Despite his own encouraging anti-cannibalistic thoughts he found himself sniffing the blood and licking at the splashed walls wherever he found their trace… Since being electrocuted by the enemy back in the crowded den his super-senses had returned, as if he had been taken back in an event.

I miss the real enemies; the Iroquois, Spanish. Even those dirty Brit sailors, would make mincemeat of these people.

He suddenly sucked in the close blood-spattered air and let out a war cry. He then screamed, “Bring me a warrior!”

He was answered only by silence, and the distant echo of a door being closed behind the graves registration unit that served this strange little battlefield for the enemy.

Get some sleep, Bracken. They will test your wits next.

Yes, Sarge, on it, nodding out immediately…

He was asleep at once.

Mother’s fur was musky from a visit with Father and still wet from the morning mist. He cuddled up to Mother and then he smelled her. A female, a pup like him, was lurking just beyond the den, taking up his scent.

Should I go to her, Mother?

She nuzzled him and pushed him toward the den mouth with her great dripping snout, and he went to her, toward her sweet fresh scent…

He woke beneath the ever present light to the sound of the outer door. He ran up the wall without his stick and pressed himself between the walls above the door. He liked the chill feeling of the concrete against his back as he spread out, flattened and relaxed.

The door opened and he smelled clean fresh vagina for the first time in what seemed ages! He began to drool but caught the gooey strand with his tongue before it fell free and gave him away.

A girl?

Bait I bet!

A girl for me!

You are hopeless, dummy.

The woman walked into the room hesitantly as the door was shut and barred cruelly behind her by unseen hands. She seemed confused, looking about for him.

She was tall, blonde, mature—maybe forty—but with a perfect body-mass index. She was a real blonde too. One could not say enough in favor of that! She was athletic and moved intelligently. It only took her about four seconds to realize he was above. As she stiffened up and began to turn he dropped down behind her.

Before she had turned halfway he was sniffing her neck and running his hands down over her pressed navy blue suit-dress.

She’s an athlete or used to be.

She will give you strong sons.

Yes, Mother.

She shivered for a moment and then gathered herself as she stepped back. He stood there regarding her perfect long legs, late-widening hips, and full pear-shaped breasts strapped to her strong chest with a sports bra. He began to look at her nice smooth neck as he sniffed the air to drink in more of her scent.

Then her chest heaved with a short breath—a gasping breath of fear—as she realized he was catching her scent and testing it by dragging his tongue across his lips.

Yes, a tasty old girl you are.

He was drifting into a primal reverie, his eyes galvanized by her heaving and tightly-bound breasts mounted on her strong chest. Her voice soon cut into him like a knife. Although the texture of her spoken words and the luscious tongue pushing against the inside of her strongly jawed mouth made him feel warm with yearning, there was an indignant tone to her delivery, as if he had disappointed her, “I have a face, eyes as well—and, oh yes, a name. My name is Joan. I know I have nice tits, but my face is even prettier, I assure you.”

He wanted to look into her eyes, to penetrate her in every way imaginable, but he was afraid.

It’s a trick. She’s going to witch you or something. Remember what Ma Bracken said about blonde city girls; ‘The devil’s desire, sent up to draw you down to the Man Below.’

Damn she smells good.

Yeah, this situation’s fucked. The dick’s in charge again.

Sarge?

I’m already filling the AWOL report, Bracken. Have at her kid…

As he lost the battle of wills with his inner animal he snarled slightly and licked his lips. He felt his hands clench involuntarily…

Joan Henderson is based on an ex-girlfriend of mine who had chronic rape fantasies, casually uses the word rape to describe consensual sex, and said she would not mind if I got locked up for killing someone as she had always wanted to visit a man in prison. Of course, the editor that looked at this was a woman and declared that no woman on earth would do what Joan did by putting herself at risk of sexual assault at the hands of some incarcerated cave man, and that the scene seemed a male fantasy grafted onto a female character.

…Her soft, strong, smooth hands were peeled from his hard hairy back—Some meat-puppet is beating me with a twign Mother. Should I eat it? Mother…

The sun burst in his face as a shin bone slammed into his forehead and a fist into his solar plexus. A boot-heel stomped the back of his knee and some bastard was applying an arm-lock as he howled for his mate and she was dragging whimpering and dripping from him—“Arrrggghhhaaa!”

Mother, why am I so sleepy? Was the meat bad?

Mother must have sneezed because he was blown across the den by her snout—no, it is a storm—the sky bursts into the den.

He was being driven limply across the hard den floor by a powerful stream of water—like a waterfall, or as if the sky could gush rather than drip…watery darkness engulfed him as Mother gathered him between her great fangs and curled up around him as they slowly dried in the cold night on the hard den floor.