RfH Ch. 07: Predators and Parasites

There is a subtle difference between a predator and a parasite. The most effective parasites are those that inflict the least amount of harm to their victims, even going so far as to benefit the organism they inhabit, for if the host dies, so too does the parasite. Likewise, a predator cannot thrive without an abundant population to feed upon. But is it really the ostensible king of the jungle who makes the decisions? Or rather the herd who chooses who lives, and who dies? Where and when?

The sheep flourish anywhere lush and verdant, traveling to greener pastures as they please, leaving entire ecosystems devoured in their wake. Whereas the carnivorous shepherd must follow where ever they lead. The sheep can survive without the shepherd, but the shepherd cannot survive without the sheep. So who really pulls the strings in this twisted symbiosis?

The predator? The prey? Or the parasite?

Speaking of which, my roommate Melissa slammed the door to her room after having just awoken at one in the afternoon. "Fuck it's hot today!" She exclaimed. Her skin clung to the soaked fabric of one of my many T-shirts she would swipe from my laundry to use as pajamas. Blatantly designed to fit a man of my build, she filled out the garment as more of a dress with her full yet abbreviated frame.

"Yeah, the weatherman said that it's going to be like this all week." I commented.

Summers in the mid-west are notoriously hot and muggy. At this time of year, the humidity hits like a wall of torrid steam any time one has the misfortune of leaving the safety of an air conditioned room, and our air conditioner had been broken since a demon had chucked our couch through the wall.

Damage from the incident still lingered around the apartment. Cracks and indents had been lazily plastered over, and crews worked around the building daily to repair the masonry. The giant hole had diminished as they made progress, but they still had two windows to reframe, and it would be a while before the living room was no longer subject to the elements.

"Fuck that shit." My roommate grumbled as she stripped the shirt off and carelessly tossed it across the room.

I had been doing my best to repair the air conditioner, as indicated by the many pieces strewn across the kitchen floor, but we'd been forced to resort to other methods of staying cool in the mean time. From the day I met her, my roommate hadn't been one for wearing an abundance of clothes. But after we'd gotten more accustomed to each other's company, she dropped any pretense of wearing clothes altogether.

I was not so bold as to go completely nude, but as the unrelenting heatwave continued, I found myself wearing less as well, and my boxer shorts did little to hide the increasing interest of my twitching member as I unabashedly observed the naked woman strolling around the house.

Her hips swayed as she traversed the living room, her ass wiggling to a halt as she rudely stopped in front of me, blocking my view of the TV with her mountainous squish-cushion.

"I don't get it, if Mulder consistently fails to prove that the monsters even exist, why does he still have a job?" She commented on the television program she was so inconsiderately interrupting.

Unable to see the screen, I turned my focus to the bountiful mass of feminine flesh in my face, and absent mindedly groped it while responding inattentively. "Just because he can't prove that they do exist, doesn't mean that Skully can prove that they don't exist." I explained as I slipped my cock out through the fly hole.

"I don't buy it, what kind of idiots believe in monsters?" Said the woman who dealt with monsters on a regular basis.

Taking a moment to think about it, I irreverently jiggled her ample booty while considering my answer. "Maybe they don't really believe, but when you are constantly exposed to the evidence, it becomes impossible to not question the things you previously thought of as fact." I answered from experience, giving her a wet slap on the ass for emphasis as I lazily stroked myself.

Some people would ask permission before treating a woman's intimate regions so disrespectfully, or at least hesitate to be so forward. But with Melissa, I was more afraid of what she would do if I wavered. She had a high standard for the men she slept with, and expected complete and utter dominance from them. Anything less was an insult, and she had threatened to kill me for less on more than one occasion. I wasn't about to defy her wishes.

I stood up and used my superior strength and advanced stature to forcefully bend her over the ottomon, roughly slamming her into the greasy black leather. She caved and surrendered to my every push and shove in a display of docile submission, but never for a moment was it unclear who was really in control here.

Between her trusty dagger, pet monster, and power to open the gates of hell in the palm of her hand, my continued existence among the living was conditional on whether she thought it was worth keeping me around or not. A saner man would have left a long time ago, and while I haven't exactly been stable since the accident, I had my reasons for not running away.

Speaking of which, one of those reasons was sopping in anticipation at about waist level. It was clear from her arousal that she had been preparing for this.

Despite all of its downsides, living with Melissa allowed, no, required access to her vagina at all times. She wordlessly commanded sexual attention and frequent penetration when ever I was available. Fortunately, her body was undeniably provocative of such attentions. Shapely and voluptuous, her body ceaselessly perspired in the endless heatwave, releasing a relentless invisible miasma of that sweet siren smell.

I know it sounds stupid to stay in such an obviously dangerous situation just for some pussy, but as my hands fit perfectly upon her rounded hips and pulled her drenching pit of fury and passion onto my aching groin, I found it difficult to regret the bad decisions that brought me here.

She moaned shamelessly as I pumped and pulled. It was fortunate that all of our neighbors had evacuated the building, because she had quite a set of lungs and a dirty mouth to go with it. Her ass rippled and shook as I vigorously thrusted into her. Her pussy gushed sexual fluids down my shaft, dripping from my balls onto the carpet. Her condensed stature was reflected internally in a grip that was soft but tight. It had been intense for me at first, and took some getting used to. But now I'd had plenty of time to familiarize myself with it, meeting her demands multiple times daily and slowly acclimating myself to the pain. Alas the absence of that pain left me with little distraction from the vaginal might hungrily tugging at me.

Feeling my climax approaching all too soon, I looked around the room for help. Glancing at the hole in the wall, I noticed one of the workers quietly watching us while leveling the masonry.

The aforementioned crews had been working on the wall for more than a week. I'd gotten so used to having strangers staring into our living room, that I'd totally forgotten they were there.

I'd come quite a way from peeking through a keyhole while fapping behind my door, to having other men lustily observing my exploits with vivid interest. I could feel the young man's furtive gaze drifting across our bodies as he wiped the sweat of work on a hot day from his face. He shifted uncomfortably at the graphic spectacle in front of him.

I considered stopping, but I feared disappointing Melissa substantially more than I feared making this poor man feel awkward, so the fucking continued.

He was visibly blushing as he tried to avoid eye contact with me, but could not keep himself from looking away. He fidgeted and twitched as his imagination ran wild. I wondered if he found himself wishing to switch places. To take those bronze, firm arms of his, sculpted and burned from days of hard labor in the sun, and grip her lavish hips, desperately inserting his quivering member deep within her ravenous confines. Just like I was now.

Alas, were he to cross that threshold and make his presence known, I could not predict Melissa's reaction, nor guarantee his safety, so a show was all he was going to get. Not wanting to disappoint him, I redoubled my efforts. If he was going to have a show, it might as well be a good one.

"Make me believe Mulder, you stupid fuck!" She exclaimed at the actor on the screen that she was shamelessly imagining instead of me while I fucked her. Panting and gasping, I maintained my furious pace through the entire duration as she came with great force and volume.

Exhausted, I collapse back onto the couch. My dick protested at being deprived of its climax, but it was oppressively hot in there and I needed a glass of water if I was to continue.

My boner adamantly waggled with each step as I crossed the room, dripping with a salty mixture of Melissa's orgasmal liquids and my own eager precum. I'd just gotten to the counter when I felt my roommate's insatiable grip latching onto my hips from behind.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" She threatened venomously, breath hot on my back.

I froze like rabbit. "I was just gonna get a drink real fast..."

"Who said I was fucking done with you?" She demanded as she yanked my shorts down, tearing them away from my ankles as I stumbled.

"Ow! That hurt! What are yo-" I began, but no sooner had I begun complaining, than I had my breath taken away as she spread her lips, enveloping my dick deep within the gaping confines of her throat.

I gasped as she noisily slurped every drop of her own vaginal fluids off my cock, before forcing her self back onto the shaft once more.

I leaned back on the counter to brace myself as she relentlessly bobbed on my rigid erection, moaning softly as she sucked with a voracious hunger.

It was just getting good when I heard the phone ring. Feeling my balls swelling for an imminent release, I chose to ignore it. Unfortunately, Melissa disagreed with this decision. Pulling herself from my squirming member with a moist pop, she looked up at me and asked "Well?" Those cruel lips curved up inquisitively in amusement, so close to my tip as it dribbled desperately.

Frustrated but unwilling to defy her, I impatiently answered the phone.

"What?!" I snapped into the receiver.

"Is this the abode of Melissa Wildes?" A sensual voice responded softly from the other end. Her voice was familiar, like a silk garrote, placed tenderly and tightened with care.

"Um, yes?" I answered, unsure how to proceed. Looking down at Melissa for guidance, I found her preoccupied with playfully flicking the tip of my penis with her tongue.

"Then can I speak with her?" The woman on the phone asked, maintaining a thick layer of cordiality.

"Um, she's a little preoccupied..." I responded, afraid of what would happen if I interrupted Melissa's playtime as she sunk me back into her pillowy lips inch by inch. "Can I- Hng, can I take a message?" I added. It was getting harder to keep my composure on the phone. I didn't want my roommate to stop either, but I also didn't want to think about what she would do to me if this phone call was important and I messed it up.

"Of course. Considering your involvement, it is probably for the best that you are privy to this communiqué as well David." She told me. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand when she said my name, but I was too distracted to put much thought into it.

"Sure, let me just grab a pen-" I began as I attempted to turn towards the drawer to grab something to write with, but Melissa had other plans.

Sinking her fingers firmly into my gonads, she gave an audible growl as she glared viciously back up at me. Her jaws clenched just enough to gently remind me that my most sensitive organ was currently residing between her teeth, and I wasn't getting it back until she was done with it.

"You know what? I'll just remember it." I offered.

"Very well, you tell her that I regret how our communications deteriorated when we last spoke." She began.

"Yeah sorry about that." I told her while giving Melissa an apologetic look. Accepting my acquiescence, she loosened her teeth and returned to methodically coating every inch of my dick with saliva.

"If she is interested in reestablishing a dialog, I would be happy to meet with her once more. But it will have to be at a place of my choosing."

"Oh yeah, that's good." I groaned, trying to keep up with the conversation as I could feel myself getting close again.

"I trust the Hopkins Mausoleum next Friday night will be acceptable?"

"Yeah, right there, just like that!" I responded a bit louder than I meant to. Melissa had found a spot on my dick that made me writhe and squirm. I tried to hold it back until this bitch was done with her message, but my roommate took my balls in her hand and proceeded to gently fondle them while relentlessly pounding my glans with her tongue.

"And just like before, you are invited to attend as well David. Will you be coming?" The lady on the line continued to whisper into my ear with her graceful, implicative murmurs.

"I'm cummiiing!" I moaned involuntarily, pulsing burst after burst of semen into Melissa's ravenous maw while she mercilessly sucked my nuts dry.

"Um, ok then? I'll see you there..." The stranger concluded awkwardly, finally beginning to pick up on the fact that something was up. Eager to get the hell out of that strange conversation, she quickly hung up.

Finally letting out a relieved sigh, I dropped the phone and sat down on the linoleum floor.

"So who was that?" Melissa asked. Reluctantly convinced that my balls had been sufficiently emptied, she finally releasing her death grip on my genitals.

"I dunno." I answered in a daze. "Said something about a Howard's graveyard Friday night." I mumbled.

Melissa suddenly bolted upright. "Hopkin's Mausoleum Friday night?" She screamed in panic.

"Um. Yes?" I responded uncertainly.

My homicidal roommate moved up right next to my face and snarled with deadly seriousness. "Who the hell was on that phone call David?!"

"I uh... Maybe I should have written it down?" I offered pathetically, in an effort to convince her not to kill me.

Twenty minutes and one frustrating interrogation later, Melissa sighed in resignation.

"I had a feeling something like this would happen." She admitted. She gave me one of those looks in which I try not to imagine her considering whether it would be worth the clean up to stab me to death. "Come with me, I need to show you something." She decided finally as she got up and strode into her room.

I went to follow her, but stopped in the doorway. Last time I went in there I wound up getting stuck in a closet and making some very bad decisions, I was not real excited about getting trapped in another one of those situations again.

"Hurry up, and shut the door behind you!" Melissa barked. With a quiet yelp, I quickly followed her orders, and in doing so cut off my only means of escape.

My roommate sat down at her computer, and booted up the device. While she was doing that, I took a moment to look around the room for the first time since I'd accidentally trapped myself in it.

It was much worse in the daylight. The desk had piles of fast food wrappers cluttered around it, and there was laundry draped haphazardly across every surface, a good portion of which I now recognized as mine. I briefly considered whether it would be worth it to reclaim a few briefs while I was in here.

My thought process was interrupted by the most horrible racket coming from the computer. It sounded like the lost soul of a telephone attempting to call the realm of the living from the strangest pits of hell.

"What is that? Another demon?!" I exclaimed, prepared for a fight.

"No it's dial up. Haven't you heard of the internet?" She asked condescendingly. When I was growing up, people didn't really have computers in their houses. But I'd seen them in the Star Trek re-runs my father always used to watch, so I had a basic idea. Something in between a typewriter and a secretary, but this one sounded more like a drunk R2D2 than the sex robots Captain Kirk talked to.

Utilizing the clicker to navigate an arrow on the screen, and rapidly typing commands on the keyboard, the machine clicked angrily as the information she sought slowly scrolled into view from the top to the bottom.

"Samantha Flenecwalt. One of the most notorious witches of the region. She is known within the northern midwest and a few parts of Canada for preying on younger, less experienced witches to steal their powers. Her MO is to arrange a peaceful meeting with less powerful, uninformed victims, and strike them while their guard is down, much like she attempted to do to us." Melissa explained as waiting for the computer to finish its task. Even the pointer changed from the shape of an arrow, to an hour glass while she waited.

"I don't get it, didn't you kill her? I mean, I was there, I saw it with my own eyes, I'm pretty sure she's in- she's not here any more." I asked, reluctant to acknowledge my part in banishing a demon to hell.

"So it would appear at first glance, but Samantha has been at this for the better part of a decade. If she had been possessed from the beginning, the demon would not have wasted all those years on the trivialities of power struggles within the witch community. Even if the possession were recent, it doesn't stand to reason that an experienced witch such as herself would make the mistake of letting herself get possessed after all these years.

Something about the situation didn't make sense, so I scoured the library for records on her whereabouts and origins, searching for anything that could explain this discrepancy, but I couldn't find anything under the name Samantha Flenecwalt, nor any births of a strange child with white hair." She told me.

"When did you have time to do all this? You've just been watching TV and fucking me since you got back as far as I noticed." I wondered out loud.

"After it was revealed to me that you were a warlock the whole time, I had plenty of time to kill while I was gone. You didn't think I was just wandering around that whole time feeling sorry for myself did you?" She bragged. While I knew she was definitely a woman that could take care of herself, my mental image of what she was doing in her absence had usually been rather dreary.

"No?" I answered dishonestly after much hesitation. She scowled before continuing.

"Long story short, she isn't named Samantha Flenecwalt, and white isn't her natural hair color. In 1963, an infant of brown hair and pale complexion was found on the steps of Saint Hedwig's Orphanage, She was christened as Sam Doe, and raised there for much of her childhood. However in the 1970s, the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services shut down all of the orphanages in the area, forcing her into the foster home system. I managed to dig up the files for several of her foster parents, it seems she was not a very good house guest and found herself being transferred a lot. But the trail goes cold here." Melissa relayed, gesturing towards the screen for effect. Crouching down to see what was on the little monitor, I saw what appeared to be a newspaper article.

"House burns down with family inside." The headline read. "Fire crews rushed to put out a roaring inferno last night, as a house on Taylor Street erupted into flames, shattering the silence of the tranquil community. The department managed to keep the fire from spreading to any nearby houses, but was unable to save any of the people inside. The victims include Lawrence Dale, his wife Megan Dale, their son Norman Dale, their adoptive daughter Sam Doe, and her twin sister Sally Doe."