Fucked Without Mercy

By | November 3, 2008

Hunting For Girls 1 of 2

I saw the rise of the city on the Euphrates. Saw its name change over the millennia, Babel, Karanduniash, Babylon. I saw the Persians come and then go as the Macedonian took their place. I saw the ascent of the Roman Empire and it’s decline into fragments fighting off the Northern hoards. And I have seen the British Empire reach its zenith and begin to freefall.

The year was 1943. The world held its breath, expecting the massing armies of the allies to take that short boat trip across to Normandy and push back the would-be empire of Germany. At the time I felt myself not caring if they did or did not. I have seen so many emperors and kings that after a time they are all much the same. Some good, some bad, none immortal like me.

I walked out of the underground station as soon as the all clear sounded. I wasn’t afraid of the bombs but hated being questioned about breaking cover during an air raid. The ARP wardens usually assumed I was either stupid or a spy.

In fact I was out hunting in the most populous city England. A city full of prey.

I noticed her first because of her scent. At the time I was about half a mile from Kings Cross. She was a new girl, I didn’t recognise the aroma. When I saw I could see her inexperience, her nervousness.

I admit it, I was hungry. I hadn’t fed for three nights and the German raids made it difficult o pick up girls when my chat-up lines were constantly interrupted by the sirens. So yes, I took advantage of prostitutes.

I salivated as I walked towards her. The pain in my stomach overwhelming any pretence at circumspection. We agreed a price quickly and retired to a back alley.

She hitched up her skirt and leant back against the wall. She wore no knickers, a fact that I approved of as it meant we could get down to the job at hand immediately. I am ashamed to say that’s exactly how I thought of it. It wasn’t even sex, it was a necessity for my survival, or at least to avoid a long, slow decline into oblivion.

I pushed my cock up against her and was about to thrust into her young pussy when I stopped, reminded myself that she was not to blame for my need. I pushed gently into her. She was tight, not a virgin but so very, very tight. She gasped, not in mock ecstasy but real surprise. It was at the same time both gratifying and necessary for her to enjoy this.

I began to build up the speed of my thrusts, slowly, not wanting to alarm her, all the time reminding myself to keep in check the now ravenous hunger that I felt. If I unleashed the full intensity of my passionate appetite on her I might leave a lifeless corpse in the alley …

Her chest rose and fell, cheeks flushed with blood. I was fucking her hard against the wall, my balls ready to burst, but knowing I had to wait for the moment … then there it was, the change in her body chemistry, the endorphin rush, her orgasm gripped her and her hands reached up and gripped my hair. She shrieked and then pulled my lips to hers, very unprofessional.

I let myself go, unleashing my orgasm and allowing my balls to empty themselves inside her. I pressed my lips onto her neck, kissed her and then allowed myself to feed. My teeth sought out her pulsing jugular and pierced it. She tried to scream, but my hand covered her mouth.

The taste of her blood had my heart pounding out of my chest, a frantic urge to drain her dry while my cock was still embedded in her almost took charge of my senses. But slowly, as my hunger was sated I remembered she had a right to live and so stopped when I had dunk enough to calm my pangs.

She was grey, shaking and bewildered. I persuaded her to tell me where she lived and carried her home. I pulled the collar of her coat up to cover the bite mark on her neck and charmed the landlady of her boarding house, Mrs Evans, into believing she had drunk too much. Leaving Mrs Evan with a handful of pound notes in exchange for a promise to look after her until she recovered.

To be concluded …