Author's Note

[Contains: Death by gunshot, cooking prep, cooking/Gynophagia, unbirthing, cannibalism, and implied incest]

This was originally Part 43 (Thanksgiving End)

Uh... Happy Thanksgiving?

To be totally honest, these kinda slipped my mind. Holidays kinda took up everything, and I got busy, and... Well... Cainiam wrote practically all of this. There's the occasional snippet left over, but basically everything past Dusty getting pistolwhipped is him.

A Perfectly Normal Nuclear Family's Dark Secret!

You were still deliberating when one of the raiders playing cards pulled one out of his hand, and slapped it down on another raider’s side of the table. “Boom! That’s a princess, that doubles your ten. The Dustbowl Caravan is overburdened!”

There’s a long moment of silence as the raider looks at the table, then at his hand. Then he slaps it down on the table, and growls, “Fuck this game. Goddamned complicated piece of shit doesn’t make no kind’a sense.”

The winning raider’s face spreads with a lecherous smile as he reaches for the cream-filled mare on the table, but in an instant, the losing raider smirks, and kicks upward, slamming his hinds against the underside of the table. The whole thing flips, and the cards and caps flick into the muggy, delicious-smelling air of the kitchen. The winning raider managed to grab the creamed mare just before, but all that meant is that they both fell to the floor, with the table landing on them both.

For good measure, the losing raider’s horn glows, and both his fores stomp back onto the table, pinning them beneath as a dirty 9mm pistol flicks out of his holster. Without aiming at all, he fires six, seven, eight shots through the wooden table, and ancient splinters flutter through the air around him alongside the falling caps.

After a moment, a pool of blood starts spreading outward from under the table, and the losing pony huffs, then glares at the last raider. He’s clearly shaken, and he’s pressing himself against the tile wall, but he holds up his hooves, and whines, “Wait wait wait, you’re the winner! You are! All yours!”

The new winner nods, and the pistol droops slightly. Around them both, the playing cards start to flutter back to the floor, making ripples in the pool of blood. Then he slides the table off, smearing it all, and revealing the corpse of the previous winner and the somehow-untouched creamed mare. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, and staring into those of the swiss cheesed raider that was clutching her tightly.

The raider chortles, then grabs her by the neck and yanks her out, looking her over. She’s soaking with blood and cum, but completely unharmed. Satisfied, he drops her onto the tiles and shoves the gun barrel under her chin. “Come on then. You’re gonna meet the family, and then you’re gonna be the family’s meat.”

Sobbing, she starts walking past the table, with him still holding the gun under her chin with his magic. Unfortunately, at that exact second, your stomach gurgles again, and his ears snap up. Looking around the room, he zeroes in on your hiding spot under the table instantly. The 9mm is against your forehead in an instant, and he barks, “Fucking trying to escape, huh? You’re joining her. Come on!”

When you don’t move he grabs you and pulls you out as well, tossing your weapon away. Thankfully he misses Eissen and Optic behind you, but that’s not much of an advantage as the pistol flicks between you and the other mare. “Which one of you can cook?”

After a moment, the other mare quickly raises her hoof. “I… sort of can…?”

“Good.” The raider glances at you with a sharp grin. There’s a whoosh of air, and then a splitting pain against the back of your skull as he pistol whips you. Then it all goes black.

* * *

You awaken to the coarse sensation of something jammed in your mouth, it’s hard and cool, your teeth seeming to deflect off it with every bite. “Drink deep, meat,” a male voice whispered in your ear.

“Wait!” Your lips couldn’t move… the word didn’t come from your mouth. Some other mare seemed to be nearby.

“You better have a good reason for interrupting me, girlie,” that coarse voice that could only belong to a raider said slowly. You took the opportunity to focus your bleary eyes on what was in your mouth. It looked like the lip of a brown glass bottle. There was no label, but anyone in the Wastes could identify a beer bottle.

A nervous swallow came from the direction of that female voice, before it continued. “Y-you don’t want to compromise the flavour… and you don’t want the l-liquid in the middle,” she explained slowly.

The male growled. “I like the taste of beer.” The blurred wall of everything behind the beer bottle slowly started to snap into place. You were in another kitchen… this one not the same as the big one before. A clock on the wall seems to be stuck at 6pm… dinner time in your Stable. Just to the right out of it you saw an extra large oven, the sort of thing that could fit a griffon. The light inside was on, and you could hear it heating up.

“T-trust me, I can make her taste a little like beer… but not compromise the rich and delicate flavour of roast mare.” As soon as those words hit your ears, your eyes snapped wide. That oven was heating up for you! You tried to move a hoof… but that wasn’t happening. Not any of them. You couldn’t see them with your head propped up by the stallion, but you could feel the coarse sensation of rope on your ankles as you lay on your belly.

There was a long period of silence, as if glares and stares were being exchanged, then you heard a curt, “Fine,” from the stallion. The bottle slipped out of your maw, the glass having been there long enough to have your mouth feel all stuffy and rough. Still, you were glad it was gone.

“Do you… h-have a paint brush?” the mare asked, to a chuckle from the stallion. “I-I’m going to gently baste her with the beer… as she roasts, her skin will pull in the beer, helping keep the meat tender and juicy, while also adding in a touch of that flavour…” she explained. Your brain knew that sounded delicious… but the fact you were the meat made you scream instead.

The stallion growled and grabbed something from nearby, and then your maw. His hoof pressed on your chin and forced you to open your jaw wide before an ugly looking cluster of brownish pink lumps was shoved into your maw. Your Pip Buck clicked quietly as the oddly sweet tasting thing blocked up your maw, the stalk poking at the entrance to your throat and making you gag a little. “We don’t want no uninvited guests to the family dinner,” the raider said sharply, pushing on the odd fruit to make sure it was secure. “So suck on that mutfruit. I’ll get you that paintbrush.”

The stallion trotted out of the room, leaving you alone with the mare. She lifted up a huge roasting dish, big as a foal’s paddling pool and set it on the countertop in front of you, grunting a little at the weight of it. She looked around for something, then her eyes met yours. You definitely looked pretty fearful. “I’m… sorry,” she said weakly, her lip quivering. “H-he’s going to stuff you with me anyway… I just… just want to make sure our meat isn’t wasted on… a forgettable meal…”

She sounded so resigned, her voice and words striking a chord… but you couldn’t let her give up! She was the only pony now who could save you. You tried to speak as well as you could with your eyes and a series of muttfruit muffled noises, but the mare looked away. She dabbed her hoof in some lard, probably contributed by ponies, and began applying it to the bottom of the pan, greasing up your deathbed.

You decided to focus on yourself, trying to rock back and forth on the countertop. Your forelegs were tied under your bountiful belly. It’s only then you realise the gurgling has stopped from inside you, extra meat for them. Your hind legs were tied up in the air behind you, the position of the rope stopping you from really bending them at all. You were stuck.

The mare finished greasing and trotted over to you… then right past you, fetching something else. You heard something click on and then felt the bite of a blade into your back. You cried out in terror, but the blade pushed forwards, tracing the outside of your coat as that buzz became a whirr, and then you saw your yellowy-brown coat fur cascading around you. The mare was shaving you. She was silent as she did it, taking her time to meticulously strip every inch of your fur, leaving only soft sandy skin in her wake.

After your back and rump lay barren, she gently nudged you, helping you to roll over onto your back. You could do nothing to stop her, and then she got to work on your belly, that razor keeping on buzzing as it traced all across it, then up your legs and finally over your face and neck. You felt more naked than you’d ever been as she got rid of the last wisps of your mane, and then stepped back. A figure appeared in the doorway behind her.

For a brief second you thought it might be Eissen, or even Zephyr… but no such luck. “Here,” the raider from earlier said curtly, handing her the brush. She took it with a soft smile at him, before stepping over to the beer, pouring it out into a bowl and readying the brush. The raider whistled as he looked at you. “She looks like a fresh born filly,” he muttered aloud.

“The fur will only hide the flavour… and add hairs to the meal… the best cooked meat should slide right off the bone,” she explained as she dipped the brush into the beer and then began painting you. The soft brush tickled slightly against your naked skin as it traced a line of soft but pungent liquid across your snout.

The raider seemed to be deep in thought about something. “Ya know, you really know your shit,” he said slowly.

“T-thanks… I used to run a restaurant in Dodge…” she explained as she dabbed you in all kinds of places with her brush, slowly gathering together an even coat of beer glaze across your skin. “Then I… pissed off the mayor… and well… I had to get out of there pretty quick…”
“How’d you manage that?” the stallion asked curiously.

The mare giggled nervously. “It’s a long story… heh… I’ll tell you once we get the meat in the oven… and you should be paying attention… she’ll need a second basting of beer glaze when you… stuff me in her…”

The stallion nodded his head and you watched him watching her as she basted you slowly but surely, reaching everywhere, even making you moan as it traced over your marehood and ponut as she didn’t miss out that crevice.

“So, uh… now that part’s done… Boy, there’s a lot of that stuff left over, isn’t there? Anyway, now we insert the meat thermometer… Do you have one of those?”

The stallion pulls open a drawer and lifts out half of exactly what she asked for. He then moved to another drawer and pulled out the other half and a roll of duct tape before quickly taping them together. “Last mare was too small… it broke before she did,” he explained.
“Ah, okay, that’s… close enough,” your chef stated, taking it from him.

Suddenly you jump as something, long, cold and thin gets suddenly slid up your asshole, and your eyes snap open as you shout into that mutfruit again. Your anus is spread wide, not as wide as Zephyr could spread it, but the thermometer went a lot further, really driving up into you as it vanishing into your plush ponut, reaching its end and leaving just the circular tip with the reading, sticking out your tailhole.

“Now could you lift her into the tray?” the mare asked. The stallion nodded, his horn glowing as you saw the green tint of magic all over your coat. Up you lifted, and then you were flipped over before being dropped into the tray. Your plush belly squished out against the cold, greasy bottom, it pancaking below you to take up a lot of the tray.

“And just slide her in?” the stallion asked, his magic taking hold of the tray.

“Yup,” she replied, opening up the oven. You could hear the heating element working, assisted by fans. Then there’s the clang of metal on metal, and you’re sitting in an impossibly hot oven, already whining through the mutfruit at the heat. Still it’s somewhat pleasant on your bare skin. The door shuts, sealing you inside the oven with your rump facing the glass. The stallion turns around, and starts speaking again, but the glass is thick enough you can’t hear the words.

Think, Dusty… think. Your brain works hard, trying to puzzle a way out of this. It was hard to concentrate though with all that heat, you’re thankful for the glaze as it seems to be stopping your skin from drying out, but already you were gasping, sweat starting to form on your rounded form, dripping down your body in increasingly thick rivulets.

You were in an oven… sat in a tray. Your legs were bound with rope, and you were gagged with a mutfruit that was starting to leak a sweet juice into your muzzle. You were all glazed up, and your belly was sat in grease… which was quickly heating up along with the pan beneath you, making you wince and your eyes water as your squishy stomach began to grow increasingly hotter and hotter. The thermometer sticking out your rump heats up too, making your anus itch and twitch. A whimper escapes you as you realise just how impossible escape is.

You turn your neck, managing to look over your shoulder. Activity seems to go on outside your window, and you blink, rewetting your drying eyes so you can focus on what seems to be happening. The raider and the mare prisoner don’t seem to be alone. Another mangy-looking mare wearing a sliced-up tire around her barrel, and two tiny little miniature raiders; a colt and a filly, seem to have joined the party.

Some kind of conversation seems to be going on. The prisoner explaining something, although you’re not sure if it’s the promised story or about the process of cooking you… you wish you learned to lip read. The conversation takes a turn and her eyes go wide as she realizes what she’s saying.

Its then this smirk comes across the male raider’s face, and a mouldy tie with a plaid pattern on it loops itself around the neck of the raider mare, instead of the prisoner, and tightens itself, guided by the raider stallion’s magic.

Her eyes go wide and she claws at the air, barely able to gasp, before her air is well and truly cut off, and she starts clawing at the tie instead. The stallion lifts her into the air, effectively hanging her with the thin length of cloth and her own weight. The prisoner mare is confused, but shrinks back against the counter, where the two little raider foals grab onto her shoulder and seem to chirp happily about something.

It takes about a minute for the raider mare’s struggles to start slowing, and the stallion uses the time to start stripping off her improvised tire armour. When her eyes roll back and she slumps, he drops her on the floor and checks her pulse, looking up and nodding at the prisoner. Lifting her up, he dunks her in the rusty sink, washing the mare off as best he can, while the confused prisoner mare starts rechecking their ingredients again.

You’re not sure exactly what happened, but it’s then your eyelids start to droop… the heat proving too much. Your eyes slowly close as you creak your neck back into place, facing forwards. Then all becomes blackness. Blackness and heat.

* * *

You didn’t think you’d awaken from this one… but you did. You felt the oven door open, hot air rushing past you and cool air coming in. You were gently lifted along with the tray out of the oven, it clanging shut behind you before you’re manoeuvred onto your back again, it making you twitch as it comes into contact with the hot metal. Water splashes on your eyelids and they scrunch, before slowly opening, letting light in. Everything seems faded and washed out, as it somepony had put a filter on the world, but you were still in the kitchen.

“Is she ready? Is she ready?” the two children call in excitement.

The stallion chuckles as he looks you over. “Not yet, my little ruffians. Patience. Just got to stuff her full of old mommy. Help make that meat extra juicy. Isn’t that right, new mommy?”

You can’t even move your head, but it’s then she wanders into view. The prisoner from before. An already shaven, cleaned up and sauce covered mare is on the counter in front of her. The old mommy. The old raider. This was some fucked up family. Your eyes meet the ex-raider’s, her own filled with burning fury, a well chewed gag of some kind of weird looking apple variation of a mutfruit stuffed in her muzzle.

“Do… do you want the kids to… see this?” the prisoner mare asked, still seeming on edge although you can’t blame her.

The raider stallion chuckled at that. “They see what they want to see. I ain’t stopping them.”

The mare clearly had reservations about that, but she didn’t voice them. Instead she moved over to you, a bowl clutched in her hoof filled with white fluid. “This poultice is going to sting… but your marehood’s crisped up a little too well… we need to fit in the stuffing,” she explained to you.

You responded with a whimper, little else you could do. She span her hoof in the bowl, then lifted it up to your dried up lower lips. As soon as they made contact, your eyes went wide and a muffled yelp came from your maw into the dried out husk of mutfruit still holding your now aching jaw in place. That was the only sign of movement though, your body felt just so heavy, that even if you could squirm you didn’t feel the compulsion.

The mare seems pleased with the progress though, and you definitely felt… something down there. More than you felt most of your body. She stroked again and again, and then she pushed hard right in the centre, her hoof almost punching into the dried up tunnel of your marehood and making you squeal as sensation and pain returned to your narrow love canal. She pulled out, dabbing her hoof in the solution again and then repeating the process, again and again, until she could fit her entire foreleg inside of you, ramming it way up into your womb, as all that natural stretch returned.

She went to pull back, but then your marehood tugged at her. She almost slipped, but then green magic surrounded her and the combined force pulled her clear with an audible popping noise, almost sending her flying onto her rump in the process. “T-thanks,” she told the stallion.

“What next?” he responded.

“Now… now we insert the stuffing… I recommend head first… shall I?” she asked gingerly.

“No. I want to do it. You handle the basting,” the stallion said with a sadistic grin. His horn glowed, magic surrounding the sauce covered mare as her muzzle was pulled forwards, aligned with your newly rejuvenated marehood, and then shoved straight into it. Her face slipped right in, earning a pair of muffled cries from you and her as her cheeks lodged for a second, but a bit of wiggling got her sliding all the way in up to her head with a wet squelch, spreading you wide open as a clear bulge formed on your abdomen.

“Bye old mommy!” the children chorus, giggling as their father jams the mare in further, making your eyes sting with hot tears as he stretches you wide until you thick pussy lips clamp around the mare’s shoulders and she finally slides in far, the hard pushing magic carrying her all the way up to her waist in a single moment. The sauce at least acted as a lubricant, although it felt unnatural and weird as she slid in deeper, compacted tight in the grip of your interior.

Through tear stricken eyes you see the mare’s roped together hind legs wiggling as one, like a fish tail. It really doesn’t accomplish anything, the magical grip not loosening an inch as she was pressed deeper, her slick shaved fur sliding over your increasingly moist pussy walls, her skinny belly compacting easily inside you as the push didn’t end until it was her toned flanks hanging from your soft rump cheeks. You saw the prisoner out of the corner of your eye, reapplying that basting over you. The raider chuckled, letting his magic drop there as he moved forwards. “Going to give her some stuffing too,” he told the prisoner.

There were no complaints, even the kids watching attentively as he raised his hooves, taking a hard grip of those sauce covered cheeks and then lining up his thick shaft with her worn out marehood. He gave you a grin before he rammed forwards, completely jamming his member up into her to his crotch with a wet slap, giving her no warning or using any lubricant. You winced for her sake, then he slammed again and you winced for your own. He seemed to be using the force of his thrust to bury his wife inside of you…

The stallion seemed to have been getting worked up during the whole process, either from watching your rump roast or throttling and tying down his wife. Either way he was hard, and pounding the mare hard. You winced and squeaked softly, muffled cries coming from deep inside of you as he jackhammered into her depths, his sceptre slamming into the slit between those toned cheeks as he made a series of faces and last grunts.

“Aww, daddies giving old mommy a goodbye kiss… maybe bruva and sista can welcome new mommy with big kisses too?” the filly said, looking over at “new mommy”. The colt grinned too and the prisoner whimpered.

“M-maybe later… dears…” she returned weakly as she worked that brush into the pudge of your stomach.

“Okay!” the colt exclaimed happily, turning back to watch the show.

At this point “daddy” was slamming with reckless abandon, moaning lewdly with every wet slap, his momentum getting faster and harder until there was a shriek and he came, his balls twitching beneath him as his cock throbbed, thick cream blasting into the groaning mare inside of you. As he finished up, he gave a last thrust and your marehood sealed around his shaft and her legs, before he slipped out, the contact making you shudder. He rested his forehooves against her soft hinds, before giving a hard shove, making you squeal as he jammed those hooves inside of you until they vanished with a “pop”. “Stuffing… stuffed,” the stallion panted.

“Then it’s time to put her back in the oven,” the prisoner said, giving a last flick of basting over the mess the stallion left. The stallion nodded, and you felt that familiar lift of magic. Your womb shook and wobbled, causing your belly to shake and quake as the mare squirmed inside of you. Then that heated coffin opened up again before you were pressed inside, tray dropped onto the heated bars. The doors sealed again… but they didn’t consider your increased stuffed size. Your fat flank cheeks were sticking out of the tray, pressing tightly against the door. The stallion had to push hard, jamming your squishy rump right up against the glass before you heard that click and you were sealed inside, the window showing nothing but your fat ass splayed out and squeezed against the glass with the thermometer poking from the middle. You heard a click and then the heat got hotter.

You stared at the metal wall ahead of you. The metal above and below began to burn like a fire brand, searing scorching hot lines all across your skin, making you whimper and twitch. You would be hyperventilating, but you just didn’t have the energy. The air was so dry… and even the mare squirming inside of you barely registered. Your breaths grew drier and drier as the heat burnt away the moisture in your throat, leaving you only able to wheeze. Your sand coloured skin up was darkening quickly in the increased heat roasting a lovely shade of caramel brown.

It was so hot… there was nothing else to focus on but the overwhelming heat. You weren’t even really sweating any longer, those thick beads of liquid were the rich juices of your own meat… and you were marinating inside them as they cascaded down the sides of your body. The thought made you try a last few squirms, your juicy roasting flanks grinding back and forth against the glass of the widow, the jiggle vanishing as the stored up fat began to harden and turn your doughy rear into a tender, flavoursome rump roast.

It was growing dark again, the tears burning from your face before they could drip down to the tray as everything took on a haze. Your eyelids were sinking. Your nose was full of the most delicious, rich smell. And you knew it was you. You knew you would taste delicious. You kinda wished you could have a bite before you went, but this was the end. Everything goes dark… but not because you closed your eyes. All the moisture was burned from them, turning your blue eyes into a dull grey, the jelly solidifying and leaving you stuck like that. Not that you cared. Your last moments were nothing but darkness and your own rich scent.

* * *

“It’s ready!” the call came from the kitchen to a chorus of cheers from the three raiders waiting impatiently at the patio table that was set up in a large, mostly empty room.

“We want food! We want food!” the two raiderlings called, banging their combat knives against the table.

“Umm… sweetie… could you give me a hoof?” the prisoner called, the stallion grinning as he stood up and trotted out into the kitchen. He returned a moment later, a huge serving platter hovering in his magic. With pride he set it down, it slamming into the middle of the table, almost causing it to buckle beneath the weight. Inside was Dusty, the guest of honour at the meal along with her stuffing.

The rich, powerful scent of her roast flesh tantalised the taste buds, seeming to thicken in the air into an almost edible gas that caused anypony that smelled it to salivate with anticipation. Juices still dribbled down the sides of the roasted flesh, teasing at the rich taste. A fresh mutfruit held open her jaws as half lidded, lifeless eyes stared dully at the stallion at the head of the table. Knives were raised by the three raiders when the mare cleared her throat. “We should say grace first,” she said softly.

“Sure. Thanks, dumb cunt for roasting up real proper. And thanks old bitch of a hag for bloating her. Oh, and thanks, babe for turning those two into the most delicious meal I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Now let’s dig in!”

With how good you tasted, it was guaranteed that by the time the bloated raiders all waddled back to their rooms with meat filled bellies, all that would remain would be a neat pony skeleton laying on the platter, picked completely clean with just a Pipbuck to hint at the owner.

You were delicious. Compliments to the chef.