The box you're in is finally opened. You're lying down but quickly pulled up by your hair into a sitting position. You are completely naked and there are no clothes in sight. Looks like your luck finally ran out. The room is a large kitchen. There is a very big stone table in the middle, pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, sinks, cupboards, everything is sparkling clean. And there is a very very big oven in the corner. As the chef yanks you to your feet you feel groggy. You've been drugged. He tells you to step out of the box. You step out of the box without thinking about it. He tells you to bend over. You bend over. He tells you to open your mouth and asshole. You want to please him so desperately it hurts. Your jaw drops open and your fingers easily find the tight little opening in between your cheeks to open it slightly. Chef has two tubes in his hands. "First", he says abruptly, speaking out loud to himself as if he were alone, "we empty the belly". He shoves one of the tubes into the back of your mouth. The tough rubber tube makes you salivate. It feels like your mouth was built for this tube. He jams the other tube into your poor little rectum. The tube is far too large but the pain is exquisite. Your anus swells as it angrily adjusts to it's new diameter.
When Chef turns the pump on you wish the drugs were stronger. Getting your stomach pumped is unpleasant even with anesthetic. When it finishes all you can think about is thanking Chef. He seems so concerned about the condition of your body. You feel bad for making him worry. He lifts you onto the table, fingering your soppy, loosened asshole while he does it. You discover that the table is heated. It's so warm and comfy on the black stone surface. You feel sleepy just lying there. Chef approaches the table with a big pot of what smells like turkey stuffing. He lifts your legs as if changing a baby's diaper and starts quickly thumbing the stuffing into your butthole. The stuffing feels amazing. It's soft and supple and slips into you easily because of the leftover water from the pumping. Chef keeps stuffing and stuffing and stuffing. You can feel your intestines getting full. Your belly is bulging just slightly and your sphincter is getting sore from the friction.
Eventually Chef is satisfied that he can't fit anymore of the delicious, buttery, herby bread mix up your little bottom. He goes to the pantry and comes back with onions and lemons. He cuts the lemons into quarters and the onions into 8ths. Then he tells you to spread your legs and hold your delicious cunt open for him. Your legs open immediately and you blush because you can feel that your pussy is so wet it dripped quite a lot onto the table while he stuffed you. Chef doesn't seem to care about the table. You feel guilty nonetheless. He leans down and smells your pussy. His nose is so large it runs against your labia as he smells. Then he bites your pussy lips hard with his teeth. The pain hits you but you barely react. The sensation is that of masturbating too hard.
Chef grabs the first piece of onion and pushes it into your cunt. You love it. He pushes another piece inside. And then a piece of lemon. You feel full, spiritually full. In the back of your mind you know how this ends, but the table is so warm, and so is the oven.
Eventually he crams your useless reproductive organs full to brim with nice fresh lemons and onions. You begin to rub your clit with your fingers. You feel so guilty but so good. There doesn't seem to be any harm in pleasuring yourself if this is how it ends for you anyway. Chef is walking towards the table with olive oil, salt and pepper when he sees you masturbating. He looks concerned all of sudden. He puts down the seasonings and picks up a pair of scissors. Without even hesitating he dexterously pinches your clit with one hand and cuts it off with the scissors in the other.
Suddenly you realize the danger you are in. The magnitude of the situation hits you and get the sensation of having already fallen for a trap. But your body, attentively prepared for cooking, full of delicious seasoning, does not react. It will not run for you. It will not scream for you. Trapped by your own body, the drug takes back control, and you slip drowsily back into your erotic semi-slumber.
The pleasure of the pain of your clit is still there, but, careful as he is with your body, Chef has stopped the bleeding. He has also prepared an impressive human size pie crust for you. He helps you get up and lie into the baking tin. The soft pastry is already blind-baked and feels like a soft, dense blanket as you relax in it. Chef pulls your head back upsidedown over the edge and casually drops his large cock onto your limp lips. He kneels there on the floor for several minutes, silently thrusting his cock in and out of your bruised throat. Soon he grabs one of your small breasts with his hand and cums deep in your throat, pausing between thrusts slightly to let himself throb delicately in your against your tongue. You choke a little when his semen enters you, but you can barely feel his cock, let alone his warm sticky cum.
Chef stands up looking dazed but refreshed. He piles up some cold cuts of meat and vegetables beside you in the pie crust, covers you and the other vegetables completely in olive oil, salt and pepper, and finally drapes the delicate pie top over you like a duvet. Then, he presses a button and the pie tin rises, he pushes you on wheels to the oven, opens a hole in crust for your face, then slides you in.
Just as he slides you in he changes his mind, Chef has thought of a better way to cook you. Baking little girls always makes them so dry, he thinks to himself. There must be a better way.
He decides he will try to boil you instead, but there isn't a pot big enough and that much water would take ages to bring to boil. Instead he will cook you from the inside out. He fetches a long, long roll of butcher's twine from the pantry and begins tying you up. He bends your weak arms behind your back and intricately ties each of your fingers to the corresponding one on the other hand. He takes great care in tying your fingers, when he is done each pair of joints is bound beautifully together. The circulation in your fingers is gone and they form pretty little purple bumps arranged against your upper back.
Next he lifts your legs and pulls your feet behind your head. Your vagina spreads itself as he does so, exposing a lemon chunk inside. The lemon chunk's tip is pressed against your slightly-gaping piss-hole and is about to fall out. Your stuffed, swollen, little anus displays itself as well, twitching under the pressure of the scrumptious stuffing. As your heels reach your head, your flexibility ends and Chef's efforts can't make them go further. Chef steps closer and lazily positions himself over you, placing his weight onto your legs and waist. He snaps both your hips, one right after the other, dislocating them from their joins. The pain hits you as if you were watching it happen to yourself from a distance. With a few nerves severed, your cunt gives in and some lemon and onion comes out. Chef looks displeased with the mess. He finishes breaking your hips and again ties beautiful knots between your ankles behind your head.
To fix the mess you've made, he cleans up the vegetables and decides to cauterize your vagina shut. This is will be a 3 step process, he thinks to himself. First he will insert a red-hot steel rolling pin into your uterus and try to create a seal. Then he will plug your urethra with the broken-off handle of an old frying pan. Finally he will staple your labia shut and brush your pussy with melted butter and thyme.
Before he can find the metal rolling pin, chef notices the longing, glassy look in your eyes and it makes him want to play with your face. He lays you on the table, your head resting near the edge. First he pulls a few small pills from a little plastic container in his right hand; they are anti-inflammatories to stop the swelling in your hips, the swollen bits go tough when they cook. He grasps them in the tips of his fingers and gently pushes his whole hand into your mouth, he finds the entrance to your throat and tries to get the pills down it. They won't go, his hands are too big. He leaves them in the back of your mouth and gets his large cock out again, then uses it to shove the pills all the way down your esophagus. Obviously he's hard again, but also tired of your throat. He lays his throbbing cock across your face and, holding you by the back of your head, uses your face to massage his balls on your nose and the outside of his urethra on your lips and chin. Staring at your stuffed little belly, he climaxes quickly. He shoves his bulky cock head forcefully against your left nostril and pumps half your nose full of thick, thick cum. The smell of his balls as he uses your face reminds you of home for some reason. When he cums in your nose, the pressure is warm and pleasant, and you enjoy the cum slowly dripping onto the back of your tongue. Time to shut your pussy.
The rolling pin has been sitting on the gas stove for 30min before Chef puts it on the black table, next to your hips, using thick black gloves. The rolling pin is minimalist, just a long thin steel cylinder. Now it is glowing pretty shades of white, yellow, orange and red. It sits there on the table, sizzling. You stare at it as if it's alive and staring back at you. You can feel it's warmth on your butt cheek from a foot away. To be burnt with clean steel is to be forgiven, you think. To be burnt in your vagina cuts the cycle off. Your life originated in a vagina, and your vagina brings new life. To die without bringing new life is to fail, but to die with a broken vagina only makes sense.
The hot rod glares at you, it wants to enter you, and you want to let it. It will rape your whole body through your pussy. It cannot be stopped, and it's rage cannot be cooled unless it enters you. This is the only way. It must use you, you must let it.
Your thoughts are interrupted by Chefs large, calloused thumb pressing where your clit used to be. He retrieves half the vegetable chunks from inside you. You ache for the sensation of the white-hot steel much more now that there is a gaping hole between your legs. Chef picks up the pin with one hand, holds your leg with the other, and swiftly jams the blinding heat into your uterus. This pain. This pain is enough, again, to snap you out of your strange erotic day dream. This pain consumes you instantly. It does not thrash or jerk inside you. There are no jolts, or waves. It simply ends your thoughts. You foam at the mouth, you can hear nothing but deafening silence. You can see chef's lips counting out loud. You have no idea if you want him to stop or keep going. Nothing makes sense but the pain.
Chef says "Five", he pulls the cylinder out and throws it across the room, onto the floor. When he does this you have the sensation of waking up during surgery with your guts still slit open. Something is very wrong, some part of you is exposed that shouldn't be. You feel that this feeling is your fault. Strange waves of guilt wash over you, as if you've hurt someone by feeling this way.
Working quickly, chef gently wiggles the pointy end of an old plastic frying pan handle into your delicate little peehole. You feel relieved by the feeling of fullness between your legs. Chef begins stapling your cunt shut. He does a good clean job at first, but your pussy juices, closer to your taint, make him slip and the staples become more uneven. As your cunt is shut, the world seems to become more normal. Something that should have been sealed tight before now is. Admiring his work, chef beats salt, pepper and ground thyme into a bowl of melted butter. He lathers it onto your very tight cunt with his bare hands, rubbing the slit especially vigorously. If your pussy could still get wet, there would be more grool than butter by now.