Dolcett Enterprises -
The Emmy Stories
Entertainment from one special Dolcett Girl
THIS IS NOT A SNUFF SITE, but a professional, private role-playing and "scene" club for those interested in exploring the wilder themes of sexual submission/slavery in the extreme, bondage, domination and sado-masochism (BDSM) in a unique and safe fashion.
The Exclusive Restaurant
One day, Paul said he had arranged for us to dine at a very exclusive restaurant. I was a little surprised at this, as Paul didn't seem the dining-out type, but I humoured him. He asked me wear something particularly skimpy, which again I thought was a little odd, but I did as he requested, wearing a light slip of a dress which was so short and low-cut that it did little to cover my body at all. He insisted that I didn't wear any underwear too - his little kinky game I thought, smiling.
The restaurant was not at all what I was expecting. In fact, from the outside it looked more like a warehouse. There were no windows, no lights and no menus to attract customers. But, Paul seemed to know exactly where he was heading, so I obediently followed, feeling very self conscious as we walked across the street from the taxi.
Paul knocked at the restaurant door. A moment later the door opened and we were met by a man who politely introduced himself as the manager of the establishment. We were shown inside and Paul gave his reservation details. The door was carefully locked behind us.
"Will sir be requiring to eat in the dining room or would you prefer a private room?" asked the manager.
"I'd like a private room," replied Paul. "I believe I have brought a satisfactory contribution."
The manager looked at me oddly and smiled. I didn't stop to wonder why, although he was obviously checking me out. The whole conversation seemed odd to me, and I expected a large sum of money would soon be exchanged for the priviledge of eating in a private room, whatever that meant.
"Yes sir," the manager replied, still grinning. "Very satisfactory. Follow me."
The man unlocked a door and ushered us through. We were lead into a small room. In the centre was a dining table, laid with one place only. On one side of the room was a kitchen area with a large worktable and an even larger oven on the wall. Adjacent to this was a large open grill for a pig-roast or something.
"Welcome to your private room sir," said the manager. "Your chef will be with you shortly."
With that, the manager left us, closing (and locking) the door. Paul smiled at me, coming close.
"Well baby," he said. "Thank you for coming to dinner with me. As you can see there's only one place laid at the table, but it isn't a problem... because I'm afraid you won't be eating with me tonight."
I frowned, confused.
"You see," he continued cryptically. "You can only come to this restaurant if you bring your own meat... and I have brought an exceptionally fine piece of meat..."
He burst out laughing. My confusion only deepened.
Before I could think any further, the door opened again and in walked the chef.
"Good evening sir," he said, again addressing only Paul as if I wasn't there. Then he turned to me and looked at me. He made no attempt to conceal his eyes running over every inch of my body from head to toe. I blushed, wishing that I'd worn something a little less revealing perhaps.
"Is this the meat?" the chef asked. I froze, wondering if I'd heard correctly, a hundred thoughts and unmentionable fears suddenly cramming into my head.
"Yes," replied Paul calmly. "Delicious looking isn't she?"
"Absolutely," said the chef. "It will be pleasure to cook her."
I had heard enough of this bizarre conversation to know that things were suddenly looking bad for me. I turned for the door and grabbed the handle, but it was locked. I went into a panic, confusion and disbelief clouding my thoughts. I was grabbed from behind by the two men and dragged, kicking and screaming, over to the worktable in the kitchen area. As I shouted all sorts of curses and pleas, they threw me down onto the table, pulling my hands roughly above my head and my legs apart, tying me securely with leather cuffs. I was quickly gagged into silence.
I struggled hard, pulling at the bonds with all my strength. I couldn't break one. A final strap was tightened across my waist to stop me arching my back. I was helpless. The chef quickly grabbed my flimsy dress and ripped it off me, leaving me naked and exposed on the table. I cried in hopeless fear and confusion. The chef seemed ecstatic with my naked body.
"My, she is amazing," he said, beaming. "Soft smooth skin, firm pert breasts, meaty thighs and a perfect cunt steak. She'll be delicious."
Paul only grinned back.
"I know," he said. "When I first met her I knew I'd have to bring her here somehow. I can't wait to taste her."
I barely registered the conversation. I knew I had been tricked. My entire relationship with Paul was a trick and now it seemed I was about to pay the price, although my terrifying fate was still beyond my full comprehension.
"Well sir," said the chef. "How about a breast starter?"
I sobbed, unable to believe what I was hearing. Paul nodded his approval and I found myself being untied. Before I could struggle or have any hope of escape, I was firmly held by the two men, my wrists re-tied behind my back. The chef lead me to a hot plate, switching it on. Reaching into a cupboard, he brought out a tub and started coating my breasts with a sticky oily mixture. Involuntarily, my sensitive nipples hardened, which seemed to please the chef even more.
Once my breasts were fully coated, giving them a shiny sheen, the chef opened a drawer and pulled out a long metal skewer. I struggled hard against Paul who was now holding me tightly, as the chef mercilessly stabbed the skewer into my breast, pushing it through. I screamed into my gag, as I felt the skewer penetrate through one breast and into the other. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Quickly, the skewer was right through both breasts. Without any further warning, the chef pushed me down hard, so my basted breasts were firmly pressed against the hot plate in front of me. The pain of the heat seared through my chest. Behind me, Paul had unzipped and I felt his hard manhood pressing against my bare cunt, entering me roughly in one stroke. The sticky mixture sizzled against my breasts as they cooked against the hot surface, as Paul fucked me hard from behind. The chef just watched placidly as if it was the most natural event in the world.
It was over almost as quickly as it had started. I felt Paul's hot cum spurt inside me and he pulled out, just as the chef pulled me upright. I looked down in horror and disbelief at my breasts. The underside and fronts were seared deep red. The pain was throbbing. I was taken back to the worktable and quickly tied down again. The chef came over with a thin piece of wire between his hands. I wondered what it was for. I quickly found out, as he pressed the wire under my breasts and started a sawing motion upwards. I closed my eyes tightly, crying helplessly into the gag as the razor wire effortlessly cut through the soft tissue of my breast, lifting it away from my chest. He took my half-cooked breast away and started sawing the other. After a moment, that too was gone and I was left with two bloody wounds which he quickly cauterised with a hot iron.
The pain slowly subsided to a semi-bearable aching. I looked down at the mangled and burned mess which was now my chest, feeling nauseous inside. I could barely believe what had just happened. The chef was busy working on my severed breasts. He scooped out the fatty mammary tissue, before filling each breast with what looked like rice and herbs. He placed the two stuffed breasts on a plate, drizzling a white sauce over the horrifying dish. Presenting it to Paul with a satisfied smile, Paul carefully took his knife and started slicing into what had only a few minutes earlier been my breast, putting the soft meat to his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. He smiled and continued to eat greedily.
A few minutes later Paul had finished the breast meat, although had left most of the rice. He explained that he didn't want to fill himself up on anything other than my delicious meat.
"So, what's for the next course?" he asked excitedly.
"How about I grill her legs?" replied the chef. "Her thighs look perfect for steaks," he added, gripping my legs firmly.
I was again untied and unceremoniously moved to the counter next to the pig-roasting grill that I had seen earlier. It was made up of metal bars on which the meat would presumably be positioned, with a heating element above and below. As the chef moved me so my legs were lying on the bars, I realised in horror that it was the perfect length to cook my whole lower body. My de-breasted upper body was left lying on the worktop outside the contraption, tied down securely so I couldn't struggle free.
The chef busily coated my legs with a mixture of oil, herbs and butter, similar to that he'd used on my breasts. His hands were strong and firm, working methodically from my buttocks to my feet along the underside of legs, then back up the topside of my legs until he was rubbing oil all over my groin. I felt his fingers brushing my clit, and entering my cunt, as he made sure I was fully basted.
He seemed satisfied with his preparations as he stood back. He clicked on the grill.
It was a few minutes before I felt anything, as the grill warmed up. At first, it felt like a hot bath or lying in the sun on a beach. It was hot, but not unbearable. I felt my legs warming and I could see the orange glow of the heating elements. After another few minutes the heat was increasing. I tried shifting but I was tied to tightly. My skin started to sting. I looked hopefully at Paul. He was sitting watching me intently, grinning and chatting to the chef. Both were sipping wine. I couldn't believe that they were doing this to me. I tried to cry out, but the gag was still firmly in place.
Now the heat was intense. My legs were agony. I wanted to scream with pain, but I knew it was pointless. I could feel my skin roasting in the heat, the muscles beneath seizing up and cooking. I tried to focus on something else, catching snippets of Paul's conversation with the chef.
"The trick is to cook her long enough to get the rare quality of the meat, but not too long so her blood doesn't boil and stop her heart," the chef was explaining. "About now I like to try a little trick to add some flavour to the meat," he continued, coming over to me.
He brought out what looked like a large silver dildo. He pressed it into my hot cunt until it was right inside, stretching me full. The slight pain was nothing compared to the searing heat against my legs and buttocks. The chef turned a small switch and the silver dildo came to life, vibrating inside me. The end curved up and pressed firmly against my clit. I couldn't ignore the insistent buzzing. Involuntarily, I was quickly cumming, my juices wetting the throbbing metal of the vibrator, the intense pain of my legs fading into the background as I concentrated on the unexpected pleasure. I vaguely heard the chef speaking.
"The orgasms help keep her conscious, otherwise the pain may make her pass out. It's a cruel irony, but I like to think the girls I cook appreciate a final orgasm or two..." He laughed. "Of course, the hidden trick is that the metal dildo actually heats up and helps cook the cunt-meat from the inside!"
By my second strong orgasm, I realised this was true. The dildo felt hot, and not just from the natural heat of my tingling cunt. Finally, the chef came over to me and pressed a large fork into the side of my thigh. Although I felt the sharp point, the pain wasn't significant. I guessed the nerve-endings in my legs must be deadened.
"Right," announced the chef. "She seems about ready."
With that, the heat was switched-off and I was dragged out from the grill and the dildo removed. I watched in horrified fascination as the chef began to carve deep slices from my legs, concentrating on my thighs. Each time, I felt the sharp prick of the knife and a strange hot sensation as the knife sliced into my cooked muscle. Soon, a plate was presented to Paul, filled with juicy red cuts of meat from my legs. Paul took his time, savouring each mouthful with a contented smile, chewing and swallowing my meat. The plate was quickly cleared.
"And now for the final course," exclaimed the chef. "And the prize cut..."
The chef's knife flashed again and I felt the same sharp sensation between my legs. This time he was cutting deeper. I could feel the pain and the hot blood against my flesh. I realised that the chef was cutting out my vagina. His fingers were stimulating my clit as he plunged the knife deep into the firm mound around my vulva. Soon, the mix of pleasure and pain were gone, and I could only feel the pain as he was clinically removing my cunt...
I looked down in mute horror at the bizarre gaping bloody hole left when he carefully lifted away the outer layers of skin and inner muscle. The nausea swept over me and I realised this is when they intend me to die. The chef made no efforts to cauterise the wound and, even if he had, the internal bleeding where my cunt had once been was now too great. I sobbed in despair, realising I was about to die, having been brutally but clinically butchered, cooked and served as food to the man I had thought loved me.
Paul greedily ate my cunt. The chef presented it artistically, the juicy vulva facing up intact to the surrounding flesh, allowing Paul to dig in his knife and fork as if he was cutting directly into my body. As he ate, taking his time contemplating each mouthful, I felt dizzy and sick. His lips were bloody with the barely cooked meat. For a moment, the look of pure satisfaction on his face, softened my heart. Perhaps this was not so bad, I thought fleetingly. I've made him happy...
"Well I hope you enjoyed your meal sir," said the chef, snapping me out of my reverie. "As you know, she'll now be taken to the main kitchen and her remaining edible parts will be served to guests in the main restaurant. Anything not fit for human consumption will be incinerated. If you'd like to say goodbye to her, this is your last chance."
Paul got up from the table, wiping his mouth on the napkin. He came over to me and gently brushed a sweat-soaked strand of hair from my face.
"My darling," he said. "You were absolutely delicious. I don't ask your forgiveness, but I hope you will go knowing that you've given me the best gift any man could receive."
He smiled and kissed me on the forehead. Unwillingly, a tear of sadness ran down my cheek. I wanted to tell him that despite everything I still loved him, but I was still gagged. With that, he left me. The chef lifted my body onto a wheeled trolley and I was taken out of the room. The bright harsh lights of the main kitchen suddenly blinded me, as I was taken through and placed onto another worktop. Several men looked down at my butchered and bloody body.
"She's fading fast but still alive," said my chef. "I only served her breasts, cunt and a little bit of thigh meat, so there's plenty left for the restaurant. Let's get her out while she's still fresh."
With that, I felt knives slicing into me, butchering me as if I was already dead. I felt my arms being ripped from my shoulder and carried away to be cooked. The rest of my legs were being sawn off. I felt a searing hot pain in my stomach and looked down to see another chef splitting open my chest. I felt the blood in my throat, choking me, as my vision blurred and slowly faded to black.
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