Succulent Prey

Joe sat on the blood-soaked bed, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth. The room was completely dark. Headlights from passing cars spun shadows around the walls like a puppet show. Joe’s thoughts were also dark and spinning madly along the inner walls of his skull. He knew he wasn’t cured. Killing Damon had done nothing to assuage his hunger. The pants, groans, and passionate shrieks and cries from next door were awakening the big predator’s murderous libido. He could smell the thick musk of semen, sweat, blood, and stool from the aggressive anal penetration taking place beyond his bedroom wall. In Joe’s pants, the monster rose and stiffened. It was hungry again.

The hooker’s ecstatic outbursts continued in rhythm with the pounding of her skull against the headboard. The animalistic grunts of her brutal trick were making Joe jealous. Another predator intruding on his turf. Joe squished his toes in the blood still leaking from the saturated mattress. Alicia’s blood. The outline of her body was clearly visible as a rustcolored stain. A tear ran down Joe’s cheek as he rose from the bed, gnashing his terrible teeth, and headed for the door.

The whore hadn’t bothered to close the blinds to her apartment and Joe could see her being crushed into the mattress by a long, lean, muscular body saturated in sweat, muscles taut and straining with each violent thrust. The man’s eyebrows were knitted together in concentration. His lips curled into a ferocious snarl. His eyes stared straight ahead at the bedroom wall. The look on his face resembled fury rather than pleasure. He didn’t look like a normal trick. There was something too possessive about the way he handled the whore and something too passive about the way she received him; not struggling despite the violence being done to her by his savage lovemaking.

One of his long, muscular arms had snaked beneath the transvestite’s chin and was squeezing tight, choking off her screams of pleasure as he punched his engorged penis deep into her bowels.

The whore’s tongue lolled out of her mouth, struggling for air, gasping like a newborn wrapped in an umbilical cord. Joe could see that the man’s thick organ was coated with blood from the whore’s chafed and torn rectum. The monster strained in his pants, swelling with blood, eager for a taste of the transvestite. It was ravenous now. Joe kicked in the door.

The whore screamed and tried to disengage from her trick’s cock. The large black man calmly withdrew his blood and shit-stained penis from the transvestite’s anus and leaned across the bed, groping for his pants. The whore snatched a pillow from the bed to hide her penis in a bizarre show of modesty. Still trying to maintain the illusion of femininity even in the face of a hostile intruder.

The black guy wasn’t groping for his pants in order to put them on. Joe saw that the man was trying to free something from one of the pockets. Something big and silver. Joe sprang onto the bed and almost landed on top of the little transvestite, who let out a squeal and scrambled out of the way.

Shirtless, his muscles rippled, taut with violent energy.

He reached down and grabbed the black guy by the wrist, removing the hand from his pants pocket and easily snapping it. The handgun discharged into the floor just before it slipped from the man’s fingers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the whore try to run for the door and he leapt up and dragged her down by her hair and back onto the bed. The black guy took the opportunity and snatched up the gun with his uninjured left hand and brought it up to aim at Joe. The big cannibal charged and tackled him. A bullet ripped his earlobe in half and shattered his eardrum as he drove his shoulder deep into the trick’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. The guy fell to the floor with Joe on top of him, and this time Joe reached down and bit into the man’s forearm, tearing out a large portion of muscle and disabling his hand completely. The gun was now useless to him.

Through the entire ordeal the man had not cried out once. His eyes were hard and cold and stared at Joe with a murderous hate as he continued to struggle beneath the weight of the big cannibal. They were predator’s eyes. Joe knew right away that this guy was no trick. He was more likely the whore’s pimp.

Sweat dappled the pimp’s ebon skin as he used his bloodied arm as a club, trying to beat Joe off. Joe could not help but admire the man’s tenacity. He let the guy land a few more strikes so that he could die like a warrior before the powerful predator leaned down and tore the man’s throat out with his sharpened canines. Instantly Joe felt that familiar rush of endorphins, that tingling at the base of his cock, and finally the explosion as an orgasm ripped through him. Nothing had changed. He had traveled all this way to kill Damon and end the curse, yet the monster remained inside him.

The whore was still screaming. She had jumped up off the bed again and was heading for the door when Joe rolled off of the convulsing corpse of her panderer and seized her by the foot. He noticed with curiosity that the transvestite had managed to slip on a pair of lacy underwear while he’d been struggling with her boyfriend and that, despite the fact that the undergarment was just a few wisps of fabric short of being a thong, the whore’s penis was not visible at all. He dragged the screaming transvestite down to the floor with him and strangled her silent. Joe squeezed and twisted until the prostitute ceased all resistance. Then he twisted harder, wringing her neck like a dishrag. For a man, her neck was as thin as a bird’s leg and snapped just as easily.

Joe continued to twist the prostitute’s neck until her shattered cervical vertebrae pierced through her skin and her head was facing the opposite direction. Then he pulled harder until the flesh began to tear, the veins, arteries, and tendons popped one by one, and her head started to separate from her shoulders. He had to use his teeth but finally Joe succeeded in decapitating the whore. In a frenzy, he continued to dismember the corpse, using only his bare hands and teeth. When his bloodlust finally abated, the whore was little more than a torso.

Joe stood holding the remains of the transvestite’s corpse and staring at the blood spattered around the room.

Semen leaked down his leg from where one orgasm after another had erupted as he’d dissected the whore’s carcass with his teeth.

‘I’m still a monster,’ Joe mumbled as he let the limbless, headless thing slip from his hands into the pool of blood at his feet. He left the apartment, nearly tripping as he tried to walk on legs that still shook from multiple little deaths.

‘How do I stop this?’ he wondered aloud, wiping blood and scraps of flesh from his lips. But he knew. He’d known all along. Damon had been right. The only curse was the one in his genes. The one he’d been born with.