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.
Frank. The same guy he'd earlier been
speculating about devouring whole as he spun out yet another tale of sex and
abuse at the SAA meeting. It was a nude photo and Frank hadn't been lying. He
did have a pretty big cock and an ass
that was fatter and rounder than most
men, sort of like that of a woman. Joe
sent him an instant message and he
responded with undisguised
enthusiasm.
HI SUPERPREDATOR!
HI FRANK.
Pause.
DO I KNOW YOU?
YES. YOU KNOW ME. WOULD YOU
LIKE TO KNOW ME BETTER?
YES, BUT I'M SORT OF NEW TO THIS.
YOU WON'T KILL ME, WILL YOU? I
JUST WANT YOU TO BITE ME, TO
HURT ME. YOU CAN EVEN BITE OFF
A FEW PIECES IF YOU WANT. I JUST
DON'T WANT TO DIE.
I WOULDN'T KILL YOU, FRANK.
WE'RE OLD FRIENDS. I JUST WANT
TO BITE INTO THAT SWEET LITTLE
ASS OF YOURS.
WHO ARE YOU?
I'M SUPERMAN.
Chapter Seven
Joe had set up an apartment down in
one of the seedier areas of town, far
away from campus. A commercial
district fil ed mostly with warehouses and retail stores. It was nearly desolate at night. He had intended it to be his art studio. The tiny room was cluttered with paint and canvas. One or two finished
paintings hung on the wal s amid the
countless unfinished ones. He'd found it more and more difficult to paint lately. It was supposed to be therapeutic, but
letting his imagination roam like that only seemed to make the monster hungrier.
Luckily, he'd soon found other uses for the old apartment. It was perfect for little clandestine affairs.
Frank arrived just after midnight,
wearing baggy jeans and a tank top.
Clothes that he could easily slip out of. He smiled wide when Joe answered the
door.
"Oh my God! I was hoping it would be you!" His eyes lit up like an orphan on those rare Christmas mornings when
Santa Claus did not forget him.
The smal man with the bruised and
battered face and the nervous,
desperate eyes of a cornered animal,
tiptoed gingerly into the dingy hal way. Joe slammed the door behind him. They
both stood in the ancient vestibule
eyeing each other greedily.
"Superman," Frank whispered softly in appreciation, as he looked the big
muscular col ege kid over from head to
toe. He fel into Joe's arms and tried to kiss him. Joe shoved him back against
the wal and pinned him there with one
arm.
"Uh-uh. I'm not that way."
Frank looked frightened but he was
excited.
"I didn't think you were gay, but then why am I here?"
"To be eaten."
Joe produced a smal slim scalpel and
Frank's breath quickened.
"You ... you said you wouldn't hurt me."
"No, I said I wouldn't kil you and I won't. But there wil be pain. I'm sure you'l like it, though. Jack off if you want. Get the endorphins going. You'l enjoy the pain once your adrenaline starts racing." Joe unbuckled Frank's jeans and
dropped his pants. Frank's cock was
hard as granite and glistening with a
sheen of precum. Joe wanted to slice it off and eat it but he held himself back. The frightened little man took his eyes off of the scalpel in Joe's hand for a
moment and looked at his surroundings.
The wal s were al cracked, with paint
peeling from them in long sheets.
Everything was covered in cobwebs and
dust and the hal ways were al dark.
There was a reception desk with a
shattered mirror in back of it and an
overturned chair covered in rust and
dust.
"What is this place? Does anyone
actual y live here?"
"This is nowhere. Now turn around!" Joe commanded.
The smal man turned to face the wal .
He leaned his face against the drywal
but left his hands free so that he could stroke himself as the man he'd known as SuperPredator online and simply as Joe
at the SAA meetings began to cut
Frank's trembling buttocks. Frank shot a hot stream of semen al over the filthy wal and down onto the cracked tiles at his feet as the huge muscular man sliced off a chunk of his ass.
Joe was overwhelmed by sensations as
he brought the glistening blood-wet meat to his lips and slurped it into his mouth. Just as he'd expected, he could taste the little man's soul as he devoured the smal sliver of life, absorbing a smal piece of him and assimilating it in his stomach, becoming one with the diminutive
masochist. He could taste the little man's fear and pain and ecstasy vibrating on
his tongue like he'd just licked a coke spoon. He could feel Frank's life
marrying with his own, surging through
his blood like rocket fuel, and was
surprised when he found himself
suddenly gripped by his own orgasm as
the tender meat slid down his throat. His body jerked and bucked as if having a
seizure. Frank looked up at him in awe. He couldn't believe the man was
cumming just by tasting him. They both
col apsed onto the hard dusty floor,
panting heavily.
"Oh my God! That was incredible!"
"You should go now, Frank." Joe's breathing was stil heavy, but his voice was cold and hard. He didn't look at
Frank as he spoke, but rather stared
straight ahead into the shadowy lobby.
"What? You want me to leave? You're not going to fuck me? You don't want
another taste?"
"If you don't leave now, I'l never let you leave. Do you understand? This is the
only chance I'm going to give you to save your life. Leave now and never come
back here." He was stil not looking at Frank. His body was tense now and his
erection had come surging back to life. Frank wanted to take the man's cock
down his throat. But something in Joe's voice let him know that staying there any longer, getting the SuperPredator
aroused again, would have been a death
sentence.
Frank gathered up his clothes and
scampered out into the street, stumbling as he tried to run and step into his pants at the same time. He slid his underwear up over his wounded ass, wincing from
the pain, and hopped down the street
with one leg in and one leg out of his
jeans and the blood saturating his boxer shorts. Joe slammed the door behind
him.
The next day Joe went online again and
was instantly assaulted by instant
messages from Frank begging for a
repeat performance. He logged off and
left the cafe. He had to stay away from the Long Pig Message Board for a
while. It was easier to cure an addiction when there was no supply. Eating that
one slice of flesh from Frank's buttocks had been the most intense sexual
experience he'd ever had and he wanted
more. Much more. He knew now that
whatever was wrong with him was
beyond his control and that if he saw the little man again he'd probably murder
and eat him. He had to get more serious about finding a cure. There was no way
SAA could handle this problem.
After a quick shower, Joe caught the
BART train back to campus. He kept his
head down, trying not to make eye
contact with anyone as he made his way
across campus to the university library. He was afraid that his eyes would betray his thoughts. There was a smal piece of gristle between his teeth from his recent appetizer. He worked at it with his
tongue, trying to worry it free. Each time his tongue brushed the miniscule piece
of flesh a fresh tingle went through his loins.
Chapter Eight
The library emptied out as even the diehard medical students and political science majors final y returned their
dusty old books to the shelves and
dragged their tired minds back to their dorms. Joe had heard it said that when
you slept your mind let go of al logic and structure, al sanity and order, for the madness of dreams. Joe wanted
anything but madness. He was actively
trying to fight it off. He was convinced that he was onto something, something
that would explain the insatiable hunger roiling within him.
Joe knew that he was not a monster. Not Joe knew that he was not a monster. Not by choice. Maybe none of the others
were either? Not until they were altered by whatever sickness had infected him.
If it was a disease, not a disease of the mind but a true physical virus that was somehow transmitted from one person
to the next, then it could be cured. There might be an antidote.
Piled before him were three stacks of
books four feet high that encompassed
nearly two centuries of rape, murder, and superstition. Joe poured through the tal stacks until the moon had traveled from one side of the sky to the other. He knew that the librarian must have been dying of curiosity. She had seen him there
every night for over a month scouring
through books on serial murder,
vampirism, and lycanthropy, doing
computer searches on war criminals and
mob mentality, sexual fetishes, and
cannibalism. He knew that she must
have been curious to know what it was
he was working on, but she had only
asked him once and when he hadn't
replied, she'd had the good sense to
avoid further inquiry. It was a good thing too. She had just the sort of ass he liked, plump but firm.
More than once, Joe had masturbated
sitting right there in that library, imagining tearing into her voluptuous buttocks with his teeth and devouring the tender flesh in huge gulps. He'd hid his frantic hand movements behind an unabridged
dictionary and sprayed his semen from
neurosurgery to nightingale. Then he'd
left quickly, sure that she had noticed. When he returned the next day she
smiled politely and gave no indication
that she was aware of having been the
star of his gruesome masturbatory
fantasies.
Just last week he'd even painted her
portrait. He'd composed several
sketches of her, stealing glances at her generous buttocks as she scuttled back
and forth between the rows of dusty
books. When he'd gotten home that night he'd let out his pent-up sexual energies onto the canvas. He'd masturbated
several times as his passion boiled over and his paintbrush whipped across the
canvas in violent slashes of reds, whites, and beiges, mixing his own blood and
semen into the paint. When he was done
he'd hidden the portrait away in his little apartment across town along with al the others. Anyone seeing it would have
immediately recognized his obsession.
Even in the abstract she looked like
meat.
It was past three o'clock in the morning when Joe's eyelids would no longer
remain aloft and his head came crashing down into the middle of Colin Wilson's
Criminal History of Mankind with a thud that echoed loudly throughout the empty room.
"Okay, you. Time to let the monsters rest for a night. Go home and get some
sleep now."
Joe nodded and rose from the table
where he sat behind a mountain of
books. He eyed the pleasantly plump
librarian's large breasts with interest and saw her shudder beneath the heat of his gaze and cross her arms over her
breasts as if to protect them from more than just his eyes. Embarrassed, Joe
gathered up a few books to check out
and stumbled toward the desk. He had
an erection bulging in his pants and he'd seen her eyes zero in on it before he
could cover it with a hardbound copy of 120 Days of Sodom.
The librarian walked behind him, not
wanting to feel his voracious eyes
crawling over her ass, as Joe staggered toward the front desk. Not that she had a particularly nice one in her opinion. It was far too large and her hips were too wide. And not that she thought herself
particularly attractive. Emma Purcel
hadn't felt attractive since she'd turned forty and her breasts had drooped and
her ass had spread, but something
about the way Joe stared at her made
her fear that he might rape her or worse. She didn't know what it was but she
preferred to have him in clear view at al times.
Maybe she was just reacting to the fact that the man had slowly worked his way
through every book on deviant sexuality and serial murder in the entire library and was now apparently branching out
into monsters and werewolves.
When he checked out his morbid little
books and left, she sighed audibly and
crossed herself, asking God to forgive
her for the moistness spreading
between her thighs at the thought of what such a powerful young man could do to