Predator Tales Ch. 02

Victoria was a fine, Christian wife.

Every Sunday, she and her college professor husband and three well-behaved young kids would walk to a church near me. Tall and slender, she would have deserved the term willowy but for her full breasts, which she tried to hide with loosely fitting blouses and jackets.

She was always stylishly dressed. In summer she affected wide-brimmed summer hats from under whose brims she could shyly look at you with her clear, trusting blue eyes.

She was in her mid-thirties and, despite bearing three children, she had managed to retain her figure. She had long dark blond hair and at only a couple of inches shorter than my six feet, was altogether a striking looking woman

Her husband was a puzzle. He was quite a bit shorter than her and wasn't blessed with good looks. He clearly doted on her but that wasn't enough to explain how he had managed to persuade this beautiful creature to marry him.

We lived in a small town in England and so had met socially at one or two affluent but rather restrained parties, her husband always in tow. They seemed very affectionate towards each other and did everything together.

And that was the problem: she was rarely alone. Predators succeed best with the strays. Like the young waitresses at my golf club, entering the adult world of work whilst unsure of themselves and lacking in confidence. Offering a mature helping hand was something I was skilled at, leading them carefully, gently, step by step to the bedroom.

Or the younger women working at my security firm. Ambitious, desperate for promotion, where else could they seek help but from me, their boss? The things they could be persuaded to do for a little extra money and a new job title.

But Victoria was neither a stray nor vulnerable. Mentally I went through my bag of tricks but couldn't think of a way to even get her alone. I resigned myself to lusting after this gorgeous woman from a distance.

Sexual success is often about luck and one day fate dealt me a winning hand.

The phone call came on a Friday afternoon. My security firm offers a CCTV network for high end shops around the county. The feeds from all the cameras come to our control centre in a nondescript trading estate. Jim was the guy checking the feeds and he happened to live in the same little town as me, though in a much less prestigious property. It was pure luck that he was on duty.

"You'll never guess who we've caught this time, Boss," he said. "I think you'll recognise her. Check feed 15."

Being the owner, my position in the company was way too stratospheric to bother checking feeds, so this must be something unusual.

My big screen split into six smaller views, each from a store camera. It was an up-market shop in the nearby city selling very expensive clothes and accessories.

"It's only Mrs. Travis," said Jim.

And indeed, it was. Her tall, elegant figure was moving slowly through the aisles. Good old Jim had set the video up so I didn't have to wait long to catch her in the act. Full face to the camera, the brief look of guilt and excitement on her face almost comic, she slipped a trinket into her pocket. Quickly recovering her poise, she walked calmly out of the shop, every second caught on one or more of the cameras.

"Who'd have believed it?" said Jim. "It's the stuck-up ones that are the worst."

Jim was pretty much wrong about all of that. Poor people stole far more than the rich. And, though Victoria had a rather posh accent, which might at first make you think she was a snob, there was an earnestness and naivety about her. She was a nice woman but she clearly had a big problem. That made her vulnerable.

"She needs help, Jim. I'll have a quiet word with her myself and get back whatever she stole."

"It was a pendant worth a couple of hundred. We've got her bang to rights but, whatever, you're the boss, Boss."

There was only one family called Travis in our town and I found her number easily enough even though it was ex-directory. Firewalls like that are made of butter to security companies like mine.

"Hello," she answered in the slightly tentative, slightly shy way she had.

"Mrs Travis? Victoria. This is Tony Marlow, we met at Terry Ure's party. About a month ago. He lives right next door to me."

There was hesitation. If I wasn't selling something, what did I want? "I think so," she said. "Tall and dark haired with a beard. I mean not like a Father Christmas beard. Closely trimmed."

"Yes, look, the reason I'm calling you is because of a rather delicate matter. You see, I own and run a security firm and we monitor Leona's boutique on Upper Parliament Street. We have CCTV footage of you taking a pendant without paying. I just wanted to sort things out."

She just wasn't good at this. Her intake of breath was almost theatrical. Then silence. I guessed all her chickens had suddenly come home to roost.

"Hello," I said.

"Yes, I'm here. Just a little surprised. I'm rather absent-minded. Look, I'll take it straight back to the shop."

I sucked in my breath, like you do when faced with a difficult task. "No can do, Victoria. As soon as I identified you, I was duty bound to contact the police. I haven't done it yet but they need to be involved."

I could hear short, shallow breaths. "Look Mr. Marlow... Tony. This has been a terrible mistake. Can't we work something out? Not over the phone. You say you live next to Terry's place?"

"Yes, the house with the oak tree in the front garden."

"I tell you what, why don't I come over to see you tonight after work then we can sort this all out?"

Sometimes the prey walks straight into your trap all by themselves.

She looked good. Grey top and grey skirt, elegant shoes, her long hair swept back.

I don't like obvious, so this expensively-dressed schoolmarm look was hitting the mark.

She was trying to hide her fear but just couldn't carry it off. She was like a frightened fawn lost in the forest, perhaps sensing the tiger near.

We sat down on a sofa, going through the CCTV footage several times though, even after the first showing, she realised how comprehensively she'd been caught.

"Look Mr. Marlow," she said, leaning forward, "This was a moment of forgetfulness. Can't we come to some arrangement? I can give you the pendent now and I have money for the inconvenience," and she pulled a purse out of a sleek looking handbag she'd put at her feet.

I shook my head. "There are protocols. Mrs. Travis. This is the security business, it's all about honesty and transparency and set ways of doing things. If we turned a blind eye then everyone would be having moments of forgetfulness."

She looked at me with those big blue eyes, teeth worrying at her lip. "As I said, I'm more than willing to recompense..."

I held up a warning hand. "Don't offer me a bribe! Things would get really serious then."

Her magnificent chest was rising and falling as she struggled to contain her fear. "Look, Mr. Marlow, I have a problem. When I..."

Don't worry! I'm not going to waste your time with the psychobabble that followed. We all have our crosses to bear and I didn't give a shit why she had stolen. I was more interested in what her excuses revealed. This hadn't been the first such incident. Her husband knew and, despite his clear love for her, he had put her on notice that it was never to happen again otherwise he would divorce her and take the children. As a lay preacher and high-flying academic, he had a lot to lose if his wife was known to be a thief. Maybe he was bluffing and hadn't meant it, but he was just making it easier for me.

A loving husband, three beautiful children and an affluent, happy, contented life. Victoria stood to lose it all in a heartbeat.

I hadn't reacted at all to her tale of psychological woe. I let the silence stretch and she couldn't seem to handle it. "Please Mr. Marlow," she said. "Surely, there must be some way out of this terrible mess?"

I narrowed my eyes and let my gaze travel slowly over her breasts and down over those long legs.

She sat upright in surprise. "NO!" she said.

I didn't say anything. I'd let her do the running.

"I'm a married woman. I love my husband."

I shrugged.

"You've evil," she said.

I shrugged again.

"Look, I am never going to sleep with you."

"Do you want to come in my car or take your own to the police station?"

She sat back in her seat liked I'd thumped her. Her hands were trembling. "I won't, I can't, sleep with you, but there must be something else. Something... less..."

She wasn't fully in the trap yet. I'd have to lead her a little further. "Maybe," I said, "but there has to be an element of punishment in this. I'd feel I hadn't done my duty otherwise."

What followed was half an hour of bargaining and I won't bore you with it. Twice when our negotiations reached an impasse, I got up to go to the door, once even going as far as picking up my car keys, before she folded.

Terms and conditions settled, I closed the curtains of my lounge.

Years ago, back in university, we final year students were due to go to our graduation ceremonies and had all hired the full academic gowns and caps. My girlfriend at the time was called Wendy and, one night as we were about to have sex, I slipped into my gown and, though we'd never done anything like this before, we progressed easily and naturally to a bad schoolteacher/ naughty schoolgirl scenario. The surprising thing was how much we both relished it, and also our unsuspected depths of sadism (me) and masochism (her).

Over the summer we explored other scenarios. She might become a beautiful Latin American freedom fighter captured by a cruel fascist general. As the general, I would interrogate her for information about the whereabouts of her lover, the leader of the freedom fighters. When she resisted, I would whip her then brutally violate her.

And my girlfriend, to this end, made a whip for me to use on her. It was not much more than a handle and three braided strands of leather little thicker than bootlaces. It wasn't really designed to hurt but when flicked across bare skin, it would sting momentarily and leave a faint red track that soon faded. Inflicting actual pain wasn't what either of us was after. It was the idea of the inherent sexual cruelty that we found so stirring.

I still had the whip and it was whipping that Victoria had agreed to. Eventually. Twenty strokes on her bare skin would be punishment for the theft. That it would be across her front rather than her back was to be the sexual price she would pay for my silence.

I had never seen anyone so scandalised at the suggestion. She'd become so tearful she was almost hysterical. But, in the end, she had no choice. Twenty strokes and then it would all be over and she could go back to her comfortable life.

It wasn't the humiliation, or the loss of dignity, or even the perverse sexual aspect that worried her most. No, it was the pain that frightened her, no matter how much I tried reassure her that the whipping would be more symbolic of her chastisement than causing real pain.

Now, we stood facing each other in my plush, luxurious lounge. A skein of tears covered her cheeks and her whole body was trembling. For someone who had gone through childbirth three times, Victoria was surprisingly squeamish about pain. An affluent life can make people soft.

"Take your top of, Victoria!" I told her.

She shook her head. "Don't call me Victoria! We aren't friends." Then, slowly and reluctantly, she pulled the grey top over her head and I saw her heavy breasts swelling over the top of her white bra. Her stomach was flat and toned from all the squash she played with her husband. I mentally thanked him for that.

"Please!" she begged.

"Now take off your bra, Mrs. Travis!"

With a barely suppressed sob, she reached behind, unhooking it. She slid the straps off her shoulder and down her arms before letting the bra fell away to reveal her heavy breasts. I wondered how they had remained so firm after childbirth. The thick pink nipples were made for my tongue and lips.

She'd been on vacation recently and had gotten a tan except for where she had worn a bikini. In contrast to her brown skin, the whiteness of her breasts made them look so tender, so vulnerable.

"Put your hands behind your back," I commanded.

She really was sobbing now. A small gold crucifix nestling between her breasts bounced with their jolting rise and fall.

Slowly, she pulled her arms back and clasped them behind her. Her breasts and abdomen were now completely exposed. She turned her head away and closed her eyes in shame.

I didn't give her any warning, just lashed the whip across her taut stomach. It barely marked the skin but she reacted like she'd been shot. She crouched down, covering her front with her arms.

"We agreed," I said wearily. "If you don't keep your hands behind your back, then the count starts again."

It's a good job my house in on a big plot, otherwise the neighbours would be phoning the cops at the sound of her weeping.

"Again!" I commanded.

With a look of utter despondency, she stood up and put her hands behind her back.

This time I brought the leather down across the top of her breasts. Unable to stop herself, her hands came round to cover them and again she dropped into a crouch.

"Oh God, oh God!" she wailed. "I can't do this."

I went over and pulled her to her feet. I didn't have much time before the stinging dissipated and she realised she had little to fear.

I took her chin in my hand and lifted it so we were almost eye to eye. Hers were wide and tear-filled. "One way or another, you have to pay," I said. I leaned in and kissed her as gently as I could. For a few seconds she did nothing, but then she let her lips open.

After I'd kissed her deeply, I pulled back and she said, her voice heavy with despair, "Just get it over with!"

Light as a feather, I touched the tips of her nipples. She started back, her breasts trembling. I took her nipples between thumb and forefinger and felt them harden to my touch. With some women, even though their minds were unwilling, their bodies will betray them, if you're careful and gentle enough.

I began to caress her breasts, steering clear of the red line across their tops where the whip had caught her tender flesh. I had taken care to miss her nipples because I had other, gentler plans for them and I didn't want her complaining of the pain.

Her breasts were so full and firm. Victoria moaned, though in despair and not in arousal.

"No more whips but I want your hands behind your back again."

Now I could do what I liked, touch what I liked, kiss what I liked. I leaned down and licked those delectable nipples, taking one into my mouth and sucking it. It became even more erect.

Now I ran my tongue over Victoria's aureole and across the exquisite little pimples of flesh that surrounded the nipple like a halo. I replaced my tongue with my fingers, running them across the aureole until they found the smoothness of the rest of her breasts. Then, I smothered them with kisses, before standing upright and moving behind her. Now I could cup their sublime heaviness.

Fanning my fingers out, I ran them across her nipples, so they each brushed against them in rapid succession. I felt her back arch but then, perhaps sensing I wasn't intending to hurt her, I felt her whole body relax. After several minutes of my gentle fondling her head came back to rest on my shoulder.

Eventually I took my hands away and gently grasped her wrist then led her to the bedroom. I turned to face her and kissed her again, and again she opened her mouth but her tongue didn't do anything except yield to mine.

I knelt down on my knees, reached around for the zipper on her skirt then pulled it down over those long, smooth legs. It fell away to reveal dainty white panties. As with many tall and slender women, the top of her thighs and her pussy made a triangular space. I could see the shape of her secret lips against the cotton of her panties and how a few wisps of brown hair had escaped the sides.

I don't like the modern habit of shaving. I like fucking women, not little girls. Victoria was definitely a woman.

I caught the first faint odour of her arousal and I felt a pulse of pure animal lust. I felt dizzy at the realisation that I would have her tonight.

I gently pulled down her panties. Her pubic hair was more brown than blond and was luxuriant.

"Sit on the end of the bed, Mrs. Travis", I said. She did so wearily, her legs primly together.

"Lie back!" I commanded.

"What are you going to do?"

I pushed her down. Grasping both her knees I gently parted those long shapely legs so her pussy was exposed. As I spread her legs wider, the inner and outer lips of her sex opened out like the petals of a rose.

This was too much for me. Without any teasing preamble, I leaned in and ran my probing tongue all the way up her slit and then mashed it against her clitoris. She shrieked with what sounded like surprise and sat up quickly, a hand reaching down to push my head away. Perhaps her husband had never serviced her like this. I pushed her back down and grasped her hips to keep them immobile, my tongue exploring deeper.

The smell and taste of her! This mature woman was to younger women as full-bodied red wine is to an insipid Chardonnay. I licking away hungrily at her sex, a famished man at a feast. I brought one hand down so I could push two fingers inside her, moving them in time with my tongue as it ravished her clit.

Soon her struggles began to subside and her squirming became sexual, her breathing harder. She became wetter and wetter as I drove her relentlessly to an unwanted climax.

When it came, her body gave a massive convulsion, her crotch thrusting hard into my face, and then she fell back, arms and legs splayed, gasping for breath. Quickly I took off my clothes. By now my tongue and face and beard were wet with her juices. I climbed on top of her and pushed my tongue into her mouth so she could taste herself.

She tried to push me off her but I was too strong. I reached down to steer my cock into her while she slapped at my hairy chest. "Don't do this, please! I've only ever been with my husband."

I eased my cock into this beautiful, elegant woman. She gave a single, defeated groan.

She wasn't tight, the way younger women can be. Though my cock is only an inch or so longer than most men's, it's thick and heavy. If a woman is too tight it can be difficult for both of us, but I fitted Victoria perfectly. Her pipsqueak of a husband would never fill her like this.

I kept pushing into her as tenderly as I could while my fingers explored her wonderful body. I kissed nipples now even more engorged. Lightly, I bit her exposed neck, like any good predator will do with its prey. Each time I pushed in to the hilt, her breasts would sway and the crucifix jump. Each time she gave a little cry.

Though tears still streaked her face, her breathing was becoming deeper.

I don't know how long I luxuriated in her; for me, all the clocks had stopped.

I kissed her again, but this time I wasn't in the mood to countenance resistance. I pulled her hair back, hard enough for her mouth to open so wide my tongue could delve deep. I kept pulling her hair until I felt her tongue respond.

It was a slow kiss and a long fuck. All the time I could feel the thick black hair of my chest scratching across the tender whiteness of her breasts.

I knew that before I came, I had to taste Victoria's sex again. Pulling out of her, I ran my tongue down between her breasts, over her belly button and through the dense tangle of her pubic hair. Her slit was even wetter than before and her taste deeper, more earthy. Everything about her cunt spoke of womanhood and fertility. In that instant, (God help me!) I wanted to, needed to, push my seed deep into her, to start new life within her.