Morsel

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

From the driveway, it looks like the power is off inside. I dart through the mobile home anyway, scanning to see if she’s there.

It’s empty.

In the backyard, she stands over the offal pit in rain boots. Textured tights. A short black skirt. Her gloved hand clutches a grayed pig’s heart, crawling with maggots.

“You didn’t lock up,” she says. She lifts the organ. A larva drops to the dirt. “Can I use this?” My upper lip curls. She giggles. “For my art, love. Just for my art.”

I blink hard. “Right.”

“Did you know they’ve used a pig heart for a transplant multiple times?” she murmurs. “This little thing could’ve helped someone, huh?”

The pig’s heart is helping someone. She’s using it to create art, and before that, I was planning to use it in my ground meat. How can she not see that it is helping?

Her empty, gloved hand, slightly damp from searching through the pit, touches my face. My temple twitches.

“Come on,” she says. “I want to show you your surprise.”

Mona wanders through my home like she owns the place, and my mind rolls with unease. I scratch the back of my neck. It’s almost like she’s been walking around my home while I’m gone, just like I’ve wandered her house when she’s working. Except Mona would never stalk me like that.

Would she?

No. Stalking is a threat, and Mona isn’t a danger to me.

“How long have you lived here?” she asks.

A question like that leads to even more penetrating questions, and it’s like the interrogation in the break room again. A camera poised, ready to catch me in the act.

“Why do you care?” I snap.

“A farm is a beautiful place to live when you’re into cannibalism,” she says.

I adjust myself, my palm running over the pre-cum staining my pants.

“It’s not a farm,” I say, but my dick throbs in disagreement. “It’s a field and a mobile home.”

“Think of the potential though,” Mona murmurs. “With this much land, you can have a human farm one day.”

I sigh, and she squeezes my hand. It’s been my dream to live on a farm and raise a woman for meat. A human farm is out of my grasp right now, though there’s no telling where the future will lead, especially if I have Mona by my side.

I clear my throat. I still don’t know if she sent the woman to record me. A thrill runs through me. I loved seeing that woman cower.

“Did you send someone to film me at work?” I ask.

Mona laughs, each cackle dripping from her mouth like torn rose petals falling to the ground.

“Why would I record you at work?” she asks.

I snarl. “I don’t know.”

“I have nothing to do with anything that happens at your work, I can assure you of that.” She drags her finger through the dust covering the picture’s glass. “Can I take this picture of your mother? I’ll bring it back.”

The woman in the picture isn’t my mother. I don’t even know who she is, but I guess we all probably come from the same original homo sapien couple.

I fixate on the wall, on the dustless circle where the picture frame once hung. My mind fills with my actual mother, lying on the dining table. Her legs spread. Parts of her stomach exposed. Chunks of her flesh carved from her skin like deep pockmarks.

“Do you think baby animals eat their mothers for survival too?” I ask in a daze. I don’t know why I asked that. It doesn’t sound like my own voice.

“Children always eat from their mothers,” Mona says. “Think of how much stress the body goes through with breastfeeding.”

Mona bends under the table, her belled breasts hanging down. They’re small, yet meaty. If her breasts were full of milk too, would they taste moist? Would milk make them juicier? Would they be like soup dumplings, sweetness bursting with each bite?

On top of the teal dining room table, a camera is aimed toward us, a red light blinking on top. She’s already recording.

The dining chair scuffs against the floor. Then Mona picks up a sealed black bucket and places it next to the camera. She removes the top. A giddy expression fills her face.

“Come. Look,” she says.

Inside, the reflective surface is dark, almost black, with the faintest tint of red. Mona dips her hand into the bucket, and when it comes out, her gloved fingers are soaked in thick, red liquid.

She touches my cheek. I shiver. It’s cold. Viscous. Possibly refrigerated before this.

Is it her blood?

No. It’s too much. She’d die. She can’t?—

“Pig’s blood,” Mona purrs. “I got it from the butcher this morning.”

The hairs on my skin rise. It’s not her blood. That’s good. She needs her blood to survive. Why am I disappointed though? She wants to play in animal blood. Should I be worried about that?

No, you fucking idiot, my brain argues. This is roleplay. This is good. The blood would be wasted otherwise, and like this, you give it a purpose.

That explanation feels forced though. I don’t know if it’s because it’s not her blood, or if it’s because it was her idea and not mine, but bathing in animal blood—even if the animals were already dead—is too close to real bloodshed, and I’m not sure how much I can handle when it comes to that. The temptations are too strong.

“Mona,” I say, my voice straining.

“Don’t be a scared little rabbit,” she whispers. “Just follow my lead.”

I grit my teeth. Did she call me a rabbit? Scared of what? Her lead?

She touches me again with bloody hands. Over my shirt. My pants. My neck. She removes my clothes one layer at a time. The jumper. The socks. The boxers. My body yields to her silent instructions, but my dick is hard and ready, and then I’m bare before her. Too naked. Too stunned to do anything. Too fucking vulnerable. She’s not forcing me to do this, and yet, she is physically making me do it.

And, damn it, I want to do more.

She guides me until I’m lying flat on the floor. Finally, she undresses, and I’m glued to her body. Fingerprints dart against her pale skin in red blotches. Her stringy black hair drops over her collarbones like spider legs, and her dark eyes are tunnels driving deep into an empty soul. I’m not supposed to eat her, but I can still fantasize and pretend. If that means I’m reduced to roleplaying with Mona, then so be it.

She glances at the top of the table, checking the camera.

It’s just her art, I tell myself. This is pretend. It’s roleplaying. A game. Like that idiot, Artemis, said.

I still want more.

She slides down on my cock and impales herself on me, her needy slit slick with arousal. Her cunt crushes me like a vise.

I want more than pig’s blood, but I can control myself.

Control yourself. Control your ? —

“We could take off my toes,” she says, her voice raspy with lust. “One by one.”

I involuntarily thrust my hips, pummeling her meat hole. I know the answer; I just want to hear her say it. “Cut off your toes for what?”

“A toe here. A toe there. It’s not much, but it’s something. A little snack. An hors d’oeuvres. A mere, little morsel. Hah!” She grabs my hair like reins, then throws her head back. “What if you called me your ‘little morsel’? That would be a cute pet name for me, wouldn’t it, love?”

I grit my teeth, desperate to keep myself at that boundary, to protect her from the hunger raging inside of me. I can’t give in. I can’t do it. I’m not a cannibal…right?

Eating her toes wouldn’t kill her though. We could do it safely. She may walk with a limp, but she’d be okay. She’d live. Knowing Mona, she would somehow do better without her toes.

It’s wrong to eat people though. I know that. I swear I do.

“Mona,” I try to say. I try so fucking hard to get the words out, to disagree, to do anything to show my resistance when I desperately want this, probably more than she does. “This is?—”

“I need my fingers to create, but my toes?” A smirk spreads across her face, and she lifts her hips, then drops her weight on me. A harsh huff expels from my chest. It’s like she’s forcing me to submit, smothering me with her power. “Being off-balance will be difficult at first. I’m still young though. I can compensate. I can find a new way to walk.”

She’s reading my mind, and I love it. We are perfect for each other. The meat to my carnivore.

Is this love? Is this what I’ve always needed?

Control yourself, my brain screams. Say something! Stop this, you pathetic piece of ? —

“This is going too far!” I shout.

She freezes on top of me, her pussy contracting around my cock. My eyes roll to white, and I grind my teeth until the pleasure is numb, and I can’t feel my cock anymore.

“We’re taking this too far,” I gasp. “It’s dangerous. I can’t eat your?—”

“I thought you were better than Artemis,” she snaps.

As she exhales, her entire expression changes. She cocks her head to the side and squints at me in disgust. Not because I’m a cannibal fetishist, but because I’m not.

My shoulders tense. I stay firm. I can be good. I may fantasize about cannibalism, but I’m not a cannibal. If I eat her, then she’ll be gone. I won’t have her anymore, and I won’t let my stupid, fucked-up cravings get in the way of our potential future together.

“Don’t be a scared little boy,” she snarls. “This is me: my meat, my choice.”

She grabs the bucket, then spills the pig’s blood all over us, the liquid chilling me to my core. It spreads like oil. She slides back onto my dick again, and my body heats. Her harsh breath dances on my wet skin.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I can or can’t do,” she says.

She pumps my dick with her cunt, forcing me closer to orgasm. The blood dashes across her naked, pale body and paints her red. It’s not her blood, but it’s so close, and I can’t help it; I’m transfixed.

This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. I can’t let this go any further, but I want to?—

“Stop thinking,” she yells. “Stop thinking and fuck me.”

My mind erases. I grab her hips, my nails digging into her flesh. Mona is everything I want, and this is what I’ve always dreamed of: a woman willing to give me things I can savor, a woman who knows what she wants too, a woman who will let me conquer her.

If I do this—if I go through with this relationship—I know what will happen. I won’t be able to help myself. Pig’s blood isn’t enough, but if I try harder, if I do this right, I can control myself. I can keep Mona alive. I can show her I’m the cannibal she’s always dreamed of, and neither of us has to give up who we are to find a mate. By some act of magic, we found each other. Cannibal and flesh. The conqueror and the conquered. The all-consuming god and the precious little morsel of meat.

But as my orgasm nears, a thought worms its way into my brain. I try to shove it out. I try to think of cavemen and decapitated women’s heads, but my dick goes soft inside of her, and the thought grows until I can’t think of anything else anymore.

Mona is the one who forced me to fuck her right now.

She’s the one conquering me.