Posted by Jason on June 24, 1999 at 23:06:41:
The Adventures of Sparky
Part II -- Sorority
[Warning – this story is an extremely violent work of fiction. Lots of unsuspecting, scantily-clad, gorgeous young women are shot to death at close range by sub-machine gun fire. Bullets strike EVERY part of the female anatomy (well, the front side, anyway), repeatedly, with realistic and gruesome effects. He, he, he. If you are some kind of wimp who can't distinguish fantasy from reality, then stop now and run home to mommy. On the other hand, if -- like the author -- you appreciate a little harmless fantasy, and this sort of story appeals to you, then keep reading! Especially if you like it when topless young women get shot in their breasts. And if you like what you read, you are encouraged to post your comments or send them to the author, gotmwwg@aol.com.]
* * * * *
Sparky was bored. It had been a full two months since the pool party massacre, and the sixteen year-old pasty-faced teen was itching for some more action.
He picked his target with care. Not only did the Kappa Gamma Theta house have the prettiest girls on campus, but it was also located at the edge of a steep canyon on the far side of campus, itself on the outskirts of town of the small college town. Help would take a long time to get there. If he struck late on a Saturday night, he figured that he'd have at least fifteen minutes before help arrived.
Casually, over the course of several days, Sparky took careful notes, watching the comings and goings of many gorgeous young women throughout the day.
The old structure was set against a hill. It appeared that most of the action -- including the living quarters -- took place on second floor. The first floor only had a few rooms that were used as common areas. The first-floor windows were barred as a panacea to a few paranoid parents -- after all, there was never any crime in this small town -- but the second floor windows were usually open and inviting. Thus, unless some desperate girl was intent on jumping from a second floor window in the dark, the front door, and the two service doors on the side, were the only ways in or out. Sparky's strategy was simple; block those few doors, and no one could escape.
Based on the size of the house and the level of activity, he figured that maybe twenty young women lived there. Imagine . . twenty potential victims. He could hardly wait for Saturday night to arrive!
* * * * *
As the days slipped by, Sparky gathered his gear. Nine-millimeter ammunition -- and lots of it -- from the gun shop. Ha; they didn't even ask to see his ID. Empty clips from the war surplus store. Locks, chains and a light weight aluminum-tube ladder from the local home improvement superstore. A duffle bag from the sporting goods store. A pair of wire cutters from the local electronics store. And an endless supply of soda and cheeseburgers from the local burger joint; essential fuel for a young freedom fighter on the go.
Too caffeinated and excited to sleep, Sparky lay awake at night in the cheap motel room he had rented, fantasizing about the women he had seen come and go by day; blondes, brunettes, a few red-heads, all gorgeous. He dreamed of shooting them -- all of them. Soon, he would have his chance.
* * * * *
At last, Saturday night arrived. Hiding in the bushes a hundred feet away, next to his trusty bicycle, Sparky watched with growing impatience as small knots of young women, giggling, arm in arm, staggered back from the big fraternity party across campus, some obviously drunk.
Sparky checked his watch. 12:45 a.m. Time to go.
Rising from the bushes with gear in hand, Sparky crept towards the house, placing all his gear, for the moment, on the ground near the garbage dumpster on the left side of the house. Looking down the side of the house, Sparky noticed that only a few of the window lights were on; most were dark. One second-floor window near the end of the structure was both lit and wide open, letting in the warm August breeze. That would be his way in. But, first things first. Carefully, Sparky took the first of three chains out of the duffle bag and chained the side kitchen door to a nearby pole; no one was getting out that way.
12:49 a.m. So far, so good. Sparky grabbed a second lock and chain from the duffle bag, and crept around to the other side of the sorority. Once there, he carefully chained the emergency fire doors together and snapped the lock.
Stealthily creeping back to his bag, Sparky grabbed the last lock/chain combination and prepared for the riskiest part of this enterprise; chaining the front door. The door itself was easy; simply thread the chain through the brass handles of the double doors -- it was the possibility of being seen that was the problem. What to do . . .
"Oh, what the heck." Sparky casually strolled up to the brightly-lit front doors, the Kappa Gamma Theta letters displayed proudly on the front, secured the door with the lock and chain, and casually strolled away.
12:54 a.m. Sparky grabbed the duffle bag and collapsible aluminum ladder and quietly walked up the left side of the sorority. Pausing for a moment, Sparky identified the main phone line to the house, and promptly cut the wire with the wire cutters. And they said that geeks didn't know anything useful. He'd prove different.
"Breasts," Sparky reminded himself as he climbed he ladder, "be sure to shoot them in the breasts." In the weeks since the pool party, Sparky had re-lived that massacre over and over again in his mind's eye; he had shot to death ten teenage girls and young women that day, and Sparky realized that the breast hits excited him most of all. Smiling now, Sparky just loved it when a young woman got shot in her breasts. It made so much sense to his adolescent mind. Protruding outward from each woman's chest, simultaneously inviting, vulnerable and sacrosanct, breasts were to Sparky the ultimate symbol of being female. Bras were even better; after all, this uniquely-female garment was expressly designed to emphasize a woman's breasts. Therefore, bullets through the bra, into the breasts, assaulted the very essence of being female. Finally, a woman's breasts even focused attention on her vital organs; it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that a bullet in the breast was certainly going to damage the underlying lung, and even a near miss would probably hit the heart, or at least a different part of the lung; either way a breast hit or two was likely to be fatal. To Sparky's young mind, then, it just seemed so logical – the best way to kill a woman was to shoot her in her breasts.
12:55 a.m. Stopping below the open window, Sparky heard heard faint laughter and conversations from somewhere within, and also what sounded like a shower. This was it. Pulse quickening, Sparky pulled several spare magazines from the bag and stuffed them into his belt. Next, he unfolding the ladder and placed it gently against the wooden wall, leading directly up to the open window. Finally, he pulled his beloved Uzi out of the bag, snapped in a clip, and cocked the weapon.
12:58 a.m. Sparky climbed up the ladder and peered into the open window. It was a large communal bathroom, stalls to one side, curtained showers to the other. Someone was using one of the showers; Sparky heard a woman humming an unknown tune. She seemed pretty happy; if only she knew what was about to happen. Sparky's pulse raced; there was a naked college girl behind the shower curtain, and he could kill her right now. His mind weighed the alternatives; he desperately wanted to shoot her; no, better to wait; get more in his sights.
Instead, Sparky tip-toed through the bathroom towards the doorway at the far side. Reaching the doorway, Sparky peered around the corner and saw a long hallway running laterally the length of the second floor. To his right, he saw a several doors up and down the hallway, evenly spaced on either side; probably rooms where the girls lived.
To the left, just a few feet away, Sparky saw a doorway to a lighted room. From within, he heard laughing and talking from several young women. Fingering the trigger to his Uzi, Sparky decided to join the party.
It was 1:00 a.m.
In the room, a small lounge, Sparky saw four young women seated on a pair of L-shaped adjoining couches. Beer bottles and other drinks littered the low table in the middle of the room. For the moment, they seemed totally oblivious to his presence. Sparky took a few steps forward and cleared his throat.
"Uhh, hi," stammered Sparky. He pointed the Uzi at the large-breasted blonde to the left of the group, waiting for the panic to begin. Recalling his afternoon at the pool party, he really liked it when they begged for mercy.
The girls, momentarily surprised, soon reacted to the intruder. With obvious disgust on her face, the blonde stood up.
"Oh great, another panty raid by the pledges from that geek house," said Linda.
Julie, the tall blonde in the sleeveless blouse and tight pink skirt, added her thoughts. "Gosh, even the geek house is lowing its standards nowadays. What's the world coming too?" Peering over her wire-frame glasses, Julie shot a condescending look at Sparky.
"Run along home, little boy. The party's over," snickered Jennifer. The nubile red-head then blew a mock kiss in Sparky's direction.
Standing now, still with a beer in her hand, Sheila said, "Yeah, and take that stupid toy gun with you." Sheila dismissed Sparky without further thought with a flippant wave of the back of her hand.
The four young women then spontaneously burst out laughing, each slumping back into her seat, exchanging knowing glances with her companions at Sparky's expense.
Bewildered by the women's reaction, Sparky shuffled his feet for a moment and again fingered the trigger on the Uzi.
Laughter soon faded to annoyance. Linda stood again, her large breasts straining against the flimsy white tank top that barely fit her.
"Get OUT of here!" Linda pointed towards the door.
That did it. Like the pool party, Sparky's world seemed to move in slow motion. With hardly a conscious thought, he raised his Uzi and pointed it directly at the jiggling breasts of the obnoxious blonde to his left front, and pulled the trigger.
"Aaaaahhhaaa!!!" Linda shrieked as three bullets tore across her 36-C boobs, striking the right breast, her deep cleavage and her left breast in turn, her breasts jiggling under the tight white tank top as each new bullet impacted her chest. With blood squirting from each of the holes, the young woman gripped a mangled breast in each hand, and involuntarily staggered until she toppled backwards over the couch, landing with a crash on the floor behind.
Still seated on the couch, Julie gasped as a pair of bullets struck her in the middle of her abdomen, perforating the firm, flat stomach muscles that she had labored so long to perfect at the gym.
"Ohhhhh . . . my . . . god . . .," stammered Julie, who looked down and pressed her hands into her ruined guts. The blonde began sobbing, in obvious agony. Her tears soon fogged up the lenses of her wire-frame glasses.
Sparky pivoted to his right, and now pointed his gun at the other two women, the bra-less red-head in the white tank top and the blonde in the blouse and skirt.
"NO, PLEASE!" exclaimed Jennifer, standing now but trapped by the tightly-packed furniture. Sparky fired a burst at the slender red-head, aiming for her smallish breasts, taking satisfaction in the fact that the young woman was obviously not wearing bra. An instant later, Jennifer's proud chest exploded in blood, a ragged line of bullets punching a line of dime-sized holes from her right breast, just below the red-pink nipple, then the point at which the right breast met her ribs, another where the gentle curve of her left breast just covered her heart, and a fourth just above the left nipple, grazing the areola. Her arms and red hair flailing, Jennifer gasped and crumpled back onto the couch.
"Julie . . . Jennifer . . . No!" Sheila stood in shock-horror, wide-eyed through her wire-frame glasses, looking at the mangled bodies of her friends. Pivoting quickly, and not even pausing to aim, Sparky's snap burst stitched across Sheila's pelvis, in a perfectly straight line from her right hip to her left hip at two-inch intervals.
"Ohhh . . . unnhh . . . nooo . . ." cried the slender blonde, as one bullet after another smacked into the lap area of her tight skirt, cut two inches above her knee.
Gore began to bubble out of the holes in Sheila's abdomen, quickly staining the light blue skirt with spreading circles of red blood. Now bent at the waist like a jack knife and grabbing at her throbbing feminine organs, Sheila simply crumpled to the floor and lay on her left side, moaning softly.
Sparky quickly changed clips, and then walked over to Sheila's prostrate form. Even badly wounded, the young woman was beautiful. A mixture of lust and rage now coursing through his veins, Sparky kicked the prone woman hard in her right shoulder, knocking her back onto the floor.
"Ohhhhh . . . ." moaned Sheila. Knocked back by the force of Sparky's kick, Sheila was now sprawled on her back, arms extended wide to either side, legs bent at the knee, with blood visibly oozing from the line of holes between her hips. Glassy-eyed and barely conscious, she scarcely noticed as Sparky knelt beside her, put down the Uzi, gripped the row of buttons at the center of the her starched white blouse, and violently tore the blouse open, exposing her pale chest and white bra. A few seconds later, she was vaguely conscious of pair of hands fumbling with her bra, and the sudden chill as the front clasp of her bra broke open and her small 32-A breasts bounced free.
Still kneeling, Sparky looked at the woman's exposed breasts for a few seconds. His adolescent hormones raging and unable to contain himself, Sparky grabbed at a breast with each hand, and began vigorously massaging the small fleshy mounds.
Dimly aware that her body was being violated, Sheila mumbled a few incoherent phrases, "no . . . what are you . . . stop . . ."
Jolted back to reality by the unexpected rebuff, Sparky grabbed the Uzi. He stood over Sheila's prone and semi-clad body, his legs straddling her torso at her waist, and pointed the Uzi directly at the woman's chest. Pausing for only a second to admire the young woman's naked breasts, Sparky pulled the trigger, pumping bullet after bullet into Sheila's helpless chest. First, Sparky stitched the small breasts from right to left just above the nipple line, five bullets tearing through Sheila's breasts, smashing through her ribs and sternum, ventilating Sheila's right lung, heart and left lung in turn, the thin breast tissue providing scant protection from the bullets speeding into her vital organs.
"Oooohhhhhooo. . . ." Sheila moaned as the bullets ripped open her chest. Involuntarily arching her back from the force of the first wave of bullets, Sheila's chest was thrust outward towards Sparky, and her riddled breasts seem to point right at him. Enraged by this reflexive act of defiance, Sparky immediately directed another burst of bullets back the other way, from left to right across her bare breasts, just below the nipples. Sheila's entire body quivered and shook, and the small breasts bounced rhythmically with each new impact, as five more fresh holes instantly appeared, in a horizontal line across her chest; two each in the fleshy part of each breast below the nipples, and one more in the lower part of her sternum. Warm blood began to dribble from each of the holes.
Sheila's pale chest had already suffered nearly a dozen wounds, not to mention the five to her lower abdomen. The young woman lay absolutely limp, eyes closed, arms stretched out to her side at a slight angle upward, her blouse and the cups of her bra hanging limply at her side, where they had fallen after Sparky's initial sexual assault, her legs bent slightly at the knee, revealing a hint of white cotton panties under her skirt. The young woman was obviously dead.
Sparky, however, was just getting started.
Now, Sparky methodically raked the dead young woman's breasts, directing a well-aimed, tightly-spaced burst from right to left across her small, bare breasts; a pair of bullets struck to either side of the distended right nipple, through the areola, then the sternum, in line with her nipples, the sternum again, just where the curve of her tiny left breast met her chest, then two hits to the bare left breast, again striking just to either side of the erect nipple, each slicing through the woman's areola on the way into her lung. Again Sheila's mangled body jerked and vibrated with each hit. By this time, however, so much injury had been done to her breasts that, as the small mounds shook and quaked with the violence of each new bloody impact, foamy blood pulsed and spurted from the still-intact nipples.
Fascinated by this new phenomenon, Sparky raked Sheila's chest a fourth time. Aiming carefully, Sparky methodically worked from left to right across the young woman's horribly abused chest. The tattered right breast jiggled as three bullets impacted the small mound in a rough triangle pattern around the nipple, two more bullets thudded into her sternum, and her left breast shook and vibrated as four more rounds churned the flesh in a random pattern about the nipple. Like before, Sheila's body shook and trembled, her nipples spurting a mixture of foamy blood and milk-like fluids in time with each new bloody impact.
"This is SO COOL . . ." thought Sparky, as he looked down at the young woman's shattered body. He never realized that shooting a young woman in her breasts could be so much fun. Smiling, he stared at her bullet-pocked breasts, as the nipples slowly oozed a mixture of foamy blood and milky-white fluids. So many bullets had struck the woman's breasts that several of the holes had practically merged together, and yellowish-white, fatty material had begun to dribble from many of the wounds. Her sternum showed similar signs of abuse; at least six bullets had penetrated the cleavage area between her breasts, each of which still leaked greater or lesser amounts of dark blood and clear fluids. Together with the line of bullets across her pelvis, Sparky estimated that he had shot the young woman more than twenty-five times.
"There is no such thing as excessive violence." Sparky had forgotten what movie that line came from, but it suddenly took on new meaning. So, wanting to see more fluid spurt from the dead woman's nipples, Sparky got ready to shoot Sheila again.
Suddenly, Sparky heard a faint cry for help to his left.
"Please . . . help . . . me . . ." It was Julie, still seated and slouching on the couch, her hands still tightly pressed against her abdomen and blood bubbling through her fingers.
Sparky turned and snapped off a quick burst at the young brunette. The first bullet struck her in the upper right breast, right at the point where the bra strap and 34-B bra cup came together, snapping a rib and passing through her lung, before lodging in her shoulder blade. The second round pierced Julie's body high on the left side, just below the collar bone. Both wounds began oozing blood, staining Julie's white, sleeveless blouse.
"Ooooohhhh . . . please . . . no . . . more," gasped Julie, her right hand moving from her guts to grip the new wound to her right breast.
"Will you die already?" Exasperated by the young woman's stamina, Sparky took several steps towards Julie and pointed the Uzi directly between her breasts. Now just three feet in away, Sparky pulled the trigger and emptied what was left of the current clip into the unfortunate woman's chest, as first one, then another, another, and finally a fourth hole rippled the fabric of Julie's blouse, in a random pattern between her breasts, each hole quickly filling with dark blood which further stained her white blouse. The third round severed the center strap of Julie's bra, and her breasts bounced free under the fabric of her blouse. Julie slumped deeper into the couch, and her arms fell lazily to her side.
Sparky looked at his watch. 1:05 a.m. He had spent far too much time in this room, and realized that he'd better pick up the pace if he was going to make the morning papers. Changing the now-empty clip, Sparky stepped out of the room back into the long hallway from which he had entered.
* * * * *
Still giddy from her evening's romp at the fraternity house across the way, Nancy finished rinsing off her nude body, caressed her 36-C boobs one last time, and turned off the shower. While the water had been running, she heard what sounded like firecrackers; oh well, this was fraternity rush week, so lots of stupid things were bound to happen up and down the row.
Grabbing a towel, she quickly dried her upper body and tied the towel around her waist for the short walk back to her room; it was late and this was no time for false modesty. Plus, she was still feeling a little cocky -- in more ways than one -- from her recent conquest, and hoped that her freshly-showered glow might attract some attention.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar sound -- could it be shooting? -- seemed to come from the next room. Nancy's heart raced, and she cautiously moved closer to the bathroom door. She did NOT want to get caught up in some stupid prank at this late hour.
Nancy gasped. At the doorway, she saw a man; well, a boy, really. And what looked like a gun. The towel slid from around her hips to the ground.
* * * * *
Walking down the dark hallway, Sparky noticed movement to his right; that's right, he'd forgotten about the girl in the shower. Then he saw her, a cute blonde, maybe nineteen years old, standing naked in the bathroom, nipples erect, a towel around her feet. Her bronzed skin, obviously the product of microwaves at the local beauty spa, contrasted with the white flesh of her breasts and pelvis.
Sparky casually pointed the gun at the young woman and fired.
Nancy's breasts burst, as a round bloody hole suddenly replaced both of her nipples, and blood began spurting from the holes.
"OHHHHHH MYY BREASTS!!!!!." Nancy shrieked and toppled over backwards, pressing a hand firmly against each of her ruined, bloody tits. She hit the tile floor hard on her back, and lay writhing and whimpering, still clutching at her breasts.
Sparky watched Nancy's writhing, naked form on the floor for a few seconds-- and then fired again. Bullets shattered the tile floor all around Nancy's prostrate form, spraying little tile chips like shrapnel in all directions. Amid the spray of tile chips, Nancy shook as bullet after bullet found her helpless body; one struck the hairy mound just above her vulva, tearing through Nancy's uterus and lodging in her pelvic bone; another penetrated her ribs just below the left breast. A round pierced her abdomen just below the sternum. Two more shattered her left shoulder. Another bullet passed through her guts, bounced off the tile floor and back into her body, mangling her intestines in both directions.
Even as he was pumping bullets into Nancy, Sparky wondered to himself, "where is everybody?" Heck, maybe they were all still asleep. He'd change that.
1:06 a.m. Hoping to set off confusion and panic that would draw the sleeping sorority girls from their rooms, Sparky pulled the fire alarm.
"Woooooooo . . . Wooooooo . . . Wooooooo." The high-pitched whine filled the sorority from a the alarm box near the fire switch, and garish red lights suddenly illuminated the long, dark hallway. The loud noise and lights created a surrealistic scene, as Sparky stood near the end of the hallway, hopefully waiting for more targets.
He didn't have to wait long. Standing at the end of the long hallway, he heard signs of life from behind several doors.
Someone turned on the hallway lights, finally illuminating the dark corridor.
A door opened a short distance down the hall to Sparky's right. "What's that horrible noise?" queried an unidentified female voice from within the room.
Kathy, a bleary-eyed blonde who was about to celebrate her twenty-first birthday, stumbled out into the hallway, bra-less, clad in a tight white tank top and lavender sweat pants, which were cut off at mid-thigh to resemble shorts.
"Just the stupid fire alarm . . . who are . . . OOhhhhhh!"
A line of bloody holes suddenly erupted across Kathy's medium-sized breasts. She staggered and fell, spread-eagled in the middle of the hallway.
"Kathy, what is it?"
Another girl -- Heather -- tumbled out of the same room. The large-breasted blonde was wearing nothing but high-cut lace panties. Sparky shot her the instant she came into view, bullets thudding into her lower right chest, just below the jiggling bare breast, then the exact center of her sternum, and finally her left breast, just above the naked nipple. Thrown back against the door frame, Heather gasped and toppled back into her room.
Sparky quickly changed clips.
The lateness of the hour was obviously a factor, as more half-asleep, half-drunk women began staggering out into the hallway, none of them yet comprehending that their lives were nearly at an end. Sparky slowly walked down the hall, waiting for each door to open.
Clad in a nothing but light blue panties, Kathleen Hancock stumbled dumbly out into the hall. The nineteen year-old blonde had a splitting headache, and vowed to raise hell at the next chapter meeting about these stupid false alarms.
"Uuunnggh. Ummpp." Sparky put two bullets through her sternum. Kathleen clutched at the fresh holes spurting her life's blood from between her large breasts, and collapsed, her limbs at crazy angles. Even though it was obvious that she was dead, Sparky fired off a quick burst at Kathleen's body, and enjoyed watching the dead woman's breasts quiver and shake as two more bullets struck each of the fleshy mounds, grazing her half-dollar sized areolas before smashing her ribs and speeding into her dead lungs.
A door opened directly to Sparky's left. There stood Carolyn Wilson, an eighteen year old blonde -- damn, were all these women blondes? -- clad in a lacy bra, which did little to conceal her perky 34-B breasts, and matching panties.
"What the fuck . . ." were Carolyn's last words, as Sparky stitched her from right to left across her perky breasts, five bullets cutting in turn through the flesh of her right breast, into her lung and out her back; her sternum at the juncture of her right breast, grazing her heart and lodging in her spine; her center sternum, directly through her heart; the lower fold of her left breast, just inward and below the areola; and the left breast again, through the areola just a fraction above the red-pink nipple. Carolyn's shoulders jerked left-right-left as the bullets ripped across her chest, and she involuntarily staggered backward into her room, finally tripping over a pile of magazines before crashing to the carpeted floor.
Sparky continued to walk slowly down the hallway, stepping over the bodies of his previous victims, and looking for more. He could vaguely make out the stairway at the end of the hall, which probably lead down towards the common areas on the first floor.
Some distance down the hall, another door opened. Sheryl Ridgeway, the petite house president, clad in a white wonderbra and a gray pleated skirt -- the type worn by high-school cheerleaders -- struggled into the hallway, still fidgeting with her matching gray pumps.
"Come on, you guys, cut it out!" snapped Sheryl, to no one in particular. The slender brunette really hated some of the responsibilities that came with the job, like riding herd on the junior members, but hey, the office would look good on her resume when she applied to law school next year.
"Unnnnngghh." Sheryl's dreams of Harvard Law ended in an instant, as two bullets penetrated her left breast, just to either side of the nipple, one round immediately punching out her back, the other striking a rib and disintegrating, causing massive damage to her left lung. In disbelief, Sheryl reflexively grabbed the door frame, and slowly slid down towards the floor, wide-eyed, as blood welling from her breast quickly saturated the left cup of her wonderbra -- "wounded bra," thought Sparky, congratulating himself on his cleverness.
Just then, a door opened close just behind on Sparky's left, and a tall brunette -- Kathleen Decker -- stumbled out into the hallway. The shapely young woman was dressed in a rumpled lavender dress, the same outfit that she'd passed out in a few hours before. Still very drunk and barely able to stand, the bleary-eyed woman stood dumbly in the hallway, surveying the bloody carnage but not understanding what it all meant.
Sparky turned and shot her, seven bullets tearing holes in a straight line diagonally up and across Kathleen's torso; the first entered her pelvis near her right hip, mangling the ovary, then three shots punched through the young woman's intestines in line with the first hit, a fifth bullet penetrated just below the fold of her left breast, a sixth shot took Kathleen through the bra and left breast, and a final shot pierced her left shoulder socket, below the collar bone. Kathleen simply crumpled to the floor like a rag doll, adding her bullet-riddled body to the growing numbers of dead in the hallway.
Peering into Kathleen's room, Sparky saw two more women, half-asleep on the adjoining couches, empty margarita glasses littering the adjacent coffee table.
"Close the door already," said one. "I've got to study tomorrow."
Kim, the shapely blonde accounting major who had just taken over as house treasurer, sat up on one couch. Dressed in a white cut-off t-shirt that barely covered her breasts, and thong panties, she didn't even look up but instead cradled her head in her hands, and resting her shoulders on her knees. Slightly hunched over, her medium-sized bra-less breasts hung loosely within her shirt, the lower curve of the breasts plainly visible.
"Uuuhhh."
Two bullets smacked into the center of Kim's chest, between her breasts, throwing her back against the couch, still sitting up, her arms flailing to either side. As Kim hit the couch, the cut-off t-shirt somehow rode up on her chest, revealing the two bloody holes between Kim's now exposed breasts.
The other woman, Beth Ferguson, wasn't even a member of this sorority; she was Kim's friend and had simply been visiting from out of town, intending to check out the campus the next day. Hoping to experience as much of college life as possible, she got drunk along with the rest and ended up passed out on this couch. Barely conscious and quite drunk, the seventeen year-old high-school senior sat up with difficulty, resting her weight on her palms. The sheet fell away from her chest, revealing a pair of naked 36-C breasts.
Sparky fired.
Five bullets ripped across the young brunette's breasts in a ragged line from right to left, just above the nipple line, tearing through breast tissue, shattering her ribs and shredding her lungs. As blood pumped from each of the five ugly holes in the young woman's chest, she fell backward with scarcely a sound, and lay on the couch with her arms at her side, forever ending any concerns over what college she should attend.
Sparky heard a series of shouts from down the hall.
"Oh my god!"
"They're shooting everyone!"
"We've got to get out of here!"
Jumping back into the hallway, Sparky darted down the hallway towards the sound of the shouts. Suddenly, Nikki emerged from one of the doors and began running down the hall towards the stairs. The vibrant blonde, who at twenty-two was probably the oldest woman in the sorority, was dressed only in a pair of tight acid-washed jeans, not yet fully zipped and with black silk panties plainly visible. Sparky was briefly transfixed by her perfectly-shaped 36-C breasts, bouncing in lazy rhythm as she ran.
Sparky shot her in the back, putting a round through her left shoulder blade, which burst out the front of chest, above the bare left breast. Nikki spun around as she fell, landing hard on her firm butt.
Sobbing now, Nikki lay on her back, raised herself on her elbows and began sliding backward, pushing with her feet in a futile effort to get away. Blood trickled down and over her left breast from the gaping exit wound in her upper chest.
"What a waste," thought Sparky, "but there's no time." Taking aim at Nikki's perfect breasts, Sparky squeezed the trigger and pumped bullets into the prone woman's chest. Three bullets penetrated the woman's chest in a straight line from right to left, the first bullet piercing her right breast directly through the nipple, mangling ribs and lung before bursting out her back, the second through the center of Nikki's sternum and into her heart, and the third into the left breast, through the left nipple, before striking a rib, fragmenting in all directions, and doing massive damage to the woman's left lung.
"OOoooaaaaaa...." screamed Nikki, as her back slammed down onto the floor, her arms flailing back over her head, her dreams of a graduation trip to Europe now forever gone.
Now realizing that "overkill" was half the fun, Sparky pointed his Uzi at the young woman and squeezed the trigger again just to see what would happen. Nikki's now-lifeless body jerked this way and that, as seven or eight more bullets tore holes in her ribs, her abdomen, and her bullet-pocked breasts, in a random pattern, doing massive -- and totally unnecessary -- damage to the dead woman's heart, lungs, and intestines.
Without warning, another door opened just to Sparky's left front, and two more women emerged. They froze when they saw Sparky.
"Ohmygod!" shrieked he first woman, Stephanie, an eighteen-year old dishwater blonde clad in a tight white tank top and white thong-cut cotton panties.
The second woman, Amy, a wholesome-looking nineteen year-old brunette who wore only a pair of lacy panties, cowered behind Stephanie.
Sparky pointed his Uzi directly at Stephanie's chest and pulled the trigger.
Click.
"Run!" shouted Stephanie, who quickly raced down the hall and down the stairs. Amy followed immediately behind.
"Shit!" Sparky fumbled with a fresh clip, frantically trying to reload before more women got passed him and down the stairs.
Another door opened. Kathryn, a pale-complexioned red-head, stood in the doorway, attempting to tuck her unbuttoned white blouse into her knee-length emerald green business skirt. In an instant, she saw Sparky – and the bodies.
"Oh my god!" screamed Kathryn, her eyes wide with terror and her hands now covering her mouth.
"GO!" screamed another voice from behind.
"But . . . they're DEAD," protested Kathryn, still frozen with terror.
Unable to wait any longer, Allison emerged from the doorway, pushed past Kathryn and ran towards the stairwell. The twenty-one year-old blonde psych major was dressed in a flimsy lace bra, which was barely sufficient to contain her bouncing 34-B breasts, together with matching panties.
"Shit. Shit." Sparky fumbled with the clip and snapped it into the Uzi.
Lisa Carter, a perky eighteen year-old blonde with a seductive, slutty look, burst out of the room, clad in a white knit bikini top and cut-off denim shorts. Briefly confused by the surreal situation, Lisa stood frozen for a second, then made eye contact with Sparky.
"No! It's the psycho!" screamed Lisa, who quickly turned and ran down the hall.
"Psycho this, you bitch!" Sparky pulled back the bolt on the Uzi, and fired a snap burst down the hall at Lisa. Bullets thudded into the walls and ceiling light fixtures, bursting a light bulb and sending a spray of sparks to the floor. Uninjured, Lisa disappeared down the stairwell.
"No . . . no . . . no" sobbed Kathryn.
Five feet away, the red-head still stood frozen against the door frame, pleading with her eyes, starched white blouse unbuttoned and partially tucked into her emerald-green knee length business skirt. Her legs were held tightly together, her feet sported matching emerald green pumps, and her arms were held behind her back, desperately gripping the door frame. Her long fiery red hair reached down over her shoulders, stopping just above the lacy white bra, which shrouded her average-sized breasts. Her complexion, pale to begin with, had almost gone white with fear.
Without really aiming, Sparky snapped off a quick burst at the terrified young woman. Three bullets struck her in the lower abdomen, in a small triangle pattern directly between her hips, mangling her uterus and lodging in her pelvis. Dark fluids oozed from the three ugly holes, staining her green skirt with blood.
"Uuuuuhhhh . . .oohhhh" Kathryn gasped, gripped the wounds with her left hand, and slowly slid down the door frame, legs bending at the knee.
Suddenly, Alexandra -- her friends called her Ally -- appeared at the door. The twenty-one year old blonde communications major was dressed in a tight white t-shirt and light-colored acid-washed blue jeans. Hoping to catch the eye of the firemen, Ally had been delayed by the necessity of selecting and putting on her "fire drill" outfit. Possessed of wholesome, girl-next-door looks, she was probably the only woman in the house that would have treated Sparky like a human being, given the chance.
The chance was not given. Ally abruptly stopped and looked up, making eye contact with Sparky as she realized the gravity of her situation.
"Oh please no . . ."
Oblivious to her pleas, Sparky focused his eyes on Ally's small breasts. It was so cool the way he could see right through the flimsy t-shirt and make out every detail of the woman's bra; he admired the way the straps and padding conspired to make her smallish 32-A breasts appear to be a more-respectable 34-B. An engineering marvel.
Sparky shot her in the breasts.
In a microsecond, bullets penetrated both of Ally's small breasts, through the nipples, the soft breast tissue, ribs, lungs, and finally more ribs, before exiting out her back, leaving gaping exit wounds in their wake.
"AAAAhhhhhhaaaaa." Ally screamed and fell back into the room, her limbs at crazy angles. Flat on her back, she began coughing as her lungs filled with blood and other fluids, struggling to pull her outstretched hands to her chest.
Sparky fired again.
More dark holes appeared in the fabric of Ally's white t-shirt.
"Ooohh. Unngh. Unghhh . . ." Totally helpless, Ally shook wildly as two bullets tore through her intestines at the narrowest part of her waist, then one in her left lower chest, smashing ribs and further damaging her lung, another in her guts, angling up and through her liver, and then a shot that impacted directly between her breasts. Each hole was quickly replaced by a round, spreading circle of blood. Ally's arms jerked and finally came to rest stretched outward from her body, pulling tight the fabric of her t-shirt. The effect was to highlight the curves of her body and breasts, the cups and straps of her bra, and the bloody holes in her abdomen and chest.
"I just love this .... ," thought Sparky, smiling. Aiming more carefully at the young woman's dead body, Sparky took a step forward and fired again.
Ally's unfeeling torso shook violently as a line of four fresh holes opened up from right to left across her chest, her arms and small breasts quivering with each new impact; the first bullet striking Ally just below her right breast, cracking ribs and piercing liver and lung, the second entered through the sternum near the existing heart wound, a third tore through her left breast, penetrating the bra just up and in from the remains of the left nipple, and the fourth struck her in the left upper chest, cutting the bra strap where it connected with the left breast cup, before slicing through her lung and out her back. Little bits of white fabric were kicked up with each fresh impact in her tight white tank top. Even through the bloody remains of her t-shirt, Sparky could still make out the straps of Ally's padded bra. Sparky smiled. This young woman had obviously wanted attention drawn to her breasts, and Sparky was happy that he had been able to give Ally's breasts the attention that they deserved. Bullets. And lots of them.
Lowering his aim slightly, just for fun, Sparky fired again.
Ally's bullet-riddled torso shook violently once more, as three bullets punched through her intestines at the line of her waist, leaving ugly black holes in their wake.
Lowering his aim once more, Sparky fired again.
Ally's legs shook and her hips rolled right and left as four more rounds tore through the front of her tight blue jeans; the first bullet penetrating the light blue denim just above the dead woman's vulva, doing indescribable damage to her delicate feminine organs; the second impacting near the first and doing more of the same as it smashed her pubic bone, before mutilating her vagina and cervix; a third piercing her pelvis slightly higher, tumbling madly as it shredded her uterus; the fourth entering her body to the left of the third, performing an involuntary and partial sterilization as it severed her fallopian tube.
"Ally . . . no."
Sparky looked down and saw Kathryn seated on the floor, legs spread wide, tightly gripping her bleeding pelvis with both hands.
From a range of barely four feet, Sparky emptied the clip into the woman's chest. Kathryn screamed as the fabric of her starched white blouse rippled and parted, revealing little geysers of blood, a half-dozen in all, that suddenly appeared in a random pattern in her chest, ventilating her heart and both lungs. As the rounds impacted, Kathryn involuntarily arched her back, showing off her bullet-pocked sternum and breasts, scarcely concealed by the bloody remains of her lacy white bra which, its center-strap cut, had fallen away from Kathryn's chest, each cup barely held up and hanging loosely over her nipples.
Sparky heard screaming voices from down the hall; actually from down the stairs, as Sparky soon realized.
Still the fire alarm blared, although mush less loudly at this end of the hall. Walking towards the stairs, Sparky heard overlapping panicked shouts.
"It won't open!!!"
"We can't get out!"
"Oh my God!"
"Hurry!"
"Try the windows!!"
"They've got bars!"
Snapping a fresh clip into the Uzi, Sparky walked down the stairs, ready to finish the job.
In the front entry, all four of the women who had escaped -- Stephanie, Amy, Lisa and Allison -- were assembled in the front foyer, frantically pushing on the front door in a desperate effort to escape the house of death.
Amy, still dressed only in a pair of white thong panties, spotted Sparky coming down the stairs and began jumping up and down.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod . . ." Amy screamed hysterically, and covered her breasts with her hands. The others quickly joined in and all four huddled in the corner of the room. It did not take long before they began begging for mercy.
"Please don't kill me!" screamed Allison.
"My father's rich -- I'll get you anything you want!" added Stephanie.
"Look, you can even have sex with me, okay?" suggested Lisa.
"SHUT UP!" shouted Sparky, pointing his Uzi at the women to emphasize his seriousness. Attempting to comply, the girls began whimpering and remained huddled tightly together.
"Line up over there and you won't get shot," said Sparky, pointing to he picture-covered brick wall to his right. Of course he intended to kill them, but he thought that he'd have some fun, first. The girls looked at each other, but did not move.
"MOVE!" Sparky fired a shot into the ceiling.
A few screams, and the young women moved over toward the wall; from left to right, at roughly two-foot intervals, stood Stephanie, Allison, Amy and Lisa, still whimpering. Shaking and barely able to contain himself, Sparky watched his victims for a few seconds. None of the young women dared make eye contact with Sparky.
In particular, he noticed Lisa's loose- knit white bikini top. The top had little tightly-knit squares in the center of each cup that were intended to protect her modesty. He did not think that they would protect her breasts from bullets.
"What . . . are you . . . going to do?" stammered Allison. Sparky shot a murderous look at the blonde psych major, and pointed the Uzi at her 34-B breasts, held by a lacy white bra. Allison held her breath and closed her eyes. She had recently celebrated her twenty-first birthday; she really wanted to see another.
At the end of the line, Stephanie had been fidgeting nervously and biting her lip. Unable to stand the tension any longer, Stephanie blurted out a fateful phrase; "Why are you doing this? You're just a kid!"
Enraged by the impertinent comment, Sparky turned on the eighteen year-old dishwater blonde and fired a long burst, raking from right to left along the line of young women.
"Noooooo!" screamed Stephanie, as the first bullet fired by Sparky penetrated her large right breast through the areola, inward of the nipple; her chest thrust outward as she began spinning to the right, arms straight out from her sides. A second bullet struck her in the ribs, just below her left breast.
"Uuhhhhhhh." Allison grunted as a bullet smacked into her ribs, just below her right breast. An instant later, another hit her directly in the middle of her sternum, just above the bra strap, and a third bullet struck her left breast, about one inch above the nipple. Allison was thrown sharply backward against the brick wall.
"Ohhhhh. Unghhh."
A bullet struck Amy's bare right breast just below the nipple, slicing through the thin 32-A breast tissue on its way into her lung. Another struck her in the left-center chest, just at the point where the curve of her small left breast met her chest. Blood spurted from the unexpected hole in her heart.
"Ooooohhh my God!" shrieked Lisa, the perky blonde, as first her right breast, and then her left breast, was penetrated by a bullet directly through the center of each of the white fabric squares in her knit bikini top, through her nipples, through the thin breast tissue behind, her ribs, lungs, ribs again, and then out her back. Blood literally spurted from the holes in her breasts, almost as if they had been wired with blood "squibs," like in the movies. Even as she was thrown backward against the wall, Lisa immediately brought her hands to her chest, pushed her hands under the loose-fitting knit top and grabbed a mangled breast with each hand.
Sparky paused to survey the damage.
Stephanie lay on the ground, bent at the waist but chest high, tightly gripping her right breast with both hands. Blood oozed from between her fingers, and also spurted from the bullet wound below her left breast. Her legs were partially spread apart, revealing that her white thong panties had ridden up the split of her vaginal lips.
Allison was obviously dead. Three ugly, dark holes were plainly visible in her chest, and her lace bra was drenched with blood. Having bounced off the brick wall before she collapsed, she lay on her back next to Stephanie, spread eagled on the carpeted floor, arms high over her head.
Amy too, was dead. She lay on her left side, at the base of the brick wall, her left arm outstretched and her right arm bent over her head. A small amount of dark blood slowly dripped from the hole in the center of her chest, between her small bare breasts. A bruise had appeared around the dark hole in her small right breast, but the wound was no longer bleeding.
A few blood splatters were visible on her lacy white panties, which barely concealed her pubic hair and vaginal lips.
At the end of the line, Lisa was slumped against the wall, still gripping her injured breasts with each hand. The young blonde's knit top had ridden up her chest as she slid down the wall, with the back tie coming undone, and it now hung loosely around her neck. Her breathing was labored as her lungs filled with blood and other secretions.
Sparky checked his watch; only 1:09 a.m. Still time.
Realizing that this was his last chance to have some fun, Sparky moved quickly. Putting down his Uzi for a moment, he walked over to Stephanie, pushed her left knee up and kicked her hip back, so now she lay flat on her back. She moaned, and her hands fell away from her right breast and lay at her side. He pulled her leg to line her up with Allison.
Now darting to the other side of the room, he grabbed Amy's left leg arm, and pulled her body away from the wall. Sparky kept pulling the slender woman's leg until she no longer touched the wall; her arms were now back over her head and her feet pointed towards the center of the room.
Finally, Sparky grabbed Lisa by both ankles and pulled her away from the wall.
"Nooooo. . ." Lisa meekly protested as she was dragged from the wall, the back of her head hitting the carpet as she was pulled away. Sparky then pulled the loose bikini top away from her neck, and tossed it aside. Next, he grabbed her limp wrists, pulled her bloody hands from her breasts, and tossed her limp arms to either side of her body, exposing her bullet-pocked nipples. Finally, Sparky unzipped Lisa's denim cut-off shorts, and with minor difficulty pulled them over Lisa's feminine hips and down her legs, stopping at the knees, revealing Lisa's high-cut white cotton panties and a hint of dark pubic hair beneath.
All four women now lay lined up on the floor, side by side, a foot or two distance between each of them, bare feet pointed towards the center of the room. Stephanie's arms lay at her side; all the others' arms were outstretched over their heads.
"First, the breasts," Sparky said aloud. Gleefully, and smiling from ear to ear, Sparky snapped a fresh clip into the Uzi and took up a central position about three feet in front of he dead and dying women -- and fired, squeezing off a long burst from right to left across the chests of the helpless young women.
"Ohhh . . . . nngggnn . . . mmmmmm. . . . ."
Stephanie's large breasts jiggled like jello in an earthquake beneath her thin white tank top, as several more nine-millimeter slugs joined the two that had already violated her body. A bullet struck her right breast, just above the nipple; another penetrated the large breast just inward of the right nipple. Each bullet sped through her breast and ribs, lodging in her lung. The fabric of her tight white tank top rippled again as two slugs struck her sternum, piercing her heart, and another entered her left breast through the dark nipple, plainly-visible through the flimsy white tank top.
Allison's dead chest shook violently, her breasts quivering in the blood-soaked bra, as five more rounds found new homes in her vital organs; the first through her right areola, just above the nipple; the second through her sternum, practically on top of the existing bloody hole; the third in the upper abdomen, below the sternum; the fourth through the ribs below her left breast; and a fifth into her left breast, nicking the bottom of her left areola as the bullet sped through flesh, ribs and lung.
Amy's arms flopped like dead fish, her torso shook violently, and her small breasts quaked, as Sparky pumped round after round into her lifeless body; her back repeatedly and involuntarily arched, and her chest thrust outward, as three fresh holes appeared in her bare right breast in a rough triangle around the nipple, each hole touching the edge of her right areola, frothy blood and milky-white fluids pulsed from Amy's right nipple in time with the three new impacts to her bare right breast; a round struck at the point where the lower curve of her right breast met her chest; then a bullet smacked into her sternum, lodging in her now-silent heart; another hit the sternum right beside and to the left; still another penetrated the wildly-vibrating left breast just left of the nipple; another bullet somehow hit the bouncing left nipple itself; and a final bullet punched through the bare left breast just outside of her left nipple, clipping the dead woman's left areola.
Lisa had already drifted into unconsciousness by the time the latest swath of destruction reached her helpless body. Suddenly, like her dead sorority sisters a few feet away, Lisa's torso began to shake violently as additional bullets penetrated her nubile young body; both outstretched arms and her bare breasts shaking in crazy rhythm with each new impact. A bullet struck her naked right breast, below the nipple, doing further damage to her already blood-soaked lung. Another hit just above and inward of the right nipple, and a third impacted an inch to the right of the second. Lisa's entire body was now shaking with the ferocity of the violent attack, and her upper torso bounced up and down with each new impact. A round hit her in the sternum, dead center between the breasts, the next hit just to the left, also penetrating the sternum; both rounds tumbling through the young blonde's heart. The next hit the thin fold of breast tissue just below her left nipple, grazing the areola. Two more rounds struck Lisa's naked left breast in rapid succession, first to the left, and then to the right of the oozing nipple wound.
Smoke rose from the barrel of the Uzi. The four young women lay unmoving before him, their bullet-pocked chests standing in mute testimony to the savagery of the attack that had claimed their lives.
Still it was not enough to satisfy Sparky's savage blood lust. Wasting no time, Sparky snapped in a fresh clip -- his last. He placed the gun at his right rip, and lowered his aim to a line roughly even with the women's hips.
Sparky addressed his captive audience.
"And now . . . I think one of you wanted to have sex." In his best thick Cuban accent, Sparky announced, "Well, say hello to my little friend!"
From left to right, Sparky rapidly sprayed the helpless bodies, consciously intending to brutalize each young woman's delicate feminine organs.
Stephanie's legs and hips shook as three dark holes suddenly appeared just above the waistband of her white cotton panties, at one-inch intervals. The lacy white fabric over Allison's pubic mound erupted once, then twice, as two bullets violated the blonde psych major's innermost self. Amy's hips rocked as a bullet shattered her pubic bone, another hit her pubic mound, and a third struck her vagina, violating her virginal pussy. Two bullets tore little holes in the center fabric of Lisa's white cotton panties; dark blood and clear fluids slowly seeped from the wounds and stained her panties with gore.
Right to left, Sparky sprayed the dead women again. Lisa shook as her pubic mound literally exploded; three more closely-spaced bullets tore open her white cotton panties, mangling her vagina, cervix and uterus. Amy's hips rolled back and forth; four fresh holes erupted across her lower abdomen, in a straight line from hip to hip, at two-inch intervals, destroying her ovaries and uterus. Allison was shot in her vulva. The white cotton fabric over Stephanie's pubic mound erupted with little gouts of blood and hair, as two more bullets tore through her cervix and uterus.
Sparky looked at his watch. 1:15 a.m.
Satisfied at last that he'd done sufficient violence to the bodies of the four young women who dared to try to foil his plans, Sparky decided that he'd better get the heck out of there before the authorities arrived. Besides, he was starting to hear sirens blazing in the distance.
Hurrying up the stairs, he chuckled to himself as he looked up the long hallway; scantily-clad young women lay motionless at crazy angles from end-to-end. Thanks to Sparky, they were all dead.
All but one. As Sparky passed by, one young woman -- Sheryl, the house president -- weakly flailed at Sparky. Amazed that she was still alive, Sparky looked her over.
The petite brunette still lay slumped against the door frame, where she had fallen moments earlier, dressed in a gray pleated skirt and matching gray pumps. The left cup of her white wonderbra was saturated with blood, and Sparky could see that blood was still pumping from the two bullet wounds to her left breast, slowly running down the front of her body. Having exhausted her remaining strength with her furtive slap at Sparky, her arms now hung limply at her sides.
Glassy eyed, Sheryl looked up at Sparky.
"Why?" she asked.
"Why not?" was Sparky's instant rhetorical response. And then, at a range of three feet, he shot her in the breasts.
"Ooooaaaahhh." Sheryl moaned and her chest involuntarily thrust outward, as six more bullets peppered across her chest; a bullet impacted her upper right breast, cutting the slender strap the held the right breast cup in place; the next hit her square in the soft right nipple, now exposed by the slumping bra cup, mangling her small 32-A breast, ribs and lung, in turn; a bullet impacted the exact center of her sternum at the nipple line, a little rush of heart blood suddenly welling up from the wound; another hit her sternum just below the last, cutting the center bra strap before doing further damage to Sheryl's heart; devoid of support, her small breasts suddenly broke free and bounced before regaining equilibrium; as the left cup fell away, a fifth bullet tore into Sheryl's body at the point where the lower curve of her left breast met her chest, and the sixth impacted the now-exposed left breast an inch above and outward of the left nipple. Sheryl toppled over to her right and lay twisted on the carpeted floor, her bare, bullet-pocked breasts briefly the subject of Sparky's gaze.
Sparky smiled.
"Mission accomplished. And thank you all for a lovely evening," he quipped, before running down the hallway, jumping over the mangled, bloody bodies of one dead woman after another.
Out the back door and walking away now, Sparky looked over his shoulder at the Kappa Gamma Theta sorority one last time, the mental images of the carnage he had wrought still fresh in his mind. He began whistling his favorite song, "Satisfaction," by the Rolling Stones. Sparky was not yet satisfied; he'd have to find a way to do this again.
Smiling, Sparky grabbed his gear, hopped on his bicycle and rode away.