Internet Killers [ Mr Quixotic & Dovakitten]

RE: Internet Killers [Analise Doesn't Die; She Multiplies]

Pete was fortunate to possess a fast metabolism, and although he didn't regularly engage in strenuous exercise, the sweet-tooth did nothing to harm his slim physique or negate his wiry strength. Attributes that were possibly due to the same genetic combination that had graced him with a sharp intelligence, rat cunning, and a penchant for rape and murder. The man cocked an eyebrow at Analise's grimace, surprised after what he'd seen in her refrigerator that she allowed sugar at all.

Empty calories, and unhealthy, it might be, but the sweetness boosted his energy, and it wasn't as if Pete Norris believed he'd live long enough to need be concerned about heart-failure or diabetes. However, it did appear that his diet would be another way to piss off Analise, and it didn't always take torture to amuse the man. Sometimes the small things were just as fun.

"A boy, I think. That's the problem these days. A dearth of male-school teachers, broken families and single mothers. Young males no longer have role-models to look up to, and teach them how to be productive members of society." His eyes gleamed with amusement, and his tone contained obvious sarcasm. If there was anything in the world Pete despised as much as weak women, it was kids. Noisy, useless, selfish, ungrateful bastards, every damn one of them, therefore, unlike Josef Fritzl, he had no intention of fathering a child with any of their captives. Not that they'd be left in any state to conceive, anyway.

Could she tell he was enjoying himself? Pete wasn't certain, and didn't particularly care, when he touched her shoulder in a parody of comfort, and for the first time since they'd become acquainted, sensed her flinch. "I'm glad we agree, especially since as I'm not allowed to reside here, someone will be required to clean up the mess, and bathe and feed them." Norris shrugged. If he were simply a guest, allowed to enter only with Analise's acquiescence, he wasn't going to assist with the domestic duties.

After a sip of the sweet coffee, which elicited a contented sigh, he turned his attention to the revealed door, smiled knowingly at her brief hesitation, then with mock courtesy motioned for her to lead, and as the steps creaked under their feet, nodded in approval. Analise might be a difficult bitch, but again, she'd proved they were on the same page with her preferences. However, when they entered a basement area straight from a Hollywood horror flick and the conversation turned to hair-colour, he half tuned-out.

Pete was struck with its suitability immediately, and began to envisage the renovations required when he stepped further into the room. Not many; it wasn't as if they'd be offering five-star accommodation, so all they'd really need to purchase were some cots from Army Surplus, nails, hammers, chains, hooks, and a few other supplies from the Hardware store, and to ensure the plumbing worked. Whether the shower ran or not was inconsequential, as the slut's would most likely be hosed down like filthy farm animals, or bathed by their captors, however, that would require a source of water. "Perfect," he whispered, before his bright-blue eyes focused on Analise.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Pete responded to her question with one of his own, and approached. As he neared her, he reached up to cup Analise's chin between thumb and forefinger, however there was no anger in the gesture, as there had been previously, nor when he leaned in so that their lips were almost close enough to kiss. "I'm going fuck to her every hole, and I want a dyke. Don't you think every lesbian should have the pleasure of experiencing at least one cock before she dies, Analise?"

The killer paused to allow the statement, that referred as much to her as their proposed victim, to sink in, then smirked, dropped his hand, and continued to speak as he paced the room. "A girl who's the apple of her parents eye, and beloved by all, so it'll be harder to imagine whose pain is the worst. That which she'll endure before the comparatively swift ending, or her family and friends, who'll need to live with her absence, and the knowledge of how her last hours were spent. Believe me, as I ravage the slut, I will be reminding her of the grief her death will cause to those left behind."

Measuring the basement as he talked, kicking the sink to check its stability, and banging the walls to gauge their thickness, Pete's gaze didn't return to the woman until he'd completed a full circuit, and come to a halt two feet in front of her. Sarcasm returned to his tone, as did mirth to his expression. "And what about you, honey? Will you participate, or remain a voyeur, an innocent bystander swept away by the unstoppable tide? Or maybe you plan to video the event for posterity, then sever my spine when my back is turned, your true lowly little aim of being present at the moment of death achieved. I don't quite trust you yet Ms Helm, or believe that you comprehend the reality, so I'll be watching. Now, as they say, birds of a feather flock together, so where do you suggest we find ourselves a nice, happy-go-lucky, coloured dyke to rape?"

Although Pete had half tuned-out earlier, he definitely hadn't missed the inherent similarities between Analise's preferred victim type, and the woman herself.

RE: Internet Killers [Analise Doesn't Die; She Multiplies]

As he spoke about productive male members of society, she'd cocked her head to one side and wondered if he was being serious. She hadn't known him long enough to sense when he was being sarcastic, but she prayed that he was. If he truly thought he'd make a good father, well, he was more screwed up that she thought. She sort of respected those that accepted their faults and used them for greatness. The ones that tried to pretend there was nothing wrong were less than human to her and that was a great deal of humanity.

She tried not to linger on it and that task was made easier when he revealed she would be tending to their victims. Her eyebrow quirked but she didn't appear to mind the tasks he was delegating to her. It would be nice to care for them, give them hope, make them believe she was on their side; it would make it that much sweeter when Pete returned. "I can do that," she said almost cheerfully, like a child agreeing to all the chores that came with a puppy they'd been promised.

The smile on his face as she looked up at him... It made her sick. She didn't mind if he knew that she didn't trust him or even that she might be scared (she might be like him but anyone would be afraid of a serial killer.) It was the fact that she found his smile handsome, it was confident and pompous but she couldn't deny that she found him good looking. And not in a completely objective manner. Pretending to be ever the gentleman, she turned to go down the stairs at his gesture and went on to answer his question.

She smirked at his question to her question. Her arms dropped her sides as he came towards her but she didn't move or try to retreat. Even as he captured her chin and brought her so close that she could taste his breath, she just held his eyes in her own. She was so glad that women didn't involuntarily show when they were turned on as she willed herself not to blush while heat grew between her legs. It wasn't him that was turning her on, or that's what she told herself, it was the idea. It was the excitement of what was soon to come.

But as she started to realize this wasn't entirely about the victim, her brow furrowed. She pulled her chin away and folded her arms beneath her chest, her default stance. "No, actually, I don't." She knew she sounded indignant, he'd managed to throw her off and she needed to find her footing again, but she was distracted once more as talked about their victim.

It was nice to talk to someone who understood that it wasn't all about the act of inflicting pain or killing someone. That they're background could make it just as sweet. From sweet, innocent all American girls with big families to lost, jaded orphans that learn they did have something to lose after all. That's what made killing them even sweeter and he understood that.

She was pulled out of her own head when he took that sarcastic tone and called her 'honey.' She rolled her eyes, "Why don't we just play it by ear," she smiled, referring to whether or not she'd join him or if she'd kill him in the end. Even though she was sure that she wouldn't be done after just one.

She let her arms drop lazily as she shifted her weight to one side and let one hip rise. She looked up as if she was trying to recall something as she tried to think of where they should go hunting. "There's a place on 25th and Maple," she started slowly before letting her eyes meet with his again, "A lot of lesbians go there because there's a gay night and the owner is a lesbian but it's not exclusively a chick bar." She sauntered over to him and dusted off his shoulder, "So you shouldn't stand out too much, aside from the way you're dressed." She stifled a chuckle as she looked him over, "Oh god, it's tragic," she sighed as she turned towards the stairs.

"It doesn't open until ten," she paused on a step and looked over her shoulder at him, "Shall we go out for supplies?" It was as if she'd read his mind about going to the hardware store. She knew her basement was suitable but she was certain they would need things to keep them restrained. "Or you could go get what you need, change," she was still on his attire, "I could shower and get ready. Then we meet here at nine thirty before heading to the bar? It's up to you," she shrugged, "wouldn't want you getting jittery before your first live performance." She smiled sweetly. Was she taunting him? It was Analise, of course she was.

RE: Internet Killers [Analise Doesn't Die; She Multiplies]

Even serial-killers could possess a sense of humour, and sociopathy didn't negate intelligence or self awareness, which is why the dichotomy between his words and true nature amused the man to no end as he spoke to Analise of fathering a child. Pete knew exactly what he was; a depraved rapist, sadist and murderer, lacking in empathy or remorse, and a man who was sexually aroused by the suffering of others. Sick, to the majority of civilisation, but to Pete, it just made him different, and if there was anything that pleased him more than the infliction of pain, it was the knowledge of his uniqueness. Who wanted to be just another sheep-like, compliant member of the rest of the crawling, mindless mass of humanity? Where was the fun in that.

More surprising that he hadn't caused Analise Helm to throw up with the concept of him becoming a parent was the fact that she hadn't reacted negatively to his suggestion that she be the one to clean up the mess. Then again, he'd quickly learned to expect the unexpected with this woman, and mentally reminded himself to be careful with his threats. For Pete Norris wasn't a man who liked being forced to go back on his word, and there was no way he was going to miss the opportunity of adding to their victims indignity. And what could add to it more than being the one to help keep them clean and well-fed, so that they maintained their attractiveness, in the knowledge it was that very attractiveness that led to their repeated rape and torture? It was their fault.

How would they feel, and what would it do to them, when, after he'd spoken lovingly and tenderly, whispering words of promise of a future without pain, in their ears, brushed their hair, and gently soaped his filth from their flesh, he subsequently defiled them again. Would they become accustomed to it, or would it drive them insane? With the basement at their disposal, hidden away from the rest of the world, and Analise to assist, they could keep them as long as they wished, and break not only the victims' bodies, but their minds as well.

However, that wouldn't start this night, and maybe not even next week, or next month. Conceivably never. It all depended on Analise, and as he'd cupped her face, he'd looked deep into her eyes, attempting to sense what in her mind she kept contained. For a second, he believed he briefly captured a glimpse of a thought hidden behind a mask, and briefly wondered what it could be, then the moment passed and he released his grip.

He'd raised an eyebrow at her indignant words, but allowed her to finish uninterrupted, with a cocky, confident expression remaining planted on his face. Pete was truly savouring this game of cat-and-mouse, and a chuckle escaped his lips when she brushed his shoulder, and he glanced at her hand. "It's not my sense of style that I usually rely on to garner attention, or attract the opposite sex, Analise, however, I appreciate the advice." The rapist responded with a smirk, and stepped back.

"25th and Maple it is. I want an attractive girl, pretty, youthful, outgoing and intelligent." Pete had further opened up the distance between them so that he could appraise Analise's body as he spoke, and that he did, for as he uttered his preferences, he was basing them on the woman before him. "Fit and fuckable, nice tits." His focus eventually returned to her face, and the murderer's blue eyes bore into hers. "And she cannot be drunk. Stone-cold sober, so that she'll be fully aware of every sensation, and of what's been done to her. Can you get me a girl like that, Analise, or is it too much for your sensibilities?"

The killer shrugged. "Because if you don't believe every lesbian deserves to experience a cock before she dies, possibly you believe some should have a choice? if that's true, which dykes is it that you believe should be kept safe from me, Ms Helm? The smart ones, the pretty ones, old ones, young ones, the ones with children? I'd like to know." Even though her previous reaction had assured him that they were on the same page with their choice, Pete could not resist the temptation of using her words of denial against her, and his tone became ever more intense as he continued. "I hope the answer is none, as empathy for others would enrage me, Analise. Not what I am looking for."

He then lunged violently forward, appearing as if he intended to grab Analise again, to emphasise his displeasure, however, as Norris reached her on the basement step, he deftly sidestepped, laughed over his shoulder, and began to ascend. "No requirement for supplies, tonight is simply a test-run. I'll return at 8:30pm. Until then, things to do, people to see." His mock anger was replaced with good humour, and Pete only turned back to look at Analise, and shoot her the same sweet smile she'd issued him, after he'd reached the top. "It's not my performance you should be concerned about, honey, so don't disappoint. Or you won't even receive the courtesy of a prolonged final act. I'll let myself out."

It wasn't until Pete took a few steps back and his eyes roamed all over her body that she realized he was describing her. Her jaw clenched as she wondered if this was his way of letting her know that he had noticed her proposed victim was basically Analise or if he was reminding her that she could just as easily end up his victim if she screwed up. Rather than to get herself upset over that, she just nodded in agreement that the girl should be sober. Whoever ended up with them tonight needed to feel everything. She shook her head and shrugged as if to say that it wouldn't be problem for her to find what was looking for. Analise was pretty, youthful, outgoing, intelligent, fit, fuckable, and had nice tits; it was easy for her to pick women up. Most of them knew Analise's type and could guess that it would be a one night stand, they convinced themselves that was okay but they were never okay with casual sex and always wanted more from her. More that she'd never been capable of. None of them would ever guess that she would leave them in the hands of the psychotic rapist serial killer, Pete Norris. It would be easy.

However, as he started in on her, she began to doubt herself. Began to think perhaps she should save certain ones from him. The smart ones; the world needed more smart women to have an impact. The young ones; they had so much living to do. The mothers; she hated children but keeping the human race alive was important. If he was giving her the option, which ones would she save? None. She was brought back to the reality of the situation, Pete was not empathetic, he didn't care about any of that and was not giving her the option. He was toying with her, again but this time he'd been successful in making her feel terribly foolish.

She lost the grip on her facade and flinched hard as he lunged at her, throwing her hands up in defense as she shrank away only for him to move by her. She was frozen there, not out of fear but humiliation. She glared up at him, clearly irritated that he'd managed to illicit such a reaction from her. Just moments ago he'd had a gun pointed at her gut and she'd taken that in stride. He'd shoved against the counter, ready to land a blow that would crush her cheek bone and recovered gracefully. But this had proved that he was finally getting to her. Everything she'd worked for had been torn down in that single moment, she would have to be flawless tonight. She watched as he went up the stairs, he had a really nice ass and she wished she would stop noticing things like that but she didn't move or say a word until she heard the front door shut behind him.

"Fucking asshole," she breathed as she sat down on one of the steps and held her face in her hands. She was trembling slightly now that the terrible murderer was out of her sight. What was she doing? There were two things she was certain of after meeting Pete, neither of them trusted each other and tonight they would kill some poor girl. This was what she wanted, what she'd always wanted and there was no sense in messing that up now. She would have to rely on her wits to stay safe and it wasn't like she didn't know how to defend herself. She could do this or that's what she told herself as she pushed her hands back to let her fingertips slide through her hair as she released her ponytail and stood up to head back upstairs.

The day went on as usual. She took a shower and played with herself as she imagined their first kill together to release some of the stress from meeting Pete. She went out to the supermarket to pick up a few things to restock her kitchen, and some flowers because that had been her plan for the day, but she took a small detour to find something special to wear tonight. Aside from that everything else she did was normal and she wanted to make sure everyone saw her being normal, she even chose to leave flowers as a memorial to Whitney when she knew people would be out because school was just letting out. Everyone gave her these 'Poor Analise' looks and whispered about how strong she was or how good of a friend she'd been, but they didn't make any sentiments towards the dead woman.

As 8:30PM was starting to approach, she dressed herself up. She wore a short black halter dress so the silk fabric draped elegantly over her perky but heavy tits, the back was cut out to show off her soft looking skin. She had on expensive, strappy gold heels that added nearly half a foot to her height and were painted red on the bottoms. She wore just enough make up to accentuate her finer features, but the eyes were a bit darker and her lips were painted a blue-based red that whitened her smile and gave her a fierceness that had been rather unassuming before. She'd taken the time to curl her waist length locks so they flowed and bounced around her shoulders. Dangly gold earrings peeked through her hair and she was wearing a gold watch and necklace that captured a piece of jade to match. The gold looked good against her yellow ivory skin.

She was pouring herself two glasses of wine at 8:29PM.

Pete whistled jauntily as he left Analise in the basement, waded through the mess of comics on the living-room floor, collected his pistol and bullets, and slammed the front door shut behind him. The flinch, when he'd charged toward, had brought a satisfied smirk to his face. For the first time, the woman had demonstrated palpable weakness, and inexplicably, that served to increase his surety that she'd forge ahead with this evening's plans. Norris, whether the smart-ass bitch would admit it, felt as if he'd gained the ascendancy. At least for the time being.

That meant she'd accede to his instructions, for fear of reprisal, and if he required Analise to lure a young woman, full of potential, and with her entire life ahead of her, to her death, that's what she'd do, regardless of any weak empathetic qualms she had for their victim. How long any control he'd gained, would last, the man had no idea, for Analise had already displayed more resilience than he could have envisaged, but hopefully for long enough so that it wouldn't need be Ms Helm's cold, dead flesh left to rot in the sun the following morning, rather than the body of a woman who could have been her sister. The killer had reveled in the expression on Ms Helm's face when she realised that he'd been describing her. A reminder of the consequences of failure.

Foregoing his original thought of maintaining surveillance on the woman until it was time, Norris returned to his vehicle. The man had other priorities, such as deciding on an outfit for the evening. What did one wear to a gay club? Such haunts were beyond him, and Pete could only hope that some effeminate, limp-wristed faggot didn't attempt to engage him in conversation as he awaited Analise to entrap their prey.

When he arrived at his apartment, the man rifled through his closet, eventually selecting a pair of black Levi's, and white open-necked shirt, both of which formed to his toned physique, and threw them on the bed, along with a black, leather jacket. As he'd stated to Analise earlier, fashion wasn't his forte, but the clothing choice shouldn't draw any unwanted attention. Pete Norris spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing on the sofa, and watching movies. However, not the type that streamed on Netflix, or could be rented from the local brick-and-mortar video store, but snuff films obtained from the depraved depths of the dark web, and watching wasn't quite the right word.

For Pete sat back with his eyes closed. simply listening, as he allowed the possibilities of the evening's forthcoming events to play out in his mind. Each victim was unique in size, shape, colour and features, but eventually all took on the form of Analise Helm, as the soundproofed room filled with blood-curling screams, howls of unadulterated agony, gasps for mercy, and the final wet, gurgling noise of the women on screen succumbing to their inevitable fate. By the time 7pm arrived, the murder's cock, untouched, throbbed with need, and his aroused mind was fully focused on the task ahead, ready to go to work.

After showering and changing, neatly combing his hair, spraying on deodorant and splashing on cologne, Norris slipped into his jacket, and returned to Analise's. Beethoven's fifth pounded out of the stereo speakers. As he had previously, Pete parked his vehicle down the street, and as he reached the house on foot, made his way down the side. Recollecting Ms Helm's attitude when she'd reacted to his request to move in, Pete removed a lock-pick from the felt pouch in his pocket when he arrived at the Laundry door. She believed she could keep him out?

Barely a minute later, after having surveyed the interior, and gauged from which rooms were bathed in darkness, Analise's likely whereabouts, he once again entered her residence uninvited, and tip-toed, quiet as a mouse, down the halls, until he set eyes upon her. Then Pete whistled in appreciation. "Well, well, honey, don't you look extremely." Stepping from the shadows, Norris slowly and deliberately appraised Analise's body, taking in her legs and ass, the form under the dress, and her tits. "Rapeable."

The man exuded nothing but calm and confidence when he approached, collected a glass of wine, and brought it to his lips. "Maybe we should stay in?" Taking a sip, and then lowering the beverage, Pete shot her a smile, filled with evil intent. "But then, it'd be a pity to forgo our much-anticipated date, and there'll be other opportunities. Ready to kill, Analise?"

Analise was bent over the island in the kitchen, waiting for her date to arrive as she sipped from her second glass of wine and wrote a text to one of the friends she had to keep up appearances. It detailed where she would be tonight, that she was on a date with a guy that she met on some dating site. She wondered if she wanted someone to find Pete if he killed her tonight and decided that she did, but her thumb held down the backspace and she put her phone down. She glanced over at the other glass a little under half full that was meant for Pete, wondering where he was or if he would show at all. And then, she heard his voice come from somewhere behind her. Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed as he took in her long legs and athletic, round butt. He was sending another message, everything he did was so deliberate and there was always a message, she knew what this meant. I don't need your permission to do or take what I want. It infuriated her.

But by the time she turned around, she beamed at him as if this was some pleasant surprise visit from her boyfriend from out of town. She met him half way with his glass and handed it to him, "You made it," she chirped. Implying that she thought he might pussy out, she didn't so much as flinch when he called her rapeable.

You see, after her failure in the basement while standing quietly at the memorial she made for Whitney, Analise decided to change her approach. If he thought he was running this show, she would show him that wasn't the case.

At his suggestion that they should stay in, she shook her head but still smiled. "This isn't for you, silly. It's for our guest," she said gesturing towards her display of her assets. She had on a different mask that wasn't the Analise the world knew or the one Pete was getting to know. This was some persona she'd taken on specifically to confuse and aggravate Pete. She clinked her glass against his and raised an eyebrow, "Are you," her tone changed from playful to deadly, the pitch was lower and darker. But she instantly went back to carefree, similar to what Pete would often do, "Oh, so I was thinking. You should drive and we could pretend we're a couple looking for a cute girl for a threesome. Don't worry, I'll do all the leg work, but it'll be the hook ya know? So they don't feel weird about getting in a car with me and some guy. I just don't want to drive two cars and it could be fun." She looked over him, letting her eyes roam over his hard body much the same as he did to her, "You look good, by the way." And she meant it, he had a 1950s bad boy vibe that she liked.

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't jump out of her skin, or scream, when Pete surprised her again. The killer would have disappointed if she had, although, he was still certain that underneath the calm demeanour, he'd proven once again that once he decided on a course of action, there was nothing that a woman, even one as strong and capable as Analise Helm, could do to stop him." As he took the glass from her fingertips, and raised his gaze from her bare flesh, to see if he'd obtained a reaction from his rape comment, her expression had taken on a new quality that he hadn't previously witnessed. "Of course, I made it, I'm a man of my word, Analise. It's yet to be proven that you're a woman of yours."

His competitive instincts had kicked in when he recognised that Analise's confidence and taunts had returned with full force, making the flinch when he'd lunged at her, but a distant memory. Oh, the woman was good, and Pete was struck between knowing which was the real Analise, when her next statement distracted his focus. He'd intended to take his vehicle, as his restraints and torturous implements of choice were contained in the trunk, however, not to be in the company of Analise when she enticed their quarry.

That responsibility would be entirely hers, whilst Pete simply lurked in the background, casually sipping on a beer. The two, together, would exponentially increase the danger of being remembered, and the killer was briefly lost for a retort as that thought ran through his mind, and the inherent challenge in Analise's words rang in his ears. To reject her idea, and insist on remaining in the background, even though it had its own logic, could be viewed as a sign of weakness. A quality the man refused to display.

Hopefully, she hadn't captured the flash of annoyance, or the internal clench of his teeth, before he'd caught himself from reacting with anger, and demanded it be done his way. "I'm glad you appreciate my stylistic efforts, and that's exactly how I intended it go down, Ms Helm. I don't trust you on your own, and I'll enjoy watching a little Dyke-on-Dyke action, before I rape her. However, I'd prefer that occur without the requirement of Dutch Courage." Stepping closer, Pete removed the wine class from her grasp, and after placing it down, along with his own, raised his arm to gently caress her cheek with his knuckles, and trailed his digits down the skin of her neck. "And one more thing."

All humour departed the rapist's demenaour, simultaneously as he clamped his fingers harshly around her throat, and jerked Analise forward so that their faces were barely an inch apart, her eyes level with his. "Do not fuck-up, or I'll slice those lovely tits off whilst you're still breathing, and nail them to my apartment wall as a keepsake." His tone completely transformed in an instant, and dripping with ice, the killer maintained his grip for a few moments, boring into the woman's soul with a cold emotionless gaze, before, as swiftly as he'd taken hold, Pete the Chameleon released Analise, and shot her a boyish smile. The kind of friendly, open, non-threatening smile that would assist in ensuring their prey felt no qualms in departing the club with the two of them, in anticipation of a night of delirious pleasure. "I hope we understand each other, honey. Time to leave."

Of course Analise caught that flash of annoyance and anger swiftly put in check as she was watching Pete carefully with every comment she made. But she hadn't interpreted the minor quirks of his face as any particular emotion, she didn't really know what to make of any of it. Could have been an itch or tick, but she liked to think she was getting under his a skin a little bit and assumed it was her carefree demeanor. Not that he didn't like her plan. Still, she was amused that her plan was working and hid her smile by taking a sip of her wine just before he took it from her. She watched the glass float away from her with a forlorn gaze and a faux pout, but she shrugged and smiled, "Probably for the better."

While his touch stirred confusion within her, she continued to smile and make eye contact as if this were an intimate moment she was sharing with her loving boyfriend. But there was a storm raging within her. She was repulsed at being touched by some murderer, by a man that planned to rape her and reminded her of that fact constantly. But his touch was enough to make any woman melt, so gentle that it was easy to forget he could be so brutal. She wasn't supposed to melt, as a lesbian and a woman of sound mind, she wasn't supposed to melt. Yet that sparkle in her eye and the deep, slow breaths as her lips parted slightly in preparation for a kiss were not part of her act.

Analise was grateful to him when his hand clamped around her neck and she was jerked forward. Her eyes went wide and her smile dissipated as her hands shot up to his, her fingers trying to pry his away. The fear that this was the moment, that all his talk of them killing together was just his way of toying with her before killing her right now, became very real. But as he spoke, her lips spread into a smile again even as he was cutting off her airway. God, she wished she could play with herself right now with him choking her, but they had things to do tonight. Still it was all she thought about until he let her go.

As she caught her breath, gently rubbing her neck not because it was terribly sore but because she really enjoyed that feeling, she moved even closer to him so that her nearly bare breasts brushed against his chest. "I'm ready whenever you are, sweetie. But save the scary guy stuff for our victim, okay?" She tilted her chin up and pressed his lips against his, it was no mere peck on the lips, it was almost like the real deal. And then, she turned on her heels before grabbing her clutch bag and waltzing out the front door as if she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

A slap in the face, a smart-ass retort, a fake, nonchalant smile, or even a hint of fear, and tremor in her limbs or voice. Pete Norris had anticipated one of those, or a combination of all, after he'd gripped the woman's throat, and the feeling of her hand uselessly swatting at his own, displaying his superior strength as he slowly increased the pressure, brought forth the beginnings of an erection. What he hadn't expected was a kiss, and the murderer's eyes widened, not in shock, but utter confusion, when Analise Helm, free of his grip, pressed the soft swell of her breasts to his chest, and mashed her mouth against his. Instinctively, he placed his hand on her hip to push her away and regain control, but before he knew it, the kiss was over, and all he was left with as she walked out the door, was the taste of her lipstick, and lingering sensation of her tongue probing his mouth. Uncertain if the latter had been real or imagined.

Pete stood, momentarily stunned, then wiped his lips with his sleeve, shook his head, and chuckled. Analise Helm had turned out be much more than he'd ever could have bargained for. Assuming their mission succeeded, he'd keep around for a while yet. Recovered by the time he'd exited her house, and closed the door behind him, he shrugged nonchalantly at his companion. "If I didn't know better, Analise, I'd say my charm is growing on you, but I'd prefer you save the juvenile attempts at seduction for our prey."

Smiling as he approached to take her elbow, gleaming white teeth bared in the dark, he turned her in the direction of his car. The horn blared, and the lights flashed when he remotely unlocked it. "Just don't get her too aroused, because a dry cunt feels so much tighter, and, of course, enhances a woman's pleasure." The words spoken with no discernible emotion, the rapist could just have well been discussing what he'd be cooking for Sunday dinner, as he led Analise to the vehicle, releasing his touch when they reached it. "Which begs the sixty-four-thousand dollar question?" Norris met her eyes, and arched a brow. "Have I soaked your panties yet?"

Pete's cackle split the night air, before he glanced back at her residence, then Whitney's, which remained surrounded by yellow-crime scene tape, and subsequently refocused on Analise; his timbre soft, as it had been since they'd departed the house, to avoid the conversation being overheard by a curious resident, but deadly serious. An addendum to his actions inside. "Whatever happens, it will not be happening here. I told you this is a test run, and until the area is safe, the basement sound-proofed, and you have proved yourself capable, you will follow my instructions. You're the novice, Ms Helm, so do not doubt me, do not play games, and do not presume to know better. The moment I start to perceive you as a liability, I will slit your fucking throat, without blinking. Now get in, keep your ego in check, and direct me to our destination."

"Juvenile," she exclaimed back at him as if she were truly wounded, but she gave a playful smile, "You mean you weren't even a little turned on? Just a tiny bit?" She squeezed the air between her index finger and thumb as she closed one eye and looked at him in the space between her fingers with the open eye. She couldn't tell if he was enjoying her playful mood or not as he came towards her and she hooked her elbow with his to make them look more amiable. So that she looked less like a little piggy being dragged away to have its throat cut.

The way he spoke of their potential victim made her look away as she rolled her eyes, he didn't seem to think of his victims as people but things. Toys for him to play with. When their eyes met, he asked a question that made it impossible for her to continue her charade for a moment. She was too busy thanking whatever higher power there might be for the fact that there was no way Pete could know that right now she could feel her lower lips slipping against each other as they walked. "Why must you always be so vulgar, Peter," she pouted, regaining her ability to play her little game. Currently, she was playing as the slightly annoyed girlfriend.

Again he threatened her, he must be very concerned about her somehow screwing this up. Not that she could blame him, this was a very sensitive matter, a tender moment that she was sharing with her that could completely ruin him should she fail. But still, it was almost cute seeing him this way, like an overprotective father. "What ego," she shrugged as she opened the passenger door and stepped inside his car.

The inside of his car wasn't what she'd expected. She realized it was silly to think she would get in his car and find traces of filth from his previous victims, but it was what she thought. Instead it was entirely too clean, much like hers, exactly the same as the day she'd driven it off the lot. It put her at ease that it was so familiar and made it easier to make conversation with him, which she hadn't started until after they were out of her little subdivision. "You really should relax, you know. That way," she interrupted her own conversation with directions as she pointed, "This is important to me too, I won't get in the way. I'll seduce our test subject and I'll watch a master at work." She looked over at him and placed a hand on his thigh, "Everything'll be fine," she said in her most convincing reassuring girlfriend voice. She moved her hand away from his thigh to point out another turn, "Take a right here."

Norris' lips curled up into a tight smile as he led her towards the vehicle. "Yes, Juvenile, though it's to be expected, considering you're a dyke, and lack experience with men. Vulgar is our natural state." As to her question of whether it had turned him on, the rapist left that unanswered, aware of the conflict between any denial, and the erection he sported. Though that was mostly a product of his anticipation of the night's events, Pete wasn't about to provide Ms Helm with ammunition to call him a liar; that concern forgotten when his mind was distracted by rare misgivings.

He'd taken his previous victims in isolated areas, the first snatched off the side of the road, the second, followed down a dark, empty alley, and Whitney, alone in her own house, and the current plan caused Pete's skin to crawl with nervous tension. To hunt for prey in a crowded club was a different situation entirely, and he debated whether he should have issued Analise this particular challenge. Whilst arrogance and confidence left him in no doubt that he'd be able to recognise the moment she began to prove herself incapable, and allow him to withdraw before it was too late, what would that mean for their partnership?

For, despite his threats to carve her up, and nail the woman's tits to his apartment wall, those were threats he didn't wish to be forced to follow through with. A living witness to his crimes was what he'd craved since he'd first begun to browse the dark-web, enhanced, and brought to possible reality by their meeting. A brief thought to locate an easier target had crossed his mind, however, he'd dismissed it, and decided this evening it was to be all or nothing. If Analise displayed the figurative balls to lure a victim in full view of a crowd to her certain and painful death, without hesitation and drawing unwanted attention, then she'd surely be capable of all else, and he could put further concerns to rest. One night, one chance to fully prove herself. Or not.

"Your, look-at-me, I'm not scared of being gutted like a fish, ego." The tension departed Pete when they entered the car which, like the man, was clean and organised, including the cache of perfectly legal hunting equipment and camping paraphernalia stored in the trunk. Out of sight and earshot of prying eyes and ears, he took the opportunity to enjoy Analise's company, barely speaking as she issued directions. That was until her hand landed on his thigh, adjacent to the hard-on encased in tight denim.

Glancing at her, he placed his hand over hers, and dragged her fingers over the fabric outlining the full length of his erect cock. "I hope you do better with women than you do men, Analise. What I really can't figure out is if you're putting on an act, or if you're honestly too fucking stupid to believe I wouldn't kill you in a heartbeat." Smiling, the man paid her a rare compliment. "I don't think you're stupid, in fact quite the opposite. However, remember one thing, your seduction games won't work on me as I'm not turned on by women who want their brains screwed out. Only those who don't." Peter gripped her wrist to tug her touch away but, simultaneously instructing him to take a right, she beat him to it. "

As the turn brought them close to their destination, Pete's shoulders stiffened, his body straightened, and blue eyes scanned the flashing neon signs of the clubs, and the throng of customers headed towards them in hopes of an evening to remember. For one, in particular, it certainly would be, but only if there was afterlife in which to recall the events.

The killer spoke in a whisper as he drove into a parking lot, switching the headlights and ignition off when he turned into a space at the very rear, under a broken lamp, and focused his intense gaze on Analise. "One of them?" Inclining his head towards a group of twenty-something women, dressed to nine's in their club outfits, tight bodies on display underneath, and make-up enhancing their attractive features, Pete appraised them for a few moments, before his eyes flicked to a second group of women. "Or one of them?"

Eyes returning his companion, Norris raised a questioning brow. "How does it feel, honey? Knowing that, by the end of the night, an innocent girl you've never met is going to be dead. Gone forever, her friends and loving parents devastated, any potential she possessed, gone with her. She could have have been the one to develop a cure for cancer, foil a terrorist attack, stop a school shooter, but we'll never know, will we? Because, in a few hours time, she'll be nothing but a raped, ravaged, piece of lifeless human flesh, left to rot and be devoured by wild animals, and that will be your doing."

Unlatching his seatbelt, and opening the drivers side door, the killer's pupils shone bright with evil intent when he stepped out, and peered back in at his companion. "Ready to play God, Analise?"

Again Analise pouted when he insulted her ability to seduce a man, it wasn't terribly upsetting as she was certain she was doing a good enough job based on the erection her hand was on. And she was confident in her ability to string some twenty-something along. But there was a slight tinge of concern in her eyes that could have easily been mistaken as fear or perhaps it really was fear. She didn't smile back when he smiled at her, she just blinked at him like a deer caught in headlights, she couldn't make herself snap back like usual. It was silly, the thing that was causing her internal strife. The size of him, the hardness of him, it seemed like too much. It was the first time she'd been so close to a hard cock and it was terrifying. But she played it cool as she tore her hand from his grasp and continued to direct him.

The rest of the ride though short, was quiet. The conversation had been restricted to nothing more than directions and there had only been one or two more given. The purr of the engine stopped and Analise took a look around them, noting that he hadn't haphazardly chosen their parking spot. Near the back so they could slip out and without a light to be spotted, he was smart and she was grateful for that.

When he pulled her attention to the group of young, sexy women who were already causing quite the raucous as they went in, her heartbeat quickened. Her chest visibly rose and fell, her mouth was watering as she considered each of them as the victim. Each would have their own lovely death, the details all changing in each scenario but the ending the same. She might have looked nervous as she trembled with excitement and bit her lower lip, but she was already starting to feel more alive than she ever had.

Her eyes closed slowly and she took a deep breath to calm her fluttering heart, her lips parted slightly as if she were going to answer him. Tell him that she was so excited to watch him exquisitely end the life of one of those young women she could piss herself. She didn't get the chance as by the time she found the words, he was opening her door like some polite gentleman, but what she saw in his eyes was demonic.

Analise stepped out of the car with grace and a coy smile, "I'm dying to." It was just a turn of phrase, or was Analise showing off that 'look-at-me, I'm not scared of being gutted like a fish ego' again? So eager to find their victim, she was quickly sauntering inside right by the security that started to stop Pete. "Oh, that's my friend," Analise called back over her shoulder, "He's with me," she reassured the man at the door as she took the serial killer's hand to drag him inside.

Inside the only light came from multi-colored strobe lights and it was nearly impossible to have a conversation over the loud pulse of the music. So, Analise let her body do all of the talking as she strutted confidently onto the dance floor, letting Pete's hand slip out of hers. The music fueled the movements of her hips with purpose, the hypnotic, sensual rhythm drawing others to her. Suddenly, the dance floor was packed with Analise at the center and no longer visible.

Every second there was body touching her own. Fingertips grazed the soft flesh of her arm, hips grinding against her firm bottom, a thigh finding its way between her own. Finally, she felt something that ran shivers down her spine and she opened her eyes to see a pretty young thing aggressively grabbing hold of her waste and pulling her closer. Analise smiled, she was sure this one would put up a hell of a fight against Peter and hoped she was right. She was a bit shorter than Analise but Analise was wearing six inch heels. She appeared to be a hundred pounds only soaking wet, but she had a fiery spirit, Analise could see it in her eyes. The darkness of the club made it difficult to really see, but she could tell the girl was of a darker complexion and her curly hair was pulled up into pigtails that were tucked into buns. She was cute and fun, adventurous.

As if she could read Analise's mind, she leaned up to shout in her ear over the music, "YOU WANNA GET OUT OF HERE?"

Analise leaned down and did the same, "ONLY IF MY HUSBAND CAN JOIN US."

The girl beamed, "THE MORE THE MERRIER."

At that, Analise took her hand and led her off the dance floor, pausing to look around the room in search of Pete. After a quick scan she only found a few small groups chatting around the bar, there was three people sitting in a dark corner necking, and another group of girls clamoring out of the bathroom after filling their noses with treats. But no Peter. This place was probably like an all you can eat buffet to him and she hoped hadn't ditched her.

Watching her gaze move to the group of young women, Analise's expression entranced him. The way she briefly closed her eyes and parted her lips indicated to the killer not signs of fear or hesitation, but physical signals of excitement, as blatant as the erection he'd drawn her touch to. What had the Dyke thought about that? Norris made a mental note to ask later, if there was a later for Analise, and shook his head at her renewed display of ego, after she stepped out of the car. "Hopefully, it won't be you that needs to die, Ms Helm."

Whether she heard his reply was uncertain, as the woman was apparently in a rush, swiftly calling out to the bouncer, and leading him by the hand into the club. Another excited twenty-something girl out for a fun night, dragging her possibly reluctant boyfriend along with her. That image elicited a sense of mirth in Pete, before the music assaulted his eardrums. When Analise's grip slipped from his, he made no effort to shout out, or follow, but instead, allowed her to disappear, content to leave her to hunt for their prey.

Ordering a Pepsi at the bar, he placed himself on a stool, and let it be known that he wasn't looking to be approached by his straight-backed, standoffish demeanour. As he sipped at the beverage, he surveyed the crowd again, and located Analise on the dance floor, which quickly began to fill. Pete contemplated as he watched, gaze moving from woman to woman, if they sensed the same force of personality in her that he did, and which would be her target.

Would Analise would find her, or would the other find Analise? Who, out all these pretty, young girls, would be the one later that night on their knees in front of Pete Norris, battered and bleeding, features screwed up in agony, begging for her life, and body ravaged beyond repair. All for his enjoyment, and that of the confident, attractive woman strutting her stuff under the strobe lights, to whom the other dancers appeared to gravitate like moths to a flame.

It didn't take long to find out, and Pete appreciated the choice. Smaller than Analise, pretty and lithe, she'd appeared to be the aggressor, and that was a positive. She might put up a fight. When they departed the dance-floor, he tossed a ten dollar bill on the bar counter, and slipped through the crowd towards them. Like a shadow, he moved, avoiding eye contact with others, and making himself invisible, until he eventually reached the two, having deliberately stayed out of Analise's field of vision. He knew how much she enjoyed surprises.

"Not leaving without me, I hope?"

Without warning, he slipped between the couple, nodded his approval to Analise, then smiled down at her companion, "And you are?"

The stranger giggled in surprise as she looked up at Pete, and appraised him, obviously not minding what she saw. "Stephanie."

"Nice to meet you Stephanie, I'm Pete. Pete Norris." He savoured the opportunity to reveal his identity; it wasn't as if she'd live to tell anyone. "Mind if I tag along?"

Stephanie giggled a second time, briefly causing Norris to wonder if Ms Helm had ignored his orders, and the girl was drunk. Or maybe she was just a slut, happy to be picked up and screwed by random strangers any night of the week. Most likely the latter, the majority of young women were these days. Blame it on feminism. "Not at all."

The killer's charm worked a treat, as he placed a hand on her back, and continued to casually flirt, heading out of the club, where only a few people lingered outside. Taking over the lead from Analise, he distracted Stephanie's attention from the isolated location of the vehicle with friendly banter, and led them to it.

"Oh, did Analise tell you, it's her birthday?" When they arrived, Pete used the remote on his key-ring to unlock the doors, flashing lights briefly illuminating the darkness.

"Really?" The girl shot a congratulatory look at Analise, then returned her attention to Pete.

"Really. And a man's got to keep his woman happy, so, tonight, you're her present."

Glancing over at his partner in crime, Norris popped the trunk. ""Isn't that right, honey? Why don't you explain to this cheap whore what you want me to do to her, and how I like it rough. Ask the bitch if she enjoys taking it up the ass." His tone suddenly ice-cold, and the words, taunting, Pete noticed the girl shirk slightly away from his touch.

"Um, maybe this isn't such a good idea." Stephanie took a step away, confused eyes darting between Pete and Analise, and the dark, deserted car park that stood between her and the safety of the Club. However, even if she'd realised that she'd gotten herself into a dangerous situation, and intended to try to run, it was too late. The second the words spilled from her mouth, Pete Norris pulled her towards him, and launched a vicious fist into the woman's solar plexus.

As the impact doubled her over, dropping Stephanie to her knees, gasping for air, with shock writ on her features, he reached into the trunk. Collecting a length of nylon rope he'd prepared earlier, Pete draped the noose over their victim's neck, then jerked on the other end, tightening the cord around her throat to prevent any screams, and raised an eyebrow at Analise Helm. "You want to drive, or shall I? Somewhere quiet, where Stephanie and I can become better acquainted."