Succulent Prey Read online

  "Wel, he had the most enormous cock. I swear it was almost a ful ten inches and I was gagging on it and loving every minute of it. He came al down my throat and then pul ed his cock out of my mouth and came al over my face. Then he got mean." Frank paused and looked down in his lap where his hands lay clenched tightly. No doubt hiding his erection.

  "What did he do?" Everyone leaned forward in their chairs. Their own addictions drew them into the tale, hungrily searching for that salacious tidbit to momentarily assuage the hunger burning in each of them.

  "He smiled down at me and told me how beautiful I looked with cum on my face, which I thought was kind of nice. But then he started cal ing me a filthy cumsucking faggot. He punched and kicked me until I almost passed out. The funny thing was that while he was kicking my ass I noticed that his cock was getting hard again. After he'd beaten the shit out of me, busted a couple ribs and broke my nose, he pul ed my pants down and raped me, anal y. No lubrication at al. It had to have chafed him as much as it did me. What was even weirder was that

  I kind of enjoyed it."

  Nothing surprising there, Frank, Joe thought. Everyone knew that the effete little guy, who came in every week with his face looking as if it had gone through a meat grinder, was a hardcore masochist. He just hadn't admitted it to himself. If he could just admit it then he could start finding safer trade in S amp;M clubs before he ran into someone who might real y hurt him. Someone like Joe. He was already imagining what he would do to the petite little man if he were ever to get him alone.

  "So how does that make you feel now, Frank?" Mary asked, her voice ful of false concern. Mary was almost as indiscreet in her desire to hear about

  Frank's exploits as Sam, who already had his hand in his pocket, jacking off unselfconsciously.

  Mary had been a regular attendee at these meetings longer than anyone and seemed to wield no more control over her addictions than the rest of them. She propositioned Joe after almost every session. He knew that she'd already fucked nearly every straight guy who'd ever set foot in this place in the seven or eight years she'd been coming. Joe also knew that it drove her nuts that she hadn't had him yet.

  Joe kept his body in excel ent condition. Working out was as much of a compulsion for him as fucking. His face was hard and lean with a squared-off jaw and dark blue eyes. His friends had jokingly cal ed him Clark Kent back in high school because he looked like he should have been on the cover of a

  Superman comic book. Mary wasn't

  Joe's type, though. She was a skanky trailer-park slut. Too skinny, with no ass and smal tits. She looked like a drug addict, which she had been until she'd switched addictions. Frank was just about to reply to her question when Joe interrupted him.

  "I fantasize about biting women's breasts off and eating them."

  That shook things up. Everyone stared at Joe with mouths agape as they tried to compose the proper healing response to such a perverse admission. It was the first time Joe had shared with the group and they didn't want to discourage him, if only for the promise of a new fetish to feed on. This beat every one of Frank's rough trade encounters in Polk Street leather bars, except maybe the one where he got fistfucked by that biker with his arm lubed with motor oil. It certainly shamed Mary's confessions about fucking the neighbors' husbands and masturbating with fruit and household appliances, even the time she'd put peanut butter on her clit to get head from her Great Dane.

  Joe got up and left before they could respond with their trite little twelve-step slogans, though it would have been curious to know which one they could have whipped out for cannibalism. That was the one addiction none of the books addressed. Joe knew. He had already checked.

  Joe jogged the distance from the little storefront church where the SAA meetings were held back to the campus to hit the gym before classes started.

  When he walked into the weight room it was already packed. The track team was in there doing their morning strength training. "Muscle equals speed!" he heard Coach Truman yel ing as he built his athletes into physical specimens that looked more like middleweight boxers than sprinters. Joe stared at their elegant bodies in a trance. He'd always had a fetish for large round buttocks and no one had a meatier, more finely formed gluteus maximus than a sprinter. Particularly the African-American ones who seemed to be genetical y gifted with the type of round meaty asses he loved. They al wore those tiny running shorts that exposed the bottom half of their enlarged glutes. Their thighs were finely sculpted and shimmering with a sheen of sweat. It was almost too much for Joe to bear. He watched the women's sumptuous asses bounce by as they walked from one piece of exercise equipment to the next. He felt like a lion lying down with sheep-and he was getting hungry. An erection was straining in his sweatpants and he had no real way to conceal it. It didn't matter how many girls noticed his arousal and giggled or sneered in disgust. It was worth the sight.

  Joe began his workout with 500-pound squats, grunting and straining his way through four sets of ten. Then he loaded nearly a thousand pounds onto the leg press for another four sets that left his legs quivering from overexertion. He finished off with hamstring curls and quadricep extensions before hitting the showers.

  Even in the locker room the sight of the men's naked flesh was arousing him.

  Joe wouldn't have cal ed himself gay.

  What he felt when he looked at the male athletes' thick muscular thighs and tight wel sculpted asses, their heaving pectoral muscles, and even their thick cocks dangling limply between their legs, was something far more visceral.

  He didn't want to fuck them. He wanted to eat them alive. To rip their supple flesh from their bones, taste the warm blood and meat as it washed over his tongue and down into his bel y.

  Joe finished his shower and removed a fresh change of clothes from his backpack. He shrugged quickly into his jeans and T-shirt before running off to class. He could hear the guys whispering at his back as he left the locker room. They al thought he was a pervert. But they knew better than to say it to his face. Joe was not exactly a smal man.

  Chapter Five

  The tweed-wrapped and bow-tied professor busily scribbled on the huge blackboard at the front of the lecture hal. Flashes of multicolored young flesh whisked by as students hurried to take their seats. Smooth chocolate browns and tans. Creamy whites and yel ows.

  Joe tore himself with effort from the entrancing glimpses of bare arms, slender necks, and naked thighs and calves to give attention to the names the professor had scrawled across the board.

  Andrei Chikatilo. Ed Gem. Gary

  Heidnick. Jeffrey Dahmer.

  Heidnick. Jeffrey Dahmer.

  "Al of these men are murderers.

  Signature kil ers with a very unique signature."

  Joe recognized the connection between those four names before the professor even spoke and he immediately perked up, suddenly very interested. They were not just serial kil ers. They were kil ers who had at least partial y cannibalized their victims. Each of them had tasted human flesh. Many on more than one occasion. Some, like Dahmer and

  Chikatilo, were famous for it.

  "Al of these men murdered, butchered, and ate their victims."

  A shudder ran through the lecture hal like a group wave, fol owed by a moan of utter revulsion. Joe smiled. This is what he had come here for. He'd been delighted when he'd seen the course offerings for criminal psychology. It had taken a fight to get into the class due to its overwhelming popularity but as soon as he had read the title of the course"Abnormal Psychology: Serial Kil ers and Why They Do It"-and seen who the professor was, he knew that he had to sign up.

  Joe knew many more names he could have added to the professor's list. Ed

  Kemper, Albert Fish, Issei Sagawa, even Ted Bundy had engaged in mild cannibalism. It was a common final stage in the evolution of the serial kil er. Some of them just got there sooner than others. Some were caught before it ever advanced to that stage. But Joe's theory was that al serial kil ers, if not app
rehended first, would eventual y escalate to cannibalism. It was a progressive disease and he feared that he himself might have been infected.

  Professor Locke was one of the leading authorities on forensic and criminal psychiatry. He had worked with the FBI back in the late eighties, developing serial kil er profiles in their Behavioral Sciences Unit. He had authored many books on serial murderers, sex and cannibal kil ers specifical y, before he came to end his days teaching the next crop of psychiatrists and criminologists. He was the reason Joe had come to this school.

  "So, why do they do it? Any thoughts?" Joe's hand crept slowly into the air before he'd even ful y decided to raise it.

  "Ali! The footbal player. You have a theory?"

  "Actual y, I'm not in the athletics program. I'm a psychology student."

  The professor peered over the top of his thick bifocals at the enormous young man in the front row, looking him over with new interest. The kid was huge. He was at least six feet five inches tal and nearly 260 pounds, al of it apparently muscle. He would have been a terror on a footbal field.

  "Wel, let's hope you are not wasting your talents. Tel us, what do you think makes them do it?"

  "I think it's a disease. Not just a mental deficiency but a contagious, transmittable virus."

  Everyone in the room began to giggle, including the professor. He held up his hand to silence the other students.

  "No, let's hear the boy out. Go ahead." Joe hesitated but couldn't hold himself back.

  "I think it's a progressive disease that in its initial stages may manifest as only the need to inflict pain and humiliation but eventual y builds to murder, mutilation, and final y to necrophilia and cannibalism. It may in fact be the very disease that spawned the werewolf and vampire legends. Perhaps it's transmitted through saliva or blood, like with a bite or a scratch just like those legends say. Maybe even through semen or vaginal secretions like AIDS. Perhaps you're most susceptible to the disease during childhood and it has a long incubation period, maybe decades. That could explain why most serial kil ers are in their late twenties and early thirties. And why almost al of the real y violent ones experienced some type of trauma or abuse as children. I think that at some point in their youths they exchanged bodily fluids with another kil er or perhaps just a carrier and they acquired the contagion themselves."

  "That's a very interesting theory, son. Very interesting. I'm not sure it has any merit, but I'l tel you what. Why don't you pursue that. Research it and turn something in to me at the end of the semester. Everyone has to do a paper for his or her final grade anyway and this is what we are here to try and find out this semester: what makes these monsters do it. You convince me of that one and you are guaranteed a 4.0." Joe was encouraged by the fact that Dr. Locke hadn't shot his theory down completely. The man seemed to be honestly intrigued. Perhaps he was on to something after al. But Joe wanted more than a perfect grade. He wanted the professor's help in isolating the serial kil er virus and finding a cure.

  Joe sleepwalked through the remainder of his classes that day. His desire had reached a feverish intensity and he was having a hard time concentrating. His head swiveled like a gun turret as students passed in shorts, tank tops, and miniskirts, a buffet of luscious bodies whose every movement was a maddening temptation. He could smel the sweat on their skin, the musk of recent sex between a woman's thighs, the coppery twang of menstrual blood, the acrid bleachlike aroma of semen drying inside them, the humid sweat beading beneath the hairy scrotums of the jocks. The most maddening aroma was that of their youthful spirits. Joe could smel their souls burning beneath their skins like an unseen inferno as furious as a forest fire. He wanted to tear into their flesh to get at it. To devour that energy and make it his.

  With effort Joseph Miles wrenched his eyes from the heaving bosom of a passing coed. Joe could almost see the light of her soul swirling like a rainbow and exploding like a nuclear blast. It made him dizzy just looking at it. The scent of it was even more radiant, like fruit and wine and meat and blood al combined into one delirious fragrance.

  Life. He wanted to taste it so bad it made his stomach cramp. He was so thirsty for the taste of her blood that his throat felt parched and dry. His saliva felt thick and tacky in his mouth.

  A riot of emotions swirled through Joe's mind. It had only been recently that his passions had taken such a morbid turn.

  Before it had been enough to fuck anything and everything he could get his hands on. But lately the normal suckand-fuck rituals had begun to bore him. His typical fantasies of multiple sex partners had turned to blood-soaked orgies of torn and ravaged flesh. He could no longer even masturbate without imagining biting into a woman's tender buttocks or engorged breasts. He knew there were places on the Web where he could talk freely about his desires, where they were appreciated. He had sought them out when he first discovered his predilection for the taste of human flesh. He'd been surprised when he'd discovered how many professed cannibals were out there stalking cyberspace for human prey and even more surprised when he discovered that there were women and men who sought these cannibals out, offering their bodies for consumption. Al he could think about now was going online to seek solace in his fel ow perverts.

  Chapter Six

  There was a cybercafe just off campus where a lot of the students hung out. Joe often went there to surf the cannibal sex sites with the hope of finding others with his unique fetish and perhaps someone with whom he could assuage his hunger.

  The Long Pig Message Board was his most frequent stop. "Long pig" was the name given to human flesh because it was said to taste like pork. Joe had never tasted it before except for a few harmless nibbles here and there, but he knew that it wouldn't be long before he indulged himself. The hunger was increasing exponential y with each passing day.

  Many of the people on the site claimed to be wil ing cattle. The site was fil ed with flowery romantic fantasies written by these long pigs about feeding the appetite of their dream lovers. Al of them were eager to serve as meat for the hunger of human predators, or so they claimed. Joe wasn't so sure that any of them did anything more than fantasize.

  They would post long descriptive appeals for a chef to prepare their flesh to be eaten alive or roasted on a spit and then the supposed cannibals would write them back with lascivious details of just how they would cook and consume them. Sometimes they would swap e-mail addresses, presumably to hook up offline. But since the same "long pigs" would be back the very next day tempting someone new, Joe presumed that it was al bul shit. Occasional y, however, a few of them would disappear and never return. Joe liked to think that those had been the real deal and had final y fulfil ed their fantasies; that they were now digesting in someone's stomach, happy and content, if somewhat diminished.

  The only problem with the long pigs available online was that they were almost exclusively male. In fact, he had only seen one female on the message board in the entire time he'd been frequenting it and she had been an obvious fake; getting off on the fantasy of being consumed but too terrified to try it for real. Joe was so worked up today that he didn't care. He began posting long descriptions of how he'd rip apart a long pig with his own blunt little teeth and consume them piece by piece. He could feel someone reading over his shoulder as he typed and hear their gasp of astonishment.

  "Oh, my God, that's sick!"

  It was the voice of one of the girls from his mythology class. She was the type of bubbly airhead that had probably been a cheerleader in high school and had blown half the male faculty for better grades.

  Joe ignored it. Even when the girl brought a couple of friends over to read what he had written and they began to speculate on his sanity, Joe continued to tap away at the keyboard. That was the only problem with the cybercafe. No one minded their goddamned business! Stil, Joe didn't want to go on his roommate's computer during the day. The guy would have a heart attack if he knew the kind of person he was real y living with.

  On the message board Joe went unde
r the screen name of SuperPredator and was fairly wel -known. He was a regular. So much so that he had begun to think of himself more and more in terms of his online persona, a voracious ultrapredator at the top of the food chain above even other human beings. He finished his long post and hit SEND. The replies came almost immediately.

  A man cal ing himself "Meatforthetable" was the first to respond.

  HEY SUPERPREDATOR! YOUR APPETITE SEEMS PRETTY LARGE BUT I THINK I CAN FILL IT. I'M SMALL AND PRETTY LEAN BUT I'M LARGE IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES. I'VE GOT AN 8" COCK AND A NICE PLUMP REAR LIKE A YOUNG TEENAGED GIRL. COME AND GET ME!

  He left his e-mail address at the bottom along with a link to his website where he promised there would be pictures.

  Next was the tease. The woman who cal ed herself "SweetFlesh" sent a long sweaty reply that sounded as if she'd written it with one hand.

  HEY SUPERPREDATOR! I HAVEN'T HEARD FROM YOU IN A WHILE. I WAS STARTING TO THINK YOU DIDN'T LIKE US ANYMORE. I TELL YOU WHAT BABY, IF YOU'RE REALLY AS HUNGRY FOR LONG PIG AS YOU SAY THEN YOU'D LOVE SOME OF MY SWEET TENDER MEAT. THAT MAN MEAT IS TOO TOUGH FOR A REAL CONNOISSEUR LIKE YOU. YOU NEED SOME OF THIS NICE TENDER GIRL FLESH. I'VE GOT DD BREASTS WITH BIG FAT NIPPLES, WIDE HIPS, AND THICK THIGHS, AND A NICE BIG FAT ASS. IT WOULD TAKE YOU A MONTH TO EAT ALL OF THIS.

  She'd obviously forgotten that she'd once sent him a picture of herself and she'd been a petite Filipino woman who, to her credit, did have huge breasts but was far from having voluptuous hips or a

  "big fat ass" as she claimed. Joe knew it was al bul shit, but it was getting him violently aroused. He decided to check out Meatfor-thetable's website.

  When he clicked the link at the bottom of the message he was surprised to see a familiar face pop up on the screen.