Four

Sometimes I’m not even looking for meat, it just finds me.

I needed a night out, this was it, I hit my favorite bar, slugging down a few Jameson’s. Next thing ya know I’m been eyed by this, what would you call them, Goth chicks? She’s got the jet black hair, white as a ghost, some symbol under her eye, dressed in back. I love these chicks who want to be different so they dress like everyone else that wants to be different. She’s looking me over; I laugh and go back to my drink. She comes right next to me, nice smell, like soap.

She tells me the bartender is a good friend of hers; they went to high school together. When, I’m thinking, last week? She looks me right in the eyes, “I hear you do dark things” Great come on line. “Beat it little girl, go rebel against society somewhere else.” Next thing I know she’s got her hand right on my package and she whispers into my ear, “I want to know what you do”. Ah what the fuck, sure.

I get her out to the car; she’s trying to hump me, telling me she likes it rough. I tell her not to try so hard. We get in the car, I tell her to sit back, relax. We take off, I start to rub her leg, it’s not that meaty, she’s a single-serve, no one’s gonna buy her. I start to rub her lips, they’re full, I don’t care much for the black makeup, but she’s got a nice sweet looking tongue. I grab her hair and pull her over to get a taste. She’s sweet, and getting hotter by the minute. I rip her shirt off, she yells out, “yea baby” Not in the mood to talk, just blow me. I push her head down to my balls. Must’ve startled her, I hear her say, “Wait”, what’s this wait shit; you said you wanted to see the dark? I grab her ass; it’s small and round, and quite muscular, fits right in my hand. I tell her to stop pissing me off and I rip-off her underwear and stick my middle finger in her vagina, and my thumb in her ass. I don’t think she likes this; I pull into my driveway, with my other hand, grab a fistful of hair and show her how I want it. She’s a quick learner. When I cum I shove my dick right into her throat, she’s choking, I tell her she better not throw up in my car. She pulls her head up, and coughs, the lipstick is mostly gone. “Still want to see what I do?” she starts to cry. I pull her out the car and into the house by her hair.

When we get in I flick the light on and drag her into the bathroom. Right into the bath, I start ripping off her clothes, getting hungry. I step back to admire her. Little thing is quivering naked, her black hair across her white pretty face, make up smeared by the tears that are pouring out. “I want to go home” she tells me. I turn on the water and begin scrubbing her clean. The sounds of her pleas and whimpers mixed with the water rushing are like a symphony. Look at that she’s really a blonde. When I’m done I pull her out and plop her on the prep table. She’s saying something, but the blood roaring through my ears renders her mute. As I shave her pussy she lets out a primal wait. I try to compose myself. I look in her eyes, I see her fear, I tell her, “Sometimes the darkness is even murkier than you ever imagined. When a man looks at you with hunger it may be his stomach not necessarily his balls.” She tries to talk to me, “Y-y-you’re going to eat me!?!” I love when they screech. “Not raw” and I smile. I grab an apple and try to get it in her mouth; she closes tight and won’t let me in. What does she think this is my first time? I belt her in the stomach, she opens her mouth to gasp for air, and I shove the apple in, deep and firm. She’s having problems getting air, I undo the restraints. She flails around on the table all wet and frantic; I grab each arm and tie them behind her back. Her legs are kicking; I subdue them and firmly bind them together. I go to my corner of the kitchen and grab the metal pole. She has fallen off the table, really knocked the wind out of her, now she’s trying to roll. I watch her for a minute, and then use my foot to push her down on her stomach; her little breasts flatten against the linoleum. You have to love linoleum; it’s so easy to clean. I run the pole through the restraints and haul her into the supports. She’s looking this way and that, I tell her to look down. “I had it built directly into the floor; it’s called a radiant heat cooker. Don’t want to get technical with ya, but it’s the latest rage. I click it on and heat starts to rise from the floor. She’s trying to free herself; I get my bucket and start lathering my special sauce on her with a brush. Then I rotate her and get the front, making sure I get all the nooks and crannies. Her arms and legs are squeezed taught against the pole, she’s bawling big time, but the apple makes it bearable. I keep her spinning and moist for about 45 minutes, I watch how her young tender flesh cooks and the muscle becomes delicious meat right before my eyes. When I take her down she is a brown and juicy, gone is any trace of black or white. I slide her back on the prep table, did I hear a whimper? I slice of a piece of that little rump and the meat melts in my mouth.