General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity, this hypnofetish story does contain examples of fictional characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to other fictional characters. If you are under the age of consent in your community, are disturbed by such concepts, or want graphic sex in your online pornography, then for goshsakes stop reading now!
Permission is granted to re-post for free to any electronic medium, as long as no fee whatsoever is charged to view it, and this disclaimer and e-mail address (email@example.com) are not removed. It would also be nice if you told me you were posting it.
Copyright Voyer, 2015.
Specific Disclaimers: A reworking and expansion of an idea I recently used in one of my drawings. Also working with a new setting that I might revisit in some form.
Dedicated to Chef Taki.
“What is that smell?”
Aedith realized the voice had said something, and, even worse, had been aimed at her. She reluctantly tore her attention away from the work that had gradually unwound and spread itself out across the commissary table which she had staked out, twining its clumps of wires out amongst her tools.
Zena, Lady Zena, was standing in the open doorway leading out into the corridor, her hands positioned on her well-defined hips.
Aedith sighed, placed her zap-probe back in its holder, and removed her headphones.
“That smell. What is it?”
Aedith sniffed as she also pulled off the magnigoggles and then pushed the glasses under them into position with the back of a grease-stained hand. Now that the other woman mentioned it, there was indeed an odd aroma in the air. Not bad, exactly, but certainly distinctive. A memory came trickling back.
“Oh. Must be the Chef. When that supply shipment got dropped from the Central Spire this morning, it had some ingredients he’d requested. Or something. He was going on about trying out another new recipe.”
“Ugh.” The blonde woman rolled her eyes as she wafted the rest of the way into the room, the purplish ruffles of her dress trailing behind her across the metal floor. “That blithering jackanape.”
“Um. He’s kinda a weirdo, course, but he’s actually a pretty good cook. We’re lucky to have him. That last guy, Morlock-”
“Mordred. And yes, yes.” A gracefully dismissive wave. “When the man restrains himself to producing traditional.. rational.. fare. Spoo in Frimfram Sauce. Funistrada. But he does insist on attempting those..” she theatrically deployed both of her hands this time, “‘Epic Culinary Experiments!!’ of his. It is my understanding that it is what resulted in him being deposited here.”
“Yeah, we all heard when he got dumped down here, he was stupid enough to try and feed one of his experiments to somebody important, a Governator or something.” Aedith grinned. “Course, we all made mistakes, didn’t we?”
Zena ascended the heights and stared down at the insect crawling before her. “I did not make any mistakes. I am temporarily confined to this wretched place because-” “Yeah, yeah.” Aedith’s stomach growled, and she sniffed again, or perhaps even snuffed. “And, you know, that really doesn’t smell bad at all.”
Zena consented to sniff as well and shifted a knife-blade shoulder, fingering the slender gilded hilt of her Caste-dagger.
“I suppose not.”
Aedith focused on the black clock high up on the wall, endlessly spinning its rows of red glowing numbers. She blinked.
“Wow. Didn’t realize how late it was. Almost dinnertime, as a matter of fact.” She stretched and ran inventory on the rest of the room. The battered collection of tables and chairs was deserted apart from the two of them. Kris’s abandoned klah-mug sat one of the tables. Aedith gathered up her tools and began meticulously slotting them back into the waiting box. “Where is everybody?”
“Still out. Pat claimed they had to traverse over to the Eastside sub-Spire. Seemed to feel that some rare and flighty species of grease was required for the central gearworks. Or something along those lines.”
“Oh. Strain42, it only gets produced over there. Well.” Aedith found a relatively clean rag, wiped off her hands, then ruffled her short reddish bob and pulled her bulky Mechanic’s sweater back into position. “They’ll be hours yet, then.”
They both paused and looked in the direction of the door which led into the kitchen.
The smell.. the aroma.. had grown stronger.
Aedith’s stomach growled again, louder, and she thought she heard something from Zena’s as well; which vaguely surprised her. The thought of Her Nibs stooping to having bodily functions like common people..
She got up, stomping her chunky black boots on the floor.
“Well, if the Epic Experiment isn’t done, maybe if you flutter your eyes at him he’ll give us a limited access-code to his leftovers-vault.”
The heights jagged higher and covered themselves in frost, but then Zena almost possibly smiled, and definitely shifted the shoulder again.
“Oh, very well. I admit-”
Whatever her revelation would have been, it was cut off by the swinging doors to the kitchen bursting open, and the Chef stepping forth into the room, accompanied by a blast of steam and odor. His body was a bit rickety and clattering, but as always, the uniform that covered it was meticulously, almost sparklingly white, from his shoes to the towering cap perched jauntily on his head; he kept his clothes cleaner than Zena did.. (Aedith certainly wasn’t one to worry about a little grime, but considering what he had to work with, it still impressed her a bit that he was able to pull this off..) He saw who was waiting for him, and deployed a smile across the crags of his face, the expression of a stage magician about to masterfully extract a smeerp from his hat and thus dazzle his devoted audience.
“Ah! Ladies! Excellent! You’re just in time to sample my latest, and, dare I say, greatest culinary triumph!”
Aedith and Zena exchanged a glance.
He lifted a oven-mitted hand; on it was balanced a large covered pot.
The odor that swirled..
After an odd moment’s hesitation, Aedith found her voice.
“Um.. OK.” And since, whatever her other faults, she was ultimately an honest person.. “It does smell good. What’s it called?”
“Ah..” For a moment the man’s facade of supreme self-confidence flickered.. “I make it a policy to not bestow a name upon one of my creations until I am certain that it is worthy of it. Still, this is.. experiment 23-D.”
“Right.” She wasn’t really listening. That smell..
She drifted closer, felt rather than saw Zena do the same..
With his other hand (also mitted) he lifted the lid.
A whole new wave of smells burst forth, filling the room.
Filling her nose.
The two women peered down into the pot.
It’s.. glowing. He’s actually expecting us to eat glowing.. BLUE...
It wasn’t just blue. There were other colors there, swirling around...
She stared, stared at the colors, hundreds, no, thousands of them, down under the rich vibrant blue, slowly, slowly bubbling and twisting against each other in the depths of the pot..
It looked revolting.
It looked fascinating..
It looked so.. delicious..
She was vaguely aware that she was drooling.
She leaned closer..
She had to get closer..
She had to..
The colors bubbled and twisted and swirled and the odor reached deeper into her nose..
hooked onto her nose
pulled at her brain
She had just stuck her face right into the pot.
She couldn’t help herself.
She stuck her face in the stuff, and it pushed up against her, warm and soft and bubbling, pushed swirling and bottomless, filling in around her glasses, pushing up against her unblinking eyes, pushed into her nose and then her ears..
Pushed open her mouth.
Pushed its way inside..
And the taste..
The taste as it slid, swirled, sensuously, eternally, past her tongue..
Taking control of it..
Her jaws flexed and swallowed.
Flexed and swallowed.
Only they weren’t moving, they were being moved, by the food, by the chef’s wonderful glorious food.
The further down into the pot she wallowed
i’m wallowing. i’m a little bogswine oink oink..
The brighter the colors, the deeper the swirls, the better the taste.
And the food was inside her now, down in her stomach, still swirling and bubbling.
Filling her full to bursting.
Not just her stomach
The food was pushing up inside her head now.
Her body hitched.
The thought came, completely irrelevant. She would not struggle, she would not resist. She would quietly suffocate to death, oinking on the glorious perfect endless food..
The food pushed her head up, just enough so that she could glub down a couple ragged breathes of air, and then pulled her back down, down into the depths of the pot, pulled her deeper than before, a hundred times deeper.
And the food filled her head, from top to bottom just as her nose finally, finally, pushed against another bottom, the bottom of the pot, yes, she remembered, there had been a pot, an eternity ago, and she kept eating, rooting around for one more tiny scrap of food.
And she finally bumped against someone, also rooting.
For a second, just a second, she paused in confusion.
Zena. Of course. Aedith was happy. Zena got to share in her good fortune. Her mind also had been devoured by the food.
There was food on Zena’s face.
They began to lick each other clean.
Zena licked Aedith’s glasses clean
And when they could finally see into each other’s eyes, see the food bubbling there, and they remembered.
Who had made the food.
Who had created the food.
Who owned the food...
Who owned them now..
They lifted their eyes, and looked at him, and he looked back..
“Whoo!” Pat stomped into the commissary, pulling off her heavy metal gloves and tossing them on the nearest of the tables. Aedith and Zena were standing nearby, side by side and she waved at them. “Heya you all. That took forever, but we finally beat the zarking machine into dispensing the 42. The others’ll be here in a minute. Please tell me that fool of a chef managed to produce something eatable, I’m zarking starved!” She undid her bun of gray (but flourishing) hair and let the resulting thick pony-tail spill down the back of her overalls.
“Of course.” It was Zena who spoke. “There’s food.” She gestured at a covered pot sitting on a second table, with waiting plates and silverware arranged around it, along with a jug of shifafa juice. Pat rolled her eyes.
“Oh, geargrinders, has he been experimenting again?” Not waiting for (or receiving) an answer, she lifted the lid and looked inside the pot.
“Huh. Whaddaya know. Spoo with Frimfram sauce.” She dragged up a chair, plopped into it. “I’ll take it.” She scooped out some onto her plate, filled a glass, looked up. “Gonna join me?”
“No thank you.”
“We ate already.”
“OK then.” She dug in, swished the sample around in her mouth thoughtfully, swallowed. “Um. Not bad at all.”
Aedith and Zena turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Pat paused in mid-chew and watched them go. Zena always put her butt on display when walking, it was part and parcel of the whole show, but now it almost seemed as if Aedith was doing it too...
She shrugged and resumed eating.
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