devour huge chunks of the boy's flesh.
He masturbated to his first climax as
Hades devoured Mikey's genitals,
adding his own virgin seed to the bloodsoaked earth.
Chapter Two
Ten Years Later ...
Joe sat in his art class staring at the nude model posing unenthusiastical y
atop a wooden stool. Her breasts were
much smal er than what Joe preferred.
Her hips, ass, and thighs were likewise barely existent. She was proportioned
very much like a prepubescent girl rather than a grown woman. Not at al the type of woman that normal y roused the
beast. But something about her was
getting to him. Her big, vulnerable,
doelike eyes, the seductive smirk turning up the corners of her thick lips or the up the corners of her thick lips or the way they seemed to be constantly
puckered as if blowing a kiss.
Something about her was arousing him.
And that was just not good.
Years ago a psychiatrist had suggested
painting as therapy to help Joe deal with the trauma he'd been through. They
thought it would be good if the shy young boy learned to express himself
creatively. Since then Joe had used his art as an outlet for his fantasies, but as his fantasies had begun to twist and
pervert he'd had to hide his work from
those who wouldn't understand it. He
was now beginning to think this art class might not have been a good idea. It was hard to hide your art in a room fil ed with thirty other students.
Joe's hand trembled as he dragged the
paintbrush over the canvas. More and
more red found its way into his palette as he imagined ripping the waifish
model open and tasting her insides. It
was just one more sign that he was
starting to lose control of himself.
Earlier that day he'd received a cal from his father reminding Joe of how much he was paying for his education and that
he'd better not be out partying al night and getting shitty grades like he had his first year in col ege.
"Don't piss away your chance to make something of yourself by going out every night chasing those col ege sluts. There'l be plenty of time to dip your wick in
those split-tails after you get your
education. Col ege ain't al about beer bongs and toga parties, boy. Don't fuck this up! I can barely afford to keep you there now. I'd be retired now if it weren't for you-you're the only reason I keep
working. But you'd rather get drunk and bang every coed slut you see. Young,
dumb, and ful of cum. You'd better
control that shit this year, boy! Don't let your grades slip again. You hearin' me, boy?"
Joe listened halfheartedly. Loans and
government grants were paying for his
education; al his dad did was send him spending money. He could easily
replace that eighty dol ars a week with a job. Even McDonald's paid more than
that. But something about talking to his father always made the beast hungrier.
His dad always pissed him off and the
anger seemed to trigger the lust.
Joe's hands whipped frantical y back
and forth across the canvas. His palette was now almost completely red, white,
tan, and pink. Blood, bone, and flesh. He was painting the model from the inside
out. He was also panting hard and
staring at her so intently that she began to shiver as she stared back. Joe could feel eyes on him, in back of him. He
could hear them gasp at the mayhem on
his canvas. But he couldn't stop painting. An erection was tenting his pants as he slashed at the canvas with his brush.
Final y, the model snatched up her
clothes and ran out of the room,
breaking the trance Joe had found
himself in. The room went completely
quiet. Joe could stil hear his own
breaths coming hard and fast like a
steam engine at ful speed. He struggled to get himself under control even as he became aware of the stares of his
peers-and the professor. She was the
first to break the silence.
"Uh ... Joseph? That was a pretty intense session there. Do you mind if we take a look at your canvas?" The professor was another starving waif with no
appreciable nourishment on her gaunt
frame. Her skin hung loose against her
bones as if someone had already
sucked out al the muscle and fat. The
bones in her face stuck out prominently and her eyes were sunken back into her
skul . Her dried nest of blonde and gray hair hung in a tangled mess down to her shoulders and her hands were
perpetual y stained with paint. She had always reminded Joe of a walking,
Joe said nothing. He watched stoical y
as she lifted the canvas from the easel in front of him. The rest of the class was closing in on him, stepping from behind their own easels and crowding in tight to stare over his shoulder at his
masterpiece. The canvas dripped with
red. There were gasps al around.
"This is some very passionate work, Joseph. What inspired you to create
this?"
The woman's voice trembled. She'd be
cal ing his counselor the minute class
was over. They'd have his ass on a
psychiatrist's couch by the end of the
week and once they found out everything else that was in his head they'd stick him in a straitjacket and toss him in a
padded room. He had to say something
to dissuade them from thinking he was
crazy, but he couldn't focus. The proximity of his fel ow students was making his
mouth water. The air was thick and
humid with the smel of warm, young
flesh. He stared from one to the other, not looking at their faces but at breasts squeezed tight into little T-shirts and blouses, nipples pressed against the
fabric, naked thighs sticking out from
beneath shorts and skirts, bare arms,
necks, even the shaved calves at the
bottom of a pair of Capri pants were
arousing him. Joe wanted to scream.
Worse yet, he wanted to attack.
"I don't know. I-I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. This is wonderful work. An artist should be passionate.
Raw bleeding passion is what makes an
artist and if this is what you have inside of you then you should do quite wel . It reminds me of Francis Bacon." The art teacher smiled at him, laughing at his
obvious embarrassment. Joe tried not to be insulted by her delight over his
discomfort but he felt as if he was being patronized, even mocked.
Joe looked at the canvas again. It did
look a little like something Francis
Bacon would have painted. He looked
back at the art teacher's forced smile
and now recognized it as little more than an attempt to reassure him. She was not ridiculing him. Not baring her fangs.
"Thank you," Joe whispered sheepishly.
"It real y is an intense piece." Despite her praise, Joe could stil hear the nervousness in her voice and smel
the fear in her perspiration. His nostrils fil ed with the scent of her arousal.
Luckily she did absolutely nothing for him sexual y.
His classmates continued to gawk at his work, some praising, some condemning,
others casting nervous, disgusted
glances his way. Final y, the model,
who'd run out of the room, came back.
Al eyes turned to her as she tiptoed
back int
o the room with a robe wrapped
around her and her shoes in her hands.
The slender woman looked over the
teacher's shoulder at the canvas with her big, nervous, watery, doe eyes and then at Joseph. She shuddered. An insecure
smile crept tentatively onto her lips,
testing the waters before splashing
across her face.
"Is this me? Is this how you see me?" Her voice was smal and timid but there was something sultry in it too. Her eyes locked with Joe's as if chal enging him.
"Yes. That's what I saw." Joe averted his eyes. Ashamed.
"I like it. It scares me. Nothing's ever real y scared me before."
"Then you can keep it."
"What? You can't give this away. At least let me pay you for it."
"No. It's yours. You inspired it. You should have it."
The model looked down at the canvas
again with the angry slashes of red
ripping through the pinks and tans and
she shuddered once more.
"I inspired it?" she whispered, awed.
"Yes."
"Then let me take you out to dinner or something to pay for it."
Joe looked up at her with that
carnivorous lust stil brimming in his
eyes.
"I don't think that would be wise." The girl's mouth opened and then shut
again. She wandered out of the room
holding the canvas in front of her at
arm's length, just staring at it. Everyone else got up and slowly filtered out of the room behind her. Joe quietly gathered
up his things and left as wel .
He was so aroused that he almost
sprinted across campus to get back to
his dorm room to masturbate. It was late and he was hoping that his roommate
would be out at one of the bars or
something so he'd have a few moments
alone.
He was barely through the door before
the phone rang. It was his father again. He was drunk and in the mood to
confess, to unburden his soul.
"Look, son, you know I love you, don't you? You're the only good thing in my
world and I don't want you to turn out like me. That's why I'm so hard on you, boy. I just don't want you to wind up like me. I don't think it's in you anyway real y. You're too soft. Do you know what I am, son?
I've done terrible things, boy. Real y awful things. Not even your momma knows
about it. But I think you should know . . . "
"You're drunk, Dad. Go to sleep." Joe hung up the phone and climbed
under the covers. He didn't quite feel like masturbating anymore.
He slept for two hours and when he
awoke there were three messages on
his answering machine. They were al
from his father.
"Joey? You there boy? I shouldn't be saying al of this on a damned machine. Answer the phone! I've got to tel you
about that kid Damon, the one who
attacked you when you were little. Joe, pick up the phone!"
Joe pressed the button to erase and the next message came on.
"Look ... that Damon kid ... I knew him. I
..
Joe erased that one too.
"There were a lot of women ... and kids. I couldn't control myself. It was like ... an addiction."
Joe hit ERASE and pul ed the phone
cord out of the wal . He plopped down in front of the computer and opened a
book to read. It was a zoological text
cal ed Perfect Predators. Joe smiled as if laughing at some private joke.
Chapter Three
There are some cultures that believe you can only know God by examining his
works. Not by reading a book or
listening to the superstitious ramblings of some hypocritical child-molesting
priest, but by watching his movements in nature. It fol owed logical y from there that to know what God wants you must
look at those creatures who lack the wil to do other than what nature had
intended of them, those creatures
programmed by nature to act solely on
instinct.
Joe liked to study animals, particularly the predators. It helped him to
the predators. It helped him to
understand the natural instincts that
drove human behavior. Joe had many
questions about so-cal ed aberrant
behavior in humans. Could it be that
what we cal ed aberrant behavior was in fact the natural state of man? Was there an instinct to kil ? An instinct to rob, rape, maim, and destroy? In animals Joe saw
every act that man had proclaimed
criminal and sinful performed with
startling regularity. In nature there was homosexuality, incest, patricide,
matricide, infanticide, war, robbery, rape, necrophilia, and cannibalism. In
countless nature documentaries Joe
watched with interest as baboons
murdered chimpanzees, ate their own
young, and stole food from one another. He watched dogs raping their own
mothers, and lions attacking and kil ing other male lions and murdering and
cannibalizing their offspring. Joe didn't feel like such a monster when he looked at the behaviors God appeared to favor. God was apparently a lunatic.
Joe flipped through the pictures of the big jungle cats in his zoology book and felt a stirring kinship. They al enjoyed their positions at the top of their
respective food chains. Yet man alone
sat uncontested atop the global food
chain, the superpredator. There was
nothing on earth on which man did not
prey in one way or another, either for
food, clothing, medicines, hair products, jewelry, good luck charms, or merely for sport. Yet man had no natural
predatorexcept man himself.
Joe stared in admiration at a picture of a sleek jaguar pouncing on a gazel e and
smiled, imagining what it must feel like to take that first bite and taste the flood of warm blood from a lacerated artery fil your mouth. He turned the next page to a photograph of a baboon crushing the
skul of a smal chimpanzee. The pain
and terror in the monkey's eyes excited him. He imagined himself as the
baboon, his jaws clamping down on the
skul of a young coed, his sharp canines piercing her brain. Joe squirmed
uncomfortably in his seat as his erection swel ed.
The hunger in his bel y merged with the hunger in his loins to form something
dark and murderous, awakening the
predator coiled in his gut waiting for the scent of prey. He looked at his sleeping roommate across the room, tucked
beneath the blankets, snoring softly, and his stomach growled at the prospect of
fresh meat. The monster was ravenous
tonight.
Joe turned with effort away from the stil form of his roommate and closed the
zoology book. He flicked on the PC and
pul ed the monster out of his shorts,
taking it firmly in hand. He was sick of studying. It was time for a break. He
went online and quickly found his favorite website. He clicked on the icon at the
bottom of the cannibal sex site and
brought up a page labeled "The
Preparation of Human Flesh For Human
Consumption." He began to read as he masturbated in long languid strokes to
the descriptions of dismemberment and
cannibalism.
For the best taste, choose very firm
breasts with large nipples (half an inch or more in length) that stand up high on a girl's chest. Large breasts (36C to
40DD) with fat marbled into the meat
make the softest and moistest cuts, so
easy to chew you can almost eat them
raw. The breast should be sliced off
close to the rib bones, thus leaving some muscle under the breast meat. Serve
sliced thinly cut diagonal y, with or without the nipples intact, in sauce. If she is lactating you can use the milk to create a delicate cream sauce.
Joe began to salivate. He scrol ed down further on the Web page as he stroked
himself energetical y, casting an
occasional glance over at his sleeping
roommate, hoping the guy wouldn't
suddenly wake up and interrupt him. It
would be a shame to have to kil him,
although now he was certainly in the
mood for it.
If the girl is to be cooked alive, she
should be given several enemas and
starved for at least 1-2 days prior to
serving. She should be flushed out
thoroughly (through both her anus and
her urethra), al body hair removed
(except her head hair, if the head is to be used for decoration), and the body
washed down completely. Before
starting, a painkil er should be
administered. A strong alcoholic
beverage is suggested, as it tends to
improve the taste of the meat. If you are thinking of marinating the meat in wine then you might consider using that wine as the anesthesia to begin the
marinating process.
Once the girl is properly anesthetized, with a very sharp knife careful y open her bel y from just above her vagina to her sternum, not slicing too deep. Unlike
venison or beef this meat is best served rather gamy, rich with the taste of fear. You want the girl to be alive right up until you cut off the first tender slice of this most choice and delicious meat.
"Yes!" Joe exclaimed breathlessly, shuddering with ecstasy as he reached
up to pinch his nipples and slather his palm in saliva. Joe desperately wanted
to know what the flesh of a living,
breathing woman tasted like. He wanted
her to be conscious and aware,
watching as he tore the meat from her
bones. He reached back down and took
his erection in hand again, delighting in the slick feel of his own saliva as he
jerked on his blood-gorged penis.
You may decide to leave the uterus intact as this can be stuffed. Rinse out the
body cavity with clean water, rub the
inside with butter and herbs. Core out
the anus and stitch shut. Stuff her bel y if desired with rice or stuffing mix, and sew the incision shut. Weigh her after gutting and stuffing and calculate her cooking