Succulent Prey (6 page)

CONNOISSEUR LIKE YOU. YOU NEED

SOME OF THIS NICE TENDER GIRL

FLESH. I'VE GOT DD BREASTS WITH

BIG FAT NIPPLES, WIDE HIPS, AND

THICK THIGHS, AND A NICE BIG FAT

ASS. IT WOULD TAKE YOU A MONTH

TO EAT ALL OF THIS.

She'd obviously forgotten that she'd

once sent him a picture of herself and

she'd been a petite Filipino woman who, to her credit, did have huge breasts but was far from having voluptuous hips or a

"big fat ass" as she claimed. Joe knew it was al bul shit, but it was getting him violently aroused. He

decided to check out Meatfor-thetable's website.

When he clicked the link at the bottom of the message he was surprised to see a

familiar face pop up on the screen.

Frank. The same guy he'd earlier been

speculating about devouring whole as he spun out yet another tale of sex and

abuse at the SAA meeting. It was a nude photo and Frank hadn't been lying. He

did have a pretty big cock and an ass

that was fatter and rounder than most

men, sort of like that of a woman. Joe

sent him an instant message and he

responded with undisguised

enthusiasm.

HI SUPERPREDATOR!

HI FRANK.

Pause.

DO I KNOW YOU?

YES. YOU KNOW ME. WOULD YOU

LIKE TO KNOW ME BETTER?

YES, BUT I'M SORT OF NEW TO THIS.

YOU WON'T KILL ME, WILL YOU? I

JUST WANT YOU TO BITE ME, TO

HURT ME. YOU CAN EVEN BITE OFF

A FEW PIECES IF YOU WANT. I JUST

DON'T WANT TO DIE.

I WOULDN'T KILL YOU, FRANK.

WE'RE OLD FRIENDS. I JUST WANT

TO BITE INTO THAT SWEET LITTLE

ASS OF YOURS.

WHO ARE YOU?

I'M SUPERMAN.

Chapter Seven

Joe had set up an apartment down in

one of the seedier areas of town, far

away from campus. A commercial

district fil ed mostly with warehouses and retail stores. It was nearly desolate at night. He had intended it to be his art studio. The tiny room was cluttered with paint and canvas. One or two finished

paintings hung on the wal s amid the

countless unfinished ones. He'd found it more and more difficult to paint lately. It was supposed to be therapeutic, but

letting his imagination roam like that only seemed to make the monster hungrier.

Luckily, he'd soon found other uses for the old apartment. It was perfect for little clandestine affairs.

Frank arrived just after midnight,

wearing baggy jeans and a tank top.

Clothes that he could easily slip out of. He smiled wide when Joe answered the

door.

"Oh my God! I was hoping it would be you!" His eyes lit up like an orphan on those rare Christmas mornings when

Santa Claus did not forget him.

The smal man with the bruised and

battered face and the nervous,

desperate eyes of a cornered animal,

tiptoed gingerly into the dingy hal way. Joe slammed the door behind him. They

both stood in the ancient vestibule

eyeing each other greedily.

"Superman," Frank whispered softly in appreciation, as he looked the big

muscular col ege kid over from head to

toe. He fel into Joe's arms and tried to kiss him. Joe shoved him back against

the wal and pinned him there with one

arm.

"Uh-uh. I'm not that way."

Frank looked frightened but he was

excited.

"I didn't think you were gay, but then why am I here?"

"To be eaten."

Joe produced a smal slim scalpel and

Frank's breath quickened.

"You ... you said you wouldn't hurt me."

"No, I said I wouldn't kil you and I won't. But there wil be pain. I'm sure you'l like it, though. Jack off if you want. Get the endorphins going. You'l enjoy the pain once your adrenaline starts racing." Joe unbuckled Frank's jeans and

dropped his pants. Frank's cock was

hard as granite and glistening with a

sheen of precum. Joe wanted to slice it off and eat it but he held himself back. The frightened little man took his eyes off of the scalpel in Joe's hand for a

moment and looked at his surroundings.

The wal s were al cracked, with paint

peeling from them in long sheets.

Everything was covered in cobwebs and

dust and the hal ways were al dark.

There was a reception desk with a

shattered mirror in back of it and an

overturned chair covered in rust and

dust.

"What is this place? Does anyone

actual y live here?"

"This is nowhere. Now turn around!" Joe commanded.

The smal man turned to face the wal .

He leaned his face against the drywal

but left his hands free so that he could stroke himself as the man he'd known as SuperPredator online and simply as Joe

at the SAA meetings began to cut

Frank's trembling buttocks. Frank shot a hot stream of semen al over the filthy wal and down onto the cracked tiles at his feet as the huge muscular man sliced off a chunk of his ass.

Joe was overwhelmed by sensations as

he brought the glistening blood-wet meat to his lips and slurped it into his mouth. Just as he'd expected, he could taste the little man's soul as he devoured the smal sliver of life, absorbing a smal piece of him and assimilating it in his stomach, becoming one with the diminutive

masochist. He could taste the little man's fear and pain and ecstasy vibrating on

his tongue like he'd just licked a coke spoon. He could feel Frank's life

marrying with his own, surging through

his blood like rocket fuel, and was

surprised when he found himself

suddenly gripped by his own orgasm as

the tender meat slid down his throat. His body jerked and bucked as if having a

seizure. Frank looked up at him in awe. He couldn't believe the man was

cumming just by tasting him. They both

col apsed onto the hard dusty floor,

panting heavily.

"Oh my God! That was incredible!"

"You should go now, Frank." Joe's breathing was stil heavy, but his voice was cold and hard. He didn't look at

Frank as he spoke, but rather stared

straight ahead into the shadowy lobby.

"What? You want me to leave? You're not going to fuck me? You don't want

another taste?"

"If you don't leave now, I'l never let you leave. Do you understand? This is the

only chance I'm going to give you to save your life. Leave now and never come

back here." He was stil not looking at Frank. His body was tense now and his

erection had come surging back to life. Frank wanted to take the man's cock

down his throat. But something in Joe's voice let him know that staying there any longer, getting the SuperPredator

aroused again, would have been a death

sentence.

Frank gathered up his clothes and

scampered out into the street, stumbling as he tried to run and step into his pants at the same time. He slid his underwear up over his wounded ass, wincing from

the pain, and hopped down the street

with one leg in and one leg out of his

jeans and the blood saturating his boxer shorts. Joe slammed the door behind

him.

The next day Joe went online again and

was instantly assaulted by instant

messages from Frank begging for a

repeat performance. He logged off and

left the cafe. He had to stay away from the Long Pig Message Board for a

while. It was easier to cure an addiction when there was no supply. Eating that

one slice of flesh from Frank's buttocks had been the most intense sexual

experience he'd ever had and he wanted

more. Much more. He knew now that

whatever was wrong with him was

beyond his control and that if he saw the little man again he'd probably murder

and eat him. He had to get more serious about finding a cure. There was no way

SAA could handle this problem.

After a quick shower, Joe caught the

BART train back to campus. He kept his

head down, trying not to make eye

contact with anyone as he made his way

across campus to the university library. He was afraid that his eyes would betray his thoughts. There was a smal piece of gristle between his teeth from his recent appetizer. He worked at it with his

tongue, trying to worry it free. Each time his tongue brushed the miniscule piece

of flesh a fresh tingle went through his loins.

Chapter Eight

The library emptied out as even the diehard medical students and political science majors final y returned their

dusty old books to the shelves and

dragged their tired minds back to their dorms. Joe had heard it said that when

you slept your mind let go of al logic and structure, al sanity and order, for the madness of dreams. Joe wanted

anything but madness. He was actively

trying to fight it off. He was convinced that he was onto something, something

that would explain the insatiable hunger roiling within him.

Joe knew that he was not a monster. Not Joe knew that he was not a monster. Not by choice. Maybe none of the others

were either? Not until they were altered by whatever sickness had infected him.

If it was a disease, not a disease of the mind but a true physical virus that was somehow transmitted from one person

to the next, then it could be cured. There might be an antidote.

Piled before him were three stacks of

books four feet high that encompassed

nearly two centuries of rape, murder, and superstition. Joe poured through the tal stacks until the moon had traveled from one side of the sky to the other. He knew that the librarian must have been dying of curiosity. She had seen him there

every night for over a month scouring

through books on serial murder,

vampirism, and lycanthropy, doing

computer searches on war criminals and

mob mentality, sexual fetishes, and

cannibalism. He knew that she must

have been curious to know what it was

he was working on, but she had only

asked him once and when he hadn't

replied, she'd had the good sense to

avoid further inquiry. It was a good thing too. She had just the sort of ass he liked, plump but firm.

More than once, Joe had masturbated

sitting right there in that library, imagining tearing into her voluptuous buttocks with his teeth and devouring the tender flesh in huge gulps. He'd hid his frantic hand movements behind an unabridged

dictionary and sprayed his semen from

neurosurgery to nightingale. Then he'd

left quickly, sure that she had noticed. When he returned the next day she

smiled politely and gave no indication

that she was aware of having been the

star of his gruesome masturbatory

fantasies.

Just last week he'd even painted her

portrait. He'd composed several

sketches of her, stealing glances at her generous buttocks as she scuttled back

and forth between the rows of dusty

books. When he'd gotten home that night he'd let out his pent-up sexual energies onto the canvas. He'd masturbated

several times as his passion boiled over and his paintbrush whipped across the

canvas in violent slashes of reds, whites, and beiges, mixing his own blood and

semen into the paint. When he was done

he'd hidden the portrait away in his little apartment across town along with al the others. Anyone seeing it would have

immediately recognized his obsession.

Even in the abstract she looked like

meat.

It was past three o'clock in the morning when Joe's eyelids would no longer

remain aloft and his head came crashing down into the middle of Colin Wilson's

Criminal History of Mankind with a thud that echoed loudly throughout the empty room.

"Okay, you. Time to let the monsters rest for a night. Go home and get some

sleep now."

Joe nodded and rose from the table

where he sat behind a mountain of

books. He eyed the pleasantly plump

librarian's large breasts with interest and saw her shudder beneath the heat of his gaze and cross her arms over her

breasts as if to protect them from more than just his eyes. Embarrassed, Joe

gathered up a few books to check out

and stumbled toward the desk. He had

an erection bulging in his pants and he'd seen her eyes zero in on it before he

could cover it with a hardbound copy of 120 Days of Sodom.

The librarian walked behind him, not

wanting to feel his voracious eyes

crawling over her ass, as Joe staggered toward the front desk. Not that she had a particularly nice one in her opinion. It was far too large and her hips were too wide. And not that she thought herself

particularly attractive. Emma Purcel

hadn't felt attractive since she'd turned forty and her breasts had drooped and

her ass had spread, but something

about the way Joe stared at her made

her fear that he might rape her or worse. She didn't know what it was but she

preferred to have him in clear view at al times.

Maybe she was just reacting to the fact that the man had slowly worked his way

through every book on deviant sexuality and serial murder in the entire library and was now apparently branching out

into monsters and werewolves.

When he checked out his morbid little

books and left, she sighed audibly and

crossed herself, asking God to forgive

her for the moistness spreading

between her thighs at the thought of what such a powerful young man could do to