This be my concrete jungle. Its many brick buildings, the tall grass of the Serengeti; its glass and mortar towers, those majestic umbrella trees; its people, the mighty Crocodile, the sneaking Jackal, the thieving Hyena. Giraffe stroll through streets, Elephant lumber through crowds, the Hawk, Eagle, and Condor coast along as though flying, and Vipers lay in wait for their next victim.
But this be my concrete jungle. I am King, I am the Lion. Bronze skinned, steely muscled, towering frame. My mane lays about my head in braids. My pride is spread throughout the city. An ebony skinned Lioness, mother to two of my cubs. A cocoa colored Cheetah, sharp of tongue and quick of wit. A lithe Leopard, colored like the sands, who has graced me with four more strong young cubs. They know nothing of my nightly escapades. I hunt; I prey; I feast.
I wander through my streets looking for prey. A Gazelle, a Zebra, a Wildebeest. There is a slight chill in the air. My senses are assaulted by the decay in my domain. The Crocodile has cowered the Condor, there are too many Jackals and too few Giraffe, the Hyena has stolen the spirit of the Hawk. Hunters abound in this city. As a result, the hunted are always wary, always afraid.
Almost always. My eyes fall on a pair. A young Gazelle and a young Zebra, walking unawares. The Gazelle is very thin. Shocking blond hair cut close to her head, leaving her slim graceful neck exposed. A tight, thin, purple sweater shows her firm, young figure off well; well sized breasts, neither large, nor small, and a flat stomach without a hint of fat. Her form fitting jeans reveal the rest of a body that is not yet touched by time. The Gazelle has lain with man before. It is evident in the way she moves. A less experienced observer may mistake her for a dancer. But the sway to her hips is more natural, more fluid. It comes not from "practice", but from "experience". She talks excitedly with her friend. Her lips a bit too full for her slight features, which make them all the more enticing and inviting.
The Zebra is more thickly built. A black knit skirt accentuates her muscular thighs underneath. Her well turned calves indicate she is an athlete of some sort. She wears a light grey jacket open over a tight white t-shirt. The t-shirt does little to keep her warm, as evidenced by the large nipples of her full breasts pushing against the thin fabric. Black curls tumble down her head, past her shoulders, framing a strong yet feminine face. Her lips are almost as full as the Gazelle's, but fit her face much more appropriately. If she has experienced the touch of a man, he has not crossed her gates. Her movements are too tight, too guarded. Obviously a virgin.
They are so engrossed in their conversation the girls don't realize they walk in the midst of predators. I could easily grab them both, pull them into a dark building or alley and sate my hunger. A simple flash of my steel claw, eight sharp, shining inches, would have them cowering. From there it would only be a matter of manipulation before the dark haired Zebra girl was laid open to me. My head buried in her young firm bosom, my fingers deep inside the folds of her virgin cunt. While the Gazelle kneels before me, slurping, licking, sucking my engorged cock. But they are young still. A meal for another time. I walk on
Soon my hunt brings me upon a Wildebeest. This woman, very heavily built, is obviously just coming home from work. Her matching navy skirt and blazer are very professional, yet still show her feminine form underneath. She is massively breasted and thickly thighed. She has some fat around the belly, but not enough to make her figure unattractive. She moves with a powerful stride, obviously a strong woman. She is also very aware of the hunters around her. The Wildebeest keeps her purse tucked closely to her, her hand in a pocket of the purse, very likely holding onto a can of pepper spray mace.
That is her mistake though. As I watch her walk, I see where I could snatch her from the street. Fifty feet from her is an alleyway. If anything other than bums or crack heads were down it I would be surprised. I envision myself crossing the street just in front of the Wildebeest woman, and letting her overtake me. As we close on the alleyway I close on her. In one swift motion I wrap my arms around her, pinning both of her arms to her side, and making her pepper spray useless. One hand covers her mouth as I drag her into the alley.
Always they panic. I press her face first to the wall. My actions quick, I yank away her purse, ridding her of the offending weapon held within. Quickly, efficiently, blazer, blouse and skirt are cut away. My prey stands before me in nothing but bra and panties. She quivers with fear, vainly begging me to stop, not to hurt her. I reach one hand around her and begin massaging one of her massive orbs of flesh. I cut her bra away and pinch and twist her delicate nipple between my fingers. She feels my hardness pressing into her rear. Ever so slowly, I pull her panties down to her feet. She trembles and whimpers incoherently. She knows I am a predator, she knows she is my prey. She knows all she can do is wait until I am done feasting upon her. I am brought out of my scheming as the woman enters a building well short of the alley. She has escaped her fate this night. I move on.
The night moves on with me. The sensible have left these streets by now. All that is left are the careless, the foolhardy, those who prey upon the weak, and those who believe they are too strong to be preyed upon. Whores are out in force, making them easy targets; too easy for a hunter like myself. I tired of that chase by the time I was sixteen. Especially when I learned the lesson, once you take a whore's body you must take that whore's life, and that of her Crocodile pimp. Zebras, Gazelles, Wildebeests call to me, all of them whores, displaying their worn out wares in gaudy fashion. There is no new meat among them. No fresh face who doesn't know to avoid the far off alley. No one so naive they would allow me to reach into my pockets while up close. No one who would tremble at the blade at her throat and never say a word about the John who took from her and didn't pay. No prey I could leave alive. I move on.
The midnight hour has come and gone. Only the lustful and the lost wander these late, late nights. Most will have been drinking since they left their low paying jobs. Their motions would not be quite right, they would not be as aware as usual. They would be ripe for my preying.
A Gazelle exits a nearby bar. She has an air about her. An intelligence, and a glorious way of moving. She is a dancer, a gymnast, something where fluid body control is key to performance. She is average height and very thin. Her long brown hair falls neatly past her shoulders. From here I can see she is small breasted. From the loose fitting sky blue blouse she wears, I can tell she is also acutely aware of this feature. It is also evident in the way she displays her legs.