This be my concrete jungle. Its many brick buildings - the tall grass of the Serengeti. Its glass and mortar towers - those majestic trees. Its people - the mighty Crocodile, the sneaking Jackal, the thieving Hyena. Giraffe stroll through streets, Elephant lumber through crowds, the Hawk, Eagle, and Condorcoast along as though flying, and Vipers lay in wait for their next victim.
But this be my concrete jungle. I am King, I am the Lion. Bronze skinned, steely muscled, towering frame. My mane lays about my head in braids. My pride is spread throughout the city. An ebony skinned Lioness, mother to two of my cubs. A cocoa colored Cheetah, sharp of tongue and quick ofwit. A lithe Leopard, colored like the sands, who has graced me with four more strong young cubs. They know nothing of my nightly escapades. I hunt; I prey; I feast.
I wander through my streets looking for prey. A Gazelle, a Zebra, a Wildebeest. There is a slight chill in the air. My senses are assaulted by the decay in my domain. The Crocodile has cowered the Condor, there are too many Jackals and too few Giraffe, the Hyena has stolen the spirit of the Hawk. Hunters abound in this city. As a result, the hunted are always wary, always afraid.
Almost always. My eyes fall on a pair. A young Gazelle and a young Zebra, walking unawares. The Gazelle is very thin. Shocking blond hair cut close to her head, leaving her slim graceful neck exposed. A tight, thin, purple sweater shows her firm, young figure off well; well sized breasts, neither large, nor small, and a flat stomach without a hint of fat. Her form fitting jeans reveal the rest of a body that is not yet touched by time. The Gazelle has lain with man before. It is evident in the way she moves. A less experienced observer may mistake her for a dancer. But the sway to her hips is more natural, more fluid. It comes not from "practice", but from "experience". She talks excitedly with her friend. Her lips a bit too full for her slight features, which make them all the more enticing and inviting.
The Zebra is more thickly built. A black knit skirt accentuates her muscular thighs underneath. Her well turned calves indicate she is an athlete of some sort. She wears a light grey jacket open over a tight white t-shirt. The t-shirt does little to keep her warm, as evidenced by the large nipples of her full breasts pushing against the thin fabric. Black curls tumble down her head, past her shoulders, framing a strong yet feminine face. Her lips are almost as full as the Gazelle's, but fit her face much more appropriately. If she has experienced the touch of a man, he has not crossed her gates. Her movements are too tight, too guarded. Obviously a virgin.
They are so engrossed in their conversation the girls don't realize they walk in the midst of predators. I could easily grab them both, pull them into a dark building or alley and sate my hunger. A simple flash of my steel claw, eight sharp, shining inches, would have them cowering. From there it would only be a matter of manipulation before the dark haired Zebra girl was laid open to me. My head buried in her young firm bosom, my fingers deep inside the folds of her virgin cunt. While the Gazelle kneels before me, slurping, licking, sucking my engorged cock. But they are young still. A meal for another time. I walk on
Soon my hunt brings me upon a Wildebeest. This woman, very heavily built, is obviously just coming home from work. Her matching navy skirt and blazer are very professional, yet still show her feminine form underneath. She is massively breasted and thickly thighed. She has some fat around the belly, but not enough to make her figure unattractive. She moves with a powerful stride, obviously a strong woman. She is also very aware of the hunters around her. The Wildebeest keeps her purse tucked closely to her, her hand in a pocket of the purse, very likely holding onto a can of pepper spray mace.
That is her mistake though. As I watch her walk, I see where I could snatch her from the street.. Fifty feet from her is an alleyway. If anything other than bums or crack heads were down it I would be surprised. I envision myself crossing the street just in front of the Wildebeest woman, and letting her overtake me. As we close on the alleyway I close on her. In one swift motion I wrap my arms around her, pinning both of her arms to her side, and making her pepper spray useless. One hand covers her mouth as I drag her into the alley.
Always they panic. I press her face first to the wall. My actions quick, I yank away her purse, ridding her of the offending weapon held within. Quickly, efficiently, blazer, blouse and skirt are cut away. My prey stands before me in nothing but bra and panties. She quivers with fear, vainly begging me to stop, not to hurt her. I reach one hand around her and begin massaging one of her massive orbs of flesh. I cut her bra away and pinch and twist her delicate nipple between my fingers. She feels my hardness pressing into her rear. Ever so slowly, I pull her panties down to her feet. She trembles and whimpers incoherently. She knows I am a predator, she knows she is my prey. She knows all she can do is wait until I am done feasting upon her. I am brought out of my scheming as the woman enters a building well short of the alley. She has escaped her fate this night. I move on.
The night moves on with me. The sensible have left these streets by now. All that are left are the careless, the foolhardy, those who prey upon the weak, and those who believe they are too strong to be preyed upon. Whores are out in force, making them easy targets. Too easy for a hunter like myself. I tired of that chase by the time I was sixteen. Especially when I learned the lesson, once you take a whore's body you must take that whore's life, and that of her Crocodile pimp. Zebras, Gazelles, Wildebeests call to me, all of them whores. Displaying their worn out wares in gaudy fashion. There is no new meat among them. No fresh face who doesn't know to avoid the far off alley. No one so naive they would allow me to reach into my pockets while up close. No one who would tremble at the blade at her throat, and never say a word about the John who took from her and didn't pay. No prey I could leave alive. I move on.
The midnight hour has come and gone. Only the lustful and the lost wander these late, late nights. Most will have been drinking since they left their low paying jobs. Their motions would not be quite right, they would not be as aware as usual. They would be ripe for my preying.
A Gazelle exits a nearby bar. She has an air about her. An intelligence, and a glorious way of moving. She is a dancer, a gymnast, something where fluid body control is key to performance. She is average height and very thin. Hey long brown hair falls neatly past her shoulders. From here I can see she is small breasted. From the loose fitting sky blue blouse she wears, I can tell she is also acutely aware of this feature. It is also evident in the way she displays her legs.
I gaze at the firm length of thigh extending from the bottom of her navy skirt; at her well muscled, yet tender looking calves. Her entire body is toned and well taken care of. But her legs are her pride, her joy. More time was spent on the shaping, primping and preening of her legs than on any other part of her body. I lick my lips at the thought of spending hours buried between those legs. I have never abducted my prey, to truly enjoy the feast. There is an increased chance of being caught. So, as a rule, I stick to use and toss. But as I watch the Gazelle cross the street to her car, I decide there are times when the rules must change.
I smile when I see the vehicle she approaches. A Toyota 4-Runner. People feel so safe, so secure in their large SUV's. I'll show this Gazelle just how dangerous her vehicle can be.
I close the distance between us, making sure to stay out of her line of sight. It is an easy task, she is blissfully unaware. The alcohol in her system having dulled her senses. She uses the keyless entry remote to unlock the vehicle. Luck is with me tonight. There will be no awkward waiting until she opens her doors. The Gazelle reaches her 4-Runner, opens the drive's side door, and I attack!
As she sits down in the driver's seat, I open the same side rear door of the SUV. She tries to scream but it is cut off as my hand wraps tightly around her throat. It is a stretch, but I manage to reach forward and pull her door close first. This cuts off her escape. I close the back door next, and finally get a good hold of the Gazelle. She squirms, she struggles, and a few times I lose hold of her shirt. But her throat never escapes my grasp, it is this I use to control her.
I drag the Gazelle between the front seats, and then toss her into the rear of the vehicle. I follow very soon after. Again she tries to scream, again it is cut off by my hand around her throat. I make her lay down on the cargo space floor. She faces up at me, eyes wild with fear. I say nothing. Prey such as this never needs a warning. My glare is more than enough to silence her.
I straddle her slight hips, pinning her with my weight. I don't bother with my knife. I rip her silk blouse from her and pull her skirt down over her gloriously long legs. I use her blouse to hog tie her, and her skirt as a gag. Once she is secure, I climb out of the back of the vehicle and pull back the divider to hide my catch from prying eyes.
I close the back of the SUV and head toward the driver's seat when I hear a familiar sound...a familiar laugh. I turn my head back to the bar the Gazelle just left, and sure enough there is my cocoa brown Cheetah on the arm of some Jackal. I watch as they walk toward a late 70's Monte Carlo, not her car, his. I watch as he unlocks then opens the passenger side door for her to enter. I watch as he stops her, turns her around and leans forward, kissing her deeply, passionately, lustily. Then I move.
Half lidded eyes shoot wide open as my Cheetah glances past the Jackal pulling away from their kiss, and sees me standing behind him. Seeing her fear, the sneaking little beast of a man turns around to face me, and begins putting on airs.
"What the fuck you want?" the Jackal snarls, "I know you ain't tryin' a jack. I'll slap you upside yo dread locked head and bus' a cap in yo ass!" He pulls back his jacket to show off a gun.
He is ignorant, a fool, a typical ghetto running punk. "You're with my woman." I say calmly giving him a chance to back out graciously.
But he is a fool. The Jackal looks at my Cheetah who nods, letting him know I'm telling the truth. Then he turns back to me smiling, "Well, I ain't been with her yet, but gimme a few hours an' I'll take care of that."
Fire flares in my eyes as cold steel appears in my hands. Three quick strikes to the chest, a slash across the throat, and a stab with a twist into the belly and the Jackal lies in the street quickly loosing life's precious fluid. I gesture toward the 4-Runner with the bloody knife and my Cheetah moves without protest. We drive in silence back to her apartment. She doesn't attempt to speak until she is safely out of the vehicle.
"Izzy I..." My gaze cuts her off.
"We WILL speak on this..." I growl, "Another time."
A soft bumping comes from the back, my Cheetah's eyes shift toward it. "What was that?" she asks.
"Nothing." Is all I answer, and she knows best to leave it alone.
As she walks into her building I can see my Cheetah believes she has escaped death. Never could I do that, never could I hurt her. I drive off, fury is raging inside of me. This is why I hunt. This fury must be spent. But never on those close to me. Never on those I love. Tonight I have a Gazelle. I search through her purse and find her driver's license. A Gazelle named Gail. Gail Long. Well Gail, it is your destiny to be furiously fucked this night and for days to come.
I drive into the darkness, into the places even the most hardened of men fear. Yet I am not afraid. This be my city, my concrete jungle. I am the Lion. Here, I am King.