Murder Inc., Part 1 - by Kimnikki

Murder Inc.
Part 1

The stewardess asked me for the fifth time if everything was all right. I had started to cry again, but there was no way I could tell her what was really wrong. I knew that if I just kept telling her that I was okay, the concerned woman would just keep coming back. I told her that I was going to the funeral of an old friend. That was not too far from the truth after all. I was actually going to the death of an old friend. She was very sympathetic, and now having established that I would be okay if given some time, she stopped paying so much attention to me.

Crying was so idiotic, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I had arranged for all of this, so why the heck was I so broken up about it? I had made all the arrangements, paid out the contract, as well as a bonus for having it done the way I wanted. In fact I had paid a great deal extra to have the "full package deal" that they offered me, as well as my own special requests. Having been the one who arranged this murder it was stupid, not to mention weak, for me to be the one crying.

I had been into hard BDSM play for years. When I discovered Snuff sex and what it was all about, I was very intrigued. Then one day on the net I found a chat channel all about it. God it was good. I spent night after night in that channel watching and participating in the horrible yet incredibly sexy murders that happened there. Victim after victim died there, yet could be done again the next day. I also found other snuff style chat rooms and lots of websites about snuffsex and necrosex.

But after a couple of years that was not enough. The more I thought about it the more I just had to do it for real. No more play, no more games. But how? Then, as I began to talk more and more openly about what I really wanted I noticed two things. First many people stopped chatting with me. The fact I wanted to do it for real scared a lot of people, and rightly so I know that. But I just had to do it. My net play, and real life BDSM where not enough.

But it was the second thing that had me brought to this plane and on this trip. One day someone using the handle MurderInc. contacted me on line. They said they could full fill my wildest fantasy's ... for the right price. As I got to know them better and better I realised that they were on the up and up. This was real, not a joke.

They even had a woman who had paid them to snuff HER contact me before they did her. I was even allowed to meet her on one of my business trips. She told me how she wanted to die ... God did that ever turn me on. We talked about our love of snuff sex, and I was really regretful that I had not met her earlier. Then a few days after that meeting I saw a picture of the murdered woman in her local paper when her body was found (just as she had told me it would be) in her local park. Part of her fantasy had been to be found like that and be photoed and stared at by people. She was already dead; they had no reason to carry though her plan, yet they did.

Later that night MurderInc. contacted me again, and sent me pics of her death. I masturbated for hours to them. They had done exactly what she told me she had paid them for.

I knew then that they could and would fulfill my fantasy. They contacted me again and we began to discuss it. They offered me a "special package deal". When they told me what was involved I could not resist. No matter the cost it was worth every penny. I told them what I wanted and exactly how I wanted my victim to die, and they asked for tons of info about her. They seemed somewhat surprised by the depth of my fantasy, but pleased and excited as well. They told me how much what I wanted would cost. Finally I arranged for half the money to be sent to a Swiss account.

It had taken five months to arrange everything the way I wanted. Those five months had been the longest wait of my life. But now it was all set up. I was on my way to Toronto to meet them and to have Kimberly, the woman whom I had fantasised about killing for five years, snuffed while I was there to enjoy every minute of it.

But when the time came and I was talking with them about the actual final arrangements, I all but lost courage. The money was no problem ... I was very successful and had lots of money. But it was the thought of what Kim would go through that stopped me. As bad as I needed her to die like this, the thought of what would happen to her filled me with guilt and remorse, not so much for her as for her family whom I knew very well. Her mother would especially be devastated.

Oddly enough, it was a woman whom I talked to about the contract, and when I almost broke up on the phone, she had suggested a way to stop feeling so bad about it. Don't think of her as "Kimberly" the strangely accented voice on the phone had said. "Don't think of her name, or what she looks like, the things she loves or how much life she has ahead of her. She is just a thing to be used for your pleasure, to die so that you can experience what you've longed for for so many years." If I had to refer to her, just use the words "She" or "Her" or better yet "It" the woman had told me.

"Her life is now yours, to do with as you please. 'It' is a tool to be used and then thrown away when you have had what YOU need. Just keep thinking of 'It' that way," the nameless female voice on the phone had told me.

No matter how hard I tired, I could not get to the "It" stage, but I could get to the "Her" and "She" stage. So I stopped thinking of how much pain Kimberly was going to go through once they had begun their work and concentrated on how much pleasure, just how intense an experience she was going to give me. I had wanted it for so long, and if "She" had to die for me to get it, then so be it.

I was unable to get the image of her, set out as I had paid for, writhing in agony, screaming in pain while I was there for every delicious moment. It sent shivers of lust up and down my body. That really helped me get myself under control. I supplanted guilt for lust. And the more I thought about what would be done to "Her" the more turned on I got. Soon all I could think about was meeting these men, getting "Her" set up, and then getting started.

The stewardess seemed to notice my change, and seemed confused by the sudden switch in my emotions. I guess that watching for people with wild mood swings gets to be second nature for a stewardess. As almost always, I began to imagine what THIS woman would look like in the position Kimbe- ... "She" ... would be in soon, and my heart started to race.

Imagining this tall, good looking, thirty-something blonde shrieking her lungs out in agony, her beautiful body arching against the pain, soon had me hot all over. I was staring at her, my mind filled with the evil things that could be done to her, my body surging with lust. My eyes roamed up and down her body, imagining it covered in her own blood.

Then I realised just how intently I was staring. I could see that she had noticed me staring at her, and to my surprise my hot lusty stare did not offend her, in fact she smiled and walked over.

"Well, you seem to be feeling better. Perhaps you'd rather not be alone tonight ... with your grief that is." She smiled, and slipped me a business card, with a cell phone number on the back. I regretted that I would be leaving as soon as "She" was finished and would not have the opportunity to meet this woman later.

"Sorry dear," I told her with genuine regret, "but I'm leaving tonight right after the funeral, so I won't be able to meet you later."

"Ah well," she replied, "keep it, maybe you'll change your mind."

I doubted that. That was part of what I had paid so much money for. Once I got on this plane the contract had started. Ki- ... "She" ... was going to die for me today, even if I told them to stop. Not only had I paid extra to see it done the way I wanted, but also for the fact that no one could cancel the contract, not even me.

Now feeling more prepared, I was able to sit quietly and rehearse in my mind what would happen later tonight. The more I thought about "Her", the more hot I got. I once again started staring at the stewardess, imagining her beside Kimb- ... "Her" ... both of them holding to each other in their final agony. Oh God, was that ever a hot thought.

Finally, after our eyes meeting several times, my flight arrived and with one final regretful glance at the stewardess, I got off the plane. I was much better prepared now, but my heart still started beating like a frightened rabbits when I saw the two huge men at the foot of the escalator that led to the luggage pick up. They were both at least 6'4" and no less than 275 pounds, not a pound of it fat. As I was told, they both were in dark grey business suits and each had a rose in his lapel.

As part of the contract, because I was going to be personally involved, I had been obliged to send a photo of myself. So I was not surprised when they seemed to recognise me and came forward to introduce themselves.

"Hello," said the bigger of the two, "you must be Sam Houston?" This had been the name I was told to use. Cliché, but it was THEIR business, so they were the experts. I froze for a moment; after all, these men were paid killers. I was still nervous, even if I was the one paying, and so all I was able to do was nod.

He seemed to sense this, because he smiled and said, "Don't worry, everything is going just the way you asked. No worries. By the way, I'm Carl, and this is Frank." He gestured towards the other muscle man who gave me a smile as well.

I was very surprised by his voice. I had expected a rough and thickly accented voice, but he had a deep gentle way of talking with a cultured voice that immediately relaxed me. "How much luggage did you bring?" Frank asked. He also had the same cultured and gentle voice.

"Just my carry on, I'm not staying long." This was the code I was given so that they both knew I was who they thought I was. If they had the wrong passenger, then the conversation would have seemed innocent.

"Let's go then, Sam." Carl led the way, with Frank behind me. We left the airport and waiting for us was the limo, as promised. We piled in, with the two human mountains on either side of me. I was faintly surprised to see that the driver was a woman. She was even wearing a chauffeur's uniform. She put the car in gear, left the airport and in moments was on the highway.

"Look," Frank said after a few minutes in a sheepish kind of voice that seemed so out of place in such a big man. "I know you paid for the full package, but the Boss always gives the clients one last chance to back out. 'She' is not gonna die easy you know. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

I almost panicked at that point. Were they backing out of the deal? Oh fuck no!!! I would go mad if I got this close only to have it taken away!

"Don't tell me your backing out?!" I almost screamed the words.

Carl took my hand and gave it a firm squeeze to get my attention. It was like being held by an iron vice. "Hey ... calm down ... like I said its all going the way you want. It's just our policy, even on the full job, to give you one last chance to call it off. Boss figures that if you really don't deep down want 'Her' killed, catching you off guard like this will make you back off."

I noticed that even these two killers referred to "Her" as "She" or "Her". The service they offered was fairly unique, so I guess that with the often-personal methods they were hired to employ, they had to get some distance from the victim.

But strangely enough, all they had provoked in me was a sense of panic of it NOT happening. As nervous, guilty and scared as I was, my lust and need for this was much stronger. Now, more then ever, I knew I wanted "Her" to die, and that I had to go through with it.

I looked Carl dead in the eyes, and even though I could not stop trembling, I was able to hold my voice steady.

"I'm more sure now then when I hired you boys. Lets do it." Then all my courage deserted me as I realised, truly realised, that it was now inevitable, and there was no going back. I felt my heart turn to ice and I'm sure my face paled.

Without the slightest warning, Frank grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back so hard and so far that I thought he was trying to break them. Then just as quickly Carl dipped into his pocket, removed a plastic bag and pulled a cloth from it. He jammed the cloth hard over my mouth and nose, cutting off the scream I could not stop.

It smelled terrible, like some kind of harsh, cloying mouthwash. I had been screaming when he put it there, and I could not help but get a mouth and nose full of it. Almost immediately I could feel it in my lungs, and my head began to spin a moment later. I bucked and fought, trying to chew Carl's hand through the cloth. This was not what I paid for!

"Don't fight it sweetie, let it take you away. It's just to get you to our club without you shrieking your head off the whole way and getting the cops on us. Don't worry, you'll get what you paid for and you'll be wide-awake. You got my word on that." Carl's deep, soothing voice combined with the drug to make we woozy in seconds.

Even thought I understood his words, in my panic they didn't get through. I still fought to get loose, but the drug did its work, and soon the world got smaller and smaller. The last thing I felt was Frank letting my arms go, and Carl stroking my hair, saying over and over, "Don't worry, Kimberly ... we'll take good care of you."