Predator

"Very nice," he remarked, tilting his head to one side as he judged the body, which lay butchered at his feet, "Give you four out of ten for that one. Getting better." He stepped closer to her, his hand trailing gently up her back; she shivered, her eyes involuntarily closing as she savoured his touch. His fingers ran round the line of her jaw and raised her chin to make eye contact, their eyes met and electricity jolted through her body. He smiled, her desire running through him like adrenalin, "One day child, not yet." She sighed sadly; her eyes fell to her victim. He tapped her lightly and whispered, "Until next time little one" before he turned and faded into the darkness of the forest.

She awoke the next morning, stiff from the night before. Her body ached with every movement she made, stretching slowly and carefully, she dressed herself, her mind replaying the events of the night, a surreal daydream to get the day off to a good start. Murder always turned her on, and victims she took died at the highest point of sexual bliss, it was the least she could do for them. They were giving her their life; she had to make sure they died happy.

She spent her day in school fantasizing, fantasizing about everyone she passed in the corridor, caught a glimpse of in the crowd. She wondered what it would feel like to take them, how they would react. She knew girls who called themselves sexual predators, but they were nothing compared to her. She really had the killer instinct. She wondered what it would be like to take one of them; it would be a challenge. Men were easy to excite, and most of them never thought she was really going to kill them. They viewed it as some weird sex game, in a way it was, but her games always ended in their demise. No one had survived an encounter with her.

She was tired after last night, but she wanted to take someone tonight. Just to see him again, he gave her the will to live; he gave her the gift to kill. She mused that if it hadn't been for her chance meeting with him, she'd be like every other 18-year-old girl in her school, guided by hormones into the bed of every narcissistic guy she knew, to be talked about incessantly, compared to all the others, with their bleached blonde hair and non-existent skirts. She liked not being like that, she would submit to only one.

The bell rang, resounding horribly in her head. She exited her class quietly, blending in with the crowd. They never gave her a second glance, as per usual. Ironic, for many who had passed among them, hers had been the last face they had ever seen. As she wove through the crowd, bag clutched to her chest, she spied out her victim.

Tall, shapely and moving with that unmistakable air of popularity-fed confidence, Daria watched her. She was beautiful, and she knew it too. Daria felt her body tense as she yearned for the taste of her. She followed her in the mass exodus from the school, tracking the girl with ease. The crowds thinned, she knew this girl. Vaguely. She lived on the other side of town; Daria knew when she would get her chance. They had to walk alongside the woods as they passed the bypass road. She'd grab her then, and then the games would begin.

Shadows sprawled lazily across the road and the girl crossed, walking under a canopy of drooping branches, Daria followed, her pace increasing as she quickly checked around for witnesses then lunged at the girl, dragging her, while gagging her mouth with her hand, into the undergrowth. They struggled for what seemed to Daria like an endless time, her chosen victim putting up a fight as she fought to get and stay on top, beating her into submission took a few minutes, but eventually she collapsed victorious on top of the gasping girl.

She paused as she caught her breath, pressing her full weight onto the squirming beauty spread beneath her. The girl's eyes were rolling wildly as she struggled and bit deep into Daria's hand. Pushing further over the girl's mouth, Daria reached for a stone, grasping it in one hand she raised it as high as she could, and dropped it heavily onto the girl's head.

The struggle ended, Daria prepared her victim. She reached into her bag, hardly equipped for what she had planned, but ever resourceful, she'd make do. Stripping the girl, she tore her clothes, each item probably more expensive than Daria's full outfit, into strips and laid them beside the naked canvas. Spreading the legs of the girl, she bound her ankles and wrists tightly together, making the ropes so tight that they cut into the flesh and sent her hands and ankles into a deep shade of purple. Tying a bundle of fabric together, she created a gag and pushed it firmly into the girl's mouth, binding it tightly at the back of her head.

Daria leaned back, and wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead as tried to decide how to address this subject. Reaching back into her bag, she withdrew both her blades, cheap and sharp, perfect. She twisted the blades round in her grip and gently pierced them into the soft flesh of the girl's nubile breasts creating two thin sanguine streams which followed the curve of her body, steadily increasing in flow as the blades dug deeper. Daria could feel the girl coming back around, she felt her own stomach flutter with excitement as she slowly withdrew the blades and sketched them over the girl's once pristine form.

Slipping one blade between her teeth, Daria moved the other down between the girl's legs, her hand moved in greedily, and with firm, circular motions she brought the girl an edge of pleasure to add to her pain. The knife, which had lay coldly on her thigh, now began stroking gently beside Daria's hand. The girl moved, in reaction to Daria's exploring hand, as it pushed further, and increasing pressure upon the blade until it drew blood which mixed with the natural fluids already flowing languidly down her thighs.

Daria moaned, she felt herself gripping to the girl's leg and her free hand momentarily danced over herself, raising a low growl in her throat, instinctive and predatory. Her eyes flashed to the girl's, which were wide open and rolling back to the lids, the combination of pleasure and pain sending her further over the edge. Her whole body was tense, responding to even the lightest touch as Daria brought her over in a crescendo of pleasure, ended with the sharp agony of the knife being driven home.

She pushed the knife as far to each side as she could, twisting it as she wrenched it from the now raging river of blood, which flooded over Daria's hand. The girl's body was shaking now; she was close to death, but not quite there. Climbing over her fevered frame, Daria perched herself on the girl's chest and drew the blade lightly across the girl's throat, their eyes met, and Daria continued to do this, the knife leaving bloodied lines across the throat, but none enough to cause any serious damage, as the girl gulped, Daria plunged the knife deep into the throat, sawing it across, splashing herself in the girl's blood. The body went limp beneath her.

Daria smiled, pressing herself down upon the corpse, she licked down the creamy, virgin skin. The scent driving her wild, a knife held in each hand, she went to work. Her art was impressive, she mutilated the body beyond recognition, cutting and slashing, and tying the bonds tighter as the body gave a bit more. She cut the corpse to shape what to her was the perfect fuck, hip bones cut from the flesh, and perfect to hold onto and the legs drawn back as far as they would go, giving easy access, to this now very wide open, gaping wound. The breasts were cut open, nipples removed, left open to suck the blood from.

She pulled herself back from the body, and smiled, and from nearby she heard a rustling and someone clapping lightly, she whipped around to face him as he slowly faded into view. "Perfection," he murmured. He ran his fingers down Daria's arm, sending shivers down her spine before moving on to test the art, "Total degradation of the female form, I love it."

He moved in slowly, and Daria watched from behind. She heard him unzip himself and listened to the low moan as he eased himself into the corpse, seizing the jutting bones, he took the body roughly and Daria found herself unable to watch as she found herself taken to the point where she felt she could not breathe, voyeurism wasn't her thing. She turned her back, but still she could hear his heavy breathing as he filled the corpse with his seed, something redundant in necrophilia, but then true copulation is never something that should be available to those who find solace in such activities.

She turned as she heard him rise to his feet. He smiled at her, "Ten out of ten my dear." She smiled, and looked up to catch his eyes. He passed his hand over her face and whispered, "Close your eyes." Her eyes flicked with fear, but were soothed by his gaze and she shut her eyes, trusting him completely. He grabbed her neck and pushed down firmly on the pressure points, catching her lightly as she passed out in his arms.

She came around bound, spread eagled to a cold, bare bed. She looked around groggily, the darkness overwhelming her, suffocating her like a heavy blanket, amplifying her fear beyond what she thought was possible. She tried to scream and bit down hard upon the gag, which was secured tightly round her mouth. Her eyes darted around, and finally she spotted him.

He stood silently in the corner, observing her. Catching her eye, he stepped forward, " Welcome to the world of the living Daria, but not for much longer I regret." A muffled exclamation came from behind the gag, "You are perfect, you learned so quickly, and you killed so beautifully. An eye for art in sex and death, you failed to see the perfect untouched canvas. Yet you saw it every day in the mirror."

He started traversing the room, around blacked out obstacles, and now as she started to find her bearings, the smell became apparent to her. She knew what it was. The smell of flesh rotting in the heat, it is unique and gives a bitter taste to the mouth. He stopped on the opposite side of the room and flicked a switch, bathing the room in fluorescent lights which illuminating all the bodies that decorated this hellhole. Positioned at torturous angles, hung from the rafters, split open, their fluids used to paint the walls. Anyone else would have been sick, or at least freaked out. Daria just met his eyes calmly.

"That's my girl," he whispered, moving closer, Daria looked at the knives, which were slotted into his belt, gleaming silver, and recently sharpened, she gulped as she imagined the use they would see before the night was out. He pulled himself onto the bed and ran his hands all over her. Daria felt herself reacting to his touch, and she thought of how many times she had fantasised about this moment, about giving herself to him. Never had it occurred to her that he would want her on the same terms she took her victims.

His fingers eased her open and he moaned as placed one into his mouth and sucked her taste from it. Removing the knives from the belt, he laid them beside the foot of the bed as he pulled his clothes off and kicked them away. He entered her gently, and she found herself reacting to him, pushing her body against him as much as she could manage, she had waited for this moment so long.

She had waited so long for him to take her, that even knowing it would bring about her death; she gave herself to him willingly. He reached for the blades and started to carve her apart while he brought her to orgasm, cutting her in the way she had desecrated the girl earlier, she found herself delirious in both shock, pain and pleasure, falling victim to her own art.

Unlike Daria's art, he did not kill her. As the blood loss increased, he took her from the bed and tied her over a frame, snapping bones to contort her into the perfect position; her eyes were still glassy, life glistening behind them. He took her again on the frame and felt her die as he reached his peak. He sighed as he withdrew and pulled his clothes back on, now blood slicked and sticky. She had been the best so far, yet had been the quickest to die. He patted an extended hipbone and left the room.

Dawn broke, and the sky erupted in the early morning palette that lifted the hopes of millions around the world, and inside a cottage at the edge of the woods, a man slowly stirred from sleep. He dressed in clothes, which were simple and sexy before heading the hospital. He approached from the car park and accidentally bumped into a pretty young nurse, whose books scattered across the tarmac. He smiled at her, and her heart melted. He looked at the books as he picked them up, they were medical for sure, but not on the course list. As he handed them back to her, he whispered, "Would you like to meet for lunch? I've a proposition that might interest you..."

She looked at him uncertainly, "Sure," she replied, her eyes dropping to the books, shame apparent in her them, he smiled again, "Don't worry, what's a little murder between friends?"