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Pretzels

Sunday 25th November, Story #330/366

By L.C. SchäferPublished 2 years ago • 2 min read
Pretzels
Photo by Duncan Kidd on Unsplash

We'd been texting back and forth for a while. He was getting rather amorous. Descriptive, you know. Pictures, too. Nude people wearing hilarious expressions, bent into all sorts of obscene shapes. It looked almost painful.

I don't mind admitting that I got pretty excited imagining all the things I wanted to do with him. I smirked a little and tapped out a response inviting him over.

Finally! She suggested spending some time together! He'd ramped up the temperature of the conversation with some saucy pictures. Her playful suggestion of making human pretzels had sent his mind and his pulse racing.

He jumped into his car, crunching the gears in his haste. The engine roared as if in sympathy to the feelings thundering hot in his belly and veins. The anticipation was almost unbearable. He squealed to a halt in front of her home, heart pounding in his chest. He raised his hand to knock, and she opened the door, smiling.

“Come on in,” she said. Her voice was encouraging and sweet, but with an edge that unsettled him.

She led him inside. She's keen!

Too keen? Something felt off. The air was thick with tension.

There were no candles, no wine, no sexy outfit... Well, okay, she seemed eager. He'd have been okay with getting down to it straight away.

He wanted to pull her close and kiss her, but... it was all wrong. He felt wrong-footed.

Instead of kissing him, or disrobing, she was putting on an apron... He didn't like the way she was smiling, or how she stalked towards him.

"Hey... What is this?"

Once he was tied, she could drop the last vestige of pretense. He begged, of course. Gibbered, actually. It made no difference. Maybe her mouth stretched a little wider, is all.

Now he was slumped in the corner, tongue lolling out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. He had bloody stumps where his hands ought to be. She hummed contentedly and worked the dough on the floured counter.

When she held it up to the window, light bled through. She picked out a bone fragment, rolled a piece into a thin sausage and twisted it.

MicrofictionShort Story

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L.C. Schäfer

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    Written by L.C. Schäfer