The Willing Prey

by Scarlett Sunday

  Amanda looked at him and smiled. “Thanks for the compliment Joe. I hope to make a killing tonight.”

  “If you don’t, with those titties of yours Amanda, something is seriously wrong with this crazy world. I wouldn’t mind a suck myself.”

  “For you to say that Joe they must be working. I don’t like your particular brand of sex though.”

  “Pity.”

  Amanda laughed and looked around for any potential prey. “Few here tonight Jake?”

  “Don’t worry Amanda, they’ll come.”

  She giggled. “I’m betting on them coming Jake.”

  ****

  Helga Larsen, the other woman in the cartel, was about to do what she did best. She was nothing like Amanda and owned a large health farm in the suburbs of London. Helga happened to share the same birth date as Jake so his party would be a double celebration. Fifteen years younger than Jake, she was attractive to the extreme. She sported a big-boned body standing five-foot-ten inches tall. Which boasted broad shoulders tapering into a flat muscular stomach and waist. Which complemented wide childbearing hips. Two firm breasts, an attractive long neck topped by a well-shaped head and sturdy legs. Which supported a tight cunt, completed her beautiful, fit, sculptured figure. Helga sprang from pure Viking stock. She proved it with her deep sapphire-blue eyes. Framed by an attractive head of long straw-coloured hair. Which broke into a wild curling surf onto the smooth beach of her neck and broad shoulders. Her beautiful eyes were her focal assets and testified to her innate cunning and cruel charm. After years of giving therapeutic massages. Squeezing aroused breasts and working hard cocks. Pushing fingers into wet cunts and arses. Her fingers had become strong, well oiled, and supple.

  Her health farm placed her in close contact with both genders. Her expertise in the art of sensual massage, reflexology and other more erotic disciplines gave her an advantage over her competitors. With an attractive customer’s body under her marauding fingertips. Plus, a few accidental caresses under small covering towels here and there. Her expert hands would soon start her clients thinking about sex. It was a foregone conclusion the session would end in a shagging, either hers or theirs.

  Her establishment's appointment book was always full. As her employees reflected her expertise and good looks. She had a weakness for dark haired, brown eyed, attractive feminine-looking women. Who asserted themselves. When she had met Jean at one of Welland’s fetish nights. She had hired her on a regular basis to tie her up and service her secret desires. She, also a strong woman like Tanis. Preferred Jean’s style of hard fucking. As there was something about Jean which begged captivity. If she could’ve loved someone, it would have been a woman like Jean, which kept Jean safe. She would have killed anyone who tried to harm her special lover.

  She kept an ornamental fish lake on the grounds of the farm. Which was not precisely ornamental but had prowling in its dark waters, bottom feeders of a more sinister nature. The lake catered to her dark side. She was a killer, Jake’s killer. At that moment, she was in her different massage parlour beneath the main floor of her own apartment. With her latest unsuspecting victim Eddie Wicks. Who lay on a flat red vinyl massage table in front of her. With his head pushed up between her thighs sucking with unrestrained hunger on her clit.

  Eddie, one of Jake’s hard men, had been under her expert hands before. Of late, he’d become surplus to Jake’s business requirements. She had one hand around Eddie’s cock massaging it into stiffness. While her other rested on a cut-throat razor in a pouch under the table edge. Eddy had become greedy, so Jake had asked her to lose him in her lake. Helga looked at the red-tiled walls and floor of the little room and shivered. She had lost four others in the lake for Jake in the past year. It wasn’t that Helga didn’t like the killing, Helga loved it. Even so, she always felt cold and callous at these times. Thank Christ for my warm cricket sweater. With its sleeves pulled up. She continued to work Eddy’s cock with her hand and mouth until she could feel his balls tighten. She felt his tongue dip deeper into her wet cunt. He’s ready now.

  With Eddie bubbling. Her free hand withdrew the cut-throat razor from its pouch in readiness. She flicked it open with practised ease. Firmed her muscular thighs around her victim’s head. Then waited until he had started into his ejaculation. During which, she tightened her grip on his throat. Her own climax was imminent. She took her free hand from Eddie’s jerking cock. Placed it over his exposed windpipe and locked her fingers over his main blood vessels. Then in one quick movement. She brought the open razor across Eddie’s throat from left to right in one smooth stroke, cutting his throat to the spine. As she twisted his head back and to the side. Her free hand directed her victim’s pumping blood downwards. Towards a massive industrial masticator drain under the table. Which caused it to open. With practised expertise. Helga cut all around Eddie’s neck right through the spinal cartilage and nerve. Then she watched fascinated. As his severed head followed his blood into the gaping hole at her feet, with a crunching sound. She whispered. “Good-bye, Eddy. At least you had it coming.”

  Eddy died fast. One muffled groan, a rasping gurgle, and he was gone. For a full minute, Helga held Eddie’s body over the drain until his blood flow slackened. She became conscious of the warm trickle of her victim’s blood running down her legs to congeal between her toes. Helga climaxed with morbid excitement. She remembered Eddie’s words when he had first entered the small room. ‘Those red tiles look right sexy Helga.’ and came again. She dissected Eddie and fed the rest of him with slow precision through the masticator into the lake. Walked over to the wall and pressed a button on the intercom. From it, came a sweet feminine voice with a Scandinavian accent.

  “Yes, Helga.”

  “Anja check the lights are out on the lake. I’m ready for you now. I’ve flushed Eddie through. The fish haven’t had a feed for a while, so they’ll be looking forward to him.” She paused in thought. “It’s also my birthday tonight Anja, and I’m feeling as randy as hell for you. Don’t forget the ropes.”

  After a short silence, Anja said. “I won’t. I take it you want your birthday present Helga?”

  “Yes. Please hurry, Anja. I have to be in town by eight.”

  “I’m on my way boss.”

  ****

  Two hours later and sexually satisfied. Helga stood in front of her mirror rubbing cream into her wrists, ankles, and arse as she dressed for Jake’s party. Holy Shit! Anja’s almost as good as Jean. Her mind drifted back through the years to when she had first arrived in England as a young innocent au pair. On that first night in London, twenty-five years ago, she had met Jake in a small coffee bar he owned in Soho. The same evening, after taking her virginity. Jake had promised to find a job for her with a couple he knew who lived out of town. As good as his word he introduced her to a wealthy young couple from the Midlands the next day. In the first few days, her duties had consisted of cleaning and fetching. After a week, she had found herself sharing their bed. Feminine and aggressive. The wife realised her new employee was submissive to her wants. From then on, the couple made her their well-paid sex-slave. They’d become dependent on her smooth Viking body for their mutual satisfaction. When their sex slave had threatened to withdraw her services. They had financed her first business venture with a door-to-door massage service van. From which she’d catered to bored and frustrated homemakers of both genders. She amazed at the number of people, who unashamed. Had propositioned her for sex on her portable massage table. After she had pulled a few fleshy handles and her name became known. Her business prospered.

  It was on one of her many van forays into the city she met Carl and Anja. She had bought the health farm and asked them, after a night of sexual softening up, if they would come to work for her. She made it her regular habit of spending most weekends with them as their sex-slave. They were the only people she trusted to keep her secrets. After all, she was not only their sex-slave, she was their boss too. Both dependent on her for their sex lives and their living. Sinc
e then, there had been no stopping her. If things were to go pear-shaped. She had made up a secret dossier on Jake, the cartel, and all its activities. Not forgetting Carl and Anja, with enough dirt in the file to send all to jail for life. In case of her sudden death, her lawyer knew of the book’s existence and would take it to the police. Her sworn declaration that Tranny Spinks was forced into the cartel by threats to his ageing mother’s life. Could save him from prison. Even so, he’d have to take his chances with a good lawyer.

  Her concentration back she picked out a short silk dress from the wardrobe. Together with a silver-studded leather belt. A quiver full of feather-fletched arrows, and a bow. Tonight, I’m going to be Diana the Huntress. Dressed, she looked at her almost naked body for a moment. Made the concession of a silk thong to cover her moist golden velvet, then glanced back at her image. Her hard-well-massaged breasts pushed their well-sucked points against her dress like two seductive melons held within spirited constraint. Her cunt, only just hidden from view, would jog the imagination of anyone interested. All was as it should be. As a last inducement. She added a pair of light silver sandals, laced up to under her firm muscular calves. And a tiara of silver olive leaves on her head to finish her dress. She looked and felt like a blonde-haired, fair-skinned Amazon about to go on a hunt for cunt. She smiled at her image. To see her face, no one would have thought she’d just cut the throat of a man with a razor. She laughed at the memory.

  Anja had cut and styled her hair in a short sporty perm. Which gave her body an air of feminine masculinity? She looked every inch the hunter, and she knew it. If I don’t score with this outfit, I’ll bloody well give up sex. I hope Jean’s there tonight. I could do with another good hard tied down fucking from her. Oh My God! I think I’m falling in love with her.

  Finished dressing, Helga donned a long light overcoat over her dress, her thoughts on Jean. Then placing the arrows, quiver, and bow into a long brown cricket bag, she phoned for a taxi. Anja and Carl wouldn’t expect her back until Monday evening knowing her habits. Half an hour later she entered the club, walked up to Jake’s table, and dropped the cricket bag beside her chair. Jake looked up at her. She winked down at him, smiled, then sat down.

  “Goddamn it Helga, I’m happy to see you.” He greeted her with a pleased smile. “Happy birthday, you’ve just brightened the whole place up. Joe’s sizing up two new potential slaves over there. He’s getting ready to move in on them. God help them. Amanda’s over there. Flashing her tits all over the place. Hoping some horny youngster will notice her and fuck her in the women's John. There’s only Tranny and that cold snake Tanaka to come. When they do, we’ll have a full house. How did the business with Eddy go?”

  “He’s feeding the fishes as we speak Jake. They’ll be well into him by now. There won’t be enough left of him in the morning to fill a thimble.”

  “Good, that’s settled the bastard. I can always trust you to do a good job, Helga. I may have another one for you next week. Okay?”

  “I don’t give a shit as long as I’m paid for it, Jake.”

  “Holy Crap Helga! You’re a cold one when it comes to rubbing someone out.”

  “It’s the only way to do it, sweetheart. Cold and with clinical precision.”

  “I suppose so. Let’s change the goddamn subject, Helga. It’s our birthday. We don’t want to be morbid now, do we? Thanks again, for the birthday present. Look, they’re all starting to arrive. Here comes Tranny looking beautiful as usual. I wonder what it would feel like to fuck him. When he dresses up in drag, it’s clear he fancies a black brother’s dick.”

  Tranny joined them and said with callousness. “Only one more to come, Jake. Tanaka is always late. He does it on purpose, the bastard.”

  “Easy Tranny. He’ll have your innards out and your best cuts on a table in his restaurant if he hears you talking like that…”

  Helga broke in. “You can talk Jake, you’re as cold blooded when it comes to killing someone as Tanaka is.”

  Jake looked at her, “Not as cold-blooded as you are my sweet.”

  Helga ignored him. “Jake’s right Tranny.” She looked at Tranny with genuine concern. “You’re treading on dangerous ground with Tanaka. Don’t forget your mother. Without you to take care of her, she’d die.”

  “I’m sorry Helga. I’m frustrated. I need a black salami up me tonight. By the looks of things, they’re scarce on the ground.”

  Helga smiled at him. “Don’t worry Tranny, it’s early yet, and you look beautiful. You’ll get your black salami. All you have to do is wish for it.”

  “I’m wishing.”

  Jake broke in. “Let’s stop arguing for fuck’s sake Helga and enjoy our night. Goddamn it to hell! Joe, get your fucking arse over here, you big shit. I want to talk to you. You can pick a Broad up later.”

  ****

  The last member of the cartel, the most dangerous was Tanaka Yamoto. None of the others liked him; even so, they respected him. He was useful to Jake because he terrified the opposition. You didn’t know his interest in you until too late. Tall for a Japanese. Tanaka had the cold, black, hypnotic eyes of a snake. The firm body of an extreme athlete, and the quiet confidence of an expert killer. He never seemed interested in the opposite sex. However, he was blessed with a rare magnetism, which women found hard to resist. Considered a Master in the use of the Samurai sword, he had a good knowledge of various other martial arts too. He lived only to become the perfect warrior in mind and body. Mentally unbalanced in the extreme, he was devoid of any fear or pity for his victims. When he killed, it was with cold precision and without feeling. He had been responsible for the cruel deaths of at least ten young women. Who’d been around when he felt the urge to express himself with sex. There were whispers. The most fleshy parts of his victims’ bodies didn’t go into the lime pit beneath his secret dojo. But ended up as items of culinary delight on his restaurant tables. It was his idea of humour to play offensive jokes on his hated customers and few friends. Thinking himself Samurai. He was always careful to show the impeccable manners of a man who lived by its code of honour. His spoken English was flawless.

  When Tranny had been slagging him off at Jake’s. He was still training in his secret dojo under his East End Japanese restaurant. Being a hard taskmaster. He always pushed his body to its limits, and always preferred to train naked in front of mirrors. He looked at his magnificently tattooed image and his mind drifted back to Japan. There, he had challenged Darius, another Master of the Samurai sword, to a duel to the death. Should the loser survive, he must leave Japan forever. He thought he’d win with ease, but he’d been wrong. Darius had only played with him while making him look like a rank amateur in front of his students. No true Samurai liked to lose face, and it was something he couldn’t forgive or forget. His diseased mind plotted revenge. He knew Darius wasn’t a full-blooded Japanese by his looks. So, where had he come from and where did he learn his skill with the Samurai sword? After his defeat, and in disgrace, Tanaka arrived in England in permanent exile. As luck would have it, he managed to buy an old photo album of early Japanese Samurai in an East End bookshop.

  As Tanaka glanced through it. He had come across a faded sepia photograph of a man who was not Japanese. One who had a remarkable likeness to Darius. It was clear from the Samurai in the photo, he held a position of high rank. Excited, Tanaka turned the photo over to see if it had a date. To his surprise, he saw the numbers 1860 beneath the name Darius in Japanese. Coincidence and luck had played into his hands. The photograph was the exact image of the Darius, who had beaten him in the duel. Yet the Darius he knew couldn’t be that old. He looked to be only in his middle twenties when he’d fought him. For Darius to have lived so long and to look so young, he must have come from the realm of demons. Tanaka smiled at the memory.

  Being a keen student of Japanese feudal history. He recalled an ancient Japanese legend of a mighty Samurai warrior who had never aged. One who in the Ninth century had been the principal Samurai to the S
hoguns of old Japan. When he came to study the painted scrolls later. He wasn’t surprised to see the same patterned dress and engravings on the sword hilts of this hero. As the modern Darius had on his blades and dress. Although he looked different, it was Darius. The hero’s swords seemed to be the same black metal the modern Darius owned. If he’d come up against the great Samurai of the scrolls, then there was no shame in his defeat in the duel. Darius was by far the superior swordsman and a demon. Since then, he’d acknowledged Darius, his Master, but it did not stop him from wanting to kill him.

  For the next hour, he drove his body to near exhaustion. Tonight, he’d show the fools who he was by his dress and manner. His pride restored, he began to dress with careful attention to every detail. Tonight, he wasn’t only Samurai, but the Shogun’s Samurai. When at last he’d finished dressing to his high standard, he studied himself again in the mirror. The magnificent sight, which greeted him made him smile. He gave an involuntary “Hi.” Bowed to himself and felt a slight stirring in his groin, a stirring he knew he could not ignore.

  When he walked into Jake’s with a young Japanese girl on his arm, there was a hushed silence. The guests all knew him for what he was. Yet, none had ever seen a smile on his face before. He stopped at Jake’s table, bowed low and said in a carefully structured voice. “Mr Blake, it’s my pleasure to wish you and Helga a happy birthday. May I join your table, please?”

  Jake as always said the wrong thing. “Cut the goddamn crap Tanaka and grab a pew, you’re late.”

  Tanaka kept silent, but not from fear, which emotion was not in his make-up. He looked at the young Japanese girl and smiled. I wonder if the strange woman from Taggart’s club will be here tonight. I need to speak with her with urgency.

  **

  CHAPTER 14.

  The Fancy Dress Ball