The Knobscot Cannibals

Excerpt 4

"Wow!" she said, taking off her shoes to tread barefoot across the Persian rug in the Great Room. "This is some room!"

"There are eleven others, many with beds."

She walked, mouth open, eyes like great blue moons, from room to room, taking it all it in. "You did say you were married?"

"Yup."

"So what does that make you now? Divorced? Bereaved? Did you eat her, too?"

"Divorced."

"And how did you manage to keep the house? What did she get?"

"A new boyfriend."

"She left you and all this for some guy? What was he, a movie star or something?"

"No. She hated this place because it's so remote and isolated. She didn't want to be 'stuck in the woods,' she wanted to be off seeing the world. Actually, we didn't get along on a lot of fronts. We fought a lot."

Crystal stopped short and wheeled on me, her eyes suddenly hard. "You didn't beat her, did you? Jesus, if you're a woman beater, I'm outta here. I'll hitch-hike all the way back before I let a man beat up on me again! You promised you wouldn't hurt me!"

"And I won't hurt you. I only plan to kill you and eat you, which, as I recall, is why you came here."

"Well, yes. You can do that. I want that. But I don't want to be hurt, at least not without my permission. You promised. It's part of our agreement."

Her lip trembled slightly. Clearly she was balancing fear and defiance in her mind. Whatever impulse was driving her to self destruction did not include a willingness to suffer physically. Not at this point, anyway; not without her "permission." In other words, not until she'd had time to prepare herself to relinquish control. Surely the terror implicit in her vulnerability was part of the thrill that had led her to sever all ties to the relative safety of the world outside and step into my cut-off-from-the-civilized-world lair. She was looking for reassurance on two opposing points: that I would wait for her to be ready, and that when that time came, I would act with appropriate savagery.

"We did agree and I did promise," I told her, taking her face in my hands, drowning in her eyes. "We will take this project as far as you want to go and at the speed you want to go. I did not beat my wife and I will not beat you, unless and until you decide it would be a really good way to tenderize your meat."

She studied me a few moments longer, then broke into a grin. "Thank you. I needed to hear you say that. "So . . . this guy your wife ran off with, he must have been incredibly sexy and good looking."

"No, just a spoiled, rich jerk with a ninety-six foot yacht, a Maserati and four mansions five times the size of this one on two continents."

"That stuff grows old after a while," she said as she continued her wandering, running her hands over the mahogany and leather surfaces of the furniture. She didn't miss a single room in the house, deliberately saving the master bedroom suite for the last.

"So this is where you and she fucked while it lasted?" She patted the floral comforter on king size bed.

"Usually."

"Where else? No, don't tell me. You can show me later, and demonstrate how you did it. Was she good?"

"At fucking?"

"No, at playing Chinese checkers." She punched my chest. "YES, you idiot. At fucking. Was she a good lay?"

"Not bad. She tapered off after the honeymoon. Got into the social circuit."

"Met Mr. Maserati?

"And decided she preferred his five mansions to this poor excuse of a dwelling."

"Poor Byron." She flipped up the back of her red dress and perched side-saddle on the edge of the bed, her bare bottom on the soft comforter. "And you've been celibate ever since."

"Not exactly."

She began sawing the hem of the dress back and forth across the top of her thighs. My heart was pounding in expectation. Who would make the first move, or had she already done it?

"So you didn't bring any undergarments at all?" I said.

A wry smile. "Well, I did bring one little thong in case I have my next period before I'm turned into meat. Why? Do you get off on lingerie?"

"I get off on beautiful young blondes with huge blue eyes and nothing on at all."

"Oh. In that case . . ."

She slowly peeled the little dress, hem first, up and over her head, dropping it on the floor. The firm, full breasts, the narrow waist, the taut tummy and creamy skin . . . I nearly lost control then and there. But I got a grip on myself and played a carefully calculated card. "Stand up, Crystal," I ordered, "and undress me."

She looked surprised, but after only the slightest hesitation rose off the bed and stood close to me with a knowing smile. She began to unbutton my shirt, wetting her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. As she put her arms around me to slip the shirt over my shoulders, I placed my hands in the small of her back and drew her against me, feeling the hardened points of her nipples rubbing against my skin. I kissed her ears, the back of her neck, her face and eyes, both sides of her nose, but not her mouth. Not yet. I dropped my arms and let the shirt slide off and drop to the floor. Still smiling, she licked my nipples as she unbuckled my belt, lowered the zipper and pushed both pants and underpants down over my hips. She dropped gracefully to her knees to remove my shoes, socks and the bunched trousers. I held on to her shoulders for balance as I shifted from foot to foot. By the time I was as naked as she, my staff was throbbing an invitation to her mouth. She wrapped a gentle left hand around it and slipped it between her lips as her right hand cradled my testicles. What she did with her tongue was quickly leading me to perdition, so I made a half-hearted effort to pull free.

"Stop, stop, stop!" I moaned. "Not yet. I want to be inside you when I come."

"Oh don't worry about that," she mumbled around the obstruction in her mouth. "You're inside me already, in case you haven't noticed. Besides, since you're soon going to be eating me, it's only fair I at least get a chance to taste your special sauce. We'll revive him later so you can have it your way, too."

She was as good as her word. In fact, she had me ready again just fifteen minutes after she'd swallowed the first explosion. This time I fumbled for a condom from the bedside table, but she snatched it out of my hand, popped it in her mouth, and spat it across the room.

"I'm clean and I can't get pregnant," she announced. "If you're not clean, I don't give a shit since I'll be dead in a few weeks anyway. If you have any doubts, kill me now and get it over with."

She grabbed my hands and placed them around her throat, daring me with her eyes. I squeezed her throat gently as I covered her mouth with mine and began a long, deep kiss that led to a furious salvo of unprotected sex.

Afterwards, as we lay in each other's arms, sweaty and satiated, she began the one line of questioning I most dreaded. "Have you ever done this before? Cooked and eaten someone?"

"No. You'll be the first." And only , I thought.

"What made you decide to do it?"

I didn't want to run her off before I'd had a fair chance to convert her mindset from Crystal as food to Crystal as girlfriend, so I was cautiously honest. "To tell the truth, until you answered my ad, it was just a fantasy. Like you, I'd been reading bdsm stories about cannibalism, which raised my curiosity on the subject."

"Not to mention your naughty part." She patted it.

"That, too. Anyway, I started researching real cases of cannibalism, and the history of it in human culture. The more I read, the more it intrigued me."

"And the harder you got." The pats changed to strokes.

"Yes, I became titillated by the idea."

"How titillated?"

"It gave me a rush, okay? Like you're doing now."

"So you find the concept of eating another human being sexually exciting? Same as me?"

"Not the same. I don't want to be eaten. And not just any human being. It has to be a woman. I get incredibly turned on by the mental image of cooking a beautiful woman."

"So you decided to do it."

"So I decided to run an ad. Some of the stories on those sites pictured women and girls getting turned on by the notion of being turned into meat. I thought I'd test it, though I didn't really expect to find a genuine volunteer. It was just, you know, a kind of experiment."

"Well, now that you've found one, do you have what it takes to carry out the fantasy? Now that I've made it easy and safe for you? Because now that I've gone this far, I can't turn back. If you turn out to be a wimp, I'll have to run my own ad. I'm sure there are plenty of guys out there willing to snuff me. The only problem is finding one I can rely on to butcher and eat me afterwards. I want to know that will happen. I don't want to die just to be dead. So how about it, Mr. Toolman?" She squeezed my twice-used manhood, already rising again in the warmth of her small palm. "Are you going to fulfill my dream and satisfy your own curiosity? Or do I have to look elsewhere?"

Although I couldn't bear the thought of killing this loony but lovely girl, neither could I admit it. "Of course I will," I said with as much conviction as I could muster.

"Oh God, I hope so," she said, before assaulting my entire body with her tongue and stretching my record for consecutive full-bore fucks to three.

The next morning she asked if she could take her shower with me. Who could refuse that? She commandeered the soap and proceeded to lather me up, with special attention to my favorite appendage, scrubbing it with her hands and hardening it with her mouth until I had no choice but to bend her over under the streaming water and implant another load of special sauce into her proffered receptacle. I held her in that position, my hands under her belly, for long minutes after we had both come noisily, letting myself soften until she informed me that part of my duty in our reciprocal washing arrangement was to douche her out.

After that operation, still dripping wet and nude, she ran laughing down the stairs and into the kitchen where she began preparing sausage and eggs for our breakfast. All Sunday she ran around the house and back yard naked, feeding her fantasy of being nothing more than meat on the hoof. Admittedly, I didn't discourage the practice. The nearest neighbor is more than a mile away. This became a daily ritual: a shared shower and breakfast in the nude. The morning fuck was optional and we quickly dispensed with the douching.

Monday I had to go back to work at the newspaper office. Perhaps it was because Crystal's seemingly limitless appetite for sex had finally depleted my testosterone to such a level that my brain was able to reclaim my thinking process from my penis, but it occurred to me that this could still turn out to be an elaborate con job with me as a world-class, pussy-whipped sap. I was about to leave this incredibly sexy but virtually unknown woman alone in my house with my many valuable belongings for an entire day.

"How do I know you haven't arranged to have a moving van back up to the house when I'm at work and clean me out?" I asked through a mouthful of perfectly poached eggs on rye toast.

She was sitting across from me, watching me devour her cuisine (imagining I was savoring slices from her elegant breasts?) with that intoxicating come-and-taste-me smile. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, her hard nipples peeking out between her forearms.

"Good question. How do you?"

"I mean, when it comes right down to it, what do I really know about you? Other than you're breathtakingly beautiful, incredible in bed . . ."

". . . and in the shower, and on the couch and the carpet and the lawn, and right here on this table yesterday afternoon. Twice! Once sunny-side up, and once over easy."

"There, too." The recollections were causing my testosterone factory to fire up again. She was a dirty fighter! I hurried on. "But as wonderful as all that is — and believe me, I've loved every second of it — how do I know you haven't just been softening me up . . ."

"By making you hard, you mean?"

"You know what I mean. By making your presence so exciting that I throw away all caution and leave you in charge of a houseful of eminently stealable stuff. Aside a dozen indescribably wonderful episodes when we screwed our brains out, you're a virtual stranger."

"I thought that might occur to you," she said, still gazing firmly into my eyes. "So I have an idea. I've already given myself to you to be turned into meat, right?"

"Right."

"And you've agreed to do it, to slaughter me and cook up my meat, right?"

"Right." But inwardly I had crossed my fingers.

"So that , in effect, makes me livestock. And you, as my owner, have every right to treat me as livestock, to keep me from escaping or being rustled, right?"

"Yeah, okay, I guess you're right."

"So lock me in. Chain me up. Do whatever you need to do."

"You'd agree to that?"

"I just suggested it, didn't I? Don't be such a dweeb. I'm cattle. You own me. If you don't want your prize cow running around loose, chain me up. Just don't be cruel. Animals have some rights, too."

By God, I was beginning to like this game! If she really wanted to play treat-me-like-a-cow, I'd do it! I felt stirrings that would make me late for work if I heeded them, so I wolfed down the last of the eggs, toast and coffee and went looking to see what I had in the garage for chains. All I could find was a twelve foot length of medium chain from an old dog run; but I also found two padlocks that would fit through the links. It would have to do. I could think of nothing in any of the bedrooms that I could chain her to that she couldn't defeat. Beds, chairs, bureaus — all could be lifted or shifted with enough effort. I could spread eagle her on a bed and run the chain from one wrist under the bed to the other, but that verged on cruelty. Even cattle weren't hog tied for a whole day. I thought of wrapping the chain around the base of a toilet bowl, but she could scream loud enough for confederates to hear her from outside and come to her rescue.

There was only one solution. I ordered her to gather up some blankets and pillows from one of the bedrooms and marched her to the cellar. There I chained her by her pretty neck to a lolly column in a storage room.

"I'll need a pot to piss in," she offered meekly, the very picture of a docile cow.

I fetched a bucket, and a bowl of water. No books, no TV, nothing to amuse herself during the long hours to come. If she wanted to play meat-on-the-hoof, she'd have to get used to being cattle. We'd see how long it lasted. I made sure there was nothing within her reach she could use as a toy or tool. Nothing at all but a blanket, pillow, floor, wall, chain, padlocks and lolly column. I did leave the light on as I closed and locked the door with another padlock. No amount of screaming now would be heard outside the cellar.

I left for work with an agonizing erection.