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Archive name: ThePrey.txt (m/f, pedo, alien)
Authors name: Doug Reade
Story Title : The Prey


 This story copyright Doug Reade, 1996.  Permission
 freely given to archive and repost, as long as this
 paragraph is included in the repost.  Any contemplated
 alterations or editing should be taken up with the
 author first.  Any comments, requests for reposting,
 etc. should be sent to a.s.s.d. or directly to the
 author at readebks@wolfenet.com.

			The Prey
                        by Doug Reade


     He liked to think of himself as a shark in the
 fishpond, a tiger in the sheepfold, a wolf in among the
 goats.  It amused him to reflect that little goats are
 called ‘kids’, and what better place to find kids than
 in a playground?

     He stood at the edge of the park, half hidden in
 the trees, a place from where he could survey the en-
 tire grassy area before him.  

     "City parks are the best," he thought, and special-
 ly on the sunny days of early summer.  "The kids are
 out of school, they’ve got a lot of pent-up energy, and
 the parents have gotten a little careless.  Can’t beat
 it."

     The park was huge, an erstwhile military base long
 since handed over to the city.  Acres of woods, trails,
 and playfields, with only the occasional abandoned
 bunker to betray its former purpose.  Miles of room to
 disappear in.

     He loved this place.

     He’d come here for months, until he knew the entire
 park blind-folded.  Not during the day, of course;
 dangerous to let himself be seen and known to that
 extent.  But it wasn’t hard to find places to slip
 through the fence, and exploring by night had its own
 special thrill.  He had gone over most of the city
 this way, until he had satisfied himself he’d found
 all the places where the kids could be found, and the
 safe places they could be taken to afterwards.

     He made it his habit to have as few habits as pos-
 sible.  Where there were sheep, there were sheepdogs,
 and he had no desire to draw their attention.  He was
 smart; he was clever.  He had never been suspected,
 much less caught, and he had every intention of keeping
 it that way.

     A tennis ball flew into the bushes ten feet from
 him.  He came to alert, then relaxed when, seconds
 later, a large black Lab, tail wagging ecstatically,
 crashed into the brush, grabbed the ball, and ran back
 out again.

     He settled to wait again, pushing the hunger back
 down.  Patience was good, control was vital.  The right
 one would show up, and at the right time.  If not here,
 then at one of the other places he’d scoped out with
 equal care.  And if he had to wait--well, the hunger
 would be that much sharper, and its satisfaction that
 much fuller.

     He watched with interest a family crossing the wide
 field.  Automatically assessing the parents for aggres-
 siveness, he focussed in on the children.  Two boys,
 and he expertly guessed their ages at six and nine.
 The parents were "nice people"--pushovers.  This had
 possibilities.

     He didn’t prefer boys, and it disturbed him to
 notice that lately, when he took one, rage followed
 satiety.  The larger the mess, he reminded himself,
 the longer the cleanup.  But he still found himself
 drifting through the trees, following them.  It was
 the six-year-old, he decided; he just had a soft spot
 for blond curls.

     The boys raced ahead to claim a picnic table not
 ten feet from the wood’s edge, and he took his position
 twenty feet in, watching as Mom and Dad caught up with
 them and started unloading their sacks.  He ignored the
 food, it was the toys he was looking for.  And there
 they were: Frisbees, throwing rings, a couple of soft-
 balls.  Better and better.

     The kids were already starting to scatter, explor-
 ing their surroundings.  He heard Mommy give the
 obligatory "don’t go too far, boys," but she was
 already engrossed setting up their picnic.  He left
 his position and slipped through the woods, moving
 ahead of them.

     As he expected they would, the kids zeroed in on
 the concrete-shell restroom forty feet away from the
 table.  He grinned; you could count on it every time.
 Give a kid three acres of open field to play in, and
 the first thing he wants to do is turn on a faucet and
 splash in the water.  Which made this particular rest-
 room so perfect for him.  Its featureless back wall
 pressed up against the woods, with a foot-wide space
 between it and a wall of brush.  He could be invisible,
 waiting behind that brush.  From there it was so easy.
 Wait for the kid to come through alone, grab him, and
 it would be as if he vanished into thin air.

     As the boys reached the dripping faucet at the side
 of the building, he moved past them, hunkering down
 behind a tree trunk where he could watch both them and
 their parents.  So close.  The hunger rose, so strong
 and sweet the air shimmered before his eyes.  Control!
  
	He grabbed the hunger like a physical thing and
 shoved it back down, allowing himself only the reward
 of savoring the erection that sprang painfully to life
 in his cramped jeans.  Soon.  Soon.

     He knew it!  The older boy got bored first, and
 wandered away, leaving his brother alone.  He reached
 into his pocket and pulled out a small device he’d
 found in a novelty store.  He pushed a button, and it
 responded with the unmistakable croak of a frog.

     The little boy’s head came up, and he looked around
 for the sound.

     That’s it, c’mon.  He punched the button repeatedly
 and the boy, peering with cautious curiosity, began to
 squeeze into the space behind the building.  C’mon,
 c’mon.  Stay in control now.  Fighting against the
 hunger rising like a blood tide, he got ready to move
 from behind the tree.

     "Whatcha doin’, mister?"

     Only his long-trained control kept him from shout-
 ing.  As it was, the galvanic response from his legs
 shot him painfully forward into the tree trunk.  He
 rebounded, almost fell, before managing to steady him-
 self against the trunk long enough to turn around.

     She stood in the low brush not ten feet away, lit
 by an errant shaft of sunlight, and looking at him
 through wide blue eyes.  Ten years old, no more, with
 long blonde hair framing an impossibly pretty face
 before falling in soft curls to the middle of her
 chest.  She embodied his dream better even than he
 knew, and even through his shock he could feel the
 hunger shrieking.  She shivered for a second, then was
 again still.

     The little boy aimlessly pushing past the brush
 behind him was now totally forgotten.  He licked his
 lips unconsciously.

     "What’re ya doin’?" she asked again.  "Did you hurt
 yourself?"

     With her second question, he realized that, in the
 instant of panic, his right hand had whipped behind him
, grabbing at the handle of the hunting knife he kept in
 hidden sheath there.  Now, back in control, he relaxed,
 brought his hand back out, and straightened up.

     "No--I. . .no, I’m fine.  You just surprised me,
 that’s all.  Where’d you come from?"

     She twisted gracefully to wave a bare arm vaguely
 off to her left.  "That way.  Were you hunting for
 something?"

     He fought the impulse to respond, "Yes, you."
 Instead he pushed a practiced mild expression over his
 face and said, "I thought I heard a frog.  I was look-
 ing for it.  Do you like frogs?"

     She made a face.   "Not really.  I like things with
 fur on ‘em."  She spun back and forth, standing on one
 foot, the short skirt of her dress swirling around her
 black leotards.  It was all he could do to keep from
 lunging at her.  She quivered again, very briefly.

     "Do you like squirrels?"

     "Oh, yes," she smiled.  "Squirrels are funny."

     "Well, I saw some earlier, playing in the trees
 over there."  He pointed over her shoulder, back into
 the woods.  "Shall we go see if they’re still there?"

     Her delighted smile almost blinded him.  He moved
 forward to show her the way, and just as he reached
 her, there was a keening scream from overhead.  She
 glanced into the treetops.  "That was an eagle," she
 said, suddenly sober.  "He’s hunting something."  She
 grinned impishly.  "He’s not the only one, is he?"

     Oh, little girl, he thought.  What you don’t know;
 But the smile he put on was gentle.  "That’s right.
 But we won’t hurt them, like he would."  No, not them.
 He pointed to a nearly overgrown trail that ran between
 the trees, disappearing around a tall mound of black-
 berry vines.  "I saw them back there, on the other side
 of the clump.  Shall we go?"

     She clapped her hands, once, then danced on ahead
 down the trail, pausing briefly to spin around and
 giggle, "And I didn’t think I was going to have *any*
 fun today!"  He waited until her back was turned again
 before reaching into the top of his jeans and straight-
 ening out his achingly bent cock.  Then he followed her
 quickly through the woods.  But not too quickly.  Don’t
 get too close.  Not yet.  No good hunter would scare
 the prey away at this point.

     The trail ended on the other side of the tangle of
 vines, just as he knew it would, since he had made it.
 She was standing at trail’s end, looking around in cute
 confusion.  "Where to now, mister?" she asked when she
 saw him.  "Where are the squirrels?"

     "Hunh. . ."  He feigned a look up and around.
 "They *were* here."  He peered into the vines.  "Well!
 Maybe they went in here."

     "Where?  Oh, my!"

     They were standing at the vine-draped opening of a
 large concrete bunker, a gray box that formed the sup-
 port for the black-berries that arched over and covered
 it.  The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves and
 splayed across the soft sand floor, illuminating per-
 haps four or five feet into the structure.  Further
 back, it faded into a featureless gray gloom.  Whatever
 reasons the military might have had for putting it here
 originally, he didn’t know and cared less.  But he had
 more than once thanked them for doing so.  For his
 needs, it could hardly have been more perfectly placed.

     He pulled the vines aside and repeated, "Maybe they
 went in here.  Shall we go see?"

     She bent forward, peering into the darkness.  "But
 why would they?" she asked.  "Squirrels like to be in
 trees.  Why would they go in there?"

     He thought quickly.  "Well, they have to bury their
 nuts somewhere, don’t they?"  He nearly giggled at his
 own joke.

     She looked at him, expressionless, and for a second
 he thought she wasn’t going to buy it.  Then, with a
 smile almost sad, she slipped under his arm and stepped
 into the bunker.  As he moved in behind her, his smile,
 held for too long, crawled off his face, leaving a
 feral snarl behind.

     She stood at the edge of the light, waiting for her
 eyes to adjust to the darkness beyond.  She was just
 starting to turn around when the heel of his hand slam-
 med between her shoulder blades, shoving her violently
 face down into the dry sand.

     Instantly he was on her back, fist in her hair
 yanking her head back, his knife dimpling the soft
 skin at her throat.

     "Listen, you little bitch," he grated.  "And listen
 good.  You make a sound, cry, yell, anything! and I’ll
 kill you right now.  You do as I say, we’ll have some
 fun, and I’ll let you live.  Y’unnerstand?"

     She started to sob, regaining the wind that had
 been knocked out of her.  He yanked her hair again.
 "Shut up!  Are you going to do as I say?  Yes or no?"

     "Y--yes. . ." she gasped.

     "Good," he grunted.  In one move he lifted off her,
 flipped her over, and squatted again on her thighs,
 effectively pinning her.  He passed the blade back and
 forth before her eyes in mute menace, sheathing it only
 when he was satisfied she was cowed.  He grabbed the
 collar of her dress and with one yank ripped it to her
 waist, exposing her firm young unformed-tits.  Almost
 lovingly he ran his hands down her trembling body, from
 her throat down over her nipples, already tightening in
 the open air, caressing her taut smooth belly before
 moving up again.  He lay flat upon her, face to face,
 and lifted the hair framing her face, the golden
 strands sifting through his fingers like gold through
 a miser’s dreams.

     She stared at him, unblinking and intense, her ex-
 pression a nearly unreadable mixture of loathing,
 anger, and something else.  He decided that something
 else was lust.  He pushed his hand between them, down
 into the waistband of her tights and panties and
 pushed her legs apart.  Yeah, she was wet.  Oh, yeah.
 This was going to be good.

     He jammed his knee between her legs, pushing them
 apart, then roughly worked her tights and panties off,
 baring her slim lovely body from neck to ankles.  He
 found it surprisingly easy to slip a finger into her
 sweet little cunt, enjoying the feel of the juices
 that coated his hand, and the sight of his fingers
 disappearing into her.  Her hips started to move with
 his thrusting fingers.

     "Oh, yes.  Oh, yes, feels good, doesn’t it?" he
 crooned.  "Oh, yes.  But wait till I fuck you.  Oh,
 yes, that’ll really feel good, and you’ll want more,
 won’t you, little bitch?  Oh, yes."  Then he realized
 he hadn’t hit an obstruction.  "Why, you little slut.
 You’ve done this before, haven’t you?  Whore!  Hunh?
 Haven’t you?"  A slap rocked her head from side to
 side.  "Whore!  Little bitch slut fucking whore cunt!"
 He was about to hit her again when she looked him full
 in the face.

     Her expression almost shocked him.  None of the
 emotions he expected to see were there.  Instead, for
 a split second, he was looking straight into a hunger
 as naked and fierce as his own.  No fear, no pain,
 only a white-hot incandescent indefinable need.  For
 one horrible moment, he saw himself mirrored in the
 depths of her eyes.  Then the spectre was gone, and
 all he saw was a little girl, pinned beneath him, 
 waiting for his next move.

     A carefully trained warning voice started yammering
 in the back of his head.  "Something’s wrong.  Do her
 and get out--now!"  He crouched over her, for the first
 time uncertain.  Then she moved.

     Languorously, leisurely, she brought one hand up to
 her budding breast, across the nipple set in its dime-
 sized areola, and then stroked down her slim, golden-
 tanned body.  He watched in hypnotised fascination as
 the fingers went to her cuntlips, slipped inside, and
 began moving in slow voluptuous circles around her
 clit.  It startled him when she lifted the other hand
 and brushed her fingers tantalizingly across the taut
 crotch of his jeans.

     "Please?"

     The voice in the back of his head was screaming in
 terror, but it didn’t matter.  The hunger was too
 great, his cock ached too much, he could wait no
 longer.  He unzipped his jeans, yanked jeans and shorts
 down together, and crawled on top of her.

     He wasn’t surprised when she grabbed his cock and
 positioned him at her entrance.  He wasn’t even sur-
 prised that he could slip into her so easily.  What he
 wasn’t prepared for was how unbelievabley good she 
 felt.	Her cunt slid over his cock like a velvet vise,
 tight and hot.  His nerve endings were in overdrive;
 he could feel every inner ridge as it slipped over his
 tight-veined erection.  He was so engorged it was
 nearly painful, and she felt like a soothing healing
 balm.  She felt like coming home.

     Lost in his own ecstasy, he wanted this to go on
 forever.  Every stroke, every move felt better than
 the last, so that when he was sliding in, he was
 already anticipating how good it would feel on the 
 way out, and when he was moving out, his cock ached
 to be going back in.  Her drooling cunt massaged him,
 mumbled around him, and sucked him in again and again.

     "She’s too good.  She’s the best.  Maybe this one
 I’ll let live," he thought to himself, knowing deep
 within that again he was lying.

     Then it was upon him.  Palms in the sand, he arched
 up off her, eyes closed, lost in sensation.  He came
 once, deep, and again deeper.  And again and again.
 Thrust into her tight clasping cunt as far as he could
 go, he couldn’t stop cumming.  He could feel her cunt
 milking him in waves, and he couldn’t stop cumming,
 and the pleasure kept spiraling up to an impossible
 peak until he thought he would lose consciousness.

     Which is when his hips imploded.

     The sudden crash of pain blasted him out of his
 reverie.  He threw a look over his shoulder, and was
 dumbfounded to see that his body now had an hourglass
 shape.  His hips were nearly gone.  His lower back and
 upper legs looked surrealistically plastic, merging
 together and gradually disappearing at the same time,
 like water down a drain.  He could feel his upper body
 sliding down her torso toward her crotch.

     And still he felt himself cumming, although the
 mounting pleasure was now overwashed with an unendur-
 able pain.  Still unbelieving, he turned to look at
 her.

     She was smiling at him in quiet victory.  He could
 feel her stomach muscles rippling as she drew him
 deeper in.

     The voice in the back of his head, now gibbering
 insanely, finally broke through.  He twisted around,
 scrabbling for the knife.  His knees and rib cage were
 touching.  His feet were just about to slip out of his
 pants.  With a desperate lunge, he grabbed for and
 caught the waistband, frantically searching for the
 knife handle.  He caught it, and found that twisting
 back was much more difficult, since everything between
 his armpits and ankles had disappeared into her.  He
 raised the knife in both hands to plunge it into her
 heart.

     Her smile turned to a grin, and she flexed her
 stomach muscles again.  An avalanche of pain smashed
 through what was left of his nervous system, and the
 knife dropped from nerveless fingers.

     She was up on her elbows now, watching his vanish-
 ing act.  His arms were gone now, slurped into her like
 strands of spaghetti.  His own heels kicked him in the
 back of his head and disappeared.  His last thought, as
 his eyes slipped below the horizon of her cuntlips, was
 surprise that through the universe of pain enveloping
 him, she still felt good.

     The little girl sat up and brushed the empty
 clothes from her lap.  She kicked them into the back
 of the bunker, there to rot or be found by some tran-
 sient, she really didn’t care.  She shrugged out of 
 her own ruined clothing and examined it ruefully.  It
 pissed her off when they did that; it really wasn’t
 necessary.

     Naked, she strode to the back corner and retrieved
 the backpack she’d left there earlier.  While she
 dressed, she evaluated her meal.

     He’d been rather skinny, she decided, not much meat
 on him.  She patted her flat, perfect tummy.  Plenty of
 room for one more.

     She’d heard rumors from some of the kids of a high-
 school boy who hung around the playground at the far
 end of the park, bothering the little girls there.
 Sounded promising.  But word was he liked brunettes.
 She lifted a hand through her long blonde hair.  Oh,
 well.

     She left the bunker, raven-black hair shining in
 the afternoon sunlight, and went in search of her prey.



			THE END

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