A Predator Like Me
Copyright© 2026 by Tom Garb
Chapter 1
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Neil wasn’t really a rapist. Not like Vivian and her “art.” He was an opportunist who spread pleasure. She came from traumatizing her victims. Vivian was an intriguing woman that Neil had to have, even if it meant reshaping himself in her image – and forcing her to take his cock in her lesbian cunt. She fought him every step of the way to becoming his fucktoy… until she didn’t. Amidst their struggle, each faced a loneliness they’d been trying to ignore, and the solution staring them in the face.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mind Control Heterosexual Fiction MaleDom Humiliation Rough Black Female White Male Oral Sex Foot Fetish
Vivian was so deliberately obscene that Neil didn’t notice, at first, that she wasn’t pretty. She stood alone across the gallery, bathed in the soft lighting illuminating a life-sized black and white photograph of two nude women on the wall behind her. The low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of wine glasses faded into the background as his attention fixed on her. The neckline of her gauzy black dress plunged past her navel and conventional decency, drawing his attention to where her pussy hid in the black bikini panties visible through the near-transparent fabric. His eye followed the curve of her hip down the smooth dark skin of her bony legs, past the silver chain around her ankle, to her bare feet. The electric blue polish she’d chosen for her nails shone in the muted art gallery light. His eyes lingered on the arch of her foot and her long toes before they climbed back up her body to her tits. He couldn’t tell from across the room if the two small, dark points were her nipples or part of the lace pattern of her dress. She had dressed to turn herself into the embodiment of licentiousness, and Neil thoroughly approved.
It was only when he made himself look away from the parts that made his cock twitch and take in the whole of her that he registered that she was too short, too skinny, and too angular to be a traditional beauty.
An older couple carrying exhibition brochures passed near her. The husband slowed, staring despite himself. Vivian glided towards the couple on her bare feet, her tits thrust forward and her hips swaying. She brushed past the husband and stopped directly in front of the wife, standing far too close and staring at her tits. She said something Neil couldn’t hear, and the woman recoiled. Vivian smiled. The wife grabbed her husband’s arm and retreated, their footsteps squeaking on the polished concrete floor in their haste to get away from Vivian, who watched them go with open amusement.
Whatever Vivian lacked in classical beauty was swamped by her aggressive sexuality. The outfit chosen to elicit ogling, the way she moved when she had advanced on the couple, her disregard for anyone’s comfort but her own - it all demanded attention, and Neil gladly gave it.
He decided he was going to fuck her.
Neil had thought he’d had his fill of pussy for the evening. Ten minutes ago he’d been in a little office down the hall from the main gallery, buried to the balls in a cute young blonde. She’d been practically dripping for him. She’d begged him to cum inside her, and had cum hard on his cock when he’d unloaded into her cunt. His cock was still covered with her slick, but there was something about the petite woman across the room that drew him in and had him already half-hard again.
Neil fixed on the cruel little smile on Vivian’s shiny red lips. One corner of her mouth stretched higher than the other, baring her teeth as she surveyed the crowded room like a lioness eyeing the herd. Neil recognized a fellow predator. She was a hunter, and her lewd presentation of herself was bait. It didn’t matter that her chin was too sharp for her square face, or that she wasn’t the soft, sweet type he usually went for. He wanted her, and he would have her.
Neil glanced around the spacious gallery space as he moved toward Vivian, not wanting to be caught staring at her just yet. The walls were lined with framed black and white photos of mostly nude women. The exhibition was called A Woman in Transition, and the subjects all displayed some element of change. They were beautiful, often sensual, and all expertly captured.
There, next to a photo of a woman with her hands bound and another woman’s manicured hands on her naked tits, was the girl he’d recently fucked. She’d told him her name somewhere between her brazen, “You want to fuck me?” and the satisfied little noises she made as he filled her with cum. It was something floral. Rose? Lily? Daisy? He couldn’t quite place it. A pretty name for a pretty girl, one that would have been easy enough for a journalist like him to remember if he’d bothered to try. He made a living piecing together stories from names and dates and facts. But he’d been looking for a wet cunt and a willing body, and a lasting connection hadn’t been on the menu. It was always like that. The promise of something more hovering just out of reach, knocked aside by the immediate gratification of a quick and easy fuck.
The girl was a sweet thing in a sleeveless pink blouse, designer jeans, and wedge heels, her fingers and toes painted the same bubblegum shade as her top. She stood with her legs pressed together, smiling as she sipped champagne and chatted with a knot of young women. He couldn’t hear their conversation over the gallery’s ambient chatter and the quiet jazz drifting from unseen speakers, but their easy intimacy signaled a comfortable friendship that he envied.
He could have fucked any one of them, and had picked her (Poppy? Blossom?) because she happened to be the one closest to him when the urge struck. He’d left a thick load of cum inside her, and from the way she shifted her weight, she was struggling to keep it from leaking down her legs and showing through her denim. Neil liked to think her smile was for him, or at least for the memory of what they’d done.