Page 41 of Morsel

“Pull the tampon out,” she says.

For once, I don’t hesitate at being told what to do. I tug at the string until the drenched cotton plops on the countertop. I move it to the side and take a mental note to save the tampon for later, all while I keep ogling her meat hole.

Her pussy muscles visibly tighten: a gloop of gummy liquid squishes out of her hole.

A blood clot.

My groin and face flush with heat. I rub my lips together. The blood clot is the size of a small sugar-coated candy. I bet it tastes like nectar too.

“Is that normal?” I ask. My tone is stunned, too captivated by her bloody cunt to form any emotion.

“Does it matter?” she says. She bares her sharp white teeth. “Think of it, love. By eating this part of me, you’re not hurting anyone. Surely, you’re capable of doing something as small as this.”

A ball of shame tumbles around my stomach like sharp rocks. I can’t decide if I’m turned on or if I’m pissed that she’s questioning my abilities again.

She pinches the blood clot with her fingers, and it splits in half like a lump of gravy. Her fingers paint my lips, the rich irony scent of her blood wafting in my nostrils.

My head is on fire.

“It’s okay,” she says in a raspy voice. “Why throw this blood in the trash when you can eat this part of me?”

I blink rapidly and try my hardest to keep myself together. She’s right. I can’t waste something as precious as this.

I suddenly realize our relationship has been going on for way more than a month now. Why has she kept other periods from me?

I should’ve been tracking her cycle or digging in her trash this whole time. It’s okay though. If I missed one or two periods, then fine. I’ve been good. I’ve been giving her space so that I can earn her trust, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. Day by day, Mona will be more comfortable with me, and eventually, she’ll trust me with her whole body.

I need to ask though. “Is your cycle regular?”

She shakes her head. “That’s why I had to wait until now.”

For some reason, her word choices seem suspicious. Maybe I’m being paranoid though. I don’t know how or why she would lie about a period.

I need to forget about those questions. I don’t need those answers; I just need to taste her. The real her. I need more of her blood.

“Go on,” she says. “Give it a taste.”

I fall to my knees like a defeated man praying to his goddess, and I lap at her pussy lips. Her trimmed pubic hairs scrape along my tongue and send shivers down my spine. Then I suckle at the hole, dragging the edges of her pussy into my mouth, and a moan murmurs through her. Her musky scent, sour and acidic and metallic with blood, fills my nostrils. A drop of her blood swims into my mouth, and she tastes decadent—like a bite of fatty steak, covered in a red wine glaze—and that desire flames in my chest. My tongue swirls around her thick clit, and I resist the urge to bite it until it bleeds too. Her hips gyrate closer to the edge of the counter.

“That feels good,” she says.

I unzip my pants and pull out my dick. My tongue penetrates her bloody gash. Her inner thighs cling to my head and stamp my cheeks with damp blood. I pump my dick and suck in as much of her life juice as I can and ruminate over the flavors.

Period blood is different from the fresh blood I got from her thigh. It’s stale, like freezer-burned ice cream, but the undertones are sweet and metallic. It’s still Mona, the literal shedding of her uterus, the shell of her motherhood. It’s like I’m eating a baby that never was, and I hold on to that knowledge like it’s the holy grail of cannibalism. Our perfectly crafted loophole.

This skirts the rules, because even normal people have period sex. This means I’m not a cannibal.

My eyes whirl to the back of my head as my tongue laps at her bloody seam. “I could eat you on toast,” I murmur.

“Then do it.”

My tongue stops. Is she serious?

Mona tilts her head toward a plastic bag of sandwich bread on the opposite counter.

“The toaster is over there,” she says as she motions to the other side of the kitchen.

Each heartbeat in my ears is like a fucking drum, warning me that she’s controlling me once again.

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