Message-ID: <26885asstr$971694602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: bairdTRASH@pair.com (Baird Allen)
X-Original-Message-ID: <jt1lusgdhaailuh3599h2g15f0ijotrai6@4ax.com>
References: <hbgcusckv4v2chir3c08qgicqft4j93g3d@4ax.com> <paqeusg02t0sqi8pb4pnchqaf10hdruk4i@4ax.com> <b64gusk63i0qvju9cgoiqa9ppbmecbkt98@4ax.com> <39e938b5.141893787@news3.newscene.com> <r12husk2a3gofgqr416lkmlmsdv80pq1a4@4ax.com> <2gbhuskatuj38ehlklrteriqmgnm666vtr@4ax.com> <riohussphvloo8aqhsiei8tkvpnqen3kd8@4ax.com> <88fius84imp145nukh45umj9893s0bvh10@4ax.com> <pijkus0s6b4eiq1450eqhrbp4thdcs9oq4@4ax.com> <fjqkusoohqb59vgjacbdpb6qat2d2bskvs@4ax.com>
In-Reply-To: <fjqkusoohqb59vgjacbdpb6qat2d2bskvs@4ax.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by sara.asstr-mirror.org id AAA16664
Subject: {ASSM} RP "Predator: A Tale for Halloween" by Baird Allen (horror, blood, caution)
Date: Mon, 16 Oct 2000 07:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26885>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar
******************************************************************
The following is a work of fiction involving sexual relationships
and activities. If you feel that it is illegal, immoral, or
otherwise improper for you to read this, then DON'T READ IT.
******************************************************************
This particular story, Predator, has a lot of blood and violence
and horror stuff that is gonna be kinda squicky for some of you.
If you're not up for that, then DON'T READ IT.
******************************************************************
I grant permission for Rui Jorge to include this story on his
webpage for Halloween 2000 stories, if he chooses. All other
rights are reserved. See copyright notice at end of story.
******************************************************************
Predator
A Tale for Halloween
erotic horror story by Baird Allen (baird@pair.com)
originally posted October 1997 under my old pen-name, The Bear
Gary was crazy. He knew that he was crazy, but he tried not to let
it bother him. There had been a time when he had taken all of the
medications prescribed for him by the state psychiatrist, until he
realized that they were just keeping him doped up to make him
docile and to dull his mind so that he would not figure out their
schemes. Then he had to kill the psychiatrist, because she knew too
much about him. That was a shame, because she had been pretty, and
also had been nice to him.
He had tried to read the records and notes that he had taken from
the psychiatrist's office files, but had not understood all of the
words. Words like psychotic and paranoid, he knew that those words
meant that he was bad. That was OK, because he knew that he really
was bad. His father had certainly told him so often enough. He
wasn't sure about some of the other words, like multiple-
personality disorder or dissociative disorder. He figured those
probably just meant the same thing, that he was bad.
Now it was Halloween, and Gary sat at the bar in a dance club,
looking around at all of the people in costume. He himself was not
dressed up at all, except for a rubber mask that covered his head.
It was a mask of Quasimodo, but not the kind and gentle Quasimodo
of the insipidly revisionist Disney film. This mask showed a
tortured, scarred, angry face -- it was the face of Quasimodo as he
must have looked when he murdered his master, and when he went into
the charnel chamber to die with the dead Esmerelda in his arms.
Gary liked the mask, because it made him look on the outside the
way he often felt on the inside.
Gary looked around the room at all of the whorish, sluttish girls
and the bad men that were here to prey on them. He patted his right
hip pocket and smiled under his mask, reassured by the compact
solidity of the knife. Like the other bad men in the room, he was
here in search of prey.
The sluts were all dressed up in a variety of costumes, and given
the nature of this meat-market dance club, most of the costumes
were designed to attract as well as to amuse. The skirts were
short, or slit up the thigh; the tops were sleeveless, or
strapless, or had plunging necklines. One slut wore a nun's wimple,
but her black dress was short and tight-fitting, not like a nun's
habit at all. Another was a harem girl, adorned with jewelry and
silk scarves, wearing only a string bikini and baggy, translucent
pants. Others were animals, or she-devils, or witches. A few were
dressed as street whores, which Gary found terribly amusing -- he
thought that the girls on the street were much more honest and
respectable than the ones in here.
Gary sipped at his soda and scanned the dance floor, looking for
the girl who would be The Girl for this evening. Some of them were
openly wanton and lascivious in their dancing, and might as well
have just taken off their clothes and had sex with their men right
there on the dance floor, as far as Gary was concerned. He wished
they would -- he would have enjoyed watching.
He noticed one girl wearing a tight, short, sleeveless, dark brown
knit dress. Her hair was light brown and spilled over her shoulders
in a familiar way that started a warming sensation in his belly. As
she danced, she twisted and turned, keeping up almost continual
light touches against her dance partner's body -- a brush of hip
against his groin, the touch of a hand on his hip, the slightest
contact of her breast against the man's arm. She was teasing the
man, leading him on. Just like Gary's sister had always done. Yes,
this girl could be The Girl.
At that moment the girl turned and looked at Gary. She wore a
simple black eye-mask, but Gary could see her eyes clearly as they
met his gaze. The girl smiled, and it was that familiar smile, just
like Gary's sister had always smiled before that one night. She was
The Girl, all right. Gary felt the warm sensation spread through
his whole body now that he had selected his prey. It was time to
begin the stalk.
Gary watched as The Girl skillfully separated herself from the man
with whom she had been dancing, and returned alone to a small two-
person table in a dark corner. That would make his stalk much
easier, he thought; usually he had to work hard to separate his
prey from the flock, to get her away from girlfriends or other men
and get her off alone somewhere. He watched The Girl take her seat
alone at her table, and he stood up. He switched on his Charming
Self and made his way toward her table, trying to hurry without
appearing to hurry, so that he could get to her before another one
of the men got there.
He knew that when he was his Charming Self the girls all liked him,
and he was pretty sure that The Girl would be no different. He
pulled off his mask as he approached her table, so that she could
see the clean-cut good looks and boyish grin of his Charming Self,
rather than the Quasimodo mask that so closely resembled the Real
Gary. She smiled up at him and nodded when he asked if he could
join her. The old Charming magic was working again.
"I'm Gary," he told her as he sat down.
"For tonight, I'm Felina," she told him. She looked at him
expectantly, as if she were waiting for him to laugh or something,
but he didn't get the joke.
He gave her his Handsome But Puzzled look.
She pointed at the top of her head, and he noticed the triangular
brown ears affixed to her hairband. "I'm a cat," she said.
Gary laughed then. "Oh, I get it. Felina, the cat." This wasn't
starting off too well, but the girl still looked interested in him,
and he still felt the warm sensation that told him that she was The
Girl. He decided to push for some physical contact to move things
along. "Hey, I like this song -- can we dance?"
"Sure." She got up and moved ahead of him toward the dance floor,
letting him appreciate the perfection of her body in its tight-
fitting sheath. The sway of her rounded hips reminded him of the
fun ahead, and he could feel his prick hardening in his pants. He
let his hand brush back against his hip -- yes, the knife was
there, waiting.
Gary was a skillful dancer, when he was being his Charming Self in
pursuit of prey. The DJ was spinning oldies, and the song actually
was one that Gary sort of liked, Prince's "When Doves Cry." The
song had a beat that was fast enough to discourage slow-dancing, so
he could keep enough distance to enjoy watching his prey, but slow
and sensuous enough that he could dance almost without moving his
feet -- although he had the skills to do it when necessary for
stalking, most fast dancing made him feel like a capering fool.
The Girl made the most of the sexy rhythm of the song, sinuously
twisting her hips and shoulders in movements that reminded Gary of
the strippers that he liked to watch. Her breasts moved deliciously
as she rolled her shoulders, and her grin told him that she knew
that he was looking at her and she didn't mind a bit. She slowly
pivoted until her back was toward him, allowing him once again to
relish the movements of her fine ass and legs as she swayed slowly
back and forth. While he was enjoying the view, she looked back at
him over her shoulder; she smiled again, and something sparkled in
her eyes behind the mask. Gary's cock was at full throbbing
erection, and he had to consciously will himself not to keep
touching the knife in his pocket.
The song ended, and immediately a new one began, another Prince
song, "Purple Rain." That was too slow -- Gary had learned that if
he was making progress in his stalking, it could all come undone if
a girl put her hand on his ass and felt the big knife in his
pocket, so slow-dancing was out. He reached for The Girl's hand to
lead her off the dance floor, but she moved up against him and put
her hands upon his shoulders, and he found that he didn't mind
slow-dancing with her at all.
She was shorter than him, her belly-button on a level with the
midpoint of his pants fly, and he fancied that he could feel the
delicate shape of her navel through his clothing as she ground her
belly against his hard-on. The soft warmth of her breasts nestled
closely against his hard, washboard stomach. He knew that she could
feel his hard muscles, knew from experience that a slut like her
would be excited by that.
He looked down at the top of her head, and just then she looked up,
so that they were gazing directly into each other's eyes. Hers were
shadowed by the mask that she wore, giving them the appearance of
black gems glinting with some inner light. He looked into those
eyes... those eyes... suddenly he realized that the song was almost
over, and it was time to make his move. He bent his neck to whisper
in her ear, "Can we go someplace?"
It was the same old line, a tired old line, but he was being his
Charming Self and she was still rubbing her body against him and he
knew without doubt that it would work.
"Yesss," she almost hissed. "Yes, quickly. Let's look back here."
And with that she pulled away from him, caught his hand and started
moving toward the back of the club, where he could see the dim
outline of an open hallway. The hallway was dark, and if it led to
a back alley-way it would suit his purposes perfectly. He followed
her eagerly, beginning to let his Charming Self slip away to be
replaced by The Killer.
He was so far into his Killer mode that when a tall, bulky man
stepped in front of them to block the way, his first impulse was to
take out the knife and start cutting. He didn't like tall, bulky
men -- they reminded him of his father. His father, dead in prison
after his slut sister had told everyone about what Daddy had done
to her and Gary, and what he had made them do together. His father,
dead. His sister...
Gary restrained himself from taking out the knife, but was just
selecting where to drive his fingertips into the tall man's body
for a disabling blow, when The Girl slid in between them. She put
one hand upon the tall man's chest, looked up into his eyes, and
gently pushed him aside. She led Gary around the tall man and into
the dark hallway, then felt along the wall until she found a door.
Gary followed her into the room and shut the door behind him, then
felt for a light-switch. When it came on, the dim light barely
illuminated the small room. Gary looked around. It appeared to be a
storeroom of some sort, with large boxes and crates stacked along
the walls, and a single wooden chair. The Girl pushed some boxes
against the door and gave him a grin that was definitely feline.
"There," she said, "that ought to keep anyone from interrupting
us." She moved into his arms again and pressing her taut belly
against his hard-on.
He grinned his Killer grin down at her. "Let's fuck."
Her eyes met his and she smiled. She backed away, almost to the
chair, and began to sway to the bass beat that came through the
walls from the dance floor. "You don't have to call me Felina, you
know," she purred. She reached down to the hem of her dress - "You
can call me Kitten," - and slowly, slowly drew up the skirt to
reveal her smooth, shaved cunt - "or even Pussy." She let the
fingers of one hand trail down over her mound to toy with her
hairless labia.
Gary reached for his fly without taking his eyes off The Girl,
zipped it open and pulled out his cock. He stroked it one-handed,
watching her. She was the one, alright. She was The Girl for
tonight. A real slut whore, just like his sister.
The Girl continued playing with her pussy, sliding her fingers
inside the folds of flesh and then showing them to Gary, glistening
with juices. "See how wet poor Pussy is? She is ready for that nice
hard prick." With the other hand she pulled her dress-straps down
off of her shoulders, baring first one breast and then both. Her
breasts were firm and tipped-up, like the breasts of a teenager.
Her dark nipples were hard and erect. Her body was perfect,
flawless. She turned a single pirouette, letting him see it all,
then turned away to bend and grasp the back of the chair with both
hands. Again that over-the-shoulder look, showing a certain hunger
this time. "Come on, big guy, put it in me from behind."
Gary stepped up behind her, still holding his cock with one hand.
The Killer was itching to get out the knife and start to work, but
first he had to fuck this slut, had to come on her and rub it in
and tell her what a whore she was. His prick slid easily into her
tight, wet cunt, all the way into her in one smooth motion, just
the way the knife would go in later. Her ass was soft against his
belly. He grabbed her waist with both hands and started to pump his
cock in and out as she moaned her pleasure.
He felt oddly detached from the fucking -- he could feel
everything, could feel his cock plunging in and out of her soft
wetness, could feel the fabric of her dress under his hands where
he held her waist -- but his mind was wandering. He glanced around
the room, and realized that it reminded him of another room. It was
very much like the room to which he had dragged his sister, that
last time that he had found her in a dance club like this one,
whoring herself to the bad men. He had just escaped from the
hospital, and she had been surprised to see him. He had taken her
to that back room and insisted that he had to fuck her, the way
Daddy had showed them. She had laughed and pushed him away, because
she was drunk. But then when he grabbed her, she had started to
scream, and then he had to punch her in the throat to make her
stop. That had stopped the screaming, but she had started coughing
blood and gasping for breath, and then some time while he was
raping her she had died.
He looked back down at The Girl he was fucking, at her round ass,
her slender waist, the perfect lines of her back and shoulders, the
soft, brown hair, and he realized that it was the same room, that
this was really The Girl, his Sister, and that it would be OK
because that was what his father had taught them. But why couldn't
he come? He wanted to come, wanted to pull out and spout his jism
all over her ass, but he wasn't even close. He drove in harder,
concentrating on the sensation of her tight pussy squeezing his
cock -- why couldn't he come?
"Because I'm not letting you," she said, looking back at him again,
and he saw with dismay that it was not his Sister after all, just
another tramp in another club, and he was enraged.
His fury put The Killer fully in charge, and he screamed, "Fuck
Fuck Fuck! Why can't I come?" and pounded on her back with his
fists.
She didn't seem to notice the blows, just pushed the chair away and
stepped forward, neatly disengaging from him. She turned to face
him.
"I told you, I'm not letting you. I'm not ready for you to come
yet." She stood calmly, looking up at him with those black eyes...
those eyes...
Red wrath clouded his vision as he clawed in his pocket for the
knife. With practiced ease he thumbed the switch, and four inches
of sharp steel blade popped out with a loud, solid click. The
Killer waved the knife back and forth, letting her see its gleam in
the dim light of the room. "Bend over that chair, bitch. If I can't
come in your slimy cunt, I'll take your filthy asshole instead!"
The Killer stepped forward, ready to cut her arm, her breast,
somewhere to get the blood flowing and put the fear into her.
With smooth, unhurried grace she slapped the knife out of his hand.
It clanked against the wall and dropped to the floor behind the
boxes. He swung his left fist in a roundhouse blow that should have
crushed her jaw, but she simply held up her arm and when his
forearm struck hers he felt his bones shatter as if he had hit a
steel post. The fear hit him then, and The Killer was gone, leaving
him alone and unsupported.
Gary screamed in pain and turned to run, reaching one-handed to
shove the boxes away from the door so that he could escape. He
wrenched his back trying to move the first box -- it was
unexpectedly heavy, full of canned goods or something -- how had
she moved it into place with such ease?
Then he felt her hand on his shoulder, and he was jerked around and
shoved into the chair. He tried to get up, but couldn't move."I'm
not finished with you yet," she told him, as she knelt down in
front of him. She smiled again, and her teeth seemed different now,
smaller, sharper.
She leaned forward to lick his cock, and to his amazement it
quickly returned to full erection, despite the terror that was
churning his guts. She closed her mouth around his shaft, and he
felt the sharp points of her teeth as they punctured his skin, but
then there was only numbness. When she looked up at him again,
smiling that same feline smile, her teeth and lips were bloody.
He looked down at his prick, and saw blood oozing from a dozen tiny
wounds. She wrapped her hand around his cock, pumping it, jerking
him off with his own blood as a lubricant. When she took her hand
away, the bleeding seemed to have stopped, and his erection was
throbbing almost painfully, swelling larger than he had ever seen
it before.
She wiped her bloody hand on his shirt, then moved to straddle him,
guiding his prick again into her sopping cunt. She moved slowly up
and down on his shaft, concentrating on her own pleasure while he
sat helpless and numb. Then she leaned forward against him, and he
felt the points of her nipples against his chest, then the soft
fullness of her breasts as she leaned closer, then her warm breath
on his neck...
She bit savagely into his neck, tearing the carotid artery,
drinking down the blood that spurted into her mouth. Suddenly he
could feel everything, the burning pain in his neck, the throbbing
agony of his broken arm, the intense pleasure of having his cock in
her pussy, and he knew that he was close to orgasm at last.
"Yes." He heard her voice in his mind -- her mouth was busy
feasting on his blood. "Now you will come, now you will explode in
me, now we will share ecstasy! Come, come, come, pump me full of
your hot jism, spray it into my pussy -- come!"
And he did. Gary had never felt such an intense orgasm. His balls
seemed to pulse with pleasure as his cock spouted a fountain of
semen inside her. Her cunt drained the fluid from his prick the way
her mouth was draining the life from his neck. His head fell back,
and the last thing he saw was her black eyes, looking into his as
she licked his blood from her lips.
Some time later, a small, brown cat went out through the dance club
to the street. No one even noticed the cat, and its bloody
pawprints were quickly smudged beyond recognition by the dancers'
feet.
***********************************
Copyright (C) 1997, 1998 by Baird Allen (baird@pair.com)
By posting this story to the newsgroup alt.sex.stories.moderated, I
consent to copying as necessary for regular newsgroup propagation,
consent to storage for a reasonable retention period on NNTP news-
servers, and consent to downloading and copying for personal use by
readers of this newsgroup. All other rights are reserved. I do *not*
consent to storage or distribution by means of any website, FTP site,
or any other archive, except for the ASSM archive at asstr-mirror.org. I do
*not* consent to any commercial use of this work in any way. I can do
my own reposting if I choose, so please do not repost or otherwise
distribute this work without my permission.
I love to hear from readers, so if any of you are still reading
this after the copyright notice, please drop me an email and let me
know how you liked it (or didn't). Thanks.
(The email address in my From header is munged to foil spam address
harvesters. To reply by email, please take out the TRASH.)
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+