“Mmmm. Oh, that’s so good,” Sam mumbled, their tone and expression rapturous as they masticated their mouthful of food. “Not bad for a non-chef. Toldja I could cook pretty well too, pet!”

Vicky didn’t respond, because she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak, or move, or think. She just sat in her chair on the other side of the dining table, staring stupidly at the plate in front of her Master. Their knife and fork moved in her sightline, but her glassy-eyed gaze was unwavering, even as a little tremor went through her at the sight of more meat being scooped up and raised towards her dominant fiancé’s face. Vicky’s eyes were hooded, her face wearing the simple, wary expression of a prey animal that sensed danger but didn’t know what or where it was, or how to respond. Drool ran down her chin and onto her well-endowed chest like a waterfall.

She couldn’t consciously remember anything, including how she got in this position - but the feelings lingered, layered on top of one another. The bizarre, uncanny sensation of hands reaching inside her head as she lay deep in trance. The discomfort of fingertips pressing into her squishy brain and beginning to tug and pull. The unnatural, chilling emptiness within her skull afterwards. The gnawing unease as she slouched limply in her chair, listening helplessly to the sounds of meat being chopped up in the near distance, a pan sizzling on the stove, and her owner humming cheerfully as they cooked. The passive, resigned sense of doom as she watched them start to hungrily feast upon their plateful, after taking a moment to ensure her head was angled in such a way that she could see what was happening.

“Ooh,” Sam exclaimed, chewing audibly. “I think that’s your frontal lobe! It’s a little stringy, but the flavour’s gorgeous. Aw babe, you taste so good!” They giggled. “I mean, I already knew that, broadly speaking, but this is specific and new. Yummy yummy cerebrum.”

Vicky made a small, involuntary whimper. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, but she knew it wasn’t good. Master was doing something awful to her. If she could only think of a way to stop it... But she couldn’t think of anything at all. All she knew was paralysing dread, as she watched them scoop bits of her grey matter, now turned brown from its time on the stove, into their eager maw.

And it smelled absolutely delicious. Vicky’s mouth wasn’t only watering from sheer empty-headedness. A part of her longed to try this new food, to feel the unfamiliar texture on her tongue, to savour the taste. Her desire to consume the cooked cerebral cortex disregarded where it came from - but then, cognitive dissonance was impossible without a brain.

“Exquisite,” Sam purred through their final mouthful, sitting back and staring at their zombified fiancé. “Aw pet, you look so frightened!” they snickered. “Y’know, maybe I didn’t get it all... Yeah, I bet I left one of your amygdalae. That must be why you still have a fear response. I’d better get that...”

Getting to their feet, they stepped out of Vicky’s line of sight, leaving her to look fixedly at the empty plate. A second later she felt their hand on her back, gently tipping her forwards. Gradually but inevitably, as if in slow motion, she toppled over, powerless to stop herself, until her forehead came to rest on the table.

“Here we go then, let’s get that last little bit.” Vicky shuddered as she felt her owner’s hands reach in through the hole in the back of her hollow head and rummage around inside, until they found the remaining amygdala and prised it free.

And all of a sudden, she relaxed. There was nothing to worry about any more. She hadn’t been aware of how tense she was until that tension went away. She was a truly empty shell now, unable to think or feel anything, just lying on the dining table, her face squished against the surface, salivating uncontrollably.

“Much better. I’ll stick this in some Tupperware, fry it up for breakfast tomorrow.” Sam patted the prone body on the shoulder. “OK, I’ve got some work to do. You’re good there, right?” Without waiting for a response she was incapable of giving, they marched away, cackling.

Vicky was, indeed, good there. Or rather, she wasn’t bad, because she wasn’t anything. She had no thoughts or memories, and was incapable of processing or reacting to anything. And she was utterly unworried about it. It was a very tranquil state. She could even fall asleep like this, her head pressed against hard oak...

Returning soon to end what the couple would later dub the ‘hypno-botomy’ scene, Sam was amused to find their brainless partner fast asleep and snoring loudly into the wooden tabletop, face down in a puddle of their own drool. “Aw, sweetie,” they sniggered, ruffling her hair affectionately. “All that stress took it outta you, huh? I guess a nice nap’s a good way to recover from a really intense fear play scenario. But let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Wrapping their arms around her, they lifted her from the chair and hauled her across the room towards her pet bed, their strong muscles managing to support her dead weight. Her head lolled in their embrace, her limbs limp and floppy. Once she was laid down, sprawled across the plush pink surface in front of the couch, Sam sat down and propped their feet up on her chest, using her as a footrest as they waited patiently for their peaceful pet to awaken with a fully regrown brain.