Posted by PK on October 27, 2001 at 17:11:05:
This includes a rewrite of the last bit, sorry about that..
Preserve my pussy for the plate? Take it in the arse? Not me, I'm a red-blooded cock
worshipper. IAO PAN. "Stick it right up my cunt," Carol said. "All the way up."
"'Attagirl!" Amanda approved. "Do nothing by halves."
"Still getting some audio feed," the sound-and pictures-dude muttered. "Negatory on the
visual, camera 5."
"In English?"
"They're gonna take it outside. Check the monitor on the picnic space. That's four in
Centigrade."
The dig was ignored. Nobody understood it.
"I'm telling you, we're...." Doomed went unsaid.
The script girl was agitated. "Oh, shut the fuck up. She eats young WOMEN." And I'm blonde
and wearing fetching underwear. Maybe I'm act two. Maybe I've seen too many horror flicks.
Her lace panties dampened.
"Just see me as Nosferatu with better hair," Amanda suggested, "And without the bad teeth."
The conversation had derailed into the swamps some time ago. "Or you could say I just like
eating pussy and leave it at that. I must admit I do howl at the moon occasionally, but that's
no proof that I'm a werething. Lots of people do it." She had successfully ignited the
barbecue pit. She offered Carol a spit for inspection. "Hardwood," she explained. "You could
have one of the aluminium ones if you'd rather."
Carol ran her hands over the wooden shaft. "Nice work," she said. "But the other stuff....?"
"Oh, yes. I eat your filet and suddenly gain supernatural powers. Well, not really. At least I
assume not, one never knows, but it does tend to work. The shamanic interpretation would
be that I take responsibility for your 'ghost', the unresolved aspects of your earthly life, when I
kill you. As well as taking power from your life force. You know, like in the film.."
The fire was burning up brightly.
"And what do you think?"
"There's always been Ethel. Me, I'm just a lawnmower. Etcetera."
"This isn't helping," Carol complained.
"Don't worry about it. Up on the table, please. Knees and elbows, rump up." Carol complied.
Amanda relented as she applied a preliminary coating of basting oil to her unresisting dinner-
to-be with brisk efficiency. "What I mean is, I don't have any neat and tidy cliched
rationalisations to explain why I do what I do, or how I feel about it and why," she explained.
"Any more than anybody else does. The only difference is that what I do is a little more
eccentric than most people's habits. Music of a different drummer and all that." She
lubricated the tip of the spit with olive oil. "People expect me to be able to explain myself,
when they wouldn't ask the same questions of themselves because they class themselves as
'normal'. Most 'outsiders', as it were, tend to adopt a philosophy of sorts, usually as a member
of a minority cultural subgroup, to explain themselves to others, or to themselves. You know,
Goths, people who think they're vampires?"
"Satanists, TV agents?" Carol was startled to realise she was beginning to understand what
Amanda was saying. She must be really stoned.
"Something like that," Amanda acknowledged. "The rationales of most social subgroups are
at least as bogus as those of the masses. Total bollocks, no more or less than Original Sin or
Marxism, but it helps them feel they belong to something. Just like the rest of society, but in
the minority mode with the dash of defensiveness and paranoia that adds. Not that it's all that
paranoid, they're really persecuted to the extent that the society they're in allows."
"Whereas you...?"
"Do what I do without the rationalisations. That's all. I play by my own rules, within the law
because that's less trouble than breaking it." Amanda inserted the tip of the spit into Carol's
vagina. "Not too cold, I hope?"
Carol felt the pole slide in easily. Maybe I should have fucked her, she thought. When did I
miss that boat? Not that it would have made any difference. "No, it's fine," she said. Did I just
say that? Well, I've been fucked doggy fashion before. And I'm definitely fucked now. She
tried to suppress a giggle and snorted.
The film crew were transfixed, almost as much as Carol was. Every male present was
experiencing a disturbance in the trousers that caused a certain amount of shifting around to
relieve the pressure.
"This is going to be a classic," the producer enthused. "Cutting edge." It was an unfortunate
choice of words.
"She's supposed to be good with knives," one of the techs muttered. "Really good."
"Wonder if she's going to gut her first?" another voice contributed with ghoulish relish.
"I can't make out what they're saying."
The audiovisual techs got into a brief spat about that. What came out of it was: "We had to
put the pickups in the trees. Good field of view, but at that distance, with the breeze in the
leaves...."
"Should have miked the table."
"I suppose.."
"Well, look, it's been nice talking," Amanda said. But if the spit's set right....?"
"Seems to be going the right way," Carol said lightly. It was in, very well in. She clenched
around it, involuntarily. Amanda pulled it back slightly to adjust the alignment and she
gasped. "Oh..." She wiggled her buttocks a bit, and heard Amanda give a hint of a chuckle.
"I don't believe it. She's fucking her with the pole. This is dynamite."
Amanda played Carol like a violin, or a fish on a line. When the girl was panting and thrusting
back hard she went on, "But of course, when it gets to your throat, you know, all the way
through?"
"Yes...."
"Bit of a conversation stopper, of course.."
"Yes...."
"Head up, please. Don't want to shove it through your brain....messy, and no more fun for
you.."
Carol arched her back and inhaled deeply through her nose.
"Excellent. Here we go, then...any last requests?"
Carol tried to remember her plan. No go. "Tickle my feet," she gasped.
"Difficult right now..."
"When you tie them up.."
"Gotcha. Brace yourself."
Carol thrust back as Amanda thrust in. She writhed and bucked a little as she felt the spit
slide through her. That's some hardwood, she thought. She lowered her head to see Amanda
between her legs.
"Carol...!?" A tone of the gentlest reproof.
She put her head back up and gagged as the point broke through. Okay, now I'm officially
dead. Might as well enjoy the rest of the party...she relaxed. Should hurt more, she wanted to
tell Amanda but she'd never speak again, so forget that.
"Just let yourself slide down onto the table," Amanda instructed. "Wriggle all you like."
Oh, right. Carol slid down. Amanda took her ankles in a firm but not bruising grip and lashed
them to the pole. Now Carol couldn't move her feet. Amanda ran her tongue over the sole of
her right foot. Left, Carol thought. Amanda nipped her left instep, not hard enough to hurt.
Tiger teeth nibbling on my tiny feet. Working her way up....should have asked her to eat me
raw..wouldn't work...why not....do bunnies feel this way when the stoat gets them? Do they
enjoy it at the end?
How long will I last?
Amanda moved around the table. "Still breathing? Great stuff. That's what I call
craftsmanship. Any idea how LONG it takes to carve a ventilated spit?" Carol blinked. "Nor I.
But I know a man who does. Hands up." She finished lashing Carol's hands with a flourish.
"I'll start you off slowly, then I may be gone for a half hour or so. Probably less, but one never
knows. Don't worry, I'll be here for the end. Let's just get you settled first."
Amanda lifted Carol, spit and all, quite easily. (Fuck, she's strong, Carol thought.) It hardly
took two minutes before she was over the firepit. Hot.
"Auto rotation," Amanda explained. "Electric motor, a bit high tech, but we don't all hunt in
groups. Just too tedious, standing here winding a handle for ages. At this height you should
be sweating and mildly delirious by the time I get back."
From where? She couldn't ask and anyway Amanda was gone.
"Hey, where did she go?" the producer said at last. The sight of Carol's body turning on the
spit had compromised his professional objectivity. "Anybody see?"
"Lost track," the comms officer reported. "Target is off the screens, Captain. Can't get a
visual..."
"There's something moving out there..." another one said, tittering nervously.
"Would you just stop fucking around?" the director addresses the tech geeks, "Where is
she?"
"Probably just stepped back out of the viewfield while...er.."
While you apes were ogling the tits and arse of the naked woman getting cooked, Belinda the
nominal script girl thought. Why the hell am I here, anyway? It's not like there even IS a
script. All I do is fetch coffee and snacks for the crew.
"She's coming here," somebody said. "Isn't it obvious?"
"I'm getting out of here." It was supposed to be a joke.
As if on cue, one of the monitors showed a tiger mask. Green eyes; white, black and ginger
stripes. Teeth.
"How do you like it so far?" Amanda inquired. "More fun to come. Care to join the party?"
"She climbed the fucking tree...."
"Tigers don't climb trees," Amanda said as if she'd heard (she couldn't have, could she?) "But
I do. I do all sorts of things."
The camera snowcrashed.
There was a moment of silence and then everybody started talking at once.
"It's just a technical fault," the director cut in, trying to restore order. "Somebody should go
out there and fix it." Nobody rushed to volunteer. "Come on, it's not far."
"Oh, great," the computer tech muttered. "How far?"
"Half a mile?"
"Which means she could be here in how long?" He thought about it. A human athlete could
run a mile in four minutes on the flat. The terrain wasn't flat and it was wooded. The huntress
was very fast. Trade that off...."Ten minutes? Less?"
"I don't believe this," the producer said sardonically. "You're acting like a bunch of kids round
a campfire. Horror stories. Get real. She doesn't have a license to hunt us. She's only one
woman anyway and she's not even armed. Nothing's going to happen, she's just trying to
spook us."
The logic was impeccable, and it didn't fool anybody. Certainly not the 'only one woman' bit.
The crew stared at him as if he'd spoken in Martian.
"Anybody got a gun?" the director ventured after a pause. The 'armed' bit had got through.
"Oh, Christ, not you too..."
Belinda spoke up. "No guns here. Not allowed." She had checked the rules.
"For fuck's sake, this is a hunting lodge..."
"Real hunting," Belinda said. "Not potting defenseless deer with a rifle."
"And she's..." the audio tech and the video tech did their double act, "...the ultimate
predator." They'd both seen the Arnie film.
"I don't believe this," the producer said again. "This is ridiculous."
"Five minutes to the car park."
"It's out in the open and it's in the wrong direction."
"We need another way out. Or a distraction."
The crew argued strategy urgently, ignoring the producer' s increasingly desperate attempts
to restore their sanity.
"She'll come here first, so..."
"Unless she sees us outside..."
Another monitor went snowy. The tension racked up a notch.
"Anybody remember where that one was?"
The video man gathered his wits with an obvious effort. "Edge of the woods. Two or three
minutes away. Five at most and then she's in the building. Think fast, guys."
Belinda was not comfortable at all. Being naked and tied to a plastic office chair with
electrical flex will do that to a girl. It was almost a relief when the door started to open, the
few minutes had seemed eternal. She hadn't heard any footsteps but then she hadn't
expected to. Amanda rapped the door lightly with her knuckles as she entered.
"Hello? Anybody home? Good grief, it's like the Mary Celeste in here." She eyed the
abandoned coffee cups and twinkie wrappers with evident distaste. Her expression
brightened as she turned to Belinda. "Well, almost...we have a survivor." She smiled.
Belinda would have greeted the huntress but the duct tape covering her mouth prevented
her. "MMrrrph", she said.
"Oh, you want to talk?" Amanda approached. She ripped the tape off. "Do tell me, dear girl.
Spill the beans. Bare your heart." She glanced down. "Oh, I see that you have. Nice tits, by
the way. No offense." She licked her lips.