The air is tinged with smoke. I am drawing close, and every drop of a paw into the dirt increases my desire. A resounding scream sends a shiver of anticipation through my body. I quicken my pace, stirring up clouds of dust as I bound across the earth. I reflect with giddy malice that these pitiful humans think their troubles will end with the ashes of their home. But that is only the beginning.
The burning house comes into view, a brilliant contrast to the dim, empty landscape. The children are huddled together on the ground a safe distance away while the mother desperately draws water from the well and hurls it at the roaring flames. The baby girl, dressed somewhat anachronistically in a ruffled white nightgown, sits crying in her sister's arms. The little girl's face is streaked with smoke, and she clutches her infant sister a bit too tightly as she watches her home burn.
I briefly deliberate whether to wait for the mother to abandon her futile efforts and accept the loss; it could be almost more delicious to hold back until they begin to feel that the worst is over and that they are capable of surviving. But now, in the midst of this panic and desperation, the temptation to strike is too powerful.
I pad into view of the children. The older girl winces and watches me with wide, fearful eyes, yet makes no move to run or call to her mother. "Good evening," I purr, making my voice soft and smooth. "Have you lost your home? How dreadful. You must be so sad…" She watches me warily, making no reply. The mother rounds the house to draw again from the well, still oblivious to my presence. "I'm not going to hurt you, dear. I only wish to help…can you tell me your name?"
"Annabelle," she ventures to reply. I try to imagine how her high, artless voice will sound when she screams. "And this is Lottie." She bounces the baby girl on her knee, and the little one pauses in her wailing to stare into my golden eyes, her wet pink lips opening and closing without sound. Annabelle herself is dressed in a pink nightgown, her bare feet twisting nervously in the sandy soil.
"How precious…" I begin to approach them, but a sudden frightened gasp informs me that the mother has finally noticed my presence. She is clearly intimidated by my size and dark pelt, but approaches me with the empty pail, swinging it aggressively. "You get away! Get!" I easily dodge and lunge for her leg, digging my fangs deep, worrying and shredding the soft flesh until she falls to the ground screaming.
"Leave mommy alone!" the little girl cries, still fixed to the ground and clutching her crying sister.
"But Annabelle my dear, I am SO hungry…you wouldn't deprive me of my meal?"
I turn away from the girl, slam my paws into the chest of her mother, and croon, "Your daughter loves you so…but surely you would prefer that I spare her life in exchange for your death?" Her face slowly turns to look at her precious little girls, huddled together in their thin nightgowns. Annabelle watches with a child’s trust, surely expecting her mother to find some solution. Her mother nods.
"Very good." I turn to Annabelle. "Darling, I am going to kill your mother now. If you try to stop me, I will kill not only her, but you and your baby sister as well. Do you understand?"
Annabelle meets the eyes of her mother, who again nods. "Do as it says, honey." Her voice trembles.
Annabelle looks down at her innocent baby sister with a protective gaze. "I…understand." Already I can feel her tender soul straining. Even if I left them now, this ingénue would never be whole again.
Though still young, the mother is too old for my tastes, and her flesh bores me. I will dispense with her quickly. "Get to your feet," I command.
I place my fangs around her hand and bite down with all the strength of my jaw. Blood shoots into my mouth, accompanied by the crack of many tiny bones. I ignore her scream. "Get up."
She staggers to her feet, favoring her one good leg.
"How much do you love your daughters?"
"I…with all my heart, I'll do as you say…"
I pointedly look to the still-burning house and back. The reflection of flames dances in her horrified eyes as understanding dawns. She shudders. "No…"
I grin, showing my gleaming fangs, then let my face fall blank. "Yes."
"I suppose you mustn't love them very much, then. Which shall I eat first…" I leave her and saunter toward her daughters.
"No, wait! I'll go…please leave them alone. Please." With one final look at her sobbing little girls, she turns and begins to hobble toward the burning house.
"Mommy," calls Annabelle. "Mommy, what are you doing??" She begins to climb to her feet.
"Stay where you are, Annabelle! I love you…I love you both so much." The brave mother's voice falls at the end. I shift my gaze from her staggering figure to the frightened expression of her young daughter and back, reveling in the new level of pain come audible as the bleeding woman forces herself into the burning building. My claws dig greedily into the sand. A scream almost unholy rises into the night while her body singes and erupts in flame: a sacrifice to the darkened innocence of her little girls. Annabelle is hysterical. "Mommy! Mommyy!"
Too late. Her mother's arms flail, she struggles to escape at the last; and finally her voice dies away, her blackened corpse lost in the furnace of the house. Annabelle tries to beat at me with her feeble fists.
I turn to her calmly. "How noble of you, to have let your mother die…"
"I didn't do that! You did! Mommy! Come back…" Her useless hands slow, then drop. The first beautiful tears trickle down her cheeks.
I stalk back to the helpless form of her infant sister lying on the ground, tiny limbs slowly wheeling in the air. "What a beautiful baby. Tell me, if you were in my place, would you eat the fingers first, or…"
"Leave Lottie alone! You promised!"
"Nobody keeps their promises, dear. Didn't you know that? Your mother promised to protect you, and yet…" I lower my muzzle to the baby's body, breathing in her sweet, innocent scent. My eyes roll with the intoxicating smell. So fresh and young. Her clear blue eyes are untarnished by suffering. Delicate tinges of pink glow through her soft cheeks. I lean down to lick her perfect skin with my rough tongue; her face twitches in instinctual revulsion. She tastes of ash and the light sweat of a human child. I struggle to restrain myself from ripping out her throat then and there.
"Get away!" The little girl wraps her small body about my leg and tries to drag me away. Breaking this one will be fun.
"What an obnoxious child you are," I hiss, whirling to swipe deep red lines across her back with my claws. "You clearly need to be taught…obedience." It is a joy to watch her beautifully-formed little face contort in the greatest pain she has probably ever experienced in her brief life. She falls to the ground screaming. "Does that hurt, darling? I can make it stop…" She only wails in response, grasping the sandy earth with her small hands and digging her feet one after the other without cause. "Ask me and I can make it stop…"
"Please!" she manages.
"What a good little girl. Remove your clothes." For extra expedience, I stand threateningly over the baby, who has now fallen silent as well.
The little girl doesn't understand, but waveringly stands and pulls off her nightgown, grimacing when the strips of cloth peel away from her freshly-bloodied back. Her pale, prepubescent form is flawless…excepting some new scars, of course. I easily knock her onto the ground once more, ignoring her cry, and appraise her tender young form with its tiny pink nipples and smooth skin, the faint shadows of ribs, the little chest rising and falling fast, the trembling of limbs. She seeks my gaze. "Please don't hurt me…"
I move between her legs and slowly lick her developing sex, holding her down with the weight of a paw. She shudders. "Wh…what are you doing?"
"Whatever I like. Don't you want my tongue inside you?"
"What? No!" She struggles to back away.
"How sad for your baby sister…" I unsheathe my claws slightly, allowing them to very slightly pierce her flesh.
Her lips fall open in helpless horror. She slowly, shudderingly parts her legs for me. I can't resist a sadistic grin at this deeper level of crushed innocence. Her eyes flood with submission and shame, and she closes them tight when I lower my head, but I pause. "Well?"
"I asked you a question. Don't you want my tongue inside you?"
Her sweet voice is barely audible as she replies, "Yes." I thrust my tongue into her with brutal force. The rough sound she makes is somewhere between a cry and a moan. Her body fights me. "Lie still," I command, "Or I will bite." Terrified and confused, she gasps and grasps at the air, forcing herself to stay open for me as I rape her with my long, rough tongue, and she writhes in the added pain of her lacerated back scraping the earth. "That's better," I purr. "You're being such a good girl…I think you deserve a reward." I move my head over hers. "Suck." I extend my tongue over her lips, and her sweet juices drip onto her face. She hesitantly cranes her neck upward, her body quaking, and licks my rough cat's tongue. "You can do better than that." I shove it into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself unto the very back of her throat. She gags and scrapes at the ground, and when I pull away her face is red from lack of air. But she has ceased to fight me. She is so helpless, so precious and giving…unable to control myself any longer, I bite down onto her still-developing privates, ripping them away in a shower of blood. Her shriek is almost as delicious as her flesh. I swallow, then begin raping her anew, my eyes rolling at the incredible mixture of flavors. "You're delicious, Annabelle. Don't you love being raped?"
She seems unable to reply.
"Tell me." I growl. "I can still hurt her."
"Yes," she manages. Her beautiful little face is soaked with tears and her shocked voice shakes with my thrusts. "I love…being raped."
"Good." I press my tongue into her bloody hole again and again, reveling in every shriek, until the baby's renewed sobs distract me.
"Do you want it to stop?" She can only nod. "Then you have to do something for me. Bring your precious baby sister to me…"
Even now, she shakes her head in refusal. I leap forward and sink my fangs deep into her developing breast, limiting myself to a ring of bloody holes. "Do it."
The damaged girl crawls across the ground, sobbing, shaking, and trailing blood. She lifts her beloved infant sister in her arms and tries to carry her, but collapses to the ground. Lottie howls. After another failed attempt, she takes the baby's arm and drags her to me. "I have more to ask of you, darling…" Annabelle stares in anxious fear, but once I begin to speak, she obediently obeys.
I watch in a haze of ecstasy as she follows my every command, this raped and scarred sandy-haired child who is little more than a doll holding the poses I desire.
"Remove her clothes." Her movements are awkward, and the baby half-falls out of her white gown. Her light sob and the revelation of her naked form are an almost-unbearable tease, but we move slowly. "Caress her body…touch it. Run your fingers over her." Annabelle awkwardly traces her hand over the infant girl's soft body, teasing the nipples when I ask. "Isn't she beautiful, Annabelle? Do you want to rape her?"
"I think you do," I growl, twitching my tail in warning.
Annabelle crouches low and presses her tongue into the baby's sex as I did hers, licking and holding the tiny struggling child in place. "Use your fingers, Annabelle…make her feel it." She inserts one finger hesitantly, and begins moving it back and forth. Both girls are crying as I demand that she add another finger, and another. "Lick your fingers. Doesn't your sexy little baby sister taste good? Even better than you?"
Without further prompting, she whispers, "Yes."
"You play so tenderly with her, Annabelle…I can see how well you love her." The scene of these naked little girls lying together alone in the glow of their burning home, one raping the other with her own small fingers, will feed many a sleepless night.
"Now kiss her." My little doll tentatively lowers herself and pecks the baby on the lips. "Put your tongue into her mouth," I press. I catch a glimpse of their pink tongues brushing against one another. With every move, Annabelle smears and drips blood across the writhing baby girl's fragile form. "Bite her lip. Harder." She sinks her teeth into her sister's lip until blood is drawn. At last the baby shrieks, a hoarse, startled cry.
"Scratch her." She runs her nails along Lottie's flesh, drawing harsh pink lines in a faint remembrance of the claw marks on her back. Dissatisfied, I push past her and make an incision above the baby's stomach with my claws. "Grab the skin, there, and pull down…" I expect her to protest, but she digs her fingers beneath the skin, firmly grasps the bit of flesh, and tears. I make more incisions. My little doll’s face is blank as she takes each new piece of flesh and tears down her sister's stomach, seemingly untouched by the soul-shuddering screams of the tortured baby girl as the raw underlying flesh is revealed. But when I finally tell her she can stop, she rolls to the side, sobbing with the whole of her young body.
As I approach the infant, I can feel my restraint waning. I slowly lick her swollen lip -- such soft, moist lips, only faintly tinged with blood. I then lick her partially-skinned stomach, and am repaid with a delicious howl. Between the agony contorting her tiny face and the taste of her pure, fresh blood, I can't resist snapping my jaws onto one of her tiny toes. I easily tear away the infantile bone, chew and swallow the bloody bit of flesh, and return for another. Distantly I hear Annabelle begging me to stop. I reflectively pause to gently lick the baby's neck and ears, caressing her head with mine. What a precious, sensual little creature. I return to lick the bloodied stump where her toe had been, then bite off another, reveling in the delicate crunch and accompanying scream. “Only a baby can scream with such clean pain and confusion…a beautiful sound, don’t you agree?” Annabelle doesn’t reply, but I am enjoying this too much to press her. One by one, I tear away the tender little toes, until her feet are mangled memories of what they had been. I feel myself growing feverish with the innocent blood tinging my mouth; I position myself over Annabelle and thrust against her ashen, bloody face with violent vigor while my tongue repeatedly violates the broken infant's sex. I nip pieces of flesh from her shoulders and neck, then tear the fat and muscle from her tiny kicking leg. It is when my teeth grate against the femur that I realize time is short. Annabelle's fingers claw at my back, but I ignore her and thrust my tongue into the baby's thigh, raping her anew through the opening I have made, pushing between muscle and bone. Everywhere my tongue explores makes Lottie scream and cry. The sounds she makes are too delicious to hold back any further. I move my muzzle higher and dig my fangs into her stomach, tearing away a mouthful of flesh, exposing the infant child's innards as I climax and spill the blood across Annabelle's face which is wet with the juices of her sister and myself. I take a brief moment to enjoy the rich meat of the dying baby girl, but once her final shriek fades, I grasp her entrails in my fangs and lay them over Annabelle's gasping, open mouth. "Bite."
The little girl has a sudden recurrence of opposition. "No. No!" She squeals and pushes away. "No more! Please no more! PLEASE!" Her very soul seems to shiver with desperation. She struggles to escape me, but I do not reply, only thrust the slick entrails into her mouth and dig my fangs into her neck until she complies. Her expression is one of ravaged, demolished innocence. Still lying on her back, she chews her dead baby sister's entrails, even clutching them with her hands. I move back to the infant and finish the meal of her delicate little corpse, tearing her skin, snapping the veins, and crunching her tiny bones with vigor. Her liver is especially rich. Annabelle obediently continues eating her sister. "How lovely that we were able to torture and eat baby Lottie together, Annabelle…I'm sure this was what your mother wanted when she sacrificed herself for you." I am pleased to find that the child can still cry.
Finally it is time for Annabelle's demise. She cries out and drops the entrails when I pierce her fingers with my fangs and begin to drag her toward the burning house by her hand. She realizes what is coming and weakly protests. "Please, no, please, I was good, I helped, please…" Her wet, ashen, blood-spattered face pleading so sweetly only spurns me on.
"But you weren't good, were you, dear Annabelle? If you had been, your dear mother and baby sister would still be alive…"
"I'm sorry," she whispers, seemingly to the dead.
We draw close. Her naked young body is draped in the orange glow of the smoldering house. "I wonder how your mother felt…shall we find out?" I take her delicate wrist in my mouth and force her hand onto a burning log.
"No…stop…NO!" Her shriek reverberates across the empty landscape, and I know that it was her voice that I heard screaming earlier. There is a delicious crackling of skin: her hand warps and partially melts away in the flames. "Stop! Mommy! Mommyy!" Perhaps a mindless impulse?
"Silly girl, you know your mother is dead…" I release her hand, only to pin her other wrist down with my claws. “I wonder how long we can make your fingers last…” I begin to press my needle-sharp fangs into the very tip of her pinky finger.
“Please stop!” she cries, her eyes pressed tightly shut as she nevertheless braces herself.
To her surprise, I pull away. “Very well, Annabelle…” I release her wrist. “Your pitiful human teeth could never cause as much harm as my fangs. But shall we try?”
“You heard me.” She seems to react to my menacing growl, lifting her hand to her own lips. But then she stops. “Eager to lose your fingers quickly? I can make short work of them if you’re a bad girl…”
She digs her teeth into her index finger, but doesn’t even leave a mark on her trembling hand. She clearly needs greater motivation. I move close, nuzzling her cheek, and lick the inside of her ear, then bite her earlobe clean away. “A pretty little scream as always, Annabelle…” I lap up the blood dripping from her ear, then whisper, “Keep being naughty if you want to lose this ear.”
Finally she bites her hand hard enough to make her own self cry out. I nip away a slight bit more. “Harder.” We play this game for a while, forcing her to keep biting harder, until I lose my patience and tear her ear from her doll-like skull. The cartilage and flesh crunch agreeably between my fangs. Her hand automatically flies to the bleeding hole, but I catch her wrist in my claws, slam it down, and finally bite half of her pinky away. She shrieks and writhes. “Hold still, Annabelle…be my good girl. Do you want to taste yourself?” She doesn’t reply. I force my tongue into her mouth so that she can taste it, then move back to the next finger. I linger over each one, varying the timing and returning to the bleeding stumps so that she is always caught off guard, child’s body always tense and trembling. I drop the last finger into her mouth just to see how she reacts: she seems repulsed and works it from her mouth with her tongue, practically gagging, as both hands are now nearly useless. I can’t resist laughing before returning to her hand to remove the remaining fingers from knuckle to base. The crack of bone is more satisfying than the baby’s little toes. When I stop, her pretty face is scrunched up tightly, and her body is held taut in a defensive pose, seemingly shut down.
“Annabelle,” I gently call. She doesn’t move. I caress her dirty blonde hair with my paw. “Wake up darling, it’s over…” Her eyes slowly open, swimming in tears.
“Yes, doll, you were so good…” I lick my paw and begin cleaning the blood from my muzzle, seemingly unconcerned with her. She begins to rise, then falls back crying with relief and unexpressed suffering. I crawl close and curl around her shivering body protectively, purring. Favoring her burned and bloody hands, she turns and wraps an arm around my soft, strong feline body. “My sweet girl…” I lick her head as though she were a kitten. I wait for her to fall asleep, which she quickly does. She could easily die by morning from blood loss and shock. The way she clings to me shows the strange psychology of a child: longing to be loved and protected, somehow forgiving the torture and agony, she is oblivious to the obvious.
I suddenly bury my fangs deep into her shoulder. She awakes with a start and shriek, already struggling to move away from me. “You said it was over! I was good! I was good!” I worry the flesh, shredding it until I strike bone.
“Darling, I already told you that I lie…”
I drag her back to the house and press her onto a smoldering pile of wood; though she kicks her legs and fights with all her pathetic might to escape, she can only suffer. “You mustn’t throw tantrums, Annabelle…” I hold her upper back to the glowing wood with my weight so that I can feast on her arm. I start at the shoulder where I’ve already dug down to bone and work my way down, ripping and tearing away chunks of flesh still hot with flowing blood, until her arm is a gruesome piece of meat half-glistening with bone. “You’re too delicious, Annabelle…” Words have left her, and her sweet screams are without pause. I violate her mouth still more roughly than before and begin to thrust against her again. I can feel the vibrations of her screams in my tongue while her hot little body burns beneath me. At my I climax I rip away her lower lip, destroying her pretty face and revealing a row of small white teeth. The disfigured visage continues to scream, bleeding from her sex, a hand burned away, another consumed, breast half-removed, back cut and blackened by fire… "Sweet little girl, you're been such good fun…aren't you sad it's nearly over?" She is incapable of reply, psychologically and physically beyond words. I tear the flesh from her cheek, bury my fangs into her side, and revel in the white gleam of her ribcage. I slowly scrape my claws across them, and Annabelle responds with the slightest increased shudder. I begin to consume her soft thighs, but her screams are growing weaker, and I have one final desire still unsated. Gripping her tightly, I sling the child's body into the heart of the flames. She screams and flails, unable to stand or crawl from the fire that blisters and singes her weakening form, finally consuming it entirely. "What a good girl," I sigh. I pause to take one last lap of the blood pooled in the barely-recognizable baby's corpse, then slink into the night.