The Cannibal Within by Mark Mirabello Read Free Book Online Page A

less the victim suspects its existence.’
    Suddenly, I noticed the earth beneath me was moving. It was not earth at all, but a menacing organic mass—something that was pulsating and alive.
Festering and vile, the slimy mass was made up of thousands of little worms squirming noiselessly in the darkness.
    The worms—hideous to behold—resembled small hooded snakes. Ice-cold, flaccid horrors—squirting some sort of poisonous venom—their soft flesh was as white as leprosy.
    The albino worms were flesh-eaters—hungry carnivores— and I could feel the gnashing of their sharp, little teeth, as they stripped the tissue from my bones.
    I could see dozens of worms twisting and crawling under my skin—the nude skin of my throat and chest—and I was certain I would die.
    The victim of silent, swarming invertebrates, in my dream I was certain I would die.
    The Taste Of Clammy Flesh
When I awoke from my nightmare—my vivid nightmare— I was on my knees in front of the sexually aroused monster. With lowered eyes, I was forced to perform a lewd act with my mouth.
    His phallic aggression was revolting. I choked on his enormous fascist rod—swollen with sin, it seemed longer, thicker, and more terrifying than before—but the brute ignored my emotions.
    I wanted to vomit—the thought of his vile penis, only inches from my brain, utterly disgusted me—but I could not.
    Gasping for air—gagging on his clammy flesh—I looked up at the beast. I could see his eyes glowing with lust—I could see his thin lips speckled with foam—and I felt rage. Intense pathological rage.
    Convulsing with fury, violent fantasies—castration fantasies—raced through my mind. In my imagination, I dreamed of holding his severed penis in my hands.
    The monster was now moaning—grunting with animal pleasure—and he seemed too preoccupied to read my thoughts. Instead, his thrusting quickened, and he forced his huge erection—his icy nakedness—deeper and deeper down my throat.
    More castration fantasies—more lethal perversions—flooded my mind. Visions of his mutilation—his dismemberment— his vivisection—obsessed me.
    The monster began ejaculating—I could taste his grotesque discharge—it was thick, viscous, disgusting—and feelings— ghastly emotions—raced through my heart.
    In a few moments, I relived every injury and humiliation that vile thing had ever caused me.
    What happened next may sound excessive—even insane— but I will not apologize. Years of torment had incubated my hatred and made it pure.
    With manic savagery—like a wild leopard ravenous for meat—I seized his still rigid organ with both hands, and I bit down with the jagged black stubs that used to be my teeth.
    It was fine and hot.
* * *
    The beast made an inhuman shriek—a demon-like howl— and fell to the mud like a slaughtered calf.
    Bleeding and emasculated, he strangely reminded me of a menstruating female. A female with ‘the misery and the sickness!’
    I pounced on the monster—slashing, gashing, and mauling with my teeth and nails—cursing and blaspheming with my tongue—I instinctively knew what to do.
    I wanted to eat him—to make his body disappear into mine— so I gouged out his eyes with my fingers, scooped out part of his brain through the bloody sockets, and thrust the gore into my mouth.
    Tasting his brain tissue, which was warm and fresh and wet with slime, filled me with the unashamed will to power. ‘The proverb must be true,’ I whispered. ‘Domination is sweeter than fornication.’
    Curiously, the monster’s flesh, which tasted like raw fish, vaguely resembled vaginal secretions in odor. Eating the beast—especially the fat behind his eyeballs—therefore had a cunnilingual character.
    I tried to eat everything—I wanted to feast until there was nothing left but hard, clean, incorruptible skeleton—but at length I was sated. After devouring the soft flesh of his face and hands—after consuming his spine and