Page 54 of Morsel

I kiss down her calf, over her ankle, then hover above the bandage and swallow that gauzy, coppery scent.

“It hurts,” she whines.

A guttural growl rips through me. “Good.”

I let my pants hang around my hips, then I pick up her camera and snap a picture of her lying down, spread out before me like a mouthwatering feast. She yanks the camera from my hands and starts taking pictures of me. Behind the lens, her eyes are hungry, greedy, full of lust, and locked on me.

She did this for me.

I lay down between her thighs. “You’re so good to me,” I say. “You did all of this for me.”

My tongue paints her pussy in saliva. Her meaty folds, even that beady clit, are salty, and I lick every crevice, tasting her cracks. I even lick her asshole and consider the possibility of eventually using her intestines as sausage casings.

Her breathing grows heavy. I fist my dick, and her pussy’s subtle bitterness and those sweet undertones envelop my tongue. She’s warm, like meat straight out of the oven, and I swear, as I get back up on my knees, ready to fuck her, my brain fuzzes with heat. I get out that blue velvet box, and her lips part. The camera lens lowers; the red recording light glares at me.

I pull out the toe and lick the end. The fleshy fibers are wet and brittle, like a pinch of uncooked spaghetti noodles. I pop the whole thing in my mouth.

It’s softer than you’d expect. Gamey and mild, without any crunch of bone.

With my mouth full, I ask, “The bone?”

“I wanted to use it for the project.”

I grin. “Such an artistic little slut.”

My dick slides inside of her as I chew her toe. Her pussy suffocates me, a boa constrictor murdering its prey, and I contemplate the possibilities. It seems infinite, but it’s really not. How can I keep my meat alive for the longest amount of time? A sedentary pet, bound and helpless, reliant on me, will eventually die. It’ll hurt to lose her—I know that—and I still want to go through with this.

“Kent,” Mona moans. “I love watching you eat me. You’re such a big, scary mon?—”

Before she can finish, I choke her. The air squeezes from her lungs, her eyes bulging, and her delicious little cunt cinches me in a death grip. I get the feeling she almost called me a “big, scary monster” to mock me, but a vessel in her eye bursts, the blood spreading across her sclera like a drop of dye in water, and I’m satisfied.

She begins to thrash. Soon, she’ll finally understand the real me. The parts I’ve been holding back. The secrets I’ve buried. The needs I must feed.

I swallow her toe, gulping it down like thoroughly chewed jerky.

“You’re right, little morsel,” I say. “I am a monster.”

She passes out, her body limp and pliant, and I keep fucking her until I come. Once Mona learns what’s best for her, she’ll hand over that control. She’ll give me her power like she gave me three fingertips and a toe. It’s not my fault if this is what she wants. She chose this. And if the human body can survive this much, why wouldn’t I push her further? Why would I stop now when I can enjoy all of her meat?

We only live once, and I’ll make the most of her body.

It’s what we both want.

Chapter 20

For the next week, that’s our pattern. Three fingertips—finger slivers really, not that I’m complaining—and two toes. It irks me that I don’t get to see the actual carving, but when she comes to my home covered in bandages, I forget about the frustration. It’s impossible for my dick to stay limp when she’s vulnerable like that.

This isn’t sustainable though. We’ll have to make hard choices soon, decisions about what’s next and where to go from here. I’ve always known a woman like her was a rare collector’s item, and now that I’ve got her—now that I’ve confirmed that she’s truly what I want—I’ll never let her go. I’m not that stupid.

I pull the scratchy comforter up on the bed. It swallows us in heat. Mona rubs her naked ass against my crotch. My dick pokes the rim of her asshole, and though I’m not interested in anal sex, everything sounds amazing if I get to eat another piece of her.

I pull her into my arms and press my lips to her ear. “Let me cut one,” I say in a low voice. “I want to watch your face as the flesh leaves your body and becomes a part of me.”

“Kent,” she murmurs. “It’s hard to walk. I need time to heal.”

I lick her ear, my dick growing at those words. She needs time to heal. Why do I like that so much?

Five pieces of her body in a few days is a lot of flesh.

---