by Chewy
Lenara passed a pool of blood, bits of gnawed gut and tendon floating about in the congealing liquid. To one side lay a heap of torn female clothing; a bloody skirt, shredded nylons a chewed-through panties and gnawed-through bra. Laying on its side next to the bloody rags was the girl's head. Gore-crusted lengths of blonde hair clung to scraps of scalp. The back of the skull was smashed inwards, the gooey brains long since scooped out and eaten. The wolfen couldn’t see what color eyes the dead pig had since the eye-sockets were now gnawed red-lined holes in the cold face. Not much of a face either, cheeks chewed away, the lower jaw missing, and tongue a partially-eaten stump, her soft sinus tissues sucked off her skull and eaten like taffy. Maybe the bimbo had been pretty, but now she was just meat in someone's belly and messy garbage left on the pavement of some nameless alley.
Lenara ran on, looking for some other girl foolish enough to be exposed tonight. They were out there, tender prey who seemed to almost dare the night’s hunters to take them down. Hard to believe, but ten years after the return of the dark gods and their wolfen disciples, people still didn’t seem to understand that this was not a game. Thousands of them would be harvested tonight, that the slightest carelessness would get you eaten faster then a pudgy rabbit under the Eagles claws. That dumb blonde back there had found out, and paid the price for her stupidity with the meat on her bones.
Lenara had only hours left to find some nice fat-assed whore for dinner. As long as the full moon shone over the city she could hunt, hunt and kill till her belly was filled with living meat.
That was the deal the dark gods made with conquered humanity. The hordes would hunt only under the full moon. Other time the human cattle were safe, safe to sleep and eat and above all, breed. The dark gods were just masters for they allowed their cattle to live their lives prosperous and unhindered all save for the nights of feeding.
The new Gods insisted on no weapons, no hint of resistance to the cullings. Humans were forced to breed like the cattle they truly are, spawning an endless food larder of young women. Then, like all creatures raised for food, they were eaten. But there would be no efficient slaughterhouses for this new breed of meat-girls, no merciful euthanasia. The Gods and their minions preferred their meat alive and screaming, the harvested flesh pungent with the taste of terror and pain.
The night was alive with the throaty music of screaming, the metallic perfume of blood and torn meat. The darkened city sang a song of fear and pain. Lenara's heart raced to the beguiling melody of feminine wails. She was hungry, needed to eat, and out there she knew some girl was waiting to die in her jaws. All she had to do was find the shy nymph, to pry her out of her hole and crush her bones and flesh to jelly in her hungry jaws.
Lenara passed feast after feast. The first was near a broken-down SUV, the foolish bitch inside trying to drive away when her car had broken down. The car window was broken and the bleeding sow lay twitching on the pavement. An Asian girl, well-dressed and refined, no doubt some former yuppie who still eaked out an upper-class living in this horror-tinted world. Now she was crawling on hands and knees, her clothing ripped off her bloody back, her eastern features a mask of stunned terror. She was crying hysterically, face soaked with tears and blood from a broken nose, her hair a glossy tangle over her shoulders.
She didn’t crawl far as two huge furred shapes pounced on her, driving her to the asphalt with rib-cracking force. One of the wolfen clamped its teeth in her golden buttocks, foam-flecked fangs gouging crimson trenches that bottomed out on the back of her pelvis. The cow screamed as a great wedge of ass-cheek was lifted up off the bone, blood vessels snapping like strings, muscle fiber parting like soft cheese. A geyser of blood splashed around, and the girl's leg twitched wildly, the nerves reacting to the enormity of the injury.
The second wolfen, obviously a female from her swollen and blood-matted breasts, grabbed an arm in one clawed mitt and pulled. Pulled with the strength of a truck. The shoulder joint snapped and popped, then stretched....stretched till the skin parted like wet paper, till red muscle and pale tendon tore like aged steak. The arm came free on a jet of gore and the female wolfen raised it up to the moon like a sacrificial offering. The slender limb still twitched with life, the fingers clutching and unclutching aimlessly. Then the wolfen bit down on the bicep. The recurved teeth easily divided filet from bone. It chewed, pounds of tender muscle and a foot-length of creamy skin. It chewed the meat to jelly, gobbets of blood splattering over the hairy jaw and dripping onto animal breasts. It chewed the satiny length of skin, the undersides of which glistened with blood and golden streaks of fat. Chewed as it watched its prey die in agony beneath it, playfully clawing the victims back till the ribs showed like porcelain amid gory ruin. It chewed and laughed at it’s prey’s agony, chewed until nothing but bloody pudding sloshed about in its mouth, then swallowed liquefied pounds of living skin and flesh.
If there was pity, it was only in the murderous pair's hunger, hunger that drove them to eat her to death in minutes, not toying with her as they would if they caught more prey later on tonight. Now they were just hungry, and wanted to rip her apart as quickly as they could shove her meat into their mouths. The girl died slobbering in pain, her last sensation the cold night air on the bare bone of her pelvis, and then femur as her hamstring was heaved free. Died as she saw her mostly meatless arm thrown away like a used chicken wing, the felt her belly pulled open and her nutrient-rich liver excised out. Died like an animal, her meat her gift to those stronger and fiercer then she.
Another girl ran screaming down the street, a trio of nightmarish forms following her like certain death. Lenara was tempted to take her down herself, for she was a magnificent animal. Tanned olive skin showed through the rents in her clothing, the rivulets of blood flowing easily over skin so smooth it was almost frictionless. Long curly light brown hair streamed behind her as she fled like billowy cloud. Her angelic face was a rigid mask of exhausted fright, foamy spit dripping from her chin, watery snot leaking from her nose. Her pursuers must have spent some time driving her to exhaustion, herding her like a lion herds an antelope, till the prey is dazed with fatigue, the muscles quaking and soft with lactic acid spasms.
One of the pursuers, a gigantic brute who looked like he could out-muscle a bear, snarled a warning at Lenara to keep away from his prize. Lenara did, out of courtesy and caution as the sweat-drenched animal staggered past her. The sow was so exhausted that it barely swerved to miss bumping into Lenara’s form. Lenara’s eyes locked with those of the sow, and Lenara grinned in evil pleasure as she saw the horror and despair in those wide brown eyes. The sow knew she was doomed and ran on in mere instinct, its leg muscles wobbly with complete exhaustion. A few more unsteady steps and the sow collapsed face-down on the asphalt.
The sow’s remaining clothes were torn off her back by a feverish storm of claws and teeth. The sweat-soaked skin was cut mercilessly by those claws and they stripped her naked on the ground.
Lenara at last found her prey. She smelled the narcotic scent of terrified woman, tangy and beguiling in the night air. The scent was close, so close she could almost taste the women who produced that sweet stench of feminine fear.
Mixed in that aroma was one particular scent, spicy-hot and obscenely sexual. Lovers can sometimes sense one another unseen across a crowded room, some psychic pheromonal ESP calling out to one another, totally below conscious thought. Lenara knew this particular harlot was the one for her, her lover, the one fated since birth to feed her ravenous hunger on this night.
Lenara sniffed, seeking the source of the opiate scent, the scent of the woman destined to feed her. The scent was beginning to drive Lenara mad, like main-lined heroin. The scent was young and warm and alive with raw emotion. Lenara had to have it, had to have the woman who could make such a scent, had to eat the skin and glands and hormones that could produce such a heady stew.
She saw a house on a corner of a large street. An old brownstone, once a stately home, now an apartment-divided tenement for the chattels that labored in this city at the behest of the gods. A wolfen was clawing at the flimsy boards that covered a window. By the night-bred gods, the doomed girls inside had thought to hide together in a house with only a few bits of scavenged wood across the windows! The cornered cows were stupid, for their pursuers hunted as much by scent as anything else, and so many fearful women gathered together gave off a perfume that shone like a neon torch in the night to all who hungered for the daughters of Eve. No mere wood could deny the soft flesh inside from the armies of the night.
Lenara joined the other hunter and soon the window was snapped open like a broken clam shell. Shrill screams sounded from within the darkened room as the cattle inside realized it was feeding time. Sounds of flight, a door being pulled open, of smooth bodies crushed into a frenzied gridlock at the narrow doorway. Lenara'a companion leapt in, howling in anticipation, a mist of saliva trailing in its wake.
The screams swelled into a seamless screech of terror. Feet stampeded, fingernails dug into wood and flesh, slim fists beat against muscled fur. There was a wet ripping sound, and one voice dropped out the hysterical chorus, a girl gone dumb in the victorious jaws of her attacker.
Lenara leapt in an instant later, wanting to get a woman all for herself before all the stampeded pigs inside were pulled down and taken. Lenara wanted a woman all for herself, not just the varied chunks left over after a mass feeding.
She jumped over an entwined couple on the floor, one a struggling woman fighting for her life, the other a beast who wanted that life and the flesh that went with it. The girl, a cute auburn haired piggie was inescapably trapped in the embrace of her maddened suitor. One set of claws dug into her breast, a long talon protruding out through the center of the nipple, the other fingers buried knuckle-deep in fat-enriched breast meat. The thick boob wiggled as the underlying pulp was scooped out from the inside, the skin starting to sag as the hollowed-out breast deflated like a punctured balloon.
The other paw was rammed through the piggie’s collarbone, crippling her shoulder and drawing her close in a ghastly carnivorous embrace. The ends of the broken bone poked through her white skin like a jagged piece of bloody porcelain, strands of skin stuck on the sharp edges. The shattered bone shifted about, moved by her agonized breathing and perhaps even the wild pounding of her soon-to-be-eaten heart.
Monstrous teeth were already strip-mining her soft belly flesh. Lenara caught the sharp odor of gut and then shit and piss as the pig soiled herself in a disgusting flood. Her attacker smelt the mess, snarled and raked the girl’s torso in an angry swipe, cutting the once lovely breast into floppy ribbons... The claw, nails encrusted with boob fat swept the girl’s panties away, taking away most of the mess. Even so, the ones who ate her crotch would need to use the piggie’s spilled blood to wash away any filth that clung to her ass or vagina.
The hungry beast began to eat her. Eat as in tear great dripping chunks out of her twisting body, eat as in savage and rend any piece of flesh that came in contact with its fangs, be it a smooth expanse of belly or arm raised in futile defense, a fragment of mangled breast or thick chunk of bleeding leg.
From the pieces already missing in the girl’s flanks and innards, Lenara figured the battle for the piggie’s body was already over. The stupid girl should have the sense accept the inevitable, lay still and let her killer eat her as he pleased. Still the slut kept struggling, even as her forearm was bitten in two, her wrist and hand hanging from her arm by a fragile strip of skin.
The piggie died only when the wolfen eating her tore her throat out in a one gigantic bite. Her head sagged back, held to her torso by her half-snapped spine. Her jugular veins gave one last gusher of blood, then her heart yielded to the inevitable and froze. Her body relaxed, her meat at last deaf to the agony of being eaten alive.
A second later Lenara froze, the scent of her chosen prey so strong, so close, she could taste the unseen harlot’s scent on her tongue.
Their eyes locked. They froze for an instant, hypnotized by each other's gaze. Lenara's blood-laced greenish orbs on the trembling human's coal-black pupils. The angel-whore was outlined in the doorway, her beautiful form backlit from the hallway beyond. The predator and prey stared for an instant, each completely understanding the other in an instant of complete empathy.
The nymph saw Lenara's bottomless hunger, her absolute need for the flesh she wore so carelessly on her bones. Lenara saw her victim's fright, her despair, and, like a fleeting wisp, a tiny glimpse of sexual arousal. The arousal that comes from being completely at the mercy of another, of being the object of absolute need.
The gaze broke and Lenara lunged. She grabbed the girl like she were a rag doll and clasped her to her side as she leapt back out the window, out into the street, away from the crowded abattoir. Already several monsters were running towards the house, ready to join the feast. One of the predators, a huge male lunged for Lenara, thinking to steal the struggling girl clutched at her side. Lenara bared her fangs and growled savagely, and the thief backed off, knowing there were easier ways to get a girl for eating.
The male ran into the house, where the great feast was already underway. It intercepted a girl, a tall blonde, as she tried to sneak out into an alleyway. The wolfen bit into her shoulder with power of an industrial crusher, half-severing the lovely white arm, and hauled her inside, already eating her shoulder joint before he even had her on the ground. By dawn, that house would be a charnel house of blood and scraps of girl stuck on the walls and floors, a reeking garbage dump as a lesson for others to be more careful.
Lenara didn’t care, for she had her dinner for the night. She carried the fright-rigid girl a few blocks to a local park. The beast found a nice secluded spot and flopped the weeping girl down on the grass between a few trees. The girl lay on her back, looking up at Lenara with huge bright black eyes, her limbs stiff with terror, sickened by what was about to happen.
The night air was warm and humid, the screams of hunted women a distant song in the background. There was no one about, no thieves who might grab a leg or arm as she ate, no scavengers whining for her to finish her meal so they could lick up the scraps. Perfect for a nice quite intimate meal. Lenara hoped her girlfriend appreciated the effort. She smiled at the prey beneath her feet, an awful display of saliva-wet fang. Those captivating black eyes beneath her swelled, swelled with fright, swelled till they near burst their sockets.
Obviously, the girl did not appreciate the chance for a nice romantic private dinner date with a monster. She screamed in Spanish, a long undulating chorus of Spanish curses and pleas, and maybe a few heartfelt prayers. Puerto-Rican from the sound of her voice and her finely-chiseled Hispanic features. Good, Lenara thought, for several past culinary adventures had taught her Latina chicks made for some unbelievably good eating.
The girl was certainly pretty enough, with long black hair, coppery brown skin the color of an old penny, and long curvy limbs that begged to be bitten into. Big breasts strained the piggie's tee-shirt. The shirt was torn, revealing one luscious boob, the end crowned with a wide aureole and thick jutting nipple. The girl's face was very pretty even through the rictus of terror that locked her lovely features into a frozen mask. Wide forehead, jet-black eyes and lashes, perky lips that were made for kissing or for being chewed on. Her lips and wide nose suggested maybe a bit of Negro blood mixed with Indian and European Conquistador. Her cheeks and chin were fleshy and soft, clearly this little piggie hadn't missed many meals recently. All the better, for Lenara loved a hint of buttery fat in her girls.
The girl tried to scramble away as Lenara playfully ripped off the piggie’s thin tee-shirt and tight denim jeans. Frilly white panties went, then her sandals, and finally the poor girl was as naked as the day she was born.
Lenara fought hard to keep her hunger in check. She heard the sound of the pig's heart thundering away under those sweet breasts, the oiled sliding of her tendons and muscles, smelt the iron and salt in her blood, the stink of fear and feminine musk on her skin. Part of her wanted to simply leap on the girl who crawled in the grass at her feet and rip her limbs off, to guzzle her guts and organs, to hack her skin and meat apart with her teeth. That would be pleasurable, but all too fast. The girl would die quickly, and take away the god-like joy that comes from eating a woman while she still lives, to enjoy her suffering with each bite, letting her agony and horror spice her flesh like ambrosia. Much better to take your time, and harvest the prey patiently.
Lenara knelt on her prey's stomach. She gazed lovingly down on the animal's tear-streaked face, her blubbering lips, the way her brown skin tremhemorrhage like it had a life of its own. Lenara smiled at the look of utter, futile horror in her victim's eyes, the sick knowledge that her remaining life would be one of utter torment.
The first bite is often the best moment in a girl's consumption. The anticipation in both killer and victim is electric, almost to the point of orgasm. The choosing of the first piece to be eaten, the feel of your teeth against the dread-chilled and yet-unspoiled flesh, the euphoria of the first jet of her blood in your mouth, her first wail of insane pain.
Lenara drew out the moment as she had done so many times in the past. She joyfully listened to the babbling pleas from the girl, her lying promises to do anything if she could be spared from what was to come. Lenara gently caressed the animal’s velvet-smooth pelt, delighting in how her skin crawled under the stroke of her claws. She inhaled the sharp aroma of girly-piss trickle from her victim’s cunt, reveled in the sharp reek of pure fear that wafted off the piggie’s sweaty skin.
Lenara's claws continued to caress the Latina’s brown flesh, the needle points just shy of tearing the derma. She held a breast, savored the look the girl gave when she thought that her nipple would the first piece to feel the agony of being eaten. Then Lenara caressed the belly, letting the girl imagine how the teeth would sink into that smooth expanse, recurved fangs digging out her navel as she watched, or Lenara’s maw and tongue slurping deep into her hot living guts. Or the cunt, as Lenara worked her fingers through the densely coiled thatch of oily black hair. Lenara could feel how plump and fleshy the girls vaginal lips were, gorged with coppery blood and moistened by her vaginal ointments. Yes.. The thought of her cunt being eaten terrified the poor harlot. Lenara felt her cunt lips tremble and shrivel under her touch, as if those sweet morsels were trying to crawl up inside and hide form the nightmare. Lenara saw the first twinkle of pure insanity in her victim's eyes as the woman anticipated the sensation of her sex being eaten alive, how that incredibly sensitive flesh would feel every atom of pain with perfect clarity.
Yes, the cunt would have to be taken while the harlot was still alive to enjoy it, but not yet. Too much blood would be lost, too much time taken off the harlots already brief life expectancy. No girl could live long with her vagina a raw gaping hole, her female filet haven been excavated by tooth and claw. No... better start with something less fatal, some piece that the harlot could both feel and watch be eaten yet stay alive long enough to go truly mad.
Lenara seized one sweetly tapered arm and slowly raised it to her lips. Lenara admired the limb, it=s exquisite form, the softness of the skin, the silky fine hairs on the forearm tremble as the skin crawled quivered with fright, the way the slender but strong muscles moved under the vulnerable pelt, the way the girl pathetically tried to tug her limb away from destruction.
Lenara gave the girl a wink, and bit down into the meaty bulge between elbow and wrist.
As always, the first bite was nirvana.
The girl howled, a howl that rivaled the desperate howl of a tornado. The harlot's body heaved with such spastic force that the arm was almost torn from Lenara's teeth and iron grip. A thick hot jet of blood gushed into Lenara'a mouth and down her throat, foaming over her lips and face.
The skin was a passing taste, but one that was as unforgettable as the first taste of sex. The derma held for a split second, collagen fibers and capillaries resisting destruction, then yielding to the puncturing ivory of wolfen fang. There was fleeting savory broth of salty sweat washing off the torn skin. Then finally, the last split second before the fangs drove into the muscle beneath came a final a wash of buttery subcutaneous fats and the tasty brine of punctured sweat and oil glands that lay inside the skin, all carried on a flood of hot fresh girl blood. To the dull senses of a human, the bite took a mere instant, but to the perfected senses of a wolfen even the beginning of the first bite lasted an age, every fleeting sensation burning a fiery trail of pleasure through Lenara’s soul.
Then the meat. Lean wiry meat, thinly laced with blood vessels that burst their contents over Lenara's teeth in a million tiny splashes, lubricating their passage deeper into the quaking tissue. The meat twitched and tore as the teeth ripped into it, the flesh spasming over the serrated back of the teeth, its spasms actually aiding in its cutting. The girl was young and healthy, the muscle fibers thick and strong. Not strong enough to bother a wolf's teeth, but strong enough to make the biting interesting and challenging. Fibers parted, and the muscles began to surrender, their nerves severed and silent. The girl pulled her arm back harder, uncaring about the pain her struggles caused, only desperate to the point of lunacy that she must try to deny this monster her meat for as long as possible. The girl’s ferocity was startling, and the tendons connecting to elbow and hand snapping in two. The wretched senorita was actually tearing her arm apart in an attempt to pry it from the wolf’s jaws. Lenara heard the elbow joint break apart from the ferocity of the struggle. Lenara bit down harder, intent on crushing the girls foolish resistance with the power of the fang. Within one huge slow bite the limb was ruined, defenseless.
The ulna and radia broke from the power of the bite. Then Lenara pulled back, a pound of raw blood-weeping skin and meat in her mouth. Lenara began to chew, but slowly, very slowly, better to enjoy the heady stew of flavors that washed over her taste buds, the intriguing mix of textures, from caramel skin to slightly rubbery tendon, from pulpy vessels and slightly astringent nerve bundles, to the narcotic ally rich muscle. There was no sensation as pleasurable as eating living girl meat. Fine cocaine, mainlined heroin, passionate animal sex, cannot compete with the....experience. It is for the better that only monsters and counessuiers knew just who good woman flesh tasted, for if the masses ever realized the heaven that awaited them under every woman’s soft hide the world would collapse into a cannibal holocaust that would never end until the last girl was gnawed to bare bone.
The girl stared google-eyed at the hole in her arm, the feel of the pain, the vision of what the monster was doing to her. It was almost a shame the harlot would never know how good she tasted.
Lenara began to slowly skim away the meat from the top and bottom of the forearm, tugging and nibbling the living filets free, casually breaking the bones underneath to make the flesh easier to bchew off. Soon the hand hung from one strand of tendon, connected to a cracked and marrow-oozing bone which was almost bare of tissue up to the ragged ligament-studded stump of elbow. Blood trickled from the stump, but Lenara's vice-like grip on the upper arm squeezed the veins and arteries shut, keeping the harlot from bleeding out too much, keeping her from lapsing into the mercy of shock.
The hand was yanked off with a small snap. The slender fingers reached up to Lenara’s teeth in a chill unfeeling grasp, the red polish of the nails now lost under a film of darker blood. The fingers were rigid, the nerves having locked the muscles into a steely rigor. That actually made eating the fingers more pleasurable, giving them a pleasing firmness that was both a challenge and a delight to chew. The small bones crunched like hard candy, releasing a spurt of gooey marrow as they burst. The slender muscles were extremely lean, and easy on the palate. The fingernails were simply torn off, and spit onto the harlots face. The look she gave as the first nail hit on her nose, then dropped into her mouth was priceless. She retched, bile flooding her mouth as she tasted the blood and gore on the back of the nail. She spit it out like it were poison, the nail now sticky with saliva and vomit. Damm, Lenara thought, if only the bitch had bothered to taste it, and she might have enjoyed its flavor, the unforgettable flavor of tortured raw woman.
Lenara crushed the upper arm, blocking off the blood flow, waiting to eat the bicep later. Now, it was time to explore her victim's body.
The legs and feet looked indescribably beautiful, the sheen of fresh blood on the now pale skin only adding to their appeal. The legs had been kicking Lenara as she ate the girl's arm, the feet smashing hard into Lenara’s side. The wolfen had been impressed, if unhurt, by the desperate strength in them. Legs that shapely and strong just cried out for a good slow eating.
Lenara first started with the feet, which is where all good leg-eatings should start. The foot looked so dainty, so helpless in Lenara's hairy paw that it almost seemed a shame to bite into it. The dark skin on top of the foot was so smooth it looked like hazel cream, while the derma covering the sole of the foot was as white as snow and moistly dimpled. The toes were long and elegant, each one tipped with a cherry-red nail. The foot tremhemorrhage in her grasp like a small captive animal.
Lenara couldn’t resist taking a few licks before eating. She ran her abrasive tongue over the smooth skin, feeling the flesh flinch as if tickled. Lenara tasted the humid spaces between the toes, then bathed the whole appendage from toenail to ankle in hot saliva.
Unable to resist her hunger any longer, the wolfen bit into the little toe. The tiny digit squirmed like a hooked fishie. As mall spurt of blood shot from the speared toe, the tiny bone grated against the side of Lenara's tooth. The toe meat was fattier then the piggie's fingers had been, the minute muscles all buttery and soft. It took only the barest hint of a bite and the bulk of the toe tore loose and rolled under Lenara's tongue. The severed tidbit was lay there, oozing the last of its blood, the nail scratching the bottom of the tongue. Then a slow cruel crunch and the morsel squished into bone-laced jelly.
Lenara let the girl see her toe get chewed and swallowed, let her see the ragged stump that protruded a quarter inch from the foot where the toe had once been, let her see the shard of bone that wiggled up and down as it tried to move a limb that no longer existed. The girl had stopped screaming for a bit, the first hint of shock slowing her down, but now she roused and began to scream in long shrill arias.
Her toes went a joint at a time, first the nail, then the distal section, then finally the fleshy trunk. Long loving bites, slow sensual chewing, each fiber and strip of toe flesh savored like the rarest of caviars, all accompanied by the lunatic howls of a woman being slowly devoured. It was heaven.
Then the foot, the end now sporting five ragged bone-filled holes. The meat on a woman's foot is thin, tenuous fibers amid ropy tendon and stout bone. But each fiber was worth the effort to extract it, to separate it from its cradle of cartilage, to grind it to fluid and sip it down like pulpy wine.
The bones were snapped and spit out onto the girl’s belly. The shrapnel shards of bone grew larger as Lenara worked her way up to the ankle, where the sturdy bone took two bites to splinter and crack. It was worth it, for her ankle was as delicious as it was shapely. Finally the mangled remnants of the foot fell away, the end of the girl's shin bone a rounded knob amid gnawed meat. Then the bone and tendon began to give away, yielding space to ruby-red mats of sweet muscle. At last, the meat of her leg.
Her calf was heaven. The poor dying girl must have done a lot of walking in her brief life, for her calf muscles were hard and dense. Not hard enough to stand up to wolfen teeth, but hard enough to make tearing it apart in her jaws and chewing it a pleasure. The bleeding harlot still had some fight in her, for she kicked vigorously with her intact leg, trying to exact some revenge for being eaten alive.
Her kicks were too weak to hurt, but one thrust knocked a strip of raw calf meat loose. The floppy strip fell onto the piggie's crotch, the uneven bloody end resting against her pussy lips. Lenara couldn’t resist reaching down and shoving the strip into the girl's vagina. The meat went in easily, greased with hot blood, and Lenara began to fuck the piggie with a piece of her own leg flesh. She pressed the torn flesh against the clit, rubbing it up and down till the nerves began to respond involuntarily and the clit hardened. Wisps of moisture dampened the inside of the vagina, cum and blood stirred together.
Lenara gently stroked the bloody clit as she continued to eat raw leg. The feeble kicks of the calf she was eating started to get annoying, so she grabbed the knee and wrenched it sideways in a crunch of ground tendon and bone. The girl howled, but her ruined leg became still and easier to eat. As easy as eating a chicken leg, but all raw and bloody and indescribably delicious, the food of the gods shaped into the form of a woman and made available for the strong and cruel to consume at their leisure.
Her calf was used up, a pair of de-fleshed bones that ended in a tooth-crushed pulp of chewed foot. Lenara flung the used limb aside, the ruined knee collapsing and the bones left hanging by a few rubbery strands of ligament. The blood-drenched jaws had already moved on to the fertile expanse of unmutilated thigh.
If the calf was heaven, there was no word yet made in the languages of human or monster for the joys of soft thigh. It was a world of meat all to its own, thick forests of fat-dappled muscle, ropy jungles of vein and nerve, bedrock of ivory bone, all splashed by a sea of hot blood. Lenara fell in love again, as she did every time she ate a new part of girl. The thrill of living meat, the music of feminine suffering, all made the cold predator in her sing with joy. She ate, she ate, she tore and consumed till the femur lay bare, pound after pound of over-lying girl meat consumed like a feverish dream.
The girl was dying, blood loss and agony having sapped her will, drained her soul till it was a faint bleeding wisp barely discernable under the wolfen's jaws.
It was time to hurry, to sample bits and pieces before her death robbed her flesh of the hot flavor of still-living meat.
Lenara covered her in bites, soft urgent carvings of skin and meat. Shoulder, lower back, neck and rib joined a hurried menu, each piece of woman bearing it’s own unique flavor, one sending a heroin jolt of unique pleasure into the killer's brain. The girl writhed under the urgent harvest, as if excited by the race against time. She was beyond pain, to a place where any sensation, be it orgasm or acid pain, was indistinguishable. The harlot’s body resisted the cold pull of death with the natural vitality of the young, but Lenara could sense the girl’s soul craved that death, craved it like a lover, for only death could end the pain of being eaten alive.
She whimpered and twitched as pieces were exposed and taken, almost eager to offer more if the feel of teeth knifing out her innards brought her closer to the painless oblivion that awaited her. She offered much, from the lean fibers of her remaining arm to the metallic richness of her liver. To the dairy-fat dream of her breasts, the nipples hardened like rocks as they were eaten, the hidden reservoirs of creamy fat and milk-spiced blood crashing over her killer's teeth like red-yellow waves.
She died when her last breast was eaten, the ribs beneath barely concealing her heart as it spasmed one last time and froze.
Lenara paused, her mouth drooling strings of meat and saliva-mixed blood. She mourned her victim's passing, mourned the loss of the taste of the harlot’s pain, of her life as it passed into her killer's maw. The meat from now on would be wonderful; each bite worthy of a gourmet's dream, but it could contain the celestial taste of a living soul captured within that meat, the flavor of a woman's vitality flowing out of her violated body and into yours.
Even so, the corpse was still delicious. The wolfen was in love with it's diminishing substance, tugging away each sweet piece like it were a new lover, eager, yet almost shy. Each strand, each fiber was a flower, to be enjoyed once, then it was gone. She ate her unresponsive lover with saddened relish, knowing each bite, each mouthful of still-warm body was one step closer to having her gone forever.
Yet she ate. Bare bone grew, the overlying muscle stripped and leaving nothing but drying ivory. Pulpy organs yielded their coppery minerals and fiber, ropy guts were chewed to jelly, viscous marrow sucked from cracked bone. Eyes were licked out by a sand-papery tongue and crunched like salty black grapes, cool tongue licked and pried free and devoured like a wedge of premium salami. Astringent kidney, cheesy but oddly flavorful lung, crackly meat-laden ribs, hormone-hot glands, egg-sodden ovaries, all became part of the feast. The skull cracked to yield the pain-curdled brain, the face stripped of cheek and forehead, till a grinning skull looked up at its hungry suitor in gory mockery.
The last to go was the cunt, barely cooled as the body around it was eaten. It lay like a thick bloody serpent among the ruins, a final defiant reminder of the woman who once inhabited this ruined wasteland.
The wolfen took it, raped it with tooth and jaw, made it hers. It was like biting into a meaty capsule of opium, the hot sexual juices still potent even in death. The wolfen howled in hunger and lust, the clitoris hanging from its lip like a ghastly pearl. The wolfen swallowed, nearly gagged as its body convulsed in pleasure-mad shudders.
Then, it was done.
The wolfen lingered over the congealing pool of gore and cold splintered bon. The huge body rippled with stolen vitality, the echoes of the pleasure it took in eating the vanished women never to completely fade. It licked a few sticky spots of blood, nibhemorrhage a last twine of nameless muscle. It was busy impressing the memory of the dead girl's body, its pain, its taste in its memory, to carry as long as it hunted under the harvest moon.
Then it rose and moved on. The night was half done, the dark still rich with sounds of full-throated feminine screaming, the air damp and hot with their terror and musk. The wolfen was groggy, its belly distended with supernaturally-rapid digestion. It sniffed, sniffed as if it could smell all the eternal ages of hunting and death that lay in wait for the women of the world. It liked what it smelled, an unending age of savagely murdered meat, of fleeing prey without end. It rose, and howled, and joined the hunt again. Another woman before dawn, even a stolen piece, and then rest, till the moon was full again.