly, as he slipped the tip of one slick finger into her bottom.

	
"Ahh! Uh.. I.. I guess, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth replied, now starting to squirm in mild discomfort rather than burning sensual need.

	
"Excellent. Now, be patient for a few minutes, as one can't simply rush into something like this without taking a little time to prepare the way before hand." said Mr. Riggs, as he began running his index finger slowly in and out of Elizabeth's bottom.

	
He carried on like that for several minutes, pushing his finger slightly deeper into her with every thrust. Elizabeth squeaked out a sound that was half surprise, a quarter pain, and another quarter pleasure when Mr. Riggs added his middle finger to his index, widening her even further. He added more oil every few moments as well, lubing her back passage up quite nicely.

	
After another few minutes, when Elizabeth had stopped looking quite so surprised at his digital penetration of her bottom, Mr. Riggs felt that she was probably ready. He withdrew his fingers from her, briefly washed his hands off, then disrobed himself.

	
Elizabeth watched with wide eyes as her teacher stripped casually in front of her. Once his clothing was removed, he was revealed to be not just tall and skinny, as he had always appeared, but actually wiry with lean muscle. He was not broad or bulging with gym enhanced strength, but he did have defined musculature beneath taut skin. He looked like he might run or swim, perhaps both, a lot in his free time.

	
What captured Elizabeth's attention most, however, was the erect rod of flesh jutting from him. It was, like its owner, a bit larger than average, although perhaps not so lean. She viewed it with some trepidation as Mr. Riggs re-approached her.

	
Mr. Riggs reached for Elizabeth's hips, and used them to pull her across the pan and up out of it a little, resting the lip of the pan she was in beneath her tailbone, presenting her bottom for easy access.

	
"Well, Elizabeth, I think you're ready. Let's see if we can't get you what you seem to want so badly." said Mr. Riggs, as he positioned himself in front of Elizabeth and smiled down at her.

	
"Er.. Well, okay.." replied Elizabeth, haltingly, as her breathing quickened in worried anticipation.

	
"Remember, a relaxed attitude, my dear." said Mr. Riggs, smiling benignly as he reached forward and patted her cheek gently, while he placed himself at the entrance to her bottom hole.

	
He took her, then.

	
He didn't do it quickly. If anything, Elizabeth felt, her teacher might actually be taking too much time to slowly press into her. Each gentle thrust was quite shallow at first, but before long they gradually began to penetrate deeper and deeper into her bottom. To Elizabeth's delight, as Mr. Riggs started thrusting into her in earnest after a few minutes of slow build up had passed, he began gently stroking and caressing her filet.

	
The thrumming that had nearly died out within her, after Mr. Riggs had abandoned her clitoris, began to build again. This time, however, it had a different quality and timbre to its tone. Before, when it had been focused within her breasts, and later filet, it had seemed mostly localized. Now, however, as Mr. Riggs began caressing her body all over with his left hand, while his right stayed with her filet, and as he slowly but firmly and rhythmically pressed himself into her bottom, she felt the thrumming start to build up in every part of her. The string that had felt like it had been plucked when Mr. Riggs had licked her clitoris was joined by many others, each running to a part of her that her teacher would run his hands over, each part starting to buzz, some gently, others not so gently, in time with each thrust of his hips.

	
When Mr. Riggs finally used his thumb to brush lightly across her clitoris, which had been still deprived of sensation since his tongue, Elizabeth's back arched in stunned pleasure once again. This time, however, Mr. Riggs didn't abandon it after but a single touch. Instead, he began gently running the pad of his thumb around her sensitive bud of flesh, one orbit of her clit for every thrust. The thrumming within her grew in force rapidly, until it felt like Elizabeth's whole body was vibrating with it.

	
She came then, in time with her teacher, before his oven, covered in sauce and saliva and bound up like a turkey, far harder than she ever had before.

	
The tide of sensation that crashed over her was so intense that the only thing she could do was jerk and quiver, gasping hitchingly, for several minutes.

	
Once the surge of pleasure started to recede, and she came back to herself, she felt Mr. Riggs, buried within her bottom, still making small, gentle thrusting motions, still riding the last tremors of the massive orgasm they had shared. After a few more moments of this, Mr. Riggs caressed her cheeks, looking down at her fondly, then withdrew from her.

	
Her teacher left her to bask in the afterglow as he cleaned himself up. It was only after he had washed briefly, then redressed and once again donned his apron, that he untied her and helped her to slide out of the pan and attempt to stand up.

	
Elizabeth was wobbly at first, from being bound for so long, from the heat of the oven, and from the force of her climax. Thankfully, all she had to do was stand still under the emergency shower head as Mr. Riggs cleaned her. He was gentle as he did so, using only soap and his hands to remove the build up of fluids the afternoon's activity had caused. She actually had another small, but very pleasant, orgasm as Mr. Riggs delicately cleaned the folds of her filet, trembling and leaning back against him, her small hands resting lightly on top of his, as he gently worked her sensitive flesh clean.

	
Once she was washed and patted dry, she simply stood before her teacher, looking up at him and making no motions to cover herself or get redressed.

	
"Mr. Riggs." she said quietly, looking him directly in the eyes with her own wide, guileless ones.

	
"Mr. Riggs, that was.." she started, trailing off as emotions started to overcome her.

	
"That was the most amazing thing I have ever felt in my entire life." she said, her eyes starting to tear up a little at the force of the emotions rising within her.

	
"Thank you. Thank you so much." she finished, and embraced him.

	
Elizabeth's hug wasn't some perfunctory thing, like one might receive from a distant, barely known relative upon meeting them again after a long time apart, but a true hug, laden heavily with genuine emotion and need. She wrapped her arms fully around her teacher, and buried her face against his apron covered chest.

	
Mr. Riggs, for his part, although slightly surprised, returned her hug just as warmly and genuinely. He had, over the past two months or so, addicted Elizabeth to pep, then used her addiction to compel her to first build, then test with her own body, his ovens for him in ever more creative and painful ways, culminating in today's full body preparation. After that, he had used her sauce coated flesh against her, working her up to a frenzy of need with his mouth, then used her desire for release from the sexual tension he had instilled within her to basically force her to beg him to have intercourse with her, only to instead plant himself deeply within her bottom while she was bound and helpless. He had done all that to her, and here she was, tearfully thanking and embracing him for it.

	
How could he not hug her back?

	
As he watched her dress and leave, Mr. Riggs smiled as he reflected on just how much he loved teenagers, and especially this teenager in particular. They were just so easy, he thought, as he watched Elizabeth gingerly walk away, occasionally clutching unconsciously at her backside a little. They were so very, very easy.

 No.8341

14 - More Variations

	
Mr. Riggs cooked Elizabeth whole again on Wednesday afternoon, and on Friday's as well. Each time, after he had eaten his fill of her body, breasts, and filet, and after he had made her frantic with need, the session would end with Mr. Riggs buried in Elizabeth's bottom, thrusting slowly and steadily, as both he and Elizabeth climaxed together.

	
It became apparent to Mr. Riggs that Elizabeth had started looking forward to her sessions with him, quite eagerly in fact. His student seemed to have lost any doubts about him she might have had, and would comply with anything he requested with nary a protest and look of adoration for him upon her upturned face.

	
Tuesday's session even began with Elizabeth stripping off completely of her own accord, without even being prompted to do so by Mr. Riggs. From then on, any time she was with him in one of their after school sessions, Elizabeth was nude whether the situation demanded it or not. She seemed to be delighted to be so, and reveled in the occasions when Mr. Riggs might take her flesh in his strong hands to examine her closely for the sake of whatever recipe he was subjecting her to that day.

	
On Friday's session, she even asked her teacher whether or not they could expand their after school activities to the entire week, rather than just on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. Mr. Riggs was happy to accommodate her request, and after that, Elizabeth spent every afternoon she could cooking for him.

	
This isn't to say that some of the things he introduced to their afternoon sessions didn't worry Elizabeth, but she felt that Mr. Riggs, after the events of her first full body cooking experience, had earned her trust enough that she would try his ideas out for him, no matter how unusual or even painful they might be, at least once.

	
One new such idea was actually just an expansion of something that was already pretty much standard practice for her sessions now. On the Wednesday session, after her first test of the whole girl cooking oven the previous Monday, Mr. Riggs told Elizabeth, after she had been scrubbed and washed, but before he had tied her up, that he wanted to inject marinade into not just her breasts and nipples, but also her filet.

	
Elizabeth reacted somewhat predictably at the news. She closed her eyes and shuddered, biting her lower lip gently at the thought. What she didn't do, however, was flee screaming, as she might have done just a week ago. Elizabeth had, if not completely lost her fear of needles, at least managed to control her reactions to the thought and reality of the dread devices. So, after another moment's shivering, she had opened her eyes and hesitantly nodded up at her teacher.

	
Elizabeth even went so far as to hold her own breasts steady for Mr. Riggs, her back arched and chest thrust out, looking away and wincing slightly as he pierced and filled her proffered flesh with flavoring fluids. She then leaned back on her baking tray and spread her smooth thighs apart, offering her sex up to his needles as well. She looked away, at first, but couldn't seem to help herself from glancing back down at her filet as her teacher gently grasped her folds and repeatedly injected marinade into each. She gasped when he took her hood between thumb and forefinger, sure that he was about to subject her clit to the same treatment, but Mr. Riggs only filled the flesh surrounding her sensitive bud with marinade, sparing the clit itself from the taste of his steel sliver.

	
Her reward for so stoically enduring his preparations was, for the second time, to be brought to the heights of sexual pleasure and arousal by her teacher's mouth after she had cooked for him. This time, though, Mr. Riggs seemed far more reluctant to abandon her filet after he began feasting on it. Mr. Riggs sucked and licked and probed her flesh for its flavors far longer than he had previously, and when he finally took Elizabeth's clitoris between his teeth and began lashing it gently but unrelentingly with his tongue, Elizabeth climaxed mightily, gasping and writhing in pleasure against her bonds.

	
She was still coming down from her orgasm when she felt Mr. Riggs's oiled fingers at her back passage, and squirmed delightedly when he started working them into her in preparation. She sighed in sensual appreciation when her teacher moved his fingers back to her filet and replaced their absence at her bottom with his manhood. She climaxed a second time that afternoon, a mere few minutes after the first, as Mr. Riggs stroked her body and filet and thrust himself gently and insistently into her.

	
Another new idea was introduced during Friday's session. After Elizabeth had been washed and bound and placed in her baking tray, but before she was covered in the day's sauce, Mr. Riggs announced to her that he thought it was about time that she got stuffed.

	
Elizabeth had been confused for a moment, until her teacher produced a large bowl filled with stuffing and placed it before her. Mr. Riggs had told Elizabeth, between large spoonfuls of the material being pushed deep into her filet, that he had decided to try out a mushroom and herb stuffing on her, to see if it suited and complemented her natural flavors. As he packed far more of the stuffing into her than she would have believed possible, he said, in a regretful tone, that the only way to truly test whether or not a stuffing really complemented her flavor was to actually cook her completely.

	
Elizabeth's breath caught in her chest and her heart spiked in fearful reaction at Mr. Riggs' words, but her stammering protest was cut off as Mr. Riggs continued, stating that, as much as he would like to try such a thing out, performing a full test like that wasn't really practical at the moment. Her teacher went on to say that he would be satisfied with allowing the stuffing to soak up her natural flavors during their session that afternoon, and that he would then take it home and bake it on its own in his regular oven later that evening. Mr. Riggs then said that he would inform her as to how it turned out their next session.

	
Mr. Riggs somehow managed to fit the whole bowl full of stuffing into her, casually making an offhand comment as he did so that perhaps even more could be made to fill her, if a needle and thread were applied afterwards to ensure that none might escape back out during the cooking process. Elizabeth shivered in response to his idle comment, clearly imagining Mr. Riggs sealing up her stuffed to bursting filet, tying the whole thing up with a bow to finish.

	
The stuffing, most of it, at least, remained within Elizabeth while she cooked, and as Mr. Riggs licked and nibbled on her sauce coated flesh afterwards, and also throughout their vigorous bout of bottom bumping that ended the session. Mr. Riggs finally removed the stuffing, which was liberally soaked with her natural flavors, right before he washed her off and out and sent her home to enjoy her weekend.

	
He told her, later, that while the stuffing had been quite delicious after it had baked for an hour, it still wasn't really right for her, and he would be trying out additional flavor combinations on her in the future.

	
What was probably Elizabeth's favorite session with Mr. Riggs happened in the middle of the next week. Mr. Riggs had put aside his whole roasting oven, and brought back out his breast cooking oven for yet another test run.

	
Elizabeth spent the whole session completely nude and completely bound to the device, her breasts slowly baking in the heat while Mr. Riggs mercilessly thrust himself into her vulnerable backside. The most maddening part of the whole ordeal was that every few minutes, just as Elizabeth would near her peak, Mr. Riggs would slide himself out of her to attend to her breasts for a few moments. He had chosen to return to the Elizabaster for this session, and the mix of pain/pleasure Elizabeth received every time he coated her dangling breasts in steaming hot sauces, coupled with the sensations of her teacher returning to plundering her bottom afterwards, drove her to a state of excitement and need like she had never felt before.

	
When, after over an hour of such treatment, Mr. Riggs finally brought his hands around to stroke and caress her filet, Elizabeth came with such intensity that she actually lost nearly fifteen minutes of time afterwards, later remembering only a blurred haze.

	
She came back into herself to find her body, arms still bound behind her, sitting propped up on the workbench before Mr. Riggs, who was eyeing her trembling, sauce imbued breasts hungrily. Once he was satisfied that she was properly awake and aware, Mr. Riggs started devouring the sauce from her cooked chest. It would have been almost anticlimactic, after the orgasm Elizabeth had just experienced, had not Mr. Riggs' hands and fingers slipped down to her filet once again. Elizabeth climaxed again as her teacher savagely chewed on her breasts and nipples with his teeth while also gently manipulating her cleft and clitoris with his finger tips. The contradicting but powerful combination of sensations caused Elizabeth's consciousness to pop out like a blown bulb when she climaxed, and she remained so out of it for so long afterwards that Mr. Riggs actually had to drive her home himself, rather than simply send her on her own way, as he usually did, after the session was over.

	
Each evening, after her sessions with Mr. Riggs, Elizabeth would bring herself to at least one, but often several, more shuddering climaxes before falling into exhausted, contented sleep. The fantasies that accompanied her orgasms were usually variations on the theme of her being ordered, cooked, served, and eaten at the restaurant that seemed to have taken such deep root into her psyche.

	
At first, Elizabeth's breasts had been the usual focus of her erotic fantasies, but after Mr. Riggs started treating her filet to the delights of his mouth and tongue, it too began to take center stage within them. Over and over, she imagined herself being served upon a platter, lain out on her back with her legs folded and spread wide, to some handsome man, or even to the occasional gorgeous and graceful woman. Her diner would take delicate little slices out of her flesh, suck and chew each slice slowly and with obvious enjoyment, then return for more.

	
Elizabeth came, again and again, to the thought of sharp tines piercing her cooked clit as the razor edge of a silvery blade slowly sliced it from her mound. Elizabeth also came to the idea of her sensitive nub being rolled across an eager tongue, before being ground to pieces by strong, remorseless teeth. She even came to the thought of her diner casually abandoning her after they had eaten their fill of her flesh, of her entire squirming body, sans filet, being carelessly discarded into a large bin full of other kitchen waste, which was always mostly composed of other girls and bits of girls such as herself, partially eaten, moaning and writhing.

	
The most powerful of these fantasies were the ones where it wasn't simply some anonymous diner who ate of her flesh, but Mr. Riggs himself. Her imaginary version of her teacher would usually disdain cutlery, and simply rip mouthfuls of meat from her breasts and filet with his teeth. Elizabeth's eyes would roll beneath her closed eyelids, and her whole body tremble and arch, as she pinched her nipples and rubbed her clit between her own fingers as she imagined this happening, climaxing furiously.

 No.8342

15 - Holiday Preparations

	
The week after that was a short week, only three days long, as it was the last before the holiday break started and the semester ended. During the discussion on Monday with Elizabeth where Mr. Riggs had informed her what grade she would be receiving for her effort during her after school sessions, which wasn't a top grade but still quite high, especially considering how poorly she had been doing at the beginning of the semester, he learned that her mother would be out of town for several days prior to the traditional holiday celebrations, visiting distant relatives. Elizabeth and her mother had decided, between them, that Elizabeth would remain home to attend school and continue her afternoon lessons with her chemistry teacher, Mr. Riggs, which had been so successful in raising her grade for the class.

	
Upon hearing this new bit of information, Mr. Riggs knew that the time had come at last. He had put his final decisions on the matter off for the past several weeks, contenting himself with merely enjoy the afternoons with Elizabeth. He had even considered just passing the girl out of his class, waving good bye and wishing her well as she walked out of his classroom for the last time on Wednesday afternoon. He was still undecided on the matter, but thought that it would be wise to prepare for whatever eventuality might come to pass.

	
With this in mind, he instructed Elizabeth, at the end of their after school session on Monday, that she should eat nothing from then until Wednesday afternoon.

	
"And I mean absolutely nothing, Elizabeth. Please don't sneak a snack or two when your stomach starts to grumble at you." Mr. Riggs said, looking down at his nude, damp student seriously, who he had just finished washing but had not yet dried off.

	
"Uh, okay, Mr. Riggs." Elizabeth replied, easily. "But, why?"

	
"I've got a new idea that I'd like to try out, but you need to be completely clean on the inside for it to work. A few days without food intake should help greatly in that regard." Mr. Riggs answered. "Also, while you aren't to eat anything, I would like you to make an effort to drink extra water, to really flush your body of any unpleasant build ups. If you can, try to imbibe several gallons each day."

	
"Several gallons.. Wow." said Elizabeth, struck by his request. "I'll try, Mr. Riggs."

	
"That's all I ask, Elizabeth. I know that you will come through for me, because you always have." said Mr. Riggs, smiling down at her fondly and stroking her cheek.

	
Elizabeth smiled happily back up at him and leaned into his touch, then hugged her teacher briefly before dressing and departing.

	
Tuesday's session passed by without any fuss, with Elizabeth merely cooking, then being eaten, then being pleasured, as was now normal for her afternoons. Wednesday's session, however, was special, and Elizabeth seemed to pick up on this as preparations for her last, final time in the whole roasting oven commenced.

	
Mr. Riggs seemed to take more time than usual cleaning her skin, carefully washing and rewashing each part of her until her skin buzzed from the sensations of his rough bristled brush. He spent even more time rinsing out her insides, flushing her out far more thoroughly than he ever had before. Once he was satisfied with the state of both her bottom holes, he left to dispose of the small amount of unpleasantness that had actually washed out of her.

	
Elizabeth waited for Mr. Riggs to return, nude and wet, shivering a little from chill and anticipation. Mr. Riggs' extra care in cleaning her flesh had jump started her libido a bit earlier than usual for their sessions, and she spent most of the time waiting for her teacher to return stroking herself slowly, closing her eyes and biting her lip as she stoked the sensual fires building within her. Her need at the beginning of this afternoon's session felt greater than it had at the start of any of the previous sessions, and she resolved to herself to try and alleviate the situation.

	
Mr. Riggs returned from his task to find Elizabeth bent slightly over his workbench, facing the rear wall with her back arched and rump thrust out towards him, with each of her small hands grasping one of her now pert bottom cheeks, spreading them apart in a lewd display of wanton sensuality. She looked over her shoulder at her teacher, blushing furiously, then spoke to him while rolling her hips slightly, provocatively.

	
"Uh, Mr. Riggs? I know we usually wait until after, but I.. uh.. I was hoping.." Elizabeth said, a bit hesitantly, then bit her lip and looked hopefully back up at him.

	
"Well, how can I refuse an offer like that?" Mr. Riggs thought to himself, amused, as he advanced on her, undressing as he went, after he quickly washed his hands.

	
Elizabeth sighed with happy relief as her teacher finished disrobing and placed himself behind her, his already erect manhood bumping against her backside as he picked up the bottle of olive oil she had placed, with foresight, beside herself on the workbench.

	
Mr. Riggs simply opened up the bottle and drizzled it all over her bottom and lower back, watching with aroused fascination as the semi-viscous lubricant oozed down between his student's spread cheeks, coating her thoroughly. Once what he felt was a sufficient amount of the oil had reached where it needed to be, he pressed himself into her, his quiet grunt of appreciation mingling with her delighted exhalation at his penetration.

	
Elizabeth's bottom had, at first, needed to be gently persuaded to accept Mr. Riggs' member. Now, however, after more than two weeks of continuous usage, it had grown far more accommodating. Elizabeth rose to her toes as he slid into her, not out of pained reaction or desire to escape her bottom's fate, but simply in pleasured, conditioned response to his girth tugging at the sensitive bands of muscles and membranes that circled her rear opening.

	
They rocked together for a few minutes, she holding herself up with her hand and arms, pushing back against him, while he drove into her, still gently, but firmly and deeply, pulling her hips back towards his in time with each thrust. Elizabeth, at one point, reached for her filet and clitoris with once hand, only to groan in aroused need when Mr. Riggs stopped her motion before it could finish, grasping and trapping both her hands within his each of own upon the top of the workbench.

	
As he rode her, Mr. Riggs considered whether or not to allow Elizabeth to come to a climax. He thought that sending her on this final trip into his oven, still quivering and begging with unsatisfied need, would be highly amusing, and seriously considered doing it to her. One the other hand, he reflected, he had taken far more than his fair share of pleasure from her flesh, both sexually and gastronomically, and it seemed only right that she receive one last climax in return.

	
Coming to a decision, Mr. Riggs pulled Elizabeth back against him hard, straightening her up and pressing her back against his stomach and chest. He then reached across her chest and grasped her right breast within his left hand, while letting his right hand trail down across her flexing abdomen and come to rest atop her quivering sex. Elizabeth moaned in pleased relief as he began rolling the nipple of her right breast in his left fingers, while also running the fingers of his right hand up and down across her folds, teasing her clitoris just a little with each stroke.

	
The two of them spent another minute or so like that, with Mr. Riggs building Elizabeth up to a fevered pitch, before he casually flicked his thumb across her clitoris several times, allowing the orgasm that had been threatening for the past several minutes to finally come crashing down on her. She gasped and squirmed, writhing within his grasp and back against him, as pleasure flooded through her and drove out everything else. The fluttering contractions of the muscles lining Elizabeth's back passage sent Mr. Riggs over the top himself, and he buried himself into her bottom as far as he could as he came.

	
They stayed like that for several more minutes, him pressed deeply into her, with his nose and mouth resting in the hair at the top of her head, until the last flickers of the orgasm they had shared finally settled down into the warm embers of afterglow. Mr. Riggs recovered first, as he always did, and washed and redressed himself. Elizabeth seemed content to merely lay atop the workbench, a slightly goofy, but utterly satisfied smile plastered across her face, as she just breathed in and out, slowly and happily.

	
Elizabeth might have been happy to end their last session right there, but Mr. Riggs had other plans. He soon had her rewashed and re-flushed, cleaning the evidence of their lovemaking off and out of her. She was lain into her pan moments after that, still relaxed in boneless, limp contentment, as Mr. Riggs busied himself preparing her to roast. So apparently satisfied was Elizabeth that, after Mr. Riggs had bound her up in her usual thanksgiving turkey presentation, she hardly seemed to notice that he injected far more marinade into her breasts and filet than he usually did, and in a far larger area.

	
Elizabeth seemed to fail to notice her teacher's actions because, contrary to what she had imagined, he didn't use a single huge syringe to fill her flesh with the flavor enhancing fluids, but merely refilled his normal syringes many times to accomplish the task. He even pressed the sharp tip of one syringe into her clitoris, something he had never done before, and sank the thin steel of it deep into her tender bud, finally causing some discomforted squirmings from Elizabeth in reaction, to fill it with an inordinate amount of slightly stinging marinade.

	
Ignoring the feeble, quiet protests his roast made about the treatment of its clitoris, Mr. Riggs stood back to admire the effects his efforts had on Elizabeth's most appetizing portions. Her already generous breasts were swollen and engorged, larger than usual and obviously filled to the brim with marinade, perky nipples practically bursting and even now oozing slightly with the flavoring liquids from many tiny syringe holes. Elizabeth's filet appeared to be in similar straits, looking positively puffy with marinade, and her poor, swollen clit peeked cheekily out from beneath its hood, clearly far larger and more engorged than ever nature intended.

	
Satisfied with his progress so far, Mr. Riggs then proceeded to stuff Elizabeth's already abused filet, filling it with as much of the mix of bread, sausage, mushrooms, herbs, and spices as he possibly could. Once Elizabeth seemed to reach her groaning capacity, he briefly considered the needle and thread he had prepared, pondering whether or not to try to force more stuffing into her, before dismissing the idea. Elizabeth's filet was extremely attractive and appetizing, even puffed up and stuffed full as it now was, and Mr. Riggs felt that whatever crude stitching he could accomplish would only detract from the lovely presentation she already made.

	
Finished with flavoring and stuffing Elizabeth's breasts and filet, Mr. Riggs turned his attention to her sauce. He had chosen a variation on the lemon and honey sauce for her that had been, a bit ironically, one of the very first sauces he had tried out on the girl. He coated her thoroughly, more so than he ever had before, even going so far as to spread the sauce across her neck, face, forehead, and even ears. He was, however, careful to avoid her eyes while doing so.

	
Mr. Riggs once again stood back to look at his progress. Elizabeth looked perfectly scrumptious and absolutely ready to slide into the oven. She squirmed slightly against her bonds, still a bit uncomfortable at the amount of fluids he had injected into her flesh, and looked back up at him, a bit concerned. She had noticed how much more thoroughly and with how much more attention to detail her teacher had taken during his preparations of her, and appeared to be a bit worried about what they might mean.

	
Mr. Riggs smiled down at her, beaming with fond pride that seemed to reassure Elizabeth, and bent towards her. He did then something he had never done to her before, something that startled and surprised Elizabeth, making her jolt slightly within her bonds.

	
Mr. Riggs kissed Elizabeth, deeply, on the mouth.

	
Elizabeth moaned into her teacher's mouth as he pressed it against her own. She longed to reach up and cradle his head to hers, to prolong and deepen the kiss, but restrained as she was, could only squirm happily upon her tray. The kiss held for one moment, then several, and Elizabeth felt like she was in far more intimate contact with Mr. Riggs than she ever had been before, even considering the times they had made love; such as after she cooked for him every afternoon, or even just minutes earlier that day.

	
The kiss ended, as each one eventually must, and Elizabeth exhaled shakily in response afterwards, still locked into eye contact with her teacher.

	
"Elizabeth, I want to thank you. For this. For everything we've accomplished together." said Mr. Riggs, voice thick with emotion.

	
"You look absolutely, completely delicious." he finished, looking down at her once again with pride, licking his lips clean of the sauce smeared on them from her own.

	
Before Elizabeth could pull herself together enough to respond, Mr. Riggs ran his basting brush over her tingling lips one last time, re-covering them in sauce and preventing her from speaking, then slid her into his pre-warmed oven.

 No.8343

16 - Holiday Dilemma

	
Mr. Riggs watched as Elizabeth wriggled and squirmed within the heat of his oven. He had turned the temperature dial up much faster and a bit further than he had done during her previous stints within his device, and she was definitely feeling the effects.

	
Mr. Riggs was conflicted, deeply. His efforts over the past several months, all the time and care he had taken guiding and shaping Elizabeth, his work crafting and attempting to perfect his ovens, everything, had all been in preparation for this moment, and here he was, still undecided.

	
The problem was that, as appetizing a roast as Elizabeth made, and as much as he so very dearly wanted to taste her truly cooked flesh upon his tongue, he had managed to grow quite fond of the girl. Not just fond, but positively attached to her, in fact. He had become accustomed to her company during their afternoon sessions, and quite happy with how accommodating she had become as he tested his inventions with her willing flesh. Even the sensual pleasures they experienced each time after Elizabeth came out of his ovens were something he would dearly miss, now, if he went forward with his original plans.

	
The fact that Elizabeth had, thanks to the side effects of her pep addiction, lost dozens of pounds of excess fat, and gained almost an equal measure of smooth, supple muscle, in all the most aesthetically pleasing places possible, only compounded the matter. The girl had become, quite simply, beautiful. Her chubby face had leaned into a model's profile, and her waist, which had rolled with fat, had slimmed down and tautened up considerably. Her breasts, which had been generous before, seemed to somehow have escaped the effects of her chemical dependence, and jutted out proudly and plumply above her trim abdomen. Her rump and legs were magnificent, swelling with taught muscle in her buttocks, thighs, and calves, while still narrowing pleasingly at her knees and ankles, due to the apparently endless squats, thrusts, and jumps that Elizabeth had performed to burn off her pep infused energy each night.

	
What really pulled all of her attractive parts together into a stunning whole, however, was the fact that she hadn't yet entirely lost all of her body fat. There was still thin layer of it, covering her entire body, that smoothed out the newly expanded muscles of her legs, arms, and torso. Rather than looking like a professional athlete, with bulging muscle straining underneath veiny, tight skin, Elizabeth looked like a very fit, very plush, very attractive young woman at the peak of her youthful health.

	
Mr. Riggs stood frowning, looking down at Elizabeth, as an internal battle raged within him. His was the age old dilemma, which had beset many before him.

	
Mr. Riggs wanted to have his cake, but he also wanted to eat it too.

	
Elizabeth, had, by this time, ceased her squirming struggles for the most part, and appeared to have slipped into semi-consciousness due to the elevated heat she was being forced to endure. She still rolled back and forth slightly, and Mr. Riggs could hear her groaning at the temperature through the glass walls of his oven. Even now, he knew, he could simply reach in and remove her from the heat, and she would probably recover fully from the mild heat stroke, and marinade infused into her breasts and filet, that she was currently suffering.

	
Mr. Riggs reached out to the temperature dial on his oven, slowly and hesitantly, still pondering. He rested his hand on the knob for a few moments, considering the girl in front of him, at the possibilities lain out before her.

	
He hesitated for a moment longer, then Mr. Riggs twisted the knob all the way to its highest setting, deciding on the fate of his former student, now roast, and took his hand away.

	
What had finally decided the issue for Mr. Riggs was Elizabeth's dire addiction to the pep he had provided to her. She was completely attached to the powder, and Mr. Riggs knew that, with her dread at returning to her prior personality, she might never be able to shake its hold on her. He also knew that, given enough time, the perfectly sculpted body that she had now would wither under the influence of the mix of pharmaceuticals.

	
No, Mr. Riggs thought, Elizabeth was a ripe fruit, physically, mentally, and emotionally, that was ready to be picked. Even if he didn't, if he let her free of his oven to continue on with her life, she would eventually rot on the vine, either due to his pep or to simple age, her current perfection wasted forever.

	
Her entire prior experience and potential as a person, living a full life, weighed against her potential as a sublime roast to be eaten and enjoyed once, then discarded, Mr. Riggs knew that he had made the right decision. Elizabeth would cook. It was simply the only choice that made any sense.

	
Satisfied with his decision, Mr. Riggs turned from his former student for a few moments and picked up his phone, to send quick messages to several of his coworkers at the school, inviting them to an early holiday meal.

 No.8344

17 - Holiday Feast

	
Elizabeth cooked to perfection in Mr. Riggs' oven.

	
She had passed out completely soon after he had turned up the heat, and had passed on entirely shortly after that, the rising temperature finally transforming the girl from beautiful young woman to beautiful roast in progress.

	
Her first basting, a few minutes later, had been quite emotional for Mr. Riggs. Instead of squirming and groaning from the heat, as she usually did, Elizabeth's form simply lay there, limp and unmoving, as he refreshed the sauce covering her flesh. He was soon distracted from the melancholy of his former student's departure by the delightful scent of, for the first time, her truly baking meat emanating from within the oven. He started to perk up at the thought of finally being able to taste her as he had always wanted to.

	
Mr. Riggs stayed with Elizabeth the entire time she cooked, re-basting her like clockwork every few minutes, determined that she should achieve what he knew she was capable of: delicious perfection. It took hours and hours for Elizabeth to cook fully, and Mr. Riggs took only quick breaks to dash to the restroom or to retrieve a fruit drink, for stamina, from the school's cafeteria. He watched her the entire time, as she transmuted from simply a dead girl into a lovely, mouthwatering, perfectly proportioned roast, completely fascinated by the process.

	
Once he determined her to be, finally, done, he removed her glazed and baked form from within his oven, experiencing something akin to reverence as he did so.

	
He had done it.

	
Mr. Riggs had actually baked one of this students, Elizabeth, and she, fulfilling her entire culinary potential, had turned out marvelously.

	
He set what was once Elizabeth down on top of his workbench gently, then simply sat back and gazed at his accomplishment with awe and happiness.

	
He shook himself a few minutes later, then looked around and stood up, realizing that he still had much to do to prepare for his little dinner party. He spoke aloud for the first time in hours, as he looked down at Elizabeth one last time, mostly to himself, but also a little to his memory of her.

	
"Got to let the meat rest." was all that he said, softly.

	
The dinner party went grandly. There were just two guests, besides Mr. Riggs himself. He had invited Mr. Grey, the shop teacher, out of appreciation for his help and assistance in designing and fabricating the parts that went together to make his ovens. He had also invited Miss Evans, whose advise had proved so valuable in the preparation of the night's main and only course.

	
Both of his coworkers and co-conspirators were very voluble in their appreciation of his invitation and of how spectacularly his roast had turned out, and they spent the entire night listening, between heaping helpings of succulent meat, to a recounting of the long journey Mr. Riggs' ovens had taken from simple idle fancy to wildly successful reality.

	
Mr. Riggs had, perhaps somewhat greedily, appropriated an entire breast for himself. The other he had split between his two guests. He then he shared out select portions of thigh, rump, and belly for everyone to sample, as he was very curious how different areas of the roast tasted.

	
After several hours and numerous samplings of many different areas from upon the roast, it was agreed by all that the inner thigh, close up to the filet, was by far the most tender and succulent cut of meat. The outer thigh was also good, but after some discussion, it was felt that perhaps it would do better as steaks rather than roasted. The rump was greeted with similar feelings, by Mr. Riggs and Miss Evans, at least, but Mr. Grey, a self admitted fan of feminine rumps, cooked or not, made an impassioned case that it should be considered a close second to the upper thigh cut in both flavor and texture.

	
The belly, it was agreed by all, was good, but would definitely be better employed as a cured, perhaps even smoked, slab of bacon rather than roasted. The calves were similarly dismissed, for, tasty and flavorful as they were, they were deemed simply too tough to make for a good roast. Miss Evans opined that stewed, perhaps overnight in a crock pot, they would fare much better. The breasts, which they had all returned to time and again, each devouring their share completely by the night's end, were, by unanimous consent, found to be perfectly sublime. The only criticism that could be fairly leveled at the delicious globes of fatty girlflesh was that they were perhaps too rich, and that trying to polish off a pair as generous as this particular roast's had been, without the aid of good company, was purest folly, which would surely result in inevitable and well deserved heart failure.

	
Of the prime cut, the filet, there was politely made no mention. The reason for this was due to the fact that Mr. Riggs had consumed it himself, in its entirety, before his two guests were scheduled to arrive.

	
He had sat, his preparations for his guests complete, before the whole roasted girl on the folding table in front of him, simply inhaling her intoxicating, delicious scent for several minutes. She was trussed still, and more resembled a holiday bird than ever, with her filet presented to him most appetizingly, practically in his lap.

	
Mr. Riggs had, hands trembling in an excited mix of anticipation and trepidation, sliced a small sliver from the inside edge of one of the folds of the filet, and had slowly brought the still slightly steaming piece of aromatic meat to his mouth. He knew, by smell, just how good it would taste before it even touched his tongue, but he couldn't have anticipated the sheer scope of the reaction the sliver of meat would engender within him.

	
He broke out in goose flesh the moment he first tasted Elizabeth's fully cooked filet, inhaling sharply as his body straightened up of its own accord and his hair stood on end. The taste of the bit of flesh on his tongue wasn't just good, nor was it merely delicious. It tasted orgasmic, in a quite literal sense.

	
"My god, if my mouth can come, then it's coming right now." was all Mr. Riggs could think as he savored the slice of meat in his mouth.

	
When he pressed the slice between his teeth, crushing out Elizabeth's natural flavors and the marinade Mr. Riggs had injected into her, his eyes rolled up and his head tilted back as he moaned in unadulterated gastronomic ecstasy. In the same way a man dying of thirst might appreciate a draft of cool water, or the way a drowning man would savor a gasp of clear air, Mr. Riggs enjoyed the taste of the slice of a girl's sex on his tongue. It was something he had needed, desperately, his entire life, and he was only just now realizing that fact.

	
He had been tempted, sorely tempted, to simply discard his utensils and rip mouthfuls of what he now knew he needed so very much from the roast before him, but had managed, barely, to control himself enough to continue on with his appetizer in a relatively civilized manner.

	
He had made his filet last, spacing out each slice of meat with a fork full of steaming stuffing, which proved to be nearly as delicious as the filet that contained it. Mr. Riggs' only regret was that the sausage in the stuffing was simple pork, which paled in comparison to the girlflesh around it. Thankfully, Mr. Riggs now had ample amounts of real girlmeat to use the next time he wanted sausage in the stuffing he filled a filet with.

	
Once he had finished his filet completely, he had waited for his guests to arrive, with a level of happiness and contentment that he had never suspected it was even possible to achieve. His agonized decision to reduce Elizabeth's future to helpings on a platter was, as how her filet had tasted had made him realize, eminently justifiable and, he now felt, quite objectively the right and correct course of action.

	
The dinner party ended as morning neared, and Mr. Riggs sent his guests away with parting gifts of meat, to be savored later at their leisure. To both Mr. Grey and Miss Evans each he bequeathed an entire arm, separated at the shoulder. Mr. Grey requested and received a generous portion of rump, as well as select cuts from the inner and outer thigh. Miss Evans received similar cuts of thigh, but forwent her portion of rump and asked instead for one of the roast's small, well glazed feet. Miss Evans, quite full from their night of feasting, still managed to lick her lips and gaze down on the separated appendage in hungry anticipation as she wrapped it up to take home with her.

	
Mr. Riggs spent another hour parting out the remains of the roast, wrapping most of the meat in first butcher paper, and then plastic wrap, labeling each carefully as he did so, to be placed in his home freezer to be enjoyed later that winter. The head, remaining foot, and several other selected portions he simply wrapped in the butcher paper or entombed within resealable containers, as he intended to consume them much sooner. After that task was complete, he finished by cleaning the back room thoroughly, wiping up stray splatters and drips of sauce and meat juice from the floor and folding table, washing dishes and cutlery, and tidying up in general.

	
Mr. Riggs, happy but tired and spent after a long day and night's work, preparation, and celebration, left his classroom for the last time that semester, lugging a large ice chest full of meat, along with a smaller sack of bones and waste, with him as he headed for home.

 No.8345

18 - End

	
During the dinner party, the former identity of the roast had come up, briefly, between their discussions about Mr. Riggs' ovens and the spirited debates about which part of the roast tasted the finest.

	
"Elizabeth was a treasure." Mr. Riggs said solemnly, as he raised a beaker of the quite nice wine Mr. Grey had thoughtfully brought along with him.

	
His guests murmured quiet concurrence as they gently clinked their own beakers against his, then drank to his little toast.

	
"She enjoyed her time in my ovens, for the most part, you know, even up to the end." Mr. Riggs said.

	
He had then produced the tablet on which he had stored the pictures of Elizabeth, the ones where she looked like she was at least partly enjoying herself, and passed it to his guests. He let them peruse the album slowly and enjoyed the fascinated responses they gave upon viewing each new image. Miss Evans had seen many of them before, of course, but they were all new to Mr. Grey, and the shop teacher took great interest in seeing the ovens, whose parts he had helped Mr. Riggs to construct, be put to actual use. The gallery had expanded since Miss Evans had last seen it, however, and she was delighted to find that Mr. Riggs had documented Elizabeth's testing of his full body ovens thoroughly, and was especially interested in the series that captured the girl's final journey just hours before, as she had turned from raw flesh to delicious roast.

	
"Elizabeth's help was indispensable in building working prototypes of my ovens. I almost regret finally giving in and roasting her, especially since now she'll never get to test my latest oven, which I'm sure she would have enjoyed greatly." said Mr. Riggs, as he heaved a sigh and patted his full stomach, looking wistful.

	
"Which new oven is that?" Miss Evans asked, rising to his carefully baited statement.

	
"A filet cooker." Mr. Riggs replied, simply.

	
Miss Evans looked at Mr. Riggs blankly for a moment, her mouth hanging open slightly, then shifted in her folding chair slightly, crossing her legs.

	
"Elizabeth took so much pleasure from her time in my breast cooker that I'm positive she would have jumped at the chance to try out my new oven." Mr. Riggs continued, looking directly into Miss Evans' wide eyes. "It has, in addition to the features all my other ovens have, a heating element which is inserted directly into the girl's filet, to ensure an even, deep cook of the entire cut."

	
Miss Evans gulped slightly at the description, and recrossed her legs in the other direction.

	
"Naturally, to prevent the meat from sticking to the heating element, marinade flows continuously from a small nozzle at the tip, and the whole device vibrates, slightly but constantly, to ensure that the marinade is distributed evenly within the filet."

	
Miss Evans mouth fell open at this last statement, then she burst out in incredulous laughter.

	
"Mr. Riggs, you are a wicked man, and, dare I say, a horrible liar!" Miss Evans said, trying to hide her amused laughter behind one hand. "A vibrating heating element, indeed."

	
Mr. Riggs had simply grinned good naturedly at her comment, leaning back into his folding chair contentedly and resting his hands on his comfortably full stomach.

	
"My dear Miss Evans, if you doubt me, by all means, come by my room sometime after a school day ends and prove me false." Mr. Riggs replied easily, quirking one eyebrow up at her in challenge.

	
Miss Evans looked a little taken aback at his statement, then fidgeted upon her chair slightly, as if forcing herself not to recross her legs yet again.

	
"This isn't anything like that infernal "automatic nipple injector" device of yours, is it?" she finally asked, suspicion tinting her tone. "I swear, my left breast is still sore where that thing poked me about a hundred times in a row."

	
"This is completely different, I assure you. And as to the state of your left breast, I seriously doubt it can be paining you that much still, as my injector didn't even have a needle loaded into it, merely a pen." Mr. Riggs replied.

	
"Perhaps you should allow me to jab your body somewhere sensitive with a pen a hundred or so times, Mr. Riggs." Miss Evans said, her tone haughty. "Then you might be in a position to understand what my poor breast went through for your sake."

	
"That's neither here nor there, I'm afraid, Miss Evans." Mr. Riggs said. "The question at hand is if you will attempt to prove my statement, which I still insist is quite factual, false."

	
"I.. I think I will." she replied, defiantly accepting his challenge. "When do you want me to come back."

	
"Oh, any time would be fine. How about the first Monday after school resumes? We may as well get it out of the way." Mr. Riggs answered, looking satisfied.

	
"I'll be there." said Miss Evans, still looking defiantly at her host.

	



	
"Ohh m-my gahhd, it really does v-vibrate.." Miss Evans managed to gasp, as Mr. Riggs enabled all the functions of the heating element inserted deep into her filet.

	
Miss Evans was straddling a saddle-like oven, nude and bound, with her filet pressed into an opening at the top of the saddle. Her lean arms were bound behind her at the elbows, and her slim ankles were bound to the tops of her spread thighs, which had effectively neutralized her attempts to wiggle and squirm away as Mr. Riggs had positioned the heating element and settled it as far as he could into her waiting flesh.

	
Mr. Riggs flicked the switch which toggled the heating element, deactivating it, as his younger coworker continued to shiver and gasp in reaction to the device.

	
"Well, Miss Evans, I think someone here owes someone else here an apology, don't you?" Mr. Riggs said, amusement clearly coloring his voice.

	
"Okay, okay! You weren't lying. I'm sorry." Miss Evans said, her chest still heaving in shocked surprise. "Now get me off of this thing!"

	
"Miss Evans, we've barely even begun today's test of this oven." said Mr. Riggs. "You need to stay on it for far longer to truly experience having your filet cooked."

	
"Wha-what? Wait, Mr. Riggs, I don't.. Ahh!" Miss Evans started to protest, before Mr. Riggs cut her off by the simple expedient of reactivating his filet cooker's full functionality.

	
Miss Evans squirmed harder still at the sudden warming and vibrations the heating element within her sex started producing. It had been embarrassing enough to strip in front of her coworker, not to mention allowing him to convince her to be bound as she was, but having him brush one of her own varieties of sauce liberally over her most sensitive area, then push a thick metal rod, which he told her was full of electric heating coils, into her had been almost more than she could bear. Her pride had demanded it of her, however, so she could disprove Mr. Riggs' ridiculous assertion that the rod full of heating elements would actually vibrate once he activated it.

	
The damned thing actually did vibrate though, which embarrassed Miss Evans almost, but not quite, as much as her current situation did. Mr. Riggs was watching her, obviously amused at her reactions to the device he had designed and constructed. Aside from vibrating, the rod inserted into her was warming at an alarming rate, and she thought that she could also feel the first spurts of warm sauce being deposited into her by the machine as well.

	
"The marinade is heated as it passes through the coils inside the rod." Mr. Riggs explained, as he observed his coworker shimmy and shake upon his oven while she tried to form protests around surprised squeaks and gasps. "This helps to ensure that the filet will cook at a reasonable, even rate. The drippings that flow from the filet as it cooks are gathered in a catch pan below, to be reused by the marinade pump at a steady, constant pace."

	
"Considering the self basting nature of most healthy filets, I anticipate not having to refresh the marinade much during the cooking process." Mr. Riggs finished, beaming at Miss Evans as she struggled.

	
"Y-you're not g-going to actually cook me, are you?" Miss Evans managed to finally stammer.

	
"Oh, not today." Mr. Riggs replied, smiling wickedly at her. "And certainly not before you've helped me find the perfect marinade to compliment the natural flavors of your filet."

	
"Y-you're horrible!" Miss Evans replied, before she groaned and bit her lip, stomach trembling and breasts quivering as she rode the vibrating rod that felt like it really was starting to cook her sex.

	
"Only when no one else is around to see it." Mr. Riggs agreed, chuckling mildly.

	
"Oh, god. It feels like my pussy is melting." Miss Evans moaned.

	
"Unlikely." Mr. Riggs replied. "And even if it did, the catch pan would collect it all and I'd have cream of filet soup."

	
"S-so h-horrible.." Miss Evans managed, weakly.

	
"Relax, Miss Evans. You're not even near to the temperatures that our dear, departed Elizabeth regularly endured." Mr. Riggs said. "Granted, her flesh wasn't in direct contact with heated metal, but the point still mostly stands."

	
Miss Evans had no reply to Mr. Riggs' last statement, as she seemed quite oblivious now to anything but the hot, vibrating rod buried within her.

	
Mr. Riggs glanced up at the clock, then back to his coworker, enjoying the sight of her pretty, slim form as she struggled, squirmed, and gasped at the relentless sensations flowing from her cooking filet. She had only another fifty or so minutes to go, then he would get to enjoy what he was guessing would be a very well marinaded, lightly toasted, and absolutely delicious afternoon snack.

	
He could hardly wait.

 No.8346

19 - Epilogue

	
It wasn't long before the police followed the trail that led clearly to Mr. Riggs. They confronted him in his classroom one day, just after school had ended. Somehow, Elizabeth's mother had contrived to be present, against what he presumed would be all police regulations and common sense, when they did so.

	
Mr. Riggs had suspected that this moment would come, sooner or later, and had prepared for it accordingly. Rather than deny or prevaricate, he simply told them the truth. It might, however, be more accurate to say that he told them A truth, rather than THE truth.

	
The tale that Mr. Riggs spun for his investigative audience started with his approaching Elizabeth about her grades, then offering her after school lessons as extra credit in order to make up for the ground she had already lost in his class. The after school sessions had gone well, at first, as Elizabeth had truly tried to learn all he had to teach her about chemistry.

	
The turning point came when his student had stumbled upon his odd little hobby one day, which happened to be designing ovens for the express purpose of cooking, whole or merely in part, consenting girls. Mr. Riggs was very careful to stress the "consenting" part of his peculiar predilections as he explained this. Elizabeth had, it seemed, been immediately taken by the concept, and had insisted, quite fervently, that she be allowed to assist him in his efforts.

	
Mr. Riggs admitted then to his audience then, sheepishly, that he had allowed his student to persuade him to exchange her time that was supposed to be devoted to chemistry with an equal amount of time working and tinkering with his incomplete ovens. He told them of the leaps and bounds his ovens had advanced by with her help, and of how she had volunteered, quite eagerly, to test them out herself once they had reached the prototype stage.

	
At this point, Mr. Riggs fished around in his desk drawer for a moment, then pulled out his tablet. He opened the album containing the photos of Elizabeth during her less agonized moments, which, with a judicious eye, could be appraised as being images of pleasure. Both the officers questioning him, as well as Elizabeth's mother, scrutinized the images closely as they flipped from one to the next.

	
Mr. Riggs continued his tale, his audience dividing its attention between him and the startling, shocking images of a young woman apparently cooking her breasts in an oven and happy about it. He told them how the tests of his various oven designs had escalated, and how Elizabeth had, finally, practically blackmailed him into cooking her completely at the end of the semester.

	
His tale ended just as the final series of photos in the album, the ones showing Elizabeth baking to perfection within his oven, flipped across the screen before incredulous, unbelieving eyes. Mr. Riggs then admitted, head hung in shame, that he had not approached the police or the girl's mother about the issue, despite its severity, out of simple embarrassment and fear of the reactions he would receive. He then apologized profusely to Elizabeth's mother, his contrition evident for all to see.

	
The police officer leading the investigation, a trim, athletic woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, then said that she had seen similar events occur several times before, while investigating recent missing person reports. Mr. Riggs had been genuinely shocked to hear this, since he had been operating under the assumption that he was the first person to have accomplished actually getting a girl into an oven. He quickly spun his shock into more sympathy capital, though, by expressing remorse at the idea of other girls being subjected to such acts.

	
"Actually, it's almost always the girl who got cooked who instigated events, just as apparently happened here. This isn't official, sir, as I'm not the district attorney who will make the final decision on whether or not to bring charges, but in my opinion you needn't worry too much about the legal ramifications of your act. You were clearly under duress, and both the county and state have been turning a lenient eye towards cases such as this when they turn up." the leading officer said, nodding reassuringly at Mr. Riggs as she did so.

	
"As to whether civil charges will be brought, that is up to the girl's mother, here." she finished, motioning towards Elizabeth's mother, who was still looking down at the final image of Elizabeth, roasted and presented on a platter, upon the table she would be devoured at a short time later.

	
Elizabeth's mother, who so far hadn't said a word during the entire interview, traced her fingers lightly across the screen over the image of her daughter's baked body, then heaved a regretful sigh.

	
"My god, Elizabeth. She had seemed a little different lately, but.." she said quietly, before looking away from the tablet and up at Mr. Riggs. "I think the worst part of the whole thing is that I never even got to taste her."

	
Mr. Riggs blinked in surprise at her response, then his face split into a wide, beaming smile as he replied to her.

	
"My dear lady, that is a condition that, I am very happy to say, is easily remedied."

	
The police officers left him then, after thanking him for his cooperation and also cautioning him not to leave town until the district attorney had contacted him regarding the matter. The lead investigator had pulled Mr. Riggs aside just before she departed, given him her e-mail address, and asked him to send her a copy of the images of Elizabeth as she baked within his various ovens that they had reviewed. For her "personal collection", she had said quietly.

	
"These are absolutely the best images I've come across so far. Nice job." she said, then winked at him as she left.

	
That left Mr. Riggs alone with Elizabeth's mother, who he soon learned was named Lauren. He had received her home address solemnly, which he actually already knew, and assured her that he would come by the very next day with a choice selection of Elizabeth's remaining cuts. They spent the next few minutes swapping baking ideas and recipes, before Lauren, greatly relieved to have finally found out the fate of her missing daughter, left, happily anticipating Mr. Riggs' visit.

	
Mr. Riggs was as good as his word, and the next day he gave Lauren one of Elizabeth's whole calves, some thigh cuts, as well as a large helping of ribs. Elizabeth's mother had immediately slathered barbecue sauce onto her daughter's ribs and grilled them up then and there.

	
Mr. Riggs and Lauren then spent a very pleasant evening reminiscing about Elizabeth, stripping delicious meat from her ribs, and sharing ideas on how best to cook her remaining parts. Lauren, once again making her way through the photos of her daughter cooking in Mr. Riggs' ovens, which he had thoughtfully brought with him on his tablet, even showed evidence of envy towards Elizabeth's situation in some of the images. Mr. Riggs had perked up at that, and had begun evaluating Lauren in a new way for the remainder of the night. The woman was only in her mid thirties, having had Elizabeth while she was still in school herself, and shared a very similar build with her late daughter. At least, similar to how her daughter had been apportioned before Elizabeth had fallen under Mr. Riggs' influence.

	
As he gathered his things to leave at the end of the evening, Mr. Riggs cast out a calculated comment towards Lauren.

	
"Elizabeth told me you work several jobs. She mentioned that you often got home late."

	
"Yes." Lauren said, nodding sadly. "My husband left us with large amounts of debt when he died, unfortunately, and I've been having to work as much as I can just to stay ahead of the interest and support Elizabeth and myself."

	
"That sounds very tiring. How are you managing?"

	
Lauren looked up at Mr. Riggs for a moment, as if debating to herself on how much of her private life to reveal to him, a relative stranger. Then she sighed, her shoulders sagging as she seemed to deflate a bit.

	
"Honestly, not well. Some mornings I can hardly get myself up, despite the three alarm clocks I set each night before hand. I don't know how much longer I can manage it." Lauren said, unhappiness entering her voice.

	
"Hmm. I might be of some assistance, if you'll allow me." Mr. Riggs said, smiling down at Elizabeth's mother. "There is a tonic I've created, for pep. I often use it myself when I feel the need for extra energy."

	
Mr. Riggs left Lauren's house a few minutes later, whistling to himself happily. He had a belly full of girl meat, and he may have just found a very adequate replacement for Elizabeth, which were both things that pleased him very much. He was also scheduled for another test of his filet cooker with the delightful and quite delicious Miss Evans the next afternoon, which happened to be something he was looking forward to with great relish.

	
Yes, things were definitely looking up, Mr. Riggs thought, as he strolled into the night, disdaining to kindle a light. His steps were sure and unfaltering, even in the blackest shadows of his path towards his home. He knew, as he always did, exactly what he was doing and where he was going, despite the darkness that surrounded him.

End

Author's Note:

	
This was supposed to be a short story that quickly grew out of control. I'm very happy with how it turned out, however. This is the largest bit of writing I've ever done, by a large margin. I know an author begging for comments is pretty cliche and pathetic, but I've never put so much time and effort into anything before, and I'd really like to hear what the folks who make it all the way to the end of this thing think of it. Too long, too repetitive, too wordy? I want to know your opinion, beloved reader.

	
On a similar note, I was actually more conflicted about cooking Elizabeth then Mr. Riggs was. I've never held one particular fantasy, nor its characters, within my mind for as long as it took to write this out. I grew nearly as attached to the poor girl as Mr. Riggs did, and I actually procrastinated for quite awhile before I finally wrote out the section where she gets cooked.

	
With that in mind, I wrote this last little bit simply as an exercise in fun. Whether or not it is canon with the rest of the story, an alternate timeline, or simply an amusing little drabble, I'll leave for you to decide.

 No.8347

20 - Ia! Ia!

	
They say you never forget your first, and that was certainly true for Mr. Riggs.

	
He had cooked many girls over the years. He knew the number to be at least in the high hundreds, and probably even into the thousands, but no feast of girlflesh had ever again quite reached the level of sheer pleasure and enjoyment that he had experienced cooking and eating his first, his student, Elizabeth, all that time ago.

	
Granted, it was now much easier to cook a girl than it had been, back then. He simply went to the store and bought one, of whichever variety he wished. There was no more need for stealth or clever skulduggery, which Mr. Riggs thought was actually something of a shame. The lengths he had needed to go to, to acquire Elizabeth without raising undue suspicions about himself, had genuinely added to his ultimate enjoyment of her.

	
The amount of time that had passed, along with the large number of girls he had cooked, were actually why he was standing where he was now, doing what he was doing.

	
It had, in fact, been well over half a century since he had eaten his first girl, and Mr. Riggs had grown old.

	
Very old.

	
His increasingly advancing age was why he had dedicated the last two decades or so of his life to searching for a cure to the age old problem of age itself. And, incredibly, he had found one. He had actually found several, in fact, each one more improbable than the last.

	
Eating the flesh of a mermaid would work, apparently, which was probably why the things had evidently gone very, very extinct thousands of years before. One had to keep eating the flesh, every day, continuously, in order to keep dodging the reaper's old scythe.

	
A philosopher's stone would also do the trick, it was said by many sources. Unfortunately, every such stone was used up, dead and dry, and there was no known way of creating a new one, or of even recharging the existing ones, despite the countless experiments aimed at doing so performed over the course of history.

	
The only sure way, which was generally considered absolutely reliable by historical sources, was to be brought back to life, by a mortal enemy, no less, using an extremely complex, very detailed, and sinfully dark ritual.

	
The location was very important, as well. Only a very few, very old, ritual sites would work, and most were either destroyed or very difficult to access. Thankfully for Mr. Riggs, one such location, the only one in the northern Americas, in fact, happened to be within a mere several hundred miles of his home. Getting there would have been tough, as there were no roads nor trails within miles of the place, had helicopters not been invented more than a hundred years before. A simple, and surprisingly cheap, charter of one was all it had taken to arrive at the site when Mr. Riggs needed to be there.

	
The one who performed the ritual of rebirth was absolutely required to be the one who had murdered the one being reborn, as well. Of course, it didn't count if someone killed you just to revive you with the ritual. How could a killing be a murder if the killer intended to just bring the slain one back to life minutes or hours later? Thankfully, Mr. Riggs had never intended anything but death and consumption for Elizabeth, despite his uncertainty at the very end, and he thought that his act would fulfill that requirement nicely.

	
Of course, learning that there was a ritual to bring people back to life was the easy part. Actually finding that ritual had been very difficult indeed. One couldn't simply search for A copy of the ritual, unfortunately, because one had to find THE copy, for there was, and always had been, only one. It resided within a book, bound in human skin, (which wasn't actually all that remarkable, these days, come to think of it) written by a madman, who had resided in what is now called the Arabian peninsula, well over a millennia ago.

	
Mr. Riggs had that book, on loan, from a very nice Argentinian gentleman who had been kind enough to lend it to the aging, former chemistry teacher, once the man learned of the quest he was on. The Argentinian had even been generous enough to point out certain substitutions and shortcuts that would ease the burden of conducting the ritual, which he knew intimately, for he was actually one who had performed it himself, some centuries prior.

	
Taking his new friend's advice, Mr. Riggs had begun gathering the components for the ritual, a very time consuming, costly, and difficult process. The first was relatively easy: the bones of the one to be resurrected, at least the majority of them, anyway. Mr. Riggs, the sentimentalist that he was, had indeed saved Elizabeth's bones, even going so far as to retrieve the scraps from the parts of her he had gifted out.

	
The second was several dozen hearts, fresh, cut from the chests of virgins. Children wouldn't do, either. It had been discovered, several times over even, that apparently only the hearts of adult virgin sacrifices would work. This requirement, too, had not been difficult to fulfill. It was much easier in the modern world than it had been in the past. Farm raised girls hardly ever even saw a man, these days, before they found themselves on sale and standing in a market's meat aisle. Mr. Riggs had even received a bulk discount when he'd bought the lot of them, much to the relief of his savings account.

	
After the first two, the many more ingredients for the ritual grew increasingly bizarre and difficult to acquire. The nearly full troy pound of gold had been the most expensive, followed closely by the small sections of rhino horn and elephant tusk also needed. The horn and tusk probably wouldn't have been so expensive if the animals they originated from hadn't been extinct for several decades by now.

	
Probably the most difficult to locate had been the three fungi required. The death cap, the destroying angel, and the fly agaric. Finding all three mushrooms, during the short time they were ripe, which lasted only days or hours, within the set, limited time frame the ritual worked in, had been exceedingly difficult. The only way he had managed it was to bring along most of the meat girls he was going to sacrifice in the ritual, using them to scour large areas of damp forest and meadow, which they thought was great fun, until they finally managed to collect all three. The three mushrooms were actually substitutions for fertile crescent fungi that were now quite impossible to find, apparently, and were some of the shortcuts the Argentinian had suggested.

	
The last ingredient had also been fairly difficult to produce: a small silver chalice full of the essence of life. This was commonly misunderstood to be blood, but the Argentinian had told him that it was actually one of two things: breast milk if the one performing the ritual was a woman, or semen if the one performing the ritual was a man. It couldn't be just any breast milk or semen, either, it had to come from the performer themselves. For a man of his age, it was remarkable that Mr. Riggs could still produce any at all, but he managed, with the help of a freezer and the occasional mouth of a slave girl, to fill the little cup up as much as he could over the course of several months.

	
Finally, with all the necessary ingredients gathered, Mr. Riggs had traveled to the ritual site to perform the ceremony. Elizabeth's bones had been arranged in the center, ordered piece to piece as they had been when they had still resided inside of her body. Circled around the dis-articulated skeleton were the various other esoteric ingredients, with the bars of gold arranged above the skull and Mr. Riggs' thawed out semen at its tiny toe bones. Finally circling all were the fresh and bloody virgin hearts.

	
Thankfully, the meatgirls themselves had helped Mr. Riggs with that last part, as he was feeble enough now that hacking open several dozen rib cages to get at the still beating hearts within would have proven quite a chore indeed. He had actually only needed to cut the very last heart out himself, the bloodied girl very kindly holding herself quite still for his weak and shaking hands.

	
Everything in order and prepared, Mr. Riggs doused the final light, plunging the ritual site into complete darkness. The ritual could only be performed on the night of the new moon, and no artificial lighting could be permitted to shine upon either the components or the performer.

	
The aging, former chemistry teacher stood and disrobed himself, shivering in the chill air. Elizabeth's bones and the ritual ingredients were before him, and the large, tangled pile of heartless sacrifices lay behind him. Inhaling as deeply as he could, he prepared for the chant.

	
The chant was in no known language, and had to be performed flawlessly, from memory alone, for the ritual to work. Even just pronouncing many of the words was difficult, as if the sounds that formed them hadn't been intended for human throats and vocal cords. Mr. Riggs knew the whole thing by heart, and had practiced it many, many times in preparation for this night.

	
He shouted out the chant, as deeply and loudly as he could, into the blackness of the night. As he did, fel light began to gather and shine among the ritual components. It started with the hearts, which began beating, frenetically, once again, glowing brighter with each beat. The light spread from them, as if oozing down a wall, to the next layer of ingredients, which began shining in turn.

	
What the words Mr. Riggs continued to bellow into the sky meant, no one knew. He could be appealing to the God of Abraham, or to Lucifer, or to Shiva, or Odin, or Coyote, or who knew what other being of power. He could even just be reciting some old madman's morning to do list, for all he could tell. It didn't really matter to him what the words meant, it only mattered what they could do, if spoken correctly and at the right time and place.

	
That time was now, and that place was here, and Mr. Riggs pronounced every word perfectly, even though it felt like his throat was tearing as he did so. The deeper he got into the chant, the brighter the ingredients glowed. Eventually, just before the chant ended, the bones at the center of the ritual started to gleam too.

	
As the unearthly light shimmered dimly from the old skeleton, the other ingredients all started melting. The gold, the three mushrooms, the beating hearts, everything. Even the little chalice that held a bit of Mr. Riggs himself melted, silver and all, into the growing puddle of liquid surrounding the bones. As Mr. Riggs finished the chant, screaming out the final few words as loudly as he could, the puddle snapped to the bones. The way the liquid suddenly clung to the skeleton resembled what a glass of water shattering might look like if played in reverse.

	
The liquid gathered up the spread bones as it moved, lifting and positioning them and itself into the perfect outline of a human form. The form, liquid and bones both, glowed even brighter for a moment, so brilliantly that Mr. Riggs had to throw up his arm to shield his eyes, lest, he felt, he be blinded.

	
Suddenly, the glow ceased, instantaneously. Mr. Riggs stood in the darkness once more, old, naked, and trembling, with his breath held, listening hard.

	
Before him, from near ground level, he heard a shuddering, gasping inhalation, then several wheezing, gurgling, groaning sounds, as if someone who had not spoken in years was attempting to do so again for the first time. Finally, after another few moments, a voice, which Mr. Riggs had not heard in over half a century, asked a question.

	
"Mr.. Mr. Riggs?"

	
Mr. Riggs grinned to himself. He knew he had succeeded, but he had to check the identity of the being in front of him, just to be sure. The Argentinian had warned him that, if done incorrectly, things other than the intended target of the ritual could be brought forth. Terrible things.

	
"Who are you?" he rasped, throat still aching after the abuses it endured during the chant.

	
"Mr. Riggs, is.. is that you?" the voice said, confusion evident within its tone. "It's me, Elizabeth. Who else would it be?"

	
Who else indeed, Mr. Riggs thought to himself.

	
"What is the last thing you remember?" he asked.

	
"Umm.. You had just put me into the oven. It was pretty hot. It felt hotter than usual, actually." came the answer.

	
"Do you know what year it is?" Mr. Riggs asked of the voice.

	
There was silence for a few moments, then the voice spoke.

	
"Uh, it was two thousand sixteen, when you put me in the oven, but that doesn't seem right, for some reason.." the voice responded, trailing off and growing more confused.

	
"Where have you been?" he asked, curiously.

	
"What.. What do you mean?" came the uncertain reply.

	
"Between the time you last remember, in the oven, and now, here, where were you?" Mr. Riggs asked, again.

	
More silence.

	
"I.. I don't.." the voice started to say, then hesitated.

	
"No where?" it answered finally, questioningly.

	
Mr. Riggs kindled a light. The little globe he tossed into the air stayed there, shining brightly, lighting up the entire area for dozens of yards. The future, thankfully, had much better options for illuminating a dark night than simple flashlights.

	
"Welcome back, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs said, smiling down at the gloriously nude form of his breathtakingly beautiful former student.

	
"Mr. Riggs!" Elizabeth exclaimed from the ground, as she looked up at him in horror. "What happened to you?"

	
There was one final way to attain eternal youth, immortality. It was, naturally, by eating the flesh, raw or cooked, of someone who was, themselves, already immortal. The effects didn't last long, of course, but, most fortunately, immortals heal quickly, completely, and from just about anything.

	
Mr. Riggs bent over, his old back and joints aching, to give Elizabeth his hand to help her stand up, still smiling happily down at her.

	
"My dear, I will tell you all about it." Mr. Riggs said.

	
"But first, let's get a bite to eat."

End End

 No.8350

This story was great, and actually kind of sweet.

While girls being cooked isn't exactly my thing, I really enjoyed it. I also was rooting for Elizabeth at the end, even though it was clear that there was really just the one way the story could finish.

The epilogue, while different in tone, was also great and I'd love to see some stories of Necromancer Riggs and his immortality granting food girl having adventures throughout whatever future awaits them <3

I hope other people read your story and aren't put off by the length, the slow build up was extremely effective and certainly appropriate for a story about a girl being coerced into being cooked and eaten.

I look forward to seeing more stuff in the future, thank you for the work you put into this and good luck on any future endeavors!

 No.8380

Wow! What an amazing story. Thanks!

 No.8383

>>8350

Thank you so much for the thoughtful reply, it means a great deal to me.

I am very glad that you enjoyed my little fantasy put to paper(or computer screen) so much. I have another story, which I hope will be of a much more manageable length, that I am working on and which I hope to post soon(ish).

>>8380

You are welcome, and I'm glad you found it so enjoyable.

 No.8494

This was great! Very well done.

Only sad thing is that Elizabeth didn't get to live out her fantasy of being served live.

 No.8525

>>8494
Presumably there will be plenty of opportunities to run through variations on the fantasy now that she's immortal.

 No.8539

Thank you for your replies.

On another note, does anyone have recommendations about where else to post my stories? I've been posting them here at Gurochan, at the dolcettgirls forum, and on hentaifoundry, but I'm sure there are more places that might like the kinds of things that I write about.

 No.8569

>>8539
Well, I feel kind of silly mentioning this one, but "eka's portal" might be a good choice. It's more of a 'vore' website then straight up cooking, and you'd need to submit 3 pieces of art or story to the admins so they'll activate your ability to upload content... But really you can get around that rule by just uploading the chapters separately.

https://aryion.com/#show-forum-tree Replace xx with tt to make the link work... you know the drill.

 No.8571

>>8539
I post mine on Eka's, as well as on ASSTR.

 No.8573

Eka's portal is also the place where I put my stories, which consist of cannibalism and sometimes hard vore themes. At least I would welcome you with open hands!

What comes to the gallery requirement, I got mine with only one story. So that shouldn't be a problem, especially because you have multiple of stories already.

 No.8574

Whaou !
A very amazing and exciting story ! Continue like that !

 No.8582

Incredibly well done. Possibly the best I've read on here. Thanks for writing!

 No.8784

>>8569
>>8571
>>8573

Thanks for the tip. I've got my stories posted on Eka's now. Link:

https://aryion.com/g4/gallery/htabdoolb

>>8574

Thank you very much. I do plan to write more stories like this, although, perhaps not so long as this one was, ha ha.

>>8582

That is very high praise, thank you.

 No.9079

Methamphetamine?

 No.9092

I applaud your patience in writing filler.

Also, methamphetamine??? I'm curious. Or was it coke?

 No.9105

>>9079
>>9092

I know virtually nothing about drugs, so I just sort of globbed most of the stereotypical effects and side effects associated with drug use into one little white powder.

Whatever it is makes one feel amazing, it amps metabolism(or at least it feels like it does), reduces appetite, makes its users more likely to focus on one specific task to the exclusion of everything else, and is ridiculously addictive.

 No.9166

Yup, meth it is. It was marketed as Pervitin

 No.12617

bump

 No.13321

Very nice. I enjoyed this one a great deal.



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