"Surprise Delivery"
By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu)

URL: https://pastebin.com/GTupmmwe
Created on: Wednesday 22nd of April 2020 10:08:10 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:02:11 AM UTC


(A tale of Lesbian love and gynophagia.)

Claire was on vacation and woke up when her body woke her, unassisted by the alarm. Which was not too late, as they had a busy day planned, she and Helen had gone to bed early the night before.

She turned to Helen’s side of the bed to say “Morning love” only to find it empty. Although Helen was also on vacation, there had been a situation at work and Helen had told her she’d be going in this morning to straighten it out, but promised not to be too long. She’d made Claire had promised not to go shopping without her.

Wait, had there been something else about last night? There was some strangely vague memory of having a carefully rationed one glass of white wine each, then a lot of giggling? A vow that “Revenge, whoever has it will be sweet.” A coin was flipped, she called heads?

She thought about it a bit. It made no sense and was quite vague. Perhaps it had been a dream. Yes, that had to be it.

Well, back to real life. After a quick jog she had some breakfast and then showered. Before toweling off, she checked her appearance in the mirror. Average height, blonde hair excellent cheekbones killer smile. Good legs, fine curves, good but not fantastic breasts. She was a catch, but still regarded herself as lucky to land Helen, as she modestly regarded herself as only top class while Helen was tip top class.

Soon, she did a few chores then logged into the net. Today they were going to pick up the meat gal for their dinner party, so she tried to get caught up on her social media now. (Since they’d each gotten raises and promotions, they’d been having a whole meat gal dinner party about once every six months. Saving too much of their money seemed silly, as either or both of them could be drafted to be meat themselves at any time.)


She smiled at the memory of their earlier dinner parties, got out her phone, and reviewed the before and after pictures of themselves with the meat gals. She and Helen sitting on the couch on either side of Tori, clicking a photo in the mirror. Tori seemed quite sated from the long bout of sex they’d given her, smiling with just a hint of sadness. The next shot showed Tori, her negro skin grilled to a different shade of black, as Helen was about to start carving her. Next was Alice. Alice had been a bubbly blonde, a farm raised quick grown clone who’d so embraced her fate that she’d been disappointed to learn they were going to play with her a few days before cooking her. Alice posing on the platter as all three of them waved at the camera. In the next shot Alice was a golden brown, the honey based sauce she was wearing glinting as the three of them again waved at the camera, (using tongs to make Alice’s dead hands wave.) In the next shot was Laura, a tall red-haired barista they’d known at coffee shop before her number came up in the meat lottery. She had not been the best sport about things, but after a very long, slow cooking… Claire really wished there was some way her camera phone could record smells.

Then she went to the holding area in her kitchen and checked that everything was ready. Then she got back on the net awhile.

She was starting to wonder when Helen would get back when there was a sharp knock at the door. So she opened it.

At the door was a tall, muscular amazon type woman in catering company coveralls. After verifying her name, the deliverywoman announced “Meat gal delivery.” She nodded, while thinking this made no sense, they hadn’t ordered anybody.

In an instant it made even less sense. Helen marched into view naked, body hair shaved, hands tied behind her, leashed, meat tag in her pussy lip. Helen had been drafted and hadn’t told her??? Helen was delivered without having to buy her first??? Claire was so shocked she was barely aware of how turned on she found this.

At her shock, both of the others looked at each other and giggled. Then the deliverywoman explained “Our sales staff tried to interest her in checking the meat gals we had in stock, but she was insistent that she wanted us to register her as meat and deliver her here.”

Then Helen looked at Claire and gave her best, loving smile! So Claire smiled back! They stared into each others eyes and it felt like an eternity but probably was only a few seconds, perhaps the best seconds she’d ever had.

She turned back to the delivery woman, her hands out to sign the electronic receipt. Despite the intense longing to be alone with Helen, she patiently and politely endured the conversation. The Deliverywoman said “This is a deluxe delivery. I can butcher her for you this trip at no extra charge.” (She pointed to a long knife on her belt.)

Claire replied “It would be a shame not to cook a woman like that whole.”

They all smiled. Soon Claire accepted a painshot measured for Helen’s dose, and had her unbound, as she was sure Helen would be no trouble.

As soon as the door shut she turned and gave Helen her undivided attention. Helen stood there, still wearing only a meat tag (A+++ of course) and grinning. The way Claire felt, she was sure her grin was even bigger.

“Usually I love shopping, especially for Meat gals. But having you in our kitchen in a meat tag is even better. This time I can skip it.”

She acted on a sudden need to close in and kiss, passionately. Helen reciprocated. Several kisses later she managed to stop kissing long enough to say “Thank You SO much Honey.” One kiss later she received a “You’re welcome dearest.”

Eventually she tore herself away from the kissing. “Meat Inspection! Oh, I know your body intimately. But I want to examine you.”

Helen stood tall, knees slightly out, gut in, chest up. One by one she raised her feet as Claire ran her fingers on them. Then Claire felt Helen’s lower legs, commenting on their perfect shape. Then the upper legs with the same comments. Claire skipped to the arms, standing on a chair for a better angle, commenting on fine wing meat. The head was declared to make an excellent presentation. Then the torso was examined and approved, especially the ribs. The breasts were “well formed, a shade plump for eating.” The rump roast was “Divinely perfect”, the filet “Outstanding.” Helen moaned softly and actually had an orgasm just from the inspection.

The knowledge that Helen was tagged meat was exciting. The tag itself might get in the way. Claire slipped it off, set it on the table and led Helen to their bed. As she pinned a willing Helen down, she marveled at the self possession she’d shown to wait this long.

Much later, several rounds into the game, they lay in each other’s arms, grinning, until Claire decided it was time. They went to the kitchen and Helen practiced positioning herself, under Claire’s direction, in the meat pan.

Then Claire reached for a bottle of Olive Oil and they returned to the bedroom. Helen positioned herself again as Claire said “Chefs have to know how to oil the meat. Meat needs to be able to take oiling” They practiced for awhile.

Then she reached for their chest of sex toys. “Meat needs to be stretched to be able to fit plenty of stuffing.” Switching around, she used several toys and parts of her own body to help Helen be ready to take plenty of stuffing. Eventually she rested, exhausted. Her ears seemed the most exhausted of all. Helen’s screams of passion had not been in the least subtle.

Helen grinned and reached for the oil. “Maybe I won’t be there to see it, but you might cook yourself Hon. You should practice.” Being oiled was quite restful. When Helen began to practice stuffing her, she thought of pulling rank, but had absolutely no desire to do so.

Later they both rested. Claire looked at the bedroom clock. “Damn, meat gal, we’ve been at it for hours!”

Suddenly hungry they went to the kitchen. Claire micro waved herself some Lean Cuisine, saving up room for Saturday’s big feast. Helen made herself the fruit smoothies with ingredients they’d bought for the Meat Gal, to help her flavor. Then they went back to bed.

Much later they lay in each other’s arms. Helen asked “Chef?”

“Yes dearest.” Claire replied.

“Well I be sleeping in the Meat Gal pen?”

“I only have three nights left to sleep with you before you fulfill your luscious, meaty purpose. And the pen doesn’t have enough room for both of us to sleep in any comfort.”

“Yes, Dear.”

Somehow their vacation passed with luxurious slowness. Still, time did pass.


Friday evening Helen had her appetite suppressant pill and Claire had a smoothie (saving room for Saturday dinner)

Then the work began. Helen was soon cutting French bread into cubes while Claire cored, peeled and cut apples. When they had enough of those they put them in a large bowl and mixed in dried currants, melted butter, crumbled thyme, salt and pepper. When this stuffing was ready they put the bowl on top of the refrigerator.

Then they started their next task, mixing olive oil, salt, black pepper, ground sage, dried basil and garlic powder in a yellow bowl. When that was ready they put the bowl ___ and retired to play in the bedroom.



That night, shortly before sleep, Claire asked “Honey?”

“Yes dear.” Helen replied.

“Tomorrow when you are in the big oven and the heat surrounds you… and you start to smell yourself cooking… Are you going to have any regrets?”

“You mean when the heat makes love to me, when I get nearer to fulfilling a woman’s ultimate purpose, when I know a fine chef like you will soon have me delicious for you and all our friends?

Claire nodded.

Helen giggled. “No… But when you’re carving my roasted body and it dawns on that you that you’re going to have to start dating again are you going to have any regrets?”

Now Claire giggled. “With the memory of cooking the perfect roast for a grand dinner party? I don’t think I will.”

In the dimly lit room they shared a special smile.

On Saturday, they got up early, and took a shower together. Then they carefully cleansed the tub, and Claire began mixing ingredients in it, pouring in measured doses of water, soy sauce, Worchester sauce, vegetable oil, sugar, vinegar, garlic powder, onion flakes, grated ginger and garlic powder.

Finally Helen asked “Chef?”

“Yes dear” Claire replied.

“Do we need that much marinate?”

“Yes, we are doing this together.”

They had often bathed together in water, often with bubble bath and scented candles, holding each other intimately and soaking together in the water. Now they soaked together in the marinate, Helen in front, feeling their skin tingle. They moved around often, shifting their position by a few inches, so the intimate touching would not block any part of their skin from being marinated. (Since Claire was not on the menu, a cynic would call it a waste of money, but both Claire and Helen enjoyed sharing on this deep, wordless level.)

Later they showered again, not needing soap, just rinsing off the marinate. After toweling themselves off, they each used the toilet. Then the meat got a douche and an enema. Helen was a tad uncomfortable about the second, but went through it like a real trouper. Claire inspected for Helen carefully any body hair she may have missed in last night’s shave, and pronounced herself satisfied. Helen put on recently cleaned slippers for the trek to the kitchen.

A stickler for details, Helen had bought a massage table for the kitchen two meat gals ago. Now she climbed on it and took her slippers off. While wearing only a chef’s hat (it was a nice day) Claire turned on soft, relaxing music and began to rub Helen’s back. The music was soon punctured by Helen’s soft moans. A stickler for details herself, Claire took 45 minutes, inflicted two orgasms, and went over every inch of Helen’s skin before pronouncing herself satisfied that Helen had been tenderized.

Helen rolled onto the adjacent preparation table and lay in the roasting pan. Claire went and got the stuffing. As it would soon be inside her lover, Claire was glad they’d stored it at room temperature (not in the refrigerator.) She was also glad she’d been stretching Helen’s openings. Helen, although an experienced longpig chef who KNEW how much a woman could fit, looked nervous as Claire brought the big bowl over to her, but continued to lie on her back and gamely stretched her vagina opening. Soon Helen began crying with passion as she was filled.

When the whole amount was inside her, she looked pregnant. They both smiled wordlessly as they looked at her belly.

Claire began preheating the oven. Then she took her largest basting brush and began dipping it in the olive oil mixture they’d prepared. She applied it liberally, front and back, until Helen’s entire skin took on a different shade.

Next, Claire took the pain shot out of the refrigerator. She slowly slid the needle into Helen’s well padded rump. Helen squirmed a bit, but took it well.

Claire took some wire. Helen cooperatively stuck her hands and feet up and together. Claire trussed Helen that way, to keep her in the roasting position. Then she set a juicy red apple by Helen’s head.

Next Claire slid the roasting pan onto their kitchen cart, which she’d adjusted to the height of their oven ledge. Then she wheeled the cart over to the oven.

Claire opened the oven door. The heat began to escape.

Although it was technically wasteful, the moment where the heat hits the chef and the meat both, is the moment it is the most real, before actually placing the meat in the oven. She embraced Helen and kissed her deeply and passionately. Helen reciprocated with great enthusiasm. A second time. Then a third and final kiss, staying in the moment as long as possible.

Then it was time for final goodbyes. “I love you Helen.” Followed by “I love you Claire.” The words were a simple but an effective summation of their feelings.

Claire took the apple in her left hand and moved it to Helen’s mouth. Helen opened very wide and then bit deep.

Claire slid the tray into the oven. She waited, smelling the meat began to roast, watching Helen squirm despite the pain shot, as her body reacted to the heat.

Helen needed basting, but only occasionally and the first time was not till after she’d stopped squirming and had gone all still.

Claire began working on the appetizers. But as she did so, she smelled the roast, and took frequent looks to see how Helen was cooking up (often needing to thoroughly wash her hands between rounds of self passion and preparing other peoples food.)

On Helen’s second basting Claire remembered to slide a red meat thermometer into Helen’s anal opening.

A turkey or goose may cook at 350 in only three to three and a half hours, but women are larger. Claire had allowed nine hours for Helen, and for the last two she fit her new “direct heat ray” into the oven aperture and zapped Helen with that in addition to the oven’s heat. (When used as a secondary cooking method, the ray tended not to interfere with the taste the entrée would acquire anyway. Cooking solely with the ray is another story that would distract from this one.)


Soon after she rigged the ray, the guests started to arrive. Claire, now dressed in summer clothes under her chef’s hat, greeted them and served a fruit tray and cocktails. Many asked where Helen was. Claire politely assured them “I’m sorry, Helen as something she ABSOLUTLY had to do right NOW, but you’ll see her later.” They accepted that. Many of them commented of how excellent the roasting femme smell was. No one made the connection.

After the full time had elapsed, Claire checked the meat thermometer. 180 Fahrenheit. Helen was ready.

Some of her guests helped her set the table and light the candles and everyone gathered around to lick their lips and watch her take the roast out of the oven. The roast emerged feet first towards the admiring guests, and then a shocked gasp swept the crowd.

“Oh My Gosh, we’re eating HELEN!!!”

“If you couldn’t afford a meat gal, we would have understood. You didn’t have to… do her”

Claire explained “Oh no, it was her idea. I about went into shock myself when she had herself delivered naked except for a meat tag. You know how she loved her practical jokes.”

They all smiled. Helen did not prank routinely but when she did, the results could be quite legendary.

They gathered round the table. Most women in this era ended up on platters, and most of the diners had wondered, at least absently, just how good Helen would taste. Complying with Helen’s last wish was an easy rationalization to make.

Dinner was the best ever. The roast was absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS, the wine was great, and the conversation was excellent as everyone shared their favorite memories of Helen.

Her friends were concerned that she might become depressed sleeping alone after Helen’s roasting, so many offered to join her. The two she accepted crowded her bed, but in an intimate way.

When she finally drifted off…

It was weirdly like waking up. She remembered that she didn’t live in a world where women were eaten. That would be downright SILLY.

She did, however, live in a world with really good Virtual Reality (VR) technology, including a memory editor, in case you wanted to play while forgetting it wasn’t real. [Since the “Safe Word” system doesn’t work when under the Memory Editor, the machine monitors physiological clues to one’s emotional state, and pulls one out if it gets too upset, which it didn’t in this last game.]

She looked over at Helen, and they both grinned. Soon they hugged and Helen said “That was great, but remember our deal.”

Now that the memory editor’s effects were gone, Claire clearly remembered. Just before this VR session. A carefully rationed one glass of white wine each, then a mutual outbreak of giggling. The vow that “Revenge, whosesoever has it will be SWEET.” A coin had been flipped to determine who would be chef in the first game, and who would take revenge in the second game.

Claire said “Yes Chef, your revenge will be sweet.”

Helen appraised Claire methodically. “Sweet is the appetizers I’ll make. A body like yours will be quite succulent.


In the next game, Helen took before photos of Claire, both of them grinning, with Claire all clean, an artist's blank canvas. Helen then took photos of Claire having been dredged in flour mixed with other ingredients, and then photos of Claire sautéed in butter (which she gamely enjoyed, glad that they played with painshots.) Then she took photos of Claire in a casserole dish with carrots, celery and onion, then photos of the same, mixed with mushrooms and gravy after all was cooked and Claire was golden brown.

A few adventures later, they tried to help set the new fashion of unsupervised parties. Their guests arrived, surprised to both hostesses being grilled by catering chefs. The first arriving guests got to talk with them. A few of the next guests tried, but found it to be an awkward one way conversation.

The end.