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From: juan smith <cannibaldotcom@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Bon Voyage by "Menagerie"
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Date: Sat, 01 Oct 2005 03:10:02 -0400
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BON VOYAGE

As always, Frank's packet was marked with a big, red
"P".  "Privileged".  "Welcome aboard, again, Sir,"
said the studiously impassive purser; the
entertainment director, scrubbed and perky, gave him a
friendly grin.  Frank nodded, smiled, and hustled
below decks to his cabin.

It was his eighth cruise, Frank's little reward to
himself for 50 weeks of drudgery.  A two-week trip to
nowhere in particular, taking in the ocean breeze,
frolicking with the vacationers...and looking ahead to
the very last day.  Not that he wanted it to end; in
fact, he'd like the last day to last forever.

The packet contained the usual, and the unusual,
documents.  The itinerary; the daily schedule of
activities; the meals.  And then, a folded piece of
paper.  On it, a half-dozen names, pictures,
descriptions; all female passengers, a few of them
making the trip for the first time.  And one of them,
for the last.

The heading read, ATTENTION "P" CLASS PASSENGER: YOU
ARE TO RECORD YOUR SELECTION AND PRESENT THIS DOCUMENT
TO THE PURSER BY 1700 FRIDAY 8 JULY.  THOSE WHO FAIL
TO SUBMIT THIS DOCUMENT IN A TIMELY MANNER WILL BE
EXCLUDED FROM THE CAPTAIN'S BANQUET.  THERE WILL BE NO
EXCEPTIONS.  Next to each woman's name was a square;
Frank, and the other "Privilegeds," would put an "X"
in one of the boxes; whichever of them got the most
votes...Frank grinned.  Quite a lot of power in their
collective hands.

Frank had learned of the annual cruise from an
acquaintance...one with whom he shared very secret
thoughts and desires.  "They find out quickly whether
they can trust you," said the nameless friend, in
letters that tracked across Frank's PC screen.  "It
costs a lot of money, and they bind and blindfold you.
 I've told at least a dozen other guys about it; not a
one has followed through."

Frank would; it was worth it.  He laid down the cash,
surrendered to their bonds, traveled a day in
darkness.  Seven years ago; he'd been back every year.

The first day shipboard was warm and balmy--the kind
of weather, Frank knew, that brought out the best in
female flesh.  He smiled and greeted his fellow
passengers, all the while scanning the ladies
stretched out poolside or sweatin' to the oldies in
the morning aerobics workout.  He immediately
recognized a couple of the women on his ballot--there
was Number Five, in sweatpants and a stretch top that
barely contained a pair of remarkable bazooms,
straining to touch right forefinger to left toe and
vice versa.  Frank stopped, checked out Number Five's
bottom as she grunted and bent, and nodded approvingly
to himself.  Definitely, a semi-finalist.

Number Three was sitting on the edge of the pool,
kicking her legs and focused intently on the water, as
if she were trying to understand what it was saying. 
A full figure, a cute face, tousled hair.  Very nice. 
Frank took in her smooth, soft skin, thought about her
at the Captain's Banquet.  It would be hard to decide
this year; a lot of potential "winners"--he grinned to
himself--to choose from.

As Frank scoped out the contestants, he nearly
collided with Number Six; she was poring over her
daily activities schedule, and they brushed.  "I'm so
sorry!" she exclaimed, eyes wide, mouth forming a
little O.  "Clumsy, clumsy me..."  He assured her it
was all right, introduced himself, they shook.  Frank
was very impressed; she had full, thick thighs,
spectacular breasts, soulful, expressive eyes.  He was
moving her several notches up the list as they spoke. 
"They gave me a discount to sign up for this cruise!"
she was saying.  "Can you beat it?  They were so happy
to get me on board, they showered me with gifts. 
They've treated me like a queen!"

Frank could believe it; all of the "contestants" were
lured on board with special offers, he discovered. 
Most of them couldn't have paid what he paid...but
then, he was "Privileged".  Her name was Joanne; she
was here to have fun!  She would be delighted to join
him for breakfast...

He got a better look at her at the buffet; there was a
goodly amount of flesh to her, plump buttocks, big,
round shoulders.  She talked a mile a minute about her
friends, her family, her job; he nodded, smiled, every
once in a while interjected "How about that!" or
"Well, what do you know?"  His mind was elsewhere. 
The Banquet had gotten fancier every year, a black tie
affair with all sorts of exotic fruit, fancy wines,
classy entertainment...and, of course, the main
course.  Which, Frank had decided, might well be
Joanne.

For this was a cannibal cruise.  Passed on by word of
mouth, available only for a high price and to those
willing to be transported to it blindly...at the end
of the two weeks, a selected passenger would be
exquisitely prepared and flamboyantly served, a hearty
feast for the fortunate. The flagship was foreign, the
port authorities bought; each year, one passenger was
reported lost at sea, and the official receiving the
tragic news would nod gravely, and stuff into his
pocket the envelope, filled with money, that had been
tucked into the report.

The regulars all knew each other--they'd meet the new
members of their exclusive club at the banquet,
welcome them back the following year--and they'd pass
around what they'd found out about the contestants. 
Little snippets of conversation; comparing notes.  The
winner in their balloting would be available for a day
of "play," prior to her one-way trip to the galley;
the travel agent who delivered the ship's unwitting
entrees was selecting for playfulness.  The half-dozen
on the ballot had all indicated they'd be looking for
companionship on the trip, and as each of the
"Privileged" carnivores sampled each "contestant's"
lovemaking skills, she was rated, and the word was
passed around.

After the second night on board, Frank was able to
rate Joanne, who'd spent the evening in his cabin. 
She was great, he whispered enthusiastically to other
members of the exclusive club.  All soft and cushiony,
plenty of enthusiasm; she'd be a load of fun.  The
others grinned; Joanne's stock kept rising.  The odds
were good she'd be on that platter eleven days hence.

Not that that stopped Frank from sampling some of the
other ladies on the ballot.  Number Five,
Melissa--well, she was a little bit spooky.  In the
sack, she started talking about all of the things she
was taking to control this phantom ailment and that;
Frank looked down at her--those jugs still looked damn
good, her belly and thighs ripe--and wondered...how
would she taste?  She half-smiled, eerily.  "Do I look
good to you?" she asked coyly.  No, he decided.

Number Two was kind of cute, a short, pudgy redhead
named Angela.  A lot of giggling; very bouncy.  A
wide, inviting twat; Frank imagined her on the banquet
table, steaming and glistening; those labial lips that
were holding him tightly, stretched around a mango. 
"Mmmm," she purred, looking at him with glistening
eyes, "you feel big in there."  He grinned back at
her; Number Two, you have no idea.

Frank had pretty much narrowed down his choices; the
cruise had made its port of call, and he and Joanne
had wandered together through the tiny Caribbean
island's lone city.  He bought her a garland of edible
native flowers, which she wore proudly.  "Tonight,"
she teased, "you can eat these clear off me!"  She was
so tempting, he told her, he might go too far, and she
laughed.  "Have me," she declared, arms wide, "I'm
yours!"

That night, before heading back into his cabin where
Joanne waited, Frank marked the sixth box on his
ballot and delivered it to the purser.  As ever
impassive, the man nodded, slid it into a drawer.  The
word would come, on Frank's cabin phone, the following
morning.  "Number Six," came the purser's clipped
tones.  "Your time share is 800 to 900 hours."  Frank
looked at his bunk, where Joanne slept, peacefully.  A
small smile flitted across his features.

It was always hard to sleep the night before the last
day.  Frank's mind roamed, thinking about past
cruises.  The ship's chef prepared each woman
differently, never the same way twice.  The one--that
Executive Secretary, told him about all the important
CEO's she'd met--had been roasted on a vertical spit;
she was balanced on it, hands and feet tied together
behind her and suspended a few inches above a drip
pan, as slices of meat were pared from her frame.  But
the stewardess, who had put on a few pounds over the
years, was "flying" on a rack, stretched across it
from her fingertips to her toes.  Another, a lanky,
full-figured New Englander, had been steamed and
served face-up on a bed of rock salt, her reddened
flesh contrasting with the dirty gray salt and the
dark green vegetables that filled her hollowed belly. 
How would Joanne be served?  Frank stirred, rolled
over, and made sure his alarm was set.

The designated cabin was marked "Cleaning Supplies". 
Frank used his special passkey; a crewman stood guard
inside, before a second door.  Frank could hear
muffled cries from within; the guard said, "Good
morning, sir; thank you for being prompt.  Your
session will begin momentarily."

Frank would have to share Joanne with another
Privileged veteran, a big Polish guy from northern
Michigan.  He'd enjoyed the pleasures of Joanne's body
many times during the cruise; this time, though, he
knew it would be different-crewmen would have abducted
her from her cabin, forced her to disrobe, and advised
her of her fate.  The ship's chef would have entered
the little room, examined the helpless, naked woman
from head to foot, and formed his plans for the
Captain's Banquet.  And then, the orgy would begin;
two or three passengers at a time

The crewman cocked his head to hear a message in his
earpiece; he pressed a button, the door slid open. 
"Watch your step, please," he advised, as Frank caught
a glimpse of a a struggling, naked figure,
spreadeagled face down on a bare mattress.

Frank undressed quickly; Joanne's back and buttocks
were striped red, her body flecked with semen.  Her
eyes widened when she saw him, and she murphed into
the tape over her mouth.  "I guess they told you," he
grinned, as he mounted her from behind.  Her full,
fleshy thighs and plump buttocks were magnificent;
Frank sighed as he eased into her.  "I voted for you,"
he told the helpless woman.  "You're going to make a
wonderful feast.  Did the chef say what he had planned
for you?", as he reached down and yanked the tape
away.

Joanne was panting, her breathing shallow. 
"S-said...said I'd be stuffed..."  She swallowed. 
"Stuffed and wh-whole roasted..."  She thrashed on the
mattress; Frank slapped her, hard on the ass, and she
stopped.  He smacked his lips.  "You will be
absolutely delicious," he purred, driving into her on
every other word; Joanne sobbed.

The other guy was a little late.  "Got her ready for
me!" he laughed, and Joanne soon found her mouth
filled with cock.  "What are the banquet plans?"

Frank had shot his load, pulled out of Joanne's
wriggling snatch.  "Stuffed like a Christmas turkey,"
he laughed; he pursed his mouth around her generous
ass, gave it a good bite.  She eeped through her
mouthful.  "She's certainly tender enough," he kidded;
the reddened imprint of his teeth was plainly visible
on the smooth flesh.

The two of them got full use out of their hour; Joanne
was brutalized.  Abused and used in every orifice; all
the while, she was taunted about her ultimate fate. 
"No one will know," Frank whispered, his fist full of
her wavy, brown hair, holding her tear-streaked face
scant inches from his, as the big guy pumped her from
behind.  "They'll be told you were lost at sea. And
we'll all have our bellies full of you."  Joanne shook
her head in anguish; the big guy grunted, his long
fingernails digging into her flanks, as he popped his
load.

Frank and his cohort had to be shooed out of there;
two relatively recent Privilegeds were waiting at the
door, impatiently.  "Have fun, fellas!" Frank called
over his shoulder; Joanne was sprawled, sobbing, on
the filthy mattress, and the two newbies eagerly
dropped their drawers and had a run at her.  "Hot
dayum, Pete!" one called out as he took a dive on
Joanne's lush body.  "We're gonna have to ask the
Cap'n for doggie bags!"  His partner chuckled, evilly,
and as the door closed Frank heard a "Whap!" as the
man's open palm found Joanne's cheek.

He knew there'd be another opportunity to see her
off--he laughed to himself; not the pleasure cruise
she'd had in mind!  Dinner was traditionally served at
midnight; Joanne would be making her unhappy way to
the kitchen around noon.  This, he wanted to see, so
he killed a few hours lolling around the deck.  He
actually encountered Angela, Number Two, who was
vigorously pursuing her aerobics, her strawberry
blonde hair and her jugs bouncing with equal abandon. 
She flashed him a sunny smile, panted to a scraggling
halt.  "Where's your friend?' she wheezed, bending
over, hands on hips; those mammoth bazookas were about
to spill clear out of her top.  Frank affected
friendly puzzlement.  "I was just out looking for
her," he said.  "Haven't seen her all day."

Number Two straightened out, started in with leg
kicks.  "Well," she gasped between lifts, "if she
chucks you over, you know where to find me!"  Frank
grinned, thought about a quick boff before dinner, and
continued on to the galley.

Privilegeds were allowed informal visits; the crewman
radioed in, then unlatched the steel door.  The ship's
chef was intently mixing spices into a very large
bowl; his aides were lugging in armfuls of exotic
produce.  Pans clanged, doors slammed, and there in
the middle of it, lying on her back on a cold, steel
table, was Joanne.  Still totally nude, her pubes had
been shaved clean and her curly, brown locks cropped
short; she was squirming, her hands cross-bound to her
feet behind her, her mouth filling her gag with
protests.  "Ah, M'sieur Frank!' clucked the chef,
smiling.  "You are jus' in time for zee evisceration."
 Despite the gag, Joanne let out an audible sob; Frank
caught her eye, grinned and winked.

"A live roaster?" he asked.  "But of course," the chef
responded.  "We jus' remove the guts here; organ meats
stay intact."  The two aides pinned Joanne to the
table; the chef wielded the knife expertly.  In a
flash, Joanne's belly was opened; blood gushed, then
trickled in rivulets along the gutters of the steel
table.  Frank watched, detached; he'd seen this scene
before.  Joanne's struggles grew weaker, as the chef
emptied her; she lay back, her eyes glazed and staring
forward, her breathing shallow.

The aides curiously kept their grip on Joanne's
shoulders and thighs, but she was no longer putting up
a fight.  The chef had begun filling her hollow belly
with large scoops of a fruit-based stuffing,
unfamiliar tropical orbs of green and pink mixed in
with great chunks of crusty bread.  He looked up at
Frank, and winked.  "She is zee juicy one, no?" he
chuckled, patting the helpless woman's ample breast. 
"Zee stuffing will be very rich, you bet."  Finished,
he flashed a steel needle, deftly fashioned a spool of
twine to the eye, then plunged the steel point through
the flap of Joanne's belly flesh.  She made an
"Ooooh!" through the gag as the chef pierced the other
side of her abdominal skin, then pulled the two
tightly together over the bulging breading mix;
briskly, he finished stitching the woman's tummy back
together.  "Good as new!" he laughed, and waved to the
aides; they darted into a closet, returned with an odd
looking device.

It was two halves, fitting together, of a kind of
rack.  The chef untied the now feeble woman and
removed her gag; she looked up from the table in
agony.  "Please..." she whispered; smiling, the chef put
an index finger to her dry, cracked lips, and sshhhed
her.  "Time for zee fitting," he told her, as the
aides slapped the two halves of the frames on either
side of her.

Frank could see there were rings, adjustable with
clamps; the three men slid the parts together, and the
chef adjusted the semi-circular ring halves and then
tightened them.  They fit around Joanne's neck, below
her breasts, around her stomach, knees and ankles. 
"She will turn," the chef told Frank, "verrrrry
slooooowly over zee fire."  Joanne stared straight
ahead in misery as the strange device was fastened to
her body.  "Now," said the head man, "a little more
preparation, an' we're all set."

One of the remaining tasks was the stuffing of
Joanne's abundant breasts.  Each was slit open; tissue
and fat was liberally removed, and the hollowed gland
was filled with rice, a grated cheese, specks of
pungent spices.  The globes were also sewn closed. 
Then, a four edged clamp was pushed into her meaty
labia; a few turns of a crank, and the aperture was
wide open; the chef produced a peculiar looking fruit
that resembled a long honeycomb.  "Tamarind," he
proclaimed, and shoved the half-foot long produce
home; despite her fading state, Joanne exhaled,
loudly.  The chef released the clamp, and her pussy
grabbed the fruit tightly.  "She is magnifique!" he
crowed, stepping back and sweeping a hand toward the
woman on the table, her body prepared for roasting.

Frank grinned, decided to head out for now.  He
reached through the bars of the rack, patted Joanne's
head; tears streamed down her cheeks as she
contemplated the hot oven that would be her fate. 
"See you later!" he told his former bedmate, and went
to look for Number Two.

Angela was even bouncier than before, working hard
underneath Frank as he worked ever deeper into her. 
"I'm so glad you came for me," she whispered, hot,
steamy breath in his ear.  "I think I'm much better
than Joanne, don't you?"  Frank thought about Joanne,
slowly turning in the chef's oven, juices dripping off
her browning body; the thought got him going even
faster, and he came like a geyser.  "Wow!" the
redhead's eyes snapped open, looked into his.  "You
were alive in there."

Frank rolled over and panted; thinking of Joanne had
his mouth watering.  Number Two was sprawled on her
side, her head cupped in her hand, looking at him
intently.  No, he was sorry, he couldn't join her for
dinner; as a veteran of the cruise, he had to do the
Captain's Banquet at midnight, made it sound as if it
were a chore.  "I'll be sure to be here next year,"
she declared, brightly.  "Maybe then, I'll be at the
Captain's Banquet!"  Maybe, he told her, his eyes
sweeping along her fleshy form, you will.

At seven o'clock, Joanne was still wriggling.  Just a
little.  Frank peered through the grease-stained,
smoked-glass window in the door of the giant oven; the
square metal frame, Joanne's heat-seared body clamped
within it, was hooked to the rotisserie and rotating
slowly. The orange glow of the heating element
reflected off Joanne's butt and legs, then her
stitched-together breasts and stomach. He saw her jerk
a bit; her eyes had rolled back in her head.  A
charred wooden block held her jaws apart.  Frank
nodded approvingly. 

"I think," he told the chef, his eyes still fixed on
the hapless woman, "this is your best work yet."  The
chef beamed, then shooed Frank away from the oven's
steel door as he brandished a large brush and a bowl
of oily liquid.  "Basting to do," he proclaimed.  "She
will be perfect."  Joanne suddenly arched, then was
still.  Frank chuckled.  Perfect timing.

The crewman methodically checked the passenger's log,
then nodded Frank through.  Done up in his most
elegant duds, Frank edged into the small, crowded
room, smiled hello at some familiar faces.  Their
eyes, mostly men but a couple of women, too, all
gleamed with anticipation.  A couple of frozen faced
crewmen stood attendance; a smiling barkeep with a
fancy, waxed mustache poured drinks, vigorously
stirring and mixing as he kept up his own end of the
conversation.  Frank chug-a-lugged a Scotch, then
another, as the men and women in evening wear chatted
about the cruise, going home...and Number Six.

She would be arriving any minute; a crewman with a
foghorn for a voice announced the arrival of the
Captain.  White-haired, tall and thin, the genial man
shook hands all around, slapped a few backs, proposed
a couple of toasts.  When he suggested his guests find
their seats, the Privilegeds scrambled like it was a
game of Musical Chairs.  The old man smiled; they were
more enthusiastic every year.

"Ladies, gentlemen," the Captain crooned, "may I
present our...special guest."  That brought a wave of
laughter, followed by enthusiastic applause.

Joanne was on her back; she was roasted a deep
reddish-brown, the skin picking up a dull sheen from
the meager light in the dining room.  A pair of
passion fruit had replaced her lost eyeballs; a fresh
mangosteen filled her mouth, and the platter on which
she was served was gaily decorated with fig leaves and
other exotic fruit.  The twine had been removed from
her breasts and belly and the stuffings, swollen with
the juices of her body, pushed out through the flesh. 
A delicious aroma emanated from her, at once sweet and
lusty; Frank again felt his mouth fill, and suffered
the agonizing wait as the prayer was intoned, until
finally the carving could begin.

The woman's meat trimmed cleanly from the bone; it was
firm, and a dark ivory colored, with flecks of pink
and yellow.  Frank took a steaming slab from Joanne's
haunch, just below the buttock; as a tiny sliver of it
melted on his tongue he could feel himself within her
again, hear her laugh and say, "Have me...I'm yours!" 
She had become his, and him; Frank sighed with
delight, dipped a little more of Joanne in the loquat
compote before again teasing his palate with her.

Table manners were barely restrained; the two dozen or
so Privilegeds emptied plate after plate, as the
chef's aides pared glistening meat from the
unfortunate "special guest."  Formal wear got stained
with human grease; guests discreetly belched and
sheepishly apologized.  Then, the chef himself
arrived, to thunderous applause; he nodded, blushed,
bowed as Frank stood and lifted a glass in his
direction.

All in all, Frank thought as he disembarked, the
eighth cruise was the most memorable, yet.  There'd
been plenty of entertainment during the two weeks, a
magnificent feast at the close, and--he smiled,
remembering Angela's number in his wallet--a new
friend.  For at least another year.




		
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Yahoo! Mail - PC Magazine Editors' Choice 2005 
http://mail.yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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