CU403

Maggie glanced at her schedule.

"Shit!"

They'd cancelled one of her 300s and none of the others was available.

"This sucks. This really sucks!"

If she could have taken a full load of courses, she could have avoided summer school this year, maybe taken a trip abroad.

She checked the 300 level courses again, then, for the hell of it, checked the 400s.

All of them required prerequisites except one: Culinary 403 - Regional Exotics. "With the advent of eco-touring, travelers are finding themselves in some of the most remote places on earth. Part of the draw is to experience the local cuisine. While the tourists may not want to sleep in mud huts and chow down with the natives, as a chef you can provide authentic, local delicacies to your patrons. Click here for full description and syllabus."

Maggie clicked, printed off the pages, folded them and shoved them in her backpack. She registered for the course. Across the hall, she found the text in the bookstore, bought it and it, too, found its way into her bag.

Maggie's alarm went off, she rolled over, opened an eye. "Shit!"

She'd reset the alarm for the weekend and hadn't reset it for Monday. Her first class, CU403 started in 15 minutes.

The trip took half an hour.

Maggie paused before room 108. Unlike all the other class rooms, this one had no glass in the door. She eased the handle.

"...and so while I will provide the necessary material for half of the classes, you, students, will each provide an example of your own, properly prepared menu. We will alternate week-"

Chef turned at the sound.

"Yes?"

"Hi, er, sorry I'm late, Chef."

Maggie eased into the room.

"You're late, you're out."

He made a dismissive gesture.

"Please, Chef! They cancelled one of my courses at the last minute. This was the only one I could get!"

Chef sighed, reached out, and snapped his fingers.

Maggie blinked.

"Registration, Miss ..."

"Swenson, Maggie Swenson."

He glanced at the sheet, placed it on a stack with the others.

"You have, of course, read the syllabus."

Maggie lied, nodded.

"And you have the text and taken the time to at least familiarize yourself with the contents?"

Again Maggie nodded.

"Very well. Since what I've just covered is a recap of what you already know, I won't repeat myself."

He gestured. Maggie found a place at one of the tables. There were six other girls in class. All appeared a bit older than her, seniors no doubt.

"We will start with the more familiar and move on to the more bizarre. We're all familiar with the various quadrupeds: cows, sheep, dogs, cats, rats, and such. In some places bipeds hold a special culinary spot. And I'm sure you've heard of monkey brains as a delicacy enjoyed in some parts of the world. But we will start with something both familiar and rare - homo sapiens. There are many places in the world, many tribes that practice cannibalism, both ceremonial and as for a regular source of protein."

"So in this first class, we will explore that topic. While we will not delve into all the variations in preparation and whatnot, we will deal with something you all are familiar with: basic roasting. The simplicity of the preparation will help ease your way into the more obtuse practices we will cover later in the course."

"And since for this first class you ladies were required to provide the ingredients," Chef shuffled the slips of paper, selected one, "Miss Swenson will be our subject."

"Me! I mean, er, I -"

"You read the syllabus, did you not? The first class is to be focused on cannibalism and the simple preparatory techniques thereof."

"Yes, but -"

"You were supposed to provide the necessary ingredients for preparation and demonstrate their use to the class."

"I, er, -"

"What, in your opinion, would be the primary ingredient?"

"A, er, person?"

"Very good. And here you are," Chef beamed.

"Ladies, you may find that during preparation the, shall we call it, subject may object."

The hint wasn't lost on Maggie's table mate who instantly grabbed her hand and yanked her off the stool.

"Hey! What the -"

The other five fell on her.

"Place her on the table please."

"Hey! Stop it. What are you doing!? Let me Go!"

"If two of you would donate your scarves so that I may continue the lecture uninterrupted."

Two girls removed their scarves. Chef balled one up and thrust it into Maggie's mouth. He wedged the second one between her teeth, knotted it behind her head.

"Very well. Now the first step would be ...?"

"Inspection?"

"Yes, very good, Miss?"

"Nguyen."

"Ah, yes. We must ensure that the main ingredient, as well as all ingredients, are suited to the purpose. Remove her clothing."

Maggie struggled, her muffled squeals echoed in the room. Four of the girls held her, while two stripped her.

"Her jewelry also. Plastic will melt and metals will cause hot spots."

Maggie continued her futile struggles, panting from the exertion, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat enveloped her.

"The next step is to remove the body hair. It adds a burnt taste when left on and, in my opinion, takes away from the rare, delicate flavor of the meat. Although there are some who like it. Some tribes roast the meat until crisp, but we in the civilized world have come to appreciate the flavor of meat cooked medium-rare."

Chef produced the propane torch, trigged the flame, danced it across Maggie's belly.

"You see, if you hold the torch just so and move it constantly, you burn off the hair without affecting the skin. It may seem extreme, but there are local barbers who use this very technique."

He handed the torch to one of the girls. She duplicated Chef's technique for a minute. Maggie lay rigid, barely breathing then she screamed.

"Careful. You may find it useful to listen. Use your ears. You can hear when the hairs sizzle and that's your signal to move on."

Each girl took their turn. There were several more flubs, but soon Maggie was hairless from the neck down. She was flipped onto her belly and Chef completed the process on her backside.

"We will leave the head hair. It makes for a nicer presentation I think. The roasting technique we will use involves wrapping the head so that it does not burn, but merely steams. I know you've eaten brains, but none were as succulent as these will be, I promise you."

"Now there are a couple of common techniques when it comes to basic preparation. The first, as you are no doubt familiar, is a typical butchering. Opening the abdominal cavity, removing the offal, retaining the heart, liver and such. Again there are variations. Different innards are prized in different places. The most common technique, though, is to roast the body whole. This provides a delicious, smokey meat, with the more delicate flavors inside left to stew in their own juices."

"But first it needs to be cleansed, both externally and internally. As was demonstrated to me, the subject is fed a mixture of I don't know what. This caused him to both vomit and defecate. I deduced that it was some sort of rotten meat, which gave him a mild case of food poisoning. Once the vomiting had ceased, he was fed what we can think of as a marinade. He continued to expel the contents of his gut for several hours and by that time the juice had made it all the way through and was indistinguishable from what he was being fed."

Chef produced a snorkel mouthpiece. The short length of tube was plugged. He removed the gag and clamped his hand over Maggie's mouth and nose. When her struggles grew frantic, chef removed his hand and wedged the plastic behind her teeth, pulled the strap over her head.

"Bind her wrists and ankles."

The other girls removed their scarves.

"Bring her in here," he said gesturing at a door.

It was a tiny bathroom with just a toilet and sink.

"We have more effective means than spoiled meat," Chef said pulling and plug and pouring a pink liquid into the tube.

Maggie coughed and sputtered, but she swallowed the vile stuff.

"It will take only a minute or two."

And so it did. Maggie hurled. Not that there was much. She'd barely time to suck down a meal replacement drink before running out the door. Still she heaved and kept heaving long after she was empty. But after several minutes, the heaves subsided. Maggie trembled. Two of the girls held her, kneeling on the floor, head in the bowl.

"And now the other."

They sat Maggie on the toilet. Chef poured another liquid into the tube. It too tasted vile and Maggie's stomach revolted, but nothing came up. Chef plugged the tube. The group left the room. This stuff didn't work as quickly, but work it did. Over the next two hours Maggie's gut emptied itself time and again. Finally they filed back in. Chef flushed the toilet.

"Ah. That should be sufficient."

He pulled the plug from the tube, slipped the end of the funnel into it, and poured the dark, brown liquid. Maggie swallowed. Swallowed until it felt she would burst. Part of her brain registered flavors, ingredients as the liquid coursed into her.

Chef looked at his watch.

"Well, this will continue for the next couple of hours. Miss Hill and Miss Chan, thank you for volunteering to continue the process of internal marination. Once the system is infused, we will plug the anus and proceed with the external marinade."

For the next two hours the girls poured marinade down her throat. Her gut seemed to empty as fast as it was being filled. After an indeterminable amount of time the smell changed. The girl named Chan opened the door.

"Chef?"

"Ah, very good. Prepare the enema."

He reached into his pocket, drew out the black, rubber plug.

"Turn her over, kneeling on the floor."

Maggie was hefted off the seat and settled on the floor. Chef spread her ass cheeks, smeared something around and into her anus, then pushed the nozzle into place. A second later a rush of fluid filled her.

"Get all of it. Waste not want not."

Maggie could feel the bag being squeezed, squeezed again, and again. The nozzle came out and was immediately replaced by the plug.

"The plug is somewhat small, so to prevent expulsion -"

He wrapped a length of chain around Maggie's waist, led the end between her legs and clipped it in place.

"All right, ladies, we will meet back here at four to do the final prep work and please come up with, er, interesting recipes for what you think would be an appropriate stuffing."

Maggie's mind reeled. Her rational mind couldn't grasp what was happening. Her animal mind was terrified. She didn't know what they'd filled her with, but it was wreaking havoc on her insides. The cramps kept her curled in a tight ball. Time seemed to stand still.

"Well now," Chef said, "I think that should do it. Sit her on the toilet and pull the plug."

Maggie's gut emptied as a torrent.

Out in the classroom she heard, "Normally the abdominal cavity would be stuffed, similarly to how you would stuff a turkey, say. But in this case, we'll focus on the oral and anal cavities."

And no sooner had the words penetrated her brain than Maggie was carried into the room, hoisted up onto a table. She was bound with cord, wrists to ankles, flipped over onto her back. Two girls held the plastic bag, the others lifted her, settled Maggie, kneeling, into it. They set her into the stock pot.

Brown liquid poured over her, filling the bag up to her chin. Chef cinched the top of the bag, not tightly, enough to let in a bit of air, but not let the marinade out. Maggie watched as the girls prepared their stuffing recipes, blurred ghosts moving about the room.

Eventually, the bag was undone. Marinade flowed into the pot. Maggie was lifted yet again and set in the roasting pan. There was no wire rack, but there was a thick layer of vegetables that, once she had been settled, face down, came half way up her thighs. A mound of the stuff was pushed up under her chin.

More time passed as Chef sampled the stuffings. He declared Miss Nguyen and Miss O'Darby the winners. The former went to work on Maggie's ass. Using an industrial size syringe, she pumped several fillings of what smelled to Maggie like miso into her ass.

O'Darby pried Maggie's mouth open, pressed her tongue against the back of her mouth, and wedged a slice of sweet onion against the underside. She spooned in her stuffing. Maggie's cheeks bulged. The onion prevented stuffing from working its way down Maggie's throat, choking her, but it also prevented her from spitting it out.

Properly stuffed, the girls worked around Maggie, seasoning her, covering her in a layer of crushed peppercorns and ground salt. At last Chef declared her ready. He placed the cover on the pan.

The girls lifted the roasting pan. Maggie felt herself being born across the room. She landed with a thud, then there was the sensation of sliding, the sound of an oven door closing, then ... nothing.

Maggie waited. Waited for the heat. Waited until -

"Man! That was awesome!"

The girl called Chan had lifted the lid and was giggling down at a confused Maggie.

Two of the girls gave each other high-fives.

Maggie was brought over to the table. The girls scooped the stuffing from her mouth. She was able to expel the miso from her ass. They untied her, helped her to her feet.

"I don't believe it! It was so ... real!"

"And she acted like she didn't know! I mean, played the terrified victim perfectly! Way to go, girl!"

Maggie allowed herself to be set in the sink. One of the girls whose name she didn't know washed her off. Maggie swilled water and spit. She could still feel the remnants of miso in her ass, but declined an enema.

Wet, and smelling of marinade, Maggie let herself be wrapped in a over-size chef's coat.

As the girls left, Chef said, "Miss Swenson. A moment."

Maggie had changed into her kitchen clothes, the white jacket and  black check pants. She smelled of marinade and she had acquired a decent, fake tan.

"Miss Swenson, if you HAD read the syllabus, you would have know that this first class would be an exercise in cannibalism, preparing a human as a meal. One of you would have volunteered, but since you displeased me, lied to me even, I selected you. I hope you've learned your lesson. And I hope I can expect you to not only read, but internalize all future course materials. Do we understand each other?'

Maggie blushed and said, "Yes, Chef."

 

 

09.11.11