Posted by Luthor on February 21, 2000 at 06:07:43:
Hello all. I'm not a regular here, but I surf in from time to time to enjoy the stories and dialog, and find the site quite entertaining. I figured it was only fair that I contribute a little something, and since there doesn't seem to be any way to post one of my illustrations, I thought some of you might enjoy reading the first chapter of a story I've been working on. It was initially inspired by this board and it's denizens, so I thought it only fair that you get a chance to see what I've come up with so far.
On a purely technical note, I'm attempting to post it as a 'cut and paste' job through wordpad. I saved it as a text file with line breaks from MS Word. I'm rather technically inept, so if it shows up as a random jumble of characters, chalk it up to one more instance of machine's superiority over man.
Interlude
by
Luthor
Part One
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she asked in a soft, shaky whisper. The silence that
followed filled the air like a fog, dense and palpable.
“Yes,” he said at last. His words held no malice. No passion. He was genuinely sorry for
what he was about to do. He was no killer, after all. Yes, he had killed. When necessary. A man
has a right to protect himself, but he had never enjoyed that part of it. It was simply a
regrettable requisite of his chosen avocation.
He was a rapist.
That part he enjoyed. The shock in the eyes of his beautiful victims as he sprang from his
hiding place, usually a bedroom closet or bathroom. The disbelief. The confusion. The sudden
intake of breath. Sometimes he’d even stand behind a drawn shower curtain and wait patiently
for the woman to undress and prepare for a nice, relaxing soak. The expression on those lovely
faces as they pulled back the curtain and discovered his presence excited him as nothing else
could. The sudden realization that their safe, familiar world had in an instant become a place of
danger. Of death. God, he loved it! He always waited a second or two before pouncing, savoring
the exquisite flavor of the moment. He knew from experience that he could afford the time.
Human beings are laughably predictable creatures. When confronted by the unexpected, they
freeze. He’d found that it takes the female brain roughly 3.5 seconds (give or take) to
comprehend the nature of her danger and begin to react. 3.5 seconds for him to bask in the
rush of her terror. 3.5 seconds to revel in the power of his actions, the drama of his intent. 3.5
seconds that made his heart pound and his breath quicken.
He lived for those 3.5 seconds.
Of course what came next was fun, too. The rape. It always started out the same. There’d be
begging and pleading. Tears usually. Most would invariably implore him to take whatever he
wanted, but not hurt them. He always agreed. It made it easier if the poor doomed bitches
believed they would survive the ordeal. Hope made them pliable. Some even cooperated
willingly, seeking to please him enough to gain some small measure of safety. He didn’t mind.
Whether by force or by consent, all he was interested in was the sex. And the power. Either way,
he had both. He liked to think more than a few of them even enjoyed the experience. He was a
marvelous lover, he knew, proud of his prowess and proficiency. His big cock could pump hard
and deep for almost half an hour before filling their tight cunts. And he was still good for two or
three rounds a night, despite having reached his 35th birthday some weeks back. All their
protests and tears, he suspected, were simply for show. Hell, he was probably the best lay most
of them ever had!
And the last.
Killing them always made him a bit wistful. He was a sensitive man, after all. Loving even. He
had a family and a life and a world quite separate and removed from his occasional nocturnal
depravities. A world he got along quite well in. He was not one of those sexual sociopaths they
dissect on the afternoon talk shows in between episodes of transsexual dwarf pedophiles and
women who love their Saint Bernards. He did not just pretend to fit into his normal, everyday life,
it fit him like a glove. He enjoyed his Friday night poker game and his daughter’s ballet recitals,
and he was even coach of his son’s Pee-Wee football league. He was in every respect simply a
normal man. All this other business, the raping, the killing, was just a sort of hobby. Everybody
needed a way to release tension, to blow off steam, and this was his. It was a shame that they
had to die, of course. The girls. They were so beautiful, so full of life, but he was a practical man.
They could identify him. Send him to prison. He couldn’t risk that. It was self-defense, really.
A man has a right to protect himself.
He looked down at the woman, huddled in the corner of her tidy, tastefully decorated
bedroom. She still wore the remnants of a white silk blouse clinging precariously to the curves of
her lithe, sweat-soaked body, although the shredded garment seemed to accent, rather than
conceal her full, rich breasts. He had lingered over her breasts, luxuriating in the taste and feel
and heft of the lush pink orbs. They were spectacular! He had occasionally been disappointed by
the bodies of his chosen victims. Although he took great pains to select only the choicest
specimens of young female pulchritude, often following them for weeks, writing down their every
movement and habit, plotting the precise moment to strike, he had found that some women just
don’t do naked well. Clever attire and strategic enhancements often make a woman appear more
desirable than she actually is, and he had discovered to his chagrin that sometimes the body
comes off with the clothes. Not this time. This one had world-class tits.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice surprisingly calm, with only a slight tremor to betray her
emotions. “I won’t tell. I swear. I won’t say a word! Oh God. Please don’t kill me!” Tears
streamed down her reddened cheeks as she looked up at him beseechingly, searching for some
sign of humanity in his cold gray eyes. Finding none, she slowly lowered her gaze. The woman
sobbed quietly for a time, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands. Her
tears subsided quickly, however. Raising her head, she took a deep, ragged breath and seemed
to get herself under some sort of control. Her back straightened, and she met his eyes
unflinchingly when she spoke.
“How?” she asked.
“How what?”
“How will you kill me?” there was no fear in her voice, but there was something else he
couldn’t quite identify. An odd quality. She sounded effervescent, almost giddy. The man became
wary. He didn’t like surprises. Or mysteries.
“With this,” he said, once again showing her the small, snub-nosed .38 he always carried on
his nocturnal sojourns. As stated before, he was a practical man. “It will be quick.” He said in a
concerned, almost kindly manner. “You won’t feel a thing.”
The woman stared at the floor for a time, her face expressionless.
“No,” she said at last, suddenly rising up and standing shakily on her shoeless feet. She was
naked except for her torn blouse, and the man couldn't help but again admire her supple,
graceful form. God, she was beautiful! Hard and soft and lush and lean, all at the same time.
Her long red hair flowed in spiral disarray over her slender shoulders and down her back, and her
soft, alabaster skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the darkened bedroom. He was tempted
to fuck her again, despite having cum twice in her cunt and once in her ass, all within the space
of the last 45 minutes, but he thought better of it. It was getting late, and he had soccer practice
with the boys in the morning. Best to get it over with.
“Sorry, I’m not giving you a choice,” he said, misinterpreting her words. He raised the gun
and took aim.
“No, wait,” she said calmly, walking over to the large oaken dresser next to her rumpled bed.
“That’s not what I mean.” She reached into the top drawer and slowly withdrew a shiny,
metallic object.
“Hold it right there!” The man growled, raising the gun threateningly.
In her right hand the woman held a long, silver dagger.
“You don’t understand.,” she murmured, her soft voice husky with emotion. “I want you to
use this.” She held the knife out to him handle first.
“Use that?” the man asked, confused. He took a step back, not quite comprehending her
request. “For what?”
“To kill me, of course.” She whispered
“You want me to what?” the man was stunned. He couldn’t believe he had heard the woman
properly. Surely she hadn’t meant for him to actually use the knife as a weapon. A quick, clean
bullet was infinitely preferable to the searing torture of a sharp steel blade slicing into your flesh.
“Is this some sort of trick?”
“No trick,” murmured the naked woman, still holding the knife out to her killer. “It’s simple.
You’re going to kill me. Since there’s nothing I can do to stop you, I might as well indulge a little
fantasy of mine. I want you to kill me with this. I want to feel it inside me. I want to know what
it’s like to have sharp steel in my guts, probing me, ripping me. I want to feel you stab me over
and over until I’m dead. I want to be butchered, like a piece of choice beef. I want to experience
the horror, the intensity of it. One final, ultimate fuck.”
“You’re crazy!” the man gasped. He had not been prepared for this. The others had all
begged for their lives, pleaded for mercy. Some had screamed. Some had cried. A few just sat
quietly and accepted the inevitable, but none of them had ever actually suggested the method of
their own demise! “Why in God’s name would you want to die like that, in so much pain. A
bullet is clean and quick. The knife would be…. Messy.”
The woman smiled. “Call it a kink. Like some women fantasize about being raped or beaten. I
dream of this. Of someone like you. With a knife. I’m into Death Fetish.”
“You’re into what? I’ve never heard of that. What is it?” the man asked, fascinated. He knew
he should just pull the trigger and make his escape. That would be the sensible thing to do, but
the woman intrigued him. Lately his attacks had become more and more routine. Predictable. He
knew how his victims would react even before they did. It was getting so he could even
anticipate the words coming out of their mouths. The thrill was beginning to fade. He needed
something more. Something like this. This was different. Unexpected.
Exciting.
“What is Death Fetish?” he asked. “Some new rock group or something?”
The young redhead actually giggled.
“No,” she breathed. “Death Fetish is a kind of sexual fantasy. The ultimate fantasy, really.
We dream of erotic death, of being possessed completely, body and soul, surrendering all we
have, including our lives, in exchange for that single supreme experience, letting go of everything
we are or could ever become in one final orgasmic convulsion. The ultimate release. The ultimate
experience. The ultimate orgasm. Death.”
“Damn,” he muttered, stunned by the pretty young girls startling revelations. She looked so
sweet, so innocent. That’s why he had chosen her in the first place. Hell, she taught kindergarten
for God’s sake! Who would have guessed that underneath that demure, wholesome image lay
the mind of a freak? Death Fetish? He had never even imagined such a thing. The man shook his
head. So many perverts in the world!
“You said ‘We’. You mean there are others like you?” he asked, captivated.
“Yes,” she smiled. “A great many. More people are into this than you might think. We have a
sort of club. A meeting place where we can get together and share our fantasies.”
“Meeting place? I’ve been following you for weeks. You never go anywhere. You stay at home
every night and work at the computer. I’ve watched you. “
“Watched me?” the woman sounded excited.
“Through there.” He pointed to the window at the far side of the small bedroom. “You really
should be more careful. Those bushes next to the house make an excellent hiding place. I
watched you for over twenty minutes Sunday evening. I was curious about what you did all alone
here at night, never a date, never any visitors. I watched. You just sat at the computer and
typed. Some sort of school project, I imagine. You’re very dedicated to your career.”
The naked woman threw back her head and laughed uproariously, her bountiful breasts
bouncing and swaying with the effort.
“What’s so funny?” the man asked, somewhat annoyed. She was taking her imminent demise
much too well. He was beginning to suspect he was not in complete control any longer, and the
feeling made him nervous.
“You. Me. Everything,” she giggled, her bright green eyes dancing. “I wasn’t doing
schoolwork last Sunday night. I was role playing. That’s our meeting place. The Internet. We
meet in chatrooms and on bulletin boards. We post pictures and stories and talk to one another.
All anonymous. Safe. We can be ourselves, reveal our deepest secrets, our most forbidden
desires, without fear of condemnation or consequences.” She looked at him somewhat shyly and
smiled. “You should have watched a little longer. You would have seen me reach between my
legs and begin to masturbate.” She blushed a bright pink. “Last Sunday was the best. I did a
scene with High Priest and Dawnstar. They’re amazing. I came twice while we were acting out
my murder. He used a knife. Like this.” She once more held out the long dagger, offering it to
the man.
This time he took it.
“You mean you just sit there and play with yourself while someone you’ve never met
pretends to kill you?” he asked, dumbfounded, fingering the smooth handle of the long, thin-
bladed dagger. “That’s sick!”
“Oh really?” the woman shot back, standing fully erect and gazing at him disdainfully. “And
just what do you call what you did to me here tonight? A date? You’re the last person in the
world with any right to call someone sick!”
He ignored the dig. “So you talk to these other people on the Internet? How do you find
them? I’ve surfed the web quite a bit, and never run across anything like you describe.”
She relaxed slightly, warming to his questions. She seemed eager to talk about her strange
fantasies, and the man suspected he was the first person outside of her faceless cyber-friends
that she had ever been able to open up to. And why not? She had nothing to protect anymore.
No reputation, no position in the community. No life. All that had ended when he touched her for
the first time less than an hour ago. She would die tonight. They both knew it. The man began to
comprehend of the extraordinary freedom that knowledge must afford her.
“There are places,” she breathed, her voice becoming soft and sensual. “Websites. Chat
rooms. One site in particular. A collection of sites, really. All with a similar theme. And these sites
are connected to other sites, and those to still more sites. We’re all over the web. In every
country, every town.” Her eyes had taken on a far-off look, and the man sensed that she was
talking more to herself than to him. He listened, quietly, not wanting to interrupt her reverie.
“People like us. We used to think we were all alone. Different. Sick. Now we know that we’re not
isolated or demented. We just worship the forbidden. We dream of the ultimate experience. The
one event so meaningful, so apocalyptic, that to survive it would be a sin. God!” she cried,
suddenly focusing again on the man and the weapon he held. “You’re really going to kill me,
aren’t you?” Her voice sounded desperate, almost hysterical, whether from fear or excitement,
the man couldn’t tell. He didn’t bother to respond to her question.
They both knew what his answer would be.
“Are all these ‘Death Fetish’ people women, like you?” he asked, still fascinated by her story,
and wanting to take her mind off of her ultimate doom. He wasn’t ready to kill her. Not yet. This
was too good. He had to hear more.
“No,” she answered, calming a bit. “Most are men. They usually imagine themselves the
killers, while we girls are their willing or unwilling victims. Some prefer cutting, some prefer
strangling or drowning. Bullets and arrows are real popular, too. Everybody has their own kink,
their own corner of the fetish. Sometimes the girls even do the guys, just for a change.” She
smiled ironically. “I don’t suppose you’d want to switch places, would you? Give me the gun and
let me put a few well-placed holes in your thick skull? It might make for a fun evening. I know I’d
certainly enjoy it.”
The man smiled and shook his head. God, he liked her, even if she was a pervert!
“And you all get together at this special place on the internet?
She nodded.
“Show me,” he commanded, pointing the sharp tip of the dagger at the small student desk in
the far corner of the room where here computer and printer were kept. He tucked the pistol
snugly into the waistband of his dark denim trousers.
“Now?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Yes. Now. I want to see.”
The woman shrugged and walked over to her computer. Seating herself comfortably at the
desk, she switched on the machine and waited for her programs to load. When her Windows
screen popped into view she quickly maneuvered her mouse pointer onto the Internet icon. The
man could hear the dissonant screech of the modem as her connection was made.
“It should only take a second or two,” the woman said, watching the flickering screen
expectantly. “But sometimes their server acts up. It’s a new system, and they’re still trying to
work the bugs out of it. Wait. Here it comes.” The monitor suddenly sprang to life, displaying a
simple black background with a single word splashed across it in bold purple lettering.
Necrobabes.
To be continued