The Chez Albert

by Lee



The beaches of San Ricco were milk-white and the calm sea surrounding the tiny Caribbean island was a gorgeous deep blue. Where the pristine sands of the seashore met the lush rain forest of the island’s interior, pathways made of crushed seashell wound around the coconut palms and through the dense patches of tropical flowers and shrubs. Each pathway led to one of the entrances to The Carib Islander, a five-star resort complex owned by the eccentric and rather reclusive billionaire, Jean-Claude Marat.

San Ricco catered to the most exclusive clientele imaginable. A suite at The Carib Islander cost over $10,000 a week, and guests were admitted by invitation only. The island was not accessible by plane, and the only boat allowed to dock at the harbor was Marat’s own luxury liner, The Grace Budd from San Juan, Costa Rica. After a two-day cruise, The Grace Budd docked in San Ricco and the happy guests disembarked to spend the afternoon relaxing on the sun-drenched beaches before heading to the Chez Albert to dine.

The Chez Albert was the reason Marat’s guests came to San Ricco. It was a dining club which could exist only on a remote tropical island such as San Ricco, an island neither claimed nor regulated by any nation. The Chez Albert specialized in the rarest of all delicacies; that one form of flesh-food which is taboo in nearly every present day human culture. The Chez Albert specialized in human flesh.

Marat had bought San Ricco from France specifically to open the Chez Albert and had brought with him one of Paris’ most celebrated chefs - Joan Bardeau - to perform her culinary magic there. Marat had met Bardeau while dining alone one evening at a small country inn near Marseilles. While enjoying a tender veal cutlet in what he was surprised to find was the most delicious sauce he had ever tasted, Marat’s attention was drawn to a table across the dining room by a conversation between a waiter and a patron which had escalated into a shouting match.

The patron, a plump woman of forty with an upper class Parisian accent, was complaining loudly about the quality of the pork she had been served.

"This is tough enough to use for tire rubber!" she screamed at the waiter. "I can’t eat it!"

"I apologize sincerely madam," the waiter bowed slightly, picking up the plate with the half eaten cutlet on top. "Is there something else I can get for you?"

"No!", the woman said sharply. "I’m leaving! My evening is ruined!" She pulled her chair back and started to rise.

"But madam… please allow me to make up to you for this," the waiter continued. "The chef will be happy to make some other entree for you. I’m sure that there are many dishes on the menu that you would find exquisite."

"I shouldn’t have come to this dump in the first place," the woman rose with some difficulty. "I’m used to dining at the finest restaurants in Paris. You simply can’t find a decent restaurant in Marseilles. You southerners don’t know how to prepare food properly."

At this point the kitchen door opened and a small, dark, woman dressed in chef’s whites came storming out. She marched straight for the plump Parisian.

"Don’t know how to prepare food! Don’t know how to prepare food!" she shouted. "What would a cow like you know about the preparation of food? You obviously have spent your lifetime eating food - not preparing it!"

The Parisian’s mouth hung open as she placed her hands on her full, fleshy hips. "So! You are ill-mannered in addition to being a culinary philistine! Is this the way you southerners treat your guests? First you serve me shoe leather, next you insult me!"

"Shoe leather?"

"That’s right! Shoe leather! I’ve never had meat so tough. What do you do, train your pigs to run the marathon before you slaughter them?"

The chef was furious. For a moment, Marat thought she would strike the woman.

"No, we do not, madam. Though I admit that they are not as pampered as you are!" the small woman replied. "If I wished to serve some truly tender meat,. I suppose I should slaughter you!" She poked the plump woman sharply in the ribs. "Here’s a dish fit for royalty! Tender and fat!"

The Parisian woman stepped back with a gasp. "Well, it should not surprise me if you were a cannibal! Your cooking is grotesque and your manners are savage!"

With that she stormed out - to the applause of the other diners. The small woman went back into the kitchen and slammed the door. Marat returned to his veal cutlet, but kept mentally replaying the scene which had just taken place in front of him. After paying his check, Marat asked the waiter if he could go into the kitchen and give his compliments to the chef personally.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The small woman was alone in the kitchen when Marat walked through the door. She was still somewhat agitated, evidenced by the edge in her voice when she greeted him.

"Yes?"

"Good evening madam," Marat nodded and smiled graciously. "I just wanted to tell you personally how much I enjoyed my veal cutlet. Like our plump friend who left the dining room so hurriedly this evening I, too, am used to dining in the finest restaurants in Paris. I assure you that I have never enjoyed a meal so thoroughly. The sauce was exquisite and the meat quite tender and succulent."

The woman relaxed, dropping her shoulders and letting out her breath with a laugh. "I’m glad to hear it, Monsieur. I was afraid that you were going to try to defend the honor of that cow. She made me so furious! The well-marbled slab of pork thinks she can tell me I don’t know my business!"

"I quite agree!" Marat replied. "Both that she was out of line - and that she is a well marbled slab of pork!"

They both laughed, and Marat extended his hand and introduced himself.

"I am Joan Bardeau," the small woman replied, smiling rambunctiously, "the finest chef in Marseilles."

"You’re much too modest, Madam Bardeau," Marat replied. "Paris could use a chef like yourself. The fact is, I am considering opening a café. Would you be interested in working for me? I could double your present salary."

"Double…?" Bardeau repeated suspiciously.

"That’s right. Of course, you’d earn your pay. You would have to deal with Parisians on a daily basis. I’m afraid that the walking pork roast you confronted earlier is rather typical of a certain breed you find there."

"Oh?" Bardeau replied. "Well, then, I’m not so sure you should consider me. I’m very likely to go after a cow like her with a meat cleaver."

Marat laughed. "I like you, Joan. You’re full fo fire. And you seem to hold a fascination for a subject that has always interested me."

"Snotty Parisians?"

"No. Cannibalism. Am I right?"

"Ah, cannibalism. I must admit the subject has fascinated me since my aunt told me tales of South Sea Island cannibals when I was a girl."

"Your aunt?"

"Yes. She used to babysit my sister and I. We would always beg her to tell us a story. We liked tales about witches and ogres the best. Then one day she told us about what she called, ‘real life ogres.’ Men and women who really do eat people. We were enthralled. We would beg her to tell us the stories again and again. Each time she would embellish a bit more."

"Sometimes she would pretend that she was a fierce island cannibal and would chase us around the yard, snatching us up and feeling our arms, legs and tummies. She would tell us how tender and sweet we were, then she would carry us to the kitchen and set us on the countertop. We would sit there giggling while she pulled out pots, pans and spices, pretending to prepare us for the oven. She always said that she was going to fry me for supper and save my sister - who was bigger - to roast for Sunday dinner."

Marat laughed. "Quite a connoisseur. I think I like this aunt of yours."

"My sister and I were mad for her. She never seemed to tire of playing with us. Sometimes she would let us be the cannibals and she, the missionary. We would paint our faces with her lipstick and find straight, green sticks to use for spears. The we would capture her and tie her to an elm tree which grew in our yard. She would pretend to cry and beg us not to eat her. We would pinch her legs and poke her soft tummy, telling her that she would soon be swimming in rich gravy surrounded by potatoes and onions."

"Once my father brought home a huge iron pot which had been discarded by the factory where he worked. He intended to use it as a planter, but it sat empty for several weeks. One day, while my sister and I were pretending to be cannibals, we ‘captured’ my aunt and made her sit down inside the pot. We wound rope around her hands and feet and my sister ran inside and brought out a shiny red apple, which we placed in her mouth. She looked so delectable sitting inside that pot with the apple in her mouth that our stomachs actually began to rumble with hunger."

"We played cannibal games all that day, each of us taking our turn as victim. In the late afternoon, my aunt left us to our play while she went inside to cook supper. When it began to get dark we wandered inside, hoping to find a hot meal on the table. The kitchen was filled with a wonderful aroma, but there was no food in sight nor did our aunt appear to be anywhere nearby. My sister opened the oven which was still a little warm, and found a note inside. It read: ‘you will find your aunt in the cannibal’s pot. Please enjoy her.’ We ran immediately out to the big iron pot and inside was a package wrapped in tin foil. Taped to it was a note: ‘to my little aunt-eaters.’ My sister opened the foil to reveal a delicious pot roast, covered with gravy and surrounded by potatoes and carrots. We sat down and ate the warm meat with our fingers; my sister pretending it was auntie’s belly, myself pretending it was auntie’s thigh. We had a wonderful time, and I have been somewhat cannibalistic ever since."

"What a wonderful story," Marat said, shaking his head and smiling. "I would love to meet both your aunt and your sister."

"If I go with you to Paris, the opportunity should afford itself at some time."

"Then you accept my offer?"

"Why not!"



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



At the time Joan began working for Marat, he had already begun construction on The Carib Islander. Over the years he had developed a network of persons who possessed both the inclination and the monetary assets to support such an ambitious and extraordinary project. He also had several contacts in the underworld who could supply him with "livestock" without asking a lot of questions. All he needed was a truly first-rate chef, and he felt certain that Joan could be persuaded in that capacity.

It did not take a great deal of persuasion. Joan had been in Marat’s employ for three months when he told her about The Carib Islander one evening over a bottle of Chablis. She was so exited about the idea (and so drunk) that Marat was afraid she was going to shout it out to all of Paris. He was greatly relieved at her enthusiastic response. If she had reacted in any other way, he would have had to arrange for her "disappearance." That would have been a shame. He would have lost a fine chef, and gained only a small amount of relatively poor-quality flesh from Joan’s small, muscular frame.

A year later, The Carib Islander opened for business with over two-hundred ravenous guests and a livestock pen filled with forty-seven potential entrees. All captives were healthy, plump, and female, but were otherwise as varied as were the guests. Among them were women and girls of all ages and races; American, French, Chinese and Filipino descent.

All livestock had been captured at least a month prior to opening and had been meticulously fattened and prepared by Joan and her attendants. She was fanatical in her attention to detail, making sure each captive was fed properly, given the exact dose of vitamins and estrogen supplements that had been determined she needed bathed and provided with a full body massage daily. Once a week, she inspected the livestock herself , forcing the women to stand naked in front of her while she felt their arms and legs and poked their ribs, bellies and buttocks to see if the desired results were being achieved.

On opening night at the Chez Albert, Joan was even more exited than Marat. She had decided earlier in the week that the opening night menu would consist of three captives: A voluptuous twenty year-old French woman, a soft sixteen year-old Filipino girl and a plump, forty year-old black American woman. These captives were bathed, rubbed with hot oil, handcuffed and taken to a cupboard beside the kitchen to await the coming guests. The guests would have the opportunity to inspect the livestock before they were cooked, and to choose which part of which woman they would like to dine on that evening.

As the dining room at the Chez Albert began to fill, Joan could barely contain her excitement. She knew that the captives she had chosen were in prime condition and couldn’t wait to prepare their tender flesh. She also knew that as chef, she was specially privileged. She would get to taste all three. She licked her lips sensuously at the thought.

At the proper time, Joan opened the door to the pantry. Standing in the doorway, she looked her captives over one last time, delighting in the soft, full curves that defined each of them. She had fattened these women sedulously for weeks. Now it was time to feast on them. With a satisfied smile she announced, "showtime, ladies," and led them into the dining room by leashes which were fastened to the dog-collar each captive wore around her neck. The dog-collars and handcuffs which bound each woman’s arms were all they wore.

Conversation came to a standstill as the chef and the three captive women entered the dining room. Everyone stared hungrily at the soft, naked flesh on which they soon would be feasting. This was the moment they had waited for.

Joan led the women directly to table number one where Marat’s special guests, Dr. and Mrs. Montigue and their daughter Sara, were seated. Dr. Montigue was an anthropologist with whom Marat had spent a great deal of time in New Guinea. Long before Sara was born, Marat and the Montigues had enjoyed their first cannibal feast together, sharing a young native girl whom the tribe Montigue had been studying had given them as a present.

"Ahh…" Montigue sighed as he watched the captives approach, their unblemished flesh jiggling slightly with every footstep. "Perfect! Absolutely perfect!"

"Oh, my!" his wife joined in, clapping her hands in delight. "Oh, my, my, my."

Joan beamed. "Would you care to make your selection now?" she asked.

Montigue rose, walked around the captives and looked each woman up and down muttering, "Mmm… mmm… mmm, so good, so good!" His hands were clasped behind his back as he looked the women over thoroughly, both from front and from behind. Looking into the face of the Filipino girl he asked, "How old is this one, Joan?"

"Sixteen," Joan announced proudly. "A tender age, wouldn’t you agree?"

Montigue turned his head to smile at her. "Absolutely."

He unclasped his hands and began to feel the young girl, pinching the ample flesh on her ribs and tummy lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "I believe that a slice of this," he announced poking his finger sharply into the girl’s soft abdomen, "lightly peppered and grilled, would be a dish without equal."

"Very good, Monsieur," Joan replied, writing Montigue’s instructions onto a white pad. "Would you care for an appetizer?"

"Certainly," Montigue replied, pinching the girl’s chubby cheeks and lips. "Grill these lightly, very lightly. They’re so tender it won’t do to overcook them."

"Yes, obviously. And you, Madam?"

Mrs. Montigue rose licking her lips in anticipation. She immediately approached the young Frenchwoman, circling her and eyeing her with admiration. The young woman began to tremble when Mrs Montigue pinched her meaty upper arm, digging her long, red fingernails into the soft, girlish flesh. Mrs. Montigue smiled at the ease with which her fingernails sank into the flesh. The woman both deliciously tender and fat.

The young captive had beautiful red hair, so long it almost covered her ample buttocks, and Mrs. Montigue took a handful of it and pulled it back so that the woman’s head titled as a tiny squeak escaped her mouth. "Show me your tongue, girl!" she ordered. The captive immediately complied, sticking the lovely pink tidbit into the air in front of her mouth.

Mrs. Montigue felt it with her fingers and the woman whined softly as her sharp fingernails raked the sensitive organ. Mrs. Montigue then moved her hands down the girl’s body, poking her ribs and belly, then slapping her sharply on the buttocks. She knelt to feel her thighs and calves, then rose and turned to Joan to place her order.

"I would like her tongue broiled in butter as an appetizer. As a main course, I want a slice of upper thigh, grilled plain. She looks like such a tasty girl, I would hate to mask her natural flavor with sauce or seasoning."

"Excellent choice," Joan replied, and wrote down the order. "And you, Mademoiselle?"

Sara approached the middle aged black woman, and immediately began to feel her plump breast and the soft flesh between her armpits. She pinched and poked the woman’s chest for so long, that Sara was sure that she would select a breast or rib cut, but eventually her hands found their way down to the woman’s buttocks. Sara was fascinated by the full, round, brown hips. She pinched the thick layer of fat covering the woman’s buttocks, then poked her finger deeply into the flesh. It was firm, but not hard. Though only sixteen herself, Sara had participated in many cannibal feasts and knew good quality when she saw it. This woman’s buttocks were tender and juicy.

"I’ll have a nice little roast cut from her buttocks," Sara announced. "Medium-well with brown gravy."

She started to sit down, then returned to the black woman, taking one of her soft, brown, manacled hand in her small, white ones. She felt the fleshy palm and the plump fingers, then added, "I would also like, for an appetizer, her hand lightly breaded and fried."

"Excellent, Mademoiselle!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The captives were herded to the next table, where the Biner clan sat; already licking their lips in anticipation of inspecting them. John Biner, his wife Eloise, and their daughters Kim, Mimi, Liz, Michelle and Diane had known Marat for many years. John and Marat had been business partners during the fifties when Marat had suggested the perfect way to dispose of John’s first wife, Melissa, and her mother who were threatening to freeze his assets during a divorce proceeding. Eloise, whom John was having an affair with at the time, had joined them in roasting and eating the two women. The couple had enjoyed the experience so much that they had become dedicated cannibals, and had raised their daughters as such.

All seven of them surrounded the three captive women, feeling their soft, fleshy bodies and limbs. Mrs. Biner had wanted to have the "little lamb" - as she referred to the young Filipino girl - roasted whole and served to her family with mint jelly. She was disappointed when Joan informed her that parts of the girl had already been selected. Mr. Biner suggested that they have the girl’s leg - including hip, thigh, calf and foot roasted - roasted in the manner of lamb together with the Frenchwoman’s breasts sliced and grilled with onion. Kim suggested that they have the black woman’s tongue, her remaining hand, and her plump, fleshy feet broiled as appetizers. Joan complimented them on their suggestions and moved on.

The young men at the next table wanted the Frenchwoman’s belly and genitals roasted with mushrooms, while the middle-aged couple following chose the black woman’s breast and upper arm fried and served with milk gravy. A family of six decided on the young Filipino girl’s remaining thigh and both her tender budding breasts grilled and served in a wine sauce. Three young Chinese sisters picked the Frenchwoman’s left buttock and hands to be skewered and roasted with water chestnuts and bamboo shoots. The two Arab businessmen and their six wives selected the black woman’s remaining buttock and genitals, the Frenchwoman’s calves and feet and the Filipino girl’s arms, hands and genitals. These were to be broiled and served in a honey-butter sauce.

By the time the captives were led from the final table every part of each had been selected except for the Frenchwoman’s arms and head, the Filipino girl’s right calf and foot, and the black woman’s calves and lower arms. A soon as the kitchen door closed behind them, Joan handed the ends of their leashes to a young waitress so that she could inspect them and decide which parts she would claim for herself. She pinched the Frenchwoman’s soft upper arms and the black woman’s firmer lower ones. Then she knelt to feel the firm, full calves of the black woman and the girlishly soft calf and foot of the Filipino maiden. Since she was determined to taste each of them, she decided on a three course meal for herself. As an appetizer, she would grill the Frenchwoman’s cheeks and lips in garlic butter. As a soup, she would enjoy chunks of the black woman’s lower arm, boiled with mushrooms and water chestnuts. Then as a main course, she would roast the Filipino girls’ calf and foot and eat it with mint jelly. The Frenchwoman’s arms would be sliced into tender cutlets and grilled for the enjoyment of the kitchen staff. The black woman’s calves would be chopped up for a tasty stew the waitresses could enjoy after a hard nights work.

Joan ordered the young woman who was holding the victims’ leashes to lead them to the large hot tub in the slaughtering room which was adjacent to the kitchen. She and the young waitress pushed the women into the hot water, the Joan ordered the waitress to strip and join them so that she could make sure that they were properly scrubbed. The waitress disrobed to reveal a beautiful young body; thin, but not skinny, with large, firm breasts and soft, white tummy. She splashed into the water with the captives and began to scrub them all over with a rather coarse washcloth. The women began to whimper as the combination of hot water and coarse scrubbing turned the two light-skinned ones a bright pink. The young Frenchwoman began to cry out as her breasts and genitals were scrubbed with particular intensity.

When Joan was satisfied that the victims were sufficiently cleaned, she handed the waitress a stainless steel razor. She was ordered to use it to shave every hair off of each woman from head to toe. The captives whimpered even more loudly as first their heads, then their bodies and limbs, and finally their pubic areas were shaved completely bald. When this was completed Joan allowed the waitress to step out of the water and dress. Then she pushed the button which activated the winch, lowering the cables by which the captives would hang as they were slaughtered and butchered.

The women began to cry pitifully as they realized what the cables were for. Joan called for a couple of her strong, young female assistants to help her force their feet into the loops at the ends of the cables. This accomplished, the winch was reversed and the women were hoisted out of the tub by their ankles. Joan smiled as she watched their soft, fleshy bodies - so incredibly tender and plump - hanging upside-down over the hot, steamy water. The breasts of the Black and French women were so big that they nearly hung beneath their shoulders. What succulent eating they would make!

The plug was pulled from the hot tub so that the water would drain while Joan gathered and sharpened her knives. The tub was equipped with an industrial garbage disposal unit powerful enough to handle even large bones. The women would be slaughtered over the tub, the viscera would be disposed of and the tub would be scrubbed and refilled for the following evening’s victims.

Joan selected a short but razor-sharp knife with which to puncture the women’s throats. They began to scream as she approached them, and the young women assistants that were standing nearby looked at each other and smiled. She began with the young girl, who shut her eyes tightly as the knife entered her jugular, causing blood to drain rapidly into the tub with each pump of her rapidly racing heart. Her soft, young body jerked as the lifeblood left her body, but was still momentarily as the initial gush slowed to a trickle. The process was repeated with the black woman, then the young Frenchwoman. Soon all three were still and the butchering began.

Joan slit the Frenchwoman down the belly, allowing her entrails to fall into the tub and through the disposal, which one of her assistants had turned on. She then did the same with the black woman and the young girl. She ordered her assistants to clean the body cavities thoroughly, then lower the bodies onto the butchering table. This accomplished, she used a larger knife to slice the women into the portions desired by the restaurant patrons.

Joan was amazed at the ease with which the knife glided through the flesh of the women. The young girl was as tender as any lamb and the two women were not much tougher. Even the calves of the black woman were tender enough to slice into cutlets and grill. Every cut of meat from each woman was also generously marbled with fat. The meat would most certainly be juicy as well as tender. Joan’s mouth watered as she imagined actually tasting the succulent flesh.

When the butchering was complete, Joan and her assistants transferred the meat to the kitchen and the cooking began. First the larger roasts were spiced and placed in the oven; the young girl’s whole leg, the black and French woman’s buttocks and tummies, and the black woman’s upper arm. Then the appetizers were placed on the grill; the three tongues and genitals, the cheeks and lips of the Filipino girl and black woman and the black woman’s hands and feet. While these were grilling, Joan sliced the breasts of the black and French woman and began to sauté them in butter. The Frenchwoman’s thighs were sliced into thick steaks and placed onto the brazier, along with the Filipino girl’s arms. Breasts and belly, and the black woman’s ribs. Finally, the broiler was filled with the thighs and ribs of the young girl, the thighs of the black woman, as well as the ribs, calves and feet of the Frenchwoman.

The aroma was heavenly and the guests began to get very excited. There was no flesh to compare with that of women. Soon they would be feasting on the tenderest, sweetest, and most succulent flesh of all.

As the food began to get done, it was placed on platters to be carried into the dining room. The beautiful young waitresses served garnished plates of grilled tongue, genitals, hands and feet along with sautéed breast, cheeks and lips. Then platters filled with thigh steaks, upper arm cutlets and braised ribs appeared. Huge silver platters full of roasted buttocks and bellies were brought out followed by two enormous platters: one containing a whole leg of young girl and the other the two plump, juicy calves and feet of the Frenchwoman, served on a bed of sautéed mushrooms. Conversations came to a halt and the only sounds to be heard were the opening and closing of the kitchen doors along with the soft clatter of silverware and the occasional "Ohhh…" and "Ahhh…"

Gradually, the diners became full and left to walk on the beach or sleep off their heavy meals. All agreed that this was the best possible food and could not imagine what Joan could do for an encore the following evening. One middle-aged woman told her husband that she never wanted to leave; just live on the island and eat woman-flesh every night. He told her he would love to.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the last guest departed, Joan went to the fattening pen and selected the women who would serve as the following evening’s main course. After pinching quite a few fleshy thighs, buttocks, breasts and tummies, she decided on a young Chinese woman, a thirty year-old Irish lass with long, wavy, flaming-red hair, and a soft, fifty year-old Italian lady. Joan’s stomach rumbled as she led the captives to the cupboard where they would spend their last night, and she hoped that her dinner was almost ready.

She could smell the heavenly aroma of the young girl’s leg roasting as she entered the kitchen. There were other smells too, buttery and sweet, and a low sizzling sound coming from the pan atop the stove over which her assistant was standing.

"I believe these are done, Joan," her assistant said, reaching into the copper pan with her wooden spatula. Joan approached the pan and looked at it’s contents, licking her lips in appreciation of the savoury flesh cooking inside. It was the Frenchwoman’s lips and cheeks; now dainty golden-brown tidbits ready to be savored along with a fine red wine.

Joan poured herself a glass of her finest French vintage and sat down so that her assistant could serve her. She tasted the wine, savoring it’s mellow flavor before swallowing it, while her assistant set before her a platter containing her appetizer garnished with parsley.

She first inhaled the exquisite fragrance of the meat, then sliced a piece of cheek and brought it to her lips. The flesh was so delicate that it melted away, filling Joan’s mouth with a flavor she had never known before; rich, yet so subtle she had to concentrate to fully experience it. Certainly it was the most delicious morsel she had ever tasted. Nothing she had ever eaten compared to it.

She spent nearly an hour savoring each bit of her appetizer. Then her assistant brought out her soup. Joan inhaled the steam rising from the bowl of golden liquid, then stirred it causing large chunks of browned meat and water chestnuts to circulate to the top. It looked and smelled delicious. She dipped her spoon into the savoury mixture, making sure to capture a chunk of meat along with her broth and water chestnut. It was delectable. The meat was substantial, but tender, and much more flavorful and sweet than the appetizer had been. The combination of the flavors of flesh and the water chestnuts, along with the subtle amount of garlic and onion was positively elegant.

Joan lingered over her soup for some time before the last drop of the delicate broth was savored. Never had she experienced such an elegant repast; and the best was yet to come.

It was nearly midnight when her assistant brought out the silver platter containing the main course: the leg of the young Filipino "lamb." It was the most beautiful dish Joan had ever seen; a plump joint of pinkish-brown meat lying on a bed of lettuce, garnished with parsley and a portion of mint jelly.

She sank her fork into the fullest portion of the calf, then used her knife to cut herself a slice of the dainty, succulent flesh. Just allowing the merest amount of mint jelly to adhere to the meat, she brought the first slice to her lips. Ecstasy! The very juicy meat was flavorful, yet quite subtle; substantial, but extremely tender. It was perfect!

Joan ate deliberately, savoring each morsel until she had consumed about half the leg. She was now nearly full, and called to her assistant to help her finish. The woman eagerly did so, slicing herself a generous portion of meat and devouring it greedily while Joan finished her banquet with a slice of rich, juicy flesh from the tender, young sole. When she finally rose from the table, her assistant had gnawed the last bit of meat from the fibula and was devouring the sweet little toes and heel. The "lamb" was all gone and Joan’s first cannibal feast was complete. It had been the most satisfying evening of her life.



END

Love it.

Great Story I loved it,

Cool.

Very visual in my mind. I could see the kitchen..I felt her hunger....any one know where this is. I think I would be a fine addition to her pen of livestock....

Very visual in my mind. I could see the kitchen..I felt her hunger....any one know where this is. I think I would be a fine addition to her pen of livestock....