Superman Gets Grilled Part 1
Super man was feeling bold. At last. Or if he was going to be honest with himself he was finding it difficult to put up with the hunger as he had been so scard of going to a restaurant in case the Great Colon Clog happened once more. But six months of no eating and flying about using his lazer eyes had taken its toll on his energy levels an he was starting to lose the ability to change into his pants in the phone box. A flyer had ended up in the mail box this morning and he saw a new place had opened up in the town. It was an English guy cooking and S-Man thought that maybe American cooking was the problem- all those additives, trans fats and FDA 'Approved' chemicals that were banned in every other civilised country must have been the reason that his colon had not taken kindly to the beef bourguignon (it had been cooked by Americans…) Maybe an English chef would cook actual food that was recognised by the body as a biological entity.
He put on his facemask because of the pandemic (even though being alien he was immune to it, he had to blend in or his alter ego wouldn't be a secret any more) and took the bus to the restaurant (he had no energy to fly and couldn't afford his taxi because he hadn't been able to do his job of rescuing people and get paid.) Inside it looked very…. Hipster was the only word Superman could think of to describe the décor. Instead of tables there were what looked like large shipping crates that each had a table and chairs in and a sliding door for privacy. They were lined up on either side of the room with muffled conversations inside each. A terrifyingly creepy laugh came from the grill at the end were a very dark skinned guy was cooking slabs of meat over a flaming grill. He was wearing shorts and his bare chest glistened with either sweat or oil as he rumbaaaed glaze over the meat like an oily god and gave Superman a smile that seemed to bear into his soul and creep the hell out of him.
"Oh welcome to Ainsley's Bar and Grill" he almost sang as the flames danced up either side of the skillet. "Take a seat and I'll be right with you." He had a Dick Van Dyke British accent and gave a creepy smile as he nodded to a crate with the door slid up.
"Where are the tables?" he asked in surprise.
"Oh it's that virus isn't it? Gotta be careful. This way, you can dine in safety and you don't have to worry about people interrupting your meal with their chit chat. My social phobic customers love it! In fact…" he stopped gyrating the oil and began gyrating with the skillet"… I might just keep this in peace time! I'm making a killing!" Superman turned from the crazy man an stepped into the crate where he found a table and some chairs. They were damp but in the gloom of the crate he couldn't see what it was. He bent down and sniffed. His over sensitive alien senses where hit by the brain stinging smell of Lysol and he almost keeled over backwards. He crawled up the chair and perched on the edge hoping that the dampness wouldn't soak into his pants. Two seconds later the chef appeared at the door wearing an offensive pink shirt like a freshly quivering dong. with his creepy grin while two people started moving the crate opposite.
"Oh don't worry about that, we take them to the yard for a deep clean in between customers. For hygiene and all." Superman nodded uncertainly at him, wondering why he could see the mans face so clearly in the gloom when he could see nothing else in the darkness of the crate. Not even light could get through he gaps in the boards. The gaps must have been as tight as a dong hole in the cold with a urethra screw in it. "We don't have a menu- unhygienic- but we have one set meal, because there's only me cooking and I guarantee you'll love it! And in true historical British tradition I'll bring all three courses to the table at once. How does that sound?" Superman felt his bowels loosen as Ainsley's contorted grin terrified him. He wasn't actually sure from that expression whether the man wanted to serve him dinner or bend him over like a pig and serve him his dong with rumba movements. The chef gestured with his hand and left the crate. S-man sat there in the gloom listening to the crazy noises Ainsley was making as the grill sizzled and spat with the fat of the meat. The rectally-challenge superhero poked his head around the doorway and saw that the guys shirt was off again as he took a leg of lamb and started massaging oil and handfuls of spice powder onto it. His face made all sort of shapes as he cried
"Yeah!"
"Get a load of that!"
"Oh yeah boi!" Superman thought his eyes had gone like coals for a moment as he looked like a demon putting the meat on the flames. A wall of fire exploded upwards and disappeared in a flash as he let out a loud soul raping laugh of sadism. He moved back to the meat he was preparing and looked up catching Superman's eye.
"Always remember…to give your meat…" he took a handful of cayenne pepper and rubbed it slowly up and down the lamb as if he were sanding a dong lovingly
"…a good old rub." He finished in a whisper and winked. Superman's anus hole twitched and he was forced to sit down and cross his legs to stop himself leaking. The noise coming from the grill area terrified him and he started to think he'd made a mistake coming here when Ainsley's terrifying voice sang it's way into the crate carrying a long tray and wearing his pink eyesore again.
"Yeah boi! Here we go. Purge of the Borscht-eoisie for your appetizer! A Jal-flay-sie for your main and soft serve chocolate ice cream…for…your…dessert…!" he punctuated everything with angular body movements that made him look like a setsquare climaxing. He left the plates on the table and pulled the tray away. "..Comes out looking the same as it went in. He he he!" He grinned and backed out of the crate dancing and the last thing superman saw was the demonic grin as the wooden daw slid down heavily with a bang. A poop colored lightbulb blared pathetically into life above him so that he could just about see what he was eating. The apetizer was awful. But then Superman had heard a lot about beet soup and so he hadn't expected much. But he had thought it would taste like shit either. He moved onto the curry and screamed as the molten chilli spice caused such an ich inside his mouth that he had to rake the skin with his fingers. How did you get itchy in your mouth from a liquid?! The only times this mouth ever got itchy was during a marathon oral session when he went down on Lois Lane and accidentally inhaled and porcupined his throat with her pubes (he could go all night without tiring… normally. His current self famine had put a massive curb on his sex life and he couldn't go for as long as he used to) he wolfed as much down as he could before using the fork to try and sate the almost painful itch on every surface of his oral cavity. He grabbed the ice cream (which looked black in the turd coloured light) and wondered if it would qwell the itch.
It didn't and instead he felt everything inside him strt to squeeze and seize up. He fell off his chair onto the splintery floor and groaned. Wht the hell was the food doing to him?! He looked up and unable to open the door (it seemed to be locked) he used his xray vision to scan the restaurant. Inside the other crates people who had just eaten the appetizer where wallpapering the walls with their vomit while those who had eating the Jal Flayy Zie where rything in their seats crying out in pain while they tried to soothe their pain with the dessert. And the last few where writihing in pools of their own vomit and feces as the pudding had burned the anus ring from them so that the curried innards splashed out onto the crate. Superman was suddenly alert. Something wasn't right with this place! He shone his eye beams around and saw through the crate that Ainsley had gone from the grill. He penetrated the back wall and saw a secret room beyond. The wall seemed to be sheilded by something so all he could make out was the satanic chef's outline (which seemed to now include a huge poofy chefs had that resembled a bell end) He wondered why the foot hadn't made him shit himself or vomit.. Then he realised: He wasn't human so it mustn't have reacted with him like it did with humans.
Ignoring the itchiness and the fact his guts felt like they were in a vice (he wondered if this was what Louis went through every month when she stole all the Anadin from the bathroom cabinet that he kept jut to dupe people into thinking he was human.) he pulled himself to his feet and cured because as he had been so weak recently Superman's superman persona had been out of action and he hadn't been carrying his costume with him. But now, even this shit food was giving him strength (He had wolfed it all down) and he needed a costume! He looked around and saw only an ox-blood coloured table cloth. He shed his clothes except his long underwear put his pants on over the long johns and tied the table cloth around his neck. He used the leftover ice cream to smooth his nerdy hair back and then blasted his way through the crate and the six inches of sound proof insulation foam. It took him several goes to blast through the wall into the secret room which turned out to be reinforced with something sinuey and very crust that was woven along each like a BDSM victim wearing a cock torture chastity belt.
The heat of the room hit him like a fart from a climaxing volcano. Superman had his head wedged in the wall like a butt plug in a sumo wrestler and he had to pull back and throw himself at the hole to get into the room. As he rolled in he felt every part of his soul wither and die like Elton's Johns cock at the sight of naked Hillary Clinton. The screams where the first think he took in and they were like nothing he had ever heard. It was like the screams of victims in a burning building, on crack. And then he saw a roomful of shitstorm that induced what the soft srve didn't and the Jal Flay Zi came gushing from his butthole and stained his white long johns a weird spinjy orange brown stan exploded over the fabric like Donald Trump's tanned cum.
Everywhere was covered in blood, sweat and everything sticky. Ainsley was stood in the middle of the room at a stone butchers slab with a carving knife in one hand and a butchers knife in another. He was wearing a leather apron over his naked sweaty chest as he cut into the body of a dead woman. He looked up eventually at the sudden appearance of Superman on the floor and bits of wall cracked around him and merely contorted his oiled face into an evil turd drawing grin and he picked up a bottle of olive oil and started to pour it onto the corpse.
"This is not the only virgin I'll be having tonight!" He let out his satanic yet predatory laugh and rubbed the flesh with glowering looks on his face.
"Oh yeah… " He flicked his tongue a few times while Superman's stomach finally gave way and he chucked it all over the grotty floor.
"Oh I was wondering when your purge would final kick in. You've got a stomach of iron you have." He jerked his words and moved away from the slab holding a huge tray of limbs.
"So, you've found my little empire! Oh and the things I'm gonna show you my friend." He tossed the limbs into a vat and roar of flame shot up into the air. He laughed maniacally and turned to face Superman who was struggling to hold his body up in his weakend horrified state. "Welcome, to Ainsley Harriots Meat Fiestaaaaaaa!" he raised his hands in the air and gestured for S-man to look at:
The life size shawarma pole with numerous naked bodies speared on it some still whimpering.
A fryer the size of a hot tub that had a metal cage of oily hairless bodies being pulled out of it while the depths bubbled
A meat grinder the sized of a dumpster that was slowly mangling somebody up as they screamed
A huge fish tank full of marinade with a door o top to keep the struggling body below the surface
A slightly living body attached to a giant moving cheese grater that was dropping bone fragments and skin into a gory pile
A giant sausage machine that was pumping the ground flesh from the grinder into a sausage tube made of human intestines and colon.
A dehydrator slowly evaporating the life out of some people and make human jerky
An industrial blender big enough for a person to stand in that was raring to go at any moment while the prisoner slumped against the glass yelling
A hot tub of boiling water for boil in the bag bodies
"So, what exactly are you if my concoctions don't work? Something exotic. Ooooh!" he pretended to shiver in pleasure while picking up a meat mallet lined with human teeth and beating a fresh body on the altar. "You see before the meat is ready for a good old rub they need their stomachs purging of everything so then the Jal Lfay Zie can get to work. is so hot it spices all the innards lovely and the icecream dissolves the anus so everything come spilling out out voila!" he slammed the mallet at the same time as kissing his fingers "one beautiful human ready for a million culinary possibilities, hooo hooo heee!" He coated the teeth of the mallet with spices and began beating the corpse. "Gets all those spices in that meat. Yeaaaaaaah."
Superman had no words. Or vomit. Or shit. Everything in him was gone at the unreality of this cheese nightmare. He lay there trying to figure out whether he was actually alive, dead or in a coma and have an allergic reaction to morphine. When Ainsley had finished with the current body he threw it into a giant oven. "Now lets have a look at you!" He pulled S-man from the floor and threw him on the slab. "You must be tough to get through my walls. I panelled them dried human skin and sinue oh yes I did. " He rippled his tongue at the thought and before Superman could try and crawl away he was bound up with what he suspected were human leather ropes.
The oiled maniac with the strength of a god raised the giant meat cleaver above Superman's leg
"Give me your leg boi!"
Superman screamed.
To be continued.