Diary of a Serial Killer

Note: No one was killed in the making of this scene. This is a write-up of a recent consensual roleplay scene. Also, because the narrator is a serial killer I thought it a bit out of character for him to do many of the things that I did, like clean wounds before and after needle play, use condoms and other safety equipment. To keep the intensity of the write-up where I wanted it, I took license in omitting a few things that we take for granted. Tertiary places and actions were changed to keep with the mood and flow and are not real representations of what actually happened. To anyone who may have seen the scene as it built, it would have seemed like any other night at the club, because that is in reality what it was.Traffic. It makes me see red. It makes me think that the world would be better off with fewer people. I try to control it, this urge to set the world on fire. It is not ok to think like that, my mother would say to me when I was a child and when I insisted that the best way to avoid sharing toys in daycare was to, “make them all go away.” So I have learned to suppress my rage, to hide the beast that I am behind a pleasant mask. The problem is that traffic erodes my mask and leaves me like a tiger behind bars of papier maché.

It was not common traffic. It seemed to be… misplaced, as if the traffic patterns were being affected by some outside force that was hell bent on me not getting to my date on time. Then I started to see the signs that my fears were true. The license plate of the car on my right gave me the first clue; IL 432 1300. There in the middle of the plate stood the number: thirteen. I looked to my left. There was another one this time with three M’s (thirteenth letter of the alphabet). This was no simple traffic jam. This was a conspiracy.

I went on trying to avoid the cars that were obviously flagged. I looked deeply into the souls of the drivers, looking for more signs. When the triskaidekians are blocking my path I know that they are trying to keep me from where I need to be. They take many different forms, hidden in plain sight as cars that cut off your exit, signs that are confusingly marked, people who pull you down into a void of insipid banter that suffocates your brain until it is no longer possible to think for yourself. This last form, manifesting as humans,is the most evil, the most insidious. It is the one that wears down the cage of my beast the most and are therefore the ones most often hurt when it gets free. These invaders are invisible to most, but I see them, the creature inside me sees them. It scares me to watch from within my own head, staring out of my own eyes as the dark soul that I share this body with stalks and destroys them. I cannot feel remorse for them, because I know the evil darkness of their goals. I know that the universe is a better place for each one removed.

When I finally arrived to pick up my date, traffic had already weakened my defenses. I was weak with frustration and her incessant yammering rained down like hail on the fragile glass shelter that was my sanity. Talk of people that she barely knew and how “nice” they were. Of families that existed in her mind from posed pictures,  of clothes and food without any understanding of what it meant to be really cold or hungry. I tried to pull my mind away. I tried to concentrate on the road, on the other cars, but all around me the thirteens were closing in. I felt as if I were trapped in the car with prey. I was being forced to take this girl as a sacrifice. I am not a fool. I know that this is not the way to handle the darkness. Spontaneous actions leave trails, leave clues, leave the police with so many questions that cannot be easily answered. So I play it safe and head to the Pier to keep us in public.

“So what do your friends and family think of you being on a blind date?” I hear the words coming out but I don’t remember thinking them.

“They don’t know,” she said with a mischievous smile. Really? She has left me this opening? I shake my head and reach for another cigarette to dull the senses that are starting to tingle.
I park close to the door, under a bright halogen light. If there had been a camera I would have parked under that. We get out and head immediately for the safety of the crowded boardwalk.

“Oh, let’s go on the Ferris Wheel!” She is excited and I am pulled along to the gondola. We climb on board and we are lifted slowly into the night sky. The isolation makes her more chatty. She talks about her mom and her dad. She talks about her pets growing up and why she named them what she did. She talks about her fifth grade teacher and how he snapped his gum and all the time I waited for us to reach the top. From there, the fall could be calculated as to make her hit most of the frame of the wheel before hitting the ground. I calculate the distance from my seat to the door. I could grab her by the hair with my right hand and the gate with my left and have her tossed from the gondola in a matter seconds. As I was lost in reverie I had not noticed that she had stopped talking. She was staring out over the city and for a moment, for one brief moment she looked beautiful, almost human. The top of the wheel came and went and she was still sitting next to me. She smiled and I think I smiled back.

At dinner she shifted again. She ordered the sloppiest most expensive item on the menu. She threw herself into the meal with abandon and talked throughout. The drinks were large and ostentatious with flashing lights and collectors cups. She ordered round after round and with each round pointed out more emphatically that she did not “put out” on the first date. This was said with red stains from the boiled shrimp around her mouth. It was not like she did not have manners. Most of the evening, she was well behaved but when we entered the franchised seafood restaurant with its southern, hands-on style, she seemed to absorb the artificial culture. Her language started to drawl and she drank sweet tea and called the waitress “Sugar.” It was as if her personality was made of a semipermeable membrane and could absorb the world around. She was empty like a sponge waiting to take in the nutrients from the surroundings. I watched with revulsion as she clapped along to the birthday song and whined for Key Lime pie. She ordered one more drink long after it was time to go and I decided that I really had no choice. The prison that kept the beast at bay was no longer there. Now all that stood between her and destruction was time.

I paid the check and with a smile asked if she was ready to go.

“Go where?” she is a little tipsy from the drinks but still thinking fairly rationally.

“A club.”

“What club?”

“A private club.” Her ears perked up. The singularity, the uniqueness of my offer gave her the push she needed. I helped her to her feet and kept my hand on the small of her back as I guided her through the mall. The awkward, morally aware soul that inhabits this body from time to time was gone. I was finally alone. Getting her to the club was going to be easy. She was a slightly inebriated, trusting soul that wanted to believe that there were no real monsters. As we moved farther and farther away from main shopping area, my hand moved from the small of her back to the nape of her neck. When we passed through the first set of doors into the small  hallway that separated the mall from the parking area, I grabbed tightly at her hair, stopped and spun her to meet me. I leaned in and kissed her hard, using her surprise as a way of getting through to her. She caught her breath and just as she started to push away, I released the kiss and turned to keep walking. I walked through the second set of doors, letting them swing open but not holding them for her. Her shoes clicked frantically as she tried to get through the swinging doors before they closed. I let her chase me all the way to the car, unlocking the doors but not opening hers. I hopped in and was buckling as she scrambled into the seat next to me.

We got to the club and I ordered drinks as she freshened up. I pulled a small vial of powder from my pocket and laced her drink. The bartender went about washing his glasses as if he saw nothing. She came back, a little stiff, a little scared of being hurt,  but more of being abandoned. I pushed the drink to her. She claimed that it tasted funny. I told her it was the city water. She began in again about how great her home in the suburbs had been. I can’t stand it anymore.

“Finish your drink.” She struggles to down the rest of it as the narcotic starts to take affect. She starts to lose focus and balance. I take her for a little tour of the club. It is a Friday night and the club is quiet. She starts to stagger, unsure of her feet. She leans back into me and then pushes off as if to play coy. I let her do this a couple more times as we make our way towards the private rooms in the back. At the entrance to our private room a sober shiver runs through her as she see the darkness inside. She stops and unconsciously backs away from the doorway but I am behind her and before she can say a word my arms are around her neck. Her hands come up but land lightly on my bicep and forearm. With a gagging squeak, her body goes limp.

I toss her unconscious body onto the couch face first, her ass propped up on awkwardly angled legs. I handcuff her hands behind her back and sit back a little, waiting for her to come to. The drugs make her come to slowly and I give her situation time to sink in. She scrambles to straighten herself up. She looks at me confused and a little angry. I slap her across the face, drawing focus into her eyes for just a moment.

“Can you hear me?” She does not say a word but cringes at the touch. There are so many things about this bitch that annoy me I don’t know where to start. Like a wrecking crew at the gates to the Mall of America I lick my lips at all that there is to destroy in front of me. I pull her to her feet without a word and start in on her personality.

“If I had to listen to one more minute of your chatter in the car, I swear to god, I was going to drive us into the river.” I’m gripping her tightly by the upper arm as I whisper this in her ear. I slap her face, watching her long black hair hide her eyes. I brush it aside to ensure that she sees me as I take her apart. “No one cares about your boring life.” (slap) “Nobody wants to hear how ‘nice’ your boss is.” (punch) “I could not care less whether your mom loved your sister more than you.” I spin her around and close my arm around her neck and squeeze until the gasping sounds come. Close in, I whisper softly in her ear, “Your life is fucking meaningless and if you had an ounce of self-awareness in you, you would see that. Her eyes roll back in her head, and as she falls I spin her to fall on her back onto the couch.

I drag her over the arm of the couch tilting her head back, forcing her mouth open. As she starts to come to again I wait for her head to start to move before shoving my cock into her mouth. The angle, the force and the choking all fight her urge to get away. She gags and tears fill her eyes.

“You go out on a blind date without telling anyone where you are going. You buy a new dress, new underwear. You proceed to talk about how you are not going to put out while proceeding to lean on me, brush up against me and generally tease me. Now tell me, are you surprised where you find yourself?” I pull my dick out of her mouth and wait for her to start speaking. She says nothing. I slap her hard across the face. “Answer me!” The rage is like a heat wave running through me as I feel it coming out of my pores as sweat. I am on fire as I want to peel her like grape and listen to her scream.

“I…” She stammers and I shove my dick back into her throat feeling her tonsils on either side of the head of my cock. She starts to get her feet under her as she tries to shift her angle and stop the assault anyways she can. I pull out and step back, putting my dick away as she gasps for air. Spit and and tears cover her face.

I pull her up to her feet by her arm and turn her to remove the cuffs. The abuse has affected her, sobering her up a bit and now is time for her to be broken of her hope and fight. After taking the cuffs off I relax and turn ever so slightly to give her the opening. She sees it and almost without conscious effort she starts for the door. My arm snaps out and grabs her by the hair. I throw her into the brick wall and laugh. My hand goes to her neck and I lean in again, breathing hot on her cheek. I feel her body goes limp and I let her fall into a pile. I step back and kick, catching her stomach with the top of my foot. A sound escapes as the air is forced from her lungs. She tries to curl up in to a fetal position but I dig the heel of my boot into her thighs, pushing them down.

“Get up.” She slowly gets to her hands and knees and I kick her in the cunt. She falls face first into the carpet. Her hand comes out as she tries again to come up and I step in feeling the bones move beneath the sole of my shoe. I grab her by the hair and pull her up, only shifting my weight of her hand after her arm had reached full extension. She held her arm limp as I squeezed her jaw and forced her to look into my eyes.

“Did you really think you had a chance?” She is looking right at me now shaking her head violently. She knows there is no way out except through me. “Do you want to go home?” She feverishly nods her head. Little pleases start coming out. “There is only one way out. Show me that you want me to let you go.” I reach down and undo the belt of her dress and put it around her neck. She is shaking as she tries to get naked. She sheds the last of her clothes and I let go of the belt, spin her around and slap her across the face. “Besides, even if you did get away, where would you go? Do you think anyone out there would stop me?” She looks over her shoulder towards the door that leads back to the main club. Suddenly, how far she has gone, how far she is from safety, sets in. She looks back at me with desperation in her eyes. I throw her back on the couch and turn to my bag.

I watch over my shoulder as she gauges the distance again. I give her my back as a way of tempting her into trying for the door. She lunges, on hands and knees, for the door and I contemplate for a minute letting her get to the bar and having the bartender and bouncer drag her back in but decide against it. I wait for her to almost reach the door before snatching her up by the hair. She screams as I throw her back on the couch. I lean in close and say, “Do that again and I will be fucking your corpse.”

I grab some rope and string her up by her wrists. There is nothing more perfect than the stripped victim before the real damage is done. It is like a clean canvas, an unmarked form waiting to be worked into something more. Her head hung down and her hair hid the fear in her face. I pulled it back and tied her head up by her hair.

“You are a cunt.” I spit the words out and watched as she flinched when they hit her. “I am going to use you like a cunt, but first you need to act like a cunt. What does a cunt do?” She says nothing and I reach up and squeeze her cheeks. “Well?”

“I… I don’t know.” She is almost in tears, but not quite.

“A cunt bleeds.” I unroll a string of thirteen needles and proceed to pierce her flesh, looking for vulnerable spots. Her skin was red and hot to the touch from the earlier tortures. As I look over the body and find where I want to put the needle I pinch and pull and slap the skin to bring even more blood to the surface. With casual torment I begin to slide the needles in, letting each slide in slowly watching the skin stretch, feeling it pop as it punctures. The screams come again, this time with sheer pain. I give each one room to exist on its own uncomplicated by the mixed pain of overlapping punctures. After putting in about six of the needles I start to ask her about her prudish composure.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” She shakes her head, closing her eyes tight to keep out the image of her wanting it. “If you want me to fuck you, all the pain can go away.” She looks up at me desperately.

“Please. Please fuck me.” The words are the verbal equivalent of her scramble for the door. I smile down at her.

“You are saying it, but you don’t mean it. You want me to stop the pain and are willing to be fucked for relief. That is not what I want. What I want is for you to want me to fuck you. I want you to beg me to fuck you because you long for it, long for me.”

“I do. Please fuck me.”

“No. Not yet.” I return to my work, finding new places to inflict sharp, exquisite pain.

After they are all in, I leave them in and leave her hanging for a while. The pain subsides and I want her to be refreshed when I start to pull them out. Each comes out with a twist releasing a small rivulet of blood. She is gone by now, lost in the pain, afraid that the slightest move will increase it. As the last one is pulled free I step back and look at her. The red lines accentuate her curves and define her body in ways that no clothing could. I take a few of the beads and smear them on her parched lips and on her cheeks. The look in her eyes says in no uncertain terms that she is now mine completely.

I untie her arms first leaving her nearly suspended by her hair. As I undo that knot she slips to her knees. I undo my belt and she looks up with anticipation. She wants to show me her gratitude, her desire and as soon and my dick is free, she consumes it with hunger.  I let her relish in her devotion for a moment before dragging her back to the sofa by her hair. I throw her over the armrest, pushing her legs apart and under her so she opens to me. I take a piece of medical tubing from my bag and wrap it around her neck. I pull her head up and enter her from behind. The sound escaping is a mixture of ecstasy and dying and I pull her back onto me over and over again. She tries to hold herself up by her arms, but as her world goes black they slip and she crashes down onto the couch. I release the tubing and let her gain consciousness again. She is coughing as she gets back onto her arms. I pull back again, violently pulling her into each thrust until again, her arms give out and she falls forward. Again I release and let her taste air for one last time. As she starts to move I pull the tubing again, this time as tight as possible. She starts to scramble for the hose with her hands and now she is completely held up by the tension. There is a convulsion as she dies and one last orgasm shakes throughout her. Her arms go limp and then her whole body. I keep her like that for a few seconds more to ensure that the struggle is out of her and I let go. She falls forward and I pull out. I pull the body back on the couch. The corpse stares lifelessly at the ceiling, the skin not yet cool. The blood all over it makes the scene that much more vivid, and in no time I feel the orgasm rising within me. The semen falls across her face and into her eyes that do not flinch or seek approval. They take it with the same apathy one would expect from tile on the bathroom floor.

I rest for a minute, sitting on the sofa next to the body, feeling the heat slip away and the joints begin to stiffen. When I have rested, I pull my clothes on and grab my bag. I go to the bar. I look at the bartender who gives me a knowing nod. There are reasons that you belong to a private club. In a matter of hours the room will be clean again and the night will proceed as if it had never happened. Well, except for the one more missing person report floating through the police bureaucracy.

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