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."
"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.
"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.