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 The following are purely fictional accounts.  Any relationship to any real
person living or dead is absolutely coincidental.  The narratives deal with
torture and slaughter of innocent human beings.  The author in no way
condones or promotes such acts.  This is the world of fantasy and fiction
where the hidden corners of the psyche may be explored.  The author
believes that exploring such subject matter in this realm keeps it from
ever needing to be explored, and much less fulfilled, in real life.  There
is violence in all of us.  Otherwise there would be no crime, no war, no
destruction.  We must acknowledge the beast inside of us if we are to tame
it.  To ignore it and repress it is to invoke its appearance in our midst.
   Meat
   What follows is a series of dark disconnected visions.
   Think of them as images seen through a frosted glass - opaque images.
   They are explorations of extreme moments, final and irreversible.
   Think of them as connections with the most primal carnal depth of
masculinity.
   The males (human or otherwise) in these stories are not interested in
government, medicine, law, science, philosophy, business or any of the
other sanctioned vocations most of us pursue.
   They are shameless violent sex predators.
   Their world is a void, a vacuum where most of us cannot breathe.
   There is no love here, no tenderness, no compassion or mercy.
   Inexplicably I am attracted and mesmerized by these visions.  I know
there are many of you who share this bizarre curiosity.
   These visions are monstrous, unspeakable, obscene and downright vicious.
   But there is something in us that needs this.
   A hunger.
   Is it a hunger for dreams?
   Is it a hunger for pleasure?
   Maybe its something much more elemental.
   More carnivorous.
   Maybe, deep in our subconscious, where the Beast still dwells, these
visions are simply the expression of a hunger no longer acceptable in
civilized company: the male hunger for female meat.
   Such sweet punished meat can only be swigged down with a copious flow of
fresh human female blood.
   And only after the frail quivering flame of her soul has been savagely
and utterly destroyed.
   For all Woodburn readers out there:
   Enjoy.
   ******************************************************************
   Whatever Master tells me to do I do.  His Word is Sacred.
   I am now nineteen years old.  I have been His for seven years and He has
not yet tired of me.
   I live each day wondering if He will, knowing that when he does it will
all end.
   I have seen people on the internet say they are slaves, 24/7.  It almost
makes me laugh.  They have no clue about slavery.  I cannot even measure
24/7.  There are no days and nights any more for me.  Only stretches of
time between punishments. Only the anticipation, the terror of not knowing
what will happen next.
   Master is a surgeon so He knows exactly how far to go physically with
His victims.  He has broken my arms and legs and ribs during punishment
then placed me in the infirmary He's built in the basement dungeon until I
recovered.  The infirmary is as well equipped and maybe even better than
most hospital emergency rooms.
   He has done hideous things to me, taken me to limits of agony that are
beyond description.
   And I have watched Him slaughter at least a hundred girls since I have
been His.
   In fact I have even helped Him do it.  In the beginning I helped him
hoping that as long as his attention was focused on another it would not
turn on me.  Now I help him destroy other young females because it fulfills
my nature.  This ultimately is who I am.
   It did not take long for Him to break me completely and show me what a
pitiful little slut I was.  Under His severe punishments I also learned to
accept what deep inside I somehow already knew...that a woman is just a
worthless receptacle for a man's violence and pleasure.  In time I began to
enjoy the pain as it was viciously inflicted on me and to think only of His
pleasure, only of serving Him well by enduring as much as possible without
passing out.  And I also began in time to enjoy tremendously watching Him
torture and slaughter innocent victims.  Sometimes, even though I am
terrified by the possibility of death, I envy my Master's victims - I watch
the final tremors of life and the fading spark in their eyes and wish it
was me instead of them.  Besides I see the pleasure my Master takes in the
destruction of a female and I would like to grant him that pleasure.  I
would like to know I have pleased Him and given all that I could right to
the end.
   Once when I lay on the bed in the infirmary after He'd broken my leg
with a heavy wooden club I asked Him how and why He'd chosen me.
   He told me He'd watched me fingering myself by the pool in the backyard
of the house as He'd passed by one day and that He'd watched my face as I
lay in the grass, eyes closed by the glare of the sun.
   I remembered that I had often done that because it felt so good,
especially after being all wet from swimming.
   He said that my face had betrayed all He needed to know about me.  He
knew the moment he saw me that I would be the perfect vessel for His needs.
   After the day He'd first seen me He began to learn all He could about me
and my family and to plan our disappearance'.  He knew then, as He'd
watched me, that He could not only use me to appease His lust with my body
but also as bait to get more victims because my face would inspire trust.
   And after He'd killed Momma, Daddy and Ronnie in the woods and broken me
to His will that's exactly what He'd done.
   Master is very good about following through on His plans.
   We would cruise the parking lot in a mall, airport or bus terminal
looking for potential victims.  Mother-daughter targets were always the
best.  When we saw them split up I would go either to the daughter and tell
her her mom was sick and needed help or to the mom and say her daughter was
in trouble and was looking for her.
   They never questioned me because my face inspired trust, just like
Master thought.
   I would lead the unsuspecting victims to the parking lot where Master
had the van waiting.
   He would drag the young woman or girl into the cargo hold of the van and
chloroform them before they could make a sound then we'd drive away. 
Because of the danger of being spotted we always worked at night.  If ever
there was even the remotest possibility of being seen Master would give me
a signal and I would turn and run.  We never worked the same place twice
especially if we'd had to abort.
   So by age thirteen I was Master's little helper as well as His little
fuck-toy and pain-slut.
   I can't say exactly when it was I was totally broken for Him.  It might
have been when he killed Momma and Daddy and Ronnie while I watched, or
when He raped me on their shallow grave in the clearing at dawn.  It might
have happened sometime afterwards when He drove me to the seaside mansion
with the underground rooms.
   I have a dim memory of walking through the forest naked after my family
was butchered, being pulled along, hands tied behind me, a rope around my
waist and down between my asscheeks, up into my pussy-slit and into
Master's strong grip as He walked ahead of me, His boots crunching the
pine-needles which stabbed into my shins and soles and calves.  I was being
pulled along like an animal in captivity, pulled along by my pussy which
still ached from His raping.  Then I was lifted on to the back of the van
and bound with leather straps to the metal floor, a black ball gag stuffed
in my mouth, a piece of cloth wrapped over my eyes to blindfold me.
   Hours later, when He hauled me up out of the van and took the blindfold
away I could see we were in an enclosed courtyard on a black asphalt
driveway.  I could hear the distant crash of the waves and knew the ocean
was nearby.
   He made me kneel right there at His feet on the warm hard blacktop, my
hands cuffed behind me.
   "You're mine now, you little cunt," He said looking down on me.  Above
Him there was clear blue early morning sky.  His words entered me, entered
my soul just as His cock had entered my pussy, with terrible destructive
force.
   He reached down and ungagged me.
   "Say it," he instructed.
   "...y-yours...I-I'm yours..."
   "I am your only God.  You are meat for my pleasure."
   His cold eyes just stared down into mine and I was held immobile by
them.
   "Say it."
   "...y-you are m-my - my only God...I'm m-meat...for y-your
ple-pleasure..."
   "You're a nice little piggie, Suzie.  A nice little piece of cunt-meat.
It was real nice to kill your folks, especially your momma...and what you
need to know is that I will kill you too, anytime I wish, is that clear?"
   I nodded.
   He slapped me hard across the face startling me and almost making me
lose my balance.
   "You will refer to me as Master from now until the day you die, cunt! 
Don't you ever fucking nod your head at me.  Its Yes, Master,' or No,
Master,'- got it?!"
   "Y-yes, M-Master..." the words made me quiver as I said them.  It was
the first time I said them and I could see it pleased Master to hear them.
   He smiled.
   "You learn quick, Suzie.  I like that.  Now get up.  You're gonna give
your Master a whole day of pleasure."
   I obeyed Him.  There was no choice but to obey Him.  And I followed Him
meekly to the side of the house and the stairs that led down to the metal
door.
   The stone floor of the underground hallway was cold under my bare
scratched feet.
   Master's house was a huge mansion and the underground area had
originally been designed as a fallout shelter back in the mid 50's.  When
Master's father had bought the house he'd transformed it according to his
specifications.  Master's father, Herr Wilhelm Kessler had been a powerful
industrialist in Hitler's Germany during World War Two, a cruel man with
very cruel tastes.  He'd passed those down on to his son as well as the
wealth he'd stolen from the fallen Third Reich and the mansion with its
underground torture chambers.  I would learn in time that there were
fifteen separate rooms as well as the large central area for group events'.
Each door was made of solid oak mounted on heavy iron hinges with
refrigerator- type locks that opened with a handle.  Each door had a large
number printed on it in red and the hallway was lit by fluorescent overhead
lamps.  The ceilings in the underground area were low, like a cellar's, and
lined with metal pipes.  There were no windows, no sunlight ever entered
here.  It was a prison.  A prison for the soul and for the body, designed
by Herr Kessler to destroy the will of its captives.  Now it would be my
prison.
   "Right here little girl," Master said as He turned to open the door
labeled number 6.
   The large handle made a metallic sound as he pulled it and when He
pushed the door open I heard a soft moaning which had been inaudible just a
moment before.  I came to know that each room was completely soundproof and
that the outside areas too were soundproof.
   I followed Master into the room and He closed the large door behind me.
   My eyes were immediately drawn to one end of the chamber.  There, inside
a frame of wooden beams a young woman hung by her distended tits from two
dangling strands of barbed wire bolted to a metal bar.  The bar itself was
suspended by a chain hooked to an eyebolt at its center and leading back up
to the overhead beam.  The woman's ankles were bound with barbed wire as
well and as she swung slowly around pirouetting slowly, her bare feet some
ten inches off the ground I could see her wrists behind her also wire-tied.
She was gagged with three strands of barbed wire wrapped around her face.
Streams of dry blood led down from her gouged face and tits, from her
wrists and ankles.  Her eyes were glazed and it didn't seem as she'd even
heard us enter the room.  Her slender body was covered with bruises, cuts
and abrasions.  She'd been beaten and beaten severely...  beaten inhumanly.
   Master pointed to the ground where I stood.
   "Kneel, child," he ordered curtly.  "I want you to watch carefully."
   I did as He asked unquestioningly even though I was shaking with terror,
an empty feeling in my belly.  After all, I was just a little girl then.  A
helpless innocent little girl.
   Master stripped naked and tossed His clothes and boots against the wall
of the chamber.  Then He went across the room to a large mahogany cabinet
that stood in the corner.  He opened the creaky doors of the cabinet and I
could see into it.  There were leather straps, cuffs, whips, all kinds of
restraining devices and torture implements.  Things I was not familiar
with. Things that did not have a place in the world I'd been taken from,
things I'd only sometimes caught a brief glimpse of in horror movies before
mom or dad made me stop watching.
   From the cabinet Master took a long thin white rod that seemed to be
made of plastic.  It was about four feet long and very flexible.  He
swished it through the air and it made a sibilant whistling sound.
   The hanging woman reacted to the noise with a grunt, jerking around to
try to swing herself back around to face us.
   "Yeah...you remember that don't you?" Master told the hanging girl as he
approached her.
   "This is Tanya," Master told me without looking at me.  He stood between
me and the hanging woman who was now within striking range of the long rod.
   "Tanya was a dancer..." Master said as his feet spread apart on the
floor and his shoulders relaxed.  His powerful body was coiled for action,
supple and panther- like.
   "She's been here for almost three months now.  But I've grown really
tired of her...I think its time to make room for new meat."
   Then Master turned and glanced at me over His shoulder.
   "I want you to watch, Suzie....watch while I tear this worthless bitch
to shreds."
   His eyes burned into me and I felt that same warmth invade me as when
He'd tied me to the tree while He'd butchered my family.
   "Y-yes, master," I moaned feebly.
   Master turned to his slut-target.
   "Ready to please me, cunt?" he growled.
   "...ghhaghh...nn-mmnnggaahhgg!" the suspended victim replied.
   "I take that for a yes', what do you think Suzie?"
   " - I -"
"Say: Yes, Master.  Kill the worthless bitch."
   I hesitated for a moment until His glaring eyes turned to me.
   "...y-yes...yes, Master...k-kill th-the...the..."
   "Worthless - the worthless bitch - Say it for me, Suzie."
   The words were foreign to me but yet exciting,
   "...kill the worthless bitch..." I said, surprised at the conviction
with which the words suddenly erupted.
   "Yeahh!" Master shouted smiling as He turned back to face his victim.
   "You heard our new guest's wish, Tanya darling.  I guess you won't be
dancing again....unless its in hell!"
   Master's arm swung down hard and the long white rod screamed through the
air.
   It landed with a loud swat across Tanya's delicious thighs and cut right
through the smooth girlflesh embedding itself in thigh-muscle.
   Tanya arched beautifully in response to the pain, her head craning back,
eyes wide.
   "Ggggrrragghhh!" she keened.
   Master had to yank the rod out of her and as He did blood spurted from
the lesion.
   He swung again landing another cut just below the first.
   Again He yanked the thin rod out of the girlflesh it had embedded itself
in and swung back to strike again.
   As Tanya screeched and gasped I watched Master tear into her deliciously
plump thighs and down her legs, tearing and gashing, making the young bitch
swing around as she hung by her stretched boobs, the chain clanking and
creaking as the metal bar spun around and around.
   The strange flushed sensation I'd felt earlier, when I'd watched Him
kill my family, came back.  I felt dizzy and my little pussy felt hot and
wet.  I felt the urgent need to touch myself, like I did when I lay on the
grass in my yard after swimming in the pool, and I began to do so as I
watched the methodical destruction of the girl Master said had once been a
dancer.  My fingers were soon wet and slimy and I was breathing fast.
   I could not see Master's face since I knelt behind Him, between Him and
Tanya, but I was pretty sure it reflected the same diabolically
concentrated expression I'd seen on it in the woods.  I knew He was
considering each stroke of the killing rod before He swung, measuring its
effect and watching His victim, deeply enjoying her horrible agony.  As she
swung around, facing away from Him He began to attack not just the back of
her luscious thighs and calves but also her asscheeks and shoulderblades.
When He struck her back she screamed shrilly, wildly.  The rod slished into
her meaty ass and caused a gasping grunting sound from her.  He played her
like a musical instrument going each time for another reaction sometimes
harder, sometimes less, always devastatingly unexpected. Tanya's blood
rolled down her sides and legs and spattered the stone floor and she began
to sob uncontrollably.
   "Take it, you fucking bitch..."Master growled softly as He swung and
swung.
   I remembered how He'd told me that He'd watched me lying in the grass
and playing with myself and tiny shivers ran all through me thinking about
His hungry green eyes roaming over my small naked body as I lay wet in the
sun...thinking about how He planned my abduction and the destruction of my
family as He watched me...
   And then His eyes were on me as He turned from Tanya leaving her
spinning slowly, bleeding from the multiple gash wounds He'd inflicted on
her.
   I felt suddenly very self-conscious and stopped playing with myself.
   "You - little - pig -" Master said slowly as He reached down to stroke
His erect cock.
   "I just knew it.  You're a natural....a fucking natural...Don't stop. 
Do it for your Master.  Do it."
   His voice was impossible to disobey and I did as He ordered and He
watched me play with myself, my eyes lost in His as He stroked His big hard
shaft, the soft groans of pain coming from Tanya urging us both on.
   "C'mere, girl," He said after a few moments.
   I rose and crossed the room toward Him.  He pointed to the ground in
front of Him.  I knelt again my face now level with his erect cock.
   "I'm gonna piss on you," He said softly.  "Don't turn from me or avoid
it in any way...  and keep your hands at your sides."
   Then a hot stream of pungent urine hissed from his penis and struck my
chest.  Hot piss rolled down my body and I struggled hard to obey Him
fighting my instinct to move away or cover myself with my hands.
   "Play with yourself," he ordered.
   I obeyed as He aimed the jet of urine all over the front of my body and
on my hand as I frigged myself.
   Then He stepped closer.
   "Open your mouth," he ordered.
   I did it knowing what was coming, feeling the piss jet move up between
my little titties, up my neck, past my chin and into my open mouth to
gurgle and splash all over my face, blinding me.  I choked on the salty
bitterness and fought back the urge to gag.
   He stood right over me and pissed in my mouth, in my face and finally in
my hair.
   He covered me with his piss and I just knelt there and took it quivering
obediently.
   "Beautiful..." he muttered, his eyes glazed with pleasure.  "...so
beautiful..."
   It felt good to please Him and I frigged myself faster.
   When the stream of piss died out He stepped right up to me and rubbed
His cock on my lips which remained open wide.
   "Lick me clean, child," He commanded.
   I could not understand then why it was such pleasure to do as He asked
and to please Him.
   I had not yet learned that I was nothing but slavemeat, that I had
always been slavemeat and would always be slavemeat....nourishment for the
sadistic wolf-demon that owned me.
   I was a natural, He'd said.  And He was right.  Master was always right.
It felt so right to bend to His wicked will, to be owned.  I should have
felt disgust at the smell of His piss-dripping prick, horror at the sight
of blood dripping from the rod He'd used on Tanya...instead I felt only
pulsing waves of pleasure that made me gasp for air and made my heartbeat
faster as I looked up at Him taking Him in my mouth for the first time,
licking the piss from his stone-hard organ.
   "That's right, piggie," he growled taking a fistful of my long silky
hair to push himself into my small mouth.  "Make me hard for the
kill...mmm...yeahh...that's it...nice and hard for the kill..."
   After he thrust into me a few times, glaring down at me, his breath
quicker, his lips twisted into a snarl he pushed away from me and walked to
the wooden mahogany cabinet leaving me there wildly rubbing both hands
against my throbbing slit, piss dripping off me and puddling around my
knees.
   I saw him put the white rod back in its felt sheath and then I saw the
silvery blade of the machete as he moved toward Tanya and I almost stopped
breathing. My heart thrummed in my ears.
   I was going to watch Him kill again.
   He stepped up to the suspended girl and swung her around a couple of
times studying her badly mutilated body.  Then he took half a step back and
with a fierce grunt he swung the machete up across Tanya's hooked tit-bags.
   The stroke sliced half her tits off and released her from the painful
suspension.  Her body fell heavily, her bare bloody feet thudding against
the floor, her legs giving away as she shrieked all the way down, gagged
face smashing down into the concrete floor, arms wire-bound behind her,
rib-cage cracking under her, blood and puke exploding from her lips.
   He kicked her over on her back, on top of her captive arms, kicked her
legs apart.
   The woman lay groaning weakly, looking up at Him.
   She had lovely brown eyes and I knew she was seeing the same thing mommy
and daddy had seen...it was the God of Death coming for her...and there was
horror there and maybe acceptance too...maybe relief that the pain would
soon end.
   "C'mere, bitch," Master snarled at me.
   I crawled quickly across the cold floor toward him.
   "Suck me while I kill her...get me off in your mouth...understand?"
   I crawled around Tanya's bleeding legs and knelt before Him.
   "Y-yes...yes, Master," I blurted.
   Instantly He grabbed my head and pushed His big cock into my face.
   Obediently I opened my mouth for Him.
   He was my God too, my Killer God...I didn't know what it meant to get
Him off exactly but I didn't dare tell Him I didn't know or that I'd never
done it before. I had seen the women in the videos do it.  I had felt Him
orgasm between my legs as He'd raped me on my family's grave...but now I
would feel it happen in my throat.  He was so big.  My lips stretched to
the limit and my jaw began to ache but I began to bob back and forth on Him
like I'd seen the women on the screen do.  I could feel Him get harder in
my mouth, His bitter taste choking me, His heavy balls slapping against my
chin.
   Then His knees bent slightly as he leaned over Tanya's body, the machete
raised high and He arched over me keeping a firm grip on my head.
   I heard the swish of the killing blade as He swung and heard the dull
wet impact it made as it struck across Tanya's heaving belly.
   Tanya shrieked.
   Her hot blood spattered my asscheeks and my thighs.
   Master raised the machete and brought it down again, slamming His prick
down my throat, gripping the back of my head through my hair.
   Again Tanya screamed and again I felt the spattering of hot blood on me.
   Master swung repeatedly, His face a sneering mask.
   I felt blood droplets roll down the soles of my feet.
   I began to rub myself desperately as the sword clanged into woman-meat
and bone but I could not see what damage it was doing.  I could only look
up into Master's savage face as He slaughtered, as He took His pleasure.  I
could sense the accelerating degrees of destruction by watching His greedy,
half-slitted eyes.
   I knew then that one day He would tear into me just as He was tearing
into Tanya, with that same wild look in His dark vicious eyes
   Maybe that was when He finally broke me, the moment when I began to feel
for the first time the hot spasmic waves of orgasm rushing up from deep
inside me, groaning as His cock filled my mouth and throat, the screams of
the dying woman behind me as the machete sliced into her chest and belly
and legs.
   Then I saw Him raise the weapon, gripping the handle in both hands,
bloody blade-tip aimed downward.
   "DIE!" He roared and plunged downward.
   Hot gushes of jism spurted against the back of my throat and I choked,
unable to breathe, my hands reaching out to hold on to His strong thighs as
He held me steady, sperm spilling from my lips and down my chin.
   "YEaahhh-AHH!" He shouted, throwing his head back and bellowing at the
ceiling of the torture chamber.
   My small pitiful cries joined His as I tried to swallow reaching up to
hold His big cock in my little hands, feeling the big strong hardness of
Him, wanting never to breathe again, wanting to be drowned in Him until I
slid down dizzy and crumpled to the floor beside the woman He'd just
brutally murdered.
   I half-rolled over, fearful but curious, to look at her.
   He had buried the machete blade in her forehead and both her eyes stared
glassily upward divided by a blood-streaked strip of steel, a smear of
brain-tissue oozing up from the gash-wound and trickling down into one ear.
   I realized I lay in a warm puddle of her blood.  Bits of her skin and
guts and bone had exploded from her in all directions.
   "..she's so...beautiful..." I muttered.
   "There's nothing more beautiful than a murdered whore..." Master
replied.
   His voice was calm now that the kill-rage had spent itself in Him.
   He wiped the machete blade in my hair as I looked down at Tanya.
   Later I watched Him drag the dead bitch by one leg out of the torture
room and down the hall to the incinerator chamber.  She left a blood-trail
on the floor and my own blood-soaked feet left small perfect foot-prints in
the stone beside it as I followed.  I saw Master lift the bloody carcass
into the metal compartment and close the trap-door.  There was a wheel on
the vault-like door which He turned sealing the incinerator shut.  When He
touched a switch on the wall there was a roar from the large metal cylinder
and a small rectangle of viewing glass glowed fiercely.  I saw Him look in
as the flames devoured what was left of Tanya the dancer.
   After a while He came for me closing the incinerator chamber door behind
Him, both of us enveloped in sudden silence.  I wondered if there were
other women right at that moment behind all those doors in the hallway,
waiting to die, suffering in the dark silence, waiting for Master's return.
   Wordlessly, He took me by my arm, His hard fingers digging into my skin,
and led me up the stairs, out of the dungeon and into the house.  He led me
up a swirling carpeted staircase into a large luxurious bedroom with
picture windows that faced the sea.  His bed had manacles on the headboard
and footboard.  He ordered me up on the big bed, bound me spreadeagled and
climbed up on me to give me His full weight as He sank into me again,
cruelly, wordlessly, His hands gripping my shoulders as he slammed me into
the hard mattress.
   I lost track of how many times He raped me that night while I drowned in
the smell of piss, sperm and blood and sweat on the satin sheets.  He
choked me and slapped me and beat me and fucked me and I lost all sense of
myself.
   I could hear the waves crashing against the reef outside.
   It seemed they were crashing over me and drowning me as if Master was
just an extension of that dark pounding mass of water beyond the windows.
   I have no memory of morning ever coming.
   ******************************************************************
   Meat.
   That's all the little gook whore is to me.
   Juicy, succulent, whore-meat.
   She just fucking stands there, her wrists roped behind her, little
slope-eyed bitch, just stands there while I tie her tits in rope nooses,
tight, as tight as I can, until her jugs just pop up out of her so nice and
pretty, plump and swollen.  Just stands there while I knot the leather
cords to the pulley line from the ceiling.
   Waiting.
   Submissive.
   Obedient.
   Brown-eyed gook slave-pig.
   Her eyes match the color of the leather cords now tautly pulling.
   Slowly I haul her up, up by her noosed tits and she doesn't even make a
sound, going up on her little painted toes, her feet coming finally up off
the ground, hanging there for me like a side of beef, her nipples fully
erect on the ends of her gorged titglobes.
   I know it hurts her cause she bites her lip and I see a single teardrop
making its way down one cheek.
   But she takes it and endures.
   This is her fate and she accepts it.
   Finally, after a few minutes, I hear a muffled grunt from her and I
smile.
   Her pretty feet dangle and she quivers as I tie off the end of the
pulley line.
   She watches me as I pick up the ice-pick.
   She shakes her head and begins to sob softly.
   I lick my lips and feel my cock stiffen and rise.
   I stand before her, naked warrior ready for battle.
   "Whore," I snarl meanly and holding her by one hip I thrust the ice-pick
deep into her luscious thigh.  She screams as the metal pierces her to the
bone.  I yank the pick out of her and a hot stream of blood runs down her
trembling leg, snaking around her knee and ankle, dripping off her heel as
she kicks.
   She babbles something unitelligible to me in her oriental language.
   I've pierced through the artery and if I just wait and watch she'll
bleed to death for me.
   But there is no sport in waiting.
   Instead I spin her around and thrust the bloody icepick right into her
chubby little asscheek, deep into the hard muscle.
   She rears her pretty Asian head back and yowls.
   Stinking jap cunt.
   She spouts some more gook drivel.  I can tell she's pleading for her
life from the way her eyes search for mine.  Maybe acceptance is not so
easy after all.
   She's obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit.
   I slam the pick into her lower back, gouging into her kidney, making her
kick her legs, her blood spurting from her wounds as she choke gasps, her
tits purple like eggplants in the tight suspension cords.
   Spinning her around again and holding her by one shoulder I study her
suffering face for a few moments then I lift the pick above my head and
stab it down into the top of her bound breast.  As she screams, wild-eyed,
her pain twisting her, I gouge out the nipple of that tit, stab right into
it and her blood squirts on my hand, on my arm, on my chest.
   I gouge out the other nipple.
   Blood spurts my face, fresh and warm.
   I smile more broadly now, lick her tepid life-fluid off my lips, stab
her purple tits repeatedly.
   She's still rattling on but her voice is weak and breathless and her
eyes no longer search for pity from me.  By this time she's figured out
there won't be any.
   Lifting her bleeding legs on to my shoulders I penetrate her, my bare
feet in her blood on the floor as I push my long hard phallus deep into the
young porcelain-fleshed Asian female while she bleeds all over me.
   With one sharp up-thrust I put the icepick in her throat, all the way
through the back of her head and leave it in her.  Wide-eyed, gasping,
gurgling, life spilling from her trembling lips, wide-mouthed she bounces
on my cock, dying for me as I grip her hips to hilt myself in her, her
tight little pussy squeezing my rod.
   I go on fucking her as she dies wheezing and slumping, going snow-pale,
her head hanging to one side, blood still pumping from her parted lips and
into the flowing cadence of her long silky-stranded jet-black hair.
   Hot cum shoots up from my balls and into her vagina.
   I step back to watch it ooze out of her.
   With a sigh of relief I piss on her slender bloodied legs.
   ******************************************************************
   Cathy is eleven.  She won't make it to twelve.
   In the barn the noonday heat is stifling.  The four masked men are naked
and sweaty.  Dust bits, stirred up by the sudden swirl of activity, float
in the sunlight beams streaking in through the broken wooden slats.
   The hooded men have been beating Cathy with their bullwhips.
   Stalks of dry hay stick to their feet and legs.  The old wooden
floor-boards creak.
   The barn, abandoned nearly fifteen years ago, is covered with vines and
surrounded with trees and shrubs.  A dirt road is the only way into the
property acquired by these men for just this purpose.  Less than a hundred
yards away the farmhouse lies in shambles, part of its roof caved in, all
the windows shattered, birds nesting in rooms where once a family sang
Protestant hymns.
   Cathy is one of those girls from this part of the country.  A healthy
blonde farm girl from a town two hundred miles north of here.  You can hear
those same Protestant hymns in her clear innocent sky-blue eyes. 
Especially when they are brim-filled with tears of pain.
   She had a clump of bright yellow daisies in one hand when the men seized
her.  She had picked them for her momma.  She was holding a red lollipop to
her mouth with the other.
   The flowers fell on the side of the two-lane flat-top and scattered in
the hot wind left by the window-less cargo van as it sped away.
   The lollipop melted on the asphalt as the sun climbed the sky.
   The four men who took her, plucked her from her simple life and brought
her here to suffer and die for them, chose her carefully, stalked her,
abducted her when she least expected it, when there was no one around to
see.
   As the cargo van took the highway three of the kidnappers beat and rape
Cathy, sank their teeth into her warm young skin which tasted of sweet
simple soap.  They raped her cruelly, unjustly and without mercy, in every
way imaginable stuffing themselves in her virgin body, erupting inside her
and on her until the cargo van stank of mansperm.  They took turns driving
the van so that they could all get a shot at her, hard, cruel, drunk men,
leaving their teeth marks all over sweet innocent Cathy Walden, on her
arms, on her shoulders, on her little budding tits, on her hairless little
pussy mound.  They smeared their lips on hers and tasted the cloying
sweetness of candy through the cheap rotgut gin.
   These were vicious heartless men who raped and killed for pleasure,
bringing the helpless girls here, to the ramshackle barn with the huge
Coca-Cola sign painted on its side years ago, red and white lettering
fading under the snarling growth of vines.
   The men were cunt-hunters.
   Poor Cathy was one of the youngest they'd ever taken.
   Like their other child-victims she brought out the worst in them.
   Cathy watched them strip naked and don their face masks while she knelt
against the tottering barn door, her wrists cuffed behind her, her legs
rope bound at the ankles, her pink K-mart t-shirt hanging off her shoulders
in tatters, her jeans and white panties left behind in the van with her
blue tennis shoes.  One pink sock still clung to her foot.  The other foot
was bare, scratched and bitten.
   She sobbed, sniffled, called out to her captors, begged them to let her
go.
   They laughed, jeered at her.
   The bruised, weeping child was handed up to one of the killers who
climbed up into the hayloft hauling her up by her arms.  The others then
followed.
   There was blood on the floorboards.
   The child pleaded with the masked men.
   It was stifling hot up there under the tin roof.
   Cathy could not understand why they needed to wear masks, why they
wanted to hurt her.
   Torture implements hung from the walls.
   The men enjoyed the cries and pleas of the child, her horror and
confusion. They handled her eagerly, stripped what was left of her clothes
off her.
   She struggled briefly and in vain.
   They hung her by her wrists from a chain that dangled from a rusty hook
in a roof beam, left her ankles tied together, just the tips of her toes
touching the blood-stained wood.
   Many other young girls had stood here, right where Cathy now stood. 
Many more would stand in this place, naked, arms hung overhead, shaking
with terror.
   None had ever or would ever leave the barn alive.
   The men stepped back.
   They were smiling.
   Behind the masks the eyes studied the victim carefully, greedily.
   Less than three hours earlier Cathy had been licking a lollipop at the
side of the road, wild daisies in her right hand.  Her lips and fingertips
were still sticky from the candy.  Although the men had shot their loads on
her cute little face and mouth in the van they could still see the sticky
strawberry redness they had all tasted staining her pouting lips.
   And then the four black leather bullwhips swooshed and sliced cruelly
across Cathy's twisting screaming body tearing hot bruise-welts into her,
striping the eleven year old unmercifully, literally beating the piss out
of her.
   Laughing and sneering the men whipped her even harder as the bright
yellow urine spilled down the inside of her thighs and dripped off her
toes.
   Her hands, clasped together way up above her head, spread open then,
like butterfly wings, fingers wide apart, trapped wrists chafed by the
thick harsh rope as the bullwhips took turns from four compass points of
pain: north, south, east, and
   west - milking the agony from the little bitch.
   Her screams rose, shrill ear-piercing child-hurt reverberant against the
inside of the barn's tin roof.
   A pair of nesting swallows took wing, fluttering away from the harsh
sounds which no neighbor or passerby would hear as the sun rose to its
highest point making the men in the barn grunt and sweat with the effort.
   When they stopped whipping Cathy there was only her soft whimpering, her
fast uncontrolled breath, then her wailing sobs as the hot pain enveloped
her completely and blood streamed down her pretty little legs mixing with
her urine.
   The smell of girlblood and girlpiss made the men smile even more and
stroke themselves and move in.
   Each one had his own knife.
   They sat on the ground after they lowered Cathy to the creaky boards,
sat around her, the first one, Jake, their leader, taking her first,
dragging her over to make her straddle him between her whip-seared thighs
and sit in his lap, on his muscular hairy thighs, on his upstanding cock,
pushing her down on to it, ("Uhnhh - damn - this uns tight, boys -
tightern' a rabbitt's butt - uhh yeahh - real real nice.") impaling her,
holding her upright with one hand around her delicate neck, sinking his
knife into her sides and legs as he thrust slowly into her,("mmm - like
warm sweet butter inside - goddamn little tramp -") her small hands now
rope- bound behind her, his hard fingers choking the breath from her as the
others watched stroking themselves, preparing for their turn.
   They passed her around, each masked man taking his time, fucking and
stabbing the wailing, pleading child, choking her, spitting on her, biting
her, cursing her, using her.
   "Bleed - little trash whore -"
   "Jailbait slut."
   "Cry.  That's right.  Cry.  Cry."
   She bled on their legs and knees, on their eager hands.
   "Goddamn little fuck!"
   She went around the circle almost three times before life began to wane
from her, bits of blood and sliced up flesh dripping off her, her
gut-stabbed belly spilling darker blood and shit and pieces of intestine
and liver, her little neck bruised and discolored, her pupils dilated.
   Once the knives pierced her lungs, her breath began to wheeze and her
head to topple and the men were silent, only grunting and panting with the
delicious pleasure of the kill.
   The smell of the stabbed child filled the barn.
   Sometime in the fourth cycle she gave up her anguished soul with a
lovely shiver.  It fluttered away like the swallows that had fled from the
sound of the whips.
   The killers moaned with pleasure.
   Still they continued to fuck her and stab her, to cut her open, until
they were covered with her blood and viscera, until one by one they
ejaculated inside the child, deep inside her where it counted the best and
gave them the most pleasure, looking into her dead blue eyes that no longer
sang Protestant hymns as they did so.
   ******************************************************************
   Laura was breathing extremely fast, almost hyperventilating as she slid
her mouth back and forth desperately on Leon's long black cockshaft.
   She knelt at his feet on a piece of plastic tarp laid out atop the
purple shag carpet in his apartment, a second floor walk-up in an abandoned
building by the railroad tracks.
   She stared up at him slavishly.
   Hardcore rap music pumped from the stereo speakers bolted to the wall.
   "You filthy white bitch," he grunted, his thick lips parted.  "Suck that
cock nice.  Itz gonna be yer last one."
   The music thundered on.
   Ka-chaka-boom - ka-chaka - chaka - chaka -
   The half-lit room smelled of weed and cum.
   Laura was nude, her hands tied behind her, her black leather high heel
sandals tucked under her legs, her feet tickled by the strands of carpet as
she knelt before him on the scrunched plastic, the dog-collar around her
neck, a chain dangling from a d-ring in the collar and looping down off her
thigh.
   His words made her almost cum and she squeezed her thighs together
around her hot swollen cuntmeat as she continued to bob on him in time to
the heavy beat of the music.
   "Ghmmm!" she moaned enthusiastically.  "Gh-gmmm!"
   Ka-chaka -chaka - chaka - chaka -
   He told her he was going to kill her and she believed him.
   She needed him to do it.
   Wanted it.
   Had come to him willingly, in fact.
   This stupid blonde bimbo had reached the end of her road.
   The music thumped behind her eyes and drool ran down her chin.
   In the hallway outside she could hear Leon's rutweillers sniffing at the
crack under the door and occasionally scratching.
   Once she had been a pretty girl from the midwest, out in LA to pursue
some empty-headed dream she'd never really had a grip on.
   She ran wild and liked it.
   She liked rough men and what they did to her.
   She had learned to give of herself until there was nothing left.
   Now she was a worthless, stud-tongued, heroin-addicted whore with a rose
tatoo on her ankle, who'd cheated on her pimp one too many times and both
eyes bruised shut, her lips bleeding, her tits and asscheeks bearing
multiple burns, cuts and welts, she was about to be sent on, dispatched,
eradicated, and she couldn't fucking wait.  It couldn't happen soon enough
for her.
   Outside a train rattled by louder than the music from the stereo.
   Laura drove herself into Leon's long meaty shaft, stuffing it down her
throat hole, stroking the metal stud in her tongue against its hard
underside, and gagging on it as if this finally was where she belonged, as
if this was where her fucked up dream had been leading all along.  She
sucked her pimp as if the obscene and violent act were the consummation of
all she had ever yearned for.  She needed desperately to please him.  It
was the only thing that kept her mind from desintegrating.
   "YEahh, slutt -" the tall black man urged.  "Go for it.  Gimme a good
cum fore I cap ya."
   His voice seemed to ride on the waves of grinding rhythmic pulse coming
from the speakers.
   He sat back in the leather armchair, the nine millimeter in his right
hand.
   Laura looked up at him through beaten, half-shut green eyes.
   He filled her mouth and gripped her head by her fake blonde hair.
   The terminal danger of the gun made her cunt pulse and throb wetly.
   Pictures of Laura being fucked by Leon's rutweillers would flood the
internet after she was gone.  Those pictures had been taken by Leon a
couple of hours earlier, before he'd beaten her up and pushed her down on
to kneel on the plastic tarp.  He knew he could use the bestiality shots as
teasers for his sex site.  The dogs would eat what was left of the dead
blonde afterwards but there would be no pictures of that.
   Leon felt the cum build in his big balls.
   Punching the stupid junkie cunt with his big hard fists after his dogs
had cum on her had energized him, pumped him up nice.
   There was nothing like beating the shit out of a white-trash slut. 
Especially when she just took it and then asked for more.
   "Ahhh shittt," he growled.  He was getting to the finish line.
   Slowly he got to his feet, gripping Laura by a clump of hair at the top
of her head as she slammed herself breathlessly against his cock, choking
on him.
   She heard the click of the weapon as he cocked it.
   Then his hot sperm flooded her mouth and her throat.
   "Goddammm slutttt!" he growled.
   He pulled her all the way forward until her nose pushed into his crotch
to empty his prick in her, suffocating her, then he yanked her back and
pushed her head down to put the barrel of the gun up against the white nape
of her neck in a V formed by her spilling hair.
   The CD on the stereo played out and the room was suddenly silent.
   Gobs of sperm spilled from her mouth as she coughed and gasped, spit and
cum dripped off her long studded tongue which lolled between her swollen
red lips.  Her puffy eyes gleamed tearfully in expectation of the end.
   "Here ya go, pig," Leon growled.
   The gun flashed brightly and its loud explosive bang filled the small
room.
   Laura's brains exploded from her yawning lips as she gave out a shrill
howl, eyeballs bulging, her cuffed hands splayed as her body rocked,
spasming to the death-jolt, the bullet whanging through her and into the
floor.
   Outside, the dogs barked a couple of times then went still.
   Laura arched spastically and tumbled backward eyes rolling back as Leon
stood over her and took aim on her neatly shaved puss.
   "Fuckin' whore," he spat and fired three times blowing her cunt and
uterus to pieces as her legs kicked out flailed, the heels of her shoes
thumping against the hardwood floor outside the perimeter of the plastic
tarp he'd laid out on the carpet for her to die on, one shoe knocked off
her foot.
   She gasped, her arms trapped under her, her rib-cage filling with air
then collapsing, twice, three times before a rattling gurgling sound came
from her making Leon laugh as he looked down into her dying face.
   Gray brains poured from her open lips joining the trailing streams of
jism Leon had left on her and he watched her form the last words she would
ever speak.
   They came silently, without breath as her heart gradually stopped
beating.
   "Thank you," she pronounced clearly but silently.
   And again.
   Leon watched her mouth move and felt his cock getting hard once more. 
He knew he would have to fuck the bitch after she died and fuck her hard.
   He was gonna use this piece of white pussy right to her fucking grave.
   "Thank - you -"
   The last thing she felt as her eyes rolled back was her handsome pimp's
long hard ebony dick sliding deep into her blown-out cunt as he slammed her
down against the bloody plastic tarp.
   ******************************************************************
   The killer choked the boy, choked him hard with the thick oily rope.
   The boat rocked pleasantly in the dark water of the bay and the lights
of the city were just small pinpoints in the horizon.
   He had tied the boy up on the bed in the small cabin and fucked him
brutally, raped him, made him scream.
   The boy had to be maybe ten years old, maybe eleven.
   Beautiful little fuck, short black hair, maybe four-foot-two.
   He'd beaten him hard with a thick wooden dowel before fucking him and
the boy was covered with dark purple bruises.
   Out here on the bay no one could hear the sounds of the beating or the
boy's sharp-edged screams.
   His smooth tanned skin had split open in some places, particularly by
his soft round asscheeks where the killer had hit him as hard as he could.
   The boy had screamed his fucking guts out.
   As he choked him with the rope now, the boy tied on his back on the bed,
the killer straddling him between his strong thighs, it was nice to
remember the beatings.
   He'd really given the boy no quarter at all.
   He'd tied his lanky legs by the ankles far apart from hooks in the
ceiling of the yacht's cabin and whaled into him with the whip.
   He'd punched the child's balls until they were purple and he'd stabbed
them with sewing pins until blood ran down the little fuck's asscheeks.
   Then he'd stuck pins into the boy's soft butt and even into the rim of
his tight little asshole.
   He'd been torturing the child all day, reviving him when he went
unconscious, fucking him up the bleeding ass after gouging his little anus
out with his knife but now the choking was the main thing.
   Tight hard rope around the little boy's neck, his pretty mouth gasping
for air, the killer's cock hard, the killer's balls resting on the victim's
warm whip-welted abdomen.
   The bed-sheets were sour with the boys blood and not even the fresh
salty scent of the sea could compete with it.  Blood and terror-sweat.
   The killer loved the smell.
   He loosened the rope a bit allowed the boy to breathe.
   In the shadows of the yacht's cabin he could see the boy's pretty brown
eyes looking up at him pleadingly, sorrowful.
   For the last couple of hours the boy had not said much of anything. 
Just suffered and cried out with pain.
   "I'm gonna fuck you, pig," the killer stated flatly staring into the
boy's sad eyes.
   He let go of the choking rope, backed up and knelt between the boy's
whipped legs which were ankle-bound to the bed-posts.
   Reaching back, the killer untied the boy's ankles and lifted them up
into cuffs that hung from the ceiling of the cabin above the bed.  There
were chain lines with cuffs attached to them hanging in several locations
throughout the cabin and they swung like pendulums with the motion of the
boat.  He'd had the boy on almost all the chains, hung by his wrists, hung
by his ankles.  Now he needed to fuck the boy and choke him at the same
time and he pushed his erect nine-inch prick hard against the resistant
pin-pierced, knife-cut anal muscle of his victim.
   The boy whimpered as the killer jammed his hard shaft up him; casually
the killer took up the choke rope to pull it tight again, oily thick hemp
cord sinking into the child's slender neck.
   The chains rattled against the hooks in the ceiling as the boy jerked
his legs helplessly and gasped for air, his swollen pin-pierced balls
bleeding on the killer's massive penetrating meat-stick.
   Cruelly and knowingly the killer tugged on the choke rope.
   He fucked the boy hard, until the child passed out then he slapped him
awake and choked and fucked him some more.
   Passionately aroused the killer rose from the bed and untied the boy.
   He carried his young small victim up the stairs and out on deck into the
cool night air.
   The boy lay cradled in his killer's arms like a limp lifeless doll, the
choke rope still dangling from his neck, his asshole and balls bleeding.
   On the slick deck of the yacht under hazy moonlight and the soft yellow
glow of the boat's cabin lights, as the yacht bobbed on the lapping waves,
the killer nailed the screaming boy's hands to a two by four, arms
stretched wide, crucified.  He hooked a pulley line to an eyelet ring in
the two by four and raised the boy up by his nailed wrists.  The boy's
blood spurted out on the polished vynl surface of the yacht, on the
killer's chest, the child hanging five feet off the deck, swinging with the
rocking movement of the yacht.
   The killer grabbed his victim's legs one at a time and with a
sharp-edged scaling knife sliced the hanging child's ankles and feet
placing three deep gashes in the soft flesh of each limb.  Then he picked
up a control box that worked the winch motor on the pulley and swung the
screaming bleeding victim out over the dark ocean.
   The boy kicked his bleeding legs and scream-babbled in terror
silouhetted against the night sky.
   The killer stroked himself leaning on the yacht's pipe railing and
waiting.
   The water beneath the boy began to churn after a while and dorsal fins
sliced the water gleaming like gunmetal silver in the moonlight.
   Expertly the killer worked the winch controls to lower the boy closer to
the lapping waves until the water licked at the child's small bloody feet.
   With a sudden upthrust the shark's head leaped from the water beneath
the boy, sharp-toothed jaws yawning and the boy's small foot disappeared
into its mouth.  The winch arm which projected from the mast groaned as the
boy's body was yanked fiercely downward and the yacht tilted slightly in
the direction of the tugging shark.  There was a cracking churning rending
sound as the animal bit through the young victim's ankle and slid back into
the black water.
   The killer smiled broadly as the footless boy shrieked at the moonlit
sky.
   Again the water churned.
   Three sharks fought for the priviliged tender meat of the luckless youth
and tore his other leg off him almost at the knee.
   Quickly the killer swung the mutilated child back on to the yacht.  He
lowered the boy on to his throbbing cock steadying himself and his bleeding
victim by clinging to the rail bar, his feet gripping the blood-slimied
deck.
   With the sharp knife he cut the boy's nipples open now gripping him by
his hip as the dark-haired victim dangled suspended, bitten off legs
kicking against the killer's thighs.
   Near the boat the sharks continued to circle excitedly and splash the
waves with their fins and tails.
   Viciously the killer stabbed the boy's flanks and belly and thighs as he
fucked him thrusting upward going up on his toes to sink his cock to the
hilt in his whining, squealing prey.  He seized the child's small penis and
sliced it off him to toss it into the water.  The boy screamed beautifully
and his bloody rectal muscle tightened deliciously around the killer's hard
shaft.  The little cut-off prick floated on the waves only for a moment
before one of the sharks gobbled it up disappearing in a graceful swirl
beneath the yacht.
   With a spastic grunt the killer emptied his cock inside the mutilated
child then slid out of him slowly, almost reluctant to finally let him go.
   The child's head now hung weakly and his breath was ragged and shallow.
   His blood pumped from his leg-stumps and from the severed penis.
   Gently the killer swung him around to take his pretty face in one hand
and kiss him.  As he licked the boy's warm lips the killer reached up for
the choke-rope which still dangled around the child's neck and began to
pull on it hard until the soft whining noise in the boy's throat was
stilled.  Then, as his cock rose again into full erection, the killer
stepped back and slammed the knife in the boy's guts to slice him open.
   Working the winch again he swung the child out over the waves once more.
   Now the sharks leaped out of the water recklessly, reached up for the
fresh human meat being lowered toward them.
   The winch arm groaned as two of the animals sank their teeth into the
boy's thighs simultaneously and yanked him down toward the water.
   The killer continued to lower the now unconscious victim into the waves,
the sharks hanging off him and shaking their heads fiercely to rip him
apart.
   Several sharks now surged and thrust into the child tearing him to
pieces as the killer jerked off.
   "Yeahhh -Take him," he shouted as he came.  "Take the little pig."
   For a moment he remembered how the boy had looked sitting on the edge of
the pier in his cut-off jeans, kicking his barefoot legs smiling as he
talked to him.
   "Wanna come for a ride in my boat?" he'd asked after gaining the child's
confidence.
   The parents were nowhere to be seen.  In fact, it had been midmorning
and there was no one around except for a couple of tourists way off on the
other end of the pier near the marina.
   The boy had been drinking a coke.
   The killer had watched him take a last swig his pretty head cocked back.
   "Sure," the boy had replied after he'd put the bottle down.
   Now all that was left of him was the torso and the arms stretched out,
crucified on the two by four.
   The killer felt the sperm rise up in his balls as the sharks tore at the
child until they reached the face and shoulders and arms, until all that
was left was the small hands nailed on the board.
   The killer shot off a thick wad of jism off the side of the boat as the
sharks tore the wood apart, tore the board off the winch hook and continued
to thrash and swirl in the water in the area where the boy had gone down.
   Eventually the water was quiet.
   The killer reeled the winch back in and began to hose the blood off the
deck.
   It would take him a couple of hours to clean up the mess in the cabin,
to put away the chains and wash and put away the leather cuffs, to wash and
put away the scaling knife.
   He would shower the blood off himself and jerk off under the warm spray
remembering the savage murder of the child, the sharing of the kill with
the sharp-toothed beasts.
   Then he would turn the boat back toward the city lights and return to
the marina.
   ******************************************************************
   These victims were just babies, lovely, adorable, helpless.
   Just what Stryker needed.
   The killer worked up a sweat moving from one to the other of the
red-welted and screaming innocents, punishing them one at a time, giving
them his whip remorselessly.
   He loved the way little girls moved to a beating.  Loved the way they
squealed and shrieked in pain.  It was his favorite sound.  In fact, when
he drove by a playground in the city or a school yard, the cries of the
children at play often gave him a painful hard-on.
   Hurting and killing little girls was one of Stryker's preferred
activities.
   Now, the two eight year old blondes, Tammy and Megan, hung from roped
wrists, their little legs bent back, chubby little heel pressed against
their butts, three tight rope loops around their upper thighs.  They were
screaming and crying, just the way Stryker liked.
   Wendy, the ten year old redhead, swung from her feet, her arms stretched
wide, wrists bound to a wooden rod that pressed against her scrawny
shoulders.
   Tammy had long angelic hair that swept back and forth as she responded
to the punishing strokes of the green-eyed killer's lash in contrast to
Megan's bobbing page-cut, strands of which fell over her teary eyes. 
Wendy's shoulder length red-hair was bound up in a pony tail which swept
the concrete floor as Stryker tore the whip across her nubile nipples
leaving dark crimson streaks across the child's chest.
   The three child victims Stryker had kidnapped from the community center
playground that afternoon now raised a discordant cacophony of screeches,
howls and endless sobbing pleas in Stryker's basement vault.  They were
among the youngest victims the sadistic killer had ever captured and they
were for him a rich source of dark intense pleasure, the cartoon
dagger-pierced heart tattoo on his prick full and bright red like feather
markings on an aroused bird of prey.
   As he whipped each victim he stroked his huge prick slowly, squeezed the
bulbed crown, pumped the long veined tatooed shaft eagerly and swung his
lash gracefully and energetically.
   The slender braided leather snarled through the air and bit the small
cherubic bodies of the children with savage injustice, with implacable and
unstoppable viciousness.
   They looked up with terror at the slitted eyed tormentor who had taken
them from their safe suburban lives as he delivered slashing agony across
their helpless flesh.
   Wendy, swinging by her ankles begged for her momma as Stryker aimed his
slicing whip across her small thighs.
   "Your momma can't help you," he snarled as he flogged her pretty legs
angrily, concentrating his scathing misogyinistic fury on her for a few
minutes, shouting venomous hateful insults at her, words the child had
never heard before.  He paced around her as he flogged her giving her fresh
pain from every vantage point tearing cuts across the back of her legs and
across her shoulderblades, her little hands balled up into fists on the
ends of the wooden rod her arms were tied to.  Then he stepped up to her
and pushed the whip-handle into the weeping victim's tight little cunthole
burying it halfway in and leaving it there as he moved to attend his other
two bunnies.
   He licked, kissed and bit the two blonde youths, tasted the stinging
weals he'd left on them, pushed his tongue into their little mouths as they
sobbed, sank his teeth into their cute little feet and their legs.
   He spat on them and punched them and called them names too, horrible
names.  It was so cathartic to release all his venom on these angels.
   He squeezed and choked them, stared into Megan's lovely green eyes and
into Tammy's blue ones and told them he was going to kill all of them and
smiled.
   He ran his hard hands over their tiny hairless muffs and poked his hard
fingers into their virgin holes.
   Working the suspension lines which were attached to pulley chains on
crank levers he stood directly behind his victims, instructed them to
spread their little thighs apart and lowered each of them on to his prick
to impale them impossibly on his monstrous flesh-spear.
   Of the two victims, Megan shrieked the loudest and shrillest as he
stuffed the head of his cock into her tiny little vulva.  Her bound feet
wriggled against his belly ticklishly as he slammed up her with his tatooed
organ.  Tammy was a bit quieter but sobbed and cried fetchingly as he
pushed into her and gripped her long flowing hair in his fist to pull and
rub her head back against his hard pectorals.
   He then used both blonde children as punching bags taking a position in
front of them, slamming his fists into their lower bellies, winding them,
punching their thighs and their bellies until he ruptured both of their
bladders and made them piss blood and scream in agony.
   Moving to Wendy he cranked the inverted redhead up until her head hung
level with his cock.  Then he put his hands around her throat, began
choking her, and when her mouth gaped open, the strangled child gasping for
air, he pushed his shaft into the small wet oval of her lips.  His whip
still dangled from her little cunt.  He yanked it out and wrapped the long
leather tongue around her throat to continue strangling her, pushing his
cock well into the back of her throat.
   As she dangled there with her tiny mouth barely able to take his
mansized shaft he unsheathed his knife from the leather sleeve buckled
around his waist.
   He grazed her whip-welted thighs with the edge of the weapon and licked
the blood off the blade.  She moaned, quivered as he cut her and the
vibrations of the sound against his penis quickened his breath.
   After he'd scrawled five thin cutlines on each leg he reached up to grab
her foot and cut the tops of her toes rubbing his balls against her face as
the two other children watched horrified sobbing and pleading with him.
   Wendy flinched and whined and jerked stifled on his meat, gagging on
him, strangled by the whipcord tight around her small neck and he pushed
the tip of the knife into her at her ankle and dragged the blade slowly
down her leg to the knee and down her lightly freckled thigh to the hip and
down into her belly.  Streamers of blood spurted from the skin-deep cut and
blossomed outward on the child's flesh.
   Stryker lifted his cock out of her mouth to stroke it as he pushed his
balls against her pouting lips.  She gasped for air and again called to her
momma and bawled endearingly as the killer's genitals muffled her raspy
high-pitched voice.
   He leaned down to push the blade into the outstretched palms of her
outstretched hands cutting bleeding X's into the skin.
   He swung her around and stabbed her little buttcheeks with the tip of
the knife ten times getting a sharp piercing squeal each time which was
accompanied by the wailing sobs of the other two children.
   Then, standing behind her, placing the knife-tip to her tiny pussy he
pushed the blade into her slowly, holding her as she jerked and kicked and
howled, fucked her virgin cunt with his serrated hunting knife, hilted in
her then drew it out to watch blood bubble up out of her cherry-red
cunt-slit.
   He then turned to Megan and Tammy.  After lowering them to their knees
and untying them he stood over them and made them lick his cock between
them, their tear-shiny faces looking up at him, his shaft between the two
girl's mouths.
   He cut their shoulders with his bloody blade.
   He cut their cheeks and foreheads.
   Told them to hold up their hands and scrawled X's on their palms too.
   He made both little girls kneel on a low wooden platform and he
sodomized both of them, first Megan then Tammy, cramming his big meat into
their tight little anal holes cutting their butts and backs as he did so,
neither girl tied down but too afraid of the bald tattooed monster to even
attempt moving away.
   Leaving the two blonde raped angels on their knees he went to Wendy and
lowered her to the ground.  Taking her by her pony tail he dragged her
across the floor to a tiled area in the floor in one corner of the torture
chamber.
   In the center of this area a small black box was bolted to the floor.
   From the top of the box a thin steel cable protruded.
   Taking an open O ring that looked like a hoop ear-ring Stryker pierced
it through Wendy's pussy lips and clipped it shut.  The redhead yelped with
pain.
   Stryker went to the other two children and pierced similar O rings
through their little cunts then forced the two whimpering blonde waifs to
crawl to where Wendy lay on the tiled area.
   After untying Wendy's arms from the wooden bar that had kept her in a
crucified position Stryker ran the cable that sprouted from the black box
in the tiled floor through the O rings that were embedded in the cuntlips
of his three infant victims.  He then handcuffed all three children
trapping their wrists behind them.
   He made all three of them kneel before him and lick his now fully erect
manmeat, his hands on his hips, his arms akimbo.
   Impatient to proceed with his plan, however, he stepped away moments
later and went to a video-switch panel which was mounted on a pillar to
press a couple of switches.
   There was a muffled mechanical sound and four glass panels rose up
around the tiled area, enclosing the three surprised girl-children, forming
a large, seven foot deep tank.  The tank which was ten square feet wide
rose up on a pedestal and began to fill with water.
   Stryker approached the pedestal looking in through the glass at his
terrified victims.
   Megan and Tammy were kicking and splashing, pushing their shoulders
against the unyielding glass walls.  Wendy stood up in the center of the
tank babbling senselessly, her knife-fucked pussy oozing blood down the
inside of her thighs.  All three youngsters bled from the knife wounds
Stryker had inflicted on them and as the water rose higher and higher their
blood blossomed in the churning water.
   Soon the three tortured girls floated in the swirling red-tinted fluid
as the level continued to rise toward the top of the tank.
   The cable that was attached to the O rings in their hairless muffs
rolled slackly from its mooring in the tiled floor of the tank as the
children floated upward, treading with their feet to stay afloat, screaming
hysterically as their heads bobbed up on the surface.  Wendy's sliced up
soles and toes left trails of red as her feet scissored in the water.
   When the water stopped filling the tank the three little girls floated
three feet above the tank's tiled floor, their legs kicking desperately as
they tried to stay afloat, arms tightly bound against their sides, their
wounded, whip-striped bodies oozing blood clouds, the steel cable linking
all three of them to the bottom of the tank.
   Stryker reached down and opened a small port on the side of the
pedestal.
   He took a hold of a black plastic handle and pulled on it.
   As he did the cable inside the tank was drawn down into the black box on
the tiled floor and the three children were pulled under water by their
ring-pierced pussies.
   Slowly stroking himself Stryker studied the little girls as they
panicked and began to drown.
   He held them underwater for a few moments then gave the line some slack
and watched them kick their way back to the surface, their bound hands
fluttering, arms twisting as they tried to free themselves.
   He watched them gasp for air and then he yanked on the handle again.
   The cable tugged on the O rings in the pussy lips of the three girls,
stretching the virgin skin to its limit and pulling them down into the
water and to the bottom of the tank.
   The girls kicked desperately, surged against the cable's pull.  One of
Megan's pussy lips tore but the ring was still deeply embedded in her other
labia.  Blood bloomed from her and from the pussies of her two companions.
   Stryker reveled in the sounds the little girls made in the tank,
bubbling gurgling screams and squealing shrieks, as they looked at him
through the glass, their eyes almost popping out of their heads, their hair
like colorful seaweed tangled and floating about their faces.
   Wendy banged her head and fists against the unbreakable panels.
   Tammy grimaced and began to turn purple.
   Megan blew thick bubbles and began to sink to the bottom of still
occasionally, mindlessly kicking her legs out for propulsion.
   The killer was on the edge of an explosive orgasm.
   He had to keep a tight grip on the handle to keep his three little
fishies from making their way back up to the surface.
   He watched, enthralled, stroking himself hard and fast now, as the
children made vain attempts to rise to the surface of the water, weaker
each time, their pretty, whip-seared legs kicking, flailing, Wendy's
knife-sliced leg leaving bursts of red-tinted bubbles, Megan now on her
knees at the bottom of the tank, looking upward, eyes glassy.
   It was easy for the strong killer to keep his victims from surfacing,
easier as their struggles waned.  He watched their surrender greedily.
   The other two children eventually joined Megan sinking downward as their
bodies rippled and contorted involuntarily, their limbs intertwined, legs,
feet twisting together, a horrible balletic display of death, Tammy and
Wendy, blonde and redhair flowing, willowing, Megan's short bobbing mane
like a halo, sweet angels dying for breath, swallowing water and blood,
looking pleadingly at their heartless killer through the distorting glass
walls.
   With a savage grunt Stryker shot his load on the cold panel of the tank
where the girls now twitched in the final stages of their drowning death.
   Hot gobs of sperm spattered the glass surface and oozed down to the
pedestal and the floor below.
   The killer released the handle.
   There was no need to hold the girls down any longer.
   Later he would drain the tank and fuck their small dead bodies.
   Then he would cut them to pieces and bury them in the woods.
   ******************************************************************
   Estela is Mexican meat.  Exquisite brown-sugar flavored Aztec bitch, big
assed, big titted blubbering and sobbing as the men drag her into the
concrete building six miles from the small border town.
   Wilson, Ferris, Luther, Johnston, - white males, wetback cunt killers,
out for another weekend of fun.
   It is Saturday night in mid July and the men have caught themselves
another greaser migrant bitch.  They've killed the two men and four
children she was running with, slaughtered them with quick bursts of
automatic fire in the cooling stretch of desert scrub.  Then they'd forced
their luscious female captive in the SUV and drove her to the abandoned
patrol outpost.
   The old bunker is where they take their prey.
   And this sow is perfect for them.  Strong.  Healthy.  Not like some of
the others they've done here, skinny, undernourished and sick.
   This one's built to take it.
   At twenty-five Estela is a real prize, a lovely dark-haired hispanic
female ready to hurt and bleed for her white masters.
   They suspend her from the roof beams on the chain by manacled wrists and
tear her clothes off her leaving only the tattered waistband of her white
panties still clinging around her wide hips.  They whistle, jeer, laugh at
her and while she hangs there sobbing, nude, humiliated they strip naked.
   She can smell them.  All four men are endowed with long hard meat shafts
which are already erect and ready.
   Wilson and Ferris begin beating her with their fists.  Luther and
Johnston wait their turns.
   The sounds of pounding and smacking punches and crying whining spicslut
fill the small hot room.
   In the bare light of the buzzing fluorescent lamps in the ceiling the
four men take turns punching, slapping, squeezing, pinching and even
kicking the Mexican woman.  The men have left their shoes on and Wilson's
cowboy boots cause the suspended bitch the most pain.  She's kicked in the
shins and her bare unpainted toes are stomped on.  Several times she's
side-kicked in the belly and thighs.  She's cunt-punched and made to spread
her legs wide apart so that the men can take turns cunt-fisting her.
   Ferris lowers the bitch to her knees by turning a crank wheel which
works the suspension chain and the men close in around Estela in a tight
circle to make her suck and lick their cocks and balls, to slap her face,
yank on her long silky black hair and thrust themselves in her mouth and
down her gullet.
   "Por favor - aghh - no - no m-me maten!" the pretty Indian faced captive
pleads.  Her big brown eyes look up to the mean faces of her four captors.
   "No me maten!"
   "What the fuck's the bitch sayin', Luther?" Wilson snarls.
   Luther speaks a bit of Spanish.
   "She's begging us not to kill her."
   Wilson watches Estela's lips widen to take his prick.
   Her mouth is warm and moist, her tongue fleshy.
   Strands of her jet black mane twitch over her arched eyebrows.
   "You know what to tell her."
   "Te vamos a joder, chingada puta.  Te vamos a hacer mierda."
   The men watch the impact of Luther's rough Spanish words.
   We're gonna fuck you up you fucking whore.  We're gonna turn you into
shit.
   "No!  No!  P-Por Dios les ruego!  A-g-ghhh!" the sweating bitch pleads
invoking her God for a moment as Wilson passes her to Ferris who stills her
pleas with his cock and turns them into gagging gurgles.
   When the men are well worked up they drag the dark wooden crate out into
the middle of the room.  It is where they keep their toys.
   With strands of wire they tie Estela's ankles to her thighs so that her
legs are bent back, her heels against her butt, the only point of contact
with the floor, her punished knees.  They loop her big paps with tight
strands of wire. They push a twin-hooked piece of metal into her nostrils
and rope it to the suspension chain above forcing her head upward,
distorting her face, her eyes tearing up as her nose is yanked upward. 
They stuff an inflatable rubber gag into her wide sensual mouth and pump it
up until she's choking, red-faced, tears running down her cheeks, drool
spilling from her parted lips.  Wilson wraps a thin strand of wire tight
around the bitch's neck to choke her and add to her discomfort.  Ferris
takes a set of eight torture balls linked together on a piece of black
leather cord.  The balls are made of steel with tiny spikes all over them.
He goes down on one knee beside Estela to push them up her dry asshole one
at a time making her grunt and whinny, making the others laugh, until all
eight spheres of pain are in her anal passage.  Sharp-toothed alligator
clips connected to terminal wires are attached to the Mexican slut's robust
brown nipples, pussy lips and clit.
   Ferris takes a hold of the cord dangling from her asshole.
   Wilson picks up the voltage regulator box after plugging it in.
   Luther and Johnston watch stroking themselves slowly.
   Its time to make the cunt pay.
   As Wilson rolls the dial on the box electrical jolts spark into Estela's
anguished body.  She jumps and jerks within the confines of her bondage.
Her upstretched arms twitch and her hands open and close reflexively.  Her
cries and moans are stifled by the inflatable rubber gag which obstructs
her throat.
   Simultaneously, Ferris begins pulling the torture balls out of the
suffering Mexican woman.  One by one the spiked spheres pop through her
tight rectal muscle ripping it bloody.
   The men watch her suffering appreciatively.  This bitch will be one of
the high points of their savage weekend.
   When all eight balls are out of her and as she kneels there twitching,
electricity flowing into her tits and cuntlips, blood spilling from her
asshole, the four men take up wooden dowels with small frame-nails on the
tips, three nails on each dowel, and they begin to whip their dark-skinned
captive.  They smack her thighs and legs hard, tear her footsoles open,
leave purple welts and rip wounds across her belly, on her bound boobs, on
her back and shoulders, on her bound arms.  They beat the helpless slut to
blood, wooden dowels whistling meanly down on her, whapping harshly, making
her shriek and jerk against the suspension chain and against the wires that
keep her legs painfully bound.  They beat her passionately, so hard that
the nails sink into her flesh and the dowels have to be yanked loose.
   Now violently aroused the wetback-cunt-killers release Estela from the
nose- hooks, from the alligator clips and the wire bondage.  They release
her wrists from the manacles and take her down on the creaking boards to
rape her savagely, double fucking her, punching her face to ram their cocks
in her drooling, bleeding, begging mouth, in her spike-torn asshole and her
spark-burned cooze.  They fuck the young Mexican woman for all she's worth
ramming their swollen red meat spears into her, pumping her, slamming her
against the floor, getting her up on her toes and bent over leaning on the
wall to pound into her asshole and whip her back, getting her up on a
rickety table to cunt-fuck her and whip her tits, strangling her with a
rope while they fuck her, two of them inside her at the same time, three -
the fourth man prodding her with a spear tipped shaft.
   "Let's put her on the bars," Ferris suggests when the men pause to take
a breather, their bitch sitting on the floor beaten, whipped, bloody.
   Wide-eyed, twitching involuntarily, Estela watches as Luther and
Johnston bring the oddly configured metal apparatus in from an adjacent
room and position it in front of her.
   They lift her up and position her on it so that she sits inside a frame
of metal, her legs dangling over the bar in front of her, her arms pulled
back and propped up over the bar behind her, her wrists and arms bound with
wire, her ankles bound to her thighs with leather cords.  Loops of wire are
wound around her chest, framing her big punished jugs, and securing her to
the metal frame.
   Then the nose hooks are re-inserted in the protesting female's nostrils
and a similar set of hooks is pushed into her mouth and tugged downward,
secured by a leather strap to a bar below her and pulling her lips wide.
   Open-mouthed, eyes bruised half-shut, bleeding cunt offered between her
spread thighs she waits for the whim of her tormentors.
   A metal cauldron on a tripod is brought out and a fire lit in it.
   Four spear-tipped shaft are heated up.
   The woman sobs unintellibly as the killers pace around her.
   "Stinking spic cunt," Wilson mutters angrily.  He looks at the woman's
tongue, shiny wet, lolling in her stretched open mouth.
   Ferris takes a strand of barbed wire from the crate and wraps it slowly
around her head, tightly, so that the barbs pierce her forehead and the
skin of her scalp making her bleed and sob.
   Blood-drops slither down her cheeks.
   Tears.
   "Filthy piece of shit."
   "Goddamn greaser parasite."
   "Worthless fucking scumbag tramp."
   The spears are hot and smouldering.
   Estela's feet dangle in mid air, her toes wriggle.
   The men pick up the spears.
   A long oozing line of spit spills from the woman's lips.
   Wilson lifts his spear to her mouth slowly.
   She can't move away, her head held in place by the hooks in her nostrils
and on her mouth.
   "Agh!  Agh!  Agh!  Agggh!" she cries out as the spear comes closer.
   "Aghh!  Aggghhh!"
   Gently Wilson pushes the spear into Estela's mouth.  The metal hisses
against her tongue and the inside of her cheeks as she shrieks with
mindless agony.
   The sadist rolls the spear tip inside the suffering bitch's mouth,
pushes the killing point into the soft tissue of her uvula burning and
piercing.  Blood and spit spill off her chin.  She gags, chokes, pukes more
blood, her body spasming inside the metal frame.  Blood bubbles from her
hook-stretched nostrils.
   Ferris moves in.  He pushes his spear into her titbags, gouges out her
nipples smiling into her shrieking face.
   Johnston moves around behind her to prod her asscheeks hard with the hot
metal.
   Luther pokes into her chunky thighs, hard, deep into the muscle, almost
to the bone severing her arteries.
   "This pig won't be crossing the border no more," he grunts.
   The others chuckle continuing to push their hot spears into Estela's
writhing body.
   They spear her hands and arms and feet.  Her sides.  The spears thunk
and whang into her harder, deeper.  Her head swivels from side to side
tearing the hooks in her nose finally free and most of her nose with them.
   Then the killers take up machetes.
   Ferris and Luther turn the metal-bar frame which swivels on an axle beam
so that Estela is now facing the floor, blood, and spit spilling from her
wide wailing mouth, from her slashed nose, her ass up in the air.
   Savagely the men begin to whip her ass and foot-soles with the machetes.
   Blood spatters the floor and walls, the naked men.
   They snarl and shout at the screaming spic pig.
   They lop off her toes, slice her plump asscheeks, cut into her spine,
pierce her flanks.
   Estela pisses herself, shits and vomits blood.
   Steel blades slide deep and hard into her guts, slice her open like an
over-ripe watermelon.
   "Tilt her back up for me," Luther grunts putting down the blood-smeared
machete and picking up his spear.
   The long metal killing tool has been warming up in the cauldron fire.
   "Luther's gonna do the bitch," Ferris grunts.
   "Yeahhh."
   "Kill the fuckin' scumbag."
   The men drop their machetes.  Johnston and Ferris swivel Estela back up
vertically so that she faces her attacker.
   The woman is half-dead, whimpering in Spanish, her breath quick, her
blood- soaked rib-cage rising and falling.
   "Take her eyes out," Wilson croaks.
   All of them are jerking off now.  Watching.
   Luther bites his lower lip with concentration moves toward the woman on
the bars, his feet in her blood, floorboards creaking as he closes in. 
Intestines drip from the machete cuts in her abdomen.
   "M-mgg - Por Dios todopoderoso -" she moans looking up at him, her voice
slurred and breathy, her mouth bloody, tongue swollen.  " - ghh - le ruego
- no - no - por f-favor - no quiero m-morir!"
   Your beautiful brown eyes, he thinks.  So beautiful.  So fucking
goddamned beautiful.  Your voice like music.
   He raises the spear tip.
   With two quick thrusts, before Estela even has time to realize it,
Luther pops out both her eyeballs with the spear tip.
   Then with a victorious shout he slams the hot metal into the wailing
Mexican whore's cunt hard, deep, resolutely and with all his strength.
   Pumping the cum up out of their balls the killers move in and spray the
dying woman's face with spurting gobs of phlegm-thick jism.
   Sperm and blood roll off her eyeless face.
   Luther leaves the spear in her and joins them jerking himself off on the
murdered bitch, aiming his hot manmilk on to her wide bloody gasping mouth.
   Unbelievably she still survives.
   They haul her off the metal bars, drag her outside and empty their
automatic pistols into her wasted body their erratic blasting fire lighting
up the darkness outside the old concrete bunker, the hacked apart bitch
thrashing to the impact of bullets in the desert sand, naked killers
grimacing as they fire their weapons down on her.
   Later, after a round of beers, they will bury her with her family in a
mass grave near the river.
   ******************************************************************
   She is a beautiful little girl of ten with shoulder-length blonde hair -
a clean, sweet-faced doll - a smiling, blue-eyed cherub.
   Full of life.
   She sits on the bed, in the center of the king-sized mattress which is
stripped of sheets and pillows, wearing only a one-piece white dress, bare
feet arched, toes wriggling.
   Shamelessly she wears no panties.
   As she smiles up at the creatures who own her she lifts one leg back
playfully, folded at the knee, hiking the dress up to reveal her nude
thighs and her hairless little pussy-slit.
   It is an obvious sexual come-on, one she has learned well, and the
creatures respond closing in, circling around the bed in the well-lit
chamber.
   The little slut is inviting them, drawing them closer, smiling up at
their fierce, sharp-toothed faces.
   They are no longer men.  Their transformation is gradual but terrifying.
Long fangs erupt from their gums.  Hands and feet become clawed appendages.
Their cocks grow and stretch until they are slick snakes of flesh nearly
four feet long dangling between their legs, twitching like demon-tails.
   The little girl is not frightened.  Her face is a guiltless display of
sexual lust.  She licks her lips and her eyes stare at the on-coming beasts
as she pulls her dress up over her head tossing it off the bed.
   Now, the creatures climb on to the mattress which squeaks as the heavy
weight of their bodies bears down on the springs.
   The little girl gives out a soft moan as two of the beasts seize her
arms pulling them over her head, laying her down and stretching her out on
the bed as the third monster lifts and spreads her small legs apart and
kneels between them.
   She looks up at the animals on either side of her.  They drool on her.
She feels their hot, putrid, suffocating breath on her cheeks.
   She likes their stench.  It makes her pleasantly dizzy.
   One of them rakes his sharp claw across her dark-red nipple-nubs.
   She arches her back responsively.
   The claw leaves thin bleeding cuts on her smooth pink skin.
   She feels the third beast's tentacle-head press against her moist red
cuntlet.
   "Ahhh -" she moans, wanting it.
   "Yeahhhh..." the beast between her legs snarls.
Then:
   the tentacle pushes into the tiny aperture of the little slut's vagina.
   It opens her, divides her and she cries and squeals, her angelic face
distorted by the painful thrusting penetration.
   The hurt makes her need more urgent.
   The beasts that hold her sneer, their small hungry eyes feasting on the
suffering of their little slave.
   They watch tears overflow her picture-book blue eyes as the tentacle
slides deeper, past her already broken and bleeding hymen and up against
the little bitch's cervix.
   The one on her right brings his head down, his mouth up to her small
pulsing neck, his jaws stretching wide to encompass the warm flesh.  She
gives out a sharp little cry as his long fangs pierce her white skin and
sink into the heat of her jugular.
   The one on the right waits until her pretty little mouth gasps then
drools blood then his lips close over hers sucking her sweet breath up into
his huge lungs, drinking the spilling life.
   The third beast fucks her as his two allies kiss the little whore and
drink her blood.  With a grunt he pushes his tentacle deeper now, breaking
through her cervix with some effort, his hard penile shaft splintering
through the tight coils of her intestines and up against the hard
muscle-wall of her stomach.  He places his claws on the inside of her
thighs, just above her knees and bearing down on her with all his weight he
snaps her leg-bones at the hips.  The dull crack is followed by a muffled
grunt from the young victim whose eyes now stare glassily at the ceiling of
the chamber.  A dark gush of blood spurts from her penetrated pussy-hole.
She farts blood and shit on to the mattress and gasps and gurgles as the
two beasts on either side of her bite her face and arms and shoulders
sinking their fangs in deep.  Jets of blood from her pierced aorta strike
the kneeling fucking animal's hairy chest and face and he guffaws savagely,
tips his head back, roars and rips his tentacle into the little-girl's
stomach-cavity and upward, upward into her esophagus.  He reaches down and
stabs his clawed fingers into her flinching belly ripping the young flesh
open and tearing out intestinal streamers, ripping out her still
undeveloped ovaries and fallopian tubes and lifting them to his mouth to
devour the pieces.
   The beast lying on her left slides up against her and pushes his
tentacle up her bleeding anus.
   Doubly penetrated and doubly fucked and now spasmically vomiting blood
the little girl screams fitfully.
   The third beast now sits on her chest and takes her little face in his
claws.
   She looks up at him as his tentacle wraps around her slender, bitten,
blood-spurting neck.
   Now that death is imminent the terror overwhelms her.
   Hot piss pulses out of her penetrated little cooze.
   She gasps as his hard flesh-snake tightens unmercifully.
   The other beasts rip her legs off, devour her small feet.  Blood flies
up against the white walls and ceiling, all across the heaving mattress. 
Her sweet little toes, heels and ankle bones are crushed in the powerful
jaws of the animals who now destroy their prey.  Their fangs slice into her
tender calve muscles and inner thighs.
   With an angry growl the one sitting on her chest now begins to rip her
little head off her neck.
   "...uuhhwwhhWHHUU-u-UHHWHHHH!" she cries as the neck bone snaps as the
flesh rips as her shoulders contract as her heart beats like a broken
wind-up toy.
   "AAHHHRGGHHH!" shouts the beast finally tearing her beautiful little
blonde head from her body.
   Lifting it high like a trophy.
   All three animals cum almost simultaneously.
   Hot scum-jets pulse from the blood smeared tentacles into the headless
carcass of the little bitch and out on the blood-covered mattress.
   The face held high above them is unspeakably lovely, briefly crying,
finally motionless, eyes rolling back, lips sagging.
   Savagely it is tossed against the wall on the far side of the room where
it splatters then bounces and rolls across the stone floor in a flurry of
pretty blonde hair, spilling blood, teeth and bits of skin.
   Then there is only the frantic clawing, guzzling, ripping, rending,
slashing, crunching sounds of the animals as they devour the still warm
body of their slaughtered child-prey on the blood-soaked mattress.
   ******************************************************************
   I am a cunt butcher and am not ashamed to say so.
   Of course I have to be careful who I share this with.
   You want to know how many, of course.  And what my favorite ways of
killing are.  And if any of them were special.
   The truth is that they are all special in some way.  Their lives are
special and their deaths must be more so for me to achieve a first rate
orgasm.
   I like them young and pretty.  The younger and the prettier the more
dangerously I am aroused.  The more I like them the more they are doomed to
suffer at my hands.  To bleed and die for me.  To feed me with their flesh.
   Sometimes I am like the fisherman, pining for the one that got away: the
cute eight year old in the airport with her sweet white-bread mom; the slut
in the strip club by the beach; those three crazy teen bitches I almost got
my hands on during spring break; the dark haired woman in the bar who left
before I could get my bearings.
   I like white girls.  I like nigger-girls.  I like spic-girls,
hindu-girls, gook-girls - arab cunts - Scandinavian twats - preteens and
middle aged housewives -bondage pain pigs - delicate school teachers -
raving feminists - even olympic athletes .
   I like to hurt them all, to see them all in pain.  And I like most of
all to finish them.  To kill them.  To destroy them.  To butcher them.
   Even pregnant bitches.  Hell.  Especially pregnant bitches.
   A woman is most beautiful when she's swollen up and ready to give birth.
   That is when, in my book, she most deserves death.
   Painful, bloody and unforgiving death.
   Have I killed a pregnant bitch?
   The unequivocal answer, my friend, is yes.  And enjoyed it thoroughly.
   Most people think me a sick fuck, trading human life for orgasms.
   The way I look at it - if there were no male orgasm there would be no
human race.  So if I am the giver of life then I should also be the taker.
Not to cut in on God's territory (forgive the pun) but after all its the
old man himself who gave us these terminal instincts.
   For me there's nothing more beautiful than looking into the face of a
woman I've been brutally torturing.  Right into her dazed fucked up eyes. I
especially like to have them on their knees in front of me, or in some way
humbled.  The feeling of power is just awesome when I can see the pleading
in those eyes, the pain, the recognition of power.
   Women instinctually need to be conquered and brought down.
   Even the most feminist lesbians will break under my treatment and pay
hommage to one they must ultimately acknowledge as Ruler of their bodies,
hearts and minds.
   And to fuck their throats and silence their speech and their will to
communicate - that is most attractive to me.  Nothing hurts a woman more
than when you shut her up and take away her right to an opinion, her right
to express her feelings.
   I like to turn women into nothing, empty space, servile junkies,
hungry-to- please whores - things I can wipe my shoes on - objects I can
use to clean my asshole after shitting - cum buckets - piss receptacles -
trash cans.
   The prettier the woman, the more voluptous she is, the more fertile, the
more she needs to be broken and savaged.
   I spare no effort to see that my pleasure is well looked out for.
   My pleasure, my orgasm, my climax is ultimately all I care about.
   The lives I take are meaningless female lives.
   Females when left to their devices will try foolishly to run the world.
Of course, they'll get nowhere.  They're not smart enough or strong enough.
They can't run anything.  Their cunts bleed monthly and their brains are
useless when their hormones rage.
   Proof positive of my argument lies in the results, my friend.
   You won't believe how easy it is to turn a woman into a complete willing
slave.
   It is no myth.  I have done it repeatedly.
   I have beaten whores to a pulp, left them for dead and they've come back
to me to finish the job.
   I have made bitches plead for my cock in the last anxious moments of
life while my hands choked the breath from them.
   Those women that tell you they are respectable and would never sink to
such limits are liars.  I have brought them all down and made them pay and
they've loved me and worshipped me because of it.
   I am a cunt killer.  It is my true calling.  It is divinely inspired and
biologically motivated.
   Bitches need to die and I need to kill them.
   It is a simple arithmetic and one that will never fail.
   I will go on with it until I am old and feeble - or until I am caught.
   ******************************************************************
   The naked pregnant mulatto bitch hangs by chafed wrists to metal
shackles hooked to a heavy chain that dangles from the ceiling of the
abandoned church.
   She has been suspended for nearly an hour and is shiny with sweat, her
breathing forced and shallow.
   She straddles two wooden planks that have been nailed together to form
an upside down V'.  Rope strands secured to hooks in the planks hold her by
the ankles, legs wide apart, her cunt bearing down on the sharp-edge of
pinewood.
   Beyond her, on the distant wall, a crucified Jesus looks down from his
cross on a deserted altar, two broken benches and several burn spots on the
dirty floor of the dilapitated building.
   Three naked hooded white men surround the suspended female.  They stand
jerking off slowly watching her closely, intently, long black leather whips
dangling from their free hands to the floor.
   They have raped the bitch violently and beaten her with their bare hands
before hanging her on the chain.  They have left blue-black bruises on her
arms and thighs.
   One of them nods.
   Suddenly, the black whips fly up off the ground and crash across the
young slut's torso and abdomen drawing wailing shrieks from her as she
twists around helplessly, trapped up there on the wooden horse, chained
hands opening, fingers reaching.
   The chain rattles against the hook in the roof-beam.  From that hook
sometimes ropes have hung - black men and women have dangled and kicked on
the end of a tight noose, naked and whipped raw.
   The hooded men rape the mulatto bitch with their whips.
   It is not the first time they have beaten her not will it be the last
time they group-flog a helpless nigger female slave.  For this particular
mulatto bitch, however, this day with her white masters will be the last.
This day will mark the end of ten long months of unjust, undeserved and
inhuman punishment.
   She is well into the final month of pregnancy and her belly juts out
obscenely, prime meat-target for the slashing leather tongues.
   As the lashes tear into her she lifts herself up off the wedged planks,
her head thrown back in wild shrill screams of pain, her pussy coming up
off the wood.  But soon she has to give in and fall back down on to
sharp-edged punishment, bound legs flexing, feet thumping against the sides
of her torture horse.
   Repeatedly the whips fly and whistle and tear across the pleading,
sobbing mulatto bitch.  Her pretty fat-lipped mouth yawns wide with
screaming pain, drool spills from it down her chin.  Her brown eyes
gleaming with tears roll upward to the broken ceiling and the blue sky
beyond as her flesh is beaten.  She appears to beg for heavenly redemption
- and surely does, her trapped soul chanting some half remembered gospel
memory.
   The men jerk off while they send their whistling whips against her and
as a consequence their rising sexual tension provokes them to slash at her
harder and harder.
   After twenty minutes of unrelenting harsh punishment labor pains explode
through the pregnant woman's body.
   The beating initiates the birthing process, a burst of fluid streaming
from her cunt as her placenta breaks.
   "Nigger cow's busted," one of the men shouts.
   The whips fall harder, sharper, faster, hard black leather, braided fire
tearing bleeding welts from the shrieking half-breed female.
   The men punish her for being beautiful, for being black, for being
pregnant but most of all for being a woman - nigger-woman ripe for their
cruelty.
   Her big tits wobble as she shakes and twists under the flailing whips.
   Milk spurts from the nipples as they are slashed.
   Milky blood.
   She pleads with them to let her down, pleads hopelessly for her and her
baby's life and screams and bleeds and finally begins to stiffen as her
womb dilates and her whipped body begins to propel the fetus outward.
   The wooden wedge pressed up into the nigger's cunt stops the baby's head
from exiting completely but the men can see it, shiny and greasy with blood
between her fat brown thighs.
   The bitch shrieks frenziedly.
   For a moment the men stop whipping her and just watch her atrocious
pain.
   Her legs kick against the wooden horse which rattles and rocks under
her, her heels thumping against it as if it were a steed urged to run, to
carry her away. Every muscle in her works to expel the child now trapped in
her birthing canal, she is taut and stretched, arched like a bow, and the
baby's head has begun to split open on the sharp edge of the torture horse
as it is pushed down and out.
   Slowly the mass of the exiting fetus and placenta push the suffering
woman up off the horse, raising her on a cushion of bloody meat, her ankles
tugged down by the ropes which stretch only slightly and allow her barely
to rise, as the freshly born infant draws breath and wails horribly,
receiving life and almost simultaneously losing it, a tiny black male baby
now pumped out, dangling by its legs from its mama's cunt on the side of
the wedge then sliding down out of her to fall on its head on the concrete
five feet below, slitted skull cracking open like an egg, its crying
instantly stopped, its tiny hands quivering for a moment.
   "One nigger less in this world," one of the hooded killers states
flatly.
   The others laugh.
   Months before they'd watched five naked black studs brutally fuck the
mulatto slave in this same chamber after all three white masters had beaten
her bloody and half unconscious with billy clubs.  Each black male had been
brought in, told he would be granted freedom if he performed the assigned
task, and then as he ejaculated each man was shot in the back of the head
with a hunting rifle.
   The dead men had fallen, sprawled over the half conscious mulatto bitch,
bleeding all over her.  Then the body of each man was dragged outside,
tossed on the grass, and the next victim brought in.
   All five bucks had performed extremely well given the circumstances and
their final copulation maneuvers were quite memorable for the cruel
killers.
   Each victim was told that the man preceeding him had not been able to
fulfill the requirements, that their manhood had failed them at the
critical moment and that the result was death.
   Smiling and hooded the killers had watched the desperate act of life,
each black stud jerking himself off to get hard, standing over the beaten
woman, aroused despite his fear by the cruelly tortured female body,
sinking to his knees to slide his long hard black meat deep into the young
slut, his strong hips - all of them strong- hipped, muscular, athletic,
young slaves - pumping and thrusting in an obscene display of unfettered
lust mixed with the unbridled hope for freedom.
   The five energetic fucks confirmed for the white masters that these
creatures were only animals after all, just as everyone had claimed and
that the stinking niggers deserved nothing but exactly what they got: Boom!
The sharp hot flash of the gun-barrel, a look of horror in the end, blood
and brains splattering the young bitch and the wall and the floor and then
collapse - victory for their owners.
   The last one had been the best, a tall powerful bald creature with dark
simmering eyes that slammed into the beaten girl furiously, perhaps only
slightly puzzled by the already thick ooze of cum spilling from her pussy
and lubricating his impressive fuckspear.  No doubt his suspicions were
confirmed when he groaned in final ecstasy then felt the hot steel muzzle
press into the back of his bare skull.  The men saw the knowledge in his
eyes.  He knew he had been lied to, that indeed the four studs preceeding
him had not failed to perform, and that their death was only an
aphrodisiac, an enhancement for his cruel white masters.
   The killers had looked right into his eyes as the bullet tore through
his neck and finished him then they'd cum all over his wide splendid back
as he lay on the beaten nigger-girl, white gobs of sperm speckling the dark
brown flesh - then hot drizzling urine as the masters had pissed on their
nigger servants, the dead and the still living, now impregnated female that
would grant them unlimited pleasure for the next few months.
   Now it was coming to an end, the sobbing woman hanging from the chain,
the dead baby in a bloody puddle on the floor.
   Fired up by the gruesome event they've just witnessed the hooded killers
move in.
   They take up the short wooden clubs and attack the hanging mulatto bitch
breaking her legs and her ribs, literally pounding the shit out of her,
busting up her guts and cracking her spine.
   Moving the wooden horse and kicking the dead infant out of the way they
lower her to her knees and take turns fucking her pretty nigger mouth one
last time.  They free her from the chains, let her topple to the floor, and
fuck her up the ass. They fuck her bloody gaping vagina and piss in it.
   Then they drag her outside by hair kinky hair, out by the bubbling creek
in the woods behind the concrete building.  Her legs trail along the ground
leaving bloody tracks.
   They each have their rifles, loaded and cocked.
   She's ordered up on her feet.
   Slowly, her heart beating fast, she leans against the trunk of an oak,
her broken hands gripping the rough bark, her broken legs sliding painfully
under her to take her weight, her brown skin broken and bleeding in a
hundred places from the savage whipping.
   "C'mon," one of the men growls impatiently.  "Get up nigger.  We haven't
got all day."
   Pitilessly the men watch her sob in agony as she struggles to rise on
broken legs and ankles, hugging the tree, the pink soles of her feet
shuffling in the dust as one leg and then the other scrunch up under her,
she crouching, blood and manpiss trickling from her pussy, sperm drooling
from her asshole, her cheek against the oak, trembling as she rises slowly,
the wood scraping her pretty beaten face, her arm muscles working.
   Young nigger bitchslave - her life spent serving the cruelty of white
masters - finding no love - knowing no freedom - draws breath in pain,
coughs up blood - strives to rise as the naked killers raise their rifles -
turns to face them, her back against the tree, the old ancient oak that has
stood here since long before this injustice, long before this ritualistic
slaughter, hard and strong, withstanding all seasons.  Fast streaking pains
run through her body from her fractured spine, her left side numb and
unresponsive, her toes gripping the dirt as she turns fully around, resting
back against the rough oak bark, her legs apart, her arms wide behind her
gripping the thick trunk, her mouth yawning and gasping, her eyes sad and
lost.  At nineteen she knows nothing of the world except the harsh
viciousness it has showed her and the distantly remembered love of her
mother singing, washing clothes in this same bubbling creek long ago before
these men came.
   The killers are still wearing their hoods, anonymous in their shared
passion, their rifles now raised and aimed at her body like steel cocks.
   The woman thinks of her dead baby back inside the building, stilled in
the moment of birth and tears brim in her eyes.
   The sun sparkles on the running water behind her and birds twitter in
the trees.  Softly the wind moves the leaves and light shimmers.
   The dust the woman has kicked up as she struggled to her feet has
settled.
   At twenty feet the nigger bitch makes a perfect target but for the
executioners there is no rush to squeeze the trigger.  They know she won't
be able to move now.  She is pinned to that tree just as if she'd been
nailed there. She is pinned there by their merciless cruelty and they stand
in a half circle, three feet apart, firing squad style, weapons raised,
their faces impassive.
   She looks from one face and one gaping muzzle to the other, eyes moving
from left to right then right to left.  Each man has over the past months
beaten her, tortured her, used her in his own way for his own pleasure and
all three have shared her many times.  Her body has pleased and appeased
their savagery and now there is nothing else for her.  Her time is
finished.
   She presses the back of her head against the bark of the oak.
   In the shade of this tree she long ago played with the other slave
children.
   A small white cloud moves across the clear blue sky over head.
   She is nothing now but meat.
   Kill meat.
   One of the men shouts.
   "FIRE!"
   She does not hear the gunblasts.
   The bullets thud into her chest and belly.  Her meaty asscheeks are
squeezed back against the tree as her head snaps back, eyes to the sky,
memory of the gun-muzzles flashing brightly like sunlight, a flare of
bursting fire in her neck as her aorta is sliced open.
   The men fire again and again, each one putting four rounds into the
nigger bitch before she finally topples sideways and into the brush her
body riddled by the explosive blasts, one bullet blasting out her eye,
another exploding her heart and lung, her guts shattered by lead, urine and
faeces jetting from her as she shudders, rolls over on her belly, her feet
kicking up fresh dust, a long death groan vibrating to a climax in her
throat.
   She's still groaning when one of the killers stands over her, places the
rifle muzzle against her bloody head and fires.
   A thick jet of brain matter explodes from the mulatto bitch's yawning
fat- lipped mouth.
   Above, the birds have scattered in a flurry of feathers, taking wing
into the warm afternoon sky.
   There is blood on the oak tree and bullet holes.
   The men will not bury the nigger whore.
   She has died with her eyes and mouth open.
   Gnats and flies buzz around her face and alight on her eyes.
   Later that night other plantation slaves will come for her, dress her
broken body in a white sheet and lower her into muddy darkness.
   Maggots will hatch on the flesh of her dark brown cheeks.
   ******************************************************************
    It is a little scary, Josie thinks, but the man has paid them and paid
them well. She and Carmen are nude on the dirty mattress in the cellar of
the old building.
   There is a camera.  A red light blinking confirms that it is recording.
   The man has paid them to do each other.
   He sits beside the camera watching.
   He is handsome but cold, his eyes dark blue, almost gray, his hands
strong and lean.
   Carmen moans softly as Josie dips her face down into Carmen's shaved
pussy slit tracing the pink labia with her tongue.  Josie smiles.  She
likes to eat her friend out and has done so many times and not even for a
camera or a stranger's money.
   The man watches impassively as Josie's tongue laps against Carmen's tiny
clit in the bright glare of the two video lights, wet flesh glossy, like
pink meat on the shelf in the butcher's.
   Both girls are sixteen, Carmen two months older.  Both are members of
the South Bronx High football cheerleader squad.  Both are New Yorican,
hispanic girls, Carmen dark-skinned and negro-lipped, Josie whiter but with
similar Afro-Indian features and long platinum blonde hair.  Carmen's hair
is short and dyed red with dark streaks like many of the Dominican women in
Washington Heights.
    The man picked them up in the club after watching them dance under the
spinning strobing lights.  In their short dresses and clunky sandals they
looked exactly like what they were, a couple of spic kiddy sluts, the kind
of girls the man hated.  For him they were no different than the roaches or
rats that infested all the buildings in the ghetto.  They were voluptuous
little sleaze pups in dire need of extermination.
   He'd watched them dance noting their ample tits and fat juicy asscheeks
bouncing and swaying to the loud salsa and hip hop beats, their fake hair
weaving and shining in the lights, their long nails glittery with silly
designs, both of them with small tattoos on their ankles, both with ankle
chains and bare-legged.  When he bought them drinks and invited them to his
table they didn't take him seriously at first but after they saw the roll
of hundred dollar bills emerge from his trench coat pocket they changed
their tune and chattered away like two silly monkeys.  They told him they
were both cheerleaders, Josie taking a picture from her small purse to show
him.  There was the whole South Bronx Tigers squad with Josie and Carmen
right up front each of them down on one knee.
   The fact that they were cheerleaders was an added perk.
    At first they were shy in the cellar of the abandoned building.
   It was a place he'd rented a few months before.
   He'd already done three cunts here and knew after these two he'd have to
find another place.
   After he set up the camera he gave them a joint to pass back and forth.
That relaxed them.  That and the fact he'd promised them five hundred each
loosened them up in no time.  They were natural whores anyway.  The way he
looked at it he was doing the taxpayers a favor.  Two less scumbags on the
welfare payroll.
   Later he would sell the video for a nice profit.
   No one could say he did not enjoy his line of work.
   He watched Josie push her young slutty face into Carmen's pink pussy and
felt himself getting hard.
   "Do a sixty nine for me, girls," he told them.
   He played the part of porno-video director well.
   They complied, Josie now getting on the bed and straddling Carmen's
face, dipping her face down into Carmen's already spit-shiny cunt.
   They were good.  Not shy in the least.  Just as he'd figured when he'd
seen them dancing in the club, they'd done this before and loved it.
   Carmen raised her head up off the mattress to pry Josie's plump
buttcheeks open and push her tongue against soft throbbing pussy.  Josie
groaned and bore down on Carmen, her long fake blonde hair spilling out on
the other girl's wide open thighs.
   The man rose from the old wooden chair and moved toward them, knelt at
the edge of the mattress and unzipped his fly.
   The girls started to move.
   "Stay like that," he told them.  "You keep eating her," he told Josie.
   He placed his cock on Carmen's silky cunt slit and moved it gently up
and down while Josie licked it and looked up at him smiling, looked down
again to lick his cockhead and Carmen's cunt.  He lifted Carmen's soft
thighs in his hands and pushed just the tip of his cock into the hispanic
youth.  She smelled humid and earthy, pungent.  The flaps of his trench
coat rubbed against the back of her thighs as he pushed into her.  Josie
continued to lick his shaft as it went in and out.
    Josie is excited by the man's cock.  It is a long beautiful white
shaft, fat and hard.  At first she worries about him not wearing a rubber
but the worry fades in her mind as her deep sexual instincts overpowers
her.
   "Stay like that.  You keep eating her."
   His voice is dominant, melting her inside.
   Carmen's sweet mouth on her clit is driving her crazy.
   The man smells of expensive cologne.
   She licks him, tastes him as he enters Carmen, feels Carmen wriggle
under her as the man raises Carmen's thighs and pushes in, licks him some
more, licks the in and out moving cock.  She looks up at him.  His eyes are
scary.  But he is handsome.  A streak of jet black hair spills over his
eye. She want to please him.
   The camera makes a soft mechanical sound, its red eye blinking.
    Carmen gasps for air, almost smothered under Josie's fragrant cunt,
Josie's thighs gripping her face.  She feels the man's weight on the
mattress.
   "Stay like that.  You keep eating her."
   The dark tone in his voice almost makes her cum - his voice and Josie's
licking tongue and soft lips down there.
   And then his cock, hard and fat entering her, his hands lifting her
thighs.
   Then he's fucking her hard and fast.
    "Suck me," he tells the blonde taking his cock from Carmen's cunt.
   Josie's lips surround him immediately, her green eyes looking up into
his.
    "Both of you suck me now," he orders and they obey moaning, melting,
sighing, gasping - so beautifully eager to please him.
   They are already his.
   He has fucked both of them slowly.  Fucked one girl while the other
watched.
   He likes to be watched.
   Wearing his black jeans and boots, his black t-shirt and trench coat,
the silver chain around his neck, his hair spilling over his eyes, sweat
running down his face, he is in control, complete control now over the two
naked spic girls.
   Both of them lick and suck his cock.  Josie goes underneath to lick his
balls while Carmen works his shaft, back and forth, up and down, moaning,
her eyes staring up at him, pupils dilated from the pot and from the sexual
pleasure, both girls rubbing their cunts eagerly, pushing their hands into
their slits, kneeling on the mattress before him.
   "Slut," he tells Carmen.
   Carmen smiles.
   When Josie takes his cock she looks up at him as Carmen descends to lick
the underside of his shaft and his swollen balls.
   "Whore," he tells her.
   "Mmm," Josie replies deep-throating him religiously.
   "Ahhhh-mmm," Carmen moans licking Josie's lips and his shaft and kissing
Josie.
   He could probably piss on them and they would love it.
   Stinking pig-bitches.
    Josie is just a little scared when he ties her up but it also excites
her.
   His hands move over her bound body and she vibrates like an instrument.
   The ropes are tight and inescapable.
   "One more thing," he says.
   He's got a rubber ball with a strap on it.
   "Open wide," he tells her.
   Carmen watches from across the room.
   She hangs by the wrists from a hook in the ceiling.  He's bound her
ankles together and pushed a ball into her mouth.
   It wasn't hard at all.
   "Come on, girls," he told them after taking his time to fuck each one,
on the mattress, on the floor, up against the wall.
   Carmen had already cum twice.
   Josie was breathing in quick and short bursts.
   "Lets do a little bondage."
   Then he'd given them another joint.
   Fucked Josie while Carmen kissed him.  Fucked her until his cock
provoked a shivering orgasm from her pussy then he fucked her up the ass
until she came again while Carmen frigged herself and licked his shaft as
it slid in and out of Josie's tight little rectum.
   Not hard at all.
   "You're not gonna hurt us, right?" Josie asked.
   He smiled and pushed the ball into her mouth and buckled the strap
tight.
    He knew the gags wouldn't really shut them up too well but he'd taken
care to check the propagation of sound from the cellar.  Earlier that day
he'd played a boom box full blast in the cellar and gone first to the
hallway upstairs then to the street outside and heard nothing.  The old
brick building was perfect for his work.
   Now he drew the long steel kitchen knife out from his trench coat.
   Josie and Carmen went wide-eyed and began making muffled protests.
   Josie rolled off the mattress and squirmed against her ropes on the
floor.
   He put the knife down on the chair and stripped naked slowly enjoying
the rising alarm in his victims.
   Carmen yanked on the ropes that held her wrists above her head and
almost lost her balance.
   "Shut the fuck up a minute and listen," he said, standing naked, picking
up the knife.
   They did.  Shivering.
   He had their attention now.
   "I'm going to kill both of you and cut your pussies out."
   Both of them began to squeal.
   The sounds of terror always excited him.
    Josie would be first.  It seemed to him she deserved that honor.
   He made sure the camera and the video lights were aimed properly and
then he dragged her by her fake blonde hair out to the middle of the room
in front of Carmen whose wrists were already chafed from pulling against
the ropes.
   He'd bound Josie's arms behind her, wrists and elbows together, and her
legs by the ankles, knees and thighs.
   The little blonde bitch squirmed helplessly on the linoleum floor as he
sat on her, his balls on her shaved mons.
   With no prelude or warning he simply began to stab her big juicy tits
jabbing the blade in lightly first then deeper and deeper while the little
spic angel shrieked and sobbed, her teeth clamped on the big ball in her
mouth, her words unintelligible.  She bucked wildly under him as he sliced
into her nipples, raised her heavy boobs to push the knife all the way
through them and slowly cut around the aurolae to rip the pert little nubs
completely off her.
   She was babbling in Spanish by the time he started slicing both tits off
her and he punched her twice to shut her up.
   Carmen stared down and shouted at him, cried for help through the
muffling gag and yanked on the ropes.
   He put the knife to Josie's slender neck and pushed the edge of the
blade against the jugular until blood began to jet from the terrorized,
tit-less teen in quick short jets that spattered his thigh.  He smiled and
now took the ball gag from her mouth.  Leaning over her he spit in the O
formed by her groaning lips and then rose to move into a new position,
swinging around to sit right on her face and rub his asshole against her
nose, down hard, her long blonde hair under his feet.  She gasped and
gurgled under him and cried out as she bled to death, the sounds vibrating
deliciously against his balls, growing weaker as her blood puddled out on
the floor.  As he rocked back and forth on her he stabbed down into her
smooth belly, stabbed deep, stabbed hard.  He stabbed her thighs.  Blood
streaks exploded across the floor, spattered Carmen's wriggling toes.
   Carmen sobbed hysterically, tried to turn away but couldn't.
   He looked up at her.
   "Don't worry, sweetie.  I haven't forgotten you.  You're next."
   Finally Josie lay still under him.
   Just to make sure he sliced her belly open, reached in and yanked out a
handful of guts.
   There was no response.
   He rose dripping blood and gore and moved across the room to the
suspended dark-skinned youth.
    Carmen stops crying as she sees him rise.
   Her breath just stops.
   She is quivering.
   He moves slowly toward her, bloody knife in his hand.
   Josie lies in a puddle of blood on the floor, eyes open, blonde hair
fanning out from her head trailing into the blood puddle, her severed tits
on the floor, one on each side of her.
   Carmen is terror-silent.  Beyond prayer.  Beyond speech.
   A stream of piss runs down her thighs.
   "Your turn, scumbag," he says, standing in front of her.
   She is shivering.
   She looks down at Josie who lies staring glassy eyed at the ceiling,
Josie whom she has known since the third grade, Josie who has been her
lover for two years and maybe even before when they didn't even know what
to call it, when they played naked in Carmen's aunt's apartment on the West
Side.  Josie who talked them into becoming part of the cheerleader squad
and who taught her the moves and who chased her laughing in the rain.
   He takes Carmen's ballgag away.
   Josie's blood drips down his thighs.
   He's standing barefoot in it and in Carmen's hot piss.
   "Kiss me," he tells her, moving his face in, leaning down.
   She does, trembling.
   His kiss is slow and hot, his tongue exploring her lips and her mouth.
   She hangs there weakly, accepting it.
   When he finishes she looks into his eyes and there is fierce burning
hatred there.
   "Pig," he says softly then moves around her.
   He looks down at his victim's body.
   Carmen is wide-hipped, slightly shorter than Josie, and with a beautiful
firm ass, big and round, which just begs for his blade.
   She hears him breathing heavily behind her as he studies her then feels
the cold blade against her back.
   He cuts a thin line from her shoulder to her waist.  Licks his lips. 
Watches a drop of blood spill down the swooping curve of her buttock.
   He cuts another line from the other shoulder, half way down.
   She begins to whimper.
   He makes several surface incisions on his little spic slut's back until
she's whining and blubbering weakly.
   Then gripping her by her shoulder he begins to stab her fat asscheeks,
stabbing hard and deep as he did with Josie's tits, taking his time between
each stab, leaving the knife in her to walk around and take her face in his
hands and kiss her sobbing screaming face, then going back to yank the
knife out and stab again and again.
   He rubs his cock on her gouged bleeding asscheeks, pushes it into the
crack of her ass, stabs the sides of her thighs, her flanks.
   He goes down on one knee to stab the backs of her meaty thighs.
   Now Carmen is screaming, wailing, shaking her head, her dyed red hair
flailing.
   He stabs her calves right to the bone.  Blood spurts out on him.  Blood
runs down her legs to the ropes around her ankles.
   He stabs her heels, her feet.  No more salsa dancing for this little
whore.
   She totters, hangs by her wrists, swings from side to side wildly,
circles and offers him the fronts of her legs which he attacks with
newfound vehemence.
   He growls, stabs her knees, cuts her shins, stabs her toes.
   "No!  No!  N-aawwhhhhhh!" she howls.
   He smiles, stabs her, strokes himself with the other hand.
   He rises, stands over her, plunges the knife hard into her cunt, leaves
it in her. Steps back to watch her dying, stroking himself.
   "Pleeeease!  Pleeeeeease!" she whinnies.
   He bites his lip, looking right into her eyes, yanks the knife out of
her cunt and cuts her throat open.
   Her eyes go even wider, pretty brown spic eyes, doe eyes, stupid eyes.
   He hates the mascara on them and the dark blue lipstick on her and the
stupid little chain on her bloody ankle and the tattoo on her leg.
   He gut-stabs her hatefully now, deep now, harshly, violently.  He cuts
one tit- bag in half, stabs the other one several times, watches her eyes
roll back in her head, her head crane back as she goes stiffly up on her
sliced-up toes and he plunges the knife into her cheek, leaving it in her
face, watching blood and spit gurgle and splash and sputter from her lips
as she goes weak, her hands reaching for air, ringed-fingers wide apart
above her head.
   Before the spasm spends itself in her body he rips the knife out of her
face and plunges into her chest right between her massacred tits dragging
it down to her gouged-out belly, opening her up, cutting her open like a
fish, watching her guts spill out of her in dark bloody glops to the floor
as she sags on the suspension rope and dies.
    One quick slash to the suspension rope and Carmen topples lifelessly
to the floor.
   Now the fun part.
   He will cut their cunts out of them and fuck the cut-out flesh slit, ram
his big hard cock through each meaty, pulpy severed vagina.
   Then he will ejaculate in each dead girl's mouth and on their ashen
frozen faces.
   With an axe he will cut both carcasses to pieces, stuff them in plastic
bags and take them to the incinerator at his uncle's plant when no ones'
around.
   He will keep their pretty heads and their cunts though, in formaldehyde
and for a long time.  Until the storage unit he's rented just outside the
city is full of bottles, the shelves lined with videotapes.
   Then he will consider moving to the West Coast to continue his work
there.
   ******************************************************************
   In the other room Sally can hear the two men.
   They are hurting momma.
   Today was the day the men came to the house and took them.
   They shot Sally's father and her two brothers in the head and made her
and momma watch.  Then they took mother and daughter, tied them up, gagged
them and threw them in the truck.
   Now the men are hurting momma.  Hurting her bad.
   Sally can hear them in the other room.  Sally is crying though she can't
see what they are doing.
   Sally is only five, a charming and affectionate little girl, healthy and
vibrant.
   Today the men will use her for all she's worth.
   They will use the little bitch up.
   Earlier, the men hung Sally on the ropes by her wrists and ankles, curly
blonde headed baby crying while momma watched begging and pleading with
them.
   She watched them rip momma's clothes off and make her kneel.  She
watched them slap momma's face and punch her and push their big ugly
peepees in her mouth and shout and curse at her.  Then they ripped Sally's
little pink flower dress off and her little Winnie the Pooh panties while
Momma watched and one of them smiled and put his big hands around Sally's
throat and squeezed the breath out of her until Sally almost fainted.
   In the other room now they are really hurting momma but she can't see.
   Sally's crying, bawling.
   "Shut up, you little slut!" the men shout.  "Your turn's coming."
   The men have laid out the beautiful blonde woman Jane, on a grill.
   They've secured her to it with steel-bolt manacles at her wrists and
ankles and she cooks, bastes over the lively glowing coals.
   She's screaming her pretty off and shaking her head as her skin slowly
roasts.
   Poor momma.
   Her hair is bound back in a tight ponytail and her cheeks are flushed
red.
   The men have separated the two females so they can listen to each
other's screams: momma dying on the grill, baby hung on ropes soon to be
beaten and
raped.  The men like it this way.  Its different than making the females
see each other suffer although they like that too.  They just feel like
trying something different today.  A little variation.
   This way is so much more - twisted.
   Jane hears her daughter call out to her.
   "Ohh Godd baby!" she calls back.  "Ohh dear God!"
   The men enjoy this.  They enjoy the mother's suffering and agony on the
grill and the fact that she knows she will die unable to save her daughter
from their hands.  They enjoy the suffering of the child separated
traumatically from her mother, unable to know what is happening to her,
hanging on the ropes and waiting.
   Smoke wafts up from the female on the grill.
   Jane burns.  Cooks.  Sobs.  Begs.
   The men watch and drink mineral water.
   Jane's lips are parched.  Sweat beads up all over her.
   It is hot in the room from the charcoal fire.  The men are nude and
sweaty and they stroke themselves.
   Jane screams, spreadeagled on the sizzling metal grill.
   The burning heat fucks her.  It fucks her pretty flesh.
   She's a strong healthy twenty nine year old female and her body will be
able to withstand the punishing ordeal beautifully.
   Her back and her ass are deep red, the backs of her thighs and calves
and heels are now turning a deep tan shade.
   One of the men, lean and bald, with bushy hair on his chest and pubis
looks down at Jane and smiles.  He dips a metal shaft with a sharp bladed
tip into the hot coals.
   He likes to watch women burn.
   The other man, a muscular blonde takes a long wooden rod from a cabinet
on the wall.
   "I want the little bitch," he tells his companion and he goes to the
room where Sally hangs on the ropes.
   Smiling the man reaches out to peel off Sally's little pink socks which
are still on her feet.  He does it slowly and lovingly, leaning down to
lick the child's delicate foot soles from her toes to her heels.  She
smells of sweet child soap, maybe Johson's - smells good enough to eat. 
Sally squirms ticklishly and howls.  The man lets the tiny socks which have
small flowers knitted on them fall to the floor to join Sally's other
clothes.
   Then he steps back.
   His smile vanishes.
   A drop of his spit gathers at Sally's heel and rolls off.
   Wordlessly and viciously the man begins to whip Sally's footsoles with
the wooden rod.
   Whpp!  Whpp!  Whpp!
   His eyes are slitted and angry as the child shrieks and jerks and
bounces on the suspension ropes trying to escape the unprovoked attack.
   He aims the rod expertly, hatefully, slashing at Sally's tiny feet,
leaving welts right from the first blows, making the five year old squeal
like a little piglet.
   In the other room Jane squirms on the grill.
   "What are you doing to my baby?!" she wails.  "Ohh Godd, Sallieeeee!"
   "OOwww!" Sally shrieks.  "Owwwhh!  N-nawwwwwhh!"
   And Jane can hear the swish-whp, swish-whp of the rod before each cry.
   "Ohh Godd baby!" she screams burning on the grill.
   The man who stares down at Jane now lifts the spear tipped rod from the
coals.
   "How about this, cunt?" he says matter-of-factly and shoves the tip of
the spear into Jane's left breast right through the nipple.
   Jane's scream is wild and breathless.
   The man torturing Sally hears it and it excites him.  He gives Sally a
few more sharp cane cuts across her little feet and moves in to put his
huge cock up to the child's tiny pussy-slit.  He takes the child's whipped
feet by the ankles and sucks and nibbles the small toes.
   What a sweet little baby cunt Sally has, pink and hairless, small and
delicate. What cute little toes.  How deserving of death this child is.
   The man spreads the tiny cuntlips open and puts his huge prick right to
the small slit-hole.
   Jane's urine sizzles and hisses as it trickles on to the hot coals and a
sharp pissy smell fills the room.
   "Goddamn," Jane's torturer comments moving down to now plunge the hot
spear into his victim's young cunt, right into her urethra to stop the
flow. The helpless roasting blonde mother arches against bound limbs coming
up off the grill keening unrestrainedly then slumping back down.
   Jane's wild shriek seems to power her daughter's tormentor in the other
room to thrust his huge manmeat hard into Sally's little lovehole.
   "Ahhh yeahhh -" he grunts, closing his eyes, going up on his toes,
rocking his head back, gripping the suspended child by her hips.  "Yeah! 
YEahh!  YEssss!"
   Sally squeals wildly.  Her little feet are on fire and now it feels like
her peepee is going to be cut in half.  Like she's going to be split open.
The man is sooo big. Sooo BIG!
   This man loves to rape very small girls and boys.  The smaller and
younger the better.  He has been in jail most of his life because of this
need in him.  Over forty five years he has raped nearly three hundred
children and killed twenty of them.  He's never been brought up on murder
charges because he's been very careful.  But he has been caught molesting
little girls in the city park. No therapy or counselling will ever do him
any good.  Now with Sally he knows this.  It is deeply confirmed in him. 
He enjoys the knowledge.  He is a child killer.  A sex predator.  Nothing
makes him feel better than the slow torture and destruction of a helpless
young victim - and Sally's just the ticket.  Sweet little blonde Sally hung
for him up on the cruel ropes, tight on her wrists and ankles.  Little
prisioner Sally, her little feet whipped raw.
   Breathing fast and excited he slides out of the child and steps back to
continue the savage foot caning.
   Sally screams her lungs out.
   "Please," Jane pleads with her tormentor, looking up at him.
   He smiles at her, spear in hand.
   "Dear God in heaven - p-please - let - let us go - don't kill us -"
   "Bitch," he whispers softly.  "I'm gonna cook you alive."
   And then he slams the hot spear again into her urethra, deeper this
time, hilting it in her, her head slamming back against the metal grill,
her blonde hair singed in the coals, as her shriek rises deafeningly.
   Sally's screams and sobs join her momma's as her footsoles are flayed
viciously.  The furrowed soles, scarlet-streaked, ooze blood and still her
tormentor is not fully satisfied.  He targets the pink knobs of her heels
and the pudgy tips of her toes.  One cruel blow breaks the small toe of her
left foot making the screaming child twist and jerk around on the ropes. 
Another cut fractures both big toes in one swoop.
   Still hungry for more the sadistic predator strikes viciously at Sally's
little calves and knees before stepping in to rub his now engorged prick on
her welt-torn feet, lubricating it with the child's blood before moving in
to push himself up her super-tight cooze.
   Crying, Sally looks up into the sickly smiling features of her rapist.
   He looks right into her pretty blue eyes drinking from her pain.
   He drops the cane and again his hands close around the child's throat
tightly.
   Soon Sally's struggling for breath, choking and coughing, snot running
from her nose.
   In the other room the bald man yanks the spear out of Jane's cunt.
   He releases her wrists one at a time from the steel cuffs that hold her
to the grill and grabbing her by her blonde pony-tail her lifts her into a
sitting position.
   He looks down into her agony-twisted face.
   "You're gonna lie on your belly now for me.  On the grill."
   Jane shakes her head sobbing.
   "Oh yes - on your belly - or I'll shove this -" and he raises the hot
metal spear for visual impact - " - into little Sally's guts.  You got it?"
   She bites her lip and her shoulders shake as she sobs but after a moment
she nods.
   There is no other choice for her.
   Reaching down for the manacle bolts, the bald tormentor frees her ankles
and watches Jane turn over and slowly lower herself on to the hot metal. 
The grill sizzles as her unburnt and sweaty skin touches the singing
surface.
   She is groaning and gasping as he now pulls her arms up and apart and
pushes her wrists into the manacles again to re-tighten the bolts, trapping
her, her big juicy paps pushing into the grill grating through the square
openings, her nipples almost in the glowing coals, her eyes wild with
suffering as he pulls her legs out and secures the ankles.
   Amusedly he watches her try to arch off the metal, her hips recoiling,
thighs prying upward, already marked by the square grill burn pattern.
   The sadist goes around the platform and seizes Jane's burnt ponytail.
   Reaching up he pulls down a rope that dangles from the ceiling beam.  He
knots the woman's singed blonde mane to the rope and yanks her head upright
leaning in to feed her his cock while she grunts and struggles, the front
of her body, and especially her big juicy udders now cooking in the heat.
   "That's right.  Suck that cock, bitch.  Suck it and we might let your
baby live."
   He enjoys lying to the tortured bitch.  His lie will keep her going all
the way to the end.
   He looks down on her cooked backside.
   The square pattern created by the thatched metal bars of the grill is
imprinted there distinctly, darkly.  He specially likes the way it looks on
her plump asscheeks.
   Again he picks up the spear and dips it into the hot coals.
   "Mm - keep sucking, cunt," he tells her and after a few moments he
raises the hot spear to plunge it repeatedly into his blonde captive's
roasted buttocks.
   As she draws his massive organ down into her throat hole, her eyes shut
tightly, her throat reverberating with the pain of the hot spear piercing
into her already burning and swollen flesh Jane hears her daughter Sally's
screams again from the other room and the sharp, hard, steady whp whp whp
of the wooden rod.
   Sally fairly dances on the suspension ropes as her cruel attacker swings
the wooden rod down across her back and shoulders, across her little
asscheeks.  He stands behind her now punishing his little piglet, rapidly
stroking himself and alternately cupping his throbbing balls to keep from
cumming prematurely.
   Jane gapes wide-mouthed, drool and pre-cum from the cock in her mouth
dripping off her lower lip as her attacker backs away from her and goes
around the platform out of her line of sight.  Her mouth is still open when
he thrusts his spear into the upturned sole of her left foot and her cry of
pain is an animalistic squawk of horror.  He plunges the spear through her
other foot, twisting the blade on the way out to maximize the destruction
of her frail limb.  Unable to turn her head which is hair bound the young
bitch-mother can only repeat the ugly squawking sound, eyes narrowed and
bloodshot.  Blood bubbles up from the multiple spear wounds in her
asscheeks and on her tits and feet and cunt and hisses as it drips on the
coals.  She swoons dizzily, almost passing out, sensing the awful heat
which now cooks her guts and is brought suddenly back by the sharp spear
piercing her kneehollows, sharp thrusting, deep thrusting stabs that sever
her tendons and wedge deep in the muscles of her legs.
   A long quivering scream comes from Sally as her tormentor slides his
cock up her ass, pushing up into her relentlessly, blood dripping down her
back from the wounds inflicted by his whipping rod.
   "YEahhh - ohh yeahh!" he grunts savagely fucking the five year old,
holding her small body between his strong hands at her flanks, his fingers
digging into her soft skin.  He hears Jane's squawking croaks and knows
that his partner is destroying the child's mom.  Sally's tiny rectal muscle
tightens against his invading meat.  He hilts himself in the child, gouging
into her intestines, blood and shit drooling down his shaft and he reaches
up to strangle the luckless infant once more.
   Eager to see what his partner is up to with the blonde mother-whore
Sally's tormentor now reaches up and loosens the ropes that suspend the
child.  Then with his little captive impaled on his cock-spear, an arm
around her waist to keep her from falling, he turns and walks into the
adjacent chamber.
   He enters just in time to watch his companion spear stab Jane's luscious
thighs.  It doesn't seem the blonde has far to go.  Dark smoke rises from
her roasting body and even from her gaping mouth.
   Sally screams for her momma, her little arms reaching out to her, anal
muscle tightening against her tormentor's cock as she squirms, her little
legs kicking back against his strong thighs.
   Jane is unable to turn her head to see Sally and has to wait until the
child is brought around right in front of her still impaled on the powerful
killer's massive cockshaft.
   "Kiss your mother," he tells the child leaning forward.
   Sally's little hands reach out for her momma's suspended head to take
her anguished sobbing face.
   Behind her, the bald killer raises the spear and thrusts it down into
the base of the blonde woman's spinal column, hilting it deep, leaving it
in her.
   "A-Auu-UURRGGHHHH!!" Jane keens, arching, eyes wide and wild with the
hurt, looking right into Sally's suffering face.
   "Mommiee!  Mommiee!  Noooo!"
   Sally kisses her momma's sweating cheeks.  Momma is hot, so hot, and a
burning smell comes from her gaping mouth.  Momma's eyes are rolling back.
The big man holding Sally on his peepee holds the child over the hot grill,
her little whipped feet almost touching the burning metal Momma is lying
on, holds the child to the mother.
   "Uhh," Jane groans.  "Uhh - b-baby - my - baby -"
   The man that has speared Momma walks slowly around the side of the
platform.
   "Lets fuck the little pig in front of her," he says.  "Both of us at the
same time."
   "Ye-ahh," his burly companion agrees smiling.
   The bald man pulls a low wooden bench out in front of Jane.
   The other sadist with Sandy still impaled on his stiff rod slowly slides
down to straddle the bench, leaning back to lie on it so that Sally now
sits on his cock atop him.  Then the bald man moves in, stroking his cock,
placing it against Sally's little twat and pushing the girl back so that
she lies on the prone man behind her.  As the bald man pushes into Sally
the five year old screams and wails and sobs.  Her mother watches crying
softly, still hung by her hair, dark blood pouring from her lips now as she
witnesses the terrible double rape of her five year old child.
   Both killers now savagely fuck-rape the little girl, the wooden bench
creaking as their hips thrust and their cocks gouge into the immature womb
of their victim.  The man under Sally again strangles her and holds her
head up as he does it so that his companion can viciously slap the little
girl's face.
   "Awhh - G-godd -" Jane gasps.  "Aw Jesus - pleease - my - baby -"
   Slap after vicious slap stun and silence the bawling child as she rides
cockmeat, face going blue, her eyes fading as the killer underneath her
tightens his stranglehold.
   Jane feels her bowels release and hears the coals hissing as fluid pours
from her.  She twitches and spasms as the heat begins to swallow her up and
the sharp dull agony of the spear which has broken her spine throbs through
her.  She pisses blood, shits it, gasps for air, watches Sally's face
turning purple, the child's tongue lolling.
   Slap.  Slap.  Slap.
   Sally bleeds from her mouth.
   "Yeahh!  YEahhh!" the bald man shouts.
   Sally is squeezing both men so good.
   The man underneath her wrings her neck savagely.
   The child pisses herself.  Her urine feels nice on the men's cocks and
balls as they thrust relentlessly into her
   Jane trembles.  A thick spume of blood rolls up into her throat.
   The last thing she sees is the two men fucking her choked-dead child.
   Unresposive and limp Sally is sandwiched between the killers.
   When the bald man pulls out of her, his cock is covered with her blood.
   The child slumps down rolls off the bench and topples to the floor in a
lifeless heap.
   The killers flank the dead mother, one on each side.
   Jane's eyes are open but glassy and grayish.
   Hot squirts of sperm spatter her cheeks, her gaping mouth, her tongue,
her eyes and forehead.
   The dead mother whore fellates both killers who take turns to empty what
is left of their cum in her throat.
   Jism drips down off her chin and sizzles on the grill and in the coals
below.
   One orgasm is not enough for the killers.
   They hang the dead child up by one foot, cut holes in her belly and fuck
her drooling gut sack.
   By then the cooked mother is crackling on the grill, her skin deep
brown, here and there singed black, head hanging off the grill by her pony
tail, smoke pouring from her mouth and nostrils.
   ******************************************************************
   I move silently through the city, mostly in the night and in those areas
of loneliness, in those uncertain and tenebrous hours when day is not yet -
when the quiet rustle of newspapers and empty paper cups rolling in an
alley may startle. My prey awaits me the same way parched earth awaits the
rain. Young fucked up girls whose lives have been emptied of dreams and
plans. Whores who live from one fix to the next. Teenage girls stumbling
through the foreign landscape of city night, runaways, who will not be
missed because they have never been loved. Orphans.  Waifs.  Or some
luckless stranger who just happens to stray across my path. All will suffer
and all will bleed. All must pay the price of being female and of being
alive. I take from them and make no excuses. I am a cleansing force. I am
the Killer. I bring them much needed death and they provide me with much
needed pleasure. It is a fair exchange. I am specially fond of girls who
have been abused, lied to, corrupted, prostituted. I am most fond of stupid
girls and addicted girls. They deeply fascinate and attract me. They are
perfect victims who yearn for the final death blow. They make me feel
superior, even godlike. And little ones, when one can be snatched, are
delectable, delicious morsels of human suffering that must not be
neglected. The slaughter of a child is an act of wonderful catharsis for
me. So unjust, such an outrage against civilization. I am a predator. I
don't do it for money, although sometimes I wonder if I do it for fame. My
escapades have been in all the newspapers and magazines. They've talked
about me on talk shows. But I don't think fame is truly the motive. I love
my victims.  Love them so much that I want everything they have to give,
mostly their young lives.  I want to own the fucking cunts.  Own their
breath, their blood and ultimately their souls. I want to Master them, to
Possess them, to Own and Destroy them. To piss on them. I need to me cruel,
relentless, merciless. They need that too from me. Need it desperately.
There must be no hesitation, no second thinking, no doubt. Many of them in
the end yield, open themselves to me, receive me and accept me as I have
never and will never be accepted in any other relationship. An open-mouthed
bleeding victim who waits for my cum trembling is always impressive. 
Females are so beautiful in suffering.  They are made for it. There is
something undeniably primitive about it.  They respond to it like fish to
water. And when I choke and cut the life from them some of them even
orgasm, weak and helpless, knowing it is the end, they actually fucking cum
on the end of my cock before I blow their brains out or cut their heads off
or slice them open. All this will no doubt horrify the uninitiated, the
unsuspecting, the innocent, the ones who believe humankind is basically
good, the ones who bow to a God that seems pointless and inobtrusive as
long as you agree with Him. I once cut a little girl's cunt out of her and
shipped it to a Catholic bishop. I can only guess the horror with which he
must have reacted to my gift. Of course by the time he got it the victim,
or what was left of her, was under fifty feet of muddy water, so it didn't
make too much of a fucking difference either way. But I can only conjecture
about his point of view, his horror, his disdain, his lack of empathy.
Doesn't he know?  Doesn't he see that underneath he and I are made of the
same DNA, that we walk the same evolutionary path to arrive here? A priest
and a girl-killer.  A president and a child molester.  A lawyer or doctor
or CPA and a raging terrorist. We are made of the same stuff and all moral
ground is slippery when you come right down to it. Just think of all those
lovely screaming wenches that died atrociously at the hands of the
Inquisition.  Is it any more or less comforting to know they died for the
grace of the Good Lord? The thought is enough to get my juices flowing -
literally. The street is calling to me and the night and I must move on. I
must continue my work. I hope I have enlightened you or at least horrified
you. But if you are female and young and you find yourself in my hunting
ground remember that I will come for you.  I will be merciless. I am the
night and the darkness. And above all else females are one thing for me and
one thing only: Meat. Yes. Warm, living Meat. I never stop being hungry for
it. Never stop needing it. Never stop feeding.
   ******************************************************************
   I watched the leather-collared, tongue-pierced slut licking the instep
of my bare foot as she knelt nude on the carpet before me.
   "That's right," I told her.  "Slobber on it.  Make it shine with your
spit."
   She looked up at me with her big pretty green eyes while she licked.
   She had an oval shaped face, pale skin, lots of mascara, plump lips
painted strawberry red and short-cropped blonde hair.
   K.  looked human but I knew she wasn't.
   She was worthless meat.
   No fucking question about it.
   Fucking slaughtermeat.
   I'd seen her on a live bondage site on the internet and knew I had to
have her.  Especially after having watched her take a single-strand
whipping from some guy in jeans and a black t-shirt that proclaimed: Got
rope?'.
   The website usually packaged the shows into downloadable streaming
video. I got hers and watched it several times.
   I studied her and lusted for her destruction.
   I was hungry and needed to feed.
   That snow-pale flesh welted wonderfully and I enjoyed the way she
expressed pain.  Some sluts made ugly, nasal, wheezing sounds that
irritated me but the vocalizations from this bitch were exquisitely
feminine and cock-raising.
   Still, she was a fucking whore with no class.  The swirling tattoo on
her shoulder, multiple rings on her fingers, black finger- and toe-nail
gloss, and several studs pierced through her ear-lobe expressed this.
   She was perfect fucking slaughtermeat.
   Every time I'd watched the video of her whipping and listened to her
desperate pain cries I'd felt my need for her grow stronger.  The image of
her bound, twisting form responding to the expert whipmaster echoed in my
mind.
   So I'd tracked her and her Internet pimp down and it had taken me a
couple of weeks to make arrangements for a meeting.
   It was during the first session with her that I knew I would need all
she could give.
   The bitch would have to be mine.  That was unquestionable.
   Now her studded tongue long and warm swirled around my toes.  Her sticky
saliva ran down the sole of my foot to the heel.  The black leather collar
with the large o-ring hugged her long slender neck.
   I stroked my cock as I sat back, naked on the plush chair.  The silvery
metal ball on her tongue caught wet glimmers of light and the sensation of
her pierced tongue licking my feet submissively, especially of the cool
stainless steel stud against my skin, was a great prelude for my ultimately
savage intentions.  I concentrated on the feel of her soft hair on my toes
and ankles, her breath, warm and moist against my skin.  I never let her
touch me with her hands, of course.  I had cuffed her wrists behind her so
that she was ultimately helpless and unable to defend herself from me in
any way.  Plus I didn't want her to initiate anything.  Like all my other
kills she would have no options and no choices.  She was here merely to
obey and to suffer. And of course, to die.  That, most clearly, was her lot
in life as a useless bondage whore.  She was nothing to me.  Less than
nothing.  A zero.  A negative integer.  A cadential point of closure with
no inherent value.
   This particular female had already been reduced to slavery by a past
history of whoring and drug abuse which had long ago burned out any
worthwhile qualities she may have posessed.
   While I did not know the particulars I learned from her pimp and later
from K.  herself that she had been raped since the age of five by her
father and brothers. Later they had sold her to a low level crime boss and
whore dealer in Miami.
   As a twelve year old prostitute she had been sold to several wealthy
business men with a penchant for child-meat, a not unusual preference of my
own now and then.  It hadn't taken long for her to be found by sadistic
whoremasters looking for fresh cunt.  While most children her age were
going to school and learning to read and write, this little bitch was
learning to fuck, to serve men and obey without question, and to take pain.
She knew nothing of art, science, history, language or geography and she
would soon leave the world without having made any lasting connection or
contribution, except for the pleasurable orgasms cruel men achieved from
using and debasing her.  Truth be told, as far as using her mouth and her
cunt and her asshole to please a man, as fas as complete submission and
obedience, she was one of the best I'd ever had.
   This was my third session with her.  The first two times I'd paid the
guy who ran the Internet site for her services and had gone no further than
some harsh whippings and intense humiliation which usually ended with her
drinking my piss after I'd cum on her.  But this time it would be
different.
   Intensely different.
   "Suck my toes," I told her.
   She complied her face moving down my foot, her sensual mouth wrapping
around me.  Her long, dark purple, manicured nails weaved patterns in the
air behind her as her fingers rippled.
   "Suck them good, bitch.  Lick between them."
   I deeply enjoyed watching a beautiful whore grovel at my feet and take
my toes in her mouth and rarely indulged this idiosincrasy.  But now I
wanted to take more time to study my victim.
   At this point the little bitch obediently serving me had no idea that
this time she would never leave my basement room alive.  She trusted me and
I reveled in that fact.  Nothing pleased me more than to totally violate
the trust of an unsuspecting victim.
   She believed she was here for the usual sequence of events I'd subjected
her to on the two previous occasions, events which I knew made her wet and
as eager to perform as a trained circus seal.  And though she may have been
an indoctrinated masochist, one who enjoyed being viciously and violently
used, I knew she certainly was not ready to die.  The thought that her pimp
would have sold her to me lock, stock and barrel didn't even enter her
stupid little head.
   "The other foot now," I ordered.
   She smiled slyly, like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie
jar.
   Little fuck.
   She had no clue about what was coming.
   She sucked with servile docility.  She had nothing in her wasted little
head but pleasing me.  There was no understanding of the world there.  No
intelligence, no spark.  She was an animal, pure and simple.  A fuck animal
who had been trained to cater to every aggresive appetite a man could have.
She was useless for anything other than sex.  She knew nothing about
anything important and could hold no intelligent conversation.  When she
was not fucking she would rather stay high and not think at all.
   And certainly the world had never called upon her or those like her for
anything else.  She was more a perfect slut than a human being, had in fact
very few appealing qualities that would make her human in the eyes of
society.
   Certainly to her pimp she would not be even vaguely human.
   For him she was a source of cash from internet voyeurs and an ultimately
heavy payoff from an untraceable source: me.
   For me, of course she was not human at all.  She was torture meat,
slaughter flesh, a way to relieve some very nasty impulses and needs that
somehow or other I had acquired and which I greatly reveled in unleashing.
I felt no need to rationalize, validate or excuse my actions When it came
to the destruction of a masochistic toy- whore like K.  I felt completely
and sociopathically free of any guilt whatsoever
   Now I rose to my feet and stood over her.
   I watched her fingers continue to weave slow, silent patterns of
submission behind her back.
   She looked up at me with a neutral subservient expresion as she stopped
slobbering over my feet.
   I took the butcher knife from the table.
   A flicker of fear passed through her features then.
   "Hey..." she said, starting to get up.
   I slammed her head against the ground under my foot.
   "Shut up you worthless slime," I snarled.  "And lie still."
   "Please, Sir," she whined.  "Master Sloane doesn't like to see me all
cut up."
   "Sloane sold your ass to me, bitch," I told her keeping her face pressed
to the floor.
   "I'm afraid my tastes are a little more violent than his."
   "You're lying!" she protested.  Her voice was throaty and raspy.  I was
going to enjoy hearing her girlish screams.  "Master Sloane would never
sell me away.  He loves me.  He told me so."
   I bent down to look at her face under my foot as she struggled against
the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles.
   "Love!?  What the fuck does a little slimy piece of shit like you know
about love?" I asked rhetorically.  "Sloane got five grand for you and he
walked away, bitch...You hear me?  Walked away.  You're bitch ass is mine
now."
   "Here's your fuckin' love -"
   I drew a sharp cut across the smooth pale skin of her plum butt-cheek.
   She squealed and tried to move away.
   I plunged the knife into her assglobe then yanked it out.
   She screamed then sobbed in response to the sharp pain.
   "Don't try to get away from me, pig!" I snarled.  "You're not going
anywhere.  Now, get up!"
   I grabbed her by one pinched ear and pulled her up.
   "Oww!  Ow!  Ow!" she cried out, her brow furrowed, eyes shut tightly.
   When I had her up on her feet I slapped her hard across the face
shutting her up.
   A scarlet trickle of blood from the wound and cut across her asscheek
ran down the back of her leg, snaking around her kneehollow and spilling
down her luscious calve.
   She stood snivelling as I clipped the leash to the metal o-ring of her
neck collar and turned, tugging on it, making her follow me stumbling
through the long hallway to the pantry behind the kitchen and down into the
sound-proof basement.
   " - please - sir - " she whimpered, her bare feet making a slithering
sound behind me on the steep concrete steps as she struggled for balance,
her hands still cuffed behind her.
   I paid no attention, not even turning to face her as I pulled her after
me across the dark cellar and through the heavy wooden door of the killing
room.
   I'd never brought her here before and I reveled in the horror which
flooded her big green eyes as she stepped into the brightly lit chamber and
watched me shut the door behind her.  The steel freezer-type lock closed
with a sharp metallic click.  The room was comfortably air-conditioned but
there were no windows.  It was a solid bunker from which none of my victims
had ever escaped.
   Dripping-bloody butcher knife in one hand, leash in the other, I walked
her across the twenty by twenty room, past the dangling chains and ropes,
past the whipping post and the glass cabinet of knives and swords, past the
blood-stained wooden rack and the small black cauldron that sat on the
burning coals on a metal pedestal in which three steel pokers of different
sizes rested, already glowing red and smouldering, filling the room with
the harsh unforgiving smell of hot metal, and I brought her to the wooden
chair with the steel dildo attached to the seat.
   Ten other females had taken that chair.  Most of them had died there.
   "Sit on it," I ordered.
   "P-pleease..." she whined.
   "Sit on it or die now," I told her unemotionally looking right into her
desperate eyes.
   I knew she was thinking about the tiny holes on the dildo.  What were
they for?  The shaft was perforated by rows of them and there was one at
its very tip, small, needle sized openings.  She was thinking about the
dark leather manacles on the arm-rests of the old wooden chair, and the
belt-thick straps on the legs.  She was looking at the bolts that held the
chair to the concrete floor and wondering how it would be to sit there
before me, penetrated, vulnerable, helpless.  Then her eyes trailed to the
butcher knife I still held, it's shining blade raised like a killing
erection, matching my now fully aroused, nine inch cock-shaft, both of
which were aimed at her vulnerable abdomen.
   I saw then how her feminine submissive insticts slowly took hold and
after a few moments a resigned look came over her face.  She was breathing
slowly and deeply.  I knew that in her heart of hearts she had known this
moment would one day come.  There was no way she could not have known it.
Her whole life she'd been moving inexorably toward it.  Deep inside she
knew her life could have no other purpose, no other ending.  She was
ignorant, artless, cheap, but not stupid.  I had known this knowledge was
part of her from the moment I'd watched her take the whip on the internet
video.  I had assured myself of it when she'd taken the whip for me and
when she'd knelt obediently before me to drink my urine.  Now, I watched
her accept the dark self-destructive knowledge inside her and in that
perfect moment my balls swelled with pleasure as I watched her hang her
head, take two steps toward the chair and turn her back to it.
   She spread her legs slightly and braced her hands on the edge of the
arm- rests then she looked up at me.
   "You're going to kill me no matter what, aren't you?" she asked weakly.
   "That's right," I replied staring impassively back.
   She nodded once, her eyes filling up with tears and slowly she slid down
on to the steel dildo.
   "Uhmm -" she began, speaking while her eyes looked at the wall behind
me. "Do you want me to take it up my ass or up my cunt?"
   "In your cunt," I replied.  "I want your asshole for something
else....if you make it past this..."
   "Y-yes, Sir..." she responded again hanging her head.
   I saw a drop of blood from her knifed assglobe drip on the chair seat.
   Then she took a deep breath and adjusted her position situating her warm
swollen slit right over the cold steel shaft.
   Her head then craned back, eyes closed as she began to push herself down
impaling herself on the dildo.
   The metal cock began at a one inch circumference near its tip but
broadened almost to three inches at its base, ten inches lower, where it
was screwed to the chair seat.
   She moaned softly and gritted her teeth as she pushed down, her
long-nailed fingers white from gripping the arm-rests, her arm-muscles
tense, her feet arched, black-painted toes pressed against the floor. 
Another drop of blood from the knife cut dripped on the chair seat under
her.  When she got half-way down on the shaft, her eyes, half-slitted
rolled back, then focused on mine as she turned her head to me.
   "I can't go any further..." she moaned.
   I could see her legs quivering tensely.
   "Yes you can," I told her.  "Do it for me.  Take all of it for me."
   She whined, closed her eyes, took another breath and began to grind
herself down into the big steel dildo.
   I stroked myself slowly watching her.  My bare feet were still moist
from her saliva where her tongue and mouth had grazed my insteps and toes.
I wanted to stick the butcher knife I still gripped right into her heaving
chest or draw it across her sweaty tits and slice them off her.  Instead I
plunged the knife into the wooden post beside me and approached her,
finally dropping the leash and putting both of my hands on her slender
round shoulders.
   She looked up at me, lips parted, eyes half closed and she half-smiled.
   The leash hung from her neck collar and down between her spread legs
almost to the floor.
   Now a trickle of blood was making its way down the surface of the
perforated dildo shaft.
   "Help me," she moaned softly.  "Help me finish it..."
   Dizzy with sadistic lust I gripped her shoulders hard and bore down on
her.
   The smile left her face instantly and her eyes went wide as I pushed her
all the way down hard, until her ass pressed into the wooden chair seat.
   She made an odd strangled sound as something ripped inside her.
   Her body spasmed rigidly and I bent down quickly to bind her ankles to
the chair legs, buckling the leather straps as tightly as possible until
the old leather dug deep into her white skin.
   Then, instead of securing her wrists to the leather manacles on the arm
rests of the old wooden chair I grabbed her forearms and raised them high
over her head, her breath catching with surprise, pain-filled eyes
following the rising movement of her limbs as I trapped them together at
the wrists in cuff-straps buckled to a chain which hung from a pulley line
in the ceiling.
   "Aww G-goddd..." she groaned.
   I knew the dildo had ruptured her cervix and pierced through her uterus.
   Even if I did nothing but stand and watch and jerk off she would be dead
within a couple of hours.
   Her life was already over, blood was pooling around her plump thighs on
the torture chair.
   My pleasure was just beginning.
   I stood over her jerking off, looking down into her suffering face.
   "There were tiny holes on the dildo - " I told her, licking my lips,
watching her reaction to my words, weighing their terrible impact on her as
I reached up for the switch on the wooden post next to me, the one I'd
stabbed my butcher knife into.
   "Remember?"
   She nodded, her eyes on the wall behind me again.  A trickle of spit
drooled from her lips down her chin.  Her hips were grinding in slow tight
circles on the chair, calve muscles flexing as she rose slightly and dipped
down into the painful impalement.  She was fucking herself on the killing
steel.
   "When I throw this switch little barbs of steel will spring from each
hole on the shaft inside you."
   She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes and gave out a whimpering sob.
   "Each little barb on the sides extends about an inch from the surface of
the dildo...But the one on that shoots out from the top?  Well...  You're
gonna feel that one real nice.  It's about four inches long."
   "Ooohhhh..." she sobbed.
   The way she said it sent a delicious power-thrill through my cock and
balls.
   It was as if the idea of the sharp steel fucking her was already fucking
her in her head.
   "I won't lie to you, cunt.  Six women have died on that chair and I
enjoyed watching every last one of them.  I really fucking dug it.  But
I've enjoyed the four that survived it even more.  Those bitches took me to
another level...Know what I mean?  And I think you're definitely in that
category.  What do you think?"
   "I - I want to - to - please you -"
   "That's a good answer, pig.  And you're already pleasing me.  But I
would really like it if you go for broke here.  Make me remember you.  Know
what I mean?  Make it special for me.  You know your fucking life means
nothing to me or to anyone else anyway, except this, right?  Am I right?"
   "Nnhh - yeah - I'm nothing, Master...nothing...I'm just an empty
hole...that's all I've ever fucking been...nothing but a useless
fuckhole...ugghh..."
   I could see that the torture dildo had made her do more thinking in an
instant then she'd probably done in her whole fucked up life.  And her
thoughts had led her to the only possible conclusion.
   I had her now.  I owned her completely.
   Her hips swiveled harder and she closed her eyes and put her head down,
groaning as she slumped into the steel dildo, rose and slumped, rose and
slumped, her white skin glossy with fresh sweat, her short blonde hair
sticking to her wet cheeks.
   "Uhh!  Nothing...just a hole for you...uh! ...  a useless fucking
hole...nhh!"
   I cupped her chin in my hand and lifted her face staring down into her
glassy eyes.
   "Yeah.  That's right.  That's all you are.  That's all you'v ever been.
A useless fucking hole."
   "Now open your mouth wide for me," I growled.
   She obeyed and waited, her lips wide forming a lovely puckered o' as I
raised my cock and let go of the pressure in my bladder.
   "Drink it..." I told her as I pissed right into her mouth.
   "Swallow..." I urged watching the hot bitter fluid overspill her red
lips as she gulped trying to comply.
   I placed my hand on top of her head and gripped the short blonde mane as
I continued to urinate in her mouth stepping closer, the tip of my cock
right in the center of her circling lips.  Still pissing I pushed my cock
into her mouth as I gripped the switch on the post between thumb and
forefinger.
   "That's a good girl - mmm - such a good girl..."
   I pushed my cock down her throat and she gasped, choked, gulped,
grimaced as twin streams of piss and snot dribbled from her nostrils.  A
gush of hot piss was spilling from her lips around my shaft and dripping
off my balls on to the chair seat between her legs, mixing with her blood.
After a few moments the gush died down to a trickle as the pressure in my
bladder eased.
   The acrid smell of urine filled the room.
   "Ahhh..." I moaned, closing my eyes, feeling my erect prick throb in K's
throat hole as she gagged then bobbed her head back and forth weakly.
   "You're such a fucking great toilet," I said pulling my cock from her
lips.
   Her mouth remained opened and dripping, a soft o' of dumb acceptance as
I looked into her stupid worthless whore eyes.
   "Here's your reward..."
   ...and I threw the switch.
   She arched upright in the chair suddenly following a meaty crunch inside
her body, an odd strangled sound in her throat.
   "Gghwggaarrrffghh!" she grunted, eyes wide, one eyelid fluttering, one
brow twitching.
   I knew the metal spears had sprung from the dildo inside her and gouged
into her guts.  The four inch spike at the top of the dildo had ripped
right through her stomach cavity and I knew the pain had to be
unacceptable. Her hands flew open above her head and her arms stretched
tautly, her feet thumping against the chair legs.
   She was lovely.  Undeniably this atrocious suffering is what she'd been
made for just as I'd suspected all along.  Now all that remained was to see
just how long she would be able to endure.
   I didn't have much time to waste.
   I needed to put her through hell and do it while she still lived.
   I needed to give the wasted whore exactly what she most hungered for and
deserved.
   From the cauldron which rested on the glowing charcoals I took the first
red- tipped poker.
   With it I gouged out both her nipples first one and then the other
making K. scream wildly, stroking myself while I did it and studying her
fathomless agony.
   "Who do you belong to, pig?" I shouted as I withdrew the burning steel.
   "Agghh - y-you - master - you - I'm your pig - yours - yours!"
   Blood and piss were pouring out of her and puddling on the chair and
dripping off the edges of the seat.
   Gently I pressed the still sizzling tip of the poker into her belly
button.
   "Aayhhhhiii!" she shrieked tossing her lovely head back between her
upstretched arms.
   "I could kill you now if I wanted," I whispered hoarsely.
   "Yess - yess - kill me - pleeease - kill me -"
   She was eager for it now.  This is what she was made for and she fucking
knew it.
   But I needed more.  Much more.
   I smiled and withdrew the burning steel then moved it down to push the
glowing tip into her knees.
   "Uwwhhhh!  Goddd!  Pleease, master pleeeeease!"
   "Hurt for me, pig.  Just hurt and suffer."
   After I'd poked several smouldering wounds in her knees I traced the
outside of her right leg, down the calf, burning the white skin all the way
to the bound ankle.  I stabbed the poker into both her big toes crushing
the black painted nails and grinding through the skin right to her bones as
she wailed and shook.  Tracing the poker back up her left leg and burning
that calf I then lifted it from her and swung it hard down across both
knees.
   "Oouwwghhh!" she croaked.
   I swung it again harder cracking one knee cap and watching my slut
scream.
   Swung it again across her shins breaking her left leg then tossed the
weapon aside.
   Working quickly I released her ankles from the chair and lifted her
busted up legs on to suspension chains.
   She was starting to weaken, her head tumbling forward then side to side,
mouth drooling.
   The three suspension chains, two for her legs and one for her arms were
all connected to the same main line which I now operated by turning a crank
lever bolted to the wall lifting the dying whore slowly up out of the
torture chair.
   Her wide-stretched busted-up leg bones cracked and she sobbed pitifully
as her feet rose toward the ceiling.  The broken knee swelled horribly.
   As the chains lifted her the spear-dildo on the chair tore her womb
apart and she trembled and made weird gagging sounds in her throat.  The
spears inside her caught and held her innards, keeping her down, before
ripping loose and releasing her.
   When she finally bobbed up off the chair blood and entrails dripped from
her gashed out pussy.  Below her the sharp metal spikes dripped blood,
gleaming wetly. Grayish pieces of intestines dangled from them and slid
grossly down the main shaft to the chair seat.  Gut streamers dangled from
her crotch.
   I took the second hot poker from the cauldron and moved in.
   "I told you I wanted your asshole for something else," I told her
bluntly.
   She raised her pretty head weakly and saw the poker coming.
   "Y-yesss - ohgghh - do it -"
   "No bitch.  Ask me nice.  Say: Fuck my asshole with your hot poker,
sir."
   I waited, watched her eyes fill with tears.  This was perfect mastery
and she was giving in to it, surrendering herself to me completely,
knowingly.  All the years of submission had finally taken their toll.  Just
as I had suspected, this cunt was the perfect victim - more than perfect -
she was - heavenly.
   "F-fuck - fuh- fuck m-my asshole - with - ughhmm - with y-your hot poker
-" Her voice sank to a husky whisper.  " - with your hot - h-hot - poker -
Sir - with your hot poker - with your hot poker -"
   She was still repeating the deadly words whispering intensely when I
pushed the blistering iron into the tiny crinkled aperture and shoved it up
into her.
   She threw her head back and stiffened and her cry crescendoed to a mind-
twisting raw shriek.
   "This is what you need, you stinking pig," I snarled still pushing the
hot metal up into the suspended blonde whore.  "Fuck it, you whore.  Fuck
it nice."
   I kept the steel up in the wailing slut for a few tense moments, twisted
it around in her then whipped it out of her and tossed it aside placing the
head of my cock at the hole I'd just barbarously plundered, going up on my
toes to push into the hanging bitch, up her burn-reamed asshole, her pussy
drooling blood and gut bits on my shaft and on my belly.  Her blood dripped
off my balls as I fucked her.
   "Take it scumbag," I snarled thrusting into her with all the strength I
could muster, the suspension chains creaking.  "Take it.  Take it.  Take
it."
   When I slid out of her burned flesh, shit and blood spurted from her
asshole. My cock was covered with dark bits of gore.  She was crying, her
shoulders racked with sobs, her upstretched arms taut and her hands closed
into fists.
   It was time for the third poker.
   For her entire life this piece of female trash had nothing of value to
say to anyone.  There was no poetry, no vision, no idea, no sharing. 
Communication was strictly utilitarian and unsophisticated.  Because of the
way she'd grown up she was ignorant, lazy, stupid, fearful,
self-deprecating, completely devoid of subtlety or humor.  There was no
need for her ever to speak again now that her life was at an end.  So I
lifted the hot metal up to her throat and drove it sharply into her voice
box watching her gurgle and stare at me helplessly wild eyed, steamy smoke
pouring from her mouth.  Her hands opening expressively, fingers splayed.
   "Give me your tongue," I ordered.
   She obeyed, blood drooling from her lips as she rolled her pretty pink
studded tongue out.  I lifted the hot poker and drove it sharply into her
tongue-meat, above the steel stud.  The trapped muscle sizzled like fresh
steak on a grill.  Incredibly she did not turn away and instead kept
herself still for the torture, eyes shut tightly, mewling in her burned-out
throat.
   "Take it in your mouth," I growled and watched her comply taking the
hissing metal into herself, cupping her lips around it as if it were a
cock. I worked it slowly back and forth burning her lips and pushing the
tip into the soft membranes at the back of her mouth, gouging the pink
uvula and her palate, scraping the poker all around in her oral cavity.  I
pulled it out and caressed both her cheeks with it, the sides of her long
neck, leaving hot burn-smears on her as she moaned and drooled blood and
bits of burned flesh then I made her take it again jerking myself off while
I fed her the killing metal.  I remembered how nice her mouth had felt on
my bare feet and took special pleasure in destroying it utterly.
   Blood hissed and bubbled from the hole in her throat.
   She gritted her blood-covered teeth in anguish.
   It was time to finish her.
   I tossed the third poker aside, went to the glass cabinet and chose my
final weapon, a long sharp sword which I'd used only twice before.
   I made her kiss it first, of course, with her burned bloody lips.
   The sword had been used by an infantry captain, Marcel Breton, in the
French army under Napoleon.  Its handle was made of gold.  It was a heavy
weapon and tailor-made for my needs.
   The blonde slut's eyes were already weak as I began to push its killing
tip up into her gouged-out cunt.
   I wondered if she had even heard of Napoleon and doubted that she would
appreciate the value of the weapon I was using to end her petty little
existence.
   It was easy going at first since the chair-dildo had pretty much paved
the way but finally Marcel Breton's trusty blade encountered resistance,
probably the inner wall of the stomach and after that her diaphragm.
   She began to scream then and her screams excited me as slut-screams
always do and I pushed harder and harder.
   I buried the sword high up in her hilting it right to the gleaming
handle.
   She coughed up bile and blood.
   Her screaming stopped suddenly and her breath became ragged and spastic.
   Bubbles of blood continued to form at the hole in her larynx, less as
time passed.
   I just stood there slowly jerking off and watching her die.
   Death in a young woman is so exquisitely obscene to witness.
   "Who do you belong to, pig?" I asked her again, softly.
   Her eyes were now barely able to track me.
   I was reaching back for the knife I'd stabbed into the post behind me.
   " - y-you -" her whisper was barely audible.
   Air hissing through the throat hole.
   " - ggh - y-you -"
   "That's right," I told her feeling the cum about to jet from my aching
balls.
   I sliced her footsoles with the knife-blade, her heels, making her
squirm in mid-air, the chains swinging.
   I paced around her slowly a couple of times plunging the knife into her
in different places, wounding her, slicing at her, cutting her back and
stabbing her flanks then I sank the knife into the side of her plump thigh,
right to the bone, and left it there.
   Blood flowed from her wounds and dripped on the floor.
   Timing was crucial now and I stroked myself slower waiting for her
breath to stop.
   She lasted nearly ten more minutes.
   Near the end a gulp of blood spewed from her burned lips.
   The hole in her larynx stopped bubbling.
   And then amazingly, she smiled sweetly as her eyes rose to mine and went
blank.  Her arms and legs went tense for a moment then slumped.
   I shot off, my cum spurting up on her thighs and on the gold sword
handle sheathed in her cunt.
   I would use her body for hours after that, fucking it, cutting it up,
eating parts of her and I would wonder if she'd had a soul.  Would a
worthless slut like her have had a soul and if so by eating her would her
soul pass into me and become part of me?
   I always had those thoughts or similar ones at the end of a kill.  The
thoughts were sometimes unsettling but I never felt guilty.  Not a bit.  In
fact, if there was any real value to my ideas at all then I could only
consider myself a fortunate creature.
   Counting K.  there were now twenty two souls fused to mine, a virtual
constellation of slut-souls, subservient and submissive to the dominant
superior male spirit that held them all within itself.
   Or maybe there was nothing to it at all.
   Maybe all of them were just cunt animals - female slaughtermeat - with
no eternal spirit who served me and died for my pleasure - meaningless
victims, multiple mind-blowing orgasms followed by the consumption of
deliciously roasted limbs and body parts.
   One thing was certain:
   K.  and all the others shared the same delicious fate at my hands.
   And each and every last one had deserved what I'd given them.
   Or worse.
   No fucking question about it.
   No fucking question in my mind at all.
   WOODBURN