Page 17 of Morsel

“Relax.” She pushes on my thighs and spreads my legs apart. “Enjoy yourself for once. It’s not every day you get to indulge, right?”

She reaches for my belt again. I stay still as she undoes my pants. Her cold hands touch my cock, and warmth pulsates through me.

“Keep your eyes on the screen,” she says.

The images switch every three seconds, giving me just enough time to get the briefest grasp of what I’m seeing. A giant breast being severed from a body. Switch. A close-up of meat strings caught in a person’s teeth. Switch. A man with long hair laughing so hard that his uvula convulses. Switch. Slender fingers peeling a prosthetic from skin.

Mona’s breath, hot and wet, fogs around the head of my cock. Her plump lips tease my tip, the barest hint of her tongue snaking across my skin. She swallows me whole, her mouth bobbing up and down, her throat constricting around me. The hairs lift on the back of my neck, the tingling sensation spreading across my shoulders.

I’m supposed to eat her.

Why is she the one swallowing me?

“You aren’t going to bite me, are you?” I ask.

“Not unless you want me to.”

The sharp ends of her teeth scrape against my shaft, and I grip her hair and grunt with violence, reminding her that I’m the predator. I move her skull up and down until she’s at the rhythm I want. A groan threatens to escape me, but a thought cuts through my pleasure.

What if she’s only doing this for me? What if she doesn’t actually want to give me a blow job?

Do I even deserve this?

I let go of her head. “Are you sure about?—”

“Look at the screen and think of eating me,” she demands.

On the screen, a man snatches a handful of meat and eats it. Blood dribbles down his chin. The video switches again, and though I stare at the screen, I don’t fully see anything, and then the clips morph until it’s her every time. Mona’s long hair. Mona’s uvula. Mona’s chopped breast. Mona eating a handful of meat.

The colorless visuals on the screen help me get there, only because I think of her. Her throat squeezes my dick, her tongue reaching out and licking my balls, and it’s like my head has detached from my body. I haven’t gotten a blow job in years, not since I realized it doesn’t do much for me. When a woman sucks your dick, you’re the submissive bitch. She can bite your dick off at any moment. I don’t like that loss of control.

With Mona, it’s like someone actually sees me for once. I have to let her do this if I want something real with her.

A longer clip unfolds: a woman impaled on a spit roast, the wooden rod going through her asshole and out of her mouth, her trussed body rotating over a fire. The camera zooms in, and the spit-roasted woman’s eyes squirm with panic.

No one would live through that. It’s computer-generated. Special effects. Not real.

I imagine Mona in her place. Blood rushes to the tip of my cock.

“This is yours?” I ask. Mona keeps her mouth on me and moans, her vibrations tickling my balls. “You made this?”

She jerks me off with her hands. “It looks real, doesn’t it?” she says. “We can make it look more real, can’t we, love?”

She swallows me again, and I groan until the vibrations rumble in my toes. My dick is so hard, it’s painful, and I’m trying hard not to blow my load right now. Her nails dig into my thighs, and her words repeat in my mind, fragments that burrow into my primal drives.

We can make it real.

Eat me.

Eat me until there’s nothing left.

My cum blasts her throat. Each squirt pummels through me, a full-body orgasm, sweat covering every inch of me, and my eyes burn with the overwhelming need to let go of everything. To be myself for once. To stop holding back.

That’s what this is right now: me holding back.

I can be good though. I don’t have to hurt anyone to be fulfilled. I can cherish Mona.

“Did you enjoy that?” she whispers.

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