What's for Dinner?
by GJ



Dear readers: This story is purely a work of fiction, and any resemblance to
persons living or dead, locations or other related material, is strictly
coincidental. Enjoy GJ

What's For Dinner?

My name is Henri Dragon. I am a world renowned chef. My resume says I studied
with Escofier and am considered a "cordon blue" master chef. However, that is
not exactly true. My real name is Roger Cook. I grew up in Long island. I am
not a master chef by any means. I stole recipes from the real chefs of the
world when I apprenticed for them( No, no one said," Henri, You're fired!") I
am now wealthy and I have several restaurants all over the world and town
houses in all the" right places".

I am about to set foot in my own studio, to premier a new cooking show called
"Cooking With Henri". Oh I forgot to tell you. I have this thing for
beautiful, muscular women..the bigger, the better. To prove this point I only
hire women who have at least 18" biceps/calves, 28" quads and 42D pecs. They
must weigh at least 175 lbs. and the height requirement is a minimum of 6'. I
have them as camera people, security, assistant chefs, all over. In addition,
they must be dominant, capable of protecting me at all times, as well as
hurting me when I am in need of a good beating. I am 250 lbs, 5'6" and am too
busy eating gourmet food to ever think of working out.

Here I go. "Welcome mes amis, to Cooking With Henri. I am your host,
Henri.....certainment. I am going to teach you how to cook the finest dishes
using the best ingredients from all over the world. Tonight you are in for a
treat. Our menu will be something to die for. To assist me in this labor of
love will be my apprentice chef named Solange Bouvier. Her father, Pierre was
a world renown chef. I apprenticed for him a few years ago. It is wonderful
that I may teach his daughter the skills that will make her, hopefully, as
famous as her father. Unfortunately, Pierre passed away recently. His
contributions in the field of cooking are renowned. He will be missed.(Ok dear
reader, I didn't tell the viewing audience that I raided Pierre's company and
rendered him bankrupt. He committed suicide shortly thereafter.)

Right on cue, Solange walked confidently onto the set and "hit her mark"
perfectly. She was 26 years old. One could describe her as "magnifique". She
stood 6'4", weighted 215 lbs, had 20" biceps/calves, 32"quads, a 44" chest and
boxed to stay in shape, in addition to lifting unbelievable amounts of weight.
Watching her bench 320 lbs easily, I simply said , "Encroyable, Mon Dieux."

Smiling radiantly, Solange kissed me in the traditional way, on both cheeks.
As I looked into the audience, I could see that they were all women, all very
big, MUSCULAR women. They applauded Solange with great gusto, much more than
they done me. That irked me greatly, being the egoiste that I am. Still,
seeing her level of muscularity, her huge pumped armed, veined and ripped, the
hair flowing freely under them, making her armpits look like a nest( she was
French after all) was enough to stir my cock.

The script, which I had gone over, programmed me to tell the audience about
the meal I was about to prepare today. I was just about to begin, when Solange
turned to me and began speaking( which was highly uncalled for). Standing
erect and looking so powerful I heard her say," We have a big surpris for you
tonight, Monsieur Le Chef Extrordinaire. Seated in the audience are all the
most powerful women in the world. Any one of them from the youngest (16 years
old), to the oldest(62 years old) could easily beat you to paste....and would
gladly do so because they are all here to see you get your, how do you say,
....Ah yes, Your just desserts. We all know how you stole from others to
further your miserable career, you "chien". I am going to prepare a "special"
meal, mon ami, and You are going to assist me tonight."

Turning a shade of red, I yelled ,"Call the authorities at once, get this mad
woman off my set". Solange turned to me slowly and calmly informed me that
everyone was on her side and truth be told, the picture I saw on the monitor
was for "in-house" only. There would be no direct "feed" to the outside
world(So dear readers are you picking up on the food references yet?). Then
she removed her long sleeved top and modeled her muscle t shirt and very tight
white shorts for the assembled women.

Taking complete control now, for I was in shock, Solange continued with "Let
us begin, maintainent . Our first dish will be corn, in a delectable red
sauce. Turning to me, she put her huge hand on my face and turned it towards
her. Without warning she fired a punch right into my mouth. I could feel my
teeth break under her powerful fist. Then a flume of red began to pool in my
mouth. Solange squeezed my mouth closed until she had positioned her steel
anodized pan under me. My head was spinning, I was in intense pain yet my dick
was so hard. "Ok , Henri, you may pour the ingredients now. Then she let go of
my mouth and 32 teeth and a pint of blood shot out. "Lifting my head up to
inspect her fistic ability, she was satisfied that she had excised every tooth
in my head. She turned the burner on to let the pot simmer slowly, adding salt
and fresh ground pepper. She stirred and peered inside the pot. " I am so glad
your teeth were yellow, you pig...they will look so nice in this wonderful
sauce I am making.

Next, she informed the group that a pesto sauce was in the offing. As she
joked with the audience, blood kept flowing out of my mouth. At that rate, I
would be bled dry in minutes so Solange took a skewer and closed it for me.
Then telling me to look up at the house lights, she waited for me to comply. I
was too groggy to protest and when my fat neck lifted up she blasted me in my
huge , corpulent stomach. Her fist went all the way in. To her, it felt like
punching a big marshmallow, to me it felt like a steel battering ram had cut
me in two. As I doubled over, almost passing out, she began to hit me over and
over. I think it is what you call "being gutted". After five punches, she
stepped back and put another pot under me. I began to expel green, bile fluid
into it. It kept coming and coming until I had the dry heaves. Solange lifted
me up and let me drop to the floor, where I lay moaning.

I barely heard her talking, when she continued her cooking discourse. "Now we
simmer this sauce for about an hour after adding my special ingredient." With
that, she walked over to me and punched me in the nose back and forth, in each
direction. Then taking her two fingers, she easily pulled it away from my
face, for her fists had turned it into a mishapened piece of meat. Dropping it
into the pot she stirred and added some tarragon and a bay leaf or two. As she
did, her huge horse shaped triceps jumped and danced, for the hugely muscled
crowd. Looking down at me, Solange began to slap me back and forth to bring me
around, not too hard though.

It took me several minutes to come to the land of the living. I hurt so much,
I could only moan, for the pain was excruciating. Looking up at her muscled,
thick body, I could not help but admire Solange's fighting ability. I was such
a wuss, a fat boy who never worked out a day in my life. Here, this MuscleChef
was beating me into stew, and it was a turn on for me. Well as they say, if
you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen.

Solange was talking to the audience, "So mes amis, how do you like my cooking
style so far?" To that the audience responded with hoots, stamping of feet and
other affirmations of her "style du cuisine." She went on and as she did , she
informed them it was too hot under the lights. She proceeded to take off her
muscle t, now soaked with me on it. Flexing readily, one could see her huge
arms sweating, the underarms dripping and sopping up her sweat with the matted
hair underneath, much like a baguette which has been placed under a basted
chicken.

Sensing my eminent demise, Solange continued with, "Now for the "piece du
resistance.... braised brains with raisins." I was completely immobile now
whimpering every few seconds when Solange came over and easily lifted me by
the hair and carried me to another pot, already cooking with shallots,
raisins, and red wine. Then she stood in back of me and placed her mammoth
bicep around my broken face and head. Slowly she began to flex up and down. As
she did she lectured, "It is important not to mangle the ingredients of this
dish, as you see."

Squeezing harder, flexing in a controlled rythmn now, everyone heard my poor
jaw break and fall into the pot, bubbling in its richness. As she continued
they could hear more of me crack and break, falling in the pot as well.
Solange's arm was dripping with me, and she held me in such a way that all
that good juice would not be wasted It too flowed into the pot. Just one more
pronounced squeeze and one could hear a giant plop as the final ingredient
made its way into the thickening liquid.

Standing tall, flexing her huge arms, Solange radiated power and grace. Her
last comments drew laughter from every single person in that studio. "As we
know , Henri loved to give of himself , and tonight was no exception. Don't
forget never waste anything and the rest of his miserable carcass will be used
in a variety of ways. So until next time, "Bon Appetite and keep flexing."