The Butcher of North Versailles stood behind the counter of “Fromage a Trois” waiting for the last fifteen minutes of his Friday to be over. The smell of fresh-cut salami hung in the air as the Butcher began breaking down the slicers while absentmindedly thinking about what the weekend had in store for him. He was so deep in his thoughts that he missed the bell ringing above the door. Salami in hand, the Butcher turned toward the case and locked eyes with a small petite woman hiding behind it. The woman, with her creamy mozzarella-colored skin, cleared her throat and began to speak. The Butcher, still stuck in his mind, could not process the words escaping this juicy specimen of a woman. Unfortunately for the Butcher, the salami in his hand was not the only thing that was hard.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” the Butcher asked, clearing his throat.
“Please tell me I’m not too late to place an order?” the woman asked with a saccharine smile.
The Butcher was unfortunately very familiar with the woman his roommate was infatuated with. She had moved to the neighborhood a little over a month ago and had been on his mind since. The woman had stopped by the day after she moved in asking for recommendations for the best places to visit, to which his over-eager roommate more than happily pressured her into a date. The Butcher, while extremely displeased, caught glimpses of the woman mostly when she was running from his roommate.
“Of course not,” the Butcher stated back with a mischievous grin of his own, “what can I get for you?”
The woman placed a large order of meats and cheeses, making sure to state that she would like them thick-cut as they were for a book club meeting happening later that evening. The Butcher began cutting the order, using the slicer closest to the woman. He was acutely aware of the sweat dripping down his body causing his white t-shirt to cling to his muscles.
The woman stood just far enough away from the counter to feel safe from the big meaty man standing behind it. She wasn’t sure if she needed to be safe from him or if he needed to be safe from her. She watched as the muscles in his forearm and biceps worked the slicer, stretching with each movement. Damn, it was hot in this store. She watched the sweat glisten on his forehead, as she slowly inched closer and closer to the slicer. She had been told stories about The Butcher before, about how he would strut into the nightclub down the street. The women in her book club told of his muscled body above them, how his sweat smelled and tasted of the most expensive lunch meat the city had to offer. How he knew how to perfectly stuff a pastrami sandwich. They talked about how he was the best at eating roast beef and at using his kielbasa. Fuck, what was it about lunch meat and hot men that made her so aroused? She thought about The Butcher unloading a truck of meat, lifting those heavy boxes, and straining his muscles. She thought of him handling his meat, both literally and figuratively, and knew, based on the way he was holding that salami when she walked in, that he knew what he was working with. God, it was warm in here.
The Butcher stood at the slicer finishing off her order. He looked up to ask if she needed anything else when he caught her unzipping her hoodie and taking it off, a hazy look in her eyes. The perfect peak of cleavage popping out over her “I’m as Gouda as it gets” t-shirt. He chuckled to himself.
“Anything else I can get for you sweetheart?” he drawled staring at her tits.
The woman blushed, earning another chuckle from the Butcher. “Uh, yeah, how about a 12’ hot Italian?” the woman stated with a raised eyebrow. The Butcher choked, not expecting a straightforward answer from someone who looked as brave as roasted chicken. The woman stepped closer and closer to the counter until she was within spitting distance of the Butcher.
She took a sharp breath in. “I want to lick the salami-scented skin off of your body,” the woman stated matter-of-factly.
The Butcher leaned forward calling the woman’s bluff, except she wasn’t bluffing. She reached across the counter dragging his mouth to hers. She could taste the meat on his breath. He was going to turn her into a Muenster. All she wanted was to experience what those other women had experienced. To feel his big meaty body moving in sync with hers.
The Butcher pulled her across the counter, making sure to never lose contact with her soft mouth. He sat her on the edge, pulling her until he was right between her thighs. He could feel the warmth from her pussy radiating against his hard cock. He wrapped her legs around his back like he was tying a turkey’s legs together and took her to the back office. He devoured her mouth like he was snacking on a fine piece of artisan cheese. The Butcher pulled her closer making sure that she could feel every inch of his Bratwurst pressed against her. The woman moaned against the Butcher’s mouth breathing in the smell of salami. She pressed her covered cunt against his rock-hard body.
“I want your meat inside of my roast beef sandwich,” she breathed against his mouth.
“I’ve got a pound of meat right here baby,” the Butcher stated.
He sat her on the wooden boxes in the back room and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, and noticed how her breasts spilled outside of her bra. He slowly, agonizingly, traced the line of her bra. Her skin produced goosebumps in his wake. He moved his hands to her belly and unbuttoned her jeans which revealed red, lacy underwear. The woman sharply gasped as he ran his fingers along the band of the underwear.
“These fragile things won’t last much longer,” he stated gruffly.
“Destroy them…” she mumbled against his neck.
The woman slowly ran her fingers up his back, making sure that he could feel her nails every once in a while.
“I want you to destroy them…” she whispered closer to his ear as she bit down gently on his ear lobe.
The woman kissed down his neck as she gathered the excess fabric of his shirt in her hands. She pulled his shirt over his head exposing his taunt tight muscle.
“Fuck,” she mumbled to no one as she ran her hands down his tight body and watched as his muscles flexed.
The Butcher slightly lifted her hips and removed her jeans, realizing halfway through that he had her in the perfect position. He kneaded his hands back up her smooth claves, working his way to her thighs. He could see that her eyes were glazed over just like a honey ham. He made his way toward her clit, one finger drawing a line down what little fabric made up her panties. He slowly worked his fingers under the fabric, getting closer and closer.