Page 78 of Morsel

As I gaze down at those pretty pink pussy lips, my mouth salivates. I always knew I’d eat them first.

I step into an empty spot of the cage, then settle myself between her legs. I stretch her labia away from her, pulling the skin taut. The cravings are too strong for me to properly sew her up for extended harvesting, so I need to keep the piece small.

Besides, I only want a taste.

I zone in on the slice I want and cut; the knife melts through her skin like butter. Her body twitches, her nerves gradually becoming alert. It’s no bigger than a strand of shredded cheese, and it’s perfect. I hump the floor, my dick like an ax pounding into cement, and I shove that sliver of pussy in my mouth.

It’s gamey and bitter, and fuck, it tastes good.

Soon, I’ll cut off the rest of her labia. There will be no protection from me. Her pussy will be one giant clit and a hole. That is, if I don’t eat her clit too.

The wound bleeds like a knuckle hacked by a cheese grater, and my tongue laps at it as if I’m a thirsty wolf. And then, I’m suckling it, a piglet at the teat, and the sensual pressure undulates in my groin. I suck up every drop of tin-flavored blood I can pull out of her, and my ears tunnel with overwhelming numbness.

I finally have her.

I want her to understand we could’ve lived a happy life together.

Now, I can’t let her go. Not until I eat her.

And she made me this way.

Finally, she stirs, a painful groan gurgling up her throat. I take one last lick of her wounds before her hand swats down and cups her cunt. I get out of the cage and slam the top shut. The lock clicks into place.

She tries to sit up, but her head bangs into the metal bars.

“Fuck. That hurts like—” Her pupils round as she takes in her surroundings. Her cage. Her new home. “What the fuck is this?”

Power swells inside of me. For now, Mona’s tone is forceful and accusatory. That won’t last for much longer.

And besides, I’ve got a surprise for her.

I take another set of filled syringes from the nightstand and remove the first one.

“You see these?” I ask. She blinks rapidly, finally registering my presence just outside of the bars. I lift the syringe higher. “One is to help you grow. The other will help you produce milk. They’re meant for cows, but you always wanted to be livestock, right?”

She gawks, her jaw quivering, and it’s clear that she’s not fully grasping her situation yet. She’s refusing to accept her final form.

“How the fuck did you get hormones?” she asks.

I could tell her about how you can purchase anything online. I could also tell her how if you find the right local seller, they’ll get you anything and take your cash offer. She doesn’t need to know the details though. Meat doesn’t have a need for information like that.

“That was always your problem,” I say instead. “You always doubted my capabilities.”

I tap the end of the needle. Droplets fling through the air. With this liquid, Mona will grow for me. And with some training, she’ll crawl, moan, and cry for me too. But most of all, she’ll feed me.

I reach through the wide bars toward her tit. She inches away as far as she can to the other side of the cage.

I smirk and square my shoulders. I don’t mind her resistance. In fact, I encourage it. The harvesting is more satisfying when the meat puts up a fight. Without winning that struggle, how do you know you deserve the meal?

“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” I warn, but I swear, I want her to make it difficult for me. My shaft stiffens at the mere thought of her defiance.

Mona reluctantly comes back to the middle of the cage. I reach through the bars with the syringe and poke her small breast with the needle. The plunger goes down, and her eyes scrunch shut. I swap the needle for the next syringe, and that one goes down easily too.

I reach through the cage bars and massage her tit, imagining the milk in her mammary glands. I don’t care for dairy, but the idea of eating milky tissue seems promising. The ultimate moist flesh. And there’s something enticing about controlling a woman like this: forcing her body to grow, injecting her with animal hormones, treating her like actual livestock, preparing her for growth and slaughter.

Perhaps this is my experiment. Mona used me in her artistic experiment, and now I’m returning the favor. I can perfect my process until I discover what I truly want out of human meat.

“I-if you’re going to do it, then do it the right way,” Mona stutters. “Open the cage. Massage me. Knead me. Like really knead me. That’s how you’re supposed to stimulate breast milk, right?”

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