Page 84 of Morsel

I have to teach her a lesson.

I yank the cleaver from the knife block. Mona gasps and moves snail-like inches across the mobile home. Her escape is slow, too slow, and so fucking clumsy, and after I finish this next punishment, her abilities will continue to decrease. She will barely be able to fight me, and that loss will be her fault.

I don’t care right now though. I’m too greedy. I need her fucking pain.

I ram the blade through the air. The cleaver smashes into her arm, a few inches down from her shoulder joint, cracking right through the bone.

It’s the same hand she used to spill the drink.

On the ground, she wriggles like a cockroach stuck on its back. Desire floods my veins, my body vibrating with built-up lust. I’ve been holding back and waiting to let her heal. If we did as much as I wanted, she’d be on my dinner table right now. I’ve been giving her space to get used to our new pattern. I guess some sad part of me was still hopeful that we could build a long, happy life together, carnivore and meat, but I can’t stop myself now.

I want to eat everything inside of her, even her fear.

“Not so fucking proud now, are you?” I growl.

I pick her up like a sack of potatoes and clutch her torso to my side, slinging her sideways. The bitch kicks and fights with the limbs she’s got left. I grip her with so much pressure that she whines, her sniveling cries surging straight to my dick. I’m hard—so fucking hard, stars fleck my vision—and I won’t be able to do anything the right way until I release this tension.

I throw her on the bed, and the blood soaks into the comforter, the sheets, and the mattress. I should’ve gotten a better mattress protector before I kidnapped her. Now, the bed is ruined. I don’t care though.

Taking the severed arm, I cut a diagonal hole inside of the bicep, then I pull my dick out of my pants. The hot, fleshy insides swallow part of my shaft, but it’s not deep enough for the full length. I lock eyes with Mona. Her energy fades, and my limbs buzz with need.

The arm flesh is lifeless. There’s no struggle with it.

I want to feel her scream.

I cinch the tourniquet around the arm stump as fast as I can, then I mount the bed and shove my dick inside of her pussy. Her scared little cunt constricts around my cock, and it’s like my head instantly severs from my body, my mind in the clouds as I look down on us. I see her, my little morsel. I see the savory fear and sweet desperation mixing on her face, and it gives me life. It gives me energy. It gives me so much strength that I don’t know why I didn’t accept this part of myself sooner.

I can give as much as I want to her, and she may reject it. But the fact is she has no choice; she must give me her meat now. I’ve got her right where I want her.

Her arm flails, her nails scraping at my chest. She kicks her leg, and the thigh stump twitches, the phantom limb fighting me too. She should be unconscious from the physical trauma, but no, my little morsel fights like a wounded beast. Her hips thrust forward in an attempt to throw me off of her, but it’s no use. She doesn’t even have two matching limbs to fight me anymore, and it’s entertaining that her brain still thinks she can try. As much as I hate her, there’s a part of me that’s proud right now. Proud that I picked such a stubborn, feisty little cunt. Proud that I knew her potential, even early on.

I can admit it to myself now: she’s exactly the kind of fighter I’ve always dreamed of.

My hands scoop against her fresh arm stump, gathering as much spilled blood as I can, and though there’s a tourniquet stopping the flow, I’m still able to lift a few drops to my mouth. It stains my teeth, my lips, my neck, and it’s so much better than menstrual blood—this is fuller, richer, spicier—and yet, there’s something off. A missing secret ingredient, and I know what it is. I hadn’t realized what it was until now. It’s something I need more than her fresh blood.

Her eyes go dark, unconscious again, and we both know her future.

Drinking her blood from the veins will only quench my thirst for so long. Eating her roasted leg can feed me, but it doesn’t completely satisfy me. Even this—taking her limbs, one at a time—even this isn’t enough.

Eating her living body will taste only so good.

I have to eat her and kill her.

Until then, my hunger will never be satisfied.

Chapter 34

Another leg.

I keep her bones in the fridge. Eventually, I’ll use them to make a broth.

And then, there’s only one limb left.

Mona can’t do much these days, and so I keep her in my bed. I’ve given up on the growth hormones and the milk; there’s no reason to waste the injections on her when she won’t last much longer.

She stares up at the ceiling, her skin paler now, with a sickly hue. Sometimes, I prop her up so she can almost sit, but the meat likes to slide down. I guess it’s more comfortable to lie flat and imagine you’re already in your grave, than it is to face your butcher.

Now, she has one full arm and three rounded, inflamed red stumps with bubbled white ulcers. Her body reminds me of a fashion doll with its parts ripped off.

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