Success takes our guy into the big leagues, where he might get to taste the best fruits society has to offer. But first, he must learn to take advantage when opportunities - female and shapely - present themselves.
A Predator's Diary: Part 4 - Pageant Prey I
(M/f, bj, consensual, hardcore)
****This is the fourth part of the series. The events follow directly after those of Part 3 - Tricks of the Trade****
Note: There are references to death/killing in this story. Reader discretion is advised.
The drive back was a lot less eventful. This time, I sat beside the driver, who didn't seem interested in making any small talk. The boss probably trusted me enough not to drug or blindfold me, but I didn't bother to memorize the path back. Instead, my thoughts went back to what DJ said - Riya had a different purpose now? Whatever did that mean? What it did mean, though, was that I was once again, on my own.
The van dropped me off near my place. As I began to get down, the driver asked me to pick up my luggage from the back. For a moment, I was afraid people on the street might see a ravaged girl hanging in chains. When I opened the rear compartment, though, all it contained was the suitcase Riya had brought. It felt surprisingly heavy, and I almost sprained my arm pulling it down.
Five minutes later, I had dragged myself and the suitcase through my front door. Locking the door, I laid the suitcase on its larger surface, then unzipped it, wondering which unfortunate female soul was trapped inside this time. As it turned out, it was the object of my harsh affections in the factory, and more recently, in the van. Tied and firmly gagged, a breathing pipe stuck out of her mouth and pushed through the fabric of the suitcase. Taped to her thigh was a note - "For your personal use only."
I wondered whether Riya could be included in "personal." Checking whether the door was indeed bolted, I proceeded to pull the girl out, propping her into a sitting position. A part of me wanted to have another go at her, but I realized that I had not eaten a morsel since a quick breakfast at the office. Removing the girl's gag, I saw that the sides of her lips were bruised. The girl was awake, but seemed resigned to her fate. Coughing, she said weakly, "Just untie me please, my body hurts. My leg hurts really bad. I won't do anything, I promise."
Something in her tired voice told me that she was completely drained. Not wanting to waste the rope with which her wrists and ankles were bound, I took my time untying the knots. Once free, I helped the girl up to a chair, and gave her a glass of water. Gulping it down, she asked for more, until she'd downed almost an entire bottle. Her thirst satiated, she raised her ankle to check on it. It was still swollen. The rest of her body was also badly bruised - the result of Riya and my indiscriminate assault.
The girl stood up, and began to limp towards the bedroom. The belt marks had turned from red to a deep mix of brown and purple. Streaks of dried blood caked her back and ass, mixed with the dirt from the floor of the van. Before she reached the bed, I reached behind her and scooped her up in my arms. Carrying her to the bathroom, I proceeded to remove the pink lingerie. Placing her on a short stool, I took a sponge and soaked it in disinfectant. Handing it to her, I motioned for her to clean herself. She nodded and began to rub the sponge over her ravaged body.
Watching her clean herself, I wondered whether I had been too rough on her. Perhaps I had, and now that I had her for good, I had to take better care. I didn't know of a doctor who treated sex captives, and I didn't want to go through the hassle of disposing a dead body. As she struggled to reach some of the sore spots on her back, I took the sponge and cleaned her back. She then stood up, allowing me to wipe her ass cheeks. Thus cleaned, I had a better view of her injuries. Most were skin deep, but the belt had left a deep mark here and there. Picking her up again, I took her back to the bed and handed her a tube of ointment.
I rang up my neighbourhood cafeteria. "The usual bro?" I was about to answer in the affirmative when my gaze fell upon my new charge. "Double it bro, I'm expecting guests." "Cool!" Lunch thus arranged, I decided to take out the diary pages that had been handed to me. Opening them, I realized that this series was different. There were no location markers. Instead, there were dates and strings of numbers. Having learnt to read the numbers, I figured I now had to collect a series of cunts on different dates. But from where?
As I pondered my new assignment, I contemplated calling the boss. He had been pleased with my work - perhaps a hint or two was in order? Before I could make up my mind, the bell rang. I looked at the girl on my bed - could I trust her to keep quiet. Without a word, she raised a finger to her lips and motioned me to open the door. Wondering whether leaving her unattended and unrestrained was a good idea, I closed the bedroom door and received the lunch. Carrying the lunch boxes back to the bedroom, I found her busy nursing her wounds. She didn't seem to have risen from the bed at all.
Smelling food, her eyes lit up. She took the boxes from my hand and began rummaging through them. Within moments, she was digging in like one who'd not been fed in days. Had she been fed in days? As she ate, I realized that she had taken a part of my meal too, but I didn't have the heart to point that out. Instead, I finished the remaining food and disposed of the plates, all the while wondering what the new assignment would look like.
I lay down on the bed, pulling the girl close. She didn't resist - instead, she wrapped her arm around my shoulder and placed her head on my chest. Stroking her hair, I wondered what had made her so docile. Perhaps reading my mind, she spoke up - "They said they'll kill my family if I resisted. Please - I'll do whatever you want. Just...just don't hurt them." There was a pregnant pause, after which she added, "or me. Please don't hurt me." The mystery was solved - the boss was, apparently, a past master at blackmailing cunts. Having received her in such a battered condition, he probably had no use of her. He wouldn't risk exposing his operation by returning her to her family. If he hadn't given her to me, she would probably have become another fucktoy for DJ or his other cronies.
I continued stroking her hair. She told me more about herself, her hobbies, her dreams and hopes. I learnt that she was good at doing quick calculations. As she went on, I wondered whether she realized that most of what she was saying was now in the past. I couldn't give her the life she hoped for, even if I had wanted to. And I sure wasn't bothered to. Almost unconsciously, my hand grabbed a few locks and began to gently press against the back of her head. She realized that our little chat was over. Moving down the bed, she began to unzip my pants. My dick sprang out, semi-hard. The girl wrapped it in her palms, before beginning to rhythmically stroke it. Ere long, it was hard as a rod.
Opening her mouth, she began to gently kiss the tip, licking and sucking on it before licking up and down the shaft. My breathing quickened as I felt her mouth reach my balls and pull the outer skin with her teeth. She then cupped my balls and began to squeeze, even as her tongue continued to work on my shaft. Continuing to work my balls, she pushed herself down on my cock, taking in the whole shaft at once. Her mouth felt like heaven, the wet tightness taking me back to the night at the factory where I had first experienced it. Pulling up, she licked the tip, gently scraping the head with her teeth, before diving in again.
I reached for her head. This time, no force was needed - just some mild persuasion to moderate her pace as I felt my orgasm start to build. Her lips became a blur, her eyes fixated on me - expressing her desire to serve me in every way possible. Grabbing her hair, I pulled her down until my dick was buried in her throat. The floodgates opened, causing me to let out a loud howl of pure pleasure as I emptied my balls inside her.
The moment seemed to last for an eternity, my dick buried in her mouth as I filled her up. As the orgasm subsided, I gently pushed her head aside, motioning her to wash her mouth. She complied, returning to my side and curling up in my arms. I pulled her close, kissing her forehead as we both drifted off to sleep.
It was evening by the time I woke up, or to be more precise, were woken up. DJ was standing at the foot of my bed, an expression of bemusement on his face. Before I could ask him how he got in, he motioned the girl to move. Apparently, she and DJ had been having a conversation while I was still sleeping. The girl's body language suggested that whatever DJ had told her was not particularly distasteful. She seemed eager to leave, and as I groggily protested, she put on some clothes that DJ had brought with him and followed him out. All I could do was note that unlike the sexy pink lingerie that she had on when I found her in the van, these clothes were far more conservative - a full sleeve top, jeans and pumps.
Cursing my sleepy head, I freshened up as I heard the front door close behind them. Half an hour later, DJ returned alone. Seeing my quizzical expression, he answered, "Boss wants the girl returned to her family. I know you've taken a shine to her, but orders are orders. Don't worry, there'll be plenty more cunt to be had down the road."
I nodded, not realizing that he meant the last part literally. As soon as I had grabbed a bite to eat, DJ asked me to pack my bags. "But-but I need to report to work tomorrow."
"So you're not taking the job?" His tone suggested the question was rhetorical. I realized that he expected me to come with him without further ado.
Another half hour later, I was locking up my front door and lugging the large suitcase with me, filled this time with clothes instead of terrified girls. He had a car waiting at the front, and soon we were travelling to the airport. Upon my suggesting that I hardly had any cash for a trip, he motioned to the driver. The driver opened the glove box and handed DJ a thick packet. Opening it, DJ handed me a passport, a flight ticket, and a wad of notes that was roughly equal to two months' worth of pay in my job.
As my mind processed the rapid turn of events, DJ suggested that I check the passport. To my horror, it was in the name of a certain John D'Souza. But the picture and de***********ion was mine! "So Mr. John D'Souza, you're an agent for a large modeling agency that is attending one of the most prestigious pageants in the country. Your job is to scope out talent from among the participants." But didn't participants in such pageants already have lucrative contracts with agencies? "Oh, we're going to offer them contracts no one can match." Something told me these contracts would be non-negotiable.
The event was taking place in the business - and fashion - capital of the country, a bustling megapolis that had a reputation for sucking in pretty things and spitting them out as either trophy wives, washed out whores or sometimes, dead bodies. Apparently, it would not be just the two of us. At the airport, we were greeted by the mysterious man who had claimed my would-be prey in the residential complex, and another man I met for the first time. The former's name was Carl, while the latter called himself Mickey. The four of us would be the team traveling to the pageant, appearing as talent hiring agents for two different, and probably fictitious agencies. How no one would see through our charade in a space filled with veterans of the modeling world was something that no one answered. Apparently, they had done this sort of thing before.
The two-hour flight passed uneventfully. We only talked if we needed to, and only on matters like politics and sports. Further details about the job were strictly to be discussed in private. Also, I noticed that all of us were referring to each other by our new names. DJ himself called himself Aryan, and I presumed that the names the other two had given me were also "mission-specific" identities.
As someone who had only used fake names while stalking women on social media, the idea of living under a different identity took some getting used to. I followed the veterans' lead, preferring to be the quiet student on what appeared to be my first "real" mission. Once we arrived at our hotels, we split up. DJ went with Mickey, and I checked in with Carl. Carl, as it turned out, was not a man of many words. Once we headed out of the airport in the early hours of the morning, he suggested that I wrap up any unfinished work I might have. I left a voice message for my supervisor stating that I needed a couple of days off. I messaged my father stating that I would be traveling for the next few weeks and that they should expect not to be able to reach me. I was going to text Riya too, but Carl saw me typing and simply said "that won't be necessary." We switched off our phones.
Instead of the simple burner phone provided to me previously, I was now given a new "work" phone that was already set up with my new "identity." It also had list of pageant participants and their current affiliations. After a quick snack, we went to sleep.
I had become used to waking up under different circumstances each day, so when Carl almost kicked me off the bed a few hours later, I was less than surprised. Sun streamed in through the curtains. As I freshened up, I saw Carl preparing coffee. He seemed a bit more forthcoming than last night. He was, in his own words, a professional kidnapper who switched from taking rich folks' kids to taking cuntmeat, since the pay was guaranteed in the latter and the work was less messy. Our chance encounter in the complex was not supposed to have happened. Another rookie had spooked the prey and she was about to call the police. Carl had been the cleanup guy, picking up the cunt before anyone got suspicious. Oh, and the old couple weren't sleeping. They were dead.
As I took in all this information, we got a call from DJ. The first round of the multi-round pageant was set to begin in a couple of hours, and we had to reach the venue before it started. There was one problem though - the clothes I had packed would not suit my persona. "I didn't know what the job would be when I packed" I replied defensively. Carl only laughed in response. We made a detour on our way to the venue, and I found myself dressed in semi-formal attire, with sunglasses to go with them.
We arrived at the venue about half an hour before the first round was to begin. Carl had filled me in on the details of the pageant format and what to expect. Apparently, the first round was at the end of a rather grueling month-long training process where girls from various provinces, usually after winning their respective provincial pageants. Carl already had our IDs ready, and we waltzed in like old hands.
As we entered the arena, I noticed that there was a long ramp, at the end of which was a table with some very comfy looking seats. Behind the ramp were uneven rows shaped like waves, centered around a giant screen that currently displayed only the words "Introduction Round" Carl indicated that I should try and see if I could match the list of statistics I had been provided with the girls who would be participating." The list only contained 10 strings, whereas the number of participants would be 30.
"What about the ones who don't match any set on the list?" Carl gave another mysterious smile in response.
At that moment, the screen lit up and lights began to dazzle on the stage. Out of the shadows, the judges walked in. They were well-known celebrities, and received a fair amount of applause. The emcee appeared and began going through her routine. Like a nervous student whose examination was about to begin, I pulled out the diary pages and began to go through them. How would I judge which girl was which entry? Unlike the wider world, pageant participants usually had a far smaller range of statistics, with most falling close to the 34-24-36 mean. Plus, the rules mandated a height of at least 165cm, but at least two of the entries had heights that fell below the limit. I looked at the emcee, dressed in a shimmering gown that began at her tits and was slit down from her thighs, exposing her creamy white legs. I scanned the list and felt certain she was one of the 10. Seeing my intense gaze locked upon her, Carl whispered, "Not her. Don't start jumping upon every human with a cunt - take your time." I nodded and waited for the participants.
They arrived soon. Each girl walked up in a dress before firing a two-line intro at the judges. The crowd cheered, the judges nodded, the girl posed for the multitude of cameras around the ramp and then she went back to stand on one of the wavy rows behind the ramp. I scanned each girl carefully, measuring her with my eyes as best as I could. Some wore corsets, other padded bras, making exact guesses all the more difficult. About ten contestants in, I realized the best way to figure out the riddle was to focus on the height.
This snagged me my first matches. Only two of the entries were 180cm or higher. One of the girls was taller than the others, her jet black waist-length hair tied in a long braid. She wore a traditional Thai dress that highlighted her excellent bust. 36C for sure. 36C-30-36? I took out a pen and jotted down the participant's number. Soon, I found the second tall girl as well - a brunette with angular features and an aquiline nose. Her chest was almost boyish, and the way she walked suggested that she was more of a sportsperson than a model. Looking through my list, I found the probable candidate and made another note.
By the time all 30 had assembled on stage, I had managed to pinpoint around six, with another one in the doubtful category. Carl looked over my list as the girls formed a curved line for the national song. He smiled at me, "Not bad, not bad. You got four correct, and I will give you the benefit of doubt for another."
"It'd have been much easier if the boss had simply provided us with the statistics of each participant. I'm sure the modeling agencies have those already."
"Sure they do, and sure he could. But then this wouldn't be your advanced test would it?"
As the event ended, the girls and judges exited and the spotlights went out. I could see camera crew and support staff milling about in the arena, now lit with ordinary lighting. Taking out my phone, I quickly downloaded the list of participants. However, getting their statistics was a far harder job. Different sites quoted different figures for the same girl, much to the amusement of Carl as he looked on.
"You'll have to rely more on your natural instinct. Anyway, enough feasting for the eyes. It's lunchtime."
With that, we headed out into the sun again. The event arena had VIP reserved areas with their own dining options. We could have availed of the one meant for modeling agency professionals. Instead, however, we ended up at a burger joint a number of blocks away from the arena. As I was complaining about the long walk, Carl asked me to take in the clientele. The eating area was filled with people from the pageant - makeup artists, choreography staff, security officers, etc. Evidently, not everyone at the pageant could afford the arena catering, and this was the closest area with affordable food.
The place was packed and we apologized our way into two vacant seats at a table where four female makeup staff were already digging into hotdogs. I noticed that they were all young and while not as stunning as the participants they dressed up, weren't too shabby either. Overhearing them, I realized what a masterstroke Carl had pulled off. The girls were, apparently, not supposed to slip out of the arena at this time. However, security was lax and there were multiple backdoors. Most of them required a keycard, but the girls had snagged one off a security staff in exchange for some risqué pictures of the girls. The deadline for returning the card was two hours, of which half an hour had already elapsed.
Carl pretended to be deeply contemplating his hamburger. His eyes met mine and he began to talk about noting down important details for the client meeting later one. It took me a moment to catch on. He was asking me to pay attention to the "inside" information being provided for free by these carefree bitches. As I finished my food and got up to order another, one of the girls sitting beside me also got up. She was going to the washroom apparently.
By the time I returned, Carl was gone, his plate empty. Neither had the girl returned. Assuming everyone missing was relieving themselves, I began tucking in. One of the girls suddenly turned to me and asked, "are you a hiring agent?"
I pretended not to hear her. But the girl banged the table hard to draw my attention. Ignoring her would risk drawing everyone's attention. "Yes I am." I replied in the coldest, most uninterested voice I could muster.
"Do you only hire girls who participate?" My mind was racing. My interrogator was young woman in her late 20s. Her hair was black, but with pink streaks. She evidently took good care of her figure, which included a firm pair of C-cups and a thin waist. Before she caught on to my perverted gaze, I decided to reel her along.
"Usually, yes. But we also hire a lot of talent directly from campuses of major modeling schools. We believe in giving a chance to freshers, after all."
A glimmer of hope was kindled in her kohl-lined eyes. "What about height?"
"It depends. Our official standards are the same as those of the pageants. But you know there are top models who are short, or very tall. It all depends on your poise and skill."
"Interesting. Look, I'm Aliya. I was into modeling myself, but my height is a problem. No one wants a model who just crosses the five foot mark. So here I am, doing makeup for girls whose mothers fed them more nutritious food or whatever. Do you think - maybe - I could stand a chance at modeling myself?"
The whole table was looking at me now. "Height is a big factor, I won't lie. But no one can take a call until you appear for auditions. I hope you understand." I returned to my burger, wondering what was taking Carl so long. Aliya seemed to be lost in thought. I finished up and began to head to the restrooms. I heard Aliya come up behind me and enter the women's restroom. She left the door slightly ajar. On a hunch, I checked the hallway. It was empty. I slipped in and bolted the door behind me.
Aliya was in the last stall - the only one which was occupied. A couple of moments later, I heard her zipping up her pants and stepping out. She seemed less than startled upon seeing me, though she feigned indignation. But I had my *********** prepared.
"You mentioned wanting to audition. Let me be blunt with you - most agencies will hire girls in the 18-24 age group. You're not far away, but with your height, it's going to be a double bummer."
A bitter smile spread across Aliya's face. "Perhaps modeling isn't for me after all."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. But I might know someone who might be willing to sign you on for a few gigs. Nothing yearlong but you can still end up on a few billboards."
"I have already ended up on billboards. So if that's all you have to offer, please leave." Pretending to understand, I slowly turned around and pretended to fumble with the lock for what felt like an eternity. Then I felt her standing right behind me. Turning around, I saw that there were tears welling up in her eyes. Wiping them off, she said, "I'll take whatever gigs there might be. At least I can make rent!" Continuing to look me in the eyes, she said, "but everything in this city comes for a price eh?"
As she said this, I saw her hand push between two buttons of my shirt and gently rub my chest. Seeing a smile spread across my face, she began to undo the buttons of my shirt. Soon, my clothes were hanging over one of the cubicle doors. Her hands continued to tease my skin, her long nails teasing my chest and nipples. They moved over my back, gently scratching me as I pulled her closer. Grabbing her waist, I lowered my face to lock hers in a passionate kiss.
Our lips hungrily fed on each other, as my hands travelled over her soft hair, before moving down to her top and pulling it up and over her shoulders. A moment later, the sports bra underneath joined her top beside my clothes. Her tits now free, I picked her slight frame up until the globes were at my face level. Aliya wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled my head deeper into her cleavage. Her body was a bit sweaty, but it added a musky aroma that turned me on further. I took one nipple, and then another into my mouth, sucking wildly as she stroked my hair and began to buck her hips against mine.
Grabbing her hips, I pushed the crotch of her panties aside. Adjusting myself so her ass rest on the washbasin counter, I parted her cunt lips. My cock was ready for action. Using the counter for support, I pushed deep into her cunt in one stroke. The cunt was already soaking wet, and soon the room was filled with the soft sounds of dick ploughing wet pussy and the moans of a woman who had been alone for too long. Fearing any unwelcome intrusion, I pressed my hand against her mouth as I began to fuck her harder.
"Hello, is anyone inside?" a woman's voice caused me to stop dead, my dick still buried in her cunt. The woman outside tried the doorknob a couple of times. Wrapped in each other's arms, Aliya and I held our breath, our hearts in our mouths. The woman began to push against the door. Aliya climbed off the counter and began to fumble with her clothes. Realizing that the woman might barge in, I turned on the taps until water overflowed. Picking up a mop, I began to mop the floor as Aliya looked on at me incredulously.
I don't know how long I kept mopping a public restroom while naked and with a woman who was torn between dressing up and continuing our fuckfest. Eventually, however, I could hear someone else outside suggest that perhaps the toilet was being cleaned. Another round of cursing later, we heard heels clatter off. I turned off the taps and threw away the mop.
Aliya had a bemused expression on her face, and I thought she was about to make fun of me. I never gave her the chance. Grabbing her, I turned her around till she was lying over the wet counter. In this position, I could see myself in full naked glory as I plunged back into her soft warm hole. Grabbing onto her black-pink hair, I pulled her head up until she too was viewing me fucking her hard in the mirror. My other hand found her tit and began to grope it hard, squeezing and pawing as I made the cunt push back against my cock using my other hand in her hair. She was moaning again, but I made no attempt to silence her. Instead, I yanked hard on her nipple and hair at the same time, causing her moan to change into a scream. Letting go of her tit, I began to slap her ass liberally, the cheeks turning redder as I picked up my pace.
All of a sudden, I felt her legs tremble and buckle as her orgasm hit her. The warmth of her pussy, accentuated by her orgasm, pushed me over the edge. I bit down into her shoulder as I began to fill her cunt with my warm seed. The woman let out a loud scream of pure primal passion before collapsing onto the counter. I collapsed on top of her, my dick spasming as we enjoyed the afterglow of a shared release.
Unfortunately, a female restroom is not the most private of places. From outside the door, I heard Carl's voice state - "if you're done doling out favours, we should get going." Reluctantly, I got up and got dressed. Aliya followed, but held me back, the contacts list of her phone open in anticipation. I took her phone and hastily typed in the number of my plumber before rushing out to join Carl.
"Next time, stick to a cubicle instead of taking up the entire washroom." There was a glint in his eye that suggested that he knew exactly what had transpired. We exited the joint, but instead of heading back, Carl went around the back of the establishment. Puzzled, I followed him to a dumpster. As he opened the cover, I noticed a girl splayed out over the trash. "Is she-" Carl shook his head, "alive and soon to be kicking unless..." He took out a small syringe from his pocket and jammed it into the girl's arm, emptying its contents as I noticed that she had bruises around her face and her lower torso was naked. The dose delivered, Carl propped up the cover slightly open using a stick and then began walking back.
As we re-entered the arena, he noted asked me to dust myself off. Cubicle doors weren't exactly cleaned regularly, after all. "So you had your fill too eh?" I teased. "Yes, but unlike you, it was with a purpose." With that he took out a silver keycard from his pocket and began walking towards one of the side entrances.