Do You Crave Our Meat Nikita Mirzani 1

Nikita Mirzani paced across the living room, forcing herself not to make that left-hand turn every time she neared the doorway of the “room with the food”. She was going to be strong. She was not going to cheat. She wasn’t even going to think the word “kitchen” again tonight.

Dammit! She winced. Why was she so bad at this? Why couldn’t she just do what the Dr. Ophelia show said and discover her inner, tinier, best Nikita Mirzani? But why is my “best Nikita Mirzani” so allegedly tiny anyway? With a bigger Nikita Mirzani, wouldn’t there be more of her awesomeness to love?

Not according to Dr. Ophelia. Or the internet. Or her favorite women’s magazine with the twelve-year-olds on the cover dressed as if they’re going to Studio 54 instead of Build-a-Bear Workshop.

And worst of all, not according to her mom, who couldn’t stop reminding Riley Reid that she’d gotten dumped by her lawyer ex-boyfriend because her body simply wasn’t “banging” enough for him.

Watching the dork say “banging” in his sweater vest and pleated pants had softened the blow of his dismissal. A lot.

The worst part was the rules of the current diet sensation to which she’d committed. It didn’t include crazy drinks or weird foods. Just good old-fashioned prohibition of some of the best things in life—meat and men.

The M&M diet sounded really promising until Nikita Mirzani found out what M&M stood for. Apparently the latest guru decided that having either meat or a man in your body, so to speak, released hormones that caused women to pack on the pounds. And after some bobble-head celebrities swore by the results, the craze took hold.

Nikita Mirzani, the latest of its victims, was now starving and pacing in her living room like a crazed jungle cat. How had she gotten talked into the idea that she couldn’t possibly ever reach her true potential for happiness unless her ass was four sizes smaller and her pussy was ten times less fucked?

Apparently it was her duty as a woman—nay, as a patriot—to commit herself to this cause! She had to stay strong and abstain. For America!

I’ve lost my damned mind. My body has eaten my brain because it’s so fucking hungry. Nikita Mirzani chewed on her lip but then stopped in fear of consuming it by mistake.

Wasn’t it possible that some people simply aren’t cut out for deprivation? That life for some is such a feast of endless pleasure that such people can’t see any value in restriction from the deliciousness of it all?

Nikita Mirzani halted and plopped down on the couch, impressed she could be so eloquent in her justification for cheating on her diet. Sliding sideways down onto her deflated couch cushions, she collapsed to a half-sitting, half-lying position, lacking the energy or motivation to even stay upright.

Maybe life was just not worth living without the schlong-endowed opposite sex and some juicy meat to sink her teeth into.

Mmm, meat. Her mouth began to water as the fantasy came. A hefty burger—so big she had to wrap both hands around it to even hope to stuff it in her mouth. But she does. She gets a good portion of that meat between her lips when the juice suddenly hits her tongue, squirting from the Grade A, prime cut of glorious beef, making her moan in pleasure.

No, not a burger. What she was craving at that moment more than anything was sausage. Bigshaft Brothers sausage to be exact. Her eyes focused and she realized where she’d gotten the idea.

The stud-filled commercial for Bigshaft Brothers Pizza was playing out on her television screen. Every part of her body snapped to attention, as did most women’s whenever the brothers’ commercial came on.

“You know you want it,” the tallest brother, Aiden, said, his eyes piercing into the camera, narrowed in accusation. Nikita Mirzani could tell he knew her deepest secret—that she was a hungry, meat-craving little slut. Her eyelids fluttered.

“I am. I really am. I gotta have it. Feed it to me, you raven-haired god—you and all of your four brothers too.”

“Pick up the phone. We’ll bring it right over,” one of the broad-shouldered middle boys—Cash or Colt, she couldn’t tell the twins apart—purred. “In thirty minutes you’ll have a Bigshaft Brothers sausage in your mouth.”

His twin brother winked as he displayed a large sausage in his fist. He pushed the length of meat into the camera shot until Nikita Mirzani was not able to tear her eyes from the size of it. She didn’t just want that meat-stick—she needed it.

Licking her lips, she could almost taste Cash or Colt’s sausage on her tongue. The other twin reached up and grabbed his brother’s meat, holding it upright for the camera like a spokesmodel and raising his eyebrows in a silent message

Nikita Mirzani was sure she could read through the television waves. “Even I can’t believe how great my brother’s meat is. We’ll have it ready in no time for you to enjoy.”

Declan, the only blue-eyed one of the group, added shyly, “Your satisfaction is completely guaranteed.”

Just as he finished his one line, the youngest brother, Derek, threw his arm around Declan and declared, “There are a lot of us Bigshaft Brothers to go around, so order one of our pizzas now and one of us will come. And don’t worry! We’ll bring napkins and we always carry pockets full of condiments!”

The camera panned back to show all five brothers with their own sausage in their hands, fisting the uncut meat proudly for the audience. The camera closed in as the boys all pushed their sausage into the shot.