session with the SuperPredator might
do to him.
He'd had a hard time explaining his
wounds at the emergency ward. Luckily
he was such a regular that they had
barely listened to a word he said. They just cal ed for a psychiatrist to visit with him while they bandaged up his
mutilated ass. Once he'd managed to
convince the bored psychiatrist that he wasn't suicidal or delusional, he'd been released with a prescription for
painkil ers and a recommendation to
seek professional help. Frank had
smiled warmly and left. He'd
masturbated to the memory of the pain
as he drove himself home, nearly
crossing the yel ow line into oncoming
traffic when he recal ed Joe's reaction as he slurped down the sliver of flesh
sawed from Frank's buttocks.
It had shocked him to see the man
ejaculate by merely tasting a smal
morsel of his flesh. He'd never felt so loved as he had seeing the pleasure his meat had brought to the big carnivore.
The hunger that sprang into the man's
eyes after the orgasm subsided had
been terrifying but extremely erotic. He wanted to give more of himself to Joe, to see the predator's eyes rol up in his
head and his body shudder as the
ecstasy of blood and meat erupted from
him. It had been obvious that the man
had wanted more of Frank ... much
more, perhaps more than Frank could
survive. Stil , Frank was wil ing to risk it. He hadn't been able to think of anything else since he'd run in terror from Joe's rundown apartment building.
Reading the cannibal fantasies on the
Long Pig site had almost convinced him
it was worth losing his life for the
experience of being consumed by such
a powerful predator, to bind his flesh
forever with that beautiful man. Final y, Frank couldn't resist any longer and
decided to go visit his SuperPredator
again.
He'd had more than a few whiskey sours
when he walked brazenly up to the front door of the rundown building and rang
the bel to the apartment where Joe was supposed to live. He couldn't imagine
that anyone real y lived in such a place though, especial y not the beautiful wel groomed Clark Kent look-alike. But this was where he'd met him for their little rendezvous just a few nights before. He rang the doorbel a few more times
without an answer. Then he pushed on
the front door and it swung open easily, revealing the same dusty old lobby
where he and Joe had exchanged flesh
and blood for sweat and semen. It was
empty and looked like it had been that
way since before Frank was born.
"Hel o?" Frank cal ed out softly and heard only his voice echoing through the dank stagnant air. The place smel ed like a damp moldy basement.
Frank crept cautiously inside and closed the door behind him. The oppressive
darkness that swooped in on him,
choking al light from the room, panicked him. Without the glare of the streetlights outside it was total blackness. A chil of dread scurried over Frank's flesh,
raising goose bumps, as the old building seemed to swal ow him in one great
gulp. Frank quickly swung the front door open again to let a little light in. Even with the faint light creeping in from the street, Frank had a difficult time
navigating his way to the stairs. There was no way he was going to risk
climbing into the building's rickety old elevator and getting stuck inside. From the way this place looked it would be
decades before anyone found him.
He remembered what apartment Joe
had told him to ring and began making
his way up the stairs toward it. The
alcohol coursing through his
bloodstream had made him a little
braver than normal, along with the fact that he was as much addicted to the
adrenaline rush of fear and pain as he
was to that of orgasm. Stil , he jumped at every sound as he crept his way up the
darkened stairway toward the apartment
on the fifth floor.
"Joe! Joe, are you up there?" He was cal ing out mostly for the
reassurance of hearing his own voice
echo back at him, the one familiar sound in this tomb of squeaking stairs and rats. When he reached the fifth floor he stuck his head out and was assaulted by the
odor of urine, fecal matter, and decay. Again he wondered if anyone but a few
stray cats, some rats, and perhaps a
dog or two, lived in this place. He could see some of the hippies who wandered
up and down Haight Street begging for
change and reeking of marijuana and
patchouli oil living in a place like this, but Joe would have been horribly out of
place. Perhaps this was just the place
where he took his lovers (To murder and eat? What was that sickening smel ?) to fuck.
Frank nearly ran down the hal to room
510. He skidded to a stop just outside
the room in which his dream lover was
supposed to reside, surprised to find the door open.
"Joe? Are you in there?"
There was no response except for a loud thump from somewhere deeper inside
the dingy sparselyfurnished apartment.
Frank crept in and surveyed the
apartment. It looked like a jail cel . There was only one lamp, a smal eighteeninch television and VCR atop a milk crate, two folding chairs, a table, and the paintings.
The wal s were lined with acrylic
paintings of figures bathed in red. Frank moved closer to them and realized that
the figures in the paintings were not just bathed in red. They were bleeding.
Slowly his eyes began to make sense of
the chaos on the canvases. The pink and tans represented human flesh. Meat
opened up so that the muscle and
sinews showed through the skin. The
white was bone. And the red was
obviously blood. The paintings looked
like people turned inside out. And there were pieces missing from them. Some
were missing legs or arms. Some were
obviously women without breasts. Some
had no heads. Some had heads with no
faces. Many were of men or women with
their sex organs removed. In the place of each anatomical omission was a ragged
hole, bleeding down the canvas.
Frank heard the loud bump again. It was coming from the bedroom.
"Joe? Are you okay in there? It's me. Frank."
Frank pushed open the door, saw the
woman who was now handcuffed by her
wrists and ankles with duct tape
wrapped around her mouth. He looked
down at her breasts and could see the
Band-Aids over her nipples. Whatever
had happened, the panic in the woman's
eyes told him that it had not been
consensual.
There was a slight trickle of blood from a smal cut on her forehead, presumably
from where she had fal en off the bed.
Her ankle cuffs were stil attached to a chain in the ceiling that would have
made it impossible for her to move more than a few feet from the bed. She was
flopping around, trying to get to her feet, and when she noticed the diminutive little man standing there her eyes began
pleading with him for help. She held her wrists out and shook them at him,
imploring him to remove the handcuffs,
but he had no key and was beginning to
fear for his own safety. The best thing for him to do, he reasoned, would be to get the hel out of there and cal the cops. He started to back out of the room and
the woman's pleas became more
insistent. She shook her hands violently at him and pounded her feet on the floor. Her eyes began to tear up with
frustration as Frank scuttled backward
out of the bedroom. The more panicked
she became the greater Frank's resolve
grew that he was definitely in the wrong place and in danger of getting far worse than he had bargained for if he didn't
leave now.
Frank's eyes darted from the woman to
a painting that sat on the floor outside the bedroom. This one was larger than
the rest and it was of a voluptuous
woman chained up on a bed like this
one. Only the woman in the picture had
no breasts at al and her chest was
opened up like a rose in bloom.
This was the only painting where the
face was rendered clearly. It was almost ultrarealistic, like a snapshot. And it was obviously the woman on the bed. The
same wounded eyes. The same dimpled
cheeks. Only the woman in the painting
was screaming in some twisted
marriage of pain, terror, and ecstasy. It was a powerful image. Frank wondered
if the woman had seen it. It was what her future would be if Frank didn't come
back with help. The smel of death and
decay was now omnipresent and
seemed to rise like a warning siren,
singeing the hair on his nostrils and
tel ing him to get out.
"I'11 get help. I'l be back. I promise," Frank said, speaking both to the woman
on the bed and the one in the painting. The present and the probable future.
His eyes drifted away from hers, trying to avoid her silent pleas, and as they swept the rest of the apartment he suddenly
recognized himself in one of the
paintings. This one was even worse than the rest. It was painted in mostly whites and reds. Bones and blood. Almost al
the flesh had been completely re moved. Only the face remained, the eyes staring heavenward as if in rapture, the mouth
slack as if in the aftermath of orgasm. Frank's legs trembled and threatened to buckle.
Chapter Twenty-three
Joe had just left to get gas in the van when he spotted Frank in his rearview
mirror, crossing Folsom Street, heading for the front door of his apartment
building. He was instantly enraged by the intrusion. He had given the little man a chance to walk away from this yet here
he had come, sticking his nose back
into Joe's business, begging to be
murdered. He had heard of deer that
would bare their throats to the wolf when they became old or sick, seeming to
long for the predator's jaws at their
jugular to end the misery of their lives. Long pigs apparently had the same fatal instincts.
Circling the block rather than risking a dangerous U-turn in the middle of
Folsom Street, Joe felt his adrenaline
pulse and his heart rate quicken. The
monster was awakening. By the time he
made it back to the front of his building Frank was nowhere to be found and the
front door was wide open. Joe punched
the dashboard so hard that it cracked.
"Shit!" he roared as he pul ed the van to a halt and dashed out onto the sidewalk and into the building.
The lobby was empty. Frank must have
taken the stairs up to the top floor,
looking for him. Joe punched the button for the elevator and waited impatiently for it to descend. His mind went over
different scenarios for Frank's
destruction and disposal. Joe smiled
when he noticed that he had gotten an
erection. Perhaps this would be just what he needed to tide him over for the long trip to Seattle. Another fresh kil to snack on. He stepped into the elevator and
rode it to the top floor, pacing impatiently, anxious for the kil . The doors whooshed open and Joe stepped out into the
hal way, in time to see Frank backing
slowly out of his apartment with a
trembling hand clutching his mouth and
the other thrust out in front of him as if to ward off an attack. Yet the one thing in that building in any condition to attack him wasn't in the apartment but in the
hal way behind him.
Joe charged him, sprinting down the hal at ful speed with his head low and his arms outstretched as if preparing for a footbal tackle. The last thought Frank had before impact was just how much
the big col ege kid real y did look like Superman, especial y when he was
flying like that.
Joe leapt forward and struck the little man in the solar plexus with his shoulder, knocking the wind out of him and driving him straight through the door across the hal , which turned to kindling under the tremendous impact. As soon as Frank
felt the squishy wetness beneath him, he knew what that horrible putrid smel had been. It hadn't been a dog or a cat after al , rather what the cats and dogs had
been feeding on.
Frank screamed as he looked down to
see his arm sunk up to the elbow in the flayed and ruptured chest of a female
corpse. Her eyes stared at him, frozen
wide in terror. Her lips and much of her cheeks had been eaten away, as had
most of the flesh on her torso, arms, and thighs. The scant flesh that remained
was mottled with purple and blue spots
and bloated where it had not been torn
open. Frank looked from the feral felines and diseased vermin scurrying away in
the dark to the handsome and enraged
giant storming through the open door
toward him. He was unsure which of the
animals had eaten the most of the dead
woman's corpse. Fortunately, he had
little time to consider it before a fist col ided with his jaw and he slipped into darkness.
Joe looked down at the little man who lay draped unconscious over his most
recent meal and tried to consider what to do with him. He was stil fat off Emma's flesh and though he was powerful y
aroused by the thought of fresh meat, he knew that his hunger would be tenfold by the time he reached Seattle. Perhaps if he could somehow keep Frank's body
fresh he'd have something to snack on
along the way to give Alicia a better
chance of surviving the trip. Joe
considered for a moment how much
easier it was becoming to make these
kinds of decisions. He was rapidly
becoming a monster, a calculating kil er. Stil , he reasoned, as long as he kept
Alicia alive, as long as he could resist the temptation to devour her luscious
body, then the transformation was not yet complete. He was stil human, at least
partial y.
He already had one hostage so it made
no difference to him if he had to increase that number to two. If he kept Frank alive then he wouldn't have to worry about his meat spoiling and the rats and other
scavengers getting to him the way they'd gotten to the librarian. Most of her meat had been wasted. He'd managed to
save a little of her buttocks and organs in his little hotel-sized refrigerator before the rest of her had become cat food.
Stil , he'd found Emma's cold flesh
unsatisfying. He hadn't yet progressed to the point where he could get the same
joy out of carrion. He preferred his meat alive and kicking. He'd try to preserve Frank, eating only smal ration
s of his flesh for as long as he could keep him
alive.
He dragged the smal man's body
across the hal , removed al of Frank's clothes, and began wrapping him in duct tape. It disturbed him to see Alicia
staring at him as he trussed up the little man so he picked her up and placed her
back on the bed facedown. Then he
dragged Frank's limp body into the
bathroom and slammed the door shut
behind him.
Frank didn't awaken until Joe dumped
him into the shower and turned the water on ful blast. The little man's eyes darted in every direction, seeking a point of
reference and an avenue of retreat. He
gagged as water rushed into his nose
and squeezed his eyes shut as it flooded them. When he felt the hand slide
between his legs and lather up his
genitals he opened them again.
The huge man was leaning over him and
washing him as if he were an invalid.
Frank started to protest but then realized that there was a gag over his mouth.
Next he noticed the silver tape cinching his ankles and wrists together. His cock sprang to life as the huge hands stroked it with a fistful of suds even as his
asshole clenched tight in fear. When he saw the hunger that leapt into
SuperPredator's eyes, he tried
unsuccessful y to wil his throbbing organ to wilt.
Joe began to stroke the man's cock
more aggressively. He held it under the shower and washed al the soap away
as the little man's thick penis swel ed to an impressive length and girth. It was
beautiful. Joe wanted to taste it right now. To grind it up with his blunt little teeth and swal ow it. He was
mesmerized, watching the impressive
organ swel even larger as the little man struggled in vain to free himself,
obviously aware of the purpose for which he was now being prepared.
Frank felt a bizarre combination of fear, elation, and deep sexual enjoyment as
he considered his predicament. Naked,
bound and gagged, being jacked off by
a gorgeous muscular young man who
was apparently a cannibal and murderer
who had already tasted of his flesh and enjoyed it. The giant was staring at
Frank's cock with undisguised hunger
and Frank tried hard not to think about what it would feel like when he inevitably bit it off. Then the cannibal lowered his head between Frank's legs and Frank
Succulent Prey by Wrath James White Page 13