Message-ID: <12657eli$9807022342@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister) Subject: {ASSM} Story: Eyes of Pain Two-Maneater - maneater.txt [1/1] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6neuu7$1br$3@solaris.cc.vt.edu> Greetings. Here is another story from the Mind of H.D. Meister. If you are not at least 18 or live in a community which does not allow adult material, DO NOT READ THIS. Post freely, archive and critique as you will so long as the work is not altered in any way, you do not gain a profit from my work, and all due credit is given to the author: me. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eyes of the Tiger: Maneater By: H.D. Meister (dez187lm@hotmail.com) She felt the snarl play across her lips, demanding that she give in to her desires. But the night was still young; there would be plenty of prey to choose from. Both male and female flesh would soon fill the bar, coated with chemicals to hide their arousal while inciting it within others. She chose a seat which faced the door and waited. This night her wait was not long. She saw him walk in and knew that he would be the one she feasted on this night. He walked with false confidence, his eyes fixed in a poor approximation of someone who belonged there. She watched as he produced his ID for the door keeper. The snarl formed truly when she saw the slight waver in his confidence. Taking her drink in one hand, she rose and made her way to him. He walked to the upstairs portion of the bar and she followed. Making her way to a pool table, she let her eyes linger over him. He saw; he was too attentive not to have noticed a beautiful red headed woman looking at him. She smiled as she saw him gulp. She did not wonder if he would gather the courage to speak to her; if he did not she would go to him. she turned away from him and selected a cue stick, taking her time. when she turned around, he was there. His eyes were moist with fear and his hands trembled. At least he knew he was prey; that meant she would have to spend less time putting him in his proper place. She began the dace of words easily, choking down the urge to simply take him then and there. He responded as did all prey: he stumbled, muttered, and generally made a fool of himself. Yet he never once tried to hide the excitement within him. They played two games of pool. Even though he was not of age to drink, she allowed him several long pulls from her own mixed drink. The red glow in his eyes said that he did not have the constitution for alcohol. She did. When she grew tired of playing, she asked him if he would accompany her to her apartment. She gave a convincing story of being rejected by another. He smiled warmly and agreed. As she led him out of the bar, she saw the bartender glare at her. She knew he would ask how he was supposed to get back to the dorms, and when he did she offered him the chance to spend the night. She could see the idea play across his face, and could hear the tales he thought he would tell to his friends. He accepted; they always did. She mixed two drinks making hers slightly weaker than his. Then she sat beside him and talked about nothing. Him. His family. Her phantom other who had rejected her. He had finished his drink and was beginning to move closer and closer to her. She smiled; he thought he was being suave. He was prey. Nothing more. When he was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, she pounced. It was nothing more than a soft touch of her lips against his, but it was all that was needed. His hands, trembling with doubt, reached for her arms. His touch was gentle, similar to that of a frightened rabbit sniffing what should be food. The taste of his flesh was sublime. Fruit juice and alcohol mixed with the purest innocence. Her teeth itched to sink into his neck and draw out his life's blood. But he was prey; startled he could do anything. Including run. She had locked the door, but knew from her first hunt that a locked door was no guarantee where frightened prey was concerned. She slid her hands over his chest. The thundering beat of his heart made its way through the thin fabric of his shirt. He was hers. His hands grew more bold, but still took their lead from her. As she moved her hands underneath his shirt, his slid under the silk blouse she wore. She slid her tongue into her mouth and he followed suit again. With a start, she realized that she was about to feed on a virgin. Untouched flesh. Pure innocence. Unblemished by the cruelty of Love and Lust. And he was hers. Fortune had smiled upon her. She pulled away from him, watching as fear of a different kind filled his eyes. She smiled, walked to the center of the livingroom and removed her blouse. He sat there, awestruck. She let her blouse slide off of her arms, cascading to the carpet. She turned around, presenting her firm bottom to him, and slowly turned her head towards him. She saw his rise and walk towards her. His hands had lost most of the tremble within them as he slid the zipper of her skirt down. Seconds later, the skirt joined her blouse on the floor. She turned to face him, her eyes falling down. They stopped, making contact with a rather large bulge in his denim shorts. Eager to see if it was natural, she set about removing his clothes with practiced skill, abandoning all pretense of gentleness. She hungered, and the feast was laid before her. When she dropped his shorts to the floor, she was pleased to see that the brief he wore were simple in design and not padded; his bulge was a result of nature. She stripped him quickly, snarling as she exposed his flesh. He tried vainly to slow her down, but it was no use. He was hers now. She sank to her knees and stuffed him fully into her mouth. His whimper was music played by angels. She always enjoyed the death rattle of her prey. She sucked hard, wanting not to please him, but to taste his first seed of the night. He would not leave her, but he was a virgin. She did not wish to slaughter him when he left her unsatisfied. His slaughter would come only after she had pleasured her cunt several times, and possible her long neglected rear entrance. Pull after pull on his cock, and he still refused her. She pulled away and smiled briefly; he would struggle until the end. More pleasure for her. She returned to her task, this time flicking her tongue over his heavily laden sac. The grunts told her that she was successful. She filled her mouth with him and prepared for her first taste of virgin seed; it was delicious. As she pulled away, taking with her the last drops of his seed, she stared at his cock. It refused to die, taking after it's supposed master. She stretched down on the rug and awaited his arrival. She was surprised to see him lower himself, but head first between her thighs. Even now, dead beyond his knowledge, he felt the need to return the pleasure she gave him. She stroked his head as he removed her panties and plastered his mouth against her baby smooth mound. His inexperience showed, but it was backed by enthusiasm. He licked, slurped, and sucked at her, draining as much of her fluids as she could provide for him as if that would give him back some portion of the life she had taken from him. All it gave, it handed to her in the form of three explosive orgasms. And he stayed with her, wrapping her hands around her waist as if she would leave him. Her lips pulled into a snarl as the last orgasm slammed its way through her. Grabbing his head she yanked him onto her, then quickly rolled over. With him pinned beneath her, she reached over to a nearby table and retrieved a condom. Impatient, but not foolish, she ripped open the package and quickly placed the latex barrier over his upright member. She didn't take time to prepare herself for the intruder; she placed the tip of his cock against her outer lips and impaled herself. The force took her breath away; he was much thicker than she was used to, but the faint paint would fade as she fed. She rode him hard, never once letting him catch his breath. As his hands sought out the clasp of her bra, she dug her nails into his flesh, drawing thin trails of blood from his chest. And he mewled like a kitten at the pain. She never gave him the same path into her, moving her hips this way and that. Even when he tried to find her rhythm she would alter her stride, making it impossible for him to take control. Three more orgasms rocked her, and she still did not feel the tell-tale pounding which foretold of his impending orgasm. She even lifted herself clear of his body, intending to fill her asshole with him. She did not care what morals he may have had; he was hers. he was prey. He existed so that she could continue to exist. With effort, she had him fully within her rear. His moan went unnoticed as she fucked herself. When she felt her clit being toyed with, she smiled. If he thought that he could make her succumb to the fury of her own desires he was mistaken. Just as mistaken as she was about him. She felt him rise as an orgasm washed over her. She knew what he was about to do, but lacked the power to push through the pleasure of her own orgasm. On all fours, she felt him fuck her asshole with a power he should not have possessed. She turned her eyes towards him and witness a dead glare in his eyes. She had seen it before and was not concerned, but this glare bore a tint which was all too familiar to her. Fear gripped her as she knew that her prey, once dead, was now the most powerful of denizens: undead. He did not care about her or himself. His own orgasm did not matter. He was little more than a tasked zombie doing what some archmage in a blackened tower had said. He was fucking her. She struggled to give back as good as he gave, fighting to remain in control. yet the pleasure he gave her was an unexpected ally in his battle. She swayed as wave after wave or orgasmic power made its march through her body. When orgasm finally made its way to him, she listened to the moan which oozed from his chest. Long. Mournful. Dead. He fell away from her, removing himself from the confines of her bottom. She lacked the strength to do more than fall to the floor and sleep. When she awoke, he was gone. Beside her head was a note. I do not know your name, but I know who you are. I failed, but there will be others. Thirteen years had passed. She had feasted on many in that time. Each one was different, and pleasing in their own way. yet there was always the fear of seeing that faint tint in their eyes. She had fed... but the hunger still lived. And so did those eyes. (dez187lm@hotmail.com) -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----