S-Souma... Don't make me wait... Nikumi had a vibrant flush on her olive-hued cheeks and her skilled hands were intertwined in front of an agitated breast. She moved her hips and twisted in place, moving around and looking at the grill as it heated up. Naked like a plucked chicken, Nikumi sat on the counter with her legs together and strong thighs pressed tightly shut. She was trembling with anticipation. Souma Yukihira, red-haired and youthful, looked at Nikumi with a wide and innocent smile. He was in his element, a chef in a kitchen, and had many eagerness to learn. He looked at Nikumi's naked form with intense evaluation, her expression unbreakably bright and confident. He awakened warmth in his entrails with those shining eyes, and the knife in his hand sent stimulating shivers down his spine. Tadokoro is taking care of the preparation work for us, said Souma, smiling oblivious to the disgust that seized Nikumi's breast at his casual mention of this friend and dormitory roommate. It won't be long. It's not about how long it takes, said Nikumi, blushing a little more. I'm just... anxious. After all, I'm a bit naked in front of everyone. Souma cocked his head. He looked at the audience, practically the entire Tootsuki Academy was present to see this shokugeki to end all shokugekis, Souma Yukihira versus Azama Nakiri. Students of all ages applauded, jeered and lecherously gazed. Also attended a large number of representatives from various giant corporate giants in the food industry. He looked at Nikumi, who was blushing and twisting on the counter, naked, plump and beautiful in that bold Yankee style of hers. He smiled pleasantly, softly, at Nikumi's broad breasts, the perfect and undulating hills of her impecable tits that made so many mouths water and so many genres... They will wake up. His expression was naive and warm, friendly in his simple and informal way. Then? he said. Nikumi looked at him and swallowed saliva. Everyone can see me, she murmured. Even the parts I only wanted you to see... He said this in a low voice, and the last phrase was barely audible. But Souma seemed to understand the general idea and nodded before putting his hand on her shoulder and looking directly into her eyes. Ikumi Mito's heart almost skipped a beat. It doesn't matter, Souma said cheerfully. After all, you're just meat now. That was correct. A correct and objective declaration in every significant sense. Literally, figuratively: there was no distinction worthy of so much attention. Yet it startled her and she looked away shamefacedly at his declaration. Her legs opened unconsciously, and Souma could see clearly and uninhibitedly Nikumi's pussy. It was soft and moist, still tense and fresh despite all its appearance and behavior. Souma, extending his hand and separating his lips as brazenly as if he were examining a piece of cold and dismembered meat, examined the interior of her sex. It was pink and shiny, with a humidity that could have been lubrication, and its smell was pleasantly feminine. Now this was a smell of meat, no doubt, the smell of a mammalian carnivore's loins, even well-washed, with a urine odor revealing a yummy diet in animal proteins, as well as the pungent musk of human sex. But it was still a female smell, more female than any floral perfume or fruity shampoo. This was real femininity, basic and carnal reality of the gender removed from all fantasy and social construct.
Humans were animals, whether they had souls or not. A groan escaped Nikumi. She twisted and gasped as Souma manipulated her lips, despite trying with all her might to remain quiet. Her face shone with a bright red flush, and her expression was pitifully happy at his touch. Her breasts jumped high as her torso convulsed, her plump breasts rising and falling again, swaying and undulating lasciviously. Moisture burst from her pussy, an orgasmic rush triggered by Souma's touch and closeness. Souma smiled and finally withdrew his hand from Nikumi's pussy, which was tender, sore, and pleasantly tingling, hot and soaked. He looked up at Nikumi from below, gazing beyond her bouncing breasts to see a deeply flushed face. She looked unusually lovely in that moment, and he gave her a slap on the hip. Nikumi made a grimace and shuddered at the slap. Panting, trembling, and sweating, she reclined back, avoiding a very flushed face. She was too embarrassed to look Souma in the eye at that same moment. 'Yes...' she said softly, biting her lip. 'Now I'm just flesh.' A cold shiver ran down her extremities as she spoke the words, and her spine felt like a whip that swayed and cracked, a wave rolling rapidly along before exploding into a loud crash of sound that overwhelmed her brain and all her wit in a soothing avalanche of sensations. Her sweat was like a flood, and her pussy was rosy, her plump thighs juicy and trembling. Nikumi looked at Megumi Tadokoro, who was working quickly and constantly cutting vegetables in preparation. The sweet and innocent farm girl was lovely in her own way, her modest figure and timid but friendly manners. Looking at the girl, who was very simple compared to her, sent a ray of jealousy through Nikumi's stomach. She wished their positions were... Inverted, even if that meant Megumi would be the one Souma was now examining naked, pushing, pushing and feeling all over. Although I was happy to feel Souma's touch, and even so secretly and shamefully exciting as it was to be naked and on display for the whole school, I wished it were her who helped Souma with cooking, she who could help Souma cook. Be the chef's assistant and not the main course. But Megumi was too simple, too thin, too ordinary to serve as meat. They had to bring out the heavy artillery if they expected to counter Azama. 'I'm a piece of meat waiting to be put in the pot...' whispered Nikumi, thinking about the vegetables Megumi cut, sliced and cubed. She thought about the broth Souma had prepared, a tasty and fatty broth extracted from one of his other dormitory mates, Ryouko Sakaki's chicken breasts. 'A chunk of meat, all plump and juicy born to go on someone's plate. I'm meat ❤' Nikumi moaned, panting as Souma grabbed her ass and gave it a squeeze, dispassionate and materialistic, seeing her body as something more than a deposit yet to be mined for lipids, proteins and savory umami. The fertile hills and valleys of her curvaceous figure were crying out to this perverse distant seeker, begging him to open them up and harvest the abundant resources of her living flesh. A shiver ran down Nikumi's spine and she looked across the arena to where Alice Nakiri apparently had given up protesting and decided to enjoy her last hours, posing and winking at the audience, moving her beautiful and voluptuous form into all sorts of lascivious and sensual poses on the cutting board, smiling and swaying her hips to many applause. Erina was there in her chef's uniform, whose breast fit incredibly comfortably against her ample bosom. She seemed distant, empty, cold and distant from her surroundings. Nikumi wondered what torment it would be for the girl to be forced to help convert her own cousin into a savory dish, as well as for her hated father to defeat whoever challenged him in Erina's name. Nikumi wondered what flavor Alice would have. The Nordic constitution and complexions of the girl promised a juicy meal, a feast substantial enough to fill the stomachs of a Viking horde and good enough to adorn the table of a Norman king. Her hair was white like snow, her eyes were red like rubies, and her skin was pale in general but distinctly rosy where she blushed with pleasure. She seemed like a delicious piece of meat, and her flesh was abundant, Alice's body being curvy enough perhaps to rival even Nikumi.
Her mouth began to water a little as she looked at Alice and smelled the warm breath of the boiling broth. She felt Souma grabbing her by the hip and putting his hand on the back of her neck, pressing her to let herself fall onto his stomach. Blushing, she did it, following his example. She felt the cold touch of his hands, wet and slippery, rubbing a greasy preparation on her skin. It subtly smelled of various spices and her stomach growled with nostalgia. Souma smiled. Too bad you won't be able to taste how you're made, he said, speaking softly into her ear. But I'll do everything possible to make you absolutely delicious. Unngh... E-gracias, Souma... Nikumi moaned, shuddering helplessly at the pleasure he was making her feel with his touch, breathing, and voice sound. I'm glad... only hope my flesh is worthy of your hands. She felt the fire in her entrails growing enormously as she pronounced that declaration, her body tormented by pleasure for Souma's skill, warmth, and person. It seems perfect, he said. You already smell delicious. He audibly inhaled and she felt the suction of his breath, was so close. His hands worked slowly in circular tortuous movements up and down her back, introducing the spiced butter deeply into her skin. She soaked it and felt herself marinating. He massaged her magnificently, with attention, working her body with such skill that Nikumi felt the need to beg him to kill her now, to end her life before she could be ashamed in front of the masses screaming her happiness and delight, before begging for things much dirtier and more shameful. Nikumi felt herself dying. She wanted to die, but also wanted to feel this bliss continue, to feel herself bubbling alive in the pot and perceiving the reflux of her life as it cooked, cooked, cooked until all humanity parted and she was gone, like they said, and she told herself, really nothing more than a piece of Juicy meat. It was a contradictory desire, a potent pain that burned in her mind, a prickling sensation like no other thing. She felt Souma lifting her off the counter. Her body felt flaccid and numb in his arms, an euforic tingling being all her flesh could say about its state. She felt small and light in Souma's hands, and he held her with such ease, carrying her with such firmness that she almost fainted and hugged him. It was a bridal carry, or perhaps more like a perverse mockery of the same, given her state of undress and the purpose of this lifting. The pot was an enormous dark ceramic thing, a slow cooker that would leave her tender body, soft, juicy, and ripe flesh. They were going to put her in the pot on top of the stove. Nikumi saw Souma approaching and saw Megumi watching them pass with a look that was both compassionate and envious. Weakly Nikumi twisted in Souma's arms, with half-closed eyelids. Suddenly, he lifted her up with a Here you go! and pushed her onto the edge of the pot. It was hot on her backside and burned her skin with the briefest touch. She let herself fall splashing and screaming, ashamed but not entirely displeased with her fate. Liquid, mainly water, but also salty broth, splashed Nikumi's face. It was boiling, but the pain in her forehead was nothing compared to the pain her body was swallowing. She sank into the pot, submerging a third or half of her body. She looked up at the lights above and Souma's head cut off in the glow. She looked at him and felt her heartbeats accelerate with excitement from this morbid reality, from the slow understanding of what would soon reach her. He smiled at her with an impassive look, and even that detachment delighted Nikumi. He looked so handsome. So elevated and magnificent. She loved him. Oh, how pathetically and desperately she loved him. He was her obsession, her motivation, the cause of her life since her first defeated by him. She would give anything for him, all she had and was willing to help him. Souma possessed her in mind, body, and soul, even if she didn't know it. She was his, unique and completely.
Souma-kun... mewled, looking at it from inside the human-sized pot. I... I love... The lid fell with a loud metallic sound, cutting off Nikumi's words. It also cut off her air, besides some holes for steam to escape. It didn't seem like Souma had heard her, or if he had, he didn't care. This last part excited her more than the first, the idea that she was giving her life for the love of a man who didn't even consider her worthy of his consideration. Her heart beat faster and her whole body warmed up as the steam enveloped her. She already felt dizzy and perceived the weight of her breasts as a mountain on her thoracic cage, enormous and heavy. In the warm and humid air, she felt suffocated, as if her own tits were suffocating her, compressing her chest with an incredible weight that barely allowed her to breathe. Her vision blurred. She felt herself trembling. Her moccasined skin, light brown and flushed with a mix of heat and excitement, felt constricted when it began to tighten over her voluptuous body, filtering its humidity in drops of juice and fat even as she soaked in the broth and marinade. Her head sank back and her ears were submerged, so that all she heard was a deafening sound of water roaring, bubbling, and exploding around her. She had glassy eyes. She looked at the lid, an opaque lid by the steam and heavy condensation droplets. She thought about what was outside, about Souma and Megumi, Erina and Alice, the whole school and the guests, all the witnesses who were no doubt cheering and chatting still, eager to contemplate her moment of death, waiting with enthusiasm for the revelation of her cooked body, her prepared flesh in a delicious meal to overthrow the tyrannical new director. Nikumi whimpered, with her mouth open. She felt her swollen tongue in her mouth, fat, in live and painful flesh by the heat. Was she being asphyxiated? With her circumference, or was it simply her throat closing while being burned by continuous heat, inflated and inflamed from the vapor she inhaled? Anyway, the weight of her breasts seemed to be getting heavier, more crushing, and now she could barely think. She felt herself cooking alive, cooking slowly but surely. She felt like she was cooking, thought about Souma and hoped her flesh would be enough to win the shokugeki. She hoped her flesh, her soulless and personality-less body, degraded beyond all recognition of innate humanity, would result in an adequate ingredient to surpass the Nakiris. And Nikumi prayed, with her last conscious breath, for her and Souma to meet again in the afterlife. And she hoped that if they ever lived again, he would cook her then just as he was cooking her now. Because she was Nikumi. Flesh, simply and plainly.
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