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From: thebear@io.com (The Bear)
Subject: Predator - new story for Halloween - MF nc blood death horror
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Message:  PREDATOR.TXT

********************************************************************
The following is a work of fiction involving sexual relationships 
and activities. This particular story also involves some violence.
If you feel that it is illegal, immoral, or otherwise 
improper for you to read this, then DON'T READ IT.
*******************************************************************

Predator
A Tale for Halloween


short fiction by The Bear - thebear@io.com


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, you 
bitch. If I can't come in your filthy cunt, I'll take your 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 and turned to run, reaching to throw 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 and casually tore his denim work pants open as 
if they were tissue paper. 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 
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 he tried to scream, but couldn't.

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 
footprints were quickly smudged beyond recognition by the 
dancers' feet.


*********************************** 


Copyright 1997 by The Bear - thebear@io.com. 


You may copy this file for personal use only. Please do not 
redistribute.
Please do not post or repost to newsgroups without my 
permission.
Eli the Bearded has my permission to archive this story in the 
ASSM archives.
All others, please do not archive this story without my written 
permission.


All other rights reserved. 


************************************


____________________________________________

realname:  The Bear
____________________________________________

username:  thebear@io.com
____________________________________________

note:  ANONYMOUS MAIL FORM - The purpose of this form is to allow a
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isn't too much of an annoyance for you to read - I'll try to get the
remailer stuff figured out ASAP so I can send real mail anonymously.
____________________________________________

subject:  Predator - new story for Halloween - MF nc blood death horror
____________________________________________

recipient:  story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us, thebear@io.com
____________________________________________

Submit:  Submit
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