The Predator Ch. 16

She woke me with her mouth, a skill she had truly mastered. When I patted her big hip, knowing what she liked by now, she scooted around. I had my arms straight up over my head when she got her legs over them and then scooted forward. I moved my arms out so she could sit back, trapping them between her calves and thighs, right behind her knee.

I LOVED this view. She had put on enough weight that her ass and pussy merged into one long slit, the fat of her ass blending into the fat of her labia, surrounded by the soft, hanging wattles of skin at the tops of her thighs. When I kissed her, the scent told me she had leaked both ways. So I kissed and licked again, deeper, enjoying ALL of her scents and tastes.

By now I knew her body well enough that I brought her quickly to orgasm, drinking her release, and using my mouth to give her a second and third orgasm right away.

I squeezed and jiggled her hips, about all I could reach the way I was pinned, and she giggled, bringing me along very slowly.

When I came she coughed and peed a little, making me cough in reply. I licked, not minding the bitter, salty taste at all as she sucked the final tiny drops from me.

Finally, I could feel her relax and then start to straighten to release me.

I latched on to the fat pads of her pussy making her giggle. When she finally pulled away my mouth released her with an audible pop.

She moved slowly, awkward and lumbering with her weight, but finally managed to lay beside me, her fingertips soft on my cheek, smiling.

"God I love you," she said softly.

"And I love you, too," I said. "Tonight you get the greatest gift I can give you. You will be the queen of the dance."

She smiled, that weird predatory combination of smile and grin that was starting to seem natural on her.

"You make me happy, David," she said.

"Good," I smiled "one more night," I thought.

I made that day a Doris Day and we both giggled when I told her that. I bathed and tended her. I fed her, starting with a half dozen Egg McMuffins and those little hockey puck hash brown patties. For lunch I took her to the restaurant, dressed in her most revealing outfit. For dinner, it was the buffet at the Chinese restaurant we liked. We ate early because I wanted to get to the dance early and it started at 7:00.

Then it was a half hour in the tub and almost an hour in the chair in front of her little makeup desk while I did her hair and face. I did her nails too, fingers and toes.

I am very good at that stuff and she was looking as good as she ever did. Hell, she actually was kind of pretty in that way of some fat women.

I laid out her sexiest outfit and helped her into it. In that short skirt, the dark part of the tops of her nylons peeking out with each step, about six inches of cleavage on display, and those high heels doing good things for her legs and her walk, she looked pretty damn good.

We got to the dance right at 6:30, just as I had planned. The band was setting up and I selected a table two down from Victoria's usual one. I seated Doris at the head of the table, smiling down at her.

"Don't be nervous," I said, "this is YOUR house now."

I went and talked to the band's frontman. We had chatted before. I admired his guitar licks and he appreciated a knowledgeable audience.

Then it was back to the table to see what the night would bring.

Rene was the first in, she looked around and came to join us.

Well, not exactly the first. A few other couples had come in and the place was starting to fill.

But of what I thought of as our "group," Rene was first.

I was surprised not at all when Dan and Phyllis were next in. Well, actually, it took a moment for me to recognize them. He was looking dapper in slacks, a button-down Oxford cloth shirt, and an inch-wide tie that would have been at home around the neck of a Jet or a Shark from West Side Story. She had on a very tight blouse, I wondered if it had been hanging in the back of her closet for a decade or if it was new for the occasion, a very short skirt showing off good legs well enhanced by the spike heels she wore, and a swollen bruise on her face.

I grinned and stood as they approached the table. "Looking sharp," I said, including both of them.

Our table, well, Doris's table, filled quickly. I watched, taking it all in, as a couple of devout followers joined Victoria at her table.

The band started promptly at 7:00 and as I had requested, the first song was a passable cover of Bobby Vinton's Blue Velvet. I stood and walked directly to Victoria's table.

"Victoria," I said, very formally, "we've met but in case you've forgotten, I'm David," and I held out my hand.

Her face was interesting as she worked through emotions. She was angry and interested and flattered and it all showed.

Finally, she took my hand and shook it, one of those loose-fingered shakes that women of a certain station do. It pissed me off but, of course, I kept my smile up.

"I know who you are, David," she said and I actually liked her voice. It was deep for a woman, coarse, almost gravelly. Think Peri Gilpin who played Roz on Frasier or June Allyson from any of a dozen movies in the 1950s.

Anyway, it was a voice I liked and I wondered for an instant if I had fucked up on that first night. But, well, here I was, about to drive the final nail into her coffin so I figured no use in crying over spilled milk.

"Come on, beautiful," I said, "let's dance."

That surprised her and I enjoyed the big-eyed look I drew.

"Come on," I said again, very aware that all eyes around the table were on us, "I make a point to dance with the prettiest girl in the place."

"I thought that was Doris," she said with something approaching a sneer, or maybe a snarl, on her face.

"Oh," I said, flashing my best boyish grin, "we both know that was always bullshit, don't we."

That brought a smile and damn but the woman had a good smile. Ivory teeth against her red lips made a good contrast, but mostly it was her eyes. A tracery of laugh lines, call them crows feet if you want, ran from the corners of her eyes almost to her ears giving her face a truly interesting look.

She stood, accepted my hand, and said, "well, okay then."

She really was a striking woman. Tall, almost regal with that great mane of silver-grey hair, her dark eyes under heavy brows, that hawk beak of a nose combined into a, well, the word IS "striking," package. I could see why she had been the Prom Queen and head cheerleader. And I could imagine the hell she had put Doris through over the years.

Ahhhhh, small-town living, God love it.

All of which made what I was about to do all that much more interesting.

The band had just gone into another 1960s thing, something I didn't recognize. It opened with "Cupid, draw back your bow." Anyway, it had a strong beat and she turned out to be a good dancer.

"You've lost, you know," I said, almost conversationally.

She looked legitimately confused when she said, "lost what?"

I chuckled and said, "It's Doris's house now," I said.

"Oh, that'll pass," she said.

"Did you notice Phyllis's face when she came in?" I asked and that stopped her. She missed a step.

"What about it?" she asked.

I grinned and said, "Vickie," deliberately shortening her name and enjoying the flash of her anger when I did it, "once a woman submits to that there's no coming back."

When she didn't say anything I asked, "do you know about Darla's little playground?"

Her silence and the look on her face were answer enough.

"Vickie," I said, and there was that flash of anger again, "this is your last chance. Doris wants to isolate you, to fucking SHUN you, but I've persuaded her to hold off on that. But you had better get your skinny ass over there and make nice or I'll let her."

The song ended and another started up, this time I recognized Elvis Presley's I Can't Help Falling in Love, and couldn't help but chuckle. It seemed fitting.

"Come on," I said, "she'd love to have you sit at her left although, if I'm being honest, I think she'd rather isolate you."

She was frowning now, a series of deep horizontal lines across her forehead. I thought they made her look even more regal.

"What," she said, and her internal struggle was obvious on her face. This was obviously something she did NOT want to say or do.

"What," she started again, "would I have to do?"

And I knew I had won.

"Debase yourself like the snotty cunt you are," I thought.

"Just come over and say you'd like to join her," I said.

She was silent as we finished the dance.

"Well?" I asked, my best boyish grin on my face.

She took a deep breath and took my arm with both hands.

"I surrender," she said.

When I took a step she didn't move, almost pulling me off balance.

"One more dance?" she asked and for the first time, I saw honest submission on her face.

"Sure," I said, taking her into my arms again.

"Will it hurt?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said, flashing The Grin, "and you'll cry."

"Is there any way....." and she trailed off.

"Sure," I said, using my best boyish grin now, "just say no."

"And if I do that?" she asked.

"Then I'll walk you over to your lonely table and you and the three ya-yas can enjoy the dance," I said.

"Will you do it?" she asked.

I chuckled.

"I am going to strip you naked while everyone watches," I said, "pat your bony ass, and turn you over to my fiance."

She stopped, right there on the dance floor. As the other kept dancing around us she was looking at me, her eyes doing that little flicking thing as they focused on first one of my eyes and then the other. Her concentration appeared almost perfect.

I could see the decision made and she stepped off into the dance again, making me stumble to catch up.

"And then?" she asked.

"Wellllllllll," I said, trying for a sympathetic smile, "she will slap you right here," and I touched her cheek.

"That's it?" she asked.

"Honestly, Vickie," I said, and I noticed the little flash of irritation at the way I truncated her name, "I don't know beyond that. I imagine it will get very messy and very painful. But that's a price you pay for the way you have treated others."

She stopped again.

"What the fuck are you?" she asked.

It was interesting that she was the first one in Salida, Colorado to ask that question.

"I'm just a guy, in love, trying to make his girl happy," I said.

"I'm the predator among you fucking sheep," I thought.

As the music ran down and stopped we stood for a moment. I knew her decision was made so I just waited her out.

"I'm scared," she said.

"You should be," I said, "now," and I laid my hand on her cheek in one of those very intimate gestures, and leaned forward.

"As a token of goodwill," I said, chuckling at that turn of phrase, "it would be nice if you went into the bathroom now and when you came over to the table you gave her your panties."

Her eyes went big at that.

"Hey," I said, holding up both hands, "just a suggestion. Do what you want to do," and I went back to the table where Doris was holding court, leaving Victoria standing there on the dance floor.

Doris's eyes were bright and shiny when I returned to the table, and Dan and Phylis and Darla, and Rene sat quietly. In a movie script something like "They wait expectantly" would have been written.

"And?" Doris asked.

"Wait for it," I said, watching the floor. When I saw Vickie, I was thinking of her as Vickie by then, head to the bathrooms I knew I had won.

Again, a movie script might have read "Dramatic Music plays as everyone waits expectantly. Slow pan across the table catching faces showing their excitement" .

Vickie came out of the hallway leading to the bathrooms and walked directly across the dance floor to Doris. I chuckled. Obviously, she had decided to make the best of a bad situation.

"Oh, honey," I thought, "you really don't have any idea what you're in for."

I realized, watching her walk, that she was going to give Doris more than just her panties. Her breasts were swaying nicely under her blouse.

Doris stayed seated as Vickie approached. She did the one-eyebrow-raised thing but said nothing.

"David said you might like these," Vickie said, offering her bra and panties to Doris.

Doris sniffed, quite artfully, and said, "well, I wouldn't but you can give them to him."

I thought that was a nice touch.

Vickie took the three steps to get to me and offered the bra and panties.

I took them, resisting the urge to seal her humiliation by raising them into the light and carefully inspecting them. I just smiled and put them in my pocket.

"May I join you?" she asked and you could feel the embarrassment and anger and aggravation she emitted.

Doris didn't say anything for a long 10 count - 1 Mississippi

2 Mississippi

3 Mississippi

4 Mississippi

5 Mississippi

6 Mississippi

7 Mississippi

8 Mississippi

9 Mississippi

10 Mississippi

She stood on 10 and said, "come with me."

She took a couple of steps and said, over her shoulder, "you too, David."

I followed as she led us out the front door and then around the corner to the parking lot.

The building was surrounded by a little lawn, about 10 feet wide or so, and then a sidewalk (handicapped accessible of course).

She took another dozen steps along the sidewalk, stopped, and looked around very theatrically, the image of John Belushi from Animal House sneaking around like a silent film spy flashed through my mind, and then took a couple of steps onto the grass and turned to face us.

She didn't say anything and again I flashed onto that movie script that might read dramatic pause.

She crooked her index finger, beckoning Vickie and Vickie closed the distance between them.

I watched, curious to see what Doris had in mind.

Doris spoke for the first time since this little act had started. "On your knees," she said in her best imperious voice. I thought she did it pretty well.

When Vickie hesitated Doris snapped, "NOW!"

I watched Vickie's shoulders sag and then she dropped, rather gracefully I thought, to her knees.

"Call me Fat Doris," Doris said.

"Doris," Vickie said, and the defeat and pleading were clear in her voice.

"CALL ME FAT DORIS," Doris said again.

Vickie moaned softly and said, "fat Doris," in a voice so soft I could barely hear it.

Doris slapped her across the face, a head-snapping slap accompanied by a loud SMACK.

Vickie rocked but stayed where she was.

"CALL ME TWO TON TESSIE," Doris said.

As I watched, Vickie's last shred of defiance surfaced.

"TWO TON TESSIE, TWO BY FOUR, COULDN'T GET THROUGH THE BATHROOM DOOR, SO SHE DID IT ON THE FLOOR," she almost shouted.

SMACK!

Doris slapped her again.

"CALL ME DORIS THE PIG!" Doris almost yelled.

"Doris, please," Vickie said.

"CALL ME DORIS THE PIG!" Doris did yell this time.

"DORIS THE PIG," Vickie said.

SMACK!

SMACK!!

SMACK!!!

Doris hit her three times, fast and I stepped in and grabbed her.

"You've made your point, honey," I said, "now go on inside."

She was breathing hard and sweating a little but she turned to me, drew a deep breath, and said, "Thank you, David."

She started walking back to the dance and I watched for a few steps to make sure she wouldn't come back. Then I turned to Vickie.

She was crying softly, tears and snot ruining her carefully applied makeup and her hand was clasped to her cheek where Doris had been hitting her.

And she was sort of chanting, over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Stand up," I said, offering my hand.

When she looked up at me I could see that one of Doris's slaps had missed and Vickie was bleeding from her left nostril a little. Not a gusher, just a bit of blood.

"Stand up," I said again and she stood.

"Come on," I said, and took her hand and led her to my car.

In the trunk, I got out one of the surgical towels I kept there in case something happened to the FIAT, a not uncommon occurrence, and I needed to wipe my hands.

"Here," I said, handing her the towel, "let's see if we can get the bleeding stopped. I have some nasal spray and some coagulant if we need it, but I don't think we will."

She stood there, silent, holding the towel to her face and nose, her crying slowly winding down.

"I'm sorry," she said and I replied, "I don't give a fuck."

That, more than anything else seemed to break the spell. Her head snapped up and she glared at me.

"Listen, bitch," I said putting as much scorn as I could manage into my voice, "I've seen cunts like you all over the country. You're hot shit in high school and love lording it over your friends. Well," and here I made my own dramatic pause, "that's over now. You're just another cunt who will do whatever my bride-to-be says or she'll have one of her minions (I love using the word "minion" whenever it fits) kick your skinny ass again."

"David, I," but I cut her off again.

"I. Do. Not. Give. A. Fuck," I said again.

"Are you still bleeding?" I asked.

She pulled the towel away from her face, and I noticed that her cheek was nicely swollen and a bruise was already forming, and looked. Then she touched under her nose and looked at her finger.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Good," I said, "now get your skinny ass in there and make nice with Doris."

EPILOGUE

That evening ended in Darla's basement.

Vickie was the center of attention as Dan and I mounted Vickie onto the Wooden Pony in the center of the room. If you don't know, this is a device to cause increasing pain to the crotch. It is usually considered a torture device for women although it could be used on a man. There is a strong frame, about 30 inches high (think a standard kitchen cabinet). On top of it, a triangle of wood is mounted. The victim's legs are spread and she (or he I suppose) is lowered onto it.

In Darla's basement, and I wondered just how much of a sadist her husband had been, it was modified with two small water lines so that buckets could be attached to the victim's ankles and the buckets slowly filled adding to the weight and the pain. There was a rope hanging from the ceiling so the victim could achieve a little relief by pulling herself (or himself) up, but, of course, arms would tire soon and the renewed agony was even worse, as I learned through later study.

Doris directed Dan and me to strip her, and we did it without much care for her wardrobe. Hell, if I'm being honest here, it was pretty much rags by the time she stood naked before the dozen or so of us in the room.

She was actually a fine figure of a woman as the saying goes. Moderately tall, she had full breasts, I estimated a legitimate C cup, a relatively small waist although the children she had borne were obvious in the little pouch of stretch marks above the triangle of her pubic hair, nicely flaring hips, and VERY good legs.

I couldn't help but notice the delta of her pubic hair, thick and curly, matched the silver grey of the hair on her head and I thought, "Jesus Christ, you egotistical bitch, you even had THAT died."

I'll give her credit though. She didn't do anything stupid like try to cover up with her hands or anything like that.

Dan and I secured her wrists with slip knots and lifted her up onto the Pony. As she settled we attached the line between her wrists to the rope hanging from a joist in the ceiling. You could see her arms tense, keeping the pressure off of those tender tissues between her legs. Dan did one ankle, and I did the other, hanging buckets from each and then I opened the valve to the little split line that started a slow drip into the buckets.

"Her next," Doris directed us, pointing at Darla, so we did the same with her. She seemed to enjoy being stripped roughly and then stood proudly, her thick chick mombod on display, heavy breasts sagging, thick belly protruding a little, her thighs very thick with cellulite dimples. She was shaved or waxed smooth, surprising me.