Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2021197-A-Thanksgiving-Feast-The-Preparation
Rated: 18+ · Other · Dark · #2021197
For a holiday feast I prepare frightened young men with the help of my little boyfriend
*Note- this story is dedicated to my good friend, a blonde lawyer in DC, who shall remain nameless (but you, and probably everyone from CF knows who you are). This cute little guy has been having a rough couple of weeks and he received some more bad news this morning, so this story was written for him. His macro tastes are a bit bloody and torturous so those who don’t like anything of the sort may want to skim past those parts.
To all my little CF partners and giant brothers: Happy Thanksgiving!!!

My apron is wrapped tightly around my waist, my hard and ever-twitching cock leaving a formidable bulge in the blood-stained fabric boasting the title of my favorite fictional cook book “To Serve Man”. The actual cook book I’m using has a far more generic name, since I handwrote it and never wanted it discovered by investigators or prying relatives. So I stand there in the remodeled kitchen with nothing under my apron but hairy skin and a muscular torso. I put on the chef’s hat I had bought myself as a joke years ago: it seems to frighten my ingredients.

On almost every flat surface sit the makings of my perfect traditional feast. Vegetables on the table; seasoning on the counter; bread, butters, eggs, etc. Only my cutting board and appliances are free from clutter. But the ingredients taking up the most room, the delicacies I couldn’t do without, are the hundred tiny squirming men and boys in bowls, Tupperware, jars, and a few boxes. They’re already peeled of their clothing and now perfectly nude. I’ve been collecting them the last few weeks from high schools, college campuses, front lawns, alleys, clubs, gyms, malls. Anywhere where tasty young men congregate: I shrunk and captured them.

At first I sorted them by age, then by build, then appearance. I had teen emo twinks in one jar: Asian 20-22 year old jocks in another… but I soon gave up on this tactic as there were too many. Now they were a mixture of different races, ages (All under 28), builds, etc. The young men already knew of their fates. I had told them and then demonstrated on a few, eating them as snacks when hungry and torturing them when bored. So they were still begging, crying, and shaking, but they had stopped their screams which were always annoying anyway. A whimpering meaty bodybuilder was an appetite-whetting experience, while the profane and exceedingly loud yells did nothing to me hunger or throbbing cock.

This year was going to be perfect. And it had to be perfect because for the first time ever I was not going to be enjoying my little snacks alone. “OK babe. Open your eyes.”

I beam as my nude little boyfriend stares around the room at his terrified shrunken brothers with a look of amused wonderment. His little lean body seems to shake, not with the horror of the other diminutive morsels, but rather with sheer excitement. Immediately his dick is at full mast. I have to restrain myself from caressing my lover, covering his supple body in deep passionate kisses, and forcing him to squirt an appetizer into my waiting maw. He immediately hugs my finger tightly, kissing it as if he were full sized and that was my whole body. “Oh Boo, it’s perfect! I’m so thankful to have such a handsome devious God as my lover!”

“And I’m so thankful you’re the only little I ever kept around long enough to get to know, my cute little boy toy.” He blushes and hugs my finger tighter, his whole body suddenly pink as his hard dick digs into my knuckle. I lick my lips when I see his smooth bubble butt jutting out, but hold back. “Happy Thanksgiving baby.” I gingerly move him to the top of my chef’s hat where he gets a full view of my preparations. “Like Ratatouille!”

“Be rough, Sam. I love you.” I hear him squeak from atop my head.

“And I love you. Now let’s get busy!” The other teens, initially confused and jealous of my relationship to someone in a similar predicament as themselves, had come to accept the status difference and now just looked at my plaything with unadulterated hatred. But c’est la vie. They’d be floating around in the sewers soon anyway.

Immediately I preheat the oven and put the tray on the cutting board. I then move to the nearby cage and pull out my turkey. He’s a juicy muscular jock I found at the gym and he screams his head off the moment I lift him from under the armpits. “Shut up, man. It’s time.” The only boy I left relatively large, this 18 year old muscle head was now roughly 1.5 feet tall. He’s doll-sized and perfect for our purposes. He flails around with his beefy legs and arms. With little effort I lie him down in the tray, and using twine, easily truss him up perfectly. His panic is at its peak and has begun to cause a ripple effect on the little guys nearby so I shove an entire apple into his mouth like a suckling pig.
This only renews his struggles so I grab his arm and speak matter-of-factly. “If you don’t stop struggling I will simply snap your arms and legs back. It will not ruin your flavor, but it will prevent you from moving once and for all.” The handsome boy continues to scream, terrified into his apple but has stopped all movement except the shuddering from his sobs. Above me I can feel my boyfriend has already started jerking off for the first of many times during this process.

Despite his absolute terror, the baby-sized jock somehow has an erection. It appears that being tied up may have unlocked some secret fetish within him. I ignore that for a moment and flip him to his front. Completely smooth, evidently to appease his many lady friends, I begin by gnawing on his muscular ass and running the tip of my tongue up his perfect back, slowly. I then repeat the same process with the stick of butter, rubbing it into his supple young flesh like a masseuse. I hear an inadvertent moan of pleasure and press my buttery fingers deep into his broad shoulders, apparently causing as much pain as a powerful shiatsu. One hand rubs up and down his beefy leg, soaking it in oil. He is now glistening with sweat and butter and I long to slurp it all back up, but know there will be time for that later.

Grabbing his perfectly manicured chubby feet I left him a bit, sucking his toes and lapping at his salty soles before putting him right side up again. My lips straddle his cock and he moans through the apple in his gritted teeth as I suck. He is well endowed, his dick the same size as the countless tinies mesmerized of my abuse to this straight jock boy. As I suck I run my fingertips over his washboard stomach and chest, teasing both nipples and covering him from head to toe in butter. His tasty little toes curl and I look him in his wide, terrified dazzling blue eyes. He has the all-American boy look with neat short hair and a chiseled chin one wants to sink his teeth into… which I would be doing soon enough.

His back arches, ass clenches, and he rises slightly from the tray. As he comes I rip my lips off of his throbbing member so that he sprays his own stomach, which I immediately massage into his glistening abs and chest. His breathing is erratic and he would undoubtedly be panting if there wasn’t an obstruction in his mouth. It’s amazing how the act of preparing a boy for consumption appeases all five senses. The feel of their supple flesh, the scent of sweaty and musky boymeat, the sight of their quivering cute little bodies… and of course the exquisite taste that only a true boy connoisseur can understand.

I love fooling around with my meat, allowing them to season themselves in their own delicious, creamy marinade. But this jock has not come enough for my liking. I reach into the closest container of boys and pluck out a few handfuls, laying them down in strategic spots on my turkeyboy. They tickle his pale young skin, the kind of skin that is unkissed by the sun from the hours spent in the gym which only served to make him a better meal for me anyway. He is too tired and, I assume, frightened to knock them off. Several of the young men speak at once, begging, complaining, and asking of their specific fates.

“Jerk off”, I command. Nobody moves. A few look at me questioningly. “Jerk off on him. Marinate him I your sex and sweat and tears.” Still they don’t move, as if they were making a stand. I quickly grab one boy, a tan surfer with perfect abs. Using my thumb and pointer finger I yank off one of his arms and throw it at another tasty lad. “Use that hand if you want. Pretend it’s a stranger!” I then slowly twist off the other arm, relishing in his howls of pain. Next I snap his leg off and then mash his pulpy remains against my cock as he continues to scream in anguish. I pump furiously using his blood and guts as lube as the friction wears him to nothing and he lets out one last wet gargling death cry. Immediately the boys start masturbating.

I moan in pleasure. I hear my boyfriend moan in ecstasy. The other tiny treats pump their meat in scared silence. Freud must have had me in mind when he came up with the id portion of the psyche. I ran solely on the pleasure principle, acting only on sex and food. Shrunken boy morsels met both of these ‘needs.’ One by one the morsels explode and lay down on my sticky turkey boy in exhaustion. When the last one comes I lift up the jocks legs and get ready for the stuffing.

I snatch up two of the panting, exhausted young men, rubbing their naked come covered bodies together causing the expected struggles. Then I wipe each one on the doll-sized jock boy, coating all three in butter and come, lubing the two frantically kicking boys and further marinating the glistening flesh of the equally terrified jock. I slide their thrashing mingled bodies inside of the stud’s virgin hole and see his hips convulse and his eyes go wide. He screams in pained discomfort. Four kicking legs hang out of his beautiful hole and I use one finger on the soles of their feet to push them in all the way. I continue this process with a tired muscular frat boy and a stringy skater beside him, shoving them in feet first so both of their heads are touching at the ring of the young jock’s tight hole, screaming their heads off to give the others a taste of what’s in store.

By now the other treats have realized their fate and struggle to escape the tray, toppling over each other, their delicious toned bodies bouncing and jiggling as they climb on the poor tied up jock. It’s like a mini game of cat and mice. Each mouse I grab I stuff deep inside the straight, pained jock’s virgin hole. When he is fully stuffed, a head and an arm stick out of his puckered ass, bulging from the struggling youths inside, I attempt to push them further. I hear a tiny squish as I realize the first two boys must have just exploded against the walls of the jock’s intestine. Rather than squish the rest of the tinies inside I again lift the turkeyboy’s ass, (by now he is too pained and exhausted to protest), and look at the cute little arm and emo head sticking out, screaming, move my mouth in close, my tongue lapping the little lads, and snap my teeth shut over them. There is a blood-curdling shriek from the boy inside the ass who has just had his arm bitten off and is pressed up against a headless emo in a straight jock’s intestine.

I then fill the bottom of the tray with water, search for more scrambling or hiding stuffing boys, and bring the tray to the heated oven. Before the little men know what is happening, the turkeyboy included, I slide the tray inside and slam the door.
To get the broth for the soup nice and thick I pull some tall college basketball players out of their box and lay them on the cutting board, pressing down firmly to keep them from moving. Their sweaty young supple bodies are pressed against one another as they struggle to be free. This struggling triples when they see the glint of my kitchen knife. While I am skilled at chopping I don’t cut the basketball stars nearly as fast as I did the vegetables. I start at their toes and make an easy slice. They bawl like babies. I then chop off their feet. With each cut the anguished cries are renewed. I continue the careful, slow cuts, all the way up their long legs and stop at their large limp cocks. With tears in their eyes I scrape their cut body parts off the board and deposit it in the bubbling stew. They have a moment of respite as I mix the broth, smelling the heavenly aroma of boiled boys. But a second later my shadow is back over them as I pierce the first boy’s midsection with my serving fork and lift him up with it. He writhes in agony and I deposit his legless, stabbed body into the hot liquid with a splash and a scream. I continue the process with his friends. By the time I stir the soup and put the top back on there’s only 2 of the six boys still alive.

A handful of young men are thrown into the hot gravy, free of torture. The other boys in the bowl are hopeful as I pull their squirming bodies out too. But they are surprised when they don’t end up with their fellow prisoners, but rather in a glass contraption on top of some peeled potatoes. When my masher pulverizes the first lad, a cute young nerd, there is a mad dash to the opposite end of the bowl. I continue to mash the lumps around the bowl, disregarding the running young men and boys as they frantically try to avoid my masher. When about half of the tasty morsels are still alive, climbing over the twitching legs of their friends and sibling, mashed into bloody pulp, I lick my masher clean of potato and blood. A sprinkle of seasoning is dropped on their heads as they catch their breath, forcing them into a sneezing fit.
Once the frightened youths regain their composure they notice a new device in the bowl with them. A second later the mixer springs to life with a terrifying metal whirl and sucks the survivors inside, spewing out bloody mush in its wake. I chase the cute little morsels around the bowl with my mixer and hum to myself as I do so, loving the laughter of my boyfriend above me. When the mixture is complete I put it away and pull out my cranberry sauce. Several shaggy headed skater boys are pushed into the mix and I force a gang of latino twinks into the cornbread batter I had been working on earlier, carefully pushing it into the waiting over below the turkey, with only their heads sticking up. I do the same with the sweet potato pie, this time using some high school football studs I shrunk during practice the night before. Lastly I drop some preppy guys into some ice trays, one in each. They are deposited into the freezer.

As everything cooks I take stock of my remaining boys. Many will be tossed on top of the finished products but I pull four out in the meantime. After pouring some soda into a tall glass I drop two in: a blonde haired, blue eyed tan little twink and an oily looking guido with spiked hair. They yell in unexpected pain as the acidic liquid burns at their skin and the carbonation causes bubbles to rupture around them in tiny explosions of agony. After stirring the glass and bruising their bodies as they sputter out the liquid, pumping legs trying to keep them afloat, I take a long swallow, feeling the guido slide quickly into my throat. He tastes of muskiness and a bit like a tropical fruit that I can’t quite put my finger on.

It’s then that I remove the pumpkin pie from the warmer. I had wanted to save it for desert… but I was hungry from all of this cooking. My cock was finally limp after coming for the umpteenth time, and I needed to replace that lost protein. I swallowed the rest of the soda, trapping the cutie in my lips as my tongue molests his scrumptious skin. He merely tastes clean, like powder, and has a strong acidic taste from the soda. A shame. I had assumed he would be better. After cutting the apple pie and putting it on a small plate I look at the other boy in my hand. He’s adorable. College aged with a lean body and beautiful face. I lick my lips hungrily at him, the drool that had been accumulating since I started cooking slowly dripping down the sides of my face.

Pressing his hot little bubble butt deep into the pumpkin pie I ensure that he can’t move. Then I squirt a little whipped cream on his toned stomach and tiny cock. I look on with glee as the literal cutie pie looks past his perfect feet and slender toes at my fork scraping away piece by piece and bringing them to my cavernous mouth, wiggling tongue, inviting soft lips, and deadly teeth. He is visibly wide-eyed and terrified as each bite brings him closer and closer to his doom.

Finally, when he is sure I will be piercing him and cutting him in half with my next bite, I lower the fork behind his head and bend it underneath him, taking both his lithe little body and the surround pumpkin pie with him. As I lower him to my mouth feet first I toy with him, my tongue slurping up each foot and separating each toe with my moist tongue. He is delicious, the best boy I’ve tasted all day so far. My teeth press into his shins as though I were to bite them off but I quickly pull him away and change tactics.

Now my lips are over his whipped cream covered chest and abs, I begin to kiss him all over, my tongue darting out to lap up the whipped cream and run over his ridged muscly chest and abs, licking them clean. I then go lower and take his now erect cock in between my soft lips, sucking for all I am worth. The feeling must be like the world’s strongest vacuum as he moans in pleasure and his eyes bulge out. My tongue caresses the tip of his dick and laps up the delicious precome. The college boy can’t last long enough and it isn’t long before his toes curl and he unleashes his cream filling into my waiting gullet, where it pools and then descends to join the two soda-covered lads below. “Cream filled boy cutie pie. The perfect start to my perfect feast.” The boy on my fork pants, smiling and blushing despite his current position. I smile warmly back.

Then I quickly pop the whole fork into my mouth, and pull it out, sans the morsel. A few quick sloshes as he is battered by my tongue, he is tasted all over, and then he is nothing but a lump in my throat. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon have lots of company!”

The timer on the oven goes off at the precise second my little boy toy, panting from the exertion of masturbating twelve times in three hours, says, “and I can’t wait for the actual feast to begin.”
Possibly to be continued…
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