“Sarah, I’m back!”, I hear my flatmate come in, arms full of groceries.

“Hey, did they have everything?”, I start moving to the door to greet her.

“Yeah, but I can only carry so much. Here, take some of it.”

I take a few of the grocery bags from her and bring them over to the table. As she puts the last few on the table, I start putting them away. She slumps down on the couch and lets me handle the rest. “My arms are so fucking tired. We need a car.”

“We don’t have that kind of money.”

“Well, we need to get that kind of money then!”

“How? We can barely afford this place as it is!”

“Uhh… I don’t know. But we have to.”

I put the last of the groceries away and sit down on the couch next to her, “Jess, You work as a waitress. You’re not going to be able to convince your boss to give you a raise, and in this economy you’re not going to be able to get tips any better than what you’re getting.”

“Yeah, I already unbutton an extra button on my uniform for what I do get. But what about you? Your boss is a lawyer.”

“A very pervy lawyer. I’m not going to become his office fucktoy just to get a car.”

“Well, there has to be something we can do. I just can’t take walking everywhere anymore!” She pauses for a moment. “What if we got weekend jobs?”

“That could work,” I get up to grab my laptop off the table before sitting back down and opening it. “Let’s see here,” as I open up Craigslist and check out the jobs. A lot of the jobs we simply don’t have the skills for, or would be competing with our current jobs. Then I come across a posting we might be able to do. “Hey Jess, what about this? $500,000 for two girls from 18-25 to serve food at an exclusive party. It does require us to get naked, but assures that no one will even try to have sex with us or anything. It’s a one-time job, and we’ll be able to afford a car.”

“That sounds like an awful lot for just serving food at some party. I’d rather not work naked, but with that kind of cash…”

“Same here. I’ll send them an e-mail and ask when the party is.”

After sending the e-mail out, it takes about an hour to get a response. A few more e-mails and a couple pics later, we find out when and where to show up. When we arrive, it’s 4 hours before the party, as they need to train us a bit first. The first thing they had us do was to remove our clothes. This felt a bit embarrassing, but Jess didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. With her naked, I felt less awkward taking my clothes off.

After looking at our naked bodies, they decide that since I’ve got bigger tits, I will be the one to do something called “Nyotaimori”. I’ve never heard of it, but apparently rich people on the other side of the world, in Japan, do this all the time. It basically means that I will lie perfectly still on a table for the duration of the party, with the food placed decoratively on my body like a buffet table. Meanwhile, I see them bring Jessica into the kitchen. One of the guys running this party trains me to lie perfectly still on the floor. I’m not perfect at it, but he says I’ll do it well enough.

After three hours of training, he brings me into a shower and explains that he needs to wash me extra well to make sure I’m sanitary enough to eat off of. I explain that I can wash myself, but he explains that he’s been washing girls for nyotaimori for years, and no matter how well a girl washes herself, there are spots she’s going to miss. If it was just me, I might’ve just left at this point, but Jess was here too. I can’t just leave now. So I warily let the man wash me. He was very thorough. While he was washing me, I realized that he was right. Some small spots I would’ve just missed. He was also very professional about it, which was very reassuring.

Once I was clean and dry, they gave me a plate of food. “This meat is the same food as what you’ll be wearing. We don’t want you getting hungry during the party, so you can have some now.”

“Thanks. It smells really good, what is it?”

“It’s a secret recipe. You’ll enjoy it, trust me.”

I put a bite in my mouth and eat it. It’s very sweet, with similarities to pork. “Mmmm, this is very good! Probably the best meat I’ve ever had, whatever it is.”

I finish my plate of food and am brought to the table I’ll be lying on. It’s a silver metal rectangular table. There are metal restraints that lock closed that he adjusts for my wrists, ankles, neck, forehead, waist, knees and elbows. He explains that usually, nyotaimori girls don’t need such restraints, but that they also usually train for many years and are all in Japan. He coats the table in something to lubricate it so it’s not so uncomfortable. The table feels very cold as I sit on it, except for under my head, which is on a second smaller table that isn’t as cold. After fitting me in the restraints, he fixes my hair. I hear the squeaking of wheels approach, and smell more of that meat I ate before. I feel each hot slice as it’s placed on my body. It’s all very hot, but not enough to burn me. After a while of this, the meat begins to feel like a heavy weight on me. Once the last slice is on me, the man asks me, “Are you alright under there?”

“Yeah. I’m good. I’ll be completely still.”

“And silent,” he adds, as he puts a metal ballgag in my mouth, hooking the metal straps to the table to create another restraint.

I lie there, waiting, as guests arrive. I can hear them, but I can’t turn to look at them. I don’t think any of them are taking any food yet. I think I can smell wine, but it’s difficult to tell with the smell of the meat being so close. I’m very anxious, taking in all the sounds that I can. It’s interesting, and a bit frightening to be unable to use my eyes around the room, watching only the ceiling.

After a while I hear a man say that guests can line up for food. This makes me very nervous. I hear a lot of footsteps coming towards me. Then I see the first man standing over me. He picks up a big serving fork and takes a slice of the meat off my body. The fork worries me. It’s pointy and being used to pick stuff up off my body. What if someone pokes me with it?

The line continues. With each guest, I worry about being poked. And, after a while, I do start getting poked occasionally. I wince when it happens, careful not to make a sound. I’m most of the way through this, probably. It’d really suck to lose it all now.

After the last slice is taken, I hear someone near the table say, “And now, nyotaimori becomes teppanyaki!”

I know what nyotaimori is because they told me earlier, but what is teppanyaki? They didn’t tell me of any teppanyaki thing they expected of me… Maybe this is where Jess comes in? Wait… The table’s warm and getting warmer. What the fuck? This is uncomfortably hot now. They’re… They’re going to cook me! I try to scream in terror, barely squealing through the metal ballgag. I move what muscles I can, but this is mostly my fingers and toes. I try to shift my weight, but nothing I do is of any use. My body is covered in sweat and my face is covered in tears. The table under my head isn’t hot, but everything from the neck down is being cooked. The restraints are getting hot too, as they’re made of metal.

Nothing could possibly be worse than this searing pain. And with all these people just watching me… These sadistic assholes that are entertained by watching someone get cooked to death. And why do I smell more of that same meat? They took it all before! Oh dear god… That was Jessica! Those assholes ate Jessica! They gave me a plate of her to eat too! What kind of sick fucks are these? Then I see one of the guests over me. I glare at him while still trying to move and scream. He looks right at my sweat and tear covered face, and his expression is as if he had just heard a good joke. He actually chuckles a bit as he picks up the serving fork. And then the serving KNIFE!? No!! Dear god no!! At least let me die first!

There’s nothing I can do as he slices off a chunk of meat from my thigh. Then I see the next guest. They’ve all lined up. My thighs seem to be a favorite. A few take slices off my tits. The asshole who trained, washed and restrained me actually carves out my pussy. Then, he actually brings it right up to my face to waft it at me before he walks away laughing. This is one of the last images I see as my heart finally cooks through and stops beating.

—–

Bonus – I felt the story was a little short, so I’ve added Jessie’s point of view:

Personally, I think Sarah should’ve just given her boss a blowjob to get the same cash. I would’ve. She can be a bit of a prude sometimes. So we get to the job that Sarah found and they decide to use her for a plate. Talk about weird… They want me to do the waitressing because I’ve got a nicer ass. So then they tell me that they want to wash me.

“Wash me, huh? I thought the ad said nothing sexual.”

“No, not sexual! We just want to make sure you’re very clean.”

“Sure you do. I tell you what. Double my pay and you can do anything you want with me.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Wow, you were willing to double it that easy? I knew Sarah should’ve let me handle negotiating.”

So, he washes me thoroughly, taking extra care on my most sensitive parts as I fake a few moans. Then he brings me to the kitchen. Apparently the next step is to cover me in some kinda sauce. I just tell him “Sure, whatever you’re into, just remember our deal.”

When he ties my hands up, I ask him “Isn’t it going to be a little hard for me to carry food with my arms behind my back?”

“Didn’t you say ‘anything I’m into’?”

“Right.”

Then he ties my ankles and fits me with a metal ballgag. These people don’t want me for waitressing, they want me for weird fetishes. Then, I realize that I’m an idiot, as I’m placed in a pan. There’s a group of them in there, and one ties me real well as the others hold me down as I try to break free. I can barely scream through this fucking ball in my mouth. Once I’m all tied down, they shave my head, but it’s not my hair I’m worried about. I can always grow that back. I’m worried about that oven.

Sure enough, the oven’s my destination. As I struggle, I hit my shoulder into the door, but they locked it from the outside with the cleaning lock, and slamming into it hurts a lot. I try to work at the knots in my ropes. I’m not going to be some party platter! Platter… Sarah! Those fuckers are going to serve me on top of Sarah! Get out of here Sarah! Just get the hell out of here while you still can! Argh!

Eventually, my heart shuts down and I die in the oven. My meat has extra burn marks on the side of my arm where I slammed into the oven door a few times. They pull me out and slice me up. They even give Sarah a slice of my thigh to eat before locking her into her final fate.

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