Page 79 of Morsel

My lips stretch into a smile, and pleasure fills me. I can see through her latest trick, her first attempt at escape. Her odds are slim, but I’ve always wanted to hunt her.

I slide closer to the cage, and my dick presses against my pants. Her quick glance down shows she can see my erection. Her eyes fill with water, but she keeps the tears guarded behind her glare. Right now, she must be regretting her assumption that I’m harmless.

I play along with her game and use a teasing voice. “But if I open the cage, you’ll try to escape.”

“I won’t,” she says quickly. “I swear I won’t. You can grow me and fuck me and eat parts of me. It’ll just be better for the milk if you can properly massage my tissues.”

My teeth are so ready for her flesh they chatter behind my closed lips. I can see what she’s planning to do. I unlock the cage anyway, then click my tongue. As I sit back on my haunches, I gesture for her to come out.

Mona crawls forward like a dog. My chest expands, and even more blood rushes to my groin, the anticipation making my erection painfully stiff. The bitch stays on all fours, then peers up at me with those big black eyes, the dark makeup smudged around her like matted fur.

“Good girl,” I say.

She stays still like a rabbit trying to blend in with its surroundings. She knows I’m blocking her exit.

I shuffle around the cage to the other side, giving her a way out. My dick pushes harder against my pants. I kneel again and grab her hanging tits. My thumb presses right on the pink needle punctures. Mona’s spine becomes rigid. I knead the tissues, and I swear, it’s as if her breast has already grown more supple for me. A groan forces its way through my body. There’s no way she can avoid me now. She’s mine; she just doesn’t understand that yet, but she will soon.

I lean closer, and each breath in my lungs is another cup of blood filling my shaft. I press my lips against her ear.

“It’s going to feel so good to finally kill you,” I whisper.

The prey lunges forward, instantly on two feet, her stride wider than humanly possible. It’s like the missing patch of her labia is painless now, all thanks to her fear-induced adrenaline.

The back door opens and closes. For a few seconds, I let her run. The landfill is too far away, and I’ve got the keys to the van in my pocket, and so the bitch’s only choice is to hide in the grass and hope I don’t see her.

I get my hunting knife and join her in the field.

Outside, the tall grass blades shimmy like they always do, and somewhere, my little morsel is hiding. My brain slithers inside of her, imagining her pure panic. Her heaving breaths. Her wide pupils. Her heartbeat thumping louder in her ears than an industrial meat grinder. And this is the best part about living out here where no one goes: I have so much land around me that I can chase her as far as I need to without any outside interference.

The grass flickers, dancing more than usual. Then I see my rabbit hiding in the brush, her black eyes peering through the blades, praying to the sky above that I won’t find her.

But I’m the fucking wolf now.

I run faster than I ever have and howl at the top of my lungs. She gasps, and her feet run swiftly again, but it’s too late. I crash into her, nailing us both to the ground. Her head smacks the dirt, and I shove down on the back of her skull, her face digging deeper into the soil, her ability to breathe cut off. She pushes herself up to get away, but with my body pinning her hips down, all it does is prop up her chest and ready it for carving. I slice the hunting knife against her breast. She wails a sorrowful noise I’ve never heard before, and it’s like music swarming my ears. A symphony of her agony, the final cry of acceptance, the truth that she should have heeded the warnings that I’m a dangerous predator.

Blood gushes into the dirt, spreading over the grass like a red vinaigrette, and for a second, the little morsel lies limp, likely unconscious from the shock or loss of blood. I use those few seconds to unzip my pants and pull out my dick. I slap her breast blood over my cock, then I fuck her from behind.

Her pussy is loose, relaxed in her blacked-out state. I need her fight. With one aggressive thrust, the penetration jerks her awake. The pathetic little bitch coughs into the dirt, and I squeeze her dismembered tit. The blood drips out on her pale skin, and the fat coats my fingers, so utterly decadent, it should be illegal. And that’s the funny part: it is illegal, and I don’t care.

I shove the breast fat in my mouth, and my teeth snap, biting off a meaty chunk of her areola and ripping it from her skin. My tongue caresses her dismembered nipple, and it puckers for me, even now. Mona may never have wanted to be sexually eaten, but her body responds to me. Even now, her pussy is sloppy with blood and her natural lubrication. Fear is arousal, and pussy prey always gets wet.

I swallow the chewed-up nipple, skin, and fat, then I bring my slobbering mouth down to her neck.

“You know what comes next?” I say. “Your legs, baby. Once I roast those, you won’t be able to run away anymore.”

Her tears are loud and uncontrollable, snot stuffing her airways. My dick pounds into her sopping cunt, and I shove her face into the dirt again, propping her hips up for a proper fucking. Those noises begin to fade, muffled by the earth, until the bitch finally goes quiet.

I should sew her up, but I’m not done yet. I eat another bite of her tit flesh, and this time, I let it roll between my cheeks. I savor the flavor: notes of copper, pungent bitterness, and a gamey aftertaste, like wild meat.

But the wild animal is finally caught. The bitch thought she was better than me, and that she could trick me again and get away. In reality, she can use tricks and lies until her very last breath. It won’t change anything for her now.

No matter what she does, she’ll always be mine.

Chapter 32

The blunt end of the thread hangs down from Mona’s stitches. I cut off the excess, then marvel at my work.

Her left nipple is gone now, replaced by a blue-threaded line. This time, she doesn’t ask where I got my suturing kit. The explanation about the hormones must have been enough for her to know it’s better not to ask any questions.

---