Page 134 of Bake the Town Red

Can’t say I’m disappointed.

“You’re a special one, Ben.” Dahlia looks him over her shoulder while she switches off the second stove. “That’s why I prepared two, not one, types of chocolate on top of the caramel. So you won’t”—she ambles to him with the bowl—“go”—tilts it toward his groin—“hungry. Ta-da! Milk chocolate incoming.”

Heated brown liquid gushes down like a waterfall on Ben’s dick. His muscles strain and thrash. His head snaps back. The veins on his neck bulge.

The duct tape doesn’t break. What happens is the vomit goes up and back down his throat. Some comes out of his nose.

“No passing out.” Dahlia discards the bowl to the floor and slaps Ben’s face. “I have more to give you. You don’t get to check out just yet.”

Her next steps are rushed. Dahlia comes back a third time, dropping a healthy load of white chocolate on what’s left of Ben’s cock. He’s barely moving, and yet she doesn’t stop.

This gorgeous, meticulous woman squeezes frosting from the piping bag on top of the white chocolate. She starts with a wide circle around it, then smaller and smaller ones until everything’s covered.

“For the grand finale.” Ben’s dead already. It’s obvious from how his fingers dangle lifelessly on the arms of the chair and his chest doesn’t rise and fall. Doesn’t mean that Dahlia’s going to miss out on the fun she had planned for him. “Heat to glue it all together.”

She snatches a butane torch from the table and, with one click, there’s fire.

I can’t take this anymore. I swore to myself I wouldn’t come without her. I wanted every ounce of this sexual energy to explode inside Dahlia, to fill her up with it.

It will. I could come a hundred times tonight, and I’d still haveso muchof whatever this is. For a whole night. A year. A lifetime. Watching her—stalking her—has every need and every desire bursting at the seams.

A quick glance to either side confirms I’m alone back here. There’s no prickling sensation at the back of my neck. No lingering sensation that someone is lurking in a dark corner.

I’m the only one out here. And—fuck, does it feel good to unbutton my jeans and shove a hand down my briefs. WhileDahlia happily sets Ben’s penis on fire, I fist my cock. I fuck my hand hard, but it doesn’t come close to what I need.

I needinsideher.

A few more hours, and I’ll have her. Just not now.

Stroking myself will have to do. I pump and squeeze and bite my lip while Dahlia’s in that room, releasing Ben’s lifeless body. My cock jerks in my hand when Dahlia rips off the duct tape from Ben’s mouth and hops back to avoid Ben’s vomit.

But it’s when she reaches for a butcher’s knife that thisthinghappens to me.

This isn’t a feeling, what’s going on in my stomach.

I’m so in love with her that I can’t breathe. That’s what it is.

Witnessing her strip a man of his clothes, then begin to peel off his skin is surreal.

No, it’s much more than that.

It’s everything.

As she removes the skin off Ben’s shoulders, my orgasm pummels through me and I come on my hand with a choked groan. I’m not relieved by it. There’s no real release, despite the amount of cum that covers my hand and lower abdomen. I have to have Dahlia.

And I have to wait.

I’ve never hated anything more in my life, but I can’t barge in. I don’t want to ruin this. This is her show. Next time, I’ll be a part of it. Today, I’m a spectator.

Her stalker.

Okay. Deep breath. I’m fine. I tuck myself in. Stay in place for the time it takes her to strip Ben of one patch of skin at a time. Into a huge silver bowl each slab of skin goes.

He’s a pile of muscle, bone, and blood once she’s done. Dahlia doesn’t say a word while she shoves Ben’s skin to the side and gets to work on his flesh.

I fall harder and deeper every second that passes. Every moment she detaches flesh from bone. She wraps them in nylon, and now I get why she needs the freeze dryer. For the meat.

Sounds of dogs whining and their tails flapping cut into the silent night. Dahlia’s taken Ben’s bones in plastic bags down a secret door to a basement.

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