Succulent Prey (4 page)

continued to cast sidelong glances at his sleeping roommate as his engorged

organ began to pulsate and the first

drops of precum dribbled from the

swol en head.

Joe pinched his left nipple hard as he

continued to masturbate, then he

reached down and slid a finger into his rectum to massage his prostate. He

read frantical y through the rest of the page as he neared climax.

His legs kicked straight out in front of him as the monster leaped up and shot a long arc of semen up onto the computer

screen. His entire body jerked

convulsively as he ejaculated again and again in what seemed an unending

stream of liquid white, and visions

spiraled through his mind of succulent

human flesh cut lovingly from the breasts, thighs, and buttocks of a woman bred for her meat.

What the hel am I becoming? Joe

wondered as he continued to pant

breathlessly, stil quivering from the

powerful orgasm.

Joe used a tube sock to wipe his semen

from the computer screen. He then

licked his fingers clean of his stil living fluids, imagining it was the blood of prey. Joe turned off the computer and crawled into bed with his erection stil

undiminished. He masturbated three

more times before he final y drifted off into sleep. He was getting worse. It was time for another reprogramming

session.

Chapter Four

The wal s of the room were barren,

painted a neutral antique white. The

laminated wood floor was scuffed and

scratched. A solemn crucifix hung in the center of one wal with the tortured and bleeding effigy of Christ affixed to it. The entire room seemed to perspire, the

floor to heave as if breathing heavily as the combined lusts of a roomful of sex

addicts boiled the air and raised the

humidity.

Joe sat with his huge shoulders slumped forward, his tremendous arms resting on his thighs, his head nestled in his

oversized hands, and his eyes boring

oversized hands, and his eyes boring

into the sacrificial lamb seated directly across the room baring his soul for

group consumption. There were seven of

them crammed into the little room in the basement of the church, swapping

titil ating tales of sexual excess for the purpose of therapy, eagerly devouring

each detail of one another's sex lives. Joe had no idea how this was supposed

to make them better. It seemed like he'd been coming to these meetings for

years.

His hunger roiled within him like a living thing clawing at the lining of his stomach. He'd eaten a ful breakfast so he knew

that it wasn't physical. He'd masturbated twice before leaving the house too.

Sometimes that took the edge off his

appetite. Not today. Today the only thing that would assuage his carnivorous lust was fresh meat. He needed help. He

was having a harder and harder time

resisting the temptation to feed.

Everywhere he looked there seemed to

be meat ripe for consumption. He was

hoping this therapy session would at

least calm his hunger long enough for

him to make it through his classes.

Among this bizarre assemblage of

predator and prey he should have felt

right at home, but even here he had to

maintain his secrets. He was more of a

predator than any of them would ever

have realized or been comfortable with, and as much a victim as the little man

with the nervous eyes and bruised face. They were al victims here, victims of

their own addictions, prey to their

desires.

Joe had been coming to these meetings

almost every day since he started

col ege last year. He was now beginning his sophomore year at the local

university where he was enrol ed as a

psychology major. The irony of that

always made him laugh. Physician, heal

thyself. He had started coming to Sex

Addicts Anonymous after he'd gotten

hooked on the sex and swingers club

scene. He spent so much time in the sex clubs last semester, waking up nearly

every night with a strange woman-or in

some cases, strange couples-in his bed

that he'd nearly flunked out of school. So he'd come here to get his life in order. But now his addiction had mutated and

he wasn't sure they could help him

anymore. The problems of the other

confessed addicts almost seemed

pedestrian in comparison to the monster raging within him.

"I wound up drunk in an al ey giving a blowjob to a stranger."

His name was Frank. He had a busted

nose, a black eye, and a huge gash on

his forehead. It was a common sight.

They were al pretty much used to it now. He always came into the group session

with a new bruise or cut. Joe wouldn't

have been as interested in hearing

about Frank's sexual exploits were it not for the violence that always

accompanied the passion.

Joe had heard al of Frank's stories

before. Each day was just more of the

same. Yet another variation of the "Meet boy, fuck and suck boy, get the shit

kicked out of him by boy" theme. The only thing that ever changed was the

order of the events, the severity of the attacks, and the size of the attacker's cock. Frank was a homosexual who had

a thing for straight men and often risked an ass kicking to get one. He enjoyed

tel ing his lascivious tales of sex and battery even more than the rest of the

group enjoyed hearing them. This was

not so much therapy as group catharsis

and cathexis. He spit it out and they

sucked it up.

In the beginning they would try to outdo each other. Each of them would tel their most extravagant tales of sexual

hedonism. Mary was a housewife who

had affairs with strangers almost daily, claiming to be addicted to the taste of semen. Tom was her male equivalent.

He cheated on his wife with male

escorts and loved to feel cum on his ass. Jane and Bil y were a couple who were

hooked on meeting people on the

Internet and having sex with them after months of cybercourtship. Sam was

addicted to pornography and

masturbated eight to twelve times a day and often in public. Malcolm heard

voices and exposed himself to women in

parks. He was stil young, only nineteen years old, but wel on his way to

becoming a rapist and probably a serial kil er soon afterward. He was the only

one close to being as fucked up as

Frank or Joe himself. But no one knew

how disturbed Joe was. Joe didn't

share.

Soon they were al rushing through their confessions, eager to get to Frank's

latest adventures, and he never

disappointed. He knew they were

counting on him. Far from curing the

dysfunctional little man, they were

enabling him, feeding his addiction as

much as he fed theirs. Joe often

wondered what would have happened if

he shared some of his own experiences

with the group. He was pretty sure he

could have outdone Frank.

Joe wasn't sure if it even made sense

for him to come to these Sex Addicts

Anonymous sessions anymore. He had

progressed way beyond just your

average sex addict.

"What happened next, Frank?" Mary, the session leader/counselor, asked with the appropriate concern on her face. Joe

knew that half the people in the group

went home and masturbated to the

confessions they heard at these

sessions. Sam, occasional y, didn't

bother to wait until he left the room.

"Wel , he had the most enormous cock. I swear it was almost a ful ten inches and I was gagging on it and loving every

minute of it. He came al down my throat and then pul ed his cock out of my mouth and came al over my face. Then he got

mean." Frank paused and looked down in his lap where his hands lay clenched tightly. No doubt hiding his erection.

"What did he do?" Everyone leaned forward in their chairs. Their own

addictions drew them into the tale,

hungrily searching for that salacious

tidbit to momentarily assuage the hunger burning in each of them.

"He smiled down at me and told me how beautiful I looked with cum on my face, which I thought was kind of nice. But then he started cal ing me a filthy cumsucking faggot. He punched and kicked me until I almost passed out. The funny thing was that while he was kicking my

ass I noticed that his cock was getting hard again. After he'd beaten the shit out of me, busted a couple ribs and broke

my nose, he pul ed my pants down and

raped me, anal y. No lubrication at al . It had to have chafed him as much as it

did me. What was even weirder was that

I kind of enjoyed it."

Nothing surprising there, Frank, Joe

thought. Everyone knew that the effete

little guy, who came in every week with his face looking as if it had gone through a meat grinder, was a hardcore

masochist. He just hadn't admitted it to himself. If he could just admit it then he could start finding safer trade in S&M

clubs before he ran into someone who

might real y hurt him. Someone like Joe. He was already imagining what he would

do to the petite little man if he were ever to get him alone.

"So how does that make you feel now, Frank?" Mary asked, her voice ful of false concern. Mary was almost as

indiscreet in her desire to hear about

Frank's exploits as Sam, who already

had his hand in his pocket, jacking off unselfconsciously.

Mary had been a regular attendee at

these meetings longer than anyone and

seemed to wield no more control over

her addictions than the rest of them. She propositioned Joe after almost every

session. He knew that she'd already

fucked nearly every straight guy who'd

ever set foot in this place in the seven or eight years she'd been coming. Joe also knew that it drove her nuts that she

hadn't had him yet.

Joe kept his body in excel ent condition. Working out was as much of a

compulsion for him as fucking. His face was hard and lean with a squared-off jaw and dark blue eyes. His friends had

jokingly cal ed him Clark Kent back in

high school because he looked like he

should have been on the cover of a

Superman comic book. Mary wasn't

Joe's type, though. She was a skanky

trailer-park slut. Too skinny, with no ass and smal tits. She looked like a drug

addict, which she had been until she'd

switched addictions. Frank was just

about to reply to her question when Joe interrupted him.

"I fantasize about biting women's

breasts off and eating them."

That shook things up. Everyone stared

at Joe with mouths agape as they tried

to compose the proper healing response

to such a perverse admission. It was the first time Joe had shared with the group and they didn't want to discourage him, if only for the promise of a new fetish to feed on. This beat every one of Frank's rough trade encounters in Polk Street

leather bars, except maybe the one

where he got fistfucked by that biker with his arm lubed with motor oil. It certainly shamed Mary's confessions about

fucking the neighbors' husbands and

masturbating with fruit and household

appliances, even the time she'd put

peanut butter on her clit to get head from her Great Dane.

Joe got up and left before they could

respond with their trite little twelve-step slogans, though it would have been

curious to know which one they could

have whipped out for cannibalism. That

was the one addiction none of the books addressed. Joe knew. He had already

checked.

Joe jogged the distance from the little storefront church where the SAA

meetings were held back to the campus

to hit the gym before classes started.

When he walked into the weight room it

was already packed. The track team

was in there doing their morning strength training. "Muscle equals speed!" he heard Coach Truman yel ing as he built

his athletes into physical specimens that looked more like middleweight boxers

than sprinters. Joe stared at their

elegant bodies in a trance. He'd always had a fetish for large round buttocks and no one had a meatier, more finely

formed gluteus maximus than a sprinter. Particularly the African-American ones

who seemed to be genetical y gifted with the type of round meaty asses he loved. They al wore those tiny running shorts that exposed the bottom half of their

enlarged glutes. Their thighs were finely sculpted and shimmering with a sheen

of sweat. It was almost too much for Joe to bear. He watched the women's

sumptuous asses bounce by as they

walked from one piece of exercise

equipment to the next. He felt like a lion lying down with sheep-and he was

getting hungry. An erection was straining in his sweatpants and he had no real

way to conceal it. It didn't matter how many girls noticed his arousal and

giggled or sneered in disgust. It was

worth the sight.

Joe began his workout with 500-pound

squats, grunting and straining his way

through four sets of ten. Then he loaded nearly a thousand pounds onto the leg

press for another four sets that left his legs quivering from overexertion. He

finished off with hamstring curls and

quadricep extensions before hitting the showers.

Even in the locker room the sight of the men's naked flesh was arousing him.