Predator Tales Ch. 02

Achingly hard now, I knew my time was growing short. I pulled myself onto her, lifting her long legs so her knees were over my shoulders and she was bent almost double, allowing me to penetrate her as deeply as possible. There was nothing in the whole wide world I wanted more, either then or since.

Once inside her again, I put my hands either side of her head and reared up above her. Looking down between our flat stomachs, I could see my cock, wet with her juices, sliding in and out of her yielding cunt. It sent me crazy and drove all thoughts of gentleness from my mind. I began slamming into her, desperate for release, her entire body juddering with each animal thrust. She started yelling and pummelling the sides of my head with her fists.

That made me fiercer, more frenzied than I'd ever been before. Orgasm rushed upon me and hit me like a truck. I heard myself howl with triumph and relief as I emptied my seed deep inside her.

We lay there panting for a brief instant, with me still lying on her. Then, she roughly pushed me out and then off her. She scrambled out of bed, one hand cradling her abused sex, and tottered away on those long legs like a new-born fawn to get her skirt and panties. I hadn't wanted to hurt her but, at the end, I knew I had.

As she bent down to pick up her clothes, I caught one last glimpse of her delicious cunt just as a slurry of my seed dripped out and rolled down her inner thigh.

She turned to look at me one last time. "You're a beast," she hissed and strode angrily off to get the rest of her clothes from the lounge. A couple of minutes later I heard the front door slam.

Later, at my leisure, I would wonder what Professor Travis would have thought if he had known how I had despoiled his woman, using her body for my own sexual satisfaction. That I had whipped her tender breasts, that I had parted the delicate petals of her sex with my tongue and my fingers and my cock. That, as my orgasm approached and she lay helpless beneath me, I had ridden her like a demon and filled her defenseless womb with my sperm. That she had returned to him that night, my seed still dripping from her exploited sex.

The cruelty of what I'd done gave me almost as great a thrill as the sex itself.

Perhaps she would confess all to him. Perhaps, then, there would be hell to pay. But, somehow, it didn't matter. I felt like an exultant Viking, drunk with rape and pillage, gloating over my stolen prize.

Nothing did seem to happen. No police or angry husband came to the door. Once, from a distance, I saw her with her family going into church but she didn't even look my way.

I still had the CCTV footage and I could have continued to blackmail her but even I have some residual sense of honour. We'd made a deal and I'd gotten what I wanted. I resolved, reluctantly, to go back to my waitresses and any other strays I chanced across.

Idly, I would wonder about our behaviour. Sex to me had always been about conquest and sexual pleasure. That sudden fierce desire for impregnating Victoria had welled up out of nowhere. Clearly something was working away in my subconscious.

And why did Victoria really steal things? I didn't buy into her psychobabble about being ignored as a child by Daddy, or whatever. I wondered instead if her affluent, comfortable, perfect life was throttling her. That she, also working at a subconscious level, had stolen to precipitate its end and so escape its smothering embrace.

But, then again, what did I know of psychology? Answer: nothing, so I dismissed these speculations as nonsense.

Which is why I was so surprised when, barely a month later, Victoria came knocking at my door.