Breaking Up Is Hard -- To Chew! (New Story)|
Tuesday, 01-Dec-98 03:29:45
Here's a twisted little tale concocted while I
was fondly reminiscing of an ex-flame. It didn't
end on a sufficiently bad note to justify what
happens in the story, and the ex in question in
no way resembles the character of Chenault.
I still need to write part three of "The Living
Past", but this sounded like fun...
DISCLAIMER! DISCLAIMER! DISCLAIMER! DISCLAIMER
This story is extremely sick and twisted. It
features a female being non-consentually reduced
in size. Extremely bad things happen to her
from that point on. If you are a human of
immature age, read no further. Turn back, go
watch the Disney Channel or Barney or some other
family oriented atrocity. Go away.
On the other hand, if you're the kind of mutant
who thinks this kind of thing is somehow sexy,
please proceed and enjoy!
Breaking Up Is Hard -- To Chew!
Chenault was just off from work. Her red Miata pulled into Tom's driveway and she
stormed up the front steps of his house as if she owned the place. She hadn't
lived there for over a month.
She was an ex-girlfriend. They were never really compatible. Well, truth be told,
she was a flaming bitch, but she was great in the sack, so they stayed together for
nearly a year based on nothing but fabulous sex. Her small, compact body was complete
with all the options including long soft blonde hair, shining green eyes, a firm ass
with a tight well muscled pussy capable of grabbing a man's cock and squeezing it with
a wild, wet pulsation, making him her slave.
This kind of relationship can't last.
She was back for the CD player, all the CDs, the computer, the silverware, the toaster,
an electric deep frier, a blender and everything else she could cram into a Miata.
Tom was ready for her this time.
Apart from the the above mentioned items, he owned the clothes he was wearing, a mattress
to sleep on, and one other item. He had cleaned out his saving's account to buy the
one other item. It was going to be worth it.
The door flew open. Chenault still had the key.
"I've come for the rest of our stuff. You can start loading it into my car now, and
don't give me any shit!". She didn't even bother masking her contempt by lying and
calling it her own stuff.
"Naw, I don't think so. In fact, I think I'll show you something I paid Melvin to put
together.", he snarled as he reached behind the one remaining table to get something.
"Stow it, Pin-Dick. I'm not interested in what that NERD made for you! Just get off
your ass and give me my stuff before I..." She paused when she caught sight of the
object, then broke out laughing hysterically. It was a ridiculous looking contraption
consisting of a salad bowl with some sort of antenna in the center, protruding from a
frame made from an erector set, crammed with wires and junk scavenged from old TV sets
"Hoooooo Haa ha ha ha Ha!! What the fuck is that? Oh, please I...", was all she got
out before the yellow-green beam lanced out and engulfed her. Her body absorbed the
beam and she was frozen in place as if electrified. That, of course, was not the only
effect, for where once there was a five foot two inch sex beast from hell, now stood a
twelve inch screaming toy.
Tom dropped the makeshift gun down on the mattress and strode towards her. She turned
to run, but her tiny three inch stride took her less then a foot by the time his hand
was around her waist. He lifted her up to examine her and smiled cruelly at the sight.
"Hmmm, Chenault, you may be a professional-all-purpose-bitch-for-every-season, but damn
you're USDA grade AAA. Funny that you should arrive right at lunchtime!" Tom laughed
out loud as he carried her to the dining room. He set her down on the dining room table
which, since Chenault had already made off with the real one, consisted of a fold-up
camping table Tom bought from the Good Will Store down the street. She came towards him
shaking her little fist, but he grabbed the table by the legs and gave it a shake. She
fell down flat on her tight little fanny with a "Hoooof!", the wind knocked out of her.
The beam shrunk her clothing along with the rest of the package. "Let's see what you look
like under all that wrapping, little girl." He already knew what she looked like, but the
comment was calculated to terrify her in her diminished state. It worked. She ran to the
other side of the table, trying to escape. She was almost to the edge when he grabbed the
sides of the table and tilted it back, knocking her again off her feet and causing her to
slide down the slope to him. When she was right in front of him, he set the table down
and snatched her up in his left hand, wrapping his fingers around her hips and legs,
leaving her upper body and arms free.
"You bastard! You know you can't beat me! You've always been weak, and I'll win in the
end, even if I AM only a foot tall.", she tiraded, rather predictably.
"Don't count on it..., Doll." Not very original of him, to be sure, but how could he
resist given the circumstances?
Chenault was wearing an all red outfit. A red pullover sweater and a matching short
red skirt. The combination was designed to accentuate her power over him. She wasn't
wearing a bra. This was to remind him of what he no longer had access to.
When he pinched the sweater between his fingers and pulled it up, her tiny tits flopped
out and bounced. "36C, Chenault? Not today." He flung the sweater straight into the
kitchen trash bin. She covered her pert little tits with her hands, wearing an indignant
expression. He pulled them easily away and pinned them behind her back while he played
with her exposed mammaries. They still felt firm even reduced to the size of grapes. He
could even feel the big pink nips, once the size and shape of pencil erasers under his
"Gawddammit, that hurts you prick! Let go before you...", she stopped as it suddenly
occurred to her what might happen to her if this continued -- What probably would happen.
The skirt came right off and followed the sweater into the trash. He pulled her panties
off with the tip of his pinkie, gently untangling them from her thrashing legs, and
thoughtfully dropping them into his shirt pocket.
Tom had come prepared for this occasion. One other item he'd purchased from Good Will
was a canary cage. It was in the kitchen. He carried his pink, naked new pet to the
kitchen and dropped her in the newspaper lined cage and latched the door. The cage hung
from a stand. The bottom of the cage was a good five feet above the floor. A long way
down for a girl only twelve inches tall.
Other preparations had been made for her arrival. The kitchen was ready and waiting for
her. Tom got the cutting board ready and pulled the sharpest knife from the block.
"Too bad you can't spend more time as a canary, Chenault,", commented Tom in a relaxed
manner, "but once I get this salad together, I'll be ready to prepare the main course."
She gulped and sat down in shock on the lower perch. Tom sliced tomatoes, lettuce and
carrots on the chopping board, then used the edge of the knife to slide them into a bowl.
He reached over and unlatched the birdcage. She bolted up and tried to run away, but
there was nowhere to go. He caught her and took her to the drainboard where the cutting
board lay. He put her facedown down on the board, still wet from the salad. he stroked
her firm, tiny bottom, and spread her legs with his fingers. With his left hand, he
pinned her in place with one finger on the small of her back and another across her thighs.
Her lower legs kicked the air and surface of the board uselessly while his right hand
reached for the knife.
She screamed even louder as the blade came down on her left leg at the hip. The blade
sunk in and found the joint where it met the hip and sliced her leg neatly away from the
rest of her body. It lay twitching on the cutting board inches from her. He changed his
grip on the knife and, this time more slowly, savoring the feeling, he sliced through her
right leg, severing it from her body and pushing it aside with the other.
She was whimpering and sobbing as the knife came down on her left shoulder. Her arm came
free and he picked up the tiny limb and placed it with the other tender pieces. Soon,
her other arm was there as well.
She watched, bleeding, and unable to move due to an extreme lack of limbs as all four of
her extremities dropped, "Plunk, plonk, plink, plink." into the hot oil of the electric
frier pot. She could hear them sizzle in the oil while he stirred them around with a
wooden spoon. As her vision began to dim, she couldn't help but notice that the smell
of her own cooking meat was quite appetizing.
He sliced off her head and placed it at the edge of the plate as a garnish. Her body
was outside being bar-b-qued on a metal skewer, apart from the firm, juicy tit-meat
which he carefully removed and ate raw before gutting and skewering her. He popped both
breasts in his mouth at the same time and savored the feel of her nipples on his tongue
before he chewed them and swallowed them down.
He would have enjoyed having her entire body on the plate at once, but it wasn't possible
to BBQ her, and have her alive to see her arms and legs being deep fried, not if he
wanted to eat them while they were still hot and fresh. He dined on her wings and drum-
sticks while the rest of her body roasted. "Those aerobics classes really paid off!",
he said to himself as he bit into the healthy muscles of her upper leg. It took several
bites to clean the hot, juicy fried meat from the bone, and he couldn't resist the old
pun, "Hah, tastes just like chicken. Not an ounce of fat on this bird."
He finished the first leg, tossed the bones on the plate and devoured the second. He
grabbed both arms by the (deep fried) hands and in one single stripping motion with his
teeth, cleaned all of the meat from her arms and finished the fried portion of his lunch
off with relish.
He took his time with the rest of her. Her rump was cooked to perfection and there were
a good three bites of sweet ham-like meat per cheek. He closed his eyes and chewed his
ex-girlfriend's roasted pussy with a satisfaction approaching the orgasmic. After strip-
ping the meat from her ribs and back and shoulders, there was nothing left of her exept
a pile of quickly cooling bones and chewed sinew.
He snapped a rib from her ribcage, sucked a tiny gob of meat from it, and used the end
as a toothpick as he leaned back, well fed and satisfied in his chair.
"Find 'em, feel, 'em, fuck 'em and fricasee 'em, I say. Ha! Ha! Har!"
He left the plate of bones on the table. He grabbed her car keys and headed for the
door, on his way to reclaim his possessions while Saffron, Chenault's cat that she refused
to take with her, hopped up on the table to dine on the scraps on the plate. The cat
made short work of the "garnish" with a soft crunch as Tom fired up the engine of the
Miata and drove away.
THE END (belch!)