I knew the job market was tough when I graduated from culinary school. I’d spent a futile six months looking for an entry level chef position before reluctantly taking a cashier’s position at a nearby big box store just to pay the rent. So, it came as a welcome surprise three weeks ago, when one of the area’s most outrageously exclusive restaurants, La Casa De Dolcett, contacted me. Seems they were looking to increase their kitchen staff and found my resume on one of the culinary career job sites. The phone interview went well and they scheduled an onsite interview and insurance physical for me later that week.

At the interview the restaurants head chef explained that they were interviewing several candidates for their new entry level position and that after the insurance physical they would be back in touch with their decision. The physical that followed seemed usual, height, weight, listen to my heart and cough, even the blood draw to check for drugs and communicable or sexually transmitted diseases all seemed fairly routine. The only odd part was measuring my body mass index which the doctor explained away as merely a new health requirement by the restaurant’s insurance carrier.

A few days later the restaurant’s manager contracted me, and stating that among all the candidates they’d interviewed, I was their prime choice and that they wished to offer me the position. He inquired if I’d be able to start two weeks from that Friday and quoted an annual salary about twenty times more than I was earning as a cashier. Hesitating just long along enough to catch my breath, I eagerly accepted the position.

The following two weeks seemed a blur, my thoughts filled with anticipation of my new culinary life. Finally I was going to a chance for the life I’d always dreamed of.

Arriving at exactly 9 that Friday morning, the restaurant’s head chef met Chanel at the employee entrance and led her into the employee conference room where an intimidating stack of new hire paperwork awaited her. She’d just completed the state and federal tax forms when she felt a sudden sensation of dizziness and everything went dark.

I awoke to find myself hanging helplessly from my wrists, an oversized rubber ball gag strapped deep within my mouth, in a part of the restaurant we’d obviously skipped during my interview tour, a slaughter house! The pungent smell of blood was almost overpowering and I felt my heart gripped by a sudden cold sensation of unimagined horror as I realized what they intended to do with me! It was in that moment of horrifying realization that I suddenly heard footsteps approaching from behind me, and struggling to glance over my shoulder, watched in terror as the restaurant’s head chef walked toward me, a terribly sharp looking chef’s knife held casually in his hand.

Stopping to stare lecherously upon the beautiful young woman hanging helplessly vulnerable before him, the chef smiled darkly, “So, I guess by now you have more than just a few questions. Sadly Chanel, you’re not going to like the answers. Welcome to ‘La Casa De Dolcett’, a restaurant specializing in the darkest of cannibalistic culinary delights, where tomorrow night, you are the featured special on our menu!”

Savoring the growing look of horror in Chanel’s eyes the chef paused to pull on a pair of disposable latex gloves, “I wish, I could tell you that your death will be quick and relatively painless but that would be a lie. Sadly Chanel, suffering a prolonged and extreme agonizing death causes a woman’s brain to release a complex mixture of endorphins that give her flesh a uniquely flavorful tenderness that our restaurant’s patrons have long come to expect.”

Picking up his knife the chef cut off Chanel’s bra and panties than positioned the tip of its razor sharp blade just beneath her sternum, “I know this is going to hurt far more than you can imagine but that’s the only reliable way to force your brain to release those endorphins.” The sound of Chanel’s desperate screams of pure agony echoing off the soundproof tiled walls as the chef pushed the tip of his knife just deep enough into Chanel’s belly to pierce her firm abdominal muscles before carefully slicing downward to open her belly from her sternum to the front arch of her pelvis.

The pain went beyond anything she’d ever dreamt of enduring. Chanel could actually feel the hot wetness of blood running down her legs as the chef set aside his knife and casually shoved his hands deep into her belly to pull out several long loops of her intestines. Within moments gravity took over and Chanel stared down in agonizing horror as her intestines slowly uncoiled out of her abdomen and fell into the waiting bucket below.

Once the expected flood of intestines trickled to a stop the chef picked up several clamps and, reaching deep down into Chanel’s abdomen, carefully clamped off her rectum and urethra before cutting the lower end of her digestive track free of her body. Then reaching upward, he clamped off the base of her esophagus and cutting just above the clamp separated her stomach from her esophagus, freeing her entire digestive track to drop into the bucket.

Watching in overwhelming agony, as the chef skillfully continued his diabolical work, Chanel couldn’t comprehend how she was still alive, let alone still conscious. Within minutes he’d removed her liver and kidneys, setting them aside before reaching deep down inside her emptied abdomen to remove her uterus and ovaries. Struggling to breathe Chanel felt herself slipping into shock as her reproductive organs joined her liver and kidneys on the table.

Knowing his victim was dying, the chef worked quickly, cutting around the base of her ribcage to remove her diaphragm, silencing her screams and making it impossible for her to breathe, before reaching upward into her chest cavity to remove Chanel’s heart. And, like the hundreds of women who’d come before her, that look of overwhelming horror clearly visible in Chanel’s lovely pain filled eyes as she died watching him holding her still beating heart in his hands, an utterly enticing look that he knew he’d never grow tired of seeing.

Chanel, Prime, Grade-A Prime...