Dulce Periculum[/color] - Flickaha]
She’d been just like the other women; completely oblivious to his intent when he'd picked her up by the side of the road. Her expressions told the story, the screams and the moans that accompanied the opening of gashes in her supple, young flesh, before he'd literally poured salt on the wounds. Her face bruised, lips cuts and teeth broken, the girl’s eyes had glazed over, but the man hadn't allowed the bliss of unconsciousness to claim her.
A slap, a twist of the blade, a splash of water, the application of a lit match to her sensitive skin before he'd fucked all her holes in turn, if fucking was the appropriate word. It didn't sound anywhere near brutal enough, with every action designed to cause torment, to elicit another high-pitched squeal of terror, anguish and despair. To hurt.
Her screams had been music to his ears, her struggles, what he lived for. The man's ego would have loved to believe that the howls and moans he'd elicited were due to his sexual prowess, but he was realistic enough to know that they'd instead been caused by the serrated blade placed between her broken second and third ribs, strategically positioned to avoid any major organs, but deep enough so that each thrust forced it to twist and turn in her, and the tattooing of her face against the tree bark.
It was the aroma of her own frying skin, the stench akin to that of a roasting pig, that had sent her over the final brink of insanity, never to return. As flames illuminated the night sky and lapped at the screaming, screeching and writhing body of Cherise McMahon, her arms and legs bound, and choke collar placed around her neck, the man had kicked her in the jaw. The first strike of his steel-capped boot had snapped the chain, and almost taken her head clean off. It possibly would have, if the momentum hadn't been stopped by the thick trunk of the oak tree, creating a wet, thudding sound comparable to that of a water-melon striking the ground after being dropped from a great height.
He'd thought that had killed her, however, the groan of pain and gurgled breathing emanating from her mouth and newly rearranged nose swiftly said it wasn't so. The next strike cracked another rib, then he'd thrown water in her face, and entertained himself by adding a little fuel to the fire. Cherise remained alive and kicking, but had stopped screaming, and he'd stood there in the fire-lit forest, watching with an amused, satisfied expression until the woman had turned into nothing but charred flesh and bone.
"Goodbye, Cherise, you'll be missed."
He'd spat directly in her face, or what of it remained, as a final insult before departing the scene.
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"Ohhhhh fuck." The man shuddered in his chair as he re-ran the events of his latest conquest through his mind; each detail as vivid as it had been at the time three weeks ago. His legs writhed, his chest heaved, and he panted and puffed, then collapsed in his seat. A moment later, he reached for a tissue, wiped up the ejaculate, zipped himself in, tossed the soiled paper into the wastebasket and opened his eyes to catch a pair of glowing yellow ones staring straight back at him.
"Here kitty, kitty, come on." Rubbing his fingers together, the man smiled when the black tabby jumped up and nestled in his lap, scratching under its chin as he reached for the laptop on the coffee-table.
After bringing the device to life, he clicked on the Tor Browser icon and navigated to the website, scanning the latest message board entries for a few minutes before typing his own.
"Five dead, ravaged bodies. Five families who'll forever live with the pain. How many more?
This board is filled with pretenders and fakes, men who only wish they had the balls to do that which I make reality, and women who'd faint at the sight of a real corpse.
How does it feel to play God, to hold the power of pain and suffering, of life and death, in your hands?
With the lights darkened, and Mr Biggles purring contentedly in his arms, the man fixated his eyes on the screen, safe and secure in the knowledge that his messages were encrypted and their origin untraceable. It was amazing how many perverts there were out there. Even on this local, dark-web message board, there were usually at least ten or twenty online, boasting about their supposed exploits and seeking attention with their lies.
I know. You can only continue to imagine, in the sad, pathetic fantasies forever trapped inside your head.
And that was the difference between them and him; he'd long ago allowed his free reign in the real world.