Feature Writer: Daphne Xu
Feature Title: Killer Man-Eating Pussies
Story Codes: Fantasy, MF, Cunnilingus, Snuff
Author’s Notes: Thanks to Denny Wheeler for proof-reading and catching some unfortunate blunders in the original ASSM post.

Killer Man-Eating Pussies

The Boy dashed up the front porch stairs and jammed the doorbell hard. The door opened to reveal the Girl, who exclaimed, “Hey, there! Come on in. Have a seat and let me get you a Coke. You’re as flustered as a flurry.”

The Boy flopped down on one end of the sofa, and watched her walking into the kitchen. Gosh, how cute she was, he thought, forgetting his fears, thinking for the moment only of her tall full-fledged stout figure. She was wearing dark blue jeans that smoothly covered her ass, thighs, legs, and crotch. A bright neon-green sleeveless shirt molded her breasts, and left a couple of inches of skin bare above her jeans, exposing her belly button.

The shirt hugged her torso too smoothly for her to be wearing any kind of bra, and her nipples were pushing up against the fabric. Her long jet-black hair draped over her shoulders, and extended down to cover her breasts. Her underarms were hairless, and her perfectly-pedicured bare feet lacked the toenail paint so prevalent these days.

The Boy wondered if the Girl knew how unbearably hot she looked. She seemed so innocent and pure, yet lusty and hot at the same time. She was an inch or two taller than him.

The Girl was also older than him. She had a car, and presumably a driver’s license. The Boy, to his mortification, was too young to drive — too young for even a learner’s permit. He had only just turned fifteen. He wondered with no little shame how the Girl deigned to so much as notice him, let alone go on a date with him.

The Girl returned with a glass of Coca-Cola with ice for him, and a glass of what he guessed must have been soybean milk for herself. She settled down and lay back against the opposite end of the sofa, and stretched out her legs along the sofa toward him, flexing her toes enticingly.

“Okay,” she said. “Now that you’ve calmed down, what happened?”

The Boy breathed in suddenly, terrified again at the thought of what he’d heard. “A friend told me about a gang initiation ritual. The guys drive at night with headlights off. Another driver flashes his headlights to signal them. Then the guys go after the other driver, force him off the road, and kill him.” Suppose they encountered the gang when they went to the movies tonight, wondered The Boy in panic.

“I’ve heard that story. It’s an urban legend, nothing more,” commented the Girl.

“But it was a police officer who told her!”

“Come here, let me show you something.”

She got up and took the Boy’s hand. Nervous, excited, and weirded-out holding a Girl’s hand, he let her pull him up and lead him down to her bedroom. He gulped and tried to swallow in nervous excitement. He’d never been in a Girl’s bedroom before, except his sister’s a long time ago.

The Girl passed by her bed, and led him to her computer. “Have a seat,” she said. Curious, the Boy sat down. Standing to his left, the Girl clicked a few mouse clicks and a web page appeared.

“This is Snopes, an urban legends archive,” continued the Girl as the Boy read with interest.

Apparently the story of the gang initiation ritual was at least a decade and a half old and migrated from city to city without a single death being reported. Often, surprisingly, police departments were responsible for spreading the rumor.

“The police are surprisingly boneheaded about urban legends. On the other hand, this site becomes boneheaded once in a while. In 2001, they did a major hachet job on Green Party icon Nancy Oden. So we really should check its claims.” The Girl clicked a few more times, and the Boy found himself facing a decade-and-a-half-old news article, reporting essentially the same facts as the web site.

The Boy still felt nervous and uncertain. What if there were something to it, despite all this?

“What about the movie? Should we be going now?”

He was still a little scared that they might have such an encounter tonight.

The Girl didn’t respond for a while. She walked over to her bed and lay on her back, with her legs stretched out toward him.

“Why not watch a DVD? Nobody’s going to be home for a while; we’ll be by ourselves.”

She smiled innocently at him, and he blushed horribly.

“We’ll have dinner here as well.”

She took a remote control and clicked a couple times. A wide television screen started up.

The Boy turned and sat on the bed between her feet, facing the screen. The standard dire messages about copyrights, copying, and unauthorized display appeared, and the movie began. It was something he’d never heard of — “Interstate 60” — but it was directed by a familiar name, Bob Dale of the “Back to the Future” trilogy.

The boy was cheered to see Michael J. Fox appear as well, but was a little disappointed to find that Fox was playing a major-league foul-mouthed asshole who stupidly earned himself an immediate demise. But he was also happy to see Christopher Lloyd as a major supporting character.

As engrossed as he was in the movie, he found himself glancing at the Girl’s feet on either side of him. The Girl was occasionally flexing her feet and spreading her toes in a particularly enticing manner.

Finally, he reached down and touched the Girl’s foot on his left side. He heard a soft giggle, and jerked his hand away.

“No, no, don’t stop,” she assured him. “I like it.”

So the Boy continued playing with her feet, tickling, caressing, and massaging them in turn, while watching the movie. His hands slid back up her lower legs, feeling through her jeans.

A scene in the movie remind him of something scary. He quickly turned toward the Girl on the bed. He was terrified all over again.

“Two or three days ago, my Mom received a letter in the mail. It told her to photocopy the letter and send ten copies on to friends and relatives. For luck. Those who did had good things happen, while –“

“–those who broke the chain typically encountered unspeakable disasters.”

“Yeah. Accidents, misfortune, and worse. Mom just threw the letter out. She said the stuff was garbage. Fearmongering. But how could she know? What if she was wrong?”

The Boy was almost in tears from panic.

“Oh, my poor Boy.”

The Girl sat up and embraced the Boy, pulling him down on top of her. His arms encircled her automatically, and somehow his hands found their way up her back underneath her shirt. As he’d thought, she wasn’t wearing a bra. She kissed him fully on the mouth, making him so excited that he forgot his fear and what made him frightened.

Just then, the Girl pushed him away. What happened, he wondered. Did he do something wrong? But no. The Girl pulled the shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. The Boy gazed at her breasts — how perfect they were! He’d never seen anything like them before. The Girl then pulled on the hem of his shirt. He took that as a suggestion, and pulled off his own shirt. Then she pulled him back down on her and they kissed some more.

The feeling of her breasts up against his torso was almost too much. He slid himself down and began nibbling on her left breast. She gasped. He kept sucking her breast, taking her nipple in his mouth and tonguing.

“Yes! Yes, more! More!”

After a while, he nibbled across to the other breast, and focused his mouth and tongue on that for the next few minutes.

He nibbled down to her belly button, the girl twitching at every touch of his mouth. At one point, she lifted up her midsection and slid off her jeans and panties, releasing an intoxicating, musky odor. Not believing he was actually doing this, the Boy propped himself up, and began removing his own pants and underpants.

His rock-hard penis had just popped free of his underpants when he suddenly thought of something else.

“Today in gym, some guys were talking about killer Demon-girls, who lure men into their clutches and perform satanic pagan rituals, impregnating themselves, and devouring the men in their lust!”

The Boy was Really, Really Scared now.

The Girl pulled him down against her and held him close, comforting him. She asked if any signs of satanic pagan rituals had been found.

“No, they’re careful not to leave tracks.”

The Boy realized what the Girl would say next, something contemptuous about believing something without evidence. But she only pointed out that satanism and paganism were two different things.

The Boy was almost convinced when he remembered.

“But what about Dr. Thompson, the physics teacher? He disappeared!”

“Don’t you remember? He was caught in flagrante delicto with a cheerleader.”

“In flagrant what?”

“Caught in the Act with a cheerleader in his class. He was fired and left the town.”

Oh, the Boy thought. He pulled off his pants and returned to the subject at hand, the Girl’s luscious body. They kissed, and he slipped down and kissed her neck. That produced a surprised raspy gasp from the Girl, and he kissed and nibbled her neck some more.

A musky odor attracted him southward again, and it was all he could do to maintain a slow, deliberate pace of kissing down the Girl’s front. He kissed her breasts and tongued her nipples. He slid on down to her belly button and tongued that.

Afterwards, he took a detour off to the side, kissing and tonguing the side of the Girl’s belly. Every touch of his made the girl twitch. She frequently giggled a high-pitched silver-bell sound, and sometimes gasped.

He couldn’t believe it — was he really here, doing something he had always fantasized doing? He worked his way across her belly to the other side, and then slowly down the edge of her crotch, the source of the intoxicating odor.

He licked and softly bit on a tendon at the edge and the Girl gasped and lifted up her crotch. He wasn’t sure, did he quite dare? He blew softly on her crotch, and the Girl softly moaned and lifted her crotch into his face. He licked up the Girl’s slit, and then pushed his mouth fully on her pussy.

His tongue found a hole, and just above that a tiny hard spot. The Girl’s pussy was secreting a soft nectar of a taste the Boy had never encountered before — not too sweet, not too sour, just right. He lapped the nectar up as more and more was produced; he could never get enough. Deeper, deeper, he licked, trying to get ever more and more, getting down farther and farther inside, until–

CHOMP-CHOMP-CHOMP-CHOMP-CHOMP

The Boy was sucked all the way in. The Girl emitted a huge farting sound from her pussy, and issued a sigh of contentment.

“Satanic pagan rituals, indeed!” She muttered to herself. “All we want is a good meal now and then. But geez, I shall miss him.”

THE END