Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The following story is a purely fictional account.  Any relationship to any
real person living or dead is absolutely coincidental.  The narrative deals
with torture and slaughter of innocent human beings.  The author in no way
condones or promotes such acts.  This is the world of fantasy and fiction
where the hidden corners of the psyche may be explored.  The author
believes that exploring such subject matter in this realm keeps it from
ever needing to be explored, and much less fulfilled, in real life.  There
is violence in all of us.  Otherwise there would be no crime, no war, no
destruction.  We must acknowledge the beast inside of us if we are to tame
it.  To ignore it and repress it is to invoke its appearance in our midst.
   Accomplice
   1.
   The blonde whore caught his eye and he slowed down.  It was almost two
a.m.  and she was walking east on forty-first toward Port Authority.  What
first drew his attention was her short tight white dress and her high,
white, bare-heel sandals.  White on a whore.  It made him hard almost
instantly.
   The filthy bitch.  She had a tatoo on her upper arm, some kind of swirly
blue design, and too much make up on her eyes.  A small gold bracelet
dangled on one slender ankle.  And, best of all, she had big beautiful
tits, a big juicy pair of jugs just begging for punishment.
   She walked stiffly and slightly unbalanced on the high-heel sandals. 
Maybe she'd just had the shit fucked out of her.  Or maybe she was drunk or
high.
   He slowed down and pulled over at the corner waiting for her to catch up
to him, watching her in the side mirror of the Lexus.
   It didn't take her long to notice him looking.  He knew sluts like her
had radar for johns.
   She came to him and leaned into the window on his side.
   She smelled cheaply sweet, of some no-brand perfume, but at least she
didn't stink.  She leaned forward to give him a good look into her low-cut
dress.  Framed in the white fabric of the slutty outfit and up-close
against the edge of his car window her boobs were impressive.
   "Hey," he said to her, pretending to be seduced, a false smile on his
face.
   "Does a hundred buy me some action?"
   "Sure," she replied.  There was a hint of suspicion in her eyes.  She
had a nice face, pretty, with baby-sweet cheeks, but her blue eyes were
hard, suspicious.
   You'd better be suspicious, bitch, he thought, still holding that
inscrutable smile.  You'd better be.
   "What kinda action you got in mind, sweetie?" she asked, a phony come-on
in her husky voice.
   You don't wanna know, cuntface, he thought to himself but said:
   "How about some fuck and suck?  Drive with me over to Jersey."
   She was thinking about it and he felt for a moment she would walk on his
offer.
   "One-fifty," he said.
   A hint of a smile played on her mouth.  She had nice lips.  Bright
fire-engine red, like her finger nails, just the way he liked.
   Without a word she went around to the passenger's side and he opened the
door and let her in.
   They made some small talk on the way to Jersey and he managed to relax
her, placing his strong hand on her luscious warm thigh possesively while
he drove one-handed.  He had learned the routine; he knew what the bitches
wanted to hear.  Street whores were easy targets.  This was his tenth one.
Already the yard behind the house was getting crowded and soon he'd have to
find some other place to bury them, or what was left of them when he was
through.
   He pulled into the driveway and let her out.
   "Is this your house?" she asked.  The phony come-on was gone but her
voice was still sexy, naturally sultry.  He could feel it in his cock.  He
imagined the way her voice would sound screaming.
   He nodded and motioned her up the flight of stairs that led to the front
door.
   By the pale glow of street-light, walking behind her, he took in her
shapely legs and the full sweet swell of her ass under the painted-on white
dress.
   This bitch was going to be exquisite.
   Once inside, she looked back at him with a gleam of curiosity in her
painted eyes.
   The house always impressed them.  It was an elegant two-level home.  His
parents had bought it before they'd split up, before his father had lost it
and gone on a rampage with the .45 automatic.
   Now it was his.
   At twenty-seven he had it all.  An expensive place overlooking the New
York skyline, three hundred thousand plus in the bank and all the time in
the world to pursue his main interest: the slow, sadistic destruction of
young prostitutes.
   In the spacious living room he switched on the music and faded down the
lights.
   The whore smiled, kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch which faced
the picture window.  She brought her legs up off the floor and he saw her
toenails were painted the same bright red as her lips and finger-nails. 
She was thinking if she was really good the rich dude would throw a couple
more bucks her way.  He could see it in her eyes...the sickening desire to
please...
   "Wow!  This is unbelievable!" she said looking at the brightly lit
cityscape which was Manhattan.
   Yeah, slut, he thought.  Especially the chamber under the house.  You're
gonna love that!
   When he gave her the drink she didn't even think twice.
   He watched her gulp it down while he sipped his.
   "So this is all yours?" she asked.
   "Yep," he said watching her.  "All of it."
   "That's really nice...very...nice..." she said smiling seductively.
   Then, she began to nod out.  Before she could drop the glass he took it
from her.
   "H-hey," she muttered trying to look up, beginning to realize what was
happening.  Then she slid down off the couch to sprawl on the floor at his
feet her pretty face in the carpet, her eyes rolling back in her head.
   "Stupid cunt," he said putting down the two glasses on the center table,
reaching up to unbutton his shirt.
   Before she lost consciousness she looked up and saw him strip off his
clothes and stand over her naked.
   "This is gonna be your last trick, scumbag," he said meanly.  "Your last
fucking trick."
   He reached down and took her by her legs to pull her across the floor.
   Her gold ankle-bracelet popped loose and fell on the rug.
   And then the darkness came up from the inside and swallowed her whole.
   2.
   She awoke to the sound of ripping cloth.  He was tearing her white dress
off her.
   It felt as though she was floating off the ground, her ankles and wrists
were pulling away from her...she looked up and then down to see the leather
cuffs gripping her limbs tightly...she was almost two feet off the ground,
suspended in mid air, legs wide apart.  She did not know where she was....a
room with black brick walls...chains dangling from the ceiling...whips,
straps and ropes and other undefined items hung from nails in the wall...he
hooked his fingers in her panties and tore them off in one quick
motion...as she screamed he reached out and fiercely yanked her brassiere
off...her luscious 40D's bounced free and he laughed meanly.
   "You fuckin' cow..." he snarled.  "I bet those cost you a few bucks."
   He grabbed the silicone-enhanced orbs in his hands, his fingers digging
into the soft pink flesh.
   "Too bad they're gonna have to come off..."
   As she opened her mouth to babble some kind of response he slammed what
was left of her panties into it and pushed the cloth down her throat
gagging her.  He then reached up and looped a stretch of rope around her
head and over her mouth to keep her from spitting the underwear out.
   "Not like anybody's gonna hear you, cunt," he told her, sneering as he
pulled the rope tight disfiguring her cute cheeks and making her whine with
hurt.
   "...nobody's gonna hear anything down here.  The room is
sound-proofed...I just don't wanna listen to all of your fucking yakking.
Besides, nothing's nicer than a gagged bitch.  Gagged, helpless, hanging up
in the air...that's where trash like you belongs."
   He stared up into her terrified eyes, her face nearly a foot above his.
   "Yeah...that's right.  You heard me...trash...you're nothing but
worthless stinking trash and I'm gonna give you exactly what you
deserve...Tonight I'm puttin' out the garbage, cunt."
   She squealed and her eyes teared up at the terrible insinuation behind
his words.
   He turned from her a moment and took something from a hook in the wall.
   "Think you can just make a man hard and walk away?  Huh?"
   She saw the long thin metal rod in his hand.
   "Huh, slut?  You think you can play with a man, don't you?  Play with
him like a toy...Take his money and give him a blow-job in the car, or jerk
him off...you phony lying piece of shit..."
   He stood three feet away from her, to her left, his legs slightly apart,
his free hand slowly stroking his cock.  She saw him look her up and down
slowly, stroking himself a little faster, licking his lips...she looked at
the weapon in his hand as he brought it up...she trembled helplessly.
   Without warning he drew back and struck her stretched belly hard with
the metal rod.
   The gag muffled her wild shriek.  Above her both hands clenched shut,
her red toe-nails pointed at the ground as she fought against the limits
permitted by the ankle and wrist straps.  The pain caused by the thin
weapon was harsher than anything she'd ever felt.
   He smiled and reached out to touch the nasty welt on her white midriff.
At the top end of the welt the rod had ripped the skin and a tiny drop of
blood oozed from the abrasion.
   He had hit her hard.  Meant to.  He was gonna make this pussy-pig pay
right from the get-go.
   He looked up into her horrified face, into her blue eyes now brimming
with tears of pain and fear and he drew back to hit her.
   He swung repeatedly across her smooth belly, smooth shapely curving skin
where he imagined countless men had emptied themselves.  He imagined their
spent sweaty bodies hovering over her and her cold whore-eyes completely
un-involved, waiting only to escape from that moment to another, maybe
sometimes riding on booze or dope to get her through...filth-bag.  It made
him angry to think how this bitch used her flesh to attract men as if they
were nothing more than drones, using their desire against them, taking
their money and giving them a false fantasy in return.
   He struck and struck hard placing sharp stinging cuts of metal across
her abdomen...long thin metal rod which he'd found in the basement before
he'd made his dark dreams reality.  The rod had been leaning against the
wall in a corner of the room with some discarded lumber.  Perhaps it had
been part of the old oil boiler's mechanism, he didn't know its origin or
its purpose.  What he did know was that when he picked it up and felt its
hard, thin weight, when he'd swung it through the air of the empty room and
heard its mean sibilant whistle, what he knew then was that he'd be using
it on whoreflesh.
   This rod would focus his fierce desire, his righteous hatred of cunt.
   The whore leaped frenziedly against the straps that held her in
suspension with each stinging cut and her assailant took in her flying
dance of pain with obvious pleasure, sometimes waiting between strokes,
sometimes giving her three or four one after the other, making her gagged
shrillness climb the musical scale in disjointed leaps.  His cock, already
rigid when he began, now swelled impressively and jutted out in front of
him.  There was no hiding his monstrous sadistic enjoyment.  It cleaved the
air.  A rock-hard, ten inch javelin of manflesh which would be appeased
only by the cruel, merciless, unwarranted, destruction of the captured
whore.
   Already her belly, from the base of her rib-cage to the perfect swell of
her shaved pussy mound was crossed with bright red welt-cuts.  Already she
was spilling blood for him.  He could smell it, like warm rust.  It made
him dizzy.  Between strokes he leaned down and licked up some of it from
the scoop of her belly-button. She sobbed looking down on him, feeling the
tepid wetness of his tongue on her burning flesh.  He looked up into her
eyes.  The hard cold look of the street whore was gone...now she was just a
pitiful waif.  She was trying to say something to him but the words were
rendered unintelligible by the cloth pushed into her mouth.  By the tilt of
her head he knew she was pleading with him...begging him...and he smiled at
her as he continued to lick up her hot coppery life-fluid.  He could still
smell the cheap perfume on her but the sharp whiff of sweaty terror and the
smell of blood were starting to win out.
   He stepped back and ignoring the shrill crescendo of her mindless pleas,
gave her seven more strokes, each one increasingly harder, the seventh
tearing into her skin a deep thin gash that speckled his face and shoulders
with her hot redness.  This last blow made her arch against the leather
straps, pulling upward toward the ceiling, making a loud growling, rasping
scream in her gagged throat.
   "Yeah!" he shouted victoriously leaning forward to smear his mouth
against her gashed bleeding belly-flesh.
   "...  you worthless scumbag...mmmmmm..."
   He glared up at her, watching her face twisted with pain up there
between her firm jutting tit-mounds as he nuzzled and licked and drank from
her, slowly jerking off with his free hand, his cheeks smeared scarlet.
   "...ahhmmm....goddamn you taste good...pig...why does whoreblood taste
so fucking good...?"
   Fiercely he nibbled at the edges of the slash wounds making her wail and
kick.
   Long ago he had ceased worrying about AIDS.  If he got it he would put a
gun to his own head and be done.  In the meantime he could not give up this
delicious contact with his victims.  Biting, sucking, drinking their blood,
fucking their broken bodies...that was his drug and he would not give it
up.
   He wanted to rip a bite right out of her, to tear into her like a lion
into fresh prey and yank her fucking guts out with his teeth...but he held
back.  There was no need to hurry.  He had all the time in the world.  He
knew this bitch was capable of withstanding many long sweet hours of
torture.  She was strong and healthy...Not like the last one, a skinny
tattoed drug-addict Haitian that had kept passing out until he'd finally
gotten pissed off and stuck the rifle in her pussy.
   One shot had done her, blowing the nigger-whore's brains all over the
fucking ceiling....of course by then he'd cut her toes off and burned her
little titties black with the blowtorch.  She'd given him some pleasure,
though.  He'd liked the fact that she was only sixteen and he liked the
melodious sound of her voice and her laugh when he first talked to her. 
(She wouldn't be laughing much afterwards.)
   He'd picked that one up at night on fourteenth street where he'd spotted
her hustling on the corner of tenth avenue.  She was wearing a purple
blouse and tight black spandex shorts and she had kinky hair in long braids
down her back.  He didn't usually go for black whores but this one was
pretty, if a bit under-nourished, and he'd gone a while without a good
target.
   Once he had her in the chamber though he'd found her a bit
disappointing, although it had been nice to force her down on her knees,
wrists wire-bound behind her, while he slapped the shit out of her and made
her beg for her life....When the torture began she'd first called out for
her mom and then she'd pleaded for smack...He had seen the needle tracks in
her arm and in her thigh.  She was a junkie and she died a fucking junkie
begging to live for one more hit while he pushed the barrel of the rifle up
her twat.  She'd looked down at him then, when the rifle was all the way up
her as far as it would go, her big brown eyes all teary and scared.  He
told her she was a worthless piece of shit, that she'd never known how to
please a man, that she was just a fucked-up junkie nigger whore, and then
he'd squeezed the trigger.  The explosion of the big gun in the small
chamber was incredibly loud and the wet smack of her brains against the
concrete walls and ceiling was quite memorable (a real mess to clean up
later!).  But the best of it had been when her fat- lipped mouth had yawned
wide in a silent gagging scream and a thick stream of hot blood had gushed
from it.  He'd had her up against the wall, wrists still tied behind her,
legs wide apart as she stood on top of two ten-gallon containers, about
three feet off the floor, her bare bleeding toes gripping the edges of the
tin-container lids. As he withdrew the gun her twat and asshole expelled
blood and guts and shit profusely.  She just stood there, frozen, her
flogged belly weirdly sucked in as she spilled her life like some kind of
demonic fountain carved by the witch-doctor of an African tribe, long red
stream gushing from her wide yap, her eyes rolling back in her head...  and
he'd shot his sperm on her dark slender legs as she tottered there for
almost thirty seconds before every muscle in her body went limp at once and
she fell forward slamming to the ground to lie at his feet.
   That bitch had only given him a couple of hours of pleasure...  but the
blonde would give him much much more.  She was well-fed.  There was no sign
of a needle on her.
   This bitch was a fine healthy female and he was gonna take all he could
get from her.
   He cupped her vagina in his hand now, feeling its pleasant warmth, its
plump contours, the tickle of pubic hair, the thin trails of blood from her
slashed belly.  She'd shaved her pussy to leave just a strip of blonde hair
down the middle, proof that she was a true blonde after all, even if the
color of her pubic area didn't really match the fake platinum tint of her
mane.  He gripped her sex tightly, his fingers reaching back up between her
asscheeks, the pussy lips now moistly spreading in the palm of his hand.
   "Your cunt is mine now, bitch," he told her as she looked down at him,
tear- tracks running down her gagged face and leaving dark mascara streaks
on her pale cheeks.
   "No one else will ever have it..."
   Then, as he released her and began to step back and raise the steel rod
she realized what he was about to do and she began to whimper and shake her
head.
   His eyes held hers as he raised the rod high then he looked down to take
aim.
   She saw him bite his lower lip and swing the rod hard right down across
her naked pussy.
   The pain was beyond all imagining, hard slicing bite of metal into
tender woman-meat, and her gagged shriek as her head flew backward filled
him with pleasure.  He reached out and with his free hand he seized her hip
to steady her twitching body as he took aim and struck again.  His sadistic
glee was evident on his face as the whore leaped helplessly to his blow. 
His fingernails dug into her side as he held her still and slashed the rod
with flawless aim and persistent rhythm into her pussy, occasionally
swatting her tender thighs.  He watched excitedly as dark parallel streaks
began to adorn his victim's baby-soft mons.
   This was the part of the woman that deserved the most pain, the worst
punishment.  This was what she sold, this warm fur-patch, moist open
slit-center of herself, already a wound...Here was the focus finally of his
sadistic rage and he swung at it with contained fury, fully enjoying the
horrible agony he was inflicting.
   He could feel himself swell...  his balls, his shaft, heavier, hotter,
stiff and demanding as he hurt the whore.  The whistle and impact of the
rod on her flesh and the frenzied keening it provoked reverberated inside
him making him high, making him feel deeply and incredibly alive.  He felt
himself salivate and as he licked his lips a drop of spittle trickled from
the corner of his smiling lips.
   After some twenty-odd cuts he stopped suddenly, fighting hard to regain
self- control.
   The blonde hung motionless, moaning softly, her head weaving and
drooping, her cunt now dripping blood on the floor between her legs.
   Again he leaned forward, still gripping her tightly with one hand on her
hip, to lick her wounded flesh and rub his face on her battered
pussy-mound.
   Then he walked away from her.
   As she hung there softly sobbing, she watched him through tear-blurred
eyes. He cleaned her blood off the steel rod with paper-towel and placed
the torture implement back on the hooks in the wall.  Then he went to a
wooden cabinet and rummaged in a drawer.
   When he came back to her she saw the tiny metal hooks and the short
strands of chain in his hand.
   "Nggg!" she pleaded.  "Ng!  Ng!  Nogghh!  pp-ggglzz--ghh!"
   But he seemed completely oblivious now, his face impassive and
un-readable as he reached up and seized her right nipple, pinching it
between his fingers until it was hard and erect.
   He pierced one of the tiny hooks right through it and the whore's body
responded with newfound energy.
   He tweaked and pierced her other nipple then he connected the two hooks,
which had tiny eye-lets, with the chain.
   Now the pair of fat juicy meat-paps were linked by metal, rosy nipples
dripping blood, the short strand of chain making the siliconed tits angle
inward toward each other like the wacky, crossed eyes of some crazed clown.
   And above her chain-hooked jugs the whore's face, desperate, horrified,
marked with mascara tracks, eyes bloodshot, pleaded with her tormentor
silently as he stood there admiring his handiwork, welted, bleeding,
tit-chained slut-meat.  He stroked his cock slowly, spread his legs
slightly and cupped his balls staring at his victim, jerking off as she
watched him.
   It registered somewhere in her mind that he was brutally handsome.  He
obviously worked out and was in top physical condition.  He had a powerful
build even if his muscles were not bulging and over-defined.  He was a guy
who, under other circumstances, would have made her pussy wet.  But his
eyes were dark and life-less and his stern face framed in the close-cropped
dark brown hair was the face of a predator.
   She'd been in bad situations before but nothing like this.
   Terror made her begin to snivel helplessly.
   He licked his lips and turned from her, going again to the wooden
cabinet.
   More hooks and more chain.
   "A whore's tits and her pussy always work in conjunction..." he told her
as he reached out and took one of the lips of her pussy and pulled it
downward.
   She felt the stab of the hook run up her spine like a hot spear.
   "Y-ygghh!" she grunted.
   "Torture one and you just gotta torture the other...otherwise it ain't
right..."
   He pulled down on the other pussy-flap and pierced it.
   Her beaten sex throbbed painfully as he hung the chains from the hooks
in her pussy lips.
   She watched him make another trip to the cabinet.
   This time he returned with a box which was filled with lead weights, big
heavy pendants of pain which he began to hang from the chains in her pussy
lips. Each addition intensified the hurt and after five of these weights
had been placed on each pussy lip the flesh stretched downward obscenely.
Playfully he yanked on the chains and she squealed and jerked.  It felt
like her pussy lips were going to be ripped out of her.
   Now she saw him lean down and begin to lick between her blood-smeared,
stretched cunt-flaps at her clit, gently, knowingly.  After a few moments
the confused sensations began to make her dizzy.  She looked up at the dark
ceiling between her numb upstretched arms, her cold trapped hands, her eyes
glassy.
   Then he stopped.
   "Whore..." he growled and she looked down and saw the hook.
   He put it right through her aroused clit.
   She had no reference for the pain.  It was a deep burning stab of
excruciating white heat and her gagged mouth opened wide along with her
eyes, her whole face twisting dementedly, a shrill whine in her throat as
he connected a strand of chain to her clit and brought it up to hook it to
the chain strand between her nipples.
   Now her boobs were pulled downward, her clit upward and her pussy lips
hung toward the floor pulled by the lead pendants.
   And even though she now floated in bondage there for him, all her sex
organs in a haze of pain it still would be taken further.
   She watched him clip another chain to the one that entwined nipples and
clit.  This was a longer strand which he pulled outward, perpendicularly,
to a hook in a wooden column behind him.  As he pulled it, he brought her
with it, squealing, her suspended body arching as her nipples and clit were
tugged forward.  After he ran the chain through the hook in the column he
took the biggest lead weight from the box, a twenty pound pendant, and hung
it on the end of the chain below the hook.When he released the chain the
weight of the pendant kept the bitch arched and hurting.  If she tried to
pull back the weight would come up against the hook and stop her.
   He stood watching her for a few moments, her torso pulling forward then
sagging back, pulling forward then sagging back, the lead pendants dangling
between her quivering legs, her eyes pleading as she whimpered and sobbed,
whipped, chain-hooked, sweat-sheened whore suffering and suffering for his
pleasure...he slow-stroked his hard prick and let the dark powerful
emotions invade his mind and take him over.
   He considered attacking the whore with one of his special whips...
   But, no...not yet...no need to rush this one.
   He would go upstairs and get a beer, slow down...He'd let her hang there
for a while and suffer.  Then he'd come back down and start again. 
Besides, it was nice to leave them alone with their pain for a while.  He
liked the effect it had on them. Devastating pain, helplessness,
abandonment...Yes.  This is what they deserved.This was payback and it was
deliciously sweet.
   He turned and went to the door.
   Her shrill cries followed him up the stairs until he shut the
sound-proof door behind him.
   3.
   He went to the luxurious bathroom on the first floor and donned his
white robe.  He had the urge to piss but he decided to hold it.  He
preferred a tortured whore's mouth to a toilet any day and it was always so
much more enjoyable when he was carrying a full load.
   When he went into the kitchen and saw the wall clock he was surprised to
see three hours had gone by since his victim had passed out in his living
room.
   Soon the sun would be coming up.
   Of course, that didn't make any difference to him.
   He'd tortured and slaughtered bitches around the clock.  The time of day
was irrelevant.
   Time itself often became irrelevant.
   He got a Corona from the fridge and popped it open.
   Might as well fill his bladder to capacity.  He wouldn't want his guest
missing a single drop of gushing humiliation...  and, shit, when it came
right down to it, there was nothing like the sensation of having your cock
sucked after a good long piss.
   He opened the back door of the house and went down the five concrete
steps into his back yard as he swigged the beer.
   It was a cool moon-less night and quiet and the moist grass felt good
under his bare feet.
   His yard was enclosed by a seven foot concrete fence and none of the
surrounding houses were close enough to violate his privacy.  The two large
trees at each of the rear corners rustled in the breeze.
   He'd thought about killing a whore out here but ruled it out.  Maybe the
neighbors wouldn't be able to see but they sure would be able to hear.  And
though he considered rendering such a victim completely mute he didn't
think he'd be able to get off without hearing the sounds of terror and pain
which fed his savage hunger.
   It was nice to stand on the graves of the slaughtered women, though.  It
always made him feel good, it made him hard, made him feel like a King
standing on conquered ground after a terrible battle.
   The memories of each kill were fresh and vivid in his mind.
   Near the house, in the southwest corner by the shrub, was Jamie, his
first kill.
   He'd picked her up in a bar in Jersey City.
   It had taken him a while to find her.  He'd just finished building the
torture chamber and he wanted the first one to be special.
   And she was.
   A beautiful twenty-year old go-go dancer with long brown hair to the
middle of her back.
   He remembered watching her dance, her young body pumping and grinding to
the loud electronic dance music...and he remembered watching her die, his
knife hilted deep in her young heart as he came inside her...
   After Jamie, the row of un-marked, grass-covered graves that led to the
rear wall contained Rosa, and Marie...the oriental girl, Kim...Anne, the
youngest, a shapely thirteen year old whose young body had brought out an
intense sadistic fury...he'd buried her in pieces...There was Joanne, a
black whore and the first victim he ever beheaded...  Pamela who died
praying...  Lisa who wanted to die and did so on the end of a rope noosed
around her neck...and the last one, the Haitian girl, Sarah who'd died
fucking the metal barrel of his high-powered Remington rifle, her brains
spattering the chamber ceiling.
   Each kill had been different and unique.  Each had been an act of
sadistic violence, an execution.  Payback for the way women treated
men...for the way his mother had driven his father crazy...for the release
of his own ceaseless fury.
   And he was running out of room.  Soon he would have to bury them
elsewhere and things would get much more complicated.
   Suddenly he felt cold steel against the back of his head.
   "Don't move, Crandall," the voice said.  It was a woman's voice.
   "I don't wanna kill you but if I have to I will and they'll give me a
fuckin' medal."
   He could hear the woman breathing behind him.  She was breathing hard.
She was excited.
   "Drop the beer and turn around.  Put your hands on the back of your
head."
   Still somewhat disconcerted he obeyed.  The woman's voice was a little
shaky but it was full of resolve and he knew that she was ready to pull
that trigger if she had to.
   He turned to face his captor.
   She was in her mid-twenties wearing a Hudson Police uniform, her frizzy,
dark red hair tied up in a careless bun.  She held the gun in both hands
pointing it at the top of his head.  Her eyes were bright green and he was
mesmerized by them.  They were hard but not angry, fierce but curious at
the same time.
   "I - I know what you've been up to..." she said slowly.
   He stared back.
   "I don't know what you're talking about," he said cooly.
   "Give it up, Crandall," she came back.  Something in her voice gave him
goose-bumps.
   "I know you got some bitches buried here," she gestured with her head
toward the graves.
   "I know you got one in your house right now."
   "Who the fuck are you?" he asked.  "Are you a real cop or what?"
   "Yeah, I am a cop..." she stared back at him.  "And if I offed you right
now I'd be a hero, wouldn't I?"
   Her stare was intense, he could not hide from it.
   "Is that what you're gonna do?" he asked.  "You wanna shoot me?  Is that
it? You wanna be in the papers and on TV by killing the big bad wolf whose
been eating all the poor little sheep?"
   She smiled and snickered then.
   "You asshole," she jeered.
   He started to put his hands down.
   She pushed the gun closer to his face.
   "Keep em up there!"
   The tone of her voice made him obey instantly.
   She reached out with her free hand and undid the terry-cloth belt of his
robe. Then she peeled the garment open and he watched her eyes devour his
nakedness.
   "Not bad..." she commented hoarsely.  "By the way...you've got blood on
your face...Did you kill her already?"
   "Who?" he asked.
   "Come on, Randall...the whore in your basement.  Who else?"
   "Look, bitch," he spat.  "Kill me or arrest me or I'm just gonna take
that fucking gun from you and shove it up your ass."
   "Why should I kill you or arrest you?" she replied.  "Maybe I have
something else in mind."
   She was making him angry.  He was standing there with his robe open and
his cock hanging out, a bottle of perfecty good Corona wasted and his
bladder about to burst.
   "We're going in the house, Randall," she told him moving around behind
him.
   "Walk!"
   He went up the stairs and into the kitchen and she kept the gun pushed
into the spot between his shoulderblades.
   There was no way he was going to outsmart this bitch.  It went through
his mind that maybe she wanted to handcuff him or tie him up, torture him,
cut his dick off.  Women sometimes got into the sisterhood thing and wanted
vengeance.  They could be as fierce as ferrets.
   She walked him through the house to the front windows that faced the
street.
   "Look out there," she instructed.
   He opened the blind and looked outside.
   The patrol car was parked across the street and there was a young woman
in the back.
   "Who's that?" he asked.
   "Just a worthless whore," she replied.
   In the dark room he could sense her presence behind him and imagine her
eyes staring at the back of his head.
   "...I don't get it..." he said.
   "Turn around," she ordered softly.
   When he did he saw that she had holstered the gun.
   "I want to watch you kill her," she said.
   He couldn't see her eyes clearly in the shadows and he could barely
believe what he'd just heard.
   "Actually, I don't want to just watch ...  I want to help you do it,"
she continued reaching up to undo her hair which tumbled down to her
shoulders.
   He was about to take a step toward her when she said.
   "Listen to me, Crandall."
   Her voice had that same resolve he'd heard earlier.  It forced him to
listen.
   "I've been watching you for months...You - fascinate - me..."
   In the magical radiance of the street-lights coming through the partly
opened blinds he could see her face outlined.  She was beautiful, striking,
with a chiseled face and hard green eyes, and thick sensual lips...
   "...but I'm not stupid," she continued.
   "You have no reason to let me in on your little games...in fact, you
could just make me another one of your victims if I let my guard down,
couldn't you?  You're a strong guy.  And, lets face it, you're a fucking
psycho."
   "Look..." he started.
   "Let me finish," she interrupted.
   "I've taken some precautions."
   He listened to her and watched her face as she spoke.
   Crandall hated women.  He especially hated beautiful women.  But this
bitch was giving him something he'd never expected from a woman and it was
making him dizzy.
   "If anything were to happen to me," she continued.  "There's a box in a
bank with special instructions to be opened after my death.  The box
contains specific details about Wayne Crandall's background, his crimes and
his victims, the ones I know about.  All the evidence, especially in my
disappearance, would point to you.
   " Now, you could still choose to kill me and be an outlaw on the run for
the rest of your life."
   "Or...?"
   "Or you could continue to live here comfortably..."
   "With my own inside connection to the police department...?" he added.
   "That's right."
   "Why?" he asked.
   She looked at him for a moment then spoke.
   "I told you....I want to watch....I want to help..."
   "Think you got the stomach for it?" he challenged.
   "Try me," she replied.
   "What about the bitch in the car?" he asked.
   "She's yours...and mine...if you give the word..."
   "So...who's in charge here?" he asked.
   "You are."
   "Yeah, but you have the gun."
   She reached down and unbuckled her gun-belt smiling.
   When she unwound it from her waist she handed it to him.
   "Not anymore," she said.
   He took it and tossed it on the couch.
   "Oh.  So now I'm in charge, right?" he asked.
   "Yes..." she replied.  Her voice had lost some of its resolve now.  It
quivered in her throat.
   "Alright, cunt, now you listen to me."
   He stepped up to her and stood over her.  She could feel the heat of his
breath on her face as he spoke.
   "As far as I'm concerned all women are sluts and you're no different. 
You're all a bunch of lying deceitful scumbags and you deserve to be
punished for it.  Now by the looks of this I think you're a twisted fucking
bitch.  You call me a psycho but you're in the same boat baby.  And you
have me at a disadvantage, cause you know all about me, but I don't know
crap about you.
   "I don't know how you came to have that bitch out there in the car but I
do know that someone's gonna come looking for that fucking cruiser out
there and you might as well have a billboard sign out in front of MY
house."
   "I didn't report the arrest," she interrupted.  "And I'm off duty right
now."
   "Did anyone see you pick that bitch up?"
   "No.  She was on a street corner and there was no one around."
   "Why didn't she run?"
   "I told her I would...help her..."
   "Help her do what?"
   "Let me go out there and get her, bring her in .  You'll see..."
   He could sense the excitement in her.
   "I'll keep the gun here," he told her.
   "Ok," she said moving toward the door.
   "Hey!"
   She turned back to him.
   "C'mere..." he ordered.
   He slid completely out of the robe and stood naked before the uniformed
red- head.
   "Get down on your knees right now and kiss my cock, bitch," he ordered.
   He watched a look of surrender replace the smile as she obeyed him, her
police shoe bumping against the glass table in the living room as she knelt
before him to kiss his swelling prick.
   He took her by the hair to twist her face up to his and look down at
her, his cock rubbing against her soft cheek.
   "...and from now on," he told her.  "You will call me Master and obey my
every command."
   "Y-yes, Master," she replied softly.
   "Now bring that bitch in here and let's take a good look at her."
   4.
   Still somewhat suspicious, Crandall watched through the partly opened
blinds as the female cop went to the cruiser and opened the rear door.  He
saw the redhead look around to see if anyone was watching as she nervously
wiped the back of her hand over her mouth.
   She can still taste me, he thought.
   Then he saw the girl come out from the car.
   She was gorgeous hispanic bitch with long black hair almost to her waist
but the most incredible thing, the thing that made Crandall's pulse race
and made his cock surge like a riled-up rattler was the fact that the whore
the cop had brought him was at least seven months pregnant.
   He watched the police woman lead the young big-bellied girl to the
house.
   Goddamn, Crandall thought.  She can't be more than fifteen years old.
   The bitch had a short sassy orange dress that came to mid-thigh and
swelled with her belly and she walked precariously on three-inch fuck-me
pumps.
   Incredible that she would have been hustling in her condition...but the
truth was, as Crandall well knew, pregnant bitches were often in demand on
the street.  A knocked-up whore often fetched a few extra bucks for her
pimp.
   The cop made the girl enter Crandall's house first.
   When the bitch got a look at the powerful naked man standing in the
shadows she just stood there frozen, her mouth open.
   In that instant, the redhead seized the girl's arms pulled them behind
her and handcuffed her.
   The whore started to struggle and cry out.
   Crandall came forward and drove his fist into her pregnant belly,
winding her and doubling her over.  Then he reached into the drawer of his
desk and got a huge black ball-gag which he kept there for emergencies.
   Before the girl could regain her breath and while the redhead held her
he wrapped the gag around her face, pushed the ball into her mouth and
buckled the strap tightly behind her head.
   Crandall went across the room and switched on a lamp.
   "Goddamn..." he half-whispered his eyes roaming up and down the pregnant
Latino girl's struggling body.  "Goddamn...what a pretty little thing..."
   The contrast between the two females excited him.
   It was almost like watching a dance, the red-head cop holding the young
victim, one arm around her neck...  the whore struggling, the ball gag
stretching her red lips to the absolute limit. Crandall stepped up to the
young woman taking the hem of her short orange dress and lifting up above
her tits to drape it there.  She was nude except for white bikini panties
and she had pleasant brown-nippled boobs.  He encircled both women in his
powerful arms pushing his massive penis against the pregnant bitch while
the redhead leaned over her shoulder from behind to kiss him on the lips.
They kissed with the whining bound victim between them, a long juicy
hot-blooded kiss.
   Then he stepped back and told the woman cop:
   "Bring her downstairs and then go take that goddamn cop car back before
they come looking for it.  I'm gonna leave you the keys so you can get back
in."
   He went to his desk and took the duplicates of his house keys he kept
there and pushed them into the policewoman's pants' pocket.
   The redhead smiled then turned to her charge.
   "Come on, bitch," she snarled at the dark-skinned Latino grabbing her by
the twisted hoop of cloth that was her hiked-up dress.  "Let's go see Wayne
Crandall's playroom..."
   Crandall led the women down into the chamber.
   As soon as they got past the door they could hear the cries of the
blonde he'd left down there nearly an hour before.
   The dark-skinned pregnant whore's eyes went wide at the sight of the
suspended female bleeding from her big tits and pierced pussy and clit. 
Crandall watched the young latino totter on the stairs on her tall high
heels which clattered noisily on the wooden steps.  The redhead cop had to
struggle to pull her down the stairs.  The teenage hooker was fighting now,
indignant but also terrified.
   As soon as the policewoman had brought her all the way down Crandall
took the handcuffed victim by her shoulder and forced her across the room
to stand right in front of the blonde whore who hung in suspended torment.
   The girl's lovely brown eyes took in the blonde's obscene bleeding
torment.
   The redhead looked too, her cat-eyes fiercely curious, her lips moist.
   "You see how she suffers?" Crandall asked the scared latino youth.  "Can
you see it?"
   The gagged captive whinnied and nodded, her long silky hair fluttering
as she moved her head.
   She reminded Crandall of some hippie singer from the sixties.
   Cher maybe.
   "That's how you're gonna suffer," he told her.
   The girl looked at him wide-eyed, her indignation gone, then hung her
head and began to cry and tremble.
   Crandall turned to the redhead cop.
   "What's this cunt's name?" he asked.
   "Amparo.  Amparo Reyes."
   "And yours?" he queried.
   The policewoman looked back at him hesitantly.
   "Your name, what is it?"
   "Samantha Roland."
   "Well, Officer Roland...its time you see about that cruiser."
   She turned to go up the stairs.  He reached out and took her arm.
   "...and hurry back...We've got work to do..."
   She smiled seductively, he released her and she clambered up the stairs
and out of the chamber.
   He heard her close the door at the top of the stairs.
   5.
   "Poor poor Amparo..." Crandall was saying as he turned the crank.
   He'd lowered the leather collar from a cable in the ceiling which was
connected to a pulley and he'd buckled it tight around the pregnant latino
youth's slender neck.  Now he was pulling her upward by the collar,
strangling her, watching her pretty gagged face carefully as she rose up
nude on the toes of her high-heel pumps, taking her to the limit without
choking her.
   "Seems like you were brought here under false pretenses...just like your
friend Cynthia."
   He indicated the blonde who hung almost unconscious, her arms purple,
her tits dark splotchy red.
   He knew now that the New York whore's name was Cynthia Rogers because
he'd gone through her purse and seen her ID.
   "Seems like you fucking stupid sluts just never learn..."
   When he had her on the very tip of her toes, her breath ragged, her face
flushed, her eyes searching for mercy he stopped raising her and went to
the rack of whips on the wall.
   He was feeling very ornery.  His bladder was really full now and he knew
he wouldn't be holding it in much longer.
   He chose the seven-tail lash, the one that had steel barbs on the tips
of each four-foot tail.
   The pregnant teenager's skin was a perfect shade of brown, taut and
youthful.  The bulge in her middle round and about the size and shape of a
basketball.  He had tied her ankles together and her wrists still had the
handcuffs Samantha had put on her.  She hung there gagged, half-strangled
and he stood in front of her the whip in his hand, the whip-tails trailing
on the cold stone floor.
   Without prelude or warning or any kind Crandall simply raised the whip
and sliced it down across Amparo's thighs as hard as he could.  He watched
her react to the slashing pain then backstroked the lash across the same
spot.
   "You fucking little tramp..." he growled.  "Fucking little spic
tramp..."
   He flogged her young strong legs, venting his fury on her, trying to get
her to lose her balance and hang herself on the leather collar.  The barbs
tore into the Amparo's lovely flesh and her young throat screeched, her
mouth trying to open around the huge ball gag, spit dripping down her chin.
With each terrible hit of the lash she surged and collapsed, choking,
coughing, sobbing as the collar allowed her no movement without danger. 
She knew if she lost her balance she'd be hanging by her neck and the
monster who was whipping her would watch her die and jerk off as she did.
   Crandall began to walk slowly around his victim as he flogged her
covering every inch of her plump shapely thighs, front and back with dark
bruises and stinging barb-cuts.  As he came around he would look into her
face to see her long dark eye-lashes dripping tears, her face flushed. 
Tiny trails of blood led down her calves and shins to her feet.
   When the girl's thighs were a mess of slashed meat Crandall moved to the
hanging blonde and unhooked the chain that held her tits and clit up.  The
bitch slumped backward in relief.
   He touched a switch on the wall and the electric winch she was hanging
on gradually let her down.  As her feet touched the ground her knees
buckled and she slid down slowly on to her knees, her arms hanging limply
at her sides.  Her big tits and pussy were bruised and discolored from the
piercing, abrasion and pulling of the chains and hooks.
   Crandall stood over the dazed, kneeling blonde.
   He reached down and removed the chains and weights from her tits and
pussy.  Then he ungagged her, removing the rope and taking her soaked
panties from her mouth.
   "Thirsty, bitch?" he asked.
   She nodded, her eyes pleading as her mouth hung open.
   "Good," he told her.  "Cause I got something for you to drink."
   She shook her head.
   "Yes," he nodded at her.  "You will...because if you choose not to
you're going back up there with your tits and pussy chained to the post
again...You want that?"
   "No!' she gasped.  "No, pleease...don't hurt me anymore...please..."
then she started to cry.
   "Open your mouth and look up at me," he commanded.
   Still crying she obeyed him and he raised his cock to her face and began
to urinate.
   He smiled with pleasure as he pissed on the tortured blonde's suffering
face and aimed the hot stream into her mouth.
   "Drink it, pig!" he snarled.  "Drink it down!  Swallow it!"
   Amparo looked over her shoulder as Crandall urinated on Cynthia.  Her
baby kicked in her womb in reaction to her own deep terror.  Somehow she
knew or felt that neither she nor the unfortunate blonde would ever leave
this chamber alive.  Her thighs were on fire but she could not look down.
Her head was kept upright by the tight collar and her heart-beat thrummed
in her ears.
   The woman cop had lied to her, sweet lies that had made her get into the
cruiser and ride through the night.
   "There's a house for pregnant teens," she'd told her.  "They'll give you
your own room."
   She should have known it was bullshit.
   The crazy man was right...whores just never learn.
   The piss just kept coming.  Already it was puddling around the blonde's
knees and she was covered with it.
   "Maybe I'll hang you by your fuckin' tits anyway..." the man growled
sneering down at his victim.
   Amparo watched the woman struggle to swallow the nasty fluid.
   She could only attempt to imagine what it had been like to hang there
with those hooks almost tearing out your tits and your pussy.
   Hell, she'd be drinking the bastard's piss too, rather than be put back
up there.
   Now the man was finally finished.  He leaned forward, took the blonde's
head by her hair and ordered her to suck him clean and get him hard.
   There was no hesitation.
   Crandall still wielded the barbed lash and he used it now on the back
and shoulders of the blonde as she began to suck his cock.
   Amparo watched with fascination and horror as the man drew pleasure from
the humiliation and pain of his whore.  She'd never seen anything this
extreme, even in the magazines her pimp left lying around.  As a little
girl in the projects she'd seen all kinds of violent shit but nothing as
sexual as this.
   Inside her the baby kicked again and she whimpered.
   Crandall glanced at her over his shoulder, his eyes glazed with
pleasure.
   "What are you lookin' at?" he asked meanly.  "Huh?  What the fuck you
lookin' at?  Don't worry.  You'll get yours.  I'll get around to you,
slut...Don't you worry about that.  I will definitely get around to you."
   Amparo bit her lip and watched Crandall fuck the blonde's mouth.
   The woman looked up at her master, wincing as the sharp barbs of his
whip tore into the skin of her back.
   "Suck me, cow," Crandall groaned.  His voice low and nasty.
   "Suck me...yeahh...yeahh...take all of it...that's it...whore...that's
the way to do it, scumbag....That's what you're good for..."
   He had a no-nonsense grip on Cynthia's head now and he worked her back
and forth on the length of his engorged member.  He would drive it to the
hilt, until her face was buried in his crotch and she would choke and gasp
for air, her face flushed red as he held her there, then he would pull her
back and long streams of spittle and pre-cum would pour from her lips. 
Then he'd start in again jerking himself off with her mouth.  As he did, he
would swing the whip down on her, sharply, unrestrainedly...harsh red welts
striped her shoulders, and her back.
   When Crandall's cock was a huge fat spike of throbbing flesh he stepped
back.
   "Hands behind you!" he shouted at the kneeling whore.
   She obeyed instantly and he began to flog her big luscious boobs.
   "No!" Cynthia sobbed.  "Pleease!  Don't hurt me any more!"
   "I'll hurt you all I want, bitch!" he snarled smacking her tits full
force, tearing the barbs across her already pierced and bloody nipples.
   The blonde tried to withstand the punishment knowing something far worse
would be in store for her if she didn't.  But finally she reached up to
protect her bleeding tits with her arms.
   Crandall moved forward and began to slap her face back and forth with
full- force swings that sent her sprawling back against the wall.  Cursing
her angrily he got her up on her feet against the wall and lifted her arms
high to slip her wrists into steel manacles that were bolted there.
   When he had the bitch helplessly pinned to the wall by her up-flung arms
he went to the wooden cabinet.
   Amparo watched him take a small box from one of the drawers.
   As he made his way back to the blonde he stopped by the pregnant latino
youth an evil smile on his sweaty stubbly face.
   Amparo was having a hard time staying up on her toes and her face was
flushed from the pressure of the collar around her neck.  Her bare heels
had popped free of her pumps as she strained to stay motionless.
   "Yeahh..." Crandall said studying her, looking right into her suffering
eyes.
   "Don't worry.  You'll get yours, piggy...oh yeah...you'll get yours in
spades..."
   His voice sent a shiver through the bound teen and again the baby kicked
in her belly.
   As he went past her Amparo saw what was in the box.
   There were rows of long thin steel needles, giant six-inch hypodermic
needles that looked deadly.
   She turned slightly to watch as Crandall placed the box on the floor at
Cynthia's feet and took three of the long needles.
   "You stopped me from whipping your tits, Cynthia," Crandall was saying,
his voice full of threat, like an oncoming storm.
   "Now you're gonna pay....and pay dearly."
   He took the first needle, raised it to show it to the sobbing babbling
whore.
   "This is what they use on horses when they need to give them a
shot...I'm gonna put a few through those fake tits of yours before I cut
them off you...  "
   Cynthia's eyes widened and she sobbed in protest and shook her pretty
head but it was too late.  The first needle was already being pushed into
her beaten left breast, upward from underneath.  The sharp sting of
penetration made her jump and give out a little cry, then, as Crandall
pushed the invading steel through her fat tit and the silicon implant
within Cynthia began to mewl hopelessly.
   Crandall watched her face between her upstretched arms.
   A woman's face was simply lovely when she was suffering.
   A small wrinkled V appeared between her furrowed brows as Cynthia begged
for her life.  She begged and pleaded with all her heart but Crandall
wasn't listening just studying her face and pushing another needle up into
her juicy jugmeat...stabbed deep going up and up.
   Amparo could not look away.  Straining for every breath she watched the
severe penetration of Cynthia's big pretty boobs.
   Patiently, Crandall thrust seven needles through each of the blonde
whore's breasts, three pushed upward from underneath...pulling her
whip-marked tit up by the nipple, raising the meaty silicon-enhanced orb
from her...three from the top thrusting downward, making her screech
pitifully...one longitudinally, all the way through from left to right on
one side, right to left on the other drawing the most plaintive wailing and
begging.  He occasionally slapped her face hard to stop her protests but as
soon as he would continue she'd start up again.  When he was finished he
took in what he'd done jerking off, looking from her pierced bleeding tits
(blood-drops oozing off the sharp ends of the needles) to her face.  Then
as she sobbed in anguish he hocked and spit in her mouth.  She sobbed
louder and shut her eyes tightly as his spit dribbled from her lips and he
spit in her mouth again...then he turned to Amparo.
   He came to her with the box of needles in his hand.
   She was shaking her head, her sleek mane of dark hair fluttering, her
hands trapped behind her by the cuffs Samantha had put there, arms pulled
back, the collar tight around her throat, her leg-muscles straining, thighs
bloody from his whip, feet arched, bare heels free of the shoes as she
stood tip-toe.  The terror on her young gagged face pleased Crandall.  The
bitch knew she was in for it now and her anticipation would only make the
suffering he would put her through much more painful.
   He smiled as he thought of something that would make her terror more
intense, increase it tenfold.  These creative inspirations always surprised
him.
   She saw the wicked look on his face and she trembled as he put the box
of needles next to her on the stone floor.  She tried to see how many were
left but the choking collar kept her from angling her head downward.
   He went to the wooden cabinet and got the strip of black cloth.
   When he came back to Amparo he stood in front of her, just looking at
her, and he reached up to brush her cheek with his rough fingers.
   She could not meet his eyes.
   "You're such a pretty little bitch..." he said softly, almost
endearingly.
   Her fear and the choking collar were making her dizzy, her ears were
buzzing.
   Crandall leaned up very close and she felt his hard prick against her
swollen belly.  He kept caressing her face, running his hand through her
soft hair.
   "Yeahh...such a pretty little piggy..."
   Still she would not look into the killer's eyes.
   He tugged on her hair, fingered her ear-lobe just above the edge of the
leather collar, traced the outline of her gagged lips...then his hand
stopped its gentle exploration.
   "Look at me, whore!" he snarled suddenly.
   Instantly her eyes found his hard dark glance and she gave out a little
moan. It was like looking into a long dark endless tunnel.
   "You think because you're pretty you own the fucking world, don't you?"
his voice was mean, wrathful.
   "You think you can sashay around and show your tits and your ass and
you'll get anything you fucking want..."
   He took the black cloth and wrapped it over her eyes knotting it tightly
behind her head blindfolding her.
   A small whining noise started in her throat.
   "And THIS!" he shouted grabbing her pregnant belly in both hands.
   "Just who the fuck do you think you are to bring life into the world? 
You get yourself knocked up, go on welfare, do drugs, keep doing
tricks...you piece of shit."
   He squeezed her belly and she groaned.
   "You fuckin' tramp!  You're not even old enough to be out of
school...and you're going to have a child...I don't think so!"
   "No, Amparo..." he told her as he released her belly and pulled a wooden
chair that was against the wall up to her to sit down in front of her.
   "Sweet sweet Amparo..."
   The sound of her name on his lips gave her a sinking sensation in the
pit of her stomach.
   "What you are going to do, as I promised, is get yours...Yeah you're
gonna get yours in spades...just like I promised...just like you
deserve..."
   He reached down and took the first needle.
   "You animal!" the blonde bitch moaned hoarsely from across the room.
"Why don't you just kill us and get it over with?"
   Crandall, surprised by the outburst stared at Cynthia who hung manacled
to the wall.
   With a deep resolved sigh he rose to his feet, powerful naked predator
challenged, the long hypodermic needle intentioned for Amparo in his hand
as he crossed the room back to the blonde.
   "Bastard!" she spat.  Her blue eyes had recovered the hardness he had
seen when he'd first talked to her on the street.
   He would have to put the light out for good this time.
   As he came up to her he swung around raised his leg in a karate kick and
slammed the heel of his foot deep into Cynthia's slashed belly.
   "Ghhuughh!" she grunted, wide-eyed with shock and hurt.
   He swung around and his other leg struck, heel-first again, deep into
her whipped crotch.
   Crandall used his martial arts training against the defenseless whore
manacled to the wall kicking her belly and mons and thighs repeatedly,
avoiding her needle- pierced boobs.  Then, he reached into her mouth as she
desperately gasped for air, yanked her tongue out and pierced the needle
from the underside of the pink wet muscle, all the way through it and up
into her right nostril.
   "Yaahgghh!  Gwhaaa!" she cried and he stepped back and delivered several
more kicks to her abdomen.
   Driven by the fury against the whore who insulted him Crandall now took
a lead pipe that lay on the ground by the wooden cabinet.
   "So I'm an animal, huh?" he asked the needle-gagged blonde as he came
for her.  She looked up at him through pain-glazed eyes.  "Is that what you
called me, pig?  Huh?  Is that what YOU called ME?"
   He raised the lead pipe.
   "What about you?  What are YOU!?"
   He swung the weapon across the defenseless woman's ankle.
   "You're nothing but a worthless HOLE!"
   The pipe smashed into the tender bone of the blonde shattering it upon
impact.
   He swung again across the knee of the other leg
   "...a fuckin' HOLE!!"
   The lead pipe snapped her knee-cap like a dry branch and the blonde
shrieked at the ceiling, hung by her manacled hands.
   Crandall tossed the lead pipe aside and it clattered across the floor
and into the black brick wall.
   He stood for a few triumphant moments in front of the broken whore. 
Blood and saliva oozed from her mouth forced open by the needle which
transfixed tongue and nose.  She was sobbing and groaning in terrible pain
now as she tried to keep the weight off her legs, pulling herself up
against the manacles.  But she kept sliding down again.
   He cupped her chin in his hand to raise her face up to his and spat on
her again.
   Now when he stared into her eyes he saw only defeat.
   "Scumbag..." he snarled and spat in her face one last time before
turning to the blindfolded latino youth.
   Amparo was visibly shaking with fear.
   She had been unable to see what Crandall had done to the whore but the
sounds of the woman's agony, the smashing bones, the clattering of the lead
pipe had nearly driven her crazy.
   Inside her womb her baby twisted and jerked mirroring its mother's
dread.
   Crandall now sat comfortably in the wooden chair before the pregnant
captive.
   "Now...where were we?" he growled taking another needle from the box.
   Cruelly he began to poke the young girl's sensitive milk-filled tits
with the needle, jabbing, making it hurt, but not piercing yet, making her
give out little squeals...then harder...stabbing the crinkly skin around
the nipples, the aurolae...now leaving here and there tiny pin-points of
blood...stabbing harder into the sweating choking whoregirl, watching her
body react to the pain with little jumps and jerks, snorts and whimpers. 
He took the brown nipples in his hands squeezing and pinching until tiny
droplets of milk began to spill from them, then he would lean forward and
drink from her while he continued to thrust the long needle into the sides
of her dark-skinned mammaries.  Then he was stabbing hard, deep, leaving
the needle in her while he bit the hot wet nipples and tasted the milk and
blood.  His hands trailed down her sides to her whipslashed thighs and
hips. He could feel the baby rocking inside her against his bare chest.  He
took the needle out and put it back in over and over...different spots each
carefully chosen...all around the nipples until bloody lines ran down her
chest...Then leaning back he took the needle and rammed it point-first
through the milk-dribbling nipple and deep into the meat of her tit.
   As she howled into the black ball-gag, her saliva spilling down her neck
he reached down into the box, took another needle and pierced her other
breast exactly the same way putting three inches of steel through the brown
nub and into titmeat.
   As Amparo's beautiful brown body writhed and tensed, young bitch choking
on the neck collar which held her to the ceiling, the muscles in her lovely
whipped legs working, feet exquisitely arched, Crandall pierced ten long
cruel needles into each of her fat tits torturing the blindfolded latino
whore methodically, studiously, his cock hard and erect as her blood
dripped on his thighs.
   Across the room Cynthia made a choking gagging noise and Crandall looked
over to see her vomit a burst of blood and bile on her chest, her head
hanging forward.
   He smiled and got to his feet in front of Amparo.  His cock poked into
her belly.
   He unbuckled the gag and took it from her but left her blindfolded.
   "...p-please...pleeeease..." she gasped urgently.
   He took the young captive in his arms, crushing her against him, driving
the needles in her boobs deeper as he closed his lips over hers in a greedy
sadistic kiss.  As he kissed her his hands traveled down her back, slid
around and explored the fullness of her pregnant belly, began to squeeze...
   "I wonder where the baby is..." he whispered into her ear as his
powerful hands squeezed and squeezed.
   "...no...pleeease...no..." she pleaded.  "...d-don't hurt m-my
baby...pleease..."
   "I wonder if this is his head..." he said pushing both his gripping
hands into her lower abdomen.  "I know its here somewhere..."
   Inside her the unborn infant kicked desperately.
   Crandall smiled and kissed the bitch again as he felt around for the
fetus.  His cock surged as he felt the movements of the living being inside
the mother.  He felt the anger rise in him like lava.
   His hands mauled and squeezed against Amparo's womb then suddenly he
slid down on one knee and freed her ankles.
   He rose and went to the pulley rope-line that held her to the ceiling
and untied the end that was attached to the crank.  He returned to the
chair, rope in hand, and sat, leaning back, with his legs apart and his
cock aimed upward.
   Taking Amparo by one hip, holding the rope in the other, he made the
blindfolded whore step toward him and after ordering her to spread her legs
wide, to straddle him on the chair.  Now he gave her some slack and she
slid down to sit on his cock moaning as it pushed up against the moist
opening on the lower end of her cunt-slit.  He gave her a little more slack
and watched his long fat cock slide upward into the pregnant youth's pussy.
   "Fuck me, bitch," he snarled and punched her belly with his free hand.
   "Aaaahh!" she cried and obeyed his command.
   She began to ride him, up and down, and he let her do it for a while
then he punched her belly again.
   "Faster!" he commanded.
   She squealed, bit her lower lip, did as he told her to do, fucking the
shaft between her legs now, her whipped thighs working beautifully.
   Her cunt-sheath lubricated and his cock slid in and out of her, his
erection full now, stiffly upright, as he enjoyed the cruel fuck watching
her big belly and her needle-pierced bleeding milk-spilling tits bounce
with her thrusting efforts.
   Then his hand gripped her hip and he yanked on the rope.
   Instantly she was pulled upward by the pulley and she choked and gagged
but he held her steady pumping up into her with all his might.
   He let her go and she slumped down and continued to fuck him
   Again he yanked on the rope.
   "GGhhhhggg!" she gasped.
   "Yeah!" he shouted.  "Yeah!  Fuck me you filthy spic!  Fuck me!"
   The hapless whore now tried to hump on him but each time she drove
downward the tight collar around her neck choked her and he kept pulling
harder on the rope and thrusting into her and holding her by her hip, his
fingernails clenched in her flesh.
   He began to punch her big belly hard as he fucked her.
   "No-ghh!" she screamed.  "Pleeease!..ugghh!...don't...ughhh!..."
   "I know his head's in there somewhere!" he chortled slamming his fist
into the bitch's womb.
   Then he reached down into the box of needles.
   "I think we're gonna find him now!" he shouted at her beginning to poke
at her belly with a needle.
   "Nooooo!" she shrieked.
   "Shut up and fuck me pig!" he snarled pulling on the rope choking her.
   He poked harder, fucked her, choked her.
   He saw her belly stretch and contract as the infant now kicked and
twisted.
   Now he stabbed the first needle deep into her womb and she screamed.  He
choked off her cry with a sharp pull on the rope and a manly upthrust of
his hips then he reached down and got another needle.  He watched for
movement as he fucked her and when he saw it he stabbed the needle into her
lower belly where he thought the baby's head might be.  She screamed
beautifully and he pushed the needle deep encountering resistance.
   "I think I found something...." he mocked sarcastically. 
"Oh-oh...yeahh...I definitely found something!"
   Hot thick blood and amniotic fluid spilled from her widening vagina
around his cockshaft.
   As he slammed upward with his cock he gave her some slack and pushed the
needle deep.  He continued to fuck her violently as he reached down and
took another needle.
   "Nahh...pleeeeease!" she begged.  "..ohhh Godd!  Pleease don't kill my
baby!"
   He yanked on the rope and choked off her begging...  took aim and drove
the third needle into a spot a couple of inches above the previous one. 
This time he felt her vagina spasm and widen un-naturally...A hot gush of
blood and fluid spilled from her on his legs and spattered the floor.
   "I think we've induced labor here, slut.  What do you think?  Huh?"
   "Ghwww...aaugghhh..."
   He saw a weak quivering movement in her womb.
   He reached down and took another needle.
   "But we don't want that."
   Mercilessly he plunged the needle into where he figured the baby's
abdomen would be.
   Amparo screamed with all the power in her lungs.
   He held her steady by the choke-rope and fucked her, his cock sliding in
and out, the parting walls of her vaginal passage providing no pressure
against him anymore.  Since the baby was nailed inside her she would not be
able to push it out but her body would be racked by contractions anyway.
   As he slid out of her and got to his feet he stepped aside and released
the pressure on the choke-rope.  She slid down to her knees and toppled
forward, her face down against the seat of the wooden chair, sobbing and
grunting, her body jerking as the spasms of child-birth began to tear
through her.
   He knelt behind her, a gluttonous smile on his face, put his cock up to
her asshole and thrust into her with fierce abandon.
   6.
   Samantha returned to Crandall's house in the early morning and let
herself in with the key he'd given her.
   She found him sitting in one of the plush white armchairs that framed
the couch in the living room and the low mahogany center table.  He was in
his white bathrobe, the one he'd been wearing when she'd been there
earlier, and he was drinking another Corona.  His hair was wet and it was
obvious he'd just stepped out of the shower.
   After taking the police car back to the station she had gone home and
changed.  The woman Crandall now saw standing by the door in no way looked
like a cop.  Her frizzy red hair fell freely to her shoulders and she wore
a black blouse with a v' neck and tight black slacks with black high-heel
pumps.  Around her neck she wore a lacy black choker.  She'd applied make
up and soft pink lipstick and looked somehow out of place in the gentle
morning light in his living room.
   She crossed the room and stood over him.  He took a long swig on the
beer as he let his eyes slowly roam up and down Samantha's slender body.
   "You didn't do them yet did you?" she asked anxiously.
   "No, Officer Roland," he replied smiling.  "I was waiting for you."
   "Is that your breakfast?" she asked nodding at the Corona bottle.
   "No," he said putting the beer down on the lamp table next to the
armchair.
   "You're my breakfast, bitch...You look like a fuckin' bimbo tramp.  What
do you think this is a hot date?"
   "I -"
   "Shut the fuck up.  From now on you don't speak unless spoken to,
understand?"
   He watched her face change.  He didn't know what her intentions were or
if she'd clearly thought about all the ramifications of her actions, or
even if she'd told him the truth about the letter that would be sent out
and implicate him if she were to die.  But he did know that she wanted to
be his slave and wanted it badly.  Her face told him that.  It betrayed
her. He had seen that in the shadows earlier and he saw it now in the
bright light of day.
   "Do you understand?" he repeated leaning forward in the chair.
   "Y-yes, Master," she said softly.  Her eyes fell from his and trailed to
the floor abjectly.
   "On your knees, slut," he commanded.
   She slid down obediently, her face still downcast.
   "I like the whore that you brought me," he told her softly.  "She has
given me a lot of pleasure so far."
   His hands moved slowly first opening his robe then reaching out to take
her shoulders.
   She smelled his fresh, clean mansmell and the heat from him.
   "I'm glad I've pleased you," she said softly.
   He felt her soft upper arms and breathed in her perfume, rich and
tasteful, unlike the whore he'd picked up on the street the night before.
   His hands moved down the buttons of her black blouse one by one until
they were all open then he tugged the garment out from the waistband of her
slacks and peeled it off her shoulders leaving it half on her.
   "Take that off for me," he told her, indicating the black lace
brassiere.
   She reached back with both arms.  He liked that.  He liked to watch a
woman strip her bra off for him, her shoulders drawn back, chest thrust
forward.
   As she did so she looked up at him, her lips moist and parted, a little
swollen, her eyes half-slitted.  He kissed her softly holding her face in
his hands.
   The bra came off and she let it slide to the floor in front of her.
   She had round breasts, small but shapely with nipples the color of fresh
strawberries.
   And both nipples were pierced with small gold ringlets.
   All over the front of her body, even across her tits, there were fading
welts and bruises.
   "Who did that?" he asked.
   "My mistress," she replied listlessly.
   "Does she know about me?"
   "No one knows about you, Master...no one except me."
   He knew she was telling the truth.  Her eyes told him so.
   "So how long have you been into these...games?" he asked her, his
fingers grazing the welts above one breast softly.  The sight of her on her
knees with her blouse open, the black choker around her white throat, and
her flesh marked were making him very hard.  With his other hand he was
already stroking himself.
   "For a very long time...since I was a young girl."
   "Have you ever sucked a serial killer's cock, Officer Roland?"
   "No...no, Master."
   "Think you can handle it?" he asked leaning forward a bit more as he
worked his big hard prick.
   "I will do my best to please you, Sir," she replied nervously.
   "Do it, then," he commanded.
   Almost eagerly she bent down and placed her soft red lips around the
head of his shaft.
   Gently, lovingly, she began to move her head up and down on him moaning
softly as his taste and hardness filled her mouth.  He grew harder as her
lips rolled up and down his member and her hot spit trickled down into his
balls.
   "Goddamn you , woman," he growled now taking her bobbing head in his
hands, gripping her soft red hair in his fingers.  "You better be careful
or you'll end up in the back yard with the others."
   His threat only seemed to excite her and she began to bob faster and
deeper.
   As she slid down to the base of his cock he held her there, his entire
cock buried in her hot mouth, its crown in her throat.  She gagged and
fought for breath but did not struggle against him.
   "That's right, bitch," he groaned.  "Hold it in there...all of it..."
   He kept her there for nearly a minute watching her face get flushed,
listening to her gag and choke then he pulled her up off his cock slowly so
that she could regain her breath.
   She gulped short gasps, moaned, licked the underside of his manspear.
   Then he pushed her head down again feeling the constricting pleasure of
her young throat around his cockhead.
   She made a soft humming sound in her throat as his member plugged up her
windpipe cutting off her air-supply and this time he didn't even have to
hold her there, she held herself to him, unable to breathe, slavishly
sucking his big manhood.
   He pulled her face up by her hair watching his cock slide out of her
lovely lips, bigger and harder than when it had gone in.
   As it slid all the way out of her mouth she gasped and choked again and
gobs of drool trickled off her chin to the floor or down her neck into the
lace choker.
   Still holding her by a fistful of hair and pushing her head back to look
down into her face he told her:
   "Open your mouth....wide," he ordered.  "I want to spit in it."
   She did as he instructed, her lovely green eyes never leaving his as she
opened her lips and waited for him.
   He let her wait.
   ...watched her, taking in her sweet submission.
   Then he hocked and spit a thick wad right into her mouth.  She flinched
in disgust, eyes shut tightly and her lips closed as she tried to swallow
his phlegm.
   "Again!" he sneered slapping her right across the face.
   She cried out with surprise.  He had hit her hard and for a brief moment
he saw a flash of unexpected anger in her emerald eyes but then it was gone
and she was opening her mouth again.
   Crudely, he gobbed a long streamer of spittle right down her throat and
watched her struggle to swallow it.
   Then, slowly he got to his feet in front of her sliding out of the
bathrobe.
   "Look at me," he ordered.
   She obeyed, her eyes fixed on his.
   "Were you angry when I slapped you?"
   "I - "
   "The truth, bitch," he growled seizing her head by her hair with his
left hand. "You will hide nothing from your Master!"
   "- uh - y-yes...yes, sir...I wasn't ready for it..."
   "Are you ready now?"
   He could see her struggling with the idea.
   "Are you ready for me to slap your fucking face?" he asked again.
   She nodded.  He waited for a brief moment then swung the palm of his
hand sharply across her cheek.
   She whimpered and shut her eyes at the moment of impact.  When her eyes
came back to his tears had begun to well in them but the anger still
flickered there.
   "Does that make you angry?" he asked.
   "...I - I can't help it, sir..."
   "Listen to me, cunt," he sneered, leaning down to drive his words into
her, still gripping her head by her hair.
   "I'm gonna keep slapping you until I see acceptance...acceptance and not
anger...you got that?"
   She stared at him and bit her lower lip.  The hardness was leaving her
eyes.
   He slapped her.
   And he slapped her again.
   And again.
   He let go of her hair to slap her face back and forth until both her
cheeks were flushed.
   Eventually she was able to look at him between slaps with perfect
submission.
   It was then he told her to open her mouth to suck his cock.  He seized
her with both hands by the lace choker now and thrust himself into her
fucking her face with hard forward jabs of his hips, his strong ass-cheeks
clenched.  Intermittently he would slide out of her to smack her cheeks
with his hard member making it harder and bigger until it was red throbbing
man-meat which he would stuff down her groaning throat.
   Then he stepped back, gave her one last resounding slap and ordered her
to take the rest of her clothes off except for the high heel shoes.
   She sat on the floor and as she peeled off the tight slacks and panties
he noticed that there were small gold rings on each of her pussy-lips.  She
also had a small snake tattooed just above her shaved crotch.
   When she was naked he made her get on all fours on the wooden center
table in his living room and he picked up her police revolver from the
couch where it had been lying since the night before.
   Standing in front of her he emptied all the chambers on the revolver
except one and placed the five bullets in the ashtray on the end table next
to the lamp.
   "Ever play Russian roulette?" he asked, clicking the revolver's cylinder
back into the gun.
   He touched the metal barrel gently against her forehead tracing the line
of her eyebrows as she looked up at him, her hands gripping the edge of the
wooden table. The toes of her high-heel sandals rode the opposite end of
the table.
   "The letter..." she said softly.
   "What if I don't give a shit about your fucking letter?" he remarked
wryly.
   "What if your letter is just a crock of shit, Officer Ro-land?"
   She stared at him steadily, just like she'd done the night before.
   "Its real," she said softly.  "I don't lie."
   "Even if it is real..." he said giving the revolver's cylinder a hard
spin.
   "It will take a day or two or more, won't it?" he asked aiming the gun
at the middle of her face.
   "In that time I will be out of the country with all my money."
   He cocked the gun.
   "And I have a lot of money, bitch...  Now, open your fucking mouth," he
growled.
   Again tears were welling up in her eyes, her lips trembling.
   "You know you have to obey me....don't you?" he asked.
   "Yes, Master," she replied, her voice weak.
   "You knew when you came here you were risking everything."
   She nodded.
   "So there's no choice for you.  And there's no going back....Open it,"
he repeated.  "Fate will decide for both of us."
   He watched her exquisitely shaped lips part and he slid the barrel of
the gun into her mouth.
   "Lick it," he whispered.
   Her teary eyes never left his as she gently licked the tip of the gun
barrel.
   He watched, mesmerized by the police-woman's submission for a few long
moments.
   Then he squeezed the trigger.
   The gun clicked.
   "Ohhhh..." she moaned.  There was a wet sound as she pissed herself on
his table.
   "Pig," he growled pulling the gun from her lips, spinning the cylinder
and cocking it.
   "Five tries left."
   The pungent smell of urine filled the room.
   "Five?" she whined weakly.
   "Oh God," she blurted as he put the gun to her throat and squeezed the
trigger.
   The click made her jump.
   "Four now," he intoned.
   She heard him spin the cylinder and cock the weapon as he walked around
the table to stand behind her.
   "Spread your legs, whore," he ordered.  "C'mon...wide...wider..."
   She felt him as he prodded her piss-soaked pussy with his cock, rubbing
it against her vaginal lips, against the rings pierced through her sex
parting them and nudging up against her cunt-hole.
   Despite the terror that raced through her she could not stop the sexual
excitement Crandall was making her feel.  Even though she was not bound she
could not move.  It was as if she'd been given a drug that paralyzed every
muscle...that made even the thought of action impossible.  Submitting to
him had been her fantasy from the beginning.  The mortal danger had made
her wet.Even as she'd given her body to the cruel lash of her Mistress her
mind had been on Crandall.  For months she'd watched him, followed him,
fantasized about being his slave.  But even her fantasies paled in contrast
to the reality she now faced.
   He had the power of life and death over her now and she'd never given
anyone that.
   The thought horrified her and at the same time thrilled her and made her
cunt juicy and hot.
   "Yeahh.." Crandall moaned as he slid into Samantha's wetness.  He was
not surprised to find her slimy inside.  He knew he was taking her where
she needed to go.
   He put the gun barrel up against the tiny pucker of her asshole and
pushed it into her.
   "Oh God...sweet God..." she groaned louder, quivering, humping back
against him, fucking him, sliding back and forth on his hard stabbing
prick.
   "I told you I was gonna put this gun up your ass, bitch," he told her.
This was the gun she'd held to his head the night before.  Now it was
lodged in her anus and cocked.
   He fucked her slowly sliding into her up to his balls then pulling out
to squeeze the trigger.
   Click.
   "Three left..."
   He slid out of her and came around the table, stood over her and spun
the cylinder.
   "Now that its been in your ass its most fitting take it in your mouth
again."
   She looked up obediently past the gun and into her Master's eyes.  The
steel smelled of shit but she did as she was told and he smiled as she
licked the weapon. She could not tell if the bullet was in one of the
visible chambers.  Her heart skipped a beat as she saw his finger
tighten...then...
   CLICK.
   Two more.
   The gun-barrel to the back of her head, Mafia-execution style.
   CLICK.
   One...just one left...what were the odds?..She remembered a movie where
soldiers had played Russian roulette...the gun to the man's head as he
stared straight ahead pulled the trigger.The loud bang...the fountain-jet
of blood...
   Crandall walked slowly around the table.
   She felt the cold steel barrel against her pussy...it made her jump and
give out a little cry.
   "Fuck it for me," he said softly.
   "Yes...ohh yess, M-master..."
   She pushed back against the metal and the barrel slid all the way into
her cunt.
   Crandall smiled as he watched the police-woman now passionately fuck the
weapon which might kill her.  He thought of the nigger-whore he'd
slaughtered with his rifle in the room below.  The thought made his lick
his lips as he jerked himself off with firm languid strokes.  Maybe this
slut would end up splattered all over his living room...maybe the bullet
was already in the chamber.  He wondered if the neighbors would hear the
shot.  It would be terribly loud and this area of the house was not
sound-proofed.  He looked through the window out to the street.  It was a
perfect summer morning outside.  There might be a passerby or two...It was
fate now...hers and his...to be decided by the weapon itself now lodged in
the woman.  She fucked it feverishly, desperately as if it was a cock, a
final killing cock making her moan and hiss and grip the edge of the table
tightly, making her feet flex, her toes wriggle...her whole body at his
mercy now at his mercy as she started to orgasm, screaming at the floor,
her body beautifully shuddering as he squeezed the trigger.
   She did not hear the click.  She did not hear anything but shouted
hoarsely and insanely, and sobbed, her face down against the table as her
body was rocked by the most intense orgasm she'd ever felt.
   Crandall watched her cum.  He'd never seen a woman cum before except in
porno videos.  And he knew those bitches were probably faking, following
the commands of a director...
   He realized he'd never had a consenting partner in his life.  All his
sexual encounters had been one-sided, from the time in high-school when
he'd raped a little girl in an abandoned building, to the kills he'd done
in this house.
   This was different for him.  Different...Yet strangely similar. 
Watching a woman in terrible pain was a lot like watching her orgasm.  It
made him hard, gloriously hard.  He tossed the gun aside on to the couch,
seized the crouching woman by her hips and slammed his cock deep into her
cunt to fuck her violently, to fuck her for all she was worth.
   She reached up to feel his cock entering her and he felt her fingers
raking his balls.
   "Yeah!" he roared.  "Yeah, bitch, yeah, bitch, yeah!!"
   Another orgasm began to build in her, shattering her with its powerful
energy.
   He fucked and fucked her but held back from cumming...used his prick on
her to get her off but denied himself release...
   He would need all his sexual energy for the events that still lay ahead.
   Two victims awaited him in the basement below, two of the juiciest
whores he'd ever snuffed.
   ...and this time the killing would not be a one-sided event.
   It would be shared.
   For the first time ever.
   It would be shared.  He would have an accomplice.
   Then he had a second thought.  Samantha had been lucky in surviving the
revolver.
   Would she survive the Beast that came alive inside him when he was
killing?
   Instead of sharing would she simply become more meat for the slaughter?
   The possibility made him even harder and he fucked the orgasming woman
with ferocious delight.
   7.
   Samantha had never seen anything like it.
   It was barbaric...it was beautiful.  It made her pussy throb.
   Crandall had hung the blonde prostitute Cynthia by her ankles from the
ceiling.  One of her legs was twisted at an odd angle, the knee dark and
swollen.  Her arms were lashed behind her with barbed wire.  One of her
tits had been sliced clean off her and it lay in a bloody heap on the floor
nearby.  In a spattered clump next to it was the silicone implant.  The
other was swollen horribly and stabbed with large needles.  Her face hung
down between the pregnant latina's widespread legs and her tongue was
pierced and chained to the standing slut's pussy lips.
   Amparo's arms were secured to a wooden pole that rested on her shoulders
so that she stood in a crucified position, her head tilted back, her tongue
pierced by a small meathook that dangled from the ceiling.  Her legs were
ankle-bound to a spreader bar, one foot still clad in the black high-heel
sandal she'd been wearing the previous night, the other bare.  Every few
minutes her body would be racked by deep labor contractions and she would
be unable to bend.  The needles had impaled her dead baby inside her so
there would be no release from the torment. She tottered completely
imbalanced, the one bare brown-skinned, pale-soled foot coming up slightly
off the floor as she swayed and groaned.
   Crandall had followed Samantha down the wooden steps into the soundproof
cellar and now he stood behind her, cradling her in his arms.  She stood
naked, wearing only the black lace choker around her neck, her skin riffled
by goose- bumps like grass by a cool breeze, as Crandall pressed up against
her, his hard cock against her buttocks, his mouth nuzzling the side of her
neck.
   "Do you like it, cunt?" he whispered in her ear.
   Her eyes were glazed with pleasure.  She could feel a trickle of warm
moisture running down the inside of her thigh from her pussy.
   "Ohh y-yes...yes, master..." she moaned as his hands seized her tits and
pinched her hot red nipples.  One hand moved down to her mons to squeeze
her yearning sex.
   "We are going to kill them," he whispered into her other ear, his teeth
grazing her cheek.
   "You and me...We're going to kill both of them...slowly..."
   "Mmmmm," she moaned and pressed back against him reaching up to cup his
hand against her tit in both of hers.
   He turned her face back towards him and kissed her hard then he let her
go and went to the weapons hanging on the wall.
   He returned with two long black single-tail whips offering her one and
keeping the other.
   On the end of the whip-tails sharp metal blades were affixed.
   She took it uncertainly, tightly gripping the wooden handle.
   "I-I've never..." she started.
   "Well this will be the first time then," he replied curtly.
   She watched him go to the opposite end of the room.
   Now the two tortured dying whores were between them.
   She saw him raise his arm high and heard the serpentine swish of the
terrible lash.
   Amparo lunged upward and gave out a yelp, her hooked tongue holding her
head craned back.
   Again Crandall swung and again Amparo jerked.
   Each time Crandall struck Samantha saw the whip-tail slice into the
sides of the young defenseless pregnant whore, into the smooth brown flesh.
Now she saw blood trickling down from the fresh wounds and heard Amparo
start to sob.  The terrible suffering of the pregnant slut was having a
delicious effect on the woman cop.  It was bringing out all her sadistic
impulses.
   Crandall swung his lash across Cynthia's back and the blonde came to
life, sputtering and choking, her tongue speared to Amparo's pussy.
   Samantha stepped forward.  She'd never held a real whip before and
certainly not one as destructive as this one.  She'd always been in the
submissive mode under her Mistress's lightly stinging riding crops and fake
floggers.
   But this...this was the real thing and it felt...nice...real nice.
   "Yeah!" Crandall grunted swinging his lash.
   Samantha raised the whip.  She felt a rush of power as she swung.
   The bladed lash tore across Amparo's shoulderblades making the pregnant
latina scream.
   Samantha smiled and then gradually, with each whipstroke she dealt out,
her face transformed itself, until it was wild, feral, until her eyes
blazed like coals as she swung the whip; she squeezed her hand into the
soft hot wetness of her pussy rubbing the tips of her fingers against her
clit.  Not much time had passed since her furious orgasms in Crandall's
living room with the gun up her cooze but already she was building toward
another mind-shattering climax...and from a completely different
perspective.
   "Whip them!" Crandall shouted at her.  "Yeah!  YE-ah!  That's it!  Tear
the fucking blood out of em!"
   They whipped the bound helpless whores between them, the psycho and the
woman cop, twin poles of obsession moving relentlessly toward each other,
circling around the torture chamber, making their victims howl and sob and
screech.
   Crandall was amazed at how eagerly Samantha was taking to it.  He'd seen
those slutty women in S&M flicks whipping each other but it had never
really excited him.  This was different.  He had opened the flood-gates in
the woman cop's mind and her viciousness was just pouring out of her.  It
was beautiful to watch.
   Now she was screaming insults at the bleeding whores and swinging the
bladed lash with all her strength.
   Crandall too swung across the helpless meat-targets in his chamber as he
jerked off to the beauty of the destruction.
   Bits of blood and skin spattered the floor, the walls...blood spattered
Samantha's tits and face, spattered Crandall's chest as he grinned
savagely. He began to lose track of time and place.  He was transported
now. He was in his own world, a world of his own making where whores
screamed and bled and died for his pleasure.  And Samantha was with him,
right there with him, going with him where no one else had ever been.
   It was like slow motion film:
   The slashing slicing whips tearing into slutskin.
   The fierce faces of the attackers, the shouts, the terrible swishing,
slicing, hacking blows.
   Then it was going somewhere else.
   Crandall had released the victims from each other...  lowered the
pregnant one on to the wooden table, tied her bloody body face-up,
spreadeagled.
   He let down the blonde to the floor.
   Samantha knelt behind him her face up between his asscheeks as he'd
instructed, her tongue deep-licking his asshole.
   He had the scalpel.  Small, sharp blade gleaming as he bent over the
pregnant woman on the table, standing beside the table to begin the
operation.
   Samantha licked and sucked his big hanging balls as he put the blade at
the top of Amparo's chest and pressed it into her skin.
   He cut into the brown flesh and the bitch shrieked bloody hell and
babbled. He'd ripped the hook out of her tongue and half her tonge with it
so he could no longer decipher what she was saying.  It sounded like it
might have been Spanish.
   Time was fusing into itself, Samantha's lips on his balls, her hand
reaching around in front of him to jerk him off.
   He cut carefully down the middle of Amparo's swollen belly opening her
up like the defeated animal she was, a young beautiful bloody defeated
animal on his slaughter table, taking his blade.
   The hot meaty steaming stink of her body rose out of her as she choked
on her own blood and swung her head from side to side.
   He was killing a whore.  He was watching her die.  He was smiling.
   Samantha's hand stroked and stroked, her mouth eagerly moaning and
sucking and licking.
   He drew the blade downward to the pussy mound and finally to the slit to
complete the wound that nature had made in the young female.  Then he put
the blade down and took the two open flaps of the sliced woman in his hands
to open her body like an egg-shell.  The skin as it peeled open made a
sickly wet sound.  Gas hissed and escaped from her guts as she gurgled and
groaned, her torn body weakly fighting against the ropes that held her
immobile.  He yanked the needles from her belly and reaching into the dank
heat he pulled out the slickly wrapped fetus.  It too was female and that
made him laugh as he held it high over his head.  It had a hole through its
belly where the needle had pierced it and one through the middle of its
forehead but incredibly it was still wriggling and alive.  He put it down
on the table and reached back to pull Samantha up off her knees to bring
her around to stand beside him.
   "Ohhh g-godd..." she gasped as she looked down at the disemboweled girl
and the mutilated mulatto fetus on the table.
   "You wanted to kill her..." he said softly.
   "Can I, Master?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the bloody mess on
the table.
   "Kill the baby first," he said handing her the scalpel.
   "Do it while I fuck you," he growled moving around to stand behind her.
   Time was melting into itself.
   Blonde Cynthia had crawled into the shadows and curled up in a corner
all broken and bloody her head in her hands to silence the screams of the
butchered girl on the table.
   Samantha put the tip of the scalple to the baby's heart.
   Crandall seized his killer-slave's hips and entered her from behind, his
long hard prick stabbing deep into her hungry twat.
   "Aa-ahhhh!" she groaned, her eyes feverish as she pushed the scalpel
into the baby's rubbery skin.  Blood squirted from the fetus as the blade
sunk into it.  It made no sound.  Sightless and voiceless it died on the
table between its mother's spread thighs.
   When it no longer wriggled Crandall said:
   "Now the mother...kill the mother..."
   Gripping Samantha around the middle he half lifted her, his cock buried
deep in her cunt, and moved her closer to Amparo's upper body.
   The whore looked up into the lust-crazed faces of her assailants.
   There was no pity there.  No mercy.
   She was just meat to them now.
   She tried to form words but had no breath left, no energy.  Instead her
bloody, tongueless mouth opened and closed silently and her glazed eyes
begged pitifully.
   "You...filthy...little...dirtbag..." Samantha growled as she put the
blade to the young whore's neck.
   Crandall moaned and pushed up into Samantha from behind, his teeth
sinking into her shoulder.
   No', Amparo was trying to say but said nothing only moved her lips some
more.
   With one quick decisive move the woman cop sliced Amparo's pulsing
jugular.
   The whore gave out a funny little cry as her blood shot out in jets.
   Samantha laughed as the hot gush hit her face then snarled as she
stabbed the scalpel into Amparo's chest through her needle-pierced tit and
into her heart.
   Crandall held on to the woman cop as she orgasmed in his arms while she
stabbed the dying whore again and again and again.
   "Is this what you wanted?" he asked.
   "Yes!  Ohhh!  Yes!  Yes!  Yessss!" she keened.
   Time has become meaningless.
   They have dragged Cynthia out of the shadows and hung her by her wrists
from an overhead chain so that her feet are not touching the ground.
   Both of them are covered in blood.
   They have hunting knives, long sharp blades to slaughter with.
   They circle their prey.
   "Watch her face," Crandall tells Samantha.  He is the teacher, she the
pupil.
   He stabs Cynthia in the back.
   The blade enters her lung and rips a hole in it.
   Yes Cynthia's face is lovely in pain yes.
   Samantha smiles...stabs Cynthia's thigh...hard...deep.
   Samantha stabs again, lower down, near the shattered swollen knee.
   Cynthia's shriek is deafening.
   But its cut off suddenly as Crandall sinks his blade into her side just
below her rib-cage.
   Cynthia chokes, coughs up blood, babbles, sobs and Samantha's knife
sweeps up and slices half her one remaining tit off her.  The ruptured
implant dribbles silicone fluid which mixes with bitchblood before dropping
to the floor.
   Both predators move around their victim, stabbing, stabbing, cutting,
slicing.
   Knives sink deep into the whore's abdomen.
   Samantha stabs the cunt, feeling her own cunt pulse hotly in response.
   Crandall viciously knives the plump swells of asscheek, pliant seductive
meat now pierced bleeding, gashed...
   "She's dying," Samantha moans softly.
   "Yes," Crandall replies sinking his knife into the back of the whore's
thigh.
   Samantha stops to look into Cynthia's beaten bloody face.
   "Kill her, Master...Kill her...Kill her..." she repeats over and over,
softly, smiling, watching, looking into Cynthia's eyes.
   Maybe she will see the soul leave the body.
   Kill.
   Kill the filthy worthless scumbag.
   Crandall stabs.  He stabs angrily.  Viciously.  The animal has come out
now.  It is out of the cage.  His knife thuds into Cynthia's back, into her
sides, into the back of her neck going all the way through.
   Samantha is mesmerized.
   The blonde whore quivers, gasps, spits blood, her body is going into a
final shuddering spasm.
   Then Crandall's hand grips Samantha's shoulder, bearing down.
   "On your knees," he whispers hoarsely.
   Her trance breaks she looks into his eyes.  They are animal eyes. 
Fierce, greedy.
   The eyes of the Beast.
   She kneels.  He puts the knife to her throat.
   "Drink," he commands.
   He pisses in her open mouth.  She chokes and swallows.  Chokes and
swallows.
   Is she next?
   His piss is hot and bitter.
   He smells of blood.
   "Suck," he commands.
   She feels the blade press against her skin.
   Is this how she will die?
   She accepts his huge veined prick lovingly, looking up at him as she
gives him pleasure.
   He thrusts into her throat choking her.  The dead whore's legs brush
against her back.
   He deep throats her, grips her by her hair and pumps her head on his
shaft.
   Then he pulls out of her to jerk off slowly, as he looks down on her.
   "Cut yourself for me," he commands.
   Without hesitation she draws her knife blade across the top of her
breast.
   A wash of fresh blood pours down the front of her body.
   His eyes burn.
   "Yeahhh!" he grunts jerking off faster.
   "Again!  Cut yourself again for me!"
   She begins to cry but does as he tells her drawing a deep slice across
the other breast.
   "Uhhh!" he grunts and suddenly his cock spurts hot spatters of cum right
into her crying face.
   He grabs her head and brings her face to his shooting cock.
   She opens her mouth and begins to swallow him reaching up to squeeze the
jism out of his balls and down her throat.
   As he cums he reaches up and gouges his knife into the body of the dead
hanging whore above them slicing her belly open.
   Cynthia's guts tumble out and spill on Samantha's up-turned face. 
Crandall holds her there on her knees, in the rain of viscera and blood,
forcing her to swallow his sperm.
   Finally, he steps back and releases her.  She slumps to the floor at his
feet, defeated, covered in whoreblood, sperm dribbling from her mouth.
   "Were you going to kill me?" she asked him later when time had regained
significance.
   They sat at the kitchen table.  It was already night again and they had
just finishing burying the two dead whores in the back yard.  She was
fingering the long stem of the Corona bottle while he sipped his.
   "I thought about it," he confessed.
   "Why didn't you then?"
   He took a long swig and stared back at her.  She did not look away.
   "Because you're a great fuck," he answered.
   She smiled sexily and tilted the bottle back to drink from it.
   The knife-cuts burned under the robe he'd lent her.  But it was a sweet
deep hurt she could feel deep in her pussy, where his cock had been.
   This was her day off but tomorrow she'd be back on the beat...looking
for whores and young runaways.
   It was going to be an interesting summer.  A very long and interesting
summer.
   WOODBURN