Message-ID: <17041eli$9811070001@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: baird.NOSPAM@baird.pair.com (Baird Allen aka The Bear) Subject: {Baird} RP "Predator: A Tale for Halloween" by Baird Allen (aka The Bear) (MF, horror, blood, death, caution) (CR#229, 10:10:10) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: baird.NOSPAM@baird.pair.com (Baird Allen aka The Bear) 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: <199810280324.VAA08023@www-01.io.com> "Predator" by Baird Allen (The Bear)(MF, horror, blood, death, caution) ********************************************************************* 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. ********************************************************************* Predator: A Tale for Halloween erotic horror story by Baird Allen (mailto:baird@pair.com) originally posted October 1997 under pen-name 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 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 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 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 footprints were quickly smudged beyond recognition by the dancers' feet. *********************************** Copyright © 1997, 1998 by Baird Allen (baird@pair.com) The Inevitable Author's Notes 1) I originally posted this story last Halloween (1997) under my old pen-name, The Bear (thebear@io.com). I don't use that name anymore, because two other guys were posting stories w/ the same pen-name, and I got tired of people confusing me w/ them. I have a new email address to go w/ my new pen-name: mailto:baird@pair.com. 2) My website is still called The Bear's Den, but I am moving it to a new server. The new URL is http://baird.pair.com/bearden.htm , or http://baird.pair.com/docidx.htm if you want to go straight to the sexy stories (mine, DG's, M1ke Hunt's, and Kim's). I'm still in the process of moving stuff over there from the old site, so don't bitch at me if you hit a lot of 404s on the various auxiliary pages. The stories are all in good shape, and that is what most of you will want, anyway. Just make a bookmark to come back later to look at the missing stuff, OK? 3) If you like the story, drop me an email. Maybe that'll encourage me to write something new instead of reposting this old crap. Hey, you never know. 4) I see in the n.s.s. rules that Eli likes to see a statement of copyright license included. Here goes: This story is mine. You have my permission to make one electronic copy or one hardcopy for your personal use. Do not post, repost, archive, or otherwise redistribute this story in any way. Do not put it on a website, FTP site, or any other sort of public venue. All rights reserved. If you violate any of these rules, I'll send Felina after you. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----