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Chapter One: Man eater
What a fantastic fuck! I looked down at my lover, adoring him as he lay peacefully, sprawled across his bed. The oversized comforter hid half his face, but I could still see the smooth, gently tanned skin that covered his defined cheeks and chiseled chin. I giggled to myself, tickled by a sudden flashback of the intense lovemaking that had occurred just minutes prior. The way that same comforter had entangled our bodies, contorting my lover and me into positions even I had never explored—--Ooh, it was so damn good. “"Adam,"” I whispered, "“you’re a bad, bad boy."”The icy blue eyes that had lured me to Adam during our first encounter were slightly revealed beneath heavy eyelids, veiled by some of the thickest, longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man. Had I been vain, I might have envied him for them, but I had a sexy set of bedroom lookers myself. I loved being able to admire Adam’s baby blues, even in his state of rest.“ "I sleep with my eyes open too. We have so much in common, baby.”" Adam didn’t stir at the soft sound of my voice. My eyes traveled from Adam’s perfectly crafted face down to his broad chest. Usually, I didn’t dig men with chest hair, but the way his lay so smoothly across his pecs made me revaluate my preferences. Adam was changing me, and I liked it. I was becoming a new woman, a better woman. I bit my bottom lip and released a soft moan as I gazed affectionately at his curved manhood, still pushing a good six inches--—limp. "“Damn, didn’t think a white boy could be packing like that, baby!"” I laughed balefully, then caught myself by covering my mouth with a heavily jeweled hand to stifle the noise. “"Shhh!"” I placed a slender finger over my lips. “"I don’t want to wake my sleeping beauty."” But I couldn’t help but let another giggle slip through despite my feeble attempt to hush myself. I slid to the edge of the bed, away from my latest conquest, careful not to disturb him. I dangled my slender, shapely legs playfully for a few moments before standing, humming a tune that ran chronically through my brain.“ "Whoa, oh, here she comes. Watch out, boy, she'’ll chew you up .… Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm . . ." …” No matter what time of day, what I was doing, that song played incessantly in my head. Still humming softly, I sauntered into the bathroom in Adam’s master suite. The mirror that covered the width of the wall behind the sink reflected the image of a woman I barely recognized. I paused for a moment to evaluate myself. It was my eyes. My eyes had changed over the years, showing evidence of my journey. I’d traveled a long road to get here, and if I stared into my own eyes long enough, they’d betray me, allowing me access to the deepest parts of my mind, those shadowed corners of my psyche that served as shelters for my pain, my struggle, and my vulnerability. I stood there, stifled by recollections of my past, asking myself what I was doing here. Who had I become? Man after man, night after night … what was I trying to prove? Each one was no different from the others. After a while, all of them became one blended image, transforming into one man, one target that I’d allowed full access to my body, not because I wanted to, but because it was my purpose—to let him have me. And somehow I’d convinced myself that I had taken him, conquered him, and I had prevailed. Who are you? Before I could answer that question, I snatched my gaze away from the mirror, dipping my head downward and redirecting my thoughts. When I looked back up at the mirror, she was back—the woman I knew and loved, the woman who had worked her way into this life, lavishing herself with a gift no one else could ever bestow her—vindication. My life, and everything and everyone involved, was predestined to arrive right here, at this point, in this moment. I have the power. I possessed the power to right the wrongs of this universe, to balance the scales and breathe life into the archaic notion of justice. No, not justice—justification, for everything happened for a reason. God had given me the power; therefore, I was justified. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more. Luke 12:48, one of several Bible verses engraved into my brain, flashed before me and scrolled the mirror like movie credits. This is my destiny, my responsibility. With great power comes great responsibility. I remember the first time I saw Spiderman, sitting at “home” on the couch, popping kernel after kernel of salty popcorn into my mouth. That’s when it had hit me, when my purpose was solidified, set before me so clearly. God’s message to Luke and Uncle Ben’s advice to Spiderman—similar meanings, both perfectly aligned and presented before me to set me on my journey. This is my purpose. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, a wide grin that one may have mistaken for a sign of joy or pleasure; but no, this smile signified my understanding. I was chosen, blessed with great power and the consequential weight of responsibility—vindication, justification. I turned on the faucet and ran lukewarm water in the sink. Grabbing a cloth and a bar of soap from the overnight bag I’d placed in the bathroom earlier, I began my whore bath, scrubbing the intimate areas that Adam had stroked with his lips, his tongue, and his rod. Under different circumstances, I would have opted for a shower, but I knew I had not been afforded that luxury. After placing the damp cloth back inside my bag, I retrieved another cloth and carefully wiped the faucet and knobs, cleaning away the mess I’d made. That, too, went back into the bag. I stood before the mirror, satisfied that my image had not betrayed me once again, and slid my hands sensually from the nape of my neck down to my perky breasts. I smiled at myself as I pinched my nipples, simulating Adam’s intense and prolonged foreplay. I pivoted on my heels and stole a glance at my round ass. I must say, I was damn fine, had a body most women would pay thousands of dollars for—just to appease some undeserving prick of a man. I winked at that fine woman in the mirror before turning back to gather my bag from the floor. My head snapped toward Adam’s bedroom at the sound of the ringing phone. Adam remained undisturbed. I pranced out of the bathroom, back to the bedroom, catching sight of my naked body in another mirror and posing for a few seconds between each stride. The phone stopped ringing. I stood at the foot of the bed, absorbing Adam’s presence for a moment, sucking in the air that had been filled with our moans and cries of ecstasy not long ago. An artistic steel ashtray sat on his desk, sparking a craving that I had to succumb to. After slipping on the jeans that had been tossed on the floor beside the bed, I retrieved a sleek sterling silver cigarette case from my overnight bag. I ran my index finger over the engraved lettering: TREASURER. The brand alone exuded sexiness, exclusivity, and sophistication--—me. Popping open the case with one flick of my thumb, I licked my lips in anticipation of the sweet toxicity that would soon dance through my body, bringing me to a state of calm and tranquility that I more than craved; I needed it at that moment. After easing into the chair positioned in front of Adam's desk, I leaned over and grabbed the remote control from the floor just next to my feet and clicked on the TV. I stole a peek at Adam as Carlan Harmon’s alto blared through the surround sound speakers while she reported the Channel 4 nightly news. Adam didn’t move. I turned the volume down just a pinch anyway; I didn’t want to wake the neighbors—that is, if they hadn’t been awakened already by Adam’s girlish orgasmic squealing. I removed a slim cigarette from its case, snapping the case closed and tossing it back into my bag. I toyed with the delicate white stick, tracing my lips with the filter, covered by its signature silver wrapping. A tacky red lighter, boasting a tasteless image of a voluptuous naked woman lay beside the ashtray. I cringed at the thought of using this gas station filth to light a Treasurer, but I just didn’t feel like reaching down into that damn bag again. I lit my indulgence with a quick Flick! and tossed the poor excuse for a lighter into my bag. That tacky shit didn’t deserve to be in a house as exquisite as Adam’s. I’d dispose of it at my first opportunity. “ Tragedy strikes again. Detroit has been terrorized by a serial killer, nicknamed the Man Eater, for two months now, and outraged citizens are demanding answers…” News anchor Carlan Harmon’s feathered curls flittered around the frame of her face as she reported yet another Detroit murder.“ "Carlan, how do you manage to keep your hair so damn fluffy? I mean, it’s like humidity is your best friend, girl."” I took a puff of my cigarette, taking my time and allowing the smoke to fill my lungs and travel through my bloodstream.“ "Forty-year-old heart surgeon and father of two, Gerald Manning, was found stabbed to death inside a hotel suite at the Westin Book Cadillac in Downtown Detroit…” . . ."“ "Mm, mm, mm.” I shook my head. “Mr. Manning, just what have you gotten yourself into?"” I puffed, inhaled, exhaled, and flicked the cigarette ashes into the ashtray.“ "As reported in the last three murders, traces of pancuronium bromide were found in the victim’s blood. The powerful muscle relaxant is used as the second of three drugs administered during lethal injections and as an aid to anesthetics during surgeries. Investigators believe that the drug was used to paralyze the victims while keeping them alert." Puff . . . … inhale . . . … exhale . . . … flick.“… "It has been confirmed that the killer did engage in sexual intercourse with the victim, apparently with no contraception, leaving DNA evidence at the scene. Investigators expect that the DNA will match the traces found at previous murder scenes. However, the DNA has not been linked to any known suspects at this time.”" Puff . . . … inhale . . . … exhale . . . … flick. "“Although there is no known connection between the victims, other than their gender, this heinous murder is unmistakably marked. The Man Eater has left her signature at the scene." …” Puff . . . … inhale . . . …" “Argh! Oh shit!”" I began to hack and cough as the smoke from my Treasurer deceived me. I quickly covered my mouth as I doubled over in an attempt to inhale some clean air and stop this choking fit. Adam didn’t stir. My composure maintained, I took another long drag, closing my eyes and resting my head on the back of the chair. “… ". . . as Detroit is masked in fear and anxiety, police are working diligently to stop these senseless murders before the killer strikes again. We will hear a word from Detroit’s chief of police in just a moment . . ." …” The phone rang again. I clicked the TV off and snapped my head toward the ringing phone in annoyance. "“I mean really, Adam, who has a house phone anymore?”" I toyed with the idea of answering the call, just to drive some desperate chick up the wall. I was sure that Adam had several women, disillusioned into thinking that he, a prominent financial consultant and self-proclaimed bachelor of the year, was their man. Pathetic. I shook my head with a tsk. With my Treasurer secured in my right hand, I leaned down and grabbed my sweater from the floor. Putting the cigarette down for only a moment, I slipped the sweater on, along with the gloves that were tucked neatly inside the back pocket of my jeans. The phone rang again, its shrill tone sending a stream of aggravation down my spine. I looked at Adam again. “"Okay, okay, I’ll get it. Shit, it’s like trying to wake the dead."” I giggled at myself as I waltzed toward the nightstand and removed the cordless phone from its base.“ "Hello … No, no, you have the right number, Adam Stone? Yes … I’m sorry, um … what was your name again? Yes, Jaime, Adam is unavailable. I, um, put him to sleep … You heard me. Listen, baby, it may be wise for you to just forget about him. He wasn’t the one for you, anyway. If you knew him like I did, you’d wish you never met him. So, let’s say I did you a favor by taking him off your hands."” I repositioned myself, shifting my weight onto my left hip as I grew impatient with the lovesick bimbo on the other end of the line. “"Uh huh … well, don’t you worry about that. mmkay, pumpkin? Adam has already been taken care of for the night. Ciao, bella."” I smirked as I hit the END button on the phone, leaving Jaime to curse me into hell in a broken, tearful fury. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair I was sitting on and eased into it. After wiggling my feet into my stilettos, I hoisted my overnight bag onto my shoulder. I had almost forgotten my Treasurer, burning away in the ashtray. I would’ve been pissed! Happy to have escaped that close call, I retrieved the cigarette before walking over to Adam’s side of the bed. I bent down slowly and pulled the comforter away from his body. My fingers traced the side of his face lovingly, tiptoeing down his neck and the crevice between his neck and shoulder, and sliding down the little trail of hair from his pecs to the middle of his chest. "“You're so beautiful … and ugly."” I felt my face twist into a snarl as I raised my right leg and placed my spiked heel right into the groove of Adam's breastbone. “"Deuteronomy thirty-two, twenty-five: '‘Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, in due time, their foot will slip; for the day of their calamity is near, and the impending things are hastening upon them.’' You hear that, Adam? Now do you understand? I have the power."” I clasped my hand around the handle of the ten-inch blade that was lodged, almost locked, into Adam’s muscular chest. I puffed on my Treasurer, flicking the ashes onto Adam’s still body, and squatted a little to give myself more leverage. "“You didn’t win. It’s not your game to play.”" I placed the cigarette in my mouth and straightened my back and leg. Using both hands to yank the dagger from Adam’s chest, I sent blood splatters all over the bedding and the wall. I took another puff before removing my foot from his chest and resting the knife by my side. Blood oozed onto the carpeted floor, staining the impeccable white fibers with crimson blotches. I quickly jumped onto one foot as a drop of blood just missed my new Louboutin. "“Dammit!"” I scolded myself for my carelessness. Knife in hand, cigarette in mouth, I trudged back to the bathroom and rinsed my knife in the sink, drying it with a towel from my overnight bag. The knife and towel back inside my bag, I stole a glance at the time on the digital clock resting on the nightstand, right next to an empty glass that had been laced with pancuronium bromide. It was 11:15 p.m. "“Time to skedaddle.”" Standing beside Adam’s fully exposed corpse once again, I removed the Treasurer from my lips and bent down to kiss Adam on his forehead, a seductive farewell. "“Before I go, my sweet Adam … I’ll bless you with a seal of approval."” I grabbed his nice-sized manhood, massaging it gently in my left hand in fond remembrance, and sank the burning Treasurer into his shaft, just above the head. I reveled in the soft sound and smell of his burning flesh, intoxicated by the moment, before twisting the cigarette counter-clockwise, then clockwise, until he’d been properly branded. He had now been redeemed. I threw the cigarette butt into my bag and traipsed coolly toward the bedroom door. "“Whoa, oh, here she comes. Watch out, now, she’ll chew you up. Whoa, oh, here she comes. She’s a mannnn eater!"” I was starting to embrace the corny-ass nickname the media had given me. It was kind of cute, actually. “She’s a mannnn eater!” Adam knew me as Victoria—victory—the victorious one. Victoria, the Man Eater. Ha! I’d take it. Unnoticed, I slipped iout of the massive house and into the uncertain night.
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