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Pleistocene Predation

The smilodon stalked silently, on hands through the tall grass. Well toned torso, arms, and legs all worked in unison, keeping the advancing cat's spine parallel to the ground and balls a finger width above the soil. The hunter had no loincloth. Indeed the closest the predator's eyes would ever come to seeing clothing might be in the way a few of the smartest members of various species would occasionally wrap some vine or woven sinew around a body part for ease of transport. As such, the naked feline's tawny fur blended in rather well among the somewhat parched grass as the summer sun was growing too tired to hold itself high in the sky. Still, the smilodon moved only when the wind rustled the grass and blew the scent of the prey towards the hungry carnivore. A delicious smelling bison, a male not yet fully grown to manhood, had wandered too far from the herd. This particular specimen was one of the handsomest youths of the herd, rich brown fur adorning a well developed body. While the bovine's horns were less developed than those of many age-mates, the advanced development of endowments below the navel balanced out this one flaw. In truth, this barely mattered in the long run, as this bison would never have the chance to fight for mating rights. Indeed, receiving the seed of elder males would be the only sex this young male was ever to know.

Had it not been for the direction of the wind, the smilodon's own smell could have alerted the adolescent bovine. The hot sun beating down had made sweat glisten over fur covered muscles and drip from heavy endowments. The prey's own muscles and balls were likewise flattered by the afternoon light glistening upon sweat-moistened fur, but the adolescent bison did not emanate the powerful musk the way the stalking smilodon did. If the pair were to stand at full height beside each other, the tips of the bison's horns would be just below the tips of the smilodons' nipples. Moreover, the difference in weight went well beyond the difference in height. A protein rich diet of live prey, along with the struggles that often came with subduing such meals and fending off potential meat-thieves, had produced a hunter with enough muscle to be double the mass of this day's prey. Even adjusting for the skeletal size differences, the feline's visible muscles tended to be twice to thrice the size of the bovine's. Given that the bison was no sickly specimen, but instead bore a well-fed form sculpted by the needs of survival in this era before agriculture, this made the smilodon's physique all the more astounding. Moreover, while the sizes of the cocks, at least while flacid with sweat dripping from their foreskins, held to the same ratio as the specimens' respective heights, the difference in the size of balls more closely reflected the differences in mass. While neither predator nor prey would ever consciously consider the correlation, it was largely the prodigious volume of the smilodon's testes that provided such a powerful musk

A sudden shift in the wind forced the predator to take action, before the scent could alert the prey. The smilodon bounded out of the grass, startling the smaller bison. The prey never even imagined matching stubby horns against the massive fangs of this predator, turning instead to run. The younger male did not notice, however, that there was another weapon in the carnivore's mouth. Seeing that the prey was neither shocked into stillness nor brash enough to charge, the smilodon transferred to its hand the bolas the carnivore had been carrying in held between mighty fangs during the crawl. The hunter twirled the trio of bone-weighted sinew chords while chasing down the prey, then tossed them forth. The larger male's aim proved to be true this day, and the bison fell to the ground, legs bound together halfway between ankles and knees.

The young bison barely managed to control the fall, with the only damage being scraped palms, but that changed nothing. Stopping mid flight was certain doom for the prey. The large smilodon was atop the bison in mere heartbeats, pinning the young bull's body under the big cat's weight and uncoiling the vines wrapped on one of the hunter's forearms. Soon it was the bison's arms that the thick vine was wrapped around, leaving the prey utterly defenceless against the predator. Not taking any chances, the smilodon uncoiled the vines on the other forearm and reinforced the bolas' hold on the bison's legs. After testing the security of the plant-based bindings, the hunter retrieved the primitive weapon, hefted the prey over a shoulder, and began the trek homeward.

The bison made no noise during the short journey. The terror of being trapped under the power of a smilodon had overwhelmed the young bovine, and the intoxicatingly strong musk of the big cat only added a confusing arousal to the brown-furred youth's condition. The bovine face was forced to gaze at the glistening feline abdominals, and thus also forced to inhale the scent wafting up from the pendulous feline endowments. What limited reasoning the younger male possessed enabled the bull to notice when the scent grew even more potent, just as the journey was to come to an end. The bison glanced down to see the smilodon's cock throbbing with vigorous arousal. A development that brought forth a whimper of fear and excitement from the prey, which in turn elicited a droplet of pre from the predator's slit.

At journey's end, the smilodon heaved the bison past the mouth of a cave, making the young bull land with a thud on his gut, before rolling down a small slope further into the cavern. The cave's walls were a rusty tan color, while its floor was covered in a paler sand. The way the larger male's scent pervaded the hollow clearly proclaimed the predator's ownership of this den. As the smilodon walked down from the cave's mouth, the predator's shadow came to obscure less of the hollow's interior. The bison could now make out an assortment of basic tools, farther back in the cave. This litter of primitive craftsmanship consisted of implements both complete and in the midst of assembly. A barely noticeable glimmer also seemed to suggest a spring or pool of some sort still deeper within, but the masculine odor of the cave's permanent resident masked any scent of water.

The feline tossed the bolas used to capture this most recent quarry into the rear of the cave before mounting the rear of the bound bovine. The soon-to-be meal didn't try to resist, but rather moaned and grinded against the predator with as much seduction as the smaller male had been able to learn. At this point the younger bison knew that escape was impossible, but that momentary pleasure would at least be attainable.

The smilodon had encountered prey like this before, prey that would oblige lust in their final moments of life. Such prey were always a delight. Soon, the lusty moans of the bison drove the feline predator to an ever wilder fury of erotic need. The smilodon's pre-dripping cock pierced the ass of the doomed bovine, and both grunted with savage pleasure. In hardly any time, the musky scent of the den intensified as the fucking continued, long and hard. For the predator knew to savor his captive's willingness now before giving in to hunger. Grunts, moans, and growls echoed through the cave's confines.

The smilodon had taken tighter prey, untouched by other males, but there was no expectation of virginity from the lesser males of a herd species. The former kind of capture came with the pleasure of first conquest and the terrified thrashing of a prey boy with no understanding of how the greater male was making use of the lesser's body. However, with already well bred prey, the predator instead could have the pleasure of fucking an ass that knew how to be fucked in return. The bison thrust back onto the impaling cock with varying intensity. Only occasionally was this broken up with brief pauses and snorts to tease the hungry beast that would later consume the warm ass, along with the rest of the bison's flesh. The smilodon didn't bother teasing back, instead snarling and pressing its fangs to either side of the bovine's spine until the bison resumed. Both understood that the life of the prey was being extended only so long as it continued to bring the predator greater pleasure from being outside the confines of the feline's growling gut.

For a time the bovine considered trying to outpace the feline top, hoping the smilodon might slumber after the rutting finished, perhaps allowing for escape. However, as the bison's own breathing became ragged in advance of the cat's, that hope died. Thus, only the solace of a final magnificent orgasm allowed the bison to bear with the inevitable future as food. The desire for this last ecstasy pushed the smaller male to use every last bit of strength in a momentous finale to the fucking, something the smilodon had come to anticipate as a likely outcome with prey such as this. The feline rode the writhing bison in a display of stamina, strength, and experience unlike anything the young bull could have imagined, having only been fucked by unmated older cousins prior to this day. The smilodon came before the bison, but the feline cock continued to flow with seed after the bison's cock was already spent and softened.

With its lust satisfied, the hunter's tongue ran from the midpoint of the quarry's spine up to between the bison's horns, and the prey could do no more but pant and whimper during this tasting. Finally, the smilodon dismounted to assume a crouched posture not unlike the one used to sneak up on the bison. Jaws opening wide, the predator advanced, face to face with the prey. One hand lifted the bison's head, weight supported in the elbow of that arm. Thus, with an ease that surprised the bison, the teeth of the smilodon avoided touching the bovine's brown hide until coming right upon the neck of the prey, the stubby horns already at the entrance to the predator's throat. Had the prey not been bound, the horns might have been able to cause some damage on their passage down, but as things were, the smilodon was not obliged to bother piercing the spine of the bison before continuing. The predator crawled forth on feet and elbows, hands guiding the bound bovine's body up the span from the ground and into the maw. Once the bison's shoulders were securely positioned behind the smilodon's tongue, the feline ceased forward movement and instead repeatedly swallowed, pulling the prey in deeper, a hand's span at a time.

The bison would have been amazed by the power of the contracting throat muscles, had the lesser male's mind not already surrendered to the afterglow of the final orgasm and the inevitability of the engulfing darkness. Thus, the smilodon's rasping tongue elicited only reflexive shudders through the exploration of prey flesh. The feline made no effort to unbind the prey, knowing that the vines, while not satisfying fare on their own, would nevertheless be harmless additions to the meal. The predator just continued to swallow, and the prey continued to be swallowed, until even the bison's hooves had made it down the smilodon's throat and entered the now expanded stomach.

The meal did not take long, at least not compared to the sex that proceded it. The digestion process, though, would take the entire night and most of the next morning. There would be no fossils of the bison, every bone and tooth digested along with the meat of muscle and organ. The bison's unmated cousins would rutt with the next of the least of their male kin, but otherwise the herd would remain unchanged from this loss. The smilodon would never spare a thought for this particular meal once an empty belly again would drive the carnivore to hunt. Even if this era had words, names, and the concept of history, such encounters of predator and prey would not be considered worth recounting, any more than that a common rainstorm in the summer. The smilodon would have found no significance in knowing that the next bison to find itself in the predator's den would be a cousin of its latest meal, even had introductions with given names and surnames been possible. After all, it would hardly have been the same smilodon, had the predator been able to comprehend speech. No, it would take generations upon generations before this smilodon's descendants would be able to properly communicate with their prey, and thus to discover the joys of teasing them with words as they captured and fucked them. Regardless, in this simpler time, it was enough merely to hunt, to fuck, and to eat.