!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WARNING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This story is a work of fiction, and deals with killing and torture.
There are some things in this world that everyone should try at least once. Murder is one of them. People don’t understand the thrill, the worry and the lust for death until they’ve tried it, until they have blood on their hands, in their mouth, soaking into their clothes staining them forever with the sin they have just committed. It’s the ultimate power trip, the act of god. Bringing justice to those who’ve wronged you, or just helping the population explosion with a random cull of the masses. It’s a turn on.
And it’s not that I don’t like people. I love people. I’m a very social person, just with some anti-social fetishes, and I am not alone in this world. There are many who exist solely for the joy of bringing death upon someone. For the pleasure in the foreplay and the act itself, it’s enough of a heat to cause wet dreams for days beforehand. It’s an addiction in ways. Blood lust, the chase, the capture, the torment, the kill and the secret knowledge that you alone did it; caused the pleasure, caused the pain and in the end, disposed of the used and abused corpse.
I entered into this dark, macabre underworld after my first boyfriend met his end. It wasn’t a terrible end, quite compassionate if I say so myself. He hardly suffered and enjoyed the prelude to his demise immensely, almost as much as I enjoyed his passing over. I hadn’t meant for it to happen, we’d been fighting and the blade slipped. Well, that’s my story. It was a crime of passion. All my crimes are that of passion, but this was passion of a different kind. He brought anger out in me, he induced me to a state of rage that I’d never seen before, and I was a savage, unleashed on him, my un-willing victim.
I say un-willing, but that didn’t last long. My rage turned to excitement and I treated him to a night like no other he’d ever had. He was taken to the furthest reaches of pleasure, teased, tormented and seduced; it was a night of near explosive lust given physical release. A night I am unable to forget, and a night he would never survive. All in all, a good first experience in murder.
The mess was the first thing that hit me, once my ears had stopped ringing and blood flow stemmed. The place looked like a war had taken place. Crimson was splashed everywhere, it looked like bad modern decorating, and he lay, slashed and bound at a torturous angle on top of a lake of slowly drying blood. It was a masterpiece. I wish I’d thought back then to take pictures, I don’t think I’ve since came close to the beauty that pure passion encouraged to massacre can create.
I hungered after that first foray into the killing arts. I had a need to fulfill, and only the feeling I got after watching someone die sated me. It wasn’t just the death that done it either, it was everything. The cold chamber in the back of my car where I led my eager prey, the entrapment, the granting of their last urges, my own orgasmic release then the feast of their flesh. It all came together in a crescendo of pleasure and pain, which merged into one electrifying experience, and what can I say? Everyone needs a hobby.
Truly, I only found solace in my car. It was a place that was mine alone, filled with lost souls and the smell of sex and death, it was the place I spent the majority of my time. Whether it be indulging in my secret desire or being alone with myself, away from the squalor of the flat I lived in, and the noise of the two other people I was forced to live with.
My truck was an old one, camouflaged 89 Chevrolet Blazer. I didn’t look the type to drive a monster like that, but I did all the same. I’d always liked them for their room and the privacy the back area provided. With a grill to separate it from the cab it was my own personal torture chamber, complete with chains and other temptations, it was perfect. I’d owned the truck for a number of years before I first fully appreciated how useful it would be to my new pastime, now it was the carrier of a dark mistress for a new age, a bringer of death.
The truck provided a more personal kind of satisfaction as well, for not every night could I go on a rampage of sex and death, I had to choose the right victim. They had to fit the profile. It was a process that took time, but my own yearnings and needs didn’t work that way. I still lusted the same, and it was quite by accident that I found my unique way of pleasuring myself.
It was one day while parking along a back road to dispose of some bits from my car that I figured out how my car could be used to it’s full potential. The bits I was getting rid of were contained in a bag that had been rotting in the back of my truck for a few days and from which the smell had finally overcame my senses and forced me to dump the final pieces of what had been a most enjoyable ride. Swinging the truck into reverse as I was leaving, the vibration through the gear stick sent a quiver to the pit of my stomach and my eyes drifted over to the black plastic head that throbbed under my palm. My mind whirred with ideas, and just how much delight I could derive from the cold, hard stick that now beckoned me to give it a try.
I pulled the handbrake on and the vibration increased, my smile widened. I found the hardest part was maneuvering myself as I discovered to keep that level of tremor through the shaft the car had to be in gear, my left foot slid off the clutch as my right slid on and my hip swung my leg over to the passenger side foot space. With my foot pressing the pedal to the metal and my left foot finding a comfortable position I began to lower myself onto the gear stick.
As it painfully forced itself into me, my hands fought to find balance as I found my legs starting to tremble with my own pleasure, my right foot balanced precariously on the edge of the clutch and closing my eyes I forced myself to focus on pushing the clutch down. I continued to slide myself up and down the shaft, the initial pain now gone in a rush of adrenalin and excitement while both blood and my own juices provided lubrication for the gear knob. It worked quickly, and I think the atmosphere brought me round quicker, nothing like your own blood dripping down your legs while you have something with that much horse power pulsing away inside you to turn a girl on. But as I got more into the rhythm, I lost my head to my desire and my right foot slowly began to slide from the clutch. Oblivious to the impending problem, I could feel my lust start to blossom, twisting and contorting throughout my body as my foot came completely away from the clutch. As the car stalled, I was lurched forward and could feel the shock reverberate throughout my system as this now silent, slick object hammered inside me.
Dizzy and on the edge of passing out from an overdose of pleasure and pain, I hauled myself up and lifted myself away from the gear stick, lowering myself back to the driving seat where as my eyes began to focus, I saw the blood that ran in stream down my inner thigh. I shook my head and reached for the roll of kitchen towel and began to mop up my mess, reminding myself that for future solitary experiences, I’d find a brick to hold down the clutch. Still shaking, but with the blood flow stemmed. I drove away from the scene of my perversions. I was in the mood for someone new, someone to make me feel alive again. To get that rush as they died, I needed to do something new. I was stuck in a rut where nothing excited me anymore. I desperately wanted to rediscover that feeling that first gave me that taste for death.
The search for the perfect partner was a long, drawn out one. I often grudged it, but in the end it was worth it. To take someone who was not fully willing to give him or herself to me, to become mine, it was just not the same. Of course, in saying that, I don’t mean that my victims knew their fate, but they were more willing to play along than those who would scream though all the entertainment, before a razor had even glanced off their pretty, virgin flesh.
I found my victims everywhere from shopping, to drives through town. They stood out from everyone else, they had that glint in their eyes that others didn’t. That special something that said they were willing to take a risk. That they got off on risks, that for one night, they would accompany me to their deaths. I wanted a challenge now, my truck had witnessed the death of over ten people and it was becoming routine. Chase, capture, torment, kill - easy. I wanted to get that edge, that something that would really excite me. I needed someone who wasn’t easy, someone who would fight back, yet enjoy it as much as I did. For weeks, I never thought I would find this illusive someone. Then I saw him.
This story is a work of fiction, and deals with killing and torture.
There are some things in this world that everyone should try at least once. Murder is one of them. People don’t understand the thrill, the worry and the lust for death until they’ve tried it, until they have blood on their hands, in their mouth, soaking into their clothes staining them forever with the sin they have just committed. It’s the ultimate power trip, the act of god. Bringing justice to those who’ve wronged you, or just helping the population explosion with a random cull of the masses. It’s a turn on.
And it’s not that I don’t like people. I love people. I’m a very social person, just with some anti-social fetishes, and I am not alone in this world. There are many who exist solely for the joy of bringing death upon someone. For the pleasure in the foreplay and the act itself, it’s enough of a heat to cause wet dreams for days beforehand. It’s an addiction in ways. Blood lust, the chase, the capture, the torment, the kill and the secret knowledge that you alone did it; caused the pleasure, caused the pain and in the end, disposed of the used and abused corpse.
I entered into this dark, macabre underworld after my first boyfriend met his end. It wasn’t a terrible end, quite compassionate if I say so myself. He hardly suffered and enjoyed the prelude to his demise immensely, almost as much as I enjoyed his passing over. I hadn’t meant for it to happen, we’d been fighting and the blade slipped. Well, that’s my story. It was a crime of passion. All my crimes are that of passion, but this was passion of a different kind. He brought anger out in me, he induced me to a state of rage that I’d never seen before, and I was a savage, unleashed on him, my un-willing victim.
I say un-willing, but that didn’t last long. My rage turned to excitement and I treated him to a night like no other he’d ever had. He was taken to the furthest reaches of pleasure, teased, tormented and seduced; it was a night of near explosive lust given physical release. A night I am unable to forget, and a night he would never survive. All in all, a good first experience in murder.
The mess was the first thing that hit me, once my ears had stopped ringing and blood flow stemmed. The place looked like a war had taken place. Crimson was splashed everywhere, it looked like bad modern decorating, and he lay, slashed and bound at a torturous angle on top of a lake of slowly drying blood. It was a masterpiece. I wish I’d thought back then to take pictures, I don’t think I’ve since came close to the beauty that pure passion encouraged to massacre can create.
I hungered after that first foray into the killing arts. I had a need to fulfill, and only the feeling I got after watching someone die sated me. It wasn’t just the death that done it either, it was everything. The cold chamber in the back of my car where I led my eager prey, the entrapment, the granting of their last urges, my own orgasmic release then the feast of their flesh. It all came together in a crescendo of pleasure and pain, which merged into one electrifying experience, and what can I say? Everyone needs a hobby.
Truly, I only found solace in my car. It was a place that was mine alone, filled with lost souls and the smell of sex and death, it was the place I spent the majority of my time. Whether it be indulging in my secret desire or being alone with myself, away from the squalor of the flat I lived in, and the noise of the two other people I was forced to live with.
My truck was an old one, camouflaged 89 Chevrolet Blazer. I didn’t look the type to drive a monster like that, but I did all the same. I’d always liked them for their room and the privacy the back area provided. With a grill to separate it from the cab it was my own personal torture chamber, complete with chains and other temptations, it was perfect. I’d owned the truck for a number of years before I first fully appreciated how useful it would be to my new pastime, now it was the carrier of a dark mistress for a new age, a bringer of death.
The truck provided a more personal kind of satisfaction as well, for not every night could I go on a rampage of sex and death, I had to choose the right victim. They had to fit the profile. It was a process that took time, but my own yearnings and needs didn’t work that way. I still lusted the same, and it was quite by accident that I found my unique way of pleasuring myself.
It was one day while parking along a back road to dispose of some bits from my car that I figured out how my car could be used to it’s full potential. The bits I was getting rid of were contained in a bag that had been rotting in the back of my truck for a few days and from which the smell had finally overcame my senses and forced me to dump the final pieces of what had been a most enjoyable ride. Swinging the truck into reverse as I was leaving, the vibration through the gear stick sent a quiver to the pit of my stomach and my eyes drifted over to the black plastic head that throbbed under my palm. My mind whirred with ideas, and just how much delight I could derive from the cold, hard stick that now beckoned me to give it a try.
I pulled the handbrake on and the vibration increased, my smile widened. I found the hardest part was maneuvering myself as I discovered to keep that level of tremor through the shaft the car had to be in gear, my left foot slid off the clutch as my right slid on and my hip swung my leg over to the passenger side foot space. With my foot pressing the pedal to the metal and my left foot finding a comfortable position I began to lower myself onto the gear stick.
As it painfully forced itself into me, my hands fought to find balance as I found my legs starting to tremble with my own pleasure, my right foot balanced precariously on the edge of the clutch and closing my eyes I forced myself to focus on pushing the clutch down. I continued to slide myself up and down the shaft, the initial pain now gone in a rush of adrenalin and excitement while both blood and my own juices provided lubrication for the gear knob. It worked quickly, and I think the atmosphere brought me round quicker, nothing like your own blood dripping down your legs while you have something with that much horse power pulsing away inside you to turn a girl on. But as I got more into the rhythm, I lost my head to my desire and my right foot slowly began to slide from the clutch. Oblivious to the impending problem, I could feel my lust start to blossom, twisting and contorting throughout my body as my foot came completely away from the clutch. As the car stalled, I was lurched forward and could feel the shock reverberate throughout my system as this now silent, slick object hammered inside me.
Dizzy and on the edge of passing out from an overdose of pleasure and pain, I hauled myself up and lifted myself away from the gear stick, lowering myself back to the driving seat where as my eyes began to focus, I saw the blood that ran in stream down my inner thigh. I shook my head and reached for the roll of kitchen towel and began to mop up my mess, reminding myself that for future solitary experiences, I’d find a brick to hold down the clutch. Still shaking, but with the blood flow stemmed. I drove away from the scene of my perversions. I was in the mood for someone new, someone to make me feel alive again. To get that rush as they died, I needed to do something new. I was stuck in a rut where nothing excited me anymore. I desperately wanted to rediscover that feeling that first gave me that taste for death.
The search for the perfect partner was a long, drawn out one. I often grudged it, but in the end it was worth it. To take someone who was not fully willing to give him or herself to me, to become mine, it was just not the same. Of course, in saying that, I don’t mean that my victims knew their fate, but they were more willing to play along than those who would scream though all the entertainment, before a razor had even glanced off their pretty, virgin flesh.
I found my victims everywhere from shopping, to drives through town. They stood out from everyone else, they had that glint in their eyes that others didn’t. That special something that said they were willing to take a risk. That they got off on risks, that for one night, they would accompany me to their deaths. I wanted a challenge now, my truck had witnessed the death of over ten people and it was becoming routine. Chase, capture, torment, kill - easy. I wanted to get that edge, that something that would really excite me. I needed someone who wasn’t easy, someone who would fight back, yet enjoy it as much as I did. For weeks, I never thought I would find this illusive someone. Then I saw him.
He sat in the corner of the bar, drinking a bottle of beer. His eyes showed deep thought about something on his mind. I bought myself lemonade and sat down beside him. He barely glanced at me but I gave him my best smile back. I introduced myself and he shrugged and mumbled something. I twisted myself closer to him on my seat, my hand brushing over his leg. As my fingers brushed his jeans, he gave me a sharp look then his features softened and he smiled at me. Without saying a word, I moved my hand back to his leg and gently stroked up his thigh. His smile widened and he leaned forward and whispered into my ear, “Do you have somewhere more private for us to go?” I nodded, giddy with such instant success and led him from the bar to my car.
He climbed into the passenger side and we drove to the outskirts of town. I told him what I wanted to do to him, how I wanted him to feel and he lapped it up, moaning as I buried one hand into his jeans. I could barely contain my delight, he was perfect, handsome, ready to take the risks I had offered and he looked fiery, but not as fiery as would as the night progressed. I doubted though that he would accept death as his fate, I wanted him to fight.
I parked a distance from the road in a place I knew we wouldn’t get disturbed and ushered him into the back of the Blazer. He laid down without me having to ask and let me climb in on top of him. After frenzied minutes of rampant lust, I reached for the rope and started to bind his hands behind his back. He squirmed under the taut bonds but never complained. His eyes were glazed with passion as I continued to work on him, tying each foot to the sides of the truck, leaving him spread and waiting for whatever I wanted.
I glanced about the back of the truck, as well as being home to a variety of sex toys, it also held the equipment needed to keep my car running. As I spied the petrol can, I smiled. Dragging it out from behind him, I pulled off the funnel. I ran the end of it around my mouth and let him watch, the taste of petrol dull in my mouth. He moaned louder as I ran my fingers over his hard cock and took him fully into my mouth. He moaned loudly with pleasure, fighting his bonds, his eyes gazing at me with that look of lust that people get as they near their edge.
I smiled up at him, and then began dumping gas over his naked body. His eyes conveyed a sense of confusion as I stopped sucking his cock, and without warning shoved the funnel of the gas can into his tight ass. I grinned, lowering myself to kiss him one last time, letting him taste the petrol that still lingered on my tongue. He kissed me ferociously in return, exploring my mouth with need and desire. I pulled away almost sadly as I pushed the funnel deeper inside him. I then tipped the can, letting the petrol flooded its way into his tight ass. He gasped and began to fight me; his legs thrashing wildly as his arms sawed the ropes that held his wrists. I could nearly taste his fear.
I reached for my knife, which was held in my boots and cut the ropes that attached his feet to the vehicle. He screamed, a deep-throated wail that I was sure everyone for miles around would hear. To quiet him, I smacked him across the jaw. Knocking him out until death would come to claim him. Dragging him out of the car, he was a dead weight. I hauled him into the nearby field and carried the remainder of the petrol with me in the can. Laying him gently into the grass, I lay myself over him and kissed his unresponsive lips, wrapping my legs around one of his and squeezing as I worked myself around to orgasm. I wanted him to burn freshly coated with my fluids, so when he awoke in hell - my mark would be on him.
I brought myself around quickly, moaning and groaning in the quiet of the night, trembling with delight and rolling from him into the grass. Spent and shivering in euphoria, I stood up and started to douse him with the remaining gas. Once he lay soaked and unconscious, I reached into my pocket and retrieved my matches. Lighting one, I threw it between his legs and jumped back as his body flared, the fire racing deep inside him, following the trail of petrol.
The fire had me captivated. It was beautiful, and the aromas of cooking flesh, delicious. He burned brightly, from the inside out and all over and as he came around, his screams echoed out, but they didn’t last long. The smoke from his body silenced him as it overcame him, and led him down the road to death. I watched for as long as I could, but I knew the fire would be spotted and I had to make myself scarce. Grabbing the fuel can, I jogged back to my car and raced it home.
Settling into a well-deserved bath before any of my friends returned from a late night party. As I lay, in the comfort of the warm water, I pictured him again and reaching for the hand held shower, I brought myself around again, trying to decide on how I would kill my next victim as my moans reverberated in the small tiled room.
My first boyfriend was right you know, that night when he died, he’d called me insatiable, and I am. I’m still waiting for the kill that will sate my passion; maybe it is something I will only find in my own demise. Maybe that is the kill that will give me everything I desire…
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