"EvilFuzzy9 > Dolcett/Cooking > Cannibal Home Ec" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/uAzy5KJv Created on: Saturday 1st of August 2020 09:20:03 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:00:33 AM UTC It was noon—time for Home Economics class at Dolcett High. Today, as on every other school day at this time, Yvonne filed into the classroom alongside her friends, Amy and Christine. They were all attractive young women, each fairly popular in her own right. They were the darlings of the school, and there were very few boys who didn’t want them or girls who didn’t want to be them. But none of that mattered inside the Home Ec classroom. Once they stepped through that door, they were nothing but walking pieces of meat. It was either cook or be cooked, and a girl didn’t get to be just one or the other. She had to be able to cook other girls, and she had to be able to be cooked, as well. Many girls preferred cooking, and few preferred being cooked, but those few who enjoyed it, really enjoyed it. Yvonne, being the first one inside the classroom out of her and her two friends, was the first one who was able to see the names on the rotation. Examining the chalkboard, she saw that Amy would be the one being graded today. This was what they had expected, with how the rotation usually went, but sometimes things did get changed up by the teacher on a whim, so it paid to double check. “Yeah, you’re up today,” she said to Amy, heading over to their usual place. “You said you’d decided on what you were going to do for today?” “Uh-huh,” said Amy, going over to where the Home Ec uniforms were hung up. She slipped her blouse off over her head and unsnapped her bra. Rules were rules, and Home Ec required the students to wear only the aprons that were provided by the school. It was useful for desensitizing the overly modest, and it gave the other students and teacher alike something nice to look at. Plus, it helped put the girls doing the cooking and the girls being cooked on a slightly more even footing, which was nice. “Me and Christine talked it over, and we decided we’ll be making her into an oven roast.” Christine fidgeted, looking understandably nervous as she slid down her skirt and panties, getting naked between her friends as Yvonne and Amy put on their aprons. “Yeah. We agreed it was… my turn to be cooked,” she said quietly. “You know?” “Sure, it makes sense,” said Yvonne. She washed her hands while Amy got out the knives, and she looked at Christine from the corner of her eyes. “So are you going to get onto the table now, or…?” “Y-Yeah… Right.” Blushing, as naked as the day she was born, Christine climbed up onto the table, grudgingly lining her wrists and ankles up with the straps. It was as much a safety precaution to fasten the meat down before preparing it as it was to keep girls from getting cold feet and bolting at the last second. And while Christine had done this before, she had never much enjoyed it. If anything, knowing how painful the process was only made her that much antsier. Yvonne took the hint and fastened the leather belts over Christine’s arms and legs, pulling them tight. And while she did this, Amy set down the knives and the stuffing and dusted off her hands, beaming. The teacher was watching the other students get ready with their own projects, and she paused only a moment to nod in approval toward Yvonne, Christine, and Amy. “Alright,” Amy said. “Should we gut you first, or take off your arms and legs?” Christine winced. Neither option would be pleasant, and she was already afraid, having flashbacks of blood and pain and screaming. But she answered despite her fear. “Cut off my arms and legs first, so you don’t have to worry about me accidentally snapping the straps.” “I doubt you would,” said Amy wryly. “But alright. Just hold still.” She grabbed a cleaver and lined it up just to the side of Christine’s right shoulder, raised it in the air, then brought it down with a THUNK. Tears stung at Christine’s eyes, and she gnashed her teeth, biting back a moan of pain as the blood spurted from her wound. The fingers of her severed arm twitched, and she closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain. THUNK. Down again came the cleaver, and through her left arm now it hewed. This time, Christine could not restrain her pained moan, and her upper body—now freed from restraint with her arms severed—heaved and flopped upon the table. Yvonne placed her hands on Christine’s shoulders to hold her still as Amy lined up with the girl’s right thigh. “Don’t struggle,” Yvonne said. “You know that will only make the pain worse. Just relax and go to your happy place.” Pathetically, Christine sobbed. “My happy place is never being cooked,” she moaned. “Being somewhere this wouldn’t ever happen to me. God, it hurts… Please, make it stoooop…!” “Don’t be silly,” Yvonne said, although she sympathized. “There’s no such place. Just settle down. It will be over before you know it.” “No, it won’t,” Christine whined. Yvonne couldn’t contradict that without lying, so she said nothing. THUNK. The cleaver fell a third time, and Christine’s groaning redoubled. THUNK. It dropped again, and now she was a quadruple amputee, a lovely, portable nugget of a woman. Her eyes were swimming with tears, and her mouth was hanging shapelessly open as she sobbed. She wanted it to be over. But this wasn’t the end. Next Amy set aside the cleaver and grabbed a lighter knife, and she set this to Christine’s belly. Trying to make the cut as perfect as possible, she slowly drew the blade down to her friend’s navel, splitting the skin open. Christine sobbed louder as the warm air rose from her now exposed guts, and she looked down at herself, seeing her heaving breasts and her gaping belly. Yvonne and Amy started gutting the girl, who could not contain either her pain or her misery. In Christine’s defense, there were few girls in the class who didn’t respond similarly when being carved up, and she was far from the only one in the room who was sobbing and begging for mercy. But Yvonne and Amy refused to rush the process, and they drew out Christine’s guts slowly and carefully, disposing of them in the appropriate manner and rinsing her out. Then, when they were done with that, they stitched up Christine’s belly and started cramming stuffing inside her. They fisted their friend’s pussy, taking turns stretching out her cunt and filling up her empty abdominal cavity. It took a fair while and innumerable terms of vigorous ramming to turn the concave of Christine’s stitched up belly into a suitable bulge, and the whole while, the girl moaned and whimpered and struggled to endure the sensations to which she was subjected. When they were finished stuffing Christine, Amy and Yvonne stepped back from the table to await Ms. Hill’s appraisal of their work. While they waited, Amy stuffed an apple into Christine’s mouth—the girl was still very weepy, and while she understood why she would be crying, the noise was distracting. It was a few minutes before the teacher came over, and Christine had to endure being left in that state until Ms. Hill reached them. But once the woman had given the girl a once over, surveying her stuffed belly and her amputated limbs, probing and prodding her various orifices, she gave them a nod of approval. “Everything looks good,” said Ms. Hill. “You girls did well preparing her.” Christine looked at the teacher with doleful eyes, the pain evident in her expression. She whimpered into the apple that filled her mouth and weakly wriggled on the table. Amy noticed this, and she felt sympathetic toward her friend. “Is it fine if we snuff her now? Or do you want us to cook her alive?” Ms. Hill hummed and adjusted her glasses. “No, it’s fine to snuff her now. Her meat will be fresh enough as is.” Amy smiled, but if she looked glad to be able to put her friend out of her misery, Christine looked like she could have gotten down on her knees (if she still had legs) and kissed their teacher’s feet. And this grateful expression remained on Christine’s face even after the cleaver had hewn her throat and severed her head, the girl smiling in relief through the apple filling her mouth as she felt herself finally fade… Once Christine had expired, Amy and Yvonne moved her body into a pan, appropriately garnished, and slid this into the oven. Amy grabbed Christine’s head once they were done, picking it up and looking her deceased friend in the eye. She took out the apple and stroked Christine’s lips, appreciating their softness and the lingering warmth. “Christine won’t mind if I keep this, right?” Amy said. “Once she’s been revived.” “I think she would mind. You know we’re supposed to throw the heads in the trash,” said Yvonne, amused. “But what would you be planning to do with it, Amy?” A giggle, and a wink. “Oh… You know. A little of this, a little of that.” Yvonne laughed and nodded, getting what Amy meant. “Haha, well, I’m sure she’d be flattered, but you really should chuck it.” “Fine, fine…” Amy rolled her eyes and carried Christine’s head over to the trashcan, with Yvonne following her to make sure she actually disposed of it. Christine’s eyes still flickered in her sockets, Yvonne noticed when Amy dropped her head into the can, where a handful of other heads had already been deposited. She could recognize many of the girls, being friendly with most of them or at least passingly acquainted, and she guessed that Christine would recognize them too, if she was still aware. “There. Is that good enough?” “It is,” Yvonne said. “You know the rules.” “Yeah, yeah… I know.” They chatted a little more as they returned to their station, where they waited for their friend’s torso to roast. There wasn’t much left to do now besides keeping an eye on the oven, so they had time to chew the fat. But one of their other classmates came over while they were talking. Yvonne recognized her as Ellie, a cheerleader. They were friends, although they didn’t spend as much time together as they used to. “Hey,” Ellie said. “I see you guys are finished preparing your meat.” “Yeah,” said Amy. “She’s already smelling good.” “Mm-hm…” Ellie nodded, smacking her lips. “Say, could you two lend me a hand? I’m doing a spit roast, but I can’t lift Danielle and the spit into place by myself.” “Oh, a spit roast?” said Amy. “Fancy. I’ve always wanted to do one of those, myself…” “Maybe you could be spitted when Yvonne is graded,” Ellie suggested with a laugh. “She’ll be up to cook something next class, won’t she?” Yvonne coughed, staring down at her feet. She had been trying to avoid thinking about her scheduled evaluation next class. “I didn’t mean as the meat!” Amy laughed. “Though if I have to be cooked, I guess that does sound like a fun way to do it…” She winked, eliciting eyerolls from the other two. Amy was a bit of an oddball, as one of the few girls in class who seemed to enjoy being prepped and cooked. She and Ellie had that in common. “But you spitted Danielle, eh? I’ve always wanted a piece of her…” “She offered,” Ellie said, shrugging. “She said she felt responsible for my grade, as the captain of the cheer squad, and wanted to make sure I did well in class.” “Yeah, I bet you’ll do well…” said Amy. “With a fine piece of meat like that.” “But you need our help?” Yvonne said, steering the discussion back on topic. “Sure. We can give you a hand.” “Ah, thanks!” Ellie said, grinning. “I appreciate it.” She led them over to their station, where the head cheerleader, Danielle, lay skewered on a spit. The rod was bloody, and the young woman’s face was rueful. She made the most miserable sounds, moaning and whining, obviously in a great deal of pain. Yvonne was perturbed to see this, and she wondered if Danielle had actually volunteered. If she had, it looked like she regretted it. Also… “Wh-Why is she still alive?” Yvonne murmured, a little shaken by the sight of the moaning, tearful Danielle. This was the most popular girl in school, and she was in such an undignified position, and in such obvious, protracted pain. “If she’s all ready to cook, can’t you snuff her?” Ellie scratched the back of her head. “Ms. Hill said spit roasts have to be done with the girl alive,” she explained. “If I’d known that beforehand, I might have picked something else… but I need to do it properly if I want a good grade.” “Ah, that makes sense,” said Amy, nodding. “For a spit roast, she obviously has to be alive. That’s just how it’s done.” Yvonne gulped. “Will she… be okay? Cooking alive…?” “No, I imagine not,” said Ellie. “I’d take her place if I could… but I’m the one being graded today.” “Right?” said Amy. “I know what you mean… I prefer cooking others, of course, but I also get that it’s hard on most of them… and I figure it could be fun to try something like that at least once. Just to know how it feels.” “Not everyone is that adventurous,” Ellie said, shrugging. “A shame, but that’s how it is.” “Yeah, a shame…” Amy agreed. Yvonne shuffled her feet. She was good friends with both these girls, but when they got onto topics like this, it did always leave her a tad uncomfortable. She was more in line with Christine or Danielle in her opinion of being cooked, and if she was able to choose, she would pick being the chef every time. Not having to cook her friends or be cooked herself would have seemed the ideal option to her, if it had been an option at all, but the world just didn’t work that way. Reluctantly, she helped Ellie move Danielle and the spit that skewered her from the table to the waiting fire pit, with Amy’s assistance positioning the head cheerleader over the merrily dancing flames. Danielle’s eyes were pleading them to kill her, and when they instead placed her over the fire, she began to wail. She was weeping the whole time, and the look on her face was inexpressibly pathetic as her full, sumptuous breasts dangled over the fire. Her skin sizzled, and her screaming only grew louder as the seconds ticked by. The warmth of the fire against Yvonne’s own skin made her shiver, and as soon as they were done, she stepped back. Turning away with a grimace, she headed back over to her and Amy’s station. … … … … … The meat was done, and however the process of preparing and cooking their friends and classmates may have panged Yvonne’s conscience, once that part was over, she was able to forget about it and focus on the good side. She and Amy were sitting with Ellie, enjoying cuts of meat from their respective projects. A hefty slice of Christine’s rump was on Yvonne’s plate while Amy dined on Christine’s pussy, and Ellie carved into one of Danielle’s plump, glistening breasts. Danielle was impressively still alive despite having cooked to completion, despite already missing several chunks of meat from her once sexy, curvaceous body, and she was sniffling and quietly moaning in the background. But with the flavor of Christine’s flawless flesh filling her mouth, Yvonne found it easy to drown out the whining head cheerleader in favor of her conversation with Amy and Ellie. …Although with how the topic had meandered back onto something she was trying not to think about, Yvonne did feel tempted to distract herself with Danielle’s sobbing. “So, what are you going to do for your Home Ec grade?” Ellie wondered, looking at Yvonne. “You know, since you were such a help with Danielle, I’d be happy to lend you a hand with that in return.” “A hand… or something or more than that?” said Amy slyly, winking at Ellie. “I think I was going to offer to be Yvonne’s subject for next class, since Christine probably won’t be completely revived until sometime after that, but if you’re offering…” “Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m offering. More like I insist on it.” Ellie returned the wink with interest, and she gave Yvonne a cheerful look. “But HAVE you thought about what you’re going to do?” “I…” Yvonne fidgeted. “Well, you know how it is…” Amy smiled. “She’s a terrible cook,” she explained on Yvonne’s behalf. “So I think she’s intimidated by the thought of having to cook a girl for lunch.” “Oh, yeah,” Ellie said. “I do remember that… You haven’t improved at all since we were younger?” “I’ve improved,” Yvonne said. “Just… I’m still not very good at cooking.” Ellie hummed. “You aren’t completely hopeless, though, are you? I remember you could make simple things, at least.” “Uh-huh. Hamburger, pasta… as long as it doesn’t have a ton of different steps and ingredients, I can make it come out alright. Stuff like that is doable. A whole roast, though…” “Mm, yeah,” Amy said. “Hamburger, huh…? There’s an idea.” She looked over at the meatgrinder sitting in the back of class. “That’s something simple enough for you to do.” “But you need ground meat for that,” Yvonne said. “And…” “I’m fine with being ground up,” Ellie offered. “Like I said, you helped me out, so I’ll help you out. And I’ve been minced before, too. It hurts a lot, but I can handle it, if it’s for your sake.” Playfully, she winked. Yvonne ate the last bite of her helping of Christine’s ass and slowly nodded her head. “Well, if you’re okay with it, I guess we can do that.” “Alright!” Ellie beamed. “I look forward to it.” … … … … … When Yvonne walked into the Home Ec classroom and saw her name on the chalkboard, she knew that their assumptions had been correct, and she walked over to her station with Amy and Ellie following. They chose a spot by the meatgrinder, and there was no real competition for it. Although it was right there in the classroom, few people ever used it. As she changed into her naked apron for today’s class, Yvonne couldn’t help but wonder why that was. So, she voiced this question to Amy and Ellie, who shared a look and shrugged. “Speaking from experience: it’s a pain in the ass to clean out,” Ellie said. “Also, while being minced is quicker than many preparation methods, it’s also absolutely one of the most painful. And I say that as someone who’s been fried and boiled alive. It might not last that long, but going through a meatgrinder is like nothing else. Most girls would rather be prepared any other way.” “Oh,” said Yvonne lamely. “And… you’re sure you’re fine with it?” Ellie shrugged, removing the last of her clothes. She cocked her hips, sauntering up to the meatgrinder. “I can handle the pain.” She flipped a switch on the machine, turning it on, then climbed up its side to the input slot. Despite her brave words, she did look slightly nervous as she stared down into the mass of whirring blades. “And I already said I’d do it.” Ellie swung her legs over the rim and tentatively lowered her feet. Her toes disappeared, and Yvonne and Amy heard a wet, meaty sound and saw Ellie’s expression twist. Despite the brave face she’d put on, the cheerleader had to close her eyes and grit her teeth as she lowered her feet into the meatgrinder, and she couldn’t entirely keep herself from hissing in pain. “A-Are you alright?” Amy asked. “You usually aren’t even fazed by having a limb chopped off or your guts torn out…” “Like I said…” Ellie breathed. “It’s painful. But… that’s also part of the appeal.” She met Yvonne’s eyes for a moment, brushing a hand between her legs. Then, as the first bits of meat began to pump out from the chute, Ellie pushed herself over the edge, completely plunging her legs into the meatgrinder, offering her whole body to the rumbling, vibrating mass of metal like a maiden sacrificed to the god of a volcano. Ellie’s body sank into the machine, and her eyes rolled madly in her sockets, and more and more fresh, bloody meat gushed from the chute, piling up in the tray. Amy and Yvonne watched with mixed expressions, fascinated and faintly alarmed, but Ellie forced a smile onto her face before her head could disappear completely, and she gave them a final thumbs up before she was totally inside the machine. It was several minutes before the meatgrinder finished mincing Ellie’s meat, and when no more was coming out, Amy walked up and silently flipped the switch, turning it off. Yvonne still stared for a moment longer before shaking her head, stirring herself from her mute daze and walking over to grab the tray. It was heavy, of course, containing most of the mass of Ellie’s body, and she could not lift it by herself, so Amy came over and lent her a hand a moment later. They brought the meat to their station, and while Yvonne thought about Ellie’s last words, they started taking the meat and shaping it into patties while the griddle heated up. Burgers were easy enough to make that even Yvonne couldn’t mess it up, even if it took a while to cook all of the meat, and out of the numerous patties she made, only a couple came out burnt. These were disposed of, and the rest were set out for the teacher’s inspection. Ms. Hill scanned her eyes over the fruits of Yvonne’s work, humming to herself. “They look good,” she said. “Acceptable.” Yvonne breathed a sigh of relief. “I pass?” “Yes. Provided you remember to clean up after yourself, of course.” “Oh, of course!” Yvonne said sheepishly, following their teacher’s eyes to the meatgrinder. “Right. Me and Amy will take care of that before we leave.” Ms. Hill nodded and marked something down in her notes. “Very good,” she said. “That will be all, then.” She walked off, and Amy and Yvonne turned to face each other with wide grins. “You did it!” Amy said. “I’m proud of you.” “Thanks,” Yvonne said. “But it’s thanks to Ellie, really…” “Yeah.” Amy chuckled. “You’ll have to think of some way to repay her, once she’s revived~” Yvonne blushed and cleared her throat. “She was just repaying me…” she said, though privately she was thinking of ways that she could thank the girl for the assistance—ways that caused her to shiver and grow slightly damp. “But come on. We should clean out the meatgrinder before we forget.” “Yeah,” Amy said. “Let’s do that.” They opened up the machine and started picking through the blades, rinsing them off and scraping out the bits and pieces that had gotten stuck. There were a disconcerting number of these, and Yvonne had to resist the urge to gag as they sorted through the gore. She had been doing Home Ec long enough not to be too squeamish, but some of these things… “God, this is gruesome…” Yvonne mumbled. She pulled out what looked like a portion of jawbone, with the gums and some of the cheek still attached, if ragged and bloody. A couple teeth were missing, but some were still embedded in the tattered gums. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” “Yeah, it’s pretty messy,” said Amy. She pulled out what was left of Ellie’s nose, a bit of the girl’s upper lip still attached to it by a strip of skin, and she held this up in front of her face, grinning crookedly. “What do you think? Does it look good on me?” Yvonne made a face, not amused. She appreciated the sentiment behind Amy’s attempt to lighten the mood, but the girl could have chosen a less macabre way to do it. Wincing and looking away, Yvonne picked a couple of broken, slashed up fingers from between the blades. “This really is awful…” she said. “I can see why people don’t like to use it.” “Yeah?” Amy plucked a mangled portion of Ellie’s pussy, maybe half of the vulva having gotten nestled in a spot between the blades where it couldn’t be properly minced. She flipped this over in her hand, and she grabbed what was left of Ellie’s tongue from where it had gotten caught and slapped this over the remains of her pussy. “Hehe… But look at this, Yvonne. She’s licking her own pussy!” Amy waggled her eyebrows, trying to cheer up her friend. These attempts were having the opposite effect, though, and this time Yvonne outright refused to look. “Funny,” she muttered. Deciding to go for a change of topic, she then said, “So, Christine will be getting graded in our next Home Ec class…” “Ah. Yeah, I figure…” Amy said, pouting and continuing to help clean. “Who do you think she’ll want to cook?” “You, I imagine. Since you were the one who cooked her.” “Yeah?” Amy shrugged. “But I already told Ellie that I’d be Danielle’s subject for next week. Since she’ll still be regenerating.” “…Oh.” “Yeah. So it’ll probably have to be you. And, I mean, it’s been a while since you were last cooked, right? It’s about time for you to have another go.” Yvonne winced. This was true. She had been avoiding going again for as long as she possibly could, but when put on the spot, she couldn’t just say “It hurts, so I don’t want to be cooked.” That was something a spoiled little girl would say before she was chucked in the oven. And the kind of girl who had too bad of an attitude about being cooked was prone to being ‘forgotten’ when it was time for revival and left to stay dead. Not that Amy would ever be that meanspirited, but there were other students in class, and some of them might decide to talk about it if she made a scene and said she refused to get cooked. Nobody liked a disagreeable meatgirl, and many people might think it funny to meddle with her revival if she made a fuss. So she sighed and nodded. “That’s fair.” “You know I’d volunteer if I hadn’t already made a promise to Ellie,” Amy said, rubbing Yvonne’s shoulder. “And you know Christine would appreciate it.” “Yeah, I know.” Yvonne nodded. “I just hope the recipe she has planned won’t be anything too crazy.” “It should be fine,” Amy said, although she didn’t quite meet Yvonne’s eyes. “It’s not like she would have planned on cooking me for her grade and picked something that would suit my tastes…” Yvonne grimaced, sure that this was the case and knowing all too well what Amy was into. “I can take it,” she muttered, feeling like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “Yeah, I know you can.” Amy smiled and gave Yvonne a friendly slap on the ass. Yvonne supposed it was nice that at least one of them believed this. … … … … … “Sorry,” Christine said. “If I’d know it was you I would be cooking…” Yvonne lay on the table, naked as a hatchling, her eyes closed and her fists nervously clenched. She was ready to be strapped down, and Christine was just finishing putting on her apron. “Do your worst,” Yvonne said. “I can take it.” Christine fidgeted, looking over to the table where Amy was raising her ass for a bemused Danielle, wagging it in the head cheerleader’s face while she brandished a spit. Christine grabbed the cleaver and looked at Yvonne, still feeling apologetic. “You need to keep your eyes open,” she said. “I’ll have to gouge them out for the stuffing.” Yvonne’s face paled, and her façade of courage immediately wavered. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked at Christine. “Is that so…?” A nod. Yvonne grimaced, but accepted it. “Sorry.” “No, it’s no problem… Just get it over with quickly.” “Of course,” Christine said. She finished strapping down Yvonne, then lined up the cleaver with her left arm. “Try to hold still, okay?” Yvonne nodded. THUNK. A scream wrenched its way from Yvonne’s mouth, and her eyes bulged from her sockets. As blood gushed from the stump of her arm, pain flashed through her mind and convulsed her body. Her eyes watered, and her voice cracked as she howled. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. Off came her right arm, her right leg, her left leg. Each stroke sent a new lightning bolt of agony through Yvonne’s nerves, and she screamed anew with each limb lost. It was painful, and she was very bad with pain, and even if she tried not to show it, she couldn’t help revealing to everyone how weak and sensitive she was. It was excruciating, and it was humiliating, and they had only just begun. Christine looked sympathetic as she worked on Yvonne, mumbling quiet apologies to her friend as she took the limbs and set them aside. She grabbed a different knife and sliced down Yvonne’s belly, and Yvonne moaned and tried not to struggle too much as she was sliced open. Still, it was horrendously painful, and it felt all the worse for the knowledge that her arms and legs had just been amputated. She was utterly helpless, and with each cut that was made, she was farther from being a person and closer to just being meat. Her guts were tugged out, dumped into a waiting bucket. The sensation was sickening, and Yvonne felt like she was going to vomit. But she endured the sensations with all her might, persevering for Christine’s sake. The two of them were much alike, and Yvonne knew that it would make Christine feel guilty if she made it too obvious how horrible this was, just as it had made her feel guilty to see Christine in pain. So she tried to bear it for her friend’s sake, to act strong and wear a brave face. But the tears still spilled, and she still moaned in pain, her face still contorted by a wretched, woeful misery as Christine finished gutting her. Yvonne looked Christine in the eye when the girl took out a spoon, and she whimpered, understanding what would come next. “Sorry,” Christine said in advance. “This will hurt.” This time, Yvonne couldn’t tell her not to apologize. She had to concentrate with all her might just to keep her eyes open as the spoon approached, to keep herself from shutting them and turning her head as it was inserted into her socket, scooping up under the eyeball, scraping and gouging and finally prying it free. Tears mixed with blood, damaged ducts leaking into the socket and stinging her, and Yvonne closed the one absent eye with a whimper as Christine set it aside. She bit her lip when Christine stuck the spoon into her other socket, and she her chest heaved with a weak sob as her other eye was scooped out, and she was blinded. Both her eyes now closed. It didn’t matter to her whether they were open or shut, except that it felt wrong to have the empty sockets exposed, and she shuddered and choked on tears that would no longer come out right. “Kill me,” Yvonne moaned. “Please. It… won’t be much longer, right…? Please, kill me.” “I can’t yet,” Christine said. “Not until Ms. Hill has said it’s okay. And I still need to stuff you.” Yvonne whimpered. She heard Christine walk away, and the meatgrinder turn on. She heard the familiar sounds of its operation, which lasted a few minutes before it shut off. She heard squelching, slapping, sloshing sounds and Christine’s approaching footsteps, and after a moment, she felt a strange, new wetness inside her. Yvonne’s teeth clenched as Christine stuffed her, filling up her abdomen with her own ground up arms and legs. She heard a soft squishing and Christine muttering an apology, saying she needed the eyes for flavor, and after a few more minutes, when she was stuffed full with her own meat, she felt the prick of a needle, and twine sliding through her skin as the flaps of her belly were drawn shut and sewn together. She groaned, hoping it would be over soon. But she had to lie there for a few more minutes even after she had been stuffed and stitched up, waiting for Ms. Hill to come by and judge Christine’s work. While they waited, Christine started a pot boiling on the stove. She said the recipe was for boiled meatgirl. When she did finally hear Ms. Hill’s voice, poor Yvonne was given a start. She was dazed, lost in a fog of her own pain, and she wanted nothing more than to be put out of her own misery, so when the teacher said, “Good work, Christine. Everything appears to be in order,” Yvonne got hopeful that it would finally end. So did Christine, apparently. “So… I can snuff her now?” she asked Ms. Hill. “What?” The teacher sounded surprised. “Oh, absolutely not. If you’re boiling a meatgirl, you must boil her alive.” Christine made a sound of unhappy understanding. “A-Ah…” she mumbled. “I have to boil her alive?” “Absolutely. If you don’t, I’ll have to fail you.” Yvonne’s heart sank. She ached so much, and she felt so miserable already. She wanted it to end. She wanted to die more than anything. But she would not get to, it seemed. Not yet. She whimpered when she felt Christine pick her up, shuddering with fresh, panicked sobs. “No… No, wait… Do I have to?!” Yvonne moaned. “Please, no…!” Ms. Hill tutted. “Don’t make a scene, or I’ll fail you, too. And after you did so well on your last evaluation…” Yvonne bit her lip, almost biting clear through it. She didn’t have the willpower to nod. She didn’t have the heart to reply. She didn’t have the restraint not to beg for mercy, if she opened her mouth. So she kept it shut, right up until the moment she felt Christine tip her into the pot, dumping her in headfirst. Boiling water slapped Yvonne in the face, and she opened her mouth wide to scream, only to swallow a mouthful of that boiling water before banging her head against the bottom of the pot. She choked and writhed, feeling it scald her all over, and she tried to scream with all her might, the air gushing from her lungs in bubbles that could not even be noticed amid the boiling of the water. Her frame weakly twisted. She couldn’t tell up from down. She was submerged. She was boiling. She couldn’t think. It was like hell, and she screamed and screamed and screamed under the water until her lungs were filled with it, and she opened her eyes but saw not, having none left with which to see and only baring her sockets to the scalding, boiling water. It filled her every orifice. It went up her nose. In her ears. Into her pussy, into her ass. It seeped into her pores, and it wrapped her in a suffocating heat while she suffocated as well under the water. Her only consolation was that at least she would drown in here, and be spared the full agony of the process. But even as Yvonne thought this, her limbless writhing and thrashing caused her head to break the surface. Despite her own wish to die, her body still clung instinctively to life, and reflexively she spat out the water and gulped down air. Yvonne moaned, knowing then that she wouldn’t be allowed to die until it was over, and as soon as she was able to breathe, she began screaming anew. This time, it was audible to the rest of the room, and it would be over an hour before her shrieking finally stopped. It was a miserable way to be cooked, and it made her hate Home Economics even more. But this was a normal part of classes at Dolcett High, and she had to accept it. Still, it hurt to much for her to endure. She wanted nothing more than to die. If only she could be that lucky. … … … … … A/N: Mm, if I have to choose between dolcett where the prey consents and enjoys it versus dolcett where the prey is unwilling and hates it, I definitely prefer the former. Just kinda find that hotter. Updated: 7-31-20 TTFN and R&R!