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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Ship's Rations
by TheKnecht (address withheld)
***
Castaway on the wreck of their boat, with all their
food swept away, a man and a woman seem doomed to die
of hunger before they drift ashore. But really, there
IS meat aboard, isn't there? (MF, tor, can, v, nec,
rom)
***
And I tell you, the next time I go on a long ocean
voyage, I'm resolved to bring more food...
When it hit us, we were several hundred miles west of
Hawaii, heading for Japan. We - my girlfriend Lena and
I - were transferring a midsized motor launch to a rich
client in Japan. The passage was expected to take only
two weeks, the strong engines easily up to the task.
Only two days out from Hawaii, though, the first
calamity struck. I was dozing at the command post, just
keeping the usual half-awake night watch out on the
open sea, when the engines rumbled and suddenly died.
Then I smelled something strange. Rooting around at the
back of the ship, I opened one of the coverings above
the engines. First mistake. The cable fire smoldering
below leapt into open flame almost immediately.
We fought that bastard of a fire with a vengeance and
several powder extinguishers. When you are far, far
away from land, on a ship with almost a ton of easily
combustible fuel, you kinda know what's at stake.
But cable duct fires are tenacious, and by the time we
had extinguished it, our ship was a total wreck.
Engines, steering, electric power, all gone. The fire-
damaged engines might have been repaired by a competent
mechanic (which I was) if he'd had some spares and the
necessary tools. I had neither, not of the order needed
for this work.
Worse was that the fire had also reached our radio
installation and reduced it to melted plastic and metal
scrap. So we were mute in addition to lame.
We tried to jury-rig a sail, and I found myself cursing
all the time at the fact that we were on a lumbering
(now that the Kawasaki engines were useless) hulk of a
motor yacht. On a sailing ship, we'd simply turned
around and been back at Hawaii in a few days.
Not only didn't we have almost nothing to work with to
build that sail, if we ever managed to make one, we
would barely be able to tack against the wind, and both
water and air were tending west in these seas, taking
us further away.
The yacht was still mainly unfurnished and unequipped
inside, due to the fact that the interior work - luxury
stuff - was only supposed to go in, in Japan. In fact,
the yacht (which we had simply christened it 'Nameless'
for our voyage) was a rush job. Probably why the cable
fire had happened in first place. Shoddy work for a
client who hadn't wanted to wait.
So we drifted slowly west. But we were not really
bothered yet. We had enough supplies aboard to last us
two or three months. We had an emergency beacon (short-
range only, but powerful enough to make any passing
ship or rescue plane notice us). We even had a handheld
GPS, so we knew where we were. With the strong ship
traffic in this area, we'd be found in a few weeks at
most, at latest after we became overdue in Japan.
So we settled in for the duration, spending our time
not that much differently from the planned-for journey.
Reading a lot of books, screwing our brains out at all
time, joking about our adventure.
Only no one found us in those first days, and then the
storm came.
* * *
If you have never been at sea during a storm, you have
missed something. If you have never been at sea during
a storm on a motor yacht, lumbering about without
steering, without a deep keel to keep her steady, you
are blessed.
We had rigged a big steering oar from some metal poles
and fixed it to the boats stern with ropes. The power
steering was useless, obviously.
The thing during a storm is to keep your ship at a
ninety-degree angle to the wave-crests. If you get
turned sideways, the breakers will roll over you, and
possibly capsize your ship. On a motor yacht, that will
usually mean you stay upside-down, a death sentence in
such a storm. So we fought to keep her stern to the
wave.
Soon the storm was strong enough to move us forward at
six or seven knots, which is fast if you don't have any
sails. But our two-level upper structure was large
enough to provide quite some drag for the howling
winds.
Still, we weren't fast enough to outdistance the waves
following us on our mad rush south-west. Every once in
a while, one would hit us from the aft, breaking over
us and almost skewing us out of our path as it hit the
superstructure. Not to mention almost drown the poor
wretch lashed fast to the steering oar, trying to keep
us level. We couldn't work the oar from inside the
cabin, so one of us was always stuck outside, fighting
the elements.
I don't think it would have made any difference if I
had been at the helm during the moment when the second
calamity struck, after two full days of storm. Lena got
hit by a ferocious wave, got knocked with her head onto
the oar, and was out for a few moments.
Long enough for the ship to get turned sideways, and
the second monster wave to hit our superstructure full
on broadside, just as it broke.
I awoke from my fatigue-induced stupor down below to an
enormous tearing crash, and to see the water rushing
inside the ship proper through the break. The pale
light of what would otherwise have been day shone
inside. I was holding on to a handrail in rapt
fascination, for I realized that our whole top deck had
been sheared away. It was only a fiberglass structure
bolted onto the steel hull, and so we had suddenly lost
it all, swept into the sea.
To my relief, Lena had been almost unscathed, something
which I realized only after fighting to turn the ship
back onto its path, and then, I regret to say, kicking
her a few times until she came to. I was not thinking
all too clearly.
Suffice it to say that the rest of the final day of the
storm were - obviously - even worse than the first two
days. We roughly closed the gap in the decking with
some planks (thankfully, the only connection was a
large hatchway - if it had been fully open under the
superstructure, we would have been swamped and sunk in
minutes). One of us was always working the pumps. hand-
pumps, obviously.
The next morning, the storm broke, and we went back to
drifting rather idly on the still choppy seas, dazed in
body and spirit and ship. We only took stock of our
fate after almost a day or so of coma-like sleep.
* * *
We had lost almost everything that we had. From well-
equipped castaways, we had become paupers in a night.
For like fools, we had stored most of our equipment and
almost all of our supplies in the superstructure, the
only part of the boat that was partly furnished. Now
all of our food was gone, and our emergency beacon was
gone as well.
We took heart from the fact that we had survived, and
that our water supply was still safe, deep down in the
hold, in the steel tanks. Humans are tough - if they
have water and shelter, they can survive months.
However, our GPS also showed us that we had been swept
clear of all shipping lanes, far to the south of where
we would have gone normally. It would be a long, long
drift south-west. If nobody found us, our ship would
someday reach the coasts of Vietnam or the Philippines.
In months.
The next part of our 'adventure' would make a rather
boring story. We went on as we were, trying to keep us
hopeful and occupied (sex figured a lot, sometimes
violently, when we got frustrated), drifting slowly
southwest, at barely more than 1-2 knots most of the
time. We saw nobody, and we grew very, very hungry.
We had one more storm during that time. 'Nameless' was
actually better equipped to handle it this time. With
the superstructure gone, we had a lower center of
gravity, less drag for the wind and less area for the
waves to hit us on. The hatchway was well fixed with
what we had scrounged up. We weathered it okay, even
though we were already much weaker. Hunger was closing
in strongly, especially on me.
* * *
We saw no ships. Not even a gull. Fishing turned out to
be fruitless, as we had no bait, and no takers. The sea
seemed as empty and flat as a mathematical plane, a
symbolic abstraction of reality. Or unreality. We
usually went around naked, as the heat was often very
oppressive.
After almost a month of this, we realized that we were
not going to make it this way. We had gone barely a
third of the way to the next land, and I was starving.
Only I? Well, Lena wasn't as doing as badly as I.
Lena (a brunette, her hair usually fixed in a loose
ponytail) had always been a rather plump girl. Not
overweight, but well-proportioned. Small, lots of
curves, nice big titties, She had a beautiful, wide
ass, which she called fat - even though I loved it,
whether fucking it, or punishing it during one of our
more violent games.
Me, though, I have always been a very thin fellow, and
while Lena was approaching her figure ideal, I was
getting even thinner. She was full of guilt about it,
but couldn't do anything. She even made me punish her
during sex, for being a 'fat selfish cow'. Knowing she
had always liked some pain with her pleasure, and not
being in all that a good mood, I used the opportunity
quite heavily during some of those sweltering nights.
We really didn't need an emergency call beacon - with
her shrill screams of pain and ecstasy ringing out for
miles and miles, and for hours and hours.
* * *
A week later, we had the quintessential castaway's
tragic moment. Far away on the horizon, we saw a big
container ship go by. But there was no way to make them
see us, and by the time we had a small smoky fire
going, they were gone in the evening's gloom.
We sat there at the edge of the ship, and I, in half-
starved madness and exhaustion, thought about giving
up. Lena placed her arm about me and leaned close.
Sighing, she said, "Well, if this goes on like that,
you'll just have to eat me after all!"
Realizing what she had said, she gulped, but didn't say
anything more as I turned to her, looking her over. She
was still curvaceous, though more fit than plump now.
My stomach had stopped grumbling, but not my inner
hunger.
That night, we played out that particular fantasy. As
we had done so often before - though not on this
journey since the fire. It would have seemed rather
tasteless, but this time, I didn't ask and she didn't
complain. Not more than usually, and no less excitedly,
that is.
As I lay next to her still tightly-bound body
afterward, I looked her over with an appraising eye.
She was bound like a piggy for roasting, kneeling bent
over with her arms bound in front of her. In place of
the apple I usually forced between her teeth during the
game, she carried a ball of stiff rubber I had dragged
up from the bilge somewhere. Instead of the usual
carrot in her ass, I had first used my cock and later a
wooden dowel to which I had whimsically tied some
streamers of paper.
She watched me watching her out of the corner of her
eye and gulped. Today, the game had been a lot more
serious than usual. When I had placed the (blunt) knife
to her private parts, or played it around her throat,
she had shuddered like the first time we had enacted
this tableau.
But she had come as violently as ever.
Now I lay beside her on our bed in the hold, and let my
hand roam over her succulent flesh, so tasty, and felt
my hunger growl inside me. I squeezed her tit hard.
Wasn't she mine? My fingers roamed the moist stretches
of her shaved pussy. She had said that she was mine,
soul and body, hadn't she? I felt a desire to bite her
warm meat and chew down, and not stop like I did during
the game. To eat.
I looked her in the eyes. She realized my thoughts, and
her body shuddered in... fear? But she did not look
away. She seemed willing to accept whatever I decided.
I dropped my hand from her juicy, appetizing pussy and
turned around to go to sleep. That too was part of the
game, her not having any say about how long she would
stay bound.
Sometime during the night, I untied her.
* * *
We had not talked about it for a few days, but one
afternoon, she came to sit next to me on the shade of
our jury-rigged sunscreen on deck.
"I did not think you would untie me again... that
time." she said, no reproach in her voice. She laid her
arm around me. "I thought you would do it. You looked
so hungry."
I nodded, but then looked at her and shook my head
sadly. "I wanted to. But I couldn't do that. It
wouldn't be fair."
She shook her head decisively. "No. It's not fair that
you starve to death while I feel fine. I have decided.
You can do it. You can... eat me."
I looked at her, shocked. "No!" I said. "I do not want
to lose..."
"Sssshhh!" she said, putting a finger to my lips. "You
do not have to kill me. Just, well, you could take one
of my legs..."
I could not resist looking down at her legs. Visions of
those doe-like flanks on a barbeque suddenly made my
mouth water.
But I resisted again. "No." I said, but weaker this
time.
"Okay. Not yet. Wait a few more days. If we have not
been rescued yet then, I give you permission to do it,
before you become too weak. You do not have to ask me
again. Simply take what you need." she said, with full
sincerity.
I watched her a lot during the next few days, and she
realized that. In fact, it seemed that she was often
posing for me, showing off her wonderful legs, letting
them dangle in my sight. Like an advertisement - an
enticement - for a butcher.
No ships came.
* * *
On a Friday, I told her that I would do it: "But we
have no drugs or even alcohol to put you out for the
operation." I said. "And..." I gulped. "We do not even
have an axe or a machete." I added. "I will have to use
a saw." I was sure she would retract her promise then.
She did not. "Tie me down securely. Then you fuck me
until I am swimming in orgasms. Then - you do it." she
said, again looking me fully into the eyes.
So I tied her down on top of the hull, on her back,
fixing her as tight as I could. I splayed her legs wide
open, resting one - the food - on a raised bulkhead. I
forced the rubber ball deep between her teeth and tied
it fast. I had to hurt her there, and it must have felt
to her like I was dislocating her jaw, but I was not
going to be able to do it while she was screaming. Not
this time. So I made sure that all she could make were
muffled groans.
Then I fucked her good, as long as I still had the
power to. I gave my love to her, the way she was giving
me... her body. By the time she had her third orgasm,
twitching violently in the little slack the ropes gave
her, I stopped frigging her cunt, and picked up the
saw.
I hesitated another short moment, but realizing that
she would be leaving her orgasm-haze soon enough, I
steeled myself and placed the saw on her right leg,
above the knee.
If I had not done some butchery as a youth on my dad's
farm, I would not have been able to do it. As it was, I
began sawing through her flesh with deep sure strokes.
Lena began trashing again, in horrible pain this time,
twitching and pulling at the ropes, trying to break
free. Gritting my teeth, I went on, sawing through the
bone and then the flesh on the other side, until I had
finally removed the leg from her body.
I quickly pulled out the tourniquet from our emergency
set (which had survived) and bound her leg to stop the
blood from spurting. Then I carefully bandaged the
stump. By that time, shock had long since made her pass
out.
By the time she woke up in bed and asked me to help her
up to the deck (she was still too weak to drag herself
up on her own remaining leg), I had started the
barbeque (another part of equipment that had survived,
working on our copious amounts of otherwise useless
fuel).
I had not expected that she would have wanted to look
at it, but she did. I had not carved the meat from her
leg, but instead placed her leg on the grill whole,
slowly turning it so it would not burn or char. She
gulped, seeing her body part on there, like a bit of
meat - which it was, by that time - but then she
nodded.
I was tempted to slink away with my food once it was
done, but she said she wanted to look while I ate it.
So I did, slowly, guiltily cutting away at the bronzed
meat. She looked on, more with curiosity than anything.
"Do I taste good?"
"You taste good."
I offered her some, unsure how she would take it. But
she demurred gracefully, saying that would only make
her hungry too, unsettling a stomach that had adapted
to fasting now.
* * *
That night, she soothed me as I lay on the bed, full of
food, and full of guilt as well. "It's okay. I want you
to be okay. And I'll give everything for that."
I nodded. Caressing her, mindful of her heavily
bandaged stump leg.
"And don't tell me some part of you did not love it.
You have always fantasized about slaughtering a girl,
of eating her. Don't tell me you did not love it!"
My stiff cock would have betrayed any lies. I fucked
her hard, and she responded violently.
Yet the story was far from finished, for ships did not
magically appear afterward, and the drift was as lazy
as ever. For a week or two, I remained strong on the
meat she had sacrificed for me, then I began to weaken
again.
Eventually, we decided to take off her other leg. I
wanted to cut at the same place as before, but she
joked that I was just proposing doing that for
symmetry. As we would be on the sea for at least one or
two months more before touching land, it really made no
sense to take such short steps, she said. So we decided
to take it off just below her crotch, leaving her with
only a very short (though fleshy!) stump.
I had also decided that we needed another method of
cauterizing the wounds. It was too dangerous otherwise,
as they might get infected, or bleed too much. So I
devised a way to heat a flat metal tool to red hot heat
in the barbeque boilers. That would do nicely, though
it would put her into shock as well. But better than
the other ways.
"You could just as well brand me as prime grade beef,
too!" she joked as she saw me preparing my hot iron.
"I could just as well." I said musingly. "Where do you
want it?" I asked.
She thought a bit, then she said gaily: "Uh, somewhere
on my butt, I guess!" She laughed.
When she came out of her shock-coma the next time, I
turned her head around and showed her the black
branding-mark on her ass-cheek, above her new short
stump. It was a round circle with an A+ inside, about
the size of a big watch. I had made the mark with wire
I had heated together with the cauterizing tool.
When we were in bed again that night, she pulled
herself to me. Looking up at my well-sated self, love
in her eyes, she said, "I feel honored that you think I
am prime grade meat. Thank you, Master. Thank you!"
"You are the best meat I have ever eaten." I said while
she sucked my cock. It was true.
* * *
Two weeks later, I had taken of the longer stump off of
her right leg as well (for symmetry and hunger both!),
and soon we were again faced with a hard decision. We
had entered the doldrums, that zone, or time, when no
wind blows, and everything was still, nothing moving.
Including our ship.
"Its not enough." she said. "You need more food. You
have eaten some during the last month..." she added,
both of us looking at her stumps. She looked strange,
with her arms looking way too long for her already
scabbed-over leg stumps (she was still shaving that
pussy between them). I caught myself thinking that she
would look much more harmonious if her arms were
shortened to stumps too!
"You have eaten some, but not much! And so your body
needs more sustenance regularly, or it will have to
switch over to fat burning again, and you don't have
any. That would kill you."
She wasn't fat in any way anymore herself, after almost
two months of fasting, but still looked very pretty to
my eyes. Her tits were still full, and her ass tight
and round.
"Uhhhh... what?" I said, having lost myself
contemplating her body.
"I said that we need to start on my arms." she said
resolutely.
"But we decided to.... I mean without your legs,
okay..." We had decided that when we were rescued, we
would claim that something had crushed them, and that
they had to be amputated for medical reasons. With her
arms missing as well, that excuse would be hard to keep
up.
"I know. But if only one of us survives, it should be
you."
There, she had said it.
* * *
I'll not bother you with the details of how I removed
first her left arm, and then her right one a week
later. Lena had gone very contemplative by now, mostly
spending her time propped up on a cushion at the stern,
watching the sea, or asking me to fuck her.
It was clear that she was saying goodbye.
I said I would not bother you with the details here,
yet I have to say that she looked absolutely gorgeous
after I cut off her last arm. Arranged on the cushions
on our bed down below, her leg stumps splayed open (not
that she could have hid much now), her arm stumps
healing well. You did not even need to tie her up
anymore, she wasn't going anywhere.
And while I sometimes missed those shapely legs and
warm arms, all the important bits were there -
emphasized by the lack of anything unnecessary. She was
a tight little package now; pretty face with a soft
mouth, two silky, big breasts, a curvaceous ass with a
tight rosette and the fleshy folds of her bare cunt.
Quadruple amputee, she had become the perfect sex
object, with all holes open and willing, totally
helpless and soft and beautiful. It was sad I could not
keep this toy forever.
She seemed to feel the same way, and so in the kind of
madness we had descended into, it is perhaps
understandable that, after the last amputation, we even
used her right arm/hand as a fisting tool. No girl has
ever got her hand as deep into her own holes as she!
* * *
All joy has to end, however, for we were drifting on,
and still about a month away from the Philippines.
Hoping for some ships, maybe fishermen, to find us, I
held out on the inevitable.
I tried fishing again, using bits and pieces I cut from
her, but nothing.
One day she told me that I would have to kill her soon.
This time I did not say no, but I tried another delay:
" I could carve some big slices out of your ass..." I
said.
She wriggled around, her stumps moving until she was
presenting her round ass to me. "Is it still looking
good to you? It's not exactly fat anymore, I guess."
"No." I said, groping her flesh. But it was still good
meat, many pounds in fact.
"Mmmh..." she said. "I fear that won't do, though. I
think the blood loss would kill me that time. I would
not be able to stand that now. Too weak."
"We could cut off your tits instead..." I mused. I had
often roped those meat bags, but only with all her
extremities gone was she light enough so I could hang
her from them for hours on end, beating or fucking her
carcass as I wanted...
"Mmmrph!" She interrupting my train of thought with a
scoff. "You know as well as I do that boobs ain't good
eating. Fatty tissue only. And you can't even milk
these things!" She wriggled herself on the bed, shaking
her titties angrily as if making a point. "No. It's
time."
"If you say so..." I allowed slowly.
"You will have enough food to last you until you
arrive. You can smoke what remains of me by burning the
rest of the wooden panels."
"Okay."
"But I would like you... uhmm..." she said, hesitating.
"What?" I said.
"Before I go, I'd want to taste some of myself. And I
want to see you eat my cunt as I die."
* * *
We made preparations for her final meal during the day.
First, I had thought about cutting out her cunt, and
throwing it on the barbeque, but the blood loss would
likely have killed her before that was even done.
So we decided on grilling her cunt in place. I devised
a contraption of some metal spars and ropes that would
fix her straddling above one of the barbeque burners
(which I had rigged to produce more heat than flame
this time). We would then cook her cunt for as long as
possible, and carve at least part before she died from
it all.
Lena was strangely cheerful through it all, and this
infected me as well. She got some last fucks, and a
good internal basting as well, as I mused about what
I'd do with her various parts. She joked what her
parents would think of me now, when they had never
liked me, after I had "used up" their daughter. I
reminded her that she had a sister, and she nodded:
"Fair enough".
Finally, it was time. I rigged her above the burner,
and turned on the flame.
Soon, the heat between her legs became unbearable, and
she began groaning and bucking. She swayed a little,
but couldn't move enough to keep her pussy away from
the horrible heat. She did not scream into her cloth
gag yet, as she had gotten used to quite a little bit
of pain during those last few weeks. But that would
change soon enough.
Between her stumps, her cunt lips were slowly turning
from rosy to red, and her whole body was covered with
sweat, dripping down, smelling of roasted girl. I kept
her upper body cool with water, so she would not die or
pass out too early.
By now, she was screaming loudly, a piercing, pain-
filled "Raaaaaaaaagh!" which would have bent metal if
she had not been gagged carefully. I experimentally
poked a fork into her cunt and then deep into her Mons
Veneris. Not yet done.
I looked at her glistening ass, as it slowly began to
turn from living flesh into roast beef. There was my
meal for the next few days. But first, the piece de
resistance!
By now, she had become unconscious, and I judged at
least the outer parts of her cunt to be well roasted. I
turned off the burner, and removed her from the
contraption.
Putting her light form (I judged her weight at no more
than maybe 80 pounds by now, of that maybe 60 pounds of
usable meat) onto the table I had rigged in the
cockpit, I began setting up the utensils for her last
dinner.
Using some water, and a few judicious slaps, I slowly
brought her round again.
"Wha-what?"
"It's time for your dinner."
"Uh... oh! Yes." she said, wondering. She looked down
between her legs. Her cunt lips had turned a rich
brown, and gave off a mouth-watering smell.
"Am... am I done?" she asked uncertainly. "I... I don't
feel anything down there anymore."
"Mmmmmh." I said, poking her most intimate parts with a
sharp fork, getting no response at all. "At least the
outer parts are done, well enough for eating. Your
inner cunt may still be a bit rare, though."
"Strange." she mused, propped up halfway on the table.
"I didn't even feel anything when you stuck that fork
into me."
"Do you feel that?" I asked conversationally, spearing
one of her tits fully with the long fork.
"Aaargh!" she shrieked. "Yes, yes, I do!"
"See, they are still alive. But your pussy is just meat
now. Cool, huh?" I said. "But let us eat." I added,
when she nodded tiredly.
I sat down between her stumps and pulled out a sharp
small carving knife. Under her fascinated eyes, I
slowly cut away her hood. It was a strip of well-done,
almost crisp meat. I slowly chewed some, and then bent
over and offered her some as well. She took it in her
mouth slowly, chewing meditatively, her first meal
since months, and her last as well.
"It tastes wonderful." she said. "It does." I answered
solemnly.
* * *
After having eaten her whole outer lips and hood
together with her, I started to carve deeper into the
smoothly yielding flesh, finally placing the whole of
her pussy (complete with the inner lips and some
surrounding meat) on my plate. Lena had fallen
unconscious again from pain and shock while I ate the
steaming meal. I was watching her breasts rise and fall
slowly, wondering how they would taste.
Finally, I bent over her, and woke her for the last
time.
"It's time." I said. She nodded. "Goodbye" she
whispered.
"If it's okay, I will use the knife. I won't put the
rest of you on the barbeque until later." I told her,
unsure if she still understood.
She nodded. "Enjoy me." she breathed, her last words.
In fact, in bending over her, I was just entering her
as well with my cock. Her cooked vaginal canal was hot,
warmer than usual, though not as flexible. But the
muscles had tightened a bit during the time over the
fire, so even though I was mostly fucking dead meat, it
was a nice fit.
I started humping her. She seemed to understand what I
was doing and smiled.
Placing the knife (sharp this time, no game anymore) at
her throat, I leaned in to kiss her, and she kissed
back hungrily, gasping. While I was French-kissing her,
I steeled myself, and then sliced the razor-sharp blade
deeply through her windpipe.
She startled gurgling, her kiss slackening. I pushed
the knife deeper, my kiss still fixed on her lips.
Slowly, shuddering heavily, she stopped twitching after
many long seconds, and then died, her eyes still open.
I came inside her then, spilling my sperm inside a
piece of dead female meat.
* * *
The final part of the journey was uneventful. I
lovingly roasted her ass, tasted her tits (which as
feared, where a disappointment), ate ribs for a few
days... Sadly, all too soon, I had to get rid of her
head - though not, I admit it, before having it give me
a few more sendoffs with that tight (if now shortened)
windpipe. Her tongue and cheeks were delicacies.
As if to mock me, I started catching fish then, using
her intestines as bait. I did not eat the fish, only
smoking and keeping them as reserves, if it should take
longer than expected to reach land after all.
Sighting the Philippine fishermen in the distance, I
celebrated by eating the last tender parts from her
throat, enjoying her taste for the last time. I did not
have anything left over. On the other hand, I had taken
possession of her more completely than anyone else.
So for my next sea voyage, I resolved to take on more
food. Or at least, another well-fed girl.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 41