How a Demon Earns Her Wings: Chapter 1

In the Blood
By Corps

Author's note: this story is of course complete fantasy. The author does not condone or indulge in (or even accept as possible) any of the actions detailed here. This is purely fictional entertainment for adults only. None of this has ever happened and nor should it.

Chapter 1

I hung my grandmother that day. Of course, logically I shouldn't have: it's my aunt who I hate the most, not granny. Aunt Edie should have been first to swing, but she wasn't.

But I wanted to terrify Aunt Edie before anything else. The cow would have looked good dangling on the end of a rope, kicking and struggling. Better than Granny possibly, but then we don't always do rational things. But I figured (and for a thirteen year old girl I figure a lot of things as carefully as I can) that terrifying Edie was better. Also, as much as I thought Granny was okay I can't afford to keep four women as prisoners.

Too much like hard work for a teenage girl.

Four prisoners, two cells. I have (or had) Granny and my mom in one cell and Aunt Edie and her stuck up bitch of a daughter -- my cousin Lynne -- in another cell. I brought them out one at time and tied them to restraint rings on the wall of the room I call the execution room. A grand title for a bare room with nothing more than a chair beneath a stout hook in the ceiling and to one side a solid and quite thick wooden pole. The hook was how you hang prisoners, or at least how I did. No great ceremony. Get the bitch on the chair, make sure her hands and ankles and knees are tied together, and a gag of course in her stupid mouth, and remove the chair.

Gravity does the rest.

I had tied the three women who weren't going to die by their necks (they were free to choke themselves, but I figured they wouldn't) standing against the back wall so they had a good view of the end of my grandmother. Bless her, the old dear kicked a little, of course, and probably didn't enjoy it but it was time for her to go. She pissed herself of course, but I expected that (there's a drain below the chair so I don't have to bother with tidying up). I looked at her skinny, pale body with its dangly, saggy tits and admired how she was all tied up and her tear streaked wrinkled face looking like she was scared. Probably she was. But she'd had a good life until she became my prisoner, so she shouldn't complain.

Even being my prisoner, being fed and watered and given a room to share, showed someone cared for her. She could have chatted more to my mom if I didn't keep them so well gagged, but she had company. Of sorts.

And the bondage positions weren't that demanding. Even an old dog (I mean an old bitch, sorry) can get used to a new trick. Granny did her best not to complain as she was put in a hog tie, which I thought was very good of her.

My mom, my aunt and my delightfully fat cousin were gagged where they stood against the wall as witnesses, but I could hear them pleading and moaning behind their gags. I had tied their hands behind them (or in the case of fat cousin Lynne, her elbows) with wire so their tits stuck out, and they couldn't reach their gags or their neck cord.

The three bitches pissed themselves in horror at what they saw, or maybe it was erotic delight. Who knows what people get off on.

Then I had to organize the burial party and put the surviving bitches to work. Still gagged of course, but in chains (I do like to see them struggling in heavy chains) and toiling to get rid of dear, sweet dead Granny. Cement in a small pit, of course. Nothing much of a ceremony, but this way the three sluts got to be at the funeral. Anyway, no one would find dear sweet Granny's body and there were three other pits next to where Gran went in, so the bitches knew their fate.

Okay, why am I like I am? A thirteen year old girl who wants to hang her relatives?

Oh fuck, I wish I knew. I have thought about it, but one day I just decided it was time for them to go. Go the way I wanted.

The idea came to me one day, when I was twelve. Came right out of the blue. And the more I tried, the less I could forget about it. I got increasingly excited by the idea. I wanted to hurt any and all of my female relatives, but most of all I wanted to get rid of them. So, for the next year, I thought about what I wanted to do, how I'd do it.

I made plans, got the resources. Then I got to work. Our big old house had old cellars that would make do as cells -- and an execution room. My mom wondered why I was spending so long down there, asking the usual dumb questions like 'wasn't I sacred of spiders?' and saying 'I was acting more and more strange.'

Maybe I was, but I had one idea in mind. And that idea was to kill other women. My female relatives.

I got all the women folk I could to a 'surprise party'; my mother, granny and aunt and cousin. I lied to get them to gather together as a secret. I drugged them, got them into the cellar into what was their new homes, and started work on them. I made sure they were gagged often, fed them some disgusting food in dog bowls (especially my fat cousin Lynne) and told them if they co-operated they could go free.

Yeah, I know. I lied.

They argued and fought as best they could but I had worked it all out how to subdue them. And a cattle prod really works wonders. God, I even got them gag themselves and put their own chains on.

But the aim of this wasn't to get them meek and willing, it was to kill them. Granny went first, and the others now knew I was serious and what freedom from all this captivity really meant. They even buried poor old Granny in her cement tomb in the pouring rain. I reminded them they would need to keep their chains rust free, so it meant more work when they were back in their cells.

I suppose I should have asked mom earlier if what I was doing was okay, but the day after granny was hung I was in what was now my mom's single cell with her on her hands and knees and and eating like a dog, and she asked -- politely -- if she could talk to me.

"You're not going to try and talk me out of this, are you?" I asked, indicating there was no way I would reconsider.

"Of course I'm not. Why should I?"

I grinned at my naked mother on all fours in front of me. She was a good looking woman and if I was lesbian I could fancy having sex with her. But I'm not, and she would die one day at my hands. Love would only complicate things, I had decided. "I believe you might think there is a way out for you. You may think I'm a heartless bitch but you hope you can escape what I plan?"

"No, honey. You won't change your mind. I accept that. You're my daughter: you think like me. The difference is you have done what I always wanted to do. But I know one day you will hang me like you did my mom, and like the others. I just want to be the last to go."

"In case I change my mind before then."

"No," said my mother. "I want to see my ugly sister hung and that appalling daughter of hers too. Then when I have seen them dispatched -- and I presume you will make sure they die slowly -- I can then be killed. I'll be happy."

"You don't like your niece?" I knew my mother wasn't keen on her sister and probably not on Lynne. I wasn't, so no reason she should be.

"Of course I don't. As you know, or have guessed, I sure don't like my sister. Stuck up bitch that she is. Hanging's too good for her."

"And you would have hung the others, if you could have done?" I felt a little excited that my mother might be every bit the cruel bitch I was.

"Yes. I fantasized about hanging my mother and my sister and especially that whore of a daughter of hers." My mother paused. "I even want to see other women hung."

I raised an eyebrow. "Like who?"

"That foul woman who teaches you. Not forgetting the cow who lives next door."

"Helen? She's got two baby girls," I said.

"And they can be hung too," said my mother. "Just because her brats are one and three years old doesn't mean they can't be killed."

I thought for a moment. "As a way to escape death yourself, it seems a good plan to divert my attention."

"No diversion. Look at me: I am your prisoner." Mom held her hands out to show me her chains, as if I hadn't noticed them. "I understand you can do what you want when you want. I accept you own me. These chains are as permanent as you want. But I have to tell you the minute I found myself down here I knew what was in your mind." She paused. "Years ago I could have these cellars cleaned up, or even bricked up. But part of me thought maybe I could use them one day. But once I was here I knew what would happen to the others. I was just unsure of the order you'd do it in. I could be next, but I'd hate to think my shit of a sister and my awful niece might survive."

"They won't," I said.

"Good," said my mother. "Now, shouldn't you gag me and prod me for talking like this?"

"Yeah." I carefully gagged my mother and treated her to the cattle prod a few times, but she had got me thinking.

I sat in my mother's cell. I had whipped her a little, just to see blood run, but now she was ungagged. She was sat on the same chair I had used to hang granny with, and she was tied to it with plastic ties that dug deep into her arms and legs. She didn't struggle and she didn't complain. She'd even told me that one of the plastic ties wasn't tight enough and advised me to do it again.

"I've been thinking about what you've said," I told my mother. I had propped myself up on the narrow, hard bed that had once been Granny's and surveyed the bound woman.

"About that I accept my fate at your hands?"

"Not so much. More that you want to see other women hung. Before you," I added, in case she thought I was getting soft.

My mother nodded. "Well, it's a dream I've had since before you were born."

"You never liked your own mother?"

"I liked her, but I wanted to see her hung. Yet though I dreamed of it, you did it. You had the courage to do it. Privately, I am impressed with your organizational skills and your resolve. I knew these rooms would make good cells but you took it to the next stage." She smiled, which considering how much I'd just hurt her was impressive. "You have the quality so many women wish they had: a determination to get off on seeing others die. At least I presume you get off on it. I would."

I blushed a little. It isn't easy to tell your mom you masturbate.

"But there are a few things you need to know."

"Would these be threats or pleas?" I asked guardedly.

"Neither, thank God. I know you could hang me now. Or anything you wanted. I wouldn't beg you to stop. But I need you to consider certain things."

"Go on."

"You need first of all to make sure you have good cover stories for me and Edie and Lynne. While few people may miss us, it's important you have your tracks covered. Second, you need to make sure you get the most enjoyment from this. Memories are good, but you need photos and maybe a video or two of us dying. Something to cum over."

"Incriminating."

"Not if we are hooded. But the most important thing is when we have gone -- when you have hung and disposed of all us three -- who then? You aren't going to go back to a quiet life, are you?"

I shook my head. I hadn't really thought about what I'd do when the last grave was filled. Take up some hobby? Resolve to be a better student? Nah, killing women was in me. In my blood. Mom knew it too.

"You are born to murder," said my mom from where she sat tied to the chair in front of me. Her legs were open and her full, mature cunt was on display. I had an idea I could sew it up: the place I'd come from finally sealed. To test the waters, as it were, I told my mother my thoughts on her pussy's fate.

"Do it," she said without batting an eyelid. "Honey, it's your cunt to do with as you wish."

"And you would be happy to have it closed permanently?"

"Maybe not happy but what choice do I have? True, while I live I need to pee and there is the problem of my monthlies, but you are a bright girl and will figure something out."

I nodded. "Okay, one day I will do it. But for now it could be useful."

"How may I ask?"

"I think my dear sweet teacher at school is a lesbian. Old Ma Carruthers is a crow of a lesbian, but one all the same. I could use your cunt to entice her down here."

My mother looked thoughtful. "You know, I guess I could. From what I recall of her she must be fifty but hey, she could go for someone like me. But... The trouble is I would be out of my cell. No chains. You happy with me having some freedom?"

"Not entirely, but the thought of old Carruthers hanging is too good to miss." I thought for a moment. "And you are right: I need a supply of whores to hang. I guess I hadn't thought of the long-term plan."

"Your future is killing women," said my mother. "Who you kill is less important than doing it. You may think your teacher at school is useless but it would be a waste if she were to escape her fate at your hands.

"And you'd go to bed with her, to get her down here?"

"Yeah, anything. Providing I can see her hang." My mother grinned again.

"Her hung before you get to die," I said, to reiterate my control. My mom nodded.

"If I let you go, however briefly, I will have to punish you. And I need to know I can trust you not to escape. It's a big risk for me."

"I know, and I wish there was an easy way I could give you a guarantee so you don't think it is a risk. But, I also need to be be out and about a little because I need to make sure people don't suspect anything is wrong -- and, for what it's worth, eventually make sure my will is watertight and you gain everything after I am gone."

I thought some more. There were definite advantages to mom being back on the scene again, as it were. An alibi would not be the least of it, at some point. "But you sleep down here between spells of freedom. This is still your room."

"Yes, it is. My cell, not my room. The chains need to be on me and I expect to be punished. One day you will tire of torturing me and then you will hang me. I understand that. But as I say, I'd like to see some others go first, so I can get some pleasure from it too. You know, dreams made flesh."

I said I would think about, gagged my mom and whipped her tits some more before I left her sobbing and bleeding. There was, I had to concede, another plan forming in my mind. I just needed to work it out.

Chapter 2

Mom looked nervous. She was out of her cell for the first time in ages and would be going to my school to seduce Carruthers. At least she hoped so. Maybe Carruthers would think my mom too old; mom was thirty and still great looking buy perhaps not young enough. Her whip marks had healed nicely and she had put on plenty of makeup to go with her stylishly short skirt. She was bra-less under her thin blouse. She also had no panties on, but that was her idea. She had insisted she never be allowed to wear them again.

"It's a pity I am not going after a man," she said. "Not because I want a man in me, and you have no interest in hanging them, but it's harder to seduce a woman."

"The voice of experience?"

"Some," said my mother. "There is a woman across town who I had an affair with years ago. She would be good to hang. Pretty rich bitch."

"You loved her?"

"No. I was attracted to her for sex. Love is doing what my daughter wants."

I slapped my mother's ass. "Then make me happy. Time to get Carruthers seduced," I said.

"Time to make my daughter even happier," smiled my mom, and set off in her best high heels for an interview with my teacher.

My mom was good. Whatever she did that day, she did it well. Her seduction technique must have been perfect. She soon got the old bitch Carruthers back and together we had the old bag drugged, stripped and trussed up in the cellar. The one she would share with mom.

Mom had absolutely no objection to getting out of her few clothes and naked, back into the cellar. Mom looked pleased it had gone so well and I was right to trust her. As promised I whipped her for her relatively brief spell of freedom -- an act that must have astonished the strapped down Mrs Carruthers. The heavily gagged bitch lay and stared in shock and horror (and no doubt a little lust) as a slim thirteen year-old who was one of her pupils whipped a mature naked woman and drew blood. My mom was not gagged and was whimpering and pleading to be hurt: whatever strange hell Carruthers had thought she had arrived in was even worse than she could imagine.

Carruthers was duly treated to a whipping too, but after I did it it was my mom's turn to add to the teacher's pain. I hadn't gagged mom and as she wielded the whip she was telling my helpless teacher that she -- Carruthers -- would soon be hung.

I however said that might be too kind. I had formed another idea, which later I shared with my mother.

"I want to drown Carruthers in shit," I said. "For feeding us so much crap at school."

"Brilliant," said mom. My mother was on her knees, tied with wire and was listening while I told her my idea. "Can we all add to her demise?" She asked.

"Well, we two can. Aunt and cousin should watch."

"Wouldn't it better to have them drop their shit on the woman with us? They can still be tied up, but it would be good to know they helped."

I agreed, and so we made arrangements. As my mom suggested, I had a video camera set up to record it all and I had -- again with my chained mother's help -- discussed how we would get Carruthers to drown in shit and piss. The two, my mom pointed out, tend to go together. With her input we decided on a bag affixed inside a bottomless bucket. The bag could be sealed with tape round the hag's neck and the bucket itself used to keep the liquid slop stable. As it built up in the bag it would slowly drown my teacher. Incidentally, I had thought of keeping Carruthers alive longer but I wanted to get her dead as soon as possible.

With the device made (plus I also got a tray to put underneath the woman -- you will not be surprised that I am a practical person) we all ate a lot of of food that would make us shit plenty (and for my aunt and cousin it was a welcome relief to get some 'proper' food at last) and with Carruthers tightly bound in place kneeling against the post in the execution room while strapped up the two other prisoners were introduced to their 'toilet.' They soon cottoned on and, believing that another's suffering would postpone their own, rather encouraged by the laxative in their food they eagerly dumped their foul droppings on the helpless teacher's head. Then my mom and I followed. Aunt Edie and Lynne were tied up by their necks so they could watch and permitted to self-play with one hand free.

My mom had the idea that maybe Edie and Lynne ought to be allowed to masturbate as they watched, and after some thought I accepted the idea. Despite everything that had happened to them they were apparently turned on by the act of shitting on a bound woman's head (Carruthers by the way was gagged with a ring gag so the shit would soon fill her mouth and she wore a nose hook to make her ugly face even more pig-like with nose forcibly exposed) and they stood, with necks tied to the wall as before in the execution room, and rubbed themselves hard as they watched. To my surprise it was pretty fierce masturbation as they saw Carruthers' head slowly being submerged in brown and yellow slop. The smell, of course, was foul but as mom pointed out, drowning someone in shit is a smelly business.

Mom had prepared some food that would turn our bellies to water (we didn't want any air pockets in among our turds) and soon the poor teacher was struggling for air, first having to taste the mess building up round her head and then finding it creeping up and over her nose. But the final coup de gras was that we had fed the woman some of the same rich food and with the tray under her to catch her own droppings and piss it was soon transferred to her head. She was scared enough to void her bowels without any further incentive than the fact she was about to die.

Thus the final, fatal, dollops came from her own copious liquid and shit dumps, and with a gurgle the struggling but immobile woman duly drowned with her own crap and pee piled sloppily on top of ours.

The three other women were put in their chains -- mom had been allowed to masturbate too as my teacher perished -- and the body of Carruthers was taken out by the gagged females (Aunt and my cousin must have been confused my mom was alternately free and not free) and buried again in cement in one of the three remaining pits. No doubt Edie and Lynne thought they might be spared if other women were taking up pit room, but they had not escaped their own pits whatever they thought

It was my mom who might, I considered, prove to be useful yet.

"You have to remember this is not all bad," said my mother. She was in my favorite position for her, kneeling and bound and I had added crocodile clips to her nipples after I had whipped her tits. But she wanted to talk so I listened.

"Meaning?" I was sat in front of her, legs apart and idly playing with my clit. I had begun to accept that as I was in charge it didn't mattered what anyone here thought of what I did.

"What you are doing is considered by many to be a perversion, but the truth is it is fairly common. Thousands of people are murdered each year for sexual pleasure or an erotic need, but it isn't perverse at all. If you have the need in you to kill others then you have to be honest with yourself. So far you have killed two people -- at least that I know of -- and you have a plan for at least three more. It could be more, of course."

"Like the woman next door and her brats?"

My mother nodded. "If you think killing them is good, I'd be pleased to assist. That's if you need me."

"Well, you were pretty useful in getting Carruthers, but I have remind you you are a prisoner on death row. A helpful prisoner, but that's all."

"I accept that," said my mother. "I'd be surprised if you commuted my sentence. The fact is you are a lot like me, at least in terms of arousal from the idea of seeing off people. With me though it was just thoughts, though I wish I had spoken to you earlier about this. We seem to have wasted so much time trying to be the sort of respectable people we aren't!"

I laughed: my mom was right. The nice mom and daughter act was a pretense. But that was over now.

My mother continued. "You want to hurt me, honey, and believe me you do. But I can tell you are doing it because you have to. It's in your blood as it was in mine. I feel much the same way as you do now -- did ever since I was barely a teenager myself -- but I lacked your determination I am sorry to say. But maybe that is why I am so sure you will go through with it all. You have a cruel streak that is magnificent but also you cleverly ally it to being sensible and practical. But I have to say you need maybe to slow it down."

"Because you want to live longer?"

"No," insisted the kneeling woman. "You do what you think best, but you need to enjoy it more. Slower execution might mean you get more enjoyment out of it. Savor it more. So far both the women you have killed went pretty quickly. That's your choice. But also, you have to remember that while two older women might not be missed quickly, you don't want to burn through the available fund of bitches too soon."

I nodded thoughtfully. My mother was being very wise. Yes, she lacked the practicality I had but she said the one thing that made a huge impact on me: "There are many ways to kill your prisoners, so I think you should plan their demise -- and mine -- carefully."

"Aren't you worried about the way I will dispose of you?"

"Yes and no. But like I say, what choice do I have?"

"None," I confirmed.

"That's what I thought." She actually smiled. "I have to say I have gained enormous pleasure from seeing up close those two bitches perish. I'm grateful for the opportunity to help, as well. You trusted me and I hope you can see that if you have to release me I am reliable."

"How did you feel when your own mother was hung?"

"Excited. But then I had long dreamed of it. Seeing her swing and struggle was heavenly for me. The rope round her scrawny neck...those naked droopy tits and her flab... oh, wonderful."

"Like you have dreamed of seeing off your sister and her child?"

"Lynne is hardly a child. More a fat slut."

"Agreed." I laughed.

"Yes, seeing them both die would be sensational. But it is your choice who goes when."

"Agreed," I said again, but my mom had given me a lot to think about. I almost felt bad about gagging her and punching her in the face, but it doesn't do to get soft, does it?

Mom didn't look too bad with her black eye. Her nose had stopped bleeding a long time ago but I left the blood on her face to go brown and dry. It was an appealing look. The main thing was I enjoyed hitting her, and she understood. Free of her gag she said: "It's good. I'm your cunt, so whatever goes is fine."

I told mom I appreciated her help and when it was her turn to die I would try to make it quick.

"Make it inventive," said my mother sternly. "If you are going to kill people like me you have to do it with style. Anyone can randomly shoot someone. Those supposed serial killers who run away from an unexpected death are sad bastards. Everyone loves a killer who has style."

I sighed. "I want to hurt you again mom. Any ideas what I can do?" It wasn't that I'd run out of ideas, but I wanted to see what she would volunteer for.

"Oh goodness," said my mom. She was serving me my meal and was naked and in her chains. I didn't really like letting her out of her cell but I wanted to be waited on hand and foot. "There are so many things you can do it's hard to know where to start. I suppose the quickest thing is for me to get a couple of safety pins and you can put them through my nipples."

I ate my meal and thought about it. "I think I will. Go and get them," I said.

Mom scurried off and soon came back with two large, diaper sized safety pins. "These are old and seem a little blunt, so they should hurt me plenty." She held her hand out and I took them.

"Any more like this?" I asked as I opened them and beckoned her nearer. She bent forward so her tits dangled a few inches from me.

"Sorry, no. Were you thinking of my tongue?"

"Or your clit," I said and carefully poked the first slightly blunt safety pin through her nipple. I am sure my bound aunt and fat cousin must have heard my mom's scream down in their cell.

"Thanks," mom sobbed as I got ready to push the second one through her offered nipple. She screamed again and I admired the spot of blood from each one. Once more she thanked me.

"In a way I love you mom," I said.

My mother blinked her tears away and stood next to me. "I know. But you love the idea of hurting me and killing me even more," she said.

"Yes," I sighed. "In other circumstances perhaps... Oh well. I guess I am going to miss you when the time comes."

"I know." My mother put her hand on my shoulder. "By the way, there's still some hot fat in the pan on the stove. You could pour that on me."

Another great idea. My mom spread herself on the floor and I dribbled the hot fat over her still hurting tits and of course across her cunt. More screams, more mess.

I helped mom up when I had done and ordered her to clean up the mess on her and the kitchen floor. Using her tongue, I told her. As she worked licking up the still warm oil I asked her what to do about the bitch next door with her brats.

"What do you want to do, honey?" she asked me.

"Kill them, but I was thinking that maybe her small kids ought to be kept alive and tortured."

"They should all be tortured," said my mother. She said it like it was obvious. "But there is a problem with accommodation. Three more cunts to kill are going to make the cells crowded."

"The brats can go in a box or two," I said. "Once they are gagged they can be trussed up and tossed in a box."

Mom nodded as best she could while she lapped up the oil. "It would be good if their mom -- Kirsten -- could see them in a box. Maybe a plastic sided box in front of her."

I laughed. A shelf full of boxes with babies bound and gagged in them. I had a vision of owning a store where people could come and buy babies like that. Babies to keep and punish. 'Off the shelf kiddies' took on a whole new meaning.

"You ever thought about killing boys?" asked mom. She had finished lapping up the mess and was knelt up with pained tits thrust out, almost as a mark of respect.

"Boys? No, why?" I paused. "I am not interested in any males."

"I can understand that," said mom. She winced as I reached out and tugged at her newly pierced nipples. "But limiting yourself to killing females may not be the best path."

"How?"

"Women and girls going missing makes the police think about looking for males. Men who have a revenge wish against women." Mom nodded. "That's a good thing. No one really expects a teenage girl to be a killer, but it has happened in the past. But, and this is the big but, the cops would be more convinced to look for a male if the occasional boy went missing too."

"I don't get it," I said. I twisted mom's pin decorated nipples some more and she gave small cries of pain.

"Ow... Men are weird creatures. Some of them want to kill women, but gay men are even more weird. Ouch... There are some who kill both women and men. I have done a study of this in my spare time. Women may kill other women, women may kill men, but the probability is always that men kill women and almost a definite that men kill males."

"So you are saying the cops would look for a male even more if the occasional boy went missing." I stopped toying with my mom.

"An alibi is always good. A reason to stay out of the spotlight even better. You want to be free to kill, not to give the courts things to worry about."

"You are a genius," I laughed.

Mom smiled. "I love it when you see what I do," she said. "Now, while you think about this, get me tied up please. There's a cell downstairs waiting for me."

She went in the cell in a hog tie with weights attached to her nipple pins, and I went to think about which boy could join what I might call the special club.

Chapter 3

The boy we chose to kill -- or the one fate delivered into our hands -- was called Antony. He was about ten, and like all boys of that age would no doubt be enjoying his first erections and dry cums. He was shy of girls, but less so of women so it worked well that my mom was able to get him to climb into her car. A small, blond boy with freckles who must have though my mother was some sort of kindly lady when she approached him on a quiet street.

It's hard to know what he thought would happen by getting a free ride, but he ended up dead. Mom had persuaded me that he needed to be killed in another place and by another method, and I agreed. I have to admit mom was becoming essential to my plans for while I had done a lot of thinking and planning before all this, she had opened up a whole new dimension.

I was just so sorry that she would die one day at my hands, but I couldn't help that. Had to be done. For now she would be useful and she knew it. What I didn't know was how long that usefulness would last.

I talked to mom about it a few times, and even apologized that she would have to be killed, but she said that was what she always expected. She admitted she used to lie in bed after I was born, masturbating over thoughts that her daughter would turn out to be a killer, like she always wanted to be. I wanted to know if she ever planned to kill me.

"No," she told me as we chatted one day between me stubbing out cigarettes on her bound tits and her moans and sobs, "I never wanted to kill you when you were little. I think I recognized from early on that you were destined to be a better killer than even I could be. My job was to raise you as best I could to be the person you are."

Anyways, Antony was now bound and naked and terrified. He was tied to a tree in a remote place in some forest and perhaps couldn't understand why the woman who had brought him here was now tied up like him. Except she wouldn't die. Not yet. The boy watched silently (he was tape gagged) as I stripped off and began to tell him that his day would soon be over. The boy stared at me and then my naked, gagged mom and wondered what on earth was going on. But, bless him, his small cock was hard if not exactly long (though I am no expert on male genitalia). Maybe it was the sight of my mother's big safety-pinned nipples in front of him. Or the rope between her legs cutting up into her fat cunt. Who knows what was exciting him? Could even have been me naked. Anyone's guess.

Then we got a break, though we didn't know it immediately.

A hiker, a skinny, balding male aged about 40, happened upon us. A chance in a million, but a heaven sent chance to make ourselves safer from suspicion. Whatever the man thought was soon put into perspective by me; I am good at thinking on the spur of the moment. We were out making a porn film, I said (the video camera was set up) and would he like to take part? We could do with a man fucking the boy. And don't worry about him being gagged: he likes that.

The man, whose name I never found out, must have thought all his birthdays had come at once. He was so eager to take part he was almost tearing his clothes off. Frankly, it was laughably easy to get the man interested in the boy. He may have thought all this strange but he didn't run or even accuse us of perversion. He wanted sex and for him this was too good to miss.

The man was allowed to fuck the boy when the kid was tied up bent over a log (Antony never got to speak to put his opinion forward) and as the man knelt behind the naked, bent over boy my mom, who had been untied by me but still naked, came up quietly behind the grunting male and strangled him as he shot his load. The struggling, helpless boy had probably never been butt-fucked before and certainly wouldn't be again. I even got it all on film.

We had the perfect alibi now: the man would be disposed of by us. After the boy was killed.

Antony was sobbing, poor thing, as mom strangled him too (she said that she was "on fire" after killing the man with a loop of rope round his ugly neck) and I allowed her to deal with the boy. She even killed the boy cleverly, by using a strap from the man's rucksack and leaving it knotted round his neck, so when the boy's otherwise undamaged body was found -- I had planned to mutilate him but mom's plan was better, as I learned once I ungagged her -- and the hiker's semen would be found in him then everything would point to a male having done it.

Quite by chance Mom had also brought with her a picture of old Ma Carruther's body and she propped that up by the bound, dead boy, having put his fingerprints on it. When it was found, the missing man would be blamed for both deaths. Of course, they would never find the man, but any missing people in future -- whether an old female teacher or a boy among them -- would now be regarded as another of this mystery man's doing. At least, for a time.

We lugged the dead man's body to a place where there were fissures in the rocks (I noted them in the way in) and wedged his body down into a narrow gap between two rocks. It would take some looking to see it there but we took no chance and dropped broken branches and grasses on top of it. No one would find it in any hurry, and anyway no doubt various creatures would get down there to enjoy a snack in the meantime. Once the man's body was hidden away I permitted myself to give my mom a hug. "I think you are amazing," I said. Then I slapped her hard, to show that even amazing was punishable.

"And I think you are going to enjoy killing people even more as you get better ideas and make more plans," said my mother, wiping away her tears.

"Oh, yes. Later on I will have to punish you for killing two poor males," I laughed. "How did it feel to finally get to kill someone?"

"Unbelievable," she said. "Better than I ever hoped for. And I couldn't have done it without you," she added.

"God, it's going to be so hard to kill you one day," I said.

"Put that out of your mind," mom insisted. "For now we have some fun."

"Except I haven't killed anyone today. I will have to kill someone soon!"

"Time for your fat cousin to go?" Asked my mother with a twinkle in her eyes.

"After I have whipped you," I grinned, and hugged mom again.

It wasn't Lynne's turn, after all. Mom had taken the dead hiker's things and in amongst it was his address and a picture of his family. A mature wife and a chubby girl, who was about eight or nine.

"They die," said mom firmly, "and you will do it."

"Today?"

Mom nodded as she drove the route to the dead man's home. "Right now they don't know where the loving father and hubby is. They don't know of his terrible crime (she laughed at this) and they deserve to perish."

My mother was dressed now and I could make out the safety pin bulges through her thin tee shirt. I liked the sight and told her so.

"Good, hon, but I need more. Maybe a tattoo soon," said mom. "If I live that long. Something like 'owned cunt' over my slit."

"Or 'fuckbitch' on your flabby tits," I suggested.

"There are still burn marks on them." Mom pointed out. "Maybe best to keep my punishment quiet for now, at least away from strangers. But if you permit it I can wear a bra to hide the burns when I have my cunt tattooed."

I smiled. Mom was full of good ideas, but what was more pressing was the fate of the hiker's family. "So this woman and her damn kid," I said. "Any ideas?"

"Well, they need to be killed," said my mother as she drove. "But that goes without saying. Anyhow you said you needed to kill someone. Seems like a good opportunity."

"We get in there and I kill them, okay... but what about the bodies?"

"We burn their place down." Mom said it so matter-of-factly I wondered why I hadn't thought of it. "Once they let us in, we simply go to work on them -- or you do. Then a gas build up, maybe. Such a tragedy," she chuckled.

The plan was simple but effective. Mom would say she was from some do-gooder organization and gain access. I would be some poor child brought along. What I then did was up to me.

We discussed ways to kill them. I liked the idea of strangling them in front of each other; maybe the mother watching me strangle the daughter first. Perhaps, I said, I could strangle the girl with the mother's bra. Then use something of the girl's to strangle the mother. I laughed and said maybe the mother had bought the child a necklace for a birthday, and I'd use that.

Mom laughed and said I was wonderful, and I said I was.

However, things did not quite work the way we expected. "Trust me, this is better," mom whispered to me when the extent of the problem came to light. Apparently the photo the dead man had was taken some time ago: the mother of the girl was out and the daughter herself was a good six years older than the one in the picture. Same chubby look, but she was much older -- and definitely pregnant. The way she waddled to the door told us she probably wasn't far off having the kid.

But, she was barely of an age to be having a child. She was probably no more than fifteen. She stood at the door with her swollen belly and small tits and round innocent face and blinked at us. "Mom's out," she said. And then she added: "dad's out in the hills, out hiking."

I was tempted to say 'we know' or even 'he was' but I kept quite. My mom was handling this, and she handled it so well we were invited in; the line that we were from a health agency was enough to get us inside.

It was a small house and it would burn pretty easily I thought. I also wondered how long before the mother got back, and how I'd kill them both. But mom had other ideas, and when she confided in me I had to stifle a laugh. Mom's idea was that the girl would 'commit suicide' but leave a note for her mother that she couldn't bear the shame any longer; the note would say the father of her child was none other than her dad. I could see why it was a realistic idea: the way he had eagerly buggered that boy in the woods suggested he could well have done something like that. Boy or girl, maybe it made no difference to him. My mom was deliciously believable and before long persuaded the girl to let her examine her. I was astonished: my mother had a talent for persuading people to do things and her value as a helper was going up accordingly.

The girl, Marianne, let mom feel not only her swollen belly but up around the tops of her chubby thighs. Mom even had a little feel of the girl's boobs, though she didn't have much to offer. She was pretty dumb because she never asked to see any ID or even questioned why mom had no bag or equipment with her. No stethoscope, no latex gloves, nothing that suggested medical expertise. Just hands wandering. Just a woman with some strange looking things on her nipples under her shirt.

To cut a long story short, my mother began to tell this Marianne that the baby would not be born alive. If I think about it, it wasn't really a lie. The baby would die at the same time as its mother. Mom was adamant as she told the girl what was wrong. She threw in some made up medical-like words and made it sound very serious. She was very sorry but the facts were that the baby was dead. Marianne looked confused as well as tearful; she could feel the baby kicking she said. "An illusion," said my mom. "A cruel illusion. Your body cannot accept the fact that your baby is gone and the twitches are from you and not from the child."

Dumb Marianne drank it in. She began wailing and crying and wanting her mom, though her dear sweet mom would not be back for a while. Mom comforted the child and told her it would be alright and that although it was bad news, it could be worse.

It was then I got the nod to step in. I seized Marianne's wrists and painfully twisted the girl's arms up behind her. I made it clear we would not go unless she did exactly what we said. The kid was so terrified that she did all I wanted; she had to find some rope for us (not hard as there was a long hank of it in the kitchen) and then sit down and write a letter I would dictate. She was astonished that the letter to her mom was saying she had been made pregnant by her dad, because as she wrote it she broke down in tears. Yes, she admitted, he was the father of her kid. He had fucked her several times, telling his daughter it would be okay and that she wouldn't get pregnant.

And he also liked to tie her up. She sobbed her confession as she bent over a chair and demonstrated how her father would use her and screw her that way. I urged the girl to write it all down and she did, almost as if thankful to finally get the truth out. Then my mom and I told her that she would be sadly going to jail for ever for allowing her father to fuck her and from now on her life would be terrible. After a few minutes of me and my mom telling her all this she was ready to really give up living. My mom got the noose ready and I took the sobbing girl to a chair placed beneath it. We helped Marianne up, put the noose round her neck and I carefully tied her hands behind her with a wide, soft strip of cloth so there'd be no marks.

"Please don't kill me," said the girl, who must have been having second thoughts about how terrible her life would be. "I won't tell anyone you were here."

"But you signed the letter to your mom, admitting you were a slut and cheap whore," I said. :That would upset her."

"But I can tera it up,"said the girl.

"But the truth is still there," said mom. "You'd have to live with the fact that you allowed your own father to tie you up and fuck you. You got pregnant deliberately just to make him and your mom feel bad."

"No," the girl began to wail, but I'd had enough. I pushed her off the chair.

Simple as that. The pregnant girl swung and jerked on the end of the rope, trying to get her hands free but unable to so so. For a few moments my mom and I watched and admired the way her chubby body with its swollen belly danced before us, chuckled at the way her legs tried to reach the chair just behind her. A chair just out of reach. We hugged each other as her life expired. "Perfect" said mom, "she's gone and with a nice goodbye note for her mom to find. Justice is done." With that, I untied the girl's hands and we left the dead child for her mother to discover.

We hadn't gone far in the car mom had to find a place to masturbate, and I joined her. "Quite a day," said mom as she finished herself off with a moan. "Three people dead and you could say a mystery of fatherhood solved."

"If we keep this up," I said as I came myself, "we'll have a nasty reputation as do-gooders."

Chapter 4

The media the next day was full of the tragedy of the pregnant teenage girl who had hung herself having left behind a heart-rending suicide note ('stained with her own tears' said one newspaper) and added that to double the tragedy her father had inexplicably gone missing in the hills. There were however hints that the missing man was quite possibly 'involved' with his daughter's condition but modesty (or a law suit) forbade them revealing more. I showed my mother the news items and she was pleased.

She also saw that there was no sign a missing ten year old boy called Antony had been found, but she was sure it would be soon. No doubt a family out for a pleasant walk would make the discovery. "But we can't wait around. We still have work to do killing others," said my mother as I bound up her tits for a whipping.

I sighed. "I know, but you're going to tell me we mustn't do too many too soon."

"Not quite. People die all the time in accidents. Murder, as such, would attract attention. At least, obvious murder."

"Tell me what's in your mind before I begin." I had tied some wire round my mom's tits to make them swell out. Easier to whip, I had decided.

"My old affair with the rich bitch." My mom watched me tie the wire off and pat her smooth, round tits and she nodded approvingly. "Gag or do I scream?"

"Scream," I said. "Also, tell me about the rich bitch." I had picked up a thin cane and was testing it in front of my mom. She didn't flinch much as I rubbed it across her sore looking nipples (I had used crocodile clips again having taken the safety pins out for now; they'd go back in later) and I contemplated how many strokes she could take.

"You haven't tied my hands behind me," she said.

"Not this time. You'll have to keep them out of the way yourself."

"Okay," my mom said. "It'll be hard but I'll try, Well, the bitch in question lives in a large house, with a swimming pool." She paused to scream as the first blow landed on her offered wire-bound globes.

"Swimming pool, right," I said and delivered another cut across my mom's tits.

"Jesus! Yes..." My mother sobbed as I lined up a third cut. "But she can drown in her pool, right?"

"Only if she can't swim," I said and delivered the aimed blow, right across the woman's sore, swollen nipples. The scream was deafening. I waited for her to stop crying before asking: "And you have a plan?"

"Yes... please..."

"Please what? Stop?" I snorted and caned her breasts again. "That's not going to happen."

"No, of course not. I was going to say... Please let me help you kill her in her pool."

I sighed. Of course I wanted to kill women but as I said it, my words were punctuated by a bubbling scream from my mother as I hit her tits again, "she will probably be able to swim."

My mother's tits were looking satisfyingly marked, and blood was leaking from one or two of the cuts. I adjusted my position to give her tortured tits several sharp, fast blows. When I had finished them I asked: "So your plan is?"

Mother was sobbing, as I wanted, and it took her time to get herself together to answer.

"The bitch Katherine is a stupid old lesbian. She used to fuck me years ago, when I was younger. She would go ape for you. So we use you as the trap; you get into her home, say you like swimming, she and you go outside and??" Another ear-splitting scream as I delivered a harsh cut across both nipples. "You crack her head on the edge of the pool. It will look as if she banged her head diving in. Unconscious she??"

Another, final and savage cut stopped my mom's words. But I had the idea. "She drowns in the pool."

"Yes." Mom sniffed back the tears as snot fell from her nose down her sore tits. "You can even hold her head under water if you like."

I liked that idea and I smiled at my sobbing, howling mother. "Great idea. I'll let you rest for an hour bitch, and then I will do this again."

"Of course," she sniffed. "Thank you."

"The pleasure's all mine," I chuckled.

Katherine was once an attractive woman and still reasonable looking now. That's the thing about wealth: it helps fading women keep their looks longer. And she was indeed rich (or her husband was), so the fading was less obvious. She was pleased to see my mom but with me there it was apparent she had most of her attention focused not on my mother but on me and my body. If she thought I was a lesbian she was sadly mistaken. But I pouted and licked my lips and played the part as my mother purred how good I was in bed and how she'd like Katherine "to enjoy her too."

Katherine grinned. She looked me up and down in my short skirt and belly-revealing top. Mom had suggested I have a small navel ring and we had a cheap one fitted. But the pseudo-diamond sparkled well enough and the older woman had the hots for me, I could tell. Actually, I was surprised she didn't try and grab me then and there.

She was alone at her large, well furnished home (mom had done some research to find when her husband was out) and she smiled and winked at me. I might have felt even more revolted than the thought of old Carruthers doing it but I winked back. "I'd love to try your swimming pool out for size," I said as I pursed my lips in the sexiest way I could think of. "But... Naughty me. I haven't brought a swim suit. I don't suppose you'd let me skinny dip with you?"

"Heavens!" exclaimed the old bat, and I thought she'd faint with excitement. "My dear," she turned to my mother. "Please make yourself comfortable while your divine little girl and I get to know each other better in the water."

Mom said she would be delighted and sat herself down where I guessed she could see the pool. And a good view of this Katherine's unfortunate accident to come.

I stripped naked and allowed Katherine's piercing gaze to look me up and down. Like most thirteen year olds I don't have a big bust but this woman may well have preferred a flatter chest. I also don't have any pubic hair and I made a great show of examining myself between my legs as the woman shed her clothes.

She was tanned and wrinkled and wanted to slide up to me and I could tell, eager to push her saggy tits in my face. "Let's swim," I said, avoiding her hands.

Reluctantly she did what I suggested, and jumped in after me. I dodged her hands and swam around her, telling her she was sexy (I lied) and then swam to the edge of the pool and pulled my self up on to the edge. Katherine seemed to sense there was something wrong, or was in some unknown imminent danger, because she swam away from me. Perhaps she suddenly thought this was an trap, that it was all too good to be true. That I wasn't some sweet innocent wanting sex with an older whore.

"Stay there, pretty girl," she said and swam to the far end and hauled herself out and sat on the far side of the pool. "If that's what you are," she said, slightly misgivingly. She was studying me with a strange look and I felt my chance of getting her next to me on the side of the pool was disappearing. Maybe I was looking tense, and she was picking up my uncertainty. Either way, I guessed I would have to call this off. Katherine would live another day.

I heard a noise, a ringing in the house. "Your phone," I said, looking towards the open doors across the patio.

"The damned maid will get it," said Katherine, coldly.

A maid? Oh fuck, I thought. A witness: Katherine had let us in herself, and there had been no sign or mention of a maid before. Perhaps we had escaped being found out. Incredibly I had been protected by some unknown force.

"Maria. The goddamn phone!" Katherine bellowed towards the house. The phone stopped ringing; no doubt Maria was answering it. I jumped up.

"If you're busy, I'd better go," I said.

"Stay there," said Katherine even more coldly. Her seeming eagerness for me had suddenly dissolved. She stood and picked up a discarded towel at her end of the pool and wrapped it round herself. She began to walk towards the house, her whole body language suddenly cold.

I took a snap decision. No matter what the risk I had to do something or lose this chance; the bitch wouldn't let me near her again. All I could think of was killing her, and maybe having to kill that maid too. But first things first. I leapt towards Katherine, caught her arms and ripped her towel from her. She gasped and I planted my lips on hers.

"Fuck me," I said.

"I..." She stared at me, and for a split second I thought I'd lost her again. But she grinned. "You naughty little thing." She moved towards me but I stepped back, towards the pool.

"You have to catch me first, if you want me," I giggled. I stepped back again. The naked older woman lunged at me but I dodged her, neatly sidestepping her and tripping her as she staggered past me. She fell, sprawling on the dark brown tiled surround to the pool. She looked shocked and hurt as she looked round and up at me. I caught the bitch's hair and banged her head down hard against the edge of the pool, just below her face. There was a satisfying crack of bone and blood spurted. She was gurgling, trying to say something. In one move I hauled her towards the water.

The woman flopped forward into the pool, her blood seeping instantly round her like a red halo. She wasn't dead and she struggled feebly. I reached down, grabbed her head as it bobbed up near me and shoved it under the water. She thrashed, more in desperation than hope, and a few bubbles came up from her along with a lot more blood. I held her face under the foaming, pink water for a few minutes until there were no more bubbles and no movement. I let her go, and the old bitch floated face down in a growing stain of her blood.

Katherine was dead and I felt elated. I had cracked her skull and drowned the bitch.

I stood up and surveyed what I'd done, almost unable to move. Then I turned towards the house, trying not to step in her blood on the side. I didn't want to leave footprints as her accident was all her own stupidity.

Maria, the maid, was standing watching me at the open door. She was a Mexican, or at least of Hispanic background, about 21 or so. She was dressed in a dull gray uniform with a knee-length skirt. She stood and she stared at me. I might have thought, if she saw what I'd done I would have to kill her. But she had the upper hand; she had someone else with her.

My mom.

Maria had a knife at mom's throat and her hand clamped over my mother's mouth. She couldn't scream or call me and the wicked looking blade pressed into my mom's exposed throat. It looked as if a little more pressure and the blade would add more blood to what was behind me in the pool.

"Stay where you are, senorita," said Maria. She held the knife in her hand as if she was used to them. She was also on the balls of her feet. Ready to spring. Ready for anything.

I stayed where I was. I gulped, which was probably more than my mother dared to do. "You'd kill my mom?" I managed to say.

"Si," she said. "I do it to protect me. I think you are murderers."

"No... it's not what you think. The pool," I said. "Katherine fell. It was an accident. I tried to save her."

Maria shook her head slowly. "No, you kill her. But Senora Katerina, she deserve it." Maria's face suddenly edged into a grin. "I wanted to do that to her. She a cow."

I nodded. "So you going to tell anyone?"

Maria shrugged. "The woman of the house, she slipped and fell. Accident, si?"

"Si," I said. "And what do you want with my mom and me?"

"I think you kill people."

There was no point in lying. She hadn't let go of my mother but the knife had eased away a fraction, and I felt reassured. "I think you think right."

"Bueno. Good," laughed Maria as the knife went down, though she kept her hand firmly over mom's mouth. Despite her dull clothes the maid was good looking with her jet black hair and olive skin. The uniform may have done her no favors but her quality shone through. Even more so when she said: "I am assassin. I kill people too. Gringos die."

"Then we might just be able to use your help," I said.

Maria laughed a little, then she closed her thumb and forefinger over my mother's nose. "But I kill your mother, si? Easy. You not complain."

Mom struggled a little as she couldn't breathe and the knife came back up to her throat. "Stay still, senora," hissed Maria. Senora Mom made a moaning noise, but tried to keep still.

I stared and felt a rush of sexual thrill like I'd never known. Maria was strong and young and handsome and there was a raw power about her I envied. She had killed before, I could tell, and I would love to see her kill with that knife. Yet my mother was my property to kill, not Maria's. Maybe I had denied the maid the pleasure of killing her boss, getting her revenge on the bitch Katherine. "Maria, wait... If you want to kill someone, I have a woman you can kill."

Maria hadn't let go of mom's nose and my mother who, despite the knife pressing against her windpipe, was struggling more. Her eyes were beginning to bulge. She was getting a very strange color in her face.

"You have person here for me to kill?" asked Maria, calmly.

"No, locked away. Safe; bound and gagged. A woman who I was going to kill. But you can have her."

Maria nodded. She contemplated me for a long, agonizing minute. Then to my mother's enormous relief, she let go of the near-expiring woman's face and allowed my mom to drink in huge gasps of air.

"You would have killed her?" I asked Maria as mom dropped to her knees, spluttering and gasping.

"I am killer," she said darkly. And I could tell she was telling the truth. She was the killer I yearned to be.

Maria insisted we should wait in the living room. For a reason Maria didn't explain she made my mother sit and tied her wrists behind her through the back of the chair. My mother clearly wasn't going anywhere. Then Maria did the same to me. It felt strange being tied; I had tied others but never been tied myself. In a way I quite liked the feeling of helplessness as the ropes were knotted tight round my wrists. I also understood with my hands tied like that Maria could step up behind mom, or me, and simply throttle us or close our mouth and nose. I figured the knife was for show, at least right now. Maria ?? if she was going to say Katherine had an accident ?? wouldn't want blood in the house.

I wriggled and felt the cords on my wrists. With that feeling came a sexual surge in me. I was in the hands of, and very much at the mercy of, a stunningly attractive young woman who I knew would kill without compunction. The feeling was electrifying ?? and on top of that I had just killed a woman in the pool.

I felt alive and excited.

Mom told me, while Maria was upstairs going through Katherine's things, that the maid had jumped her as I made my move to kill Katherine. "I couldn't assist you, hon. Fortunately I saw it; you did real well. But I was sure the maid was going to kill me."

I contemplated what had happened. "As far as I can see she could have," I said. "As much as I want to kill you myself, it would have been great seeing Maria do it. But for now, she can have either Lynne or Aunt Edie."

"And you don't want to kill them yourself?"

"Yes, but I killed Katherine. It's only fair that I let Maria have some pleasure."

My mother grinned. She was looking at me, at my small-titted chest. "Your nipples look a little stiff. Excited, maybe... You really have fallen for her, haven't you?"

I had and I admit I blushed a little. I wasn't gay but I could sense Maria's power and her expertise. It was overpowering me. "I just want to be like her."

"And not like me?"

I stared at my mother. "No," I said. "You're just someone who is on death row." But then, maybe I was too. Could be one day Maria would kill me. I thought briefly that perhaps I ought to kill Maria, but that seemed unthinkable: you don't murder the star that burned bright in your life. It seemed a betrayal to try and hurt her. I said nothing more and sat waiting for Maria to return.

Return to do whatever she wanted with me.

Mom nodded from where she sat. "Maybe she has plans for us. She thinks she ought to kill us."

"No," Maria came into the room with an armful of expensive dresses. "I not kill you, but you have made my life hard. I no longer will have a job; the stupid hombre who lives here will say I am bad for not saving his wife. I will be fired, so I have to take what I can now. I take what I want before Katerina's stupid husband come."

"So you help yourself to what you can now," I said. "Makes sense."

Maria dumped the clothes on a sofa. She had some jewelry on; an expensive looking necklace. A diamond ring flashed on her fingers. Obviously not hers, at least wasn't. "You take this stuff away for me. I call police, tell them of the accident. You are not seen." She came over and untied my mother and then me. I felt the warmth of her fingers on me, and I fely my pussy twinge. I wondered if Maria had any idea of the effect she was having on me. But if she had, she didn't show it. One cool bitch I thought, and my sex twitched more. "You take my new clothes and jewels" said Maria, "and store them. I collect them later, when trouble gone. I get them when i have a new job."

"You could join us in killing people," I said.

"I only kill gringos," said Maria. "Gringos like you."

"Like us, fine. We can help you find those."

Maria shook her head. "I am part of a group. A gang. Mexican only; we kill people. The cow was my job but she is gone." The Mexican stared at me. "You are good, like we have in Mexico. Young and fearless."

Fearless indeed. I went over and hugged Maria. "You know it's good that there are people like us," I said.

"We do God's work," she said, her dark eyes on me. The smoldering fire in them made me want to fuck her there and then.

"Me maybe not so much when it comes to God's work, but I appreciate what you are doing."

"One day we may be good friends," said Maria.

Maybe very good, I said back. I kissed her. And I didn't care if my mom was watching.

"So you feel like a lesbian now," said my mother as she drove us home. An ambulance, too late clearly, rushed past us in the direction of Katherine's home. Maria no doubt would be playing fully the distraught Mexican maid.

"Not really, but I could go for Maria. She's got something about her."

"A Mex and a Gringo," smiled mom. "Could work. I saw you feel Maria's tits when you kissed her."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Probably." Mom sighed. "In the meantime, we may have an ally. I expect we will, or you at least when I am gone, have a possible helper."

"The funny thing is I wouldn't want to kill her, not like you or anyone else." I stared at the clothes we had loaded into the back of the car. Maria's new wardrobe; I could imagine her in them. I could imagine helping her out of them. Perhaps in a way she was my equal. Perhaps she had once killed her own mother.

The thought got me excited.

"It's understandable how you feel," mom said, not noticing me rubbing myself under my skirt. Or not caring. "She's got that feel of a killer. I wonder why she didn't get rid of her boss before now?"

"Maybe she was waiting for the right opportunity. Savoring the prospect. She's probably incredibly patient." I shrugged but gasped as I started to cum from the fury of my own fingers. My mother just smiled as she drove us home.

End