She's A Maneater
Her hunger felt more like an itch, a burning itch radiating down her spine. It'd been 23 days, 23 hours and 37 minutes since her last feed; nearly the longest stretch she could manage. But the burn was white hot now and she could no longer ignore it.
This was a new game for her, a little pleasure denial seeing how long she could go before feasting. After she reached 16 days, (quite the accomplishment since she started this game lasting only three hours) she decided to add in an extra challenge, a little edging.
Her hunting ground contained a wide array of options; someone like her could easily relish a tasting flight of flesh and never sample everyone. She prowled her city, learning where she could find easy prey.
Some of the bitterest fruit wore T-shirts and jeans with unwashed hair, and averted eye contact. She found these most often gentrifying the Fillmore. They lived in cold modern studios, and moped around the Thai takeout cafes just to take their vegetarian pad thai home to an overly complicated video game.
The sickly sweet ones had a guitar hanging somewhere in their home, but had never taken actual lessons. These were often found in North Beach. They lingered around their own neighborhoods pretending they didn’t pay some of the highest rent for a building that looked like old San Francisco. They lingered in the park most days, not letting on that they were unemployed trust funders afraid of nepo-baby reputations.
She had tasted many varietals and found her favorite was the pungent sweetness of arrogance and insecurity. Over time, she learned the tells of these specific treats.
But her favorites, the layered complicated morsels were the hardest to detect. On the surface, they looked like a stereotype. A trope written for a romance. But talk to them a little bit, and the hints of ginger and turmeric floated on words of humble brags and mansplaining. Follow that path a little further, and you could gaze past the shining wet eyes into their empty depths, and you found one. The drippy honey center of self loathing. Those men were hers.
These men were spotted all across the city; each neighborhood adding a subtle hint of flavor to their blood. The Noe Valley added hints of meadowsweet, the Haight more of the spice of clove, and Richmond sprays of sea salt. She delighted in each feast, and all the depth of taste.
But nothing was nearly as delicious as the edging of the hunt. When her hunger reached a breaking point, she'd pick out a target, and track them for a few days while weaving together her usual terror-inducing tricks. But right at the moment her salivation dripped on their throat, she'd stop and toss them aside.
Alive, unharmed.
The pain it caused her to build up to the brink, and never fall over it, was as sharp as it was delectable. The rising tide of fear in her prey turned their blood to syrup on her tongue, and her game challenged her to find the exact fear each man held, and unleash it for her pleasure.
Her current quarry, she’d been tracking since the third day past her last feed. She liked to allow a few days after to relish the aftershocks; to feel the energy pulsing through her body, and take the life force she'd stolen out dancing or fucking while her nerves were on fire and reaching for every sensation in the world.
She encountered her target after a particularly delirium-inducing feast. She could still taste the flesh wedged between her teeth. She spun and danced under the sun in Alamo Square park, limbs flung out, the blasts of icy wind lifting her off the ground. She was at the tip top of the hill, with no one else on the dry grass, basking in the ecstasy of a full belly.
Then he stepped up and interrupted.
He, of course, assumed she'd want nothing more than attention from a man—what could make her experience better but to spend it with him? Already, he was looking like a Michelin star dinner.
She liked the way his man bun flopped as he twirled, and the little peeks of tummy hair she glimpsed when his arms waved up high. His tan skin reminded her of cinnamon streusel. His sweat dripped sparkling down his v-line. He grinned when he caught her gaze, which she returned by licking back the saliva threatening to dribble from her lips. She emptied her mind of the image of biting into the flesh of his abs and decided to make the most of his intrusion. With only a nod, she took him home to at least alight with orgasm during this aftershock.
But much to her clit pain and fury, she did not.
She rode him with the undulating waves that typically brought her to pleasure within minutes. She loved how she knew her body, she loved how her vulva opened and pulled him in. Every part of her devoured what she wanted, a beast through and through. She felt the energy radiating up her spine, a growl building low in her belly. But when she was just about to erupt, he gripped her hips with ten rigid fingers and jack-hammered up into her, flailing her like a mechanical bull.
He came so fast, it was a mere 36 seconds of the most bumpy riding she’d ever experienced. No matter her efforts, her pussy ached with disappointment while he flopped beneath her, flaccid and proud.
This was enough for him. He came with a moan, smiled and laughed, and firmly shoved her hips off of him from where she straddled him, pulling his hairy tummy apart from her hairy pussy.
"Thank you for that, but I need to go now. I've got to go...you know, a work thing. You can finish yourself off, right? Ah, I bet you can. I'll be thinking of you fingers deep in your pussy while I...go to work." He kissed her forehead and said “bye, love," and left buttoning his shirt across his chest.
Her eyes welled with tears of rage as she felt the pleasure drop back into her empty pelvis. The shockwaves of her prior feast left wasted in sweaty sheets. She was surprised by the intensity his pathetic abilities brought to her edging, and for that, and to him, she was grateful. She never knew the well she was filling had so many chambers until he prematurely came and left her unsatisfied.
She could feel the burn of hunger building at the base of her spine, electrified as though his premature ejaculation lit a slow burning fuse within her. She felt her teeth sweat with the first drips of saliva as she imagined him jerking off to fantasies of her, probably rushed and brief encounters with his fleshy hands in a public bathroom. He just seemed like that kind of guy.
She couldn't allow a man to walk away with such engorging images of her for his own delight. Especially after such a disappointing show from him. The hunt was on.
The first few weeks of chase, she simply tracked him at a distance, staying in the shadows, out of sight, learning his routine.
Just like his fucking it was rather underwhelming.
But it was consistent, so it made her hunt much easier.
The next few weeks she teased him with a few run-ins, she'd giggle and see him glance around, catching her eyes in the distance as she darted behind a corner; walk by his back close enough he could smell her, the familiar scent of her pussy that she dabbed on her pulse points like perfume. She cackled as she watched his head whip around, looking for her. He licked his lips wet, he loved her smell.
How many times did he masturbate today? She lavished and detested the thought.
Just last week, she tracked him on his walk around the Lower Haight and watched him till she caught his gaze. She held his eyes there till he ran into a wall. She tried that a few more times just for fun. The swollen lump on his forehead a branding of her chase.
She teased the limit between anticipation and fear. One day she walked right into him, slamming her tits with nips piqued to remind him how it felt to have them bounce in his face. The laugh he gave told her he remembered exactly how they tasted. Before he could say anything, she vanished. He lapped this up like a thirsty dog. Another time, she let her gaze turn desperate, and left her hand lingering on his shoulder a little too long. His stammering revealed the conflict he felt between his urge to approach or flee.
Those nights she plunged her fingers so deep in her pussy, imagining his shining white smile turn to terror in her mind over and over. She never let herself finish, holding herself and his fear on the brink as long as she could. She might not bear it any longer. She slept fitfully after completing her pre-feast skincare routine.
She found him at the park a few weeks later—he was there watching the sunset and clutching some worn novel he was performatively reading. When the trees shimmered pink in the sinking sun, she saw him glance around the park, looking for someone.
She could barely keep her hand out of her pants watching him. But she reached for her stone cold face and even pushed some of her burning hunger to her eyes, they watered just enough to look like desperation. She sucked in a gasp to call his attention to her, and saw his head snap in her direction.
This time when she held his gaze, she let her hunger start to stretch her lips. She watched the moment his shock turned to dread, a shadow passed over his face with a slight tremble over his bottom lip.
She took her next steps slowly.
He lurched up from the bench and walked in the opposite direction quickly, stuffing his book in his ugly leather satchel, roughly tucking his loose shirt into his waist band.
She let him get a couple blocks and kept track of his fading scent. She wanted him to believe he’d narrowly escaped another crazy woman.
The smell of his sweaty grime rolled off him in waves, it wasn’t hard for her to track him.
He lived in a world without danger, one where his mediocre (or worse) performances were praised. He lived without fear or retribution, in which he could come and go as he pleased, and shrug off accountability. But the thickening cloud of his scent told her tonight was different. He was afraid.
She picked up her pace, fueled by fury. Her boot heels tapped a hollow rhythm on the pavement —she’d worn the exact right footwear for this night. The percussion echoed off the walls of the buildings around her, a metronome getting faster and faster.
She cut through alleyways till she was just a block away and saw his man-bun bounce to the stiff march of his fleeing.
They were still a few blocks away from his home, and just as she worried the scent of her hunger might be upwind from him, a breeze blew through and cleared the air.
The time was now, she knew.
She stepped in time with his steps, following him down one block and then the next, a firm echo as their heels clapped in unison.
Every now and then she stepped off-beat, just to spike his alarm, giggling when he'd glance over his shoulder and see a wisp of her.
You always hurt the one you love, she hummed, her feet skipped like a carefree school girl heading home. He quickened his pace with a trip that made her wet.
He rounded the corner of the last block at a speed that lifted his feet to a jog. They were upon a small one-way street that was rarely used. It was just him and her on this cracked sidewalk. The burning hunger turned to a howl in her bones, her body was singing for him.
She reached up and tied her hair back in a loose knot and skipped every two steps to close the distance between them.
“Hello, love," she said to his back. He froze and turned to face her.
His jaw was set, his mandible muscles twitching, like he wanted to look like the predator but couldn't hide the fear in his eyes.
Her gums burned and she tasted salt and copper, telling her the rows of sharp teeth had pushed their way through, already aching to sink into him.
She stretched her mouth into a smile, the corners of her lips pulling up up up until a snarl showed both rows of her dripping wet teeth.
His face contorted into the terror that she fantasized about. She felt her slick pussy throb.
With a leap she was on him. Claws drew from each of her fingers—two inches long painted with chrome rose gold. She pierced his shoulders with their shining tips while her legs wrapped around his waist in a familiar straddle. Her claws struck deep into his body, bracing him to her in the death grip of her thighs.
He pushed and spun, trying to get her off him to no avail, he wasn't going to let her down now. His hands and arms shook with the effort of pulling on her limbs, her throat, and gaining no ground.
As his hand gripped her hip, she locked her jaw upon his throat, dragged her teeth and tore his flesh till blood and gore poured from his ravaged neck.
She kicked back off him, and released him to the ground, his shaking fleshy hands clutching his throat flowing crimson. She felt the pulses of pleasure radiate through her body as she swallowed his flesh and blood down her gullet.
The pulsing spurt of his blood slowed to a luscious ooze, his face pale white, his man bun stuck to the ground in his red pool. She watched the life drain from him with every drop till he, and his blood, was still.
She slid her hands along her face and belly, now full and satiated, the sensation of his blood on her skin, so slick and so warm. She couldn’t help but indulge fully in this moment and unleash herself.
She raked her claws down her legs as she fell to her knees in the blood pool next to his corpse. The blood slicked thick across her body until she was covered head to toe. She threw her head back in a howling moan as she felt her nerves catch fire, spreading from her pussy to her limbs, to every strand of hair.
As she spread his blood across her face with her right hand, her left hand climbed its way to her pussy, her wild bush sparked with energy. She took her time indulging in her swollen cunt, plunging a finger deep within her with every stroke across her vulva.
She teased herself with soft pets on her clit, growing hotter with every touch. Her heart thundered and she begged the moment to linger as long as possible.
She dragged her tongue across her teeth, catching bits of skin and tendon, she gasped at the taste of him, the taste buds of her tongue peaked and gripped. Her hand on her pussy rubbed harder, she ground her hips in a rhythm for more and more contact with her clit. Every stroke she climbed higher and higher.
Her pussy was one with her hand, locked in a flow of bloody pleasure. Her breath caught in her throat and her pussy gripped her fingers tight within her. She clawed three burning lines across her breast and roared, her climax thundered up her spine and down the street.
When the fire in her vision cleared and her claws and teeth retracted, she picked herself up off the sidewalk. Humming from the orgasmic feast, bits and blood decorated her chin, her throat, her decolletage, everywhere. Quite pleased with her crimson appearance, she turned and two-stepped back into the night.
WRITING PROMPT: Consider all magical, mythical beings: vampires, shapeshifters, faeries, wizards, sorceresses, mermaids, ghosts, centaurs, werewolves, goddesses, sirens...
What seductive power do you fantasize about possessing? What power do you want to borrow from a magical mythical creature?
How would you use it? Write a seduction scene OR a revenge scene incorporating it.