Page 65 of Morsel

Her eyes roll white, her lungs stop, and that delicious unconsciousness pushes me over the edge. I come inside of the bitch, filling up her meaty cunt with my fluids. Pleasure tingles over my body, and the night air cools me down. I pull out of her pussy and power off the meat grinder.

Mona’s body stays limp in the metal hopper, her pussy exposed, my off-white semen glooping out of her oily hole. My stomach grumbles at the sight, and I’m compelled; I drop to my knees and lick her pussy, tasting her fear, the olive oil, and my semen. I imagine it’s like a Balut egg, half-formed babies seasoned with oil and salt rolling over my tongue.

She stirs, her pussy writhing against my face. I bring her hips closer and keep eating the juices.

“The fuck, Kent?” she murmurs. She kicks me in the shoulder, and I pull away. Her face twists into knots. “Are you seriously eating my pussy right now?”

I wipe the back of my mouth with my hand. “You liked it before?—”

“That was different. This time, you—” Her lips quiver. Nothing comes out. Finally, she points a finger at me. “You raped me.”

“Raped you?” I ask. “You’re the one who wanted to be treated like livestock.”

“I told you to let me go, and you didn’t.”

“I thought it was a rape fantasy,” I say in a low voice, my tone snarling with mockery. “You said you had rape fantasies, remember?”

She bares her teeth, but she doesn’t contradict me. She knows I’m right. She’s the one who talked about her rape fantasies at our first dinner date. She should’ve anticipated I would do this. It’s what she wanted, isn’t it? For me to eat her. For me to treat her like my food. My livestock. My raised human meat.

“You’re unbelievable, you fucking predator,” she says as she backs away from me and bumps into the meat grinder. “One day, you’re going to pay for it.”

A grin spreads over my face. “A predator?”

All of this time, I’ve felt like Mona was the one luring me into her trap, and now, the rush of power in her accusation swims over me. Pride builds in my stomach, in my chest, in my shoulders. Puffing my insides. Making me taller. Bigger. Stronger than her. Me, on top of the food chain. Me, inspecting my meat. Me, the predator.

“You don’t like it when you’re not on top,” I say, amusement in my tone. “You don’t like it when you’re the one who’s captured, huh, little morsel?”

She shoves past me, then grabs her things off of the back porch and stomps to her SUV.

“Go fuck yourself,” she shouts.

Her car door slams. I stand on the platform as she drives away. It’s then that I notice the film camera—my gift—is still on the porch steps.

I pick it up and sigh. All of my life, every woman has ended up being the same condescending little cunt who thinks she’s better than me. Who thinks she can walk all over me. Who thinks she can trap me in her spiderweb and suck me dry.

None of them realize that I’m the one who holds the true power.

I stare at the dark road. After I clear my head, I should go to Mona’s next lecture and apologize. I don’t know what came over me, I’ll say. I guess I was angry. It’ll be partially true; I am angry—fucking enraged—but I know what inspired it: her need to pretend.

Putting that aside, I don’t want to end things like this. Maybe I’ll tell her I was feeling insecure and return the gifted camera.

I should want her forgiveness too.

But there’s an appeal in confronting her and realizing that she’s not going to forgive me, because she wants me to leave. Because she wants me to stay far, far away. Because she knows I’m the predator and she’s my prey, about to die in my teeth.

And I like the way that feels.

Chapter 25

Armed with the one-time-use camera, I settle into the back row of the lecture hall. The class’s start time passes, and as the minutes go by, the students’ chattering gets louder. Mona isn’t usually late.

Maybe she’s late to class because of me.

Saliva pools in my mouth, like I’m waiting for the first taste of a giant feast. I like the idea of it: the bitch is so scared, she can’t even come to class.

After the other night, I have to apologize. There’s a chance she may never want to see me again, and I have to make it up to her.

I can’t let her go like this.

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