Serial Killer

Posted by Barbanne on November 13, 2001 at 22:15:44:


He watched Peggy get out of the car.
She was chosen.
The man got out and came around to where she was standing on the kerb. He folded her into an embrace. Small, red haired and petite with very white skin, she looked fragile and vulnerable in his arms. He kissed her and his hand wandered to her breast. She pushed him away and rolled her eyes with a "men they're all the same," look on her face. They kissed again and she went inside. The man got into his car and drove away.
He waited.
He waited for five minutes and then went into the building.
He walked to the third floor and down the corridor to flat three oh three.
He knocked.
He knocked again.
Peggy's voice, "Who's there?"
Remembering how the man had spoken he said, "It's me."
"Oh darling what is it now."
She opened the door, dressed in a terry towelling robe. It gaped at the top showing soft, white, rounded flesh.
The gun coughed it's deadly message muffled by the silencer.
The slug smashed into her tummy. Wrecked her guts. Her eyes widened and utter disbelief showed in them. Her eyelids fluttered like some crazy butterfly. She stood there for a few seconds and then sat down hard. He stepped inside and closed the door. Peggy moaned and flopped onto her back. Pain distorted her pretty features and blood snaked from her mouth. He stooped over her and ripped the robe open. Underneath she was nude. He placed the silenced barrel over her heart and fired.
Her head jerked upward on her slender neck and blood flew from her mouth and nose. Her eyelids fluttered even more crazily than before and then closed forever. She slumped backward and her body relaxed into the limpness of death.
He pulled the robe of and dragged her naked and bloody body into the bedroom and arranged her on the bed.
Just like all the others.
She was number sixteen.

Joan stumbled backward against the fridge her long brown hair swinging wildly. Her lush ripeness taunted him and her prettiness aggravated his hatred.
"Nooooooooooooooo," she wailed.
He lunged forward and the knife sank into her full breast. She slammed into the fridge door and clutched futilely at its enamelled smoothness with scrabbling fingers. She slid down to the floor, her knees buckling, her legs splaying in a most undignified display, her panties showing above the white intimacy of her uppermost thighs.
He grabbed her ankles and yanked her forward. Her head thumped on the vinyl tiles like a pumpkin dropped from a great height.
He stripped her shorts and tee shirt away and ripped off her bra and panties. He lugged her softly pudgy body into the bedroom and posed her.
He had many more to kill.

Sherry arrived wearing the clothes he had provided.
She was giggly and wild eyed and her nose was runny and red.
He knew she was coked up and that was good.
He was going to enjoy this.
He had told her she had to wear something tarty for the part and the short red nylon shift, crappy fur lined sleeveless jacket and fuck me high heels he had bought for her, together with her badly applied, way over the top makeup, had turned her into total street trash. Sherry was a rat faced, dishwater blonde with a short, appallingly bad haircut. At best she looked common, dressed like this and made up with too much lipstick and dark kohl lined eyes she looked what she was, a fifty dollar whore who deserved to die.
She was chosen.
Number eighteen.
He walked out to meet her.
"Hi babe, glad you could make it."
She looked up, nervous, snotty, strung out on the dope.
"Hiya fella," she said, "how do I look?"
She did a clumsy pirouette.
"Great." He waited. "Come on in."
"I done movies before," she said, "I done movies like this before, I ain't no amateur."
"Sure babe, that's why I asked you." Cheapjack porno he knew, stuff to supplement her work as a lap dancer and ho.
"This is class stuff babe. Adult entertainment for discerning customers," He smiled at her and she grinned back nervously, edgy, jumpy. They walked inside. He led her through to the big room at the back. The camera was set up facing into one corner of the room where mirrored walls enclosed a double bed with crumpled mauve sheets and dark pink drapes framed the sides. She giggled again and he realised just how juiced she was. She sat on the bed and he told her how he wanted it to be. She got up and did a stiff and unconvincing strip. He realised she wasn't very good and wouldn't make it as any sort of porn queen. When she had finally shed her clothes onto the floor she slumped backward onto the bed and started fingering herself, simulating sexual stimulation. She moaned and groaned and faked an orgasm rather badly. She lay back, eyes half closed and mumbled, "How was that?"
"Fabulous babe."
He focussed the camera where she lay on the bed and then fingering the tape he sprang forward crashing into her and pounding with his fists. His attack caught her completely unawares and his blows knocked the wind from her body. He slapped the packing tape onto her cheek and lifting her head wrapped it around and around covering her mouth and nose. Her air holes were completely closed off. He kept punching her tummy watching her face. Her eyes skittered back and forth and her face started going red. She was labouring, her lungs opening and closing, expanding and contracting and her eyes lost their focus. Back behind the camera he caught it all zooming in for the final moments. Her eyes rolled back and her face went from red to blue to purple and then she surrendered to asphyxiation and shuddered along her whole length and was gone.
He unwrapped the tape and dragged her off the bed, limp, flopping, dead as meat.
He worked her into a big green garbage bag and carried her, bumping and thumping, to his car. He dumped her in the boot and drove her to the big sign by the freeway and while cars whizzed by disinterestedly he tipped her out of the bag and posed her nude body just like the others.

Number nineteen, Vicky, struggled as he forced her face under the water.
He could smell her body odour and the fear that turned it acrid. Her panties and bra were soiled and in need of washing. These thoughts registered with him even as she gulped one mouthful too many of water and, with her lungs flooded, died under his grasp. He dragged her by her sodden hair and stripped her underwear off and carried her nude and freshly dead corpse into the living room of her pathetic bed sit and posed her too.

The police were baffled.
The posing of the women's bodies suggested one perpetrator but the modus of their deaths could not have been more different.
Shot, stabbed, suffocated, drowned, they had all died differently.
No pattern emerged.
Some had been entered sexually before death, some afterwards and others not at all.
The killings, all young women on the fringe of society, all dead in different ways and all posed after death had been grouped together, but the law officers couldn't agree that all had met a common killer.
The cases had even the best profilers baffled and the media was in a frenzy.

On the Friday evening as we all clocked off I got called into the Floor Manager's office and told that I was out. Sacked from my job on the assembly line at Sexy Miss Cosmetics for continued pilfering from the production stocks. It was my third warning and I wasn't that surprised but I was hurt. As I left the building the girls were waiting and the tears staining my face and wrecking my mascara told their own story. They were off to the pub but I cried off and after a round of tearful goodbyes made my way back to my room at the boarding house.
I sat around feeling sorry for myself for a couple of days and then took a job waitressing at the "Stud's Horn" barbecue restaurant. After serving on tables for a couple of weeks in twelve hour straight shifts, the boss, a scuzzball named Luis, told me I could double my pay and halve my hours by becoming a topless waitress in his Speziali room where jaded businessmen came to do deals and ogle tits. I jumped at the chance and waited on tables wearing high heeled wedgy shoes and a three quarter length Indian cotton skirt (see through) over a red panty thong. Bare from the navel up, although I often wore a heap of chains and stuff around my neck.
As I was working only six hours a day I took to supplementing my income by giving head in the back of my van. I had moved out of my depressing room and was living in this old Mitsubishi van which I used as both transport, workplace and home, parking it out back of a service station at nights so that I could use the showers and toilet there. I gave the guy who owned the joint a free fuck twice a week for the pleasure of not being reported.
Topless waitressing you get plenty of moves put on you by guys who reckon they can advance your career. I told them all that I was an aspiring actress just filling in between roles. One day an older silver haired dude asked me if I'd be interested in polishing my acting skills at a private function. I said yeah, depended on what it paid. The pay was good. Better than a week of blow jobs. The idea was that a bunch of us girls were to come along and entertain folks at theme night parties. I said OK and rocked up one Saturday night to the address the old dude gave me in the leafy north side suburbs. There were six of us girls and we had to be like slave girls. While we were changing into the filmy outfits the old guy had provided I sussed out that I was the only gal there who wasn't either a hop head or a juicer.
We acted out little slave girl stuff that the old guy wrote and after I had done a little scene where the other girls tied me up and stripped me and whipped me with cotton strings for being bad I found I was getting damp down there and my nipples were pointy and pebbly hard. This shit was turning me on and I was feeling horny. The guests picked out girls and disappeared with them after stuff like this went down and horny little me was fought over by three fellas, two studs and an older and way richer (I reckoned) guy. Tough luck for all of them cause a big ferocious looking woman with square shoulders and really big hands and a short black helmet of hair brushed them all aside and dragged me off into an upstairs bed room. There we both got nude and then she did hurty stuff to me, squeezing my tits and scratching my pussy and then she made me go down on her and gnash her gash, dining at the Y.
I could handle that OK and she told me that whenever she came to one of these dos I was to be hers first before anyone else got at me. Then she paid me a tonne of money and gave me a last pash and grabbed my cunnie and yanked my pubes and I had the feeling that she'd be a bad lady to get on the wrong side of.
I went back to the party and got groped some and had to blow the old rich guy.
I came away from the party lots richer than I had arrived and unlike the other girls I wasn't going to send my earnings right up my nose.
Another party two weeks later, same place and this time we were topless cowgirls, low slung jeans, tooled leather cowboy boots, toy guns and nothing above the waist except those jeans hung so low that the thong strap hitched over my hips stuck out. We served drinks to the party crowd and distributed a little blow to those who wanted it. Then we did our party act for the night, shooting off our pop guns at each other until we all fell down, shot "dead". The host had written this scenario too and now the studs moved in and, working in two's, carried off the girl of their choice who kept acting like limped out and in character as a dead cowgirl. My nipples were rock hard nubs and I was hot and real wet down below when I did this one and I realised that the play acting was turning my heat way up and making me fuck city horny. After the carrying off a little two on one action ensued in the bedrooms as a result of all this. The dike lady surprised everyone there and me as much as anyone by homing in and hoisting me up in her surprisingly strong arms while she hauled my totally limped out body off for some one on one. She insisted that I keep playing "dead" while she stripped me naked and then fiddled around with me loving me some and hurting me quite a lot.
She paid me a bomb for that.
Afterwards back down in the party room I was back serving drinks and stuff, some PCP and quaaludes now, still wearing my hippy jeans and boots but without the toy gun when a guy I had seen before, a total sleezebag I figured, slipped his hand over my breast, almost making me spill my tray and said, "Hiya babe!"
"Oh original," I said.
"Hey girlie," he said, "I been watching you. You're not like these other dopers, you're good."
"Oh yeah," I said.
"No I mean it babe, how would you like to do a movie?"
"Oh yeah, like me and Harrison Ford."
He laughed.
"More like you and some serious adult action."
"A porno."
"Upmarket babe."
"How much?"
"Way more than you're making at these soirees."
"Yeah, like what?"
"A grand for two days work."
"I'll think on it."
"Call me babe," he handed me a card.

I thought for about fifteen seconds and called him the next day.
He gave me a time and an address and I made my way there to find it was a big old house in a street of big old houses on the northside where everything from the ginormous street trees to the imported cars reeked of money.
Inside he led me to a bedroom out back that was set up with a camera and a double bed with purple sheets and mirrors all around and pink coloured drapes and it said sex and porn as soon as I saw it. There were three young studs there and they got nude and I got nude and then we did it every way three guys and one girl can, using every last stretch of the imagination. I gave head for starters and then we fucked and I sucked one guy while I got off on top of another guy and the third guy gave it to me up the ass.
After an afternoon of stuff like this, all faithfully recorded on film, the guy, who said his name was Dwayne, put all four of us in a cab and told me to come back the next day to finish off. He gave me five hundred to go on with and I told the cabby to stop in town and kissed the studs off and then made my way back to my van where I slept with the money under my pillow and dreamed about spending all one thousand dollars.

The girl was perfect.
A true slut.
But perfect. Number twenty had to be something special.
She was. She deserved to die, had to die!
She was chosen.

I came early the next day and Dwayne showed me inside and out to the mirrored bedroom at the back.
"Where's the hunkies?"
"No men today babe, just you and me."
"Oh OK."
Well what's it to be," I asked.
"First you strip babe, you know slow and sexy and then lie down on the bed and finger yourself. Like fake an orgasm, stuff like that"
I giggled nervously, "Hah I can do that."
Then lets go babe."
He returned behind the camera and I started to strip, slow, plenty of hip swivelling and pumping, grinding, table top stuff, pulling my clothes off slow and teasy letting a bit more hang out with every move. He filmed and I saw him adjusting the zoom and focussing on my moves. I got down to bra, panties and high heels and popped my bra (it was one with the catch in back) and twirled it before flicking it and slithering my bikini pants down, showing glimpses of my bush and snatch, more and more and then wriggled the panties down my hips and stepped out of them, flicking them too.
"The bed," he said.
Wearing heels only I lay down on the bed languourously and started playing with my pussy, spreading the lips with my fingers and poking a brightly nailpolished finger in and out of my cunnie.
He took the camera off the tripod and moved in for intimate stuff.
I had my middle finger, right hand, in my hole now and was manipulating my clitoris. My nipples were stiff and hard and I was excited and wet love stuff was sliding from my puss.
"Close you eyes babe," he said.
I let my eyelids flutter down and started finger fucking in earnest.
His clenched fist exploded in my tummy and my breath exhaled in one huge blast.

The cops working the girl deaths had one slim lead.
Three partials had been recovered from three of the victims. None had enough points of comparison to make a match. Then one guy realised all three partials were from the same finger. Ring finger left hand. Maybe the guy's gloves had a hole or something. They put all three together, overlapping as necessary. This composite would never stand up in court but they ran it anyway.
They got a hit!
Dwayne Mort.
Sex offender while still a child.
No recent form at all.
They had a name and they had an address.
Sergeant Dave Tree knew that was enough.
"OK guys," he said, let's roll."

Dwayne's fists hammered into my tummy and my mind raced with craziness. Pain, loss of breath and fear took away my reason. I cringed on the bed suffering the stinging blows and trying to cover up. Then he slapped my face twice, hard. I saw starlight and my head spun, my eyelids fluttered and my mouth gasped. He slugged me again, really hard. Tears and snot ran down my face and into my gaping mouth.
I saw a blue nylon cord, thick as my finger.
I saw the noose.
I slapped with my open hands, trying to beat him off, but he punched me in the tum so hard that I could only whimper.
The noose went around my neck and went taut.
He had it rigged to a pulley in the ceiling.
He started hauling on it and my head was pulled off the bed and then the rest of me followed. My eyelids were fluttering madly now and my mouth was open, tongue hanging out like an unrolled blind and I felt blood suffusing my face and blue red flashes went off behind my eyes. My eyelids kept fluttering and my eyeballs bugged out. My tongue hung down to my chin. I was dribbling, drooling and snotting and my body was hanging from the cord. My hands were twitching and my feet were kicking and the cord burnt into my neck and I shuddered once and then again. I was losing it. I was finished. I felt my bladder release and warm wetness ran down my thighs. My hands flapped futilely. I struggled wanting to survive. Feeble attempts. I twitched all over. I saw Dwayne's face transformed by madness into purest evil and my eyes bugged and my tongue drooled and my face felt hot and dark. Red darkness moved in on me, like storm clouds on a summer night. Black, heavy, obscuring the light.
This was death!
My vision shrank to a pinpoint, like looking the wrong way down a telescope, everything tiny and far away and then I saw Dwayne's arm blossom red and fall limply to one side and he reeled sideways, turning away from me. The cord went loose and I fell to the ground in a heap and icy coldness crept in on me and a wall of darkness fell on top of me.

I drifted back to consciousness.
I was on my back on the bed and I was still nude.
A blanket covered me and a young woman police constable was stroking my hair.
"You're back," she said.
I tried to smile.
A handsome face floated into view.
"I'm Dave Tree. Just lie still. The ambulance is here now. We've got him and there is enough stuff in this place to tie him to everyone of the other nineteen girls."
"Other girls?" I said.
Then green coated ambulance officers were there and the policeman was pushed aside and they wrapped me in another blanket and transferred me to a stretcher. One, a youngish woman checked my eyes with a small penlight and they talked together saying words like "possible concussion" and "reactions seem normal" and "Ok to anaesthetise."
I said, "You're not going to knock me out?"
The woman said, "Only for a little while honey."
I said, "Nooooooooo," but my bare arm was out and I felt a prick and a gush and then numbness and then oblivion rolled over me.

I came back to the world lying in bed.
A nice clean comfortable bed surrounded by the smells and sounds of a hospital.
My throat was bandaged and incredibly painful and my body felt like a truck had run over it. I surreptitiously checked and found that I was wearing a white cotton hospital gown and underneath that my body from neck to navel was one continuous bruise.
A nurse, a nice middle aged lady, came in bustling the way nurses always bustle.
"Oh you're back with us."
"Yes." It came out "ussss," from my ravaged throat.
I watched as she fiddled with drips and stuff.
"Did that policeman come?"
"You mean Sergeant Tree, he's one handsome guy isn't he, yes he came honey."
"Guess I missed him?"
"You were out cold and snoring sweetheart, so he watched you for a while and then left."
"But he'll be back now you're compos again."
"Yes honey."
"Can you get me some makeup?"
"Oh vanity thy name is woman. Sure I can hon."

She brought me lipstick and some blusher and eye shadow and mascara and I sat up in bed and tried to hide the wreckage of my looks. Finally we both agreed I had reached the limit of what was possible and that would have to do. I insisted that she get me out of bed and into a chair and after a short but heated argument I prevailed.
I waited with butterflies in my tummy for him to arrive.
When he did I had kipped off and he caught me slumped in the chair with my mouth open, burbling unconsciously.
He kissed my forehead and I jumped awake and mumbled in tongue tied embarrassment.
A smile spread over his face and he said, "Tell me everything about yourself. I want to know everything." I grinned and started babbling and giggling. I knew it was going to be alright.

I had to make a statement and then I testified against Dwayne.
The shot that had hit his arm had ripped away most of the muscle and it was pretty well useless. He sat there nursing his dead arm and looking at me from eyes that spoke to me of hatred and contempt. Dead, black eyes without compassion.
I was spooked and stumbled time and again and had to be led very slowly through my testimony. But they believed me because everything I said was so transparently true. Photos of my battered face and nude body had been taken while I lay senseless in hospital after first being taken there and these circulated among the jury and deeply impressed all who saw them.
He hated me so much that I felt it physically and when the judge excused me I left the court room never wanting to return.
I have given it all up and have become a copper's girlfriend and live in lover. I have a job pounding a keyboard in a small dispatch house and while it is sort of boring my life at home with Dave more than compensates.
We will marry before christmas (If I have my way that is, and I will!) and I am happy.
I love my copper in a way I never thought possible and live to please him.
For a girl like me it is all that I could ever want.

Most of the time it was quiet in the solitary cell.
When the looneys weren't raving that was.
Raving, screaming, eating their own cum.
But that was alright. When he wanted them they would help.
And the time would come nothing was more certain. One day someone would make a mistake, just the slightest blunder and he would be free.
He thought about that.
Free to kill!
Eighty more girls waited to die.
From now on though he would have to be more careful. Less over confident and more cautious. Next time no coppers would take him down. He flexed his almost useless arm.
He must be patient.
Number twenty would be first to die.
Slag, bitch, slut! She deserved more than any other to die.
She was chosen.
They all became chosen.
And the chosen must die!!!