The following fictional story is being reposted by Mr Double.  If you are the author of this story and would like to receive proper recognition (an Author's Page at my website at: http://pw1.netcom.com/~mrdouble/main/stories.html), please contact me at mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.








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



     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 entire grassy area before him.  
     "City parks are the best," he thought, and specially on the sunny 
days of early summer.  "The kids are out of school, theyve got a lot 
of pent-up energy, and the parents have gotten a little careless.  
Cant 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.
     Hed 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 wasnt 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 hed 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 possible.  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 
hed 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 aggressiveness, 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 didnt 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 woods 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 softballs.  Better and 
better.
     The kids were already starting to scatter, exploring their 
surroundings.  He heard Mommy give the obligatory "dont 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 restroom 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 hed found in a novelty store.  He pushed a button, and 
it responded with the unmistakable croak of a frog.
     The little boys head came up, and he looked around for the sound.
     Thats it, cmon.  He punched the button repeatedly, and the boy, 
peering with cautious curiosity, began to squeeze into the space behind 
the building.  Cmon, cmon.  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 shouting.  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 himself 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.
     "Whatre 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, Im fine.  You just surprised me, thats all.  
Whered 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 looking 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 theyre 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.  "Hes hunting something."  She 
grinned impishly.  "Hes not the only one, is he?"
     Oh, little girl, he thought.  What you dont know. . .But the 
smile he put on was gentle.  "Thats right.  But we wont 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 
blackberry 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 didnt 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.  Dont 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 
trails 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 support 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 
perhaps 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 didnt 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, dont they?"  He nearly giggled at his own joke.
     She looked at him, expressionless, and for a second he thought 
she wasnt 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 slammed 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, bitch," he grated.  "And listen good.  You make a 
sound, cry, yell, anything! and Ill kill you right now.  You do as I 
say, well have some fun, and Ill let you live.  Yunnerstand?"
     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 tits.  Almost lovingly he ran his hands down her 
trembling body, from her throat down over her nipples, already tighten-
ing 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 misers dreams.
     She stared at him, unblinking and intense, her expression 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, doesnt it?" he crooned.  "Oh, 
yes.  But wait till I fuck you.  Oh, yes, thatll really feel good, and 
youll want more, wont you, little bitch?  Oh, yes."  Then he realized 
he hadnt hit an obstruction.  "Why, you little slut.  Youve done this 
before, havent you?  Whore!  Hunh?  Havent 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.  "Somethings 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 didnt 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 wasnt surprised when she grabbed his cock and positioned him 
at her entrance.  He wasnt even surprised that he could slip into her 
so easily.  What he wasnt prepared for was how unbelievable good she 
felt.	Her cunt slid over his cock like a velvet vise, tight and hot.  
His nerve ending 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.
     "Shes too good.  Shes the best.  Maybe this one Ill 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 couldnt stop cumming.  He could feel her cunt milking him 
in waves, and he couldnt 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 unendurable pain.  Still unbeliev-
ing, 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 vanishing 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 transient, she really didnt care.  She shrugged out of 
her own ruined clothing and examined it ruefully.  It pissed her off 
when they did that; it really wasnt necessary.
     Naked, she strode to the back corner and retrieved the 
backpack shed left there earlier.  While she dressed, she evaluated 
her meal.
     Hed been rather skinny, she decided, not much meat on him.  
She patted her flat, perfect tummy.  Plenty of room for one more.
     Shed 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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