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.
   Blade Time
   1.
   I gotta admit.  I'm extremely fortunate.  Sometimes things just come my
way.
   I bought the beach house near Farnwell in April in a semi-deserted strip
on the South Carolina shore.  Some drug dealer had dumped it when the feds
ran him out of business and I got a real bargain on it.
   It was a high-end piece of real-estate with a high-end view, the wide
open Atlantic and a nice-sized piece of beach fenced off almost right to
the water.  The house was a split-level New England style construction but
modern, only three years old.
   The main reason I bought it was that I needed a killing place.
   The privacy and isolation made this house perfect.  It stood on a
hundred acres of beach and forest, quietly secluded, its walls shaded by
numerous oak, pine and spruce, its lawn and landscaping meticulously
maintained by a company I'd hired.  The security system was the best money
could buy, automatic steel gates, motion detectors, light sensors, all on a
state-of-the-art twenty point control touchpanel which covered every area
of entry as well as scanning video cameras monitored on a four segment
video screen in my office.  And best of all: the nearest neighbor was
nearly a quarter of a mile away.
   I had made a lot of money in the stock market over the years and though
I had indulged my violent appetites in many ways I'd always planned to
arrive at middle age with just such a place at my disposition.
   On the surface I appeared to be a regular business type and interacted
on a superficial level with my associates.  And though I was often the
object of much gossip and innuendo, being seen in the company of an
occasional attractive escort put an end to any doubts about by sexual
orientation while never revealing my true and extremely criminal
inclinations.
   It had taken almost fifty murders of young girls from all walks of life,
from school-children to street whores to make law enforcement agents from
several cities finally begin to discover a pattern and label me a serial
killer.  I enjoyed reading about the chaos I caused almost as much as I
enjoyed perpetrating it and in doing so I had come to know what the cops
had dubbed me.  Though they had not yet put together all the cases several
investigators in Chicago, Detroit, New York and Boston had realized they
were on to similar MO's and one of them labeled me Blade', obviously for my
specific use of disposables which were often left behind at the scenes. 
For a while I toyed with the idea of changing my MO radically and lose the
trail but then I became attracted to the idea of signing my work to make
sure everyone knew who was responsible.  Just an ego thing I guess.
   At the time I bought the beach house the cops only knew about seventeen
of the murders scattered throughout the country.  The random way in which I
chose victims and the way I would often dispose of them would make my trail
extremely difficult to follow.  But still, with all the modern advantages
available to law enforcement I had to walk a narrow line if I wanted to
keep on enjoying myself.  Especially now that my slut-killing had reached a
new plateau of intensity for me, a new depth and richness.
   Where at first I had killed with blood-thirsty viciousness and speed I
now took my time to enjoy all that my victims had to give.  Endurance was a
priority.  Keeping the suffering meat alive as long as possible became my
principal goal.
   That's why the beach house became crucial.
   I needed a place where I could work for hours and days on end undetected
and undisturbed and where the screams of my victims, which were so
delightful to me, would not draw undue attention.  For the most part I no
longer hunted and killed female meat as I had in previous years, randomly
and in remote locations or wherever and whenever opportunity arose.  Now
the planning and execution of events was more under control, more efficient
and more intensely pleasurable.
   A month and a half after I bought the house I was standing at the
picture window at one end of my living room where the house opened into a
balcony looking out on the beach.  Dark storm clouds were gathering in the
late June sky out on the horizon but in the patch of sunlight still
illuminating the beach behind my property two young girls lay on their
stomachs on towels in the sand, oblivious of the coming rain.  There was no
chance they would see me because the window glass was darkly tinted.  I
stood there in my house robe and ogled them letting my eyes roam over their
young tanned bodies, letting my sadistic impulses assert themselves and
take over.  My heart beat fast.  It had been almost six months since my
last kill and I was revved up and primed.
   I guessed the brown haired girl to be about sixteen and the little
blonde beside her maybe twelve.  They both wore very skimpy bikinis, the
brown-haired girl's top strap untied so that her shapely back was exposed
to the sun.  The younger girl turned over on her back and her thighs rose
as she bent her legs.  She already had small baby breasts which pushed up
her little red bikini top.  Her little titties were shapely and the sight
of them made me stroke myself faster.
   I explored every possibility with lucid analytical intensity.  It seemed
unlikely that they were friends because of their age difference so I
assumed they were sisters.  If so, the rest of the family might be nearby.
Or the girls might just be alone.  After all it was a weekday and their
parents or legal guardians would be at work.
   I stood there considering my options, trying to construct a plan of
attack, when, fortuitously, the storm clouds began to move in.
   The wind caught up the sand in swirling eddies and chopped the ocean
into cresting white foam and almost instantly the lightning cracked and the
tropical storm roared over the beach.
   Caught by surprise the girls leaped to their feet, the older
brown-haired one holding her lemon green bikini top against her large but
firm boobs with one hand while securing the strap behind her back with the
other.
   As the cold rain struck them they squealed, laughed and incredibly began
to run right toward my house, the only available shelter on the wide empty
stretch of beach.
   I knew they were making for the underside of the structure which was
walled in on three sides but had lattice-work and an open doorway on the
side that faced the ocean and I saw them pass under me as the downpour
began in earnest, big raindrops hard against the window glass.
   I heard them below me still carrying on, their high-pitched voices
reflecting the surprise of having been caught in the downpour and I saw my
reflection in the glass beyond which the storm now assaulted the beach in
full fury.
   I was smiling.
   Like I said.
   I'm a fortunate guy.
   Sometimes things just come my way.
   2.
   They were looking out at the stormy ocean, still giggling, when the door
sprung open behind and above them and the fluorescent lamps lit up overhead
catching them completely off guard.
   They turned to face me as I leveled my shotgun at them.
   Barefoot, bathrobe belt trailing on the steps, I moved down the
staircase keeping the twelve gauge on them.  Each step creaked as it took
my weight.
   "You're trespassing," I told them.
   For a moment they stood there breathless, open mouthed, wide-eyed.
   My words hung in the air.  Neither one of the sisters registered their
meaning.  I'm a big man, nearly six four, two hundred and fifty pounds of
hulking muscle, dark brooding eyes, small cruel mouth, my head shaved bald,
my voice a booming bass, a daunting presence for the two shocked youths.
   They were lovely, more so close up than they had been from my balcony
picture-window.
   For a moment I thought they were going to turn and run into the pounding
rain.  If they had I would not have shot at them then.  That moment of
hesitation would be their last flirtation with freedom, however.  It passed
and I saw in their eyes they would not make a break for it.  Like most
females their first instinct was passivity, submission.
   "We're sorry - " the brown-haired one began.
   "Shut up, cunt," I commanded.
   My words had a real physical impact on them startling them, making them
take a half step back as if they'd been struck.
   I knew then that neither one of them had ever been spoken to that way.
They were nice girls.  The kind of girls I really enjoyed killing, the ones
whose mothers and fathers would weep for on the eleven o'clock news, the
ones who were sweet and kind and full of promise, the ones who would grow
up to be good little childbearing American consumers, the kind that make
business men like myself wealthy beyond measure.
   "You're on my property, uninvited," I told the older one staring her
down.  "I could kill you both right now and bury you if I wanted to because
whatever is on MY property is automatically MINE."
   The little blonde cringed from me and huddled against the older girl
looking like she was about to start crying.
   I strode toward them slowly across the tiled floor keeping the shotgun
leveled on them my bathrobe hanging open, cloth belt dragging on the floor,
my ten inch cock stiff and erect poking through the front.
   "Please, mister," the brown-haired one began.
   I saw her eyes trail down to my crotch and I knew she was looking at a
weapon as formidable and threatening to her as the twelve gauge.
   "I said shut the fuck up!" I shouted raising the gun, now with every
intent of blowing them away if they made any kind of move.
   The little one began to cry and sank down on one knee hugging her
companion's bare leg.
   "It's ok, Tessie," the older one whispered, petting the little one's
head feeling the child's cheek against her sun-warmed sand-smeared thigh.
"Shhh...shhh...it's ok..."
   "It's not ok," I snarled coming up close to her, my shotgun right in her
bare belly.  She flinched at the contact of cold metal with her skin.
   "What's your name?" I asked her.  She had big dark-green eyes and the
sensual wide mouth of an adult female.  Her cheeks were still a little
girl's cheeks though, still baby-faced like the little one who clung to her
thigh, eyes closed, mouth downturned, sobbing quietly in terror.
   "Jane," she replied.  I could see she was trembling.
   "Jane what?"
   "C-Carmichael - uh - Jane Carmichael."
   "Jane and Tessie," I confirmed still holding her eyes with mine.
   She nodded.
   "Sisters?" I asked already knowing the answer, the similarity of their
facial characteristics obvious.
   Again she nodded, her hand caressing Tessie's blonde mane, the small one
calmed by her older sisters protective gesture.
   "Here's the deal, Jane," I told her.  I watched the impact of my words
slowly devastate both of them emotionally.
   "I'm going to torture you and your little sister.  I'm going to rape you
and hurt both of you until you can't take any more.  And then I'm going to
kill both of you as slowly and as painfully as possible."
   She'd never heard such words leveled at her, it was unacceptable,
unreal.
   A moment ago she'd been lying under the warm sun, carefree, Tessie
beside her talking about that new car their daddy was going to buy and then
the storm had rolled in and now - now they were caught in something worse
than any storm.
   "I want both of you up those stairs," I ordered.
   Tears were streaming down both of their faces and my cock was throbbing,
my balls hot and full.  Their fear and my sense of power fed exponentially
on each other, escalating with each passing moment.
   "Pleeease, sir..." Jane pleaded searching my eyes for pity.  "We didn't
mean to - we didn't know that -"
   "NOW!" I shouted.
   Jane, physically jolted, immediately leaned down to help Tessie up on
her feet and they made their way to the stairs.  I kept the gun on them
knowing that if they were going to attempt an escape they would do it soon.
   But I had ambushed them, they had surrendered to their terror and there
was not even the slightest hint of insurrection.  No adult had ever
assaulted them this way and they were completely unprepared.  I watched
them reluctantly climb the stairs ahead of me, wet from the rain, their
bare legs spattered with white sand, their buttcheeks perfectly outlined in
the bikini bottoms, red and green, the colors of innocence and childhood,
nursery colors, and the realization that my captives were nothing more than
half-naked children made me dizzy with anticipation.
   At the top of the stairs Jane made one last valiant attempt.  She
turned, her hand on the door frame, and looked down at me.
   "Please, mister,we didn't mean to -"
   "Get inside." I said roughly.
   Pouting and with fearful reluctance both of them turned and entered the
killing house.
   As we went in I closed and locked the rear door behind me and instructed
them to climb the next set of stairs.  There, on the second floor, beyond a
doorway that was usually hidden behind a large sliding wall panel of
shelves was my torture and slaughter area, a large chamber with a dark
marble-tile floor which stretched for half the lenghth of the house.  As
the girls reached the top of the stairs and passed through that doorway
which I'd left open before going down to fetch them they began to whimper.
   Both of them now knew - they were in for it.
   Like its owner, this room was clean and neatly organized, scrupulously
so, the way I liked it, hosed clean after every slaughter, everything in
its place.
   It's hard to say which element of my chamber had the most terrible
visual impact on the victims.  Was it the chains and ropes dangling from
the ceiling, some with manacles or cuffs on the ends?  Was it the wall
racks of whips, canes, knives, rods and spike-studded paddles?  Was it the
table with hot-plates, bottles of acid, and steel pokers and skewers?  The
charcoal grills?  The weapons cabinet with tasers, dart-guns and pistols?
The oak-wood panel near the front windows where medieval swords, maces and
hatchets hung on hooks?  Or was it the stainless steel autopsy table and
surgical instruments near the rear wall?
   These two children had never seen anything like it and their terror was
palpable.
   I closed and locked the heavy sound-proof door behind me and put the gun
back in the weapons cabinet.  There would be no need for it now.
   I switched on the bright overhead recessed spotlights and the shadowy
room was immediately bathed in bright light.
   I tossed off my robe and approached the two girls naked.  They shrank
from me crying and hugging each other.
   Behind me was the wall of the chamber that faced the sea.  Four large
tinted picture glass windows looked out on the stormy ocean where lightning
streaked across a nearly black sky.  The rain pounded against the
floor-to-ceiling panes frantically.
   "Start taking off those bathing suits," I ordered.
   "No...pleeease..." Jane begged between sobs.
   Outside thunder cracked in the distance.
   "Do you want me to get the gun?" I asked her.
   "No!" she whimpered.  "Oh God, please, please...let us go..."
   "Because if I have to get the gun again I will use it.  Do you
understand me?"
   "Yes, yes - ok...ok...don't hurt us...pleease..."
   "Take your bathing suits off - now - or there will be girl guts all over
the fucking walls - and it won't be the first time that's happened."
   Still crying and huddling together protectively they both reached behind
their backs to unhook the straps that held their tops on.  After they took
those off and let them fall to the floor they hooked their fingers in the
waistbands of their snug bottoms and slowly pulled them down off their wet,
sand-smeared legs to the floor.
   "On your knees, both of you."
   They obeyed almost simultaneously, tears streaming down their pretty
faces, their skin making a wet slithery sound against the slick cold floor
as they got down and knelt before me, still holding on to each other, on
top of their discarded bikinis and the bits of white sand they'd shedded.
   I took two strands of rope from the table next to me and approached my
naked female victims.
   "Put your hands behind you," I instructed.
   I looped one rope strand around the older one's wrists first and the
other around her young sibling's wrists, tightly, cinching and knotting
each binding until it gripped harshly, indenting soft skin as they
whimpered, eyes downcast.  When both of them were bound on their knees,
arms pulled taut behind them I reached down and took Jane's bikini bottom
off the floor, grabbed her by her nose, nostrils pinched shut until her
lips gaped open with a whimper of surprise and I shoved the tiny garment
into her mouth and looped another stretch of rope over it and around her
brown-haired head.
   I took a moment to do observe and compare my captives as they knelt on
the marble-tile floor.
   The small one had no pussy hair at all and I could see the top of her
slit on the curved slope of her little cuntmound.  Green-eyed Jane's mons
was already covered with a soft down of pubic curls chestnut-hued like her
hair, sweet angel fuzz.  The younger blue-eyed sister's tits were small
red-tipped buds, the older's were plump and full, shapely womanflesh with
lovely dark pink aurolae.  Both sisters were tanned by the sun except for
the pale patches of skin on their chests and groins that the small bikinis
had covered.
   My cock swelled deliciously.
   I took Tessie by her rain-wet blonde mane and got her up on her feet.
   Jane started to get up.
   I pushed the older teenager back down by one shoulder.
   "Stay on your fucking knees, cunt." I snarled.
   Tessie began to cry as I walked her across the room.  She was about four
and a half feet tall and the top of her little head was about even with my
pectorals.  I enjoyed raping little girls and already my cock was pulsing
with anticipation as I pulled her along by her shoulder to a wooden table
near the center of the chamber.  I lifted her naked little body on to the
table easily, after all, I am a strong bull of a man, keeping myself that
way through rigorous exercise routines, a powerful physique being a strong
pre-requisite for the kinds of activities I indulge in.  Completely
overpowering a victim is not only extremely delightful to me but also
necessary because terror often leads to struggle and attempts at escape.
   Tessie Carmichael, however was not about to fight back in any way.  She
was overwhelmed by fear, almost paralyzed.  Besides her wrists were tightly
trapped behind her.
   I sat her on the edge of the table put my hand on her ches and pushed
her back gently on to her bound arms.  Her legs dangled off the edge and I
took them by the ankles, spread them wide open and raised them, pushing
them back, putting the tip of my cock up against her hairless little muff.
   "I'm gonna break you open, Tessie," I growled.
   Looking down I could see the fat white shaft of my prick pointed at the
pale hairless mons of the child.  In my big hands her ankles seemed
fragile, crushable.
   She started whining as she felt the head of my cock press into her
virgin hole and then the whining turned into shrill shrieks as I rammed my
way into her, holding her legs tight easily, keeping her down as she
started to squirm.
   Across the room and to my left, her sister cried unintelligible words
into the gagging cloth struggling on her knees, trying impossibly to free
her wrists as she watched the cruel rape of her hapless younger sister.
   The inside of a young girl-child's cunt is the most perfect place for my
huge cock.  The moist warmth, the tightness and firmness of virgin pussy,
especially nubile, virginal and unused is incredibly appealing.  It is
specially fulfilling when contracting in pain or in terror as Tessie's
little lovepuss now did.  The slow grinding penetration is preferable to
me, although I have on occasion just slammed home in little girl meat, just
to get those pretty high-pitched squeal-screams.  With young Tessie I took
my sweet time, pushing into her warmth gradually, staring into her
wide-eyed face and listening to her sister's panicky gag-muffled protests
behind me.
   I reached down and took one pussy lip in each hand to open her, to peel
them apart, as far as I could without tearing the warm petals of skin right
off her.  Then, after rubbing the crown of my shaft against the smooth
hairless slitmeat, I slid in hard, all the way to my balls in the twelve
year old.  She bawled endearingly as I fucked her slowly, pushing in and
out of her while my hands roamed over her strong young body.  I could feel
her life energy through my fingertips especially when I cupped her small
titties to squeeze them hard and pinch the nipples, my eyes never leaving
her suffering little face.  She arched her back as my eager fingers kneaded
her tender skin and her small legs rested in the crooks of my arms at my
elbows, her feet wriggling, her hands balled into fists under her as I
pumped her.
   Slowly I slid back out of her and she stared up at me teary eyed with
pain and confusion.
   Oh yeah, I thought to myself.  Killing this little bunny was going to be
real sweet.
   How lucky to have this cherub and her sister just waltz right on to my
property.  It was like winning the lottery without buying a ticket.
   Her tight little pussyhole squeezed shut as I exited and she gave out a
snivelling squeal.
   "Stay right there," I told her smiling wickedly and I turned to her
sister.
   Calmly I walked over to Jane who knelt sobbing fitfully, peering up at
me, brows arched, her pretty mouth stuffed with the green bikini bottom,
her upper lip smeared with sand, the rope strands keeping her mouth wide.
   I reached down and unwound the rope from around her lips pushing it down
so that it hung loosely looped around her neck.  I withdrew her bikini
bottom now soaked with spit from her lips and tossed it on the floor then I
stroked myself in front of her and she began to weep emotionally.  Maybe
she thought I would feel sorry for her.  Little did she know her tears only
added to my pleasure.
   I'd only gagged her for the visual turn-on and to make her sense of
helplessness more complete but now I wanted to hear her beg.  Mostly I
wanted to use her slutty mouth while my prick still smelled of Tessie's
little cunt.
   "Pleease, mister," she sobbed.  "Please don't hurt us.  Please.  Mommy
and daddy have money.  They'll give it to you if you let us go.  I know
they will."
   A tiny gleaming line of drool ran down her cute round chin.
   As she begged I rubbed the very tip of my hotly throbbing prick against
her tear-moist cheek, down under her mouth against the warm spit-trickle
and back up to the other side of her face.
   "Let us go, mister," she sobbed.  "We'll never come back.  We won't tell
anyone.  Please.  We really won't.  I swear."
   Looking down on her and smiling I circled her whole face with my dick,
took posession of it you might say, rubbed it against her cute ear-lobe and
on the sides of her neck.  My cock-slit oozed pre-cum on Jane's warm skin.
   "Yeah - right - Why aren't you two in school?" I asked.
   She looked up at me and I could see the guilt in her face.
   "Don't you lie to me, Jane," I told her continuing to squeeze my prick
against her cheek and to move it in slow languid circles.  "I don't like
liars - Why weren't you in school?"
   "Uhm - my daddy's on a trip and momma went into the city with her
friends and -"
   "I see.  So you decided you and Tessie could just take off."
   "We didn't mean to do anything wrong.  We just - "
   "You just what, you teasing slut?
   "The sun was out and -"
   "So you thought you'd just go to the beach and show your little tits and
ass around didn't you?"
   "No sir - I -"
   "Where do you live?"
   "Uhm - uh -"
   "Don't you fucking lie to me."
   "No, sir, no - we live in Farnwell."
   "Hmm.  You live in Storybook Heights."
   I knew that most of the rich fucks in Farnwell lived up on the hill and
I figured these two came from there.
   "Mm-hmm," she nodded slowly.
   "How did you get here?"
   "Drove.  I-I left the car up the road."
   The part of my mind that wasn't clouded with the dark and sweet pleasure
of domination and control immediately went to logistics.  I would have to
retrieve the vehicle and dispose of it.  It wouldn't be much of a problem.
The stupid bunny had probably left the keys in the visor.  Fucking little
princess.  Not even eighteen and already driving what was more than likely
an expensive car, taking off school to prance around the beach in her
little green bikini, bringing her sister along to provide an air of
innocence to her obvious cock-teasing behavior.
   This little cunt needed to hurt and hurt bad.
   My sexual hatred of the young victim blossomed inside me like a dark
flower.  I got quiet as I went on rubbing my cock on her cute cheeks.  I
could tell by the way she was looking at me that the expression on my face
now must be very frightening to her.  I had caught glimpses of this
expression now and then and sometimes surprised myself that such murderous
evil could inhabit me.  In fact I had been toying with the idea of covering
one wall of the killing chamber with a mirror to multiply the pleasure I
took in transforming from my customary pleasant and charming exterior into
bestial, hardcore, cunt-killing demon.
   "Please let us go - pleeease?  - " she whispered.
   Without warning I took a half step back and slapped her as hard as I
could across her pitiful face turning her head with the loud smack, drawing
a gasped out cry as she tilted way too far in the direction the blow had
swung her and tumbled to the floor at my feet, hands helplessly wriggling
at the back of her waist.  Behind me, on the wooden table, Tessie
whimpered.
   Outside the tinted windows the storm raged over the ocean.
   "Get back up on your knees," I told Jane standing over her, now stroking
myself again.
   " - ugh - please - sir -"
   "I said get back up on your knees.  Now."
   The lucid part of my mind retreated.  Logistics took a back seat.
   I watched her struggle to bring her legs under her body, grunting to
lift herself without the use of her bound arms, but she was young and
flexible and the exertion was not much of a challenge for her.
   As she got back up on her knees I rubbed my cock on her crying face
again.  Her cheek blushed where my hand had struck her down.
   Again the wrathful fury rose up in me.
   I truly hate females.  I would like to say its something my mother did
to me but honestly I don't think either one of my parents ever treated me
any harsher than most people get treated.  There was certainly nothing out
of the ordinary about my childhood or my upbringing but as far back as I
could remember I associated violence and sadistic power with sex.  I found
plenty of those associations in books and films and through my adolescence
I came to realize that such unsavory instincts were pretty commonplace. 
They were just one of those sensitive' things no one really talked about.
   Outside thunder boomed and lightning streaked across black clouds
sending flurries of rain against my killing house and in sheets across its
huge tinted windows.
   Once more, as the teenage girl looked up into my eyes, I stepped back
and slapped her full force, now with my left hand, turning her in the
opposite direction, making her topple against the wall on one shoulder with
a grunt before sliding to the floor.  This time when I made her get back up
on her knees I saw with a good measure of satisfaction that I had split her
lip.  A drop of blood moved down the line of her jaw toward her ear-lobe.
The sight of her blood made me swoon, made my mouth water.
   "You're gonna suck my cock, Jane," I told her.  "Ever suck cock before?"
   "N-no - no, sir -"
   "Bullshit.  You're telling me a pretty little cunt like you's never had
a boyfriend?  Never been on a date?  Never played the old skin flute?"
   "No - I'm - I'm a nice girl - I don't -"
   Before she could finish I had slapped her again, knocked her on her ass.
   "I told you not to fuckin' lie to me, bitch!" I told her, bending over
her to snarl my hateful words into her cute little face.  "You are NOT a
nice girl." Her eyes were horror-wide, lips parted and quivering.  Her
whole face was flushed now and she actually physically flinched as I
shouted my venomous words.
   "You and your sister are nothing but stinking lying whoremeat.  You are
not now and never have been anything but filth and I'm here to put you both
in your place.  Your lives count for nothing here except my pleasure.  The
more both of you hurt and suffer for me the more you will please me.  As
far as I'm concerned your cutesy little lives are over.  Sugar and spice
and everything nice no longer applies."
   I grabbed her by her satiny brown hair and pulled her back up on her
knees to push my thickly-veined cock in her face.
   "Now suck me, and do it nice, bitch, do it like my prick is made of
honey."
   She leaned forward and closed her eyes and as she parted her lips
tentatively I pushed my hard shaft into it.  Her mouth was almost as sweet
as Tesie's little cunt had been.  I knew she had been telling the truth
too. She had no idea about how a man's cock needed to be sucked.
   I like it when they're so young and innocent they don't know, when I
have to teach them.  Its nice to know that among the last things they'll be
learning in this life, on this earth, even when they'll never learn to
drive a car or sew a button or cook a roast, is to suck my big fat ten-inch
prick.
   The shape of Jane's mouth was most accomodating, wide, her lips fleshy
and full now swollen and red, tooth-nicked from my slap on one side.  The
little bitch had a sexy piehole alright but she didn't know how to use it
and I had to show her.  I taught her how to bob back and forth and she made
grimacing faces as the head of my organ gagged her.  I told her she would
have to deal with that because if she kept gagging on me I would just have
to get my shotgun and blow little Tessie's head off.  It didn't take long
for her to catch on real good after that and pretty soon she was sucking,
licking and deep throating me almost as good as a fifty dollar hooker.
   "Remember," I told her, leaning down to watch her closely.  "Lick it
just like sweet honey.  That's right.  Good girl.  Lick it up and down. 
Mmmm.Very nice.  Very fuckin' nice.  Now hold it in your lips and move your
head back and forth.  Yeah.  Roll your tongue around it inside your mouth.
That's right.  That's real nice.  Rub your lips on the tip of it.  Move
your head from side to side.  That's it.  Mmm.  Now get under it and lick
my balls.  Ahhh yeahh.  Slow.  Nice and slow.  Cup my balls in your lips
but don't suck them.  Yesss.  Now lick...lick...good girl."
   After a while she had me worked up like a stud bull and I grabbed her
head and thrust in and out of her, pinched her nostrils and clogged her
throat until she started sputtering and whimpering like a lost puppy.  I
pretty much ignored her discomfort and gripped her lower teeth, lodging my
thumb against the base of her tongue so she wouldn't bite me accidentally,
keeping her mouth open to stuff her spittle-reamed throat-hole with my
aching cock-head, in and out, thrusting deep past her uvula and back almost
all the way out for a good five minutes.  Her face was almost purple when I
tired of this.  I let her go and she slumped against the wall again and
slid down to the floor, coughing and wheezing.
   I pushed my foot against her face and told her to lick me.
   She swallowed and gulped and her gagging fit subsided.
   It took her a moment but she complied.
   There was no other recourse for her.
   Her soft hair tickled my ankles as she moved against me.
   I made her lick both of my feet instructing her to push her tongue
between each toe, making her lick all around the calloused edge of the
heel, pressing the sole of my foot down into her mouth and nose as I
stroked myself, and then I pulled on the rope around her neck and yanked
her up on her knees to drag her over to the table where Tessie still
obediently lay.
   I drew her right up to Tessie until Jane's head hovered over her baby
sister's pink puffy man-raped slit then I untied her wrists and slipped
them into leather cuffs on either side of the table Tessie lay on buckling
them tight, forcing Jane to hug the wooden platform, leaving her back, ass
and legs vulnerable for my attack.
   "Eat her," I told her.  "Eat your little sister out for me."
   "No!" she pleaded.  "Please don't make me do that.  Pleeease!"
   "Its real simple.  If you don't put your mouth in your sister's cunt and
start licking I'll put the shotgun in it and pull the fuckin' trigger."
   "Pleeease!"
   "You heard me."
   She bit her lip, sniffling, as she realized that her pleading would get
her nowhere and after a moment she leaned down and pushed her mouth
gingerly into Tessie's little twat.
   I turned to the little one.
   "Lift your legs up high and spread em for Jane," I ordered.
   Tessie obliged me her pretty tanned legs, little red toe-nails like her
sister's, pointing up at the recessed lights in the ceiling of the killing
room as I reached in the glass cabinet for a long thin dressage whip.
   I stood behind the kneeling teenager, behind her and slightly to the
right.
   I could still feel the wetness of her mouth on my feet.
   "I'm gonna whip you, Jane," I warned her.  "You just keep eating Tessie
out.  But each time the whip hits you I want you to raise your head and
count for me.  Understand?"
   "Ghmm," she moaned.  "M-gg-nn count?"
   "Yes, you stupid little fuck.  Count.  And if you miss a number or
otherwise fuck it up I'll use a knife on you instead of a whip.  You got
it?"
   "Ghh!" she moaned nodding her head, her mouth in her sister's cunt as
she steeled herself for the punishment.
   In the end I was going to use a knife on her anyway.
   But that would be much later.
   I gripped the whip's handle tightly raised it high and swatted Jane's
slender back with it, hard across both her shoulderblades.
   "Ygggghh!" she cried, raised her lovely head and shouted:
   "One!"
   I slashed it across her slender waist.
   "Ghhmmm - Two!"
   I cut across her pretty buttcheeks.
   "Uwhgggh!  - Three!"
   "Good pig," I commented approvingly.  "Keep counting."
   I enjoyed the way she moved to the whip-pain and she knelt there eating
her little sister out and taking the hard slishing heat I dealt her.  Some
bitches don't look good or sound good when they're being whipped but Jane
was a fucking natural.  She had a sexy throaty almost husky voice and she
was born to hurt.  After the first twenty her back and ass-cheeks were
streaked red, some cuts dewy with blood.
   "Keep eating her," I said stepping up behind her to rub my cock on her
welted back.
   I watched Tessie's little feet wriggling in the air as Jane licked deep
into the little bitch's snatch and I stepped back to give my kneeling
victim thirty more strokes, slow-paced, harsh, mostly across her butt and
thighs making her leap off her knees with each stroke.  She would rear back
her head and shout out each number and I would wait for her to resume, her
brown-haired head falling forward to the task I had assigned her.
   I moved in again to rub my cock on her welted buttcheeks and to tell her
she was a worthless lying little scumbucket and to lick Tessie's little
asshole, to ream it and get it ready for my cock.
   Then I stepped back to give her forty more strokes all over including
her heels and the soles of her delicate feet.  When I was done with her she
was sobbing and twitching but she never stopped doing what I ordered her to
do.  She was a good little slaughterpig.  The dressage whip cut fierce
lines in her and several purpleblack welts spilled blood which trickled off
her and on to the floor but she kept on pushing her face into Tessie's
asscrack, raising her face each time to cry out the stroke numbers, never
once losing her place, always intelligible although hysterical and shrill.
   I tossed the whip on the table and moved in.
   Making Jane crouch under me I commanded her now to lick my balls and my
asshole while I put my cock to Tessie's little anus and lifted the child's
legs by the ankles.
   Hotly moist from all the licking Tessie's anus was incredibly not as
difficult to penetrate as her little twat had been earlier.  Still I had to
grip the little slut's legs tight and raise her up off the table to push
the full-fledged lenghth of my sex into her.  Down beneath me, as Tessie
wailed, down between my legs my little slaughterslave Jane pushed her
pretty face between my big buttocks and her tongue lapped eagerly at my
balls and at my shithole.
   Ohh yeahh this was heaven.  My cock stuffed in the twelve-year old's
super-tight shit-chute and her sister's mouth all over my swollen balls and
tingling asshole.  As I said, six long months had transpired since my last
kill and it took all I had to keep from strangling both bunnies right then
and fucking their dead bodies.
   I was in a real inspired killing mood and I kept building on it and
building on it, crudely pistoning in and out of Tessie, dipping my ass down
into Jane's face, thinking through what I wanted to do with both victims.
Jane's nails scratched at the sides of the table her cuffed hands in motion
as she pushed her face into me and I in turn pushed my meat deep into
Tessie.  Both girls were sobbing, Tessie squealing as I pumped in and out,
my cockhead busting past her sphincter, in and out, causing her pain like
she'd never felt before, breaking the little piglet in half.
   I released Jane's wrists from the sides of the torture table and made
her sit under me her whipped back against the table legs, her face right in
front of me.  Now I could work Tessie for a while then dip down and feed
Jane my shit-smeared prick.  When my cock slid out of the twelve year old's
body it would be hot and pulsing, slightly irritated from the tight
penetration.  Jane's mouth would immediately envelop it in cool sucking
pleasure, her throat humming anxiously her eyes tilting up to watch me. 
Then I would plunge into Tessie's bouncing, screaming body, my fingers
wrapped hard around her little ankles, leaving bruises on her skinny legs
as I sodomized her sweet little ass.  And again I would pull all the way
out, Tessie squeezing out hershey-squirts of faeces on her sister's face
and sobbing on the table as Jane helplessly and slackly leaned forward to
swallow my organ.
   Viciously, dangerously aroused, I ordered Jane on her feet.  I told her
to raise her arms up and I slipped her wrists into steel manacles that hung
from an overhead chain.  Pulling on a small crank lever on the wall I
raised her arms high almost lifting her up off her feet.  Tessie just lay
on the table sniffling and watching as I lifted her sister's legs up and
attached her ankles to leather cuffs, each leg separate and raised high so
that when I was finished Jane hung by her wrists, her pretty thighs wide
apart and raised in a wide V, obscenely spread open for me, her little
sister's shit running down her face.  Then I reached down and grabbed
Tessie's arms to lift her up into suspension on another set of manacles, on
a chain next to her older sister.  I lifted the child's legs up also and
ankle-cuffed them.  When I was finished the two sisters hung side by side
for me, dangling in mid air, legs flung high and wide, in my killing
chamber.
   I went to my collection of weapons in the glass cabinet my mind made up,
the choice already clear.
   I slipped my right hand into the metal band with the spiked
knuckle-studs.
   This was a device of my own invention, patterned on the brass knuckles
gansters used but far more cruel.
   When I turned to the girls and walked toward them they began to wriggle
on their chains and kick their trapped legs.
   They knew what was coming.
   3.
   Cunt-punching both hanging teenage girls with my spiked metal knuckle
band I'm in my element.  I'm the wolf in the forest, the shark in the
tropical reefs, the hawk swooping down from the clouds.
   I take my time with it and enjoy it making sure each blow is what I want
it to be.
   There is an art to it, to doing it just right, the torture and the
mutilation and the slaughter.  There is a kind of zen to it that I've
learned after many patient hours of strenous work, sometimes very sloppy
work I might add, on female victims.
   I look into their pretty little faces, Jane and Tessie, Tessie and Jane,
into their eyes, just standing there, my spiked fist raised, about to
plunge and just wait and listen.  Their heart-rending pleas for mercy, for
release, for their mommies, are just so sweet to me - the sound of their
rapid nervous breath between words.
   With Tessie its so unfair too.  That such a small little baby-muff
should take the slamming punches of a two-hundred and fifty pound, ten-inch
cocked bald monster, leaning forward, my powerful arm cocked (my arm as
thick as her thigh), my sneering face over her, leering as I punch the
spikes into tender child pussymeat.  And Jane, so pretty, her brown eyes
gleaming with tears as I grip the side of her whipped leg and clamp my
teeth together, growling to punch her strawberry-colored slit viciously and
repeatedly to watch her wide-mouthed shit-faced screams.
   I believe myself to be the yin to their yang, the knife looking for a
sheath, the bullet looking for a wound.  I need my victims but my victims
need me.  They need to die an unjust, unmerciful and undeserved death
because such horror is the antithesis of beauty and is therefore essential
in the universe.
   I stand in front of each child to deliver five or six blows before
moving to the other.  Each smack of my spiked fist sends their suspended
bodies swinging and wobbling in mid air, their bound legs kicking, their
arms reaching, stretching, bending, their hands supplicantly splayed.  On
the smaller child the impact sound of the blows is less meaty than with
Jane whose more developed vagina absorbs the punches and dribbles blood. 
After a couple of rounds both girls piss blood.  Jane shits herself and I
snarl meanly and slam the back of her thighs.
   My hatred of both girls is perfect, beautiful and symmetrical.
   I smell their shit and urine and their blood and it excites me beyond
belief.
   I stop beating them to fuck them, raising my stiff meat up first into
the twelve year old's violated little pussyhole, ramming it deep and making
her shriek, gripping her thighs to pull her back and forth on me,
masturbating myself with her.  Then I move to her sister to stuff myself up
her shit-creamed asshole, spitting on the brown-haired teen's suffering
face and anal-banging her with brutal thrusts of my strong hips.
   Then I pull out of them and beat their cunts some more with the spiked
knuckles, pock-marking their mounds with wounds and dark bruises.  I
broaden the area of attack to include the backs of both girl's thighs and
the sides of their legs until they bleed from hundreds of small piercings,
until the floor is spattered with blood and piss and shit.
   "Are we having fun yet?" I shout at them, laughing gleefully as I beat
them randomly.
   I'm such a lunatic.
   Their screams of pain are accompanied by the thrumming of raindrops on
the glass panes behind me.
   But I don't want to kill them this way.  It would be much too quick and
very incomplete and unfulfilling.
   I still have a long way to go with these two precious innocents.
   So I stop and clean up a bit with disposable cloths, wipe up the shit
and piss from the floor, wipe the blood from their cunt-mounds which are
swollen and black and blue.  I have to keep wiping a few times until the
wounds clot, especially with Jane whose thighs, striped by the dressage
whip, also bleed.
   I can't explain why I need to clean up things now because later I will
probably enjoy the most extreme messiness.  But its still early in the game
with Tessie and Jane, still early.  And I don't always know exactly why I'm
compelled to do what I do.
   Or why I'm compelled when I'm compelled.
   Like realizing at that moment that I need to take care of that vehicle
they've left out on the road.  You would think that such trivia would have
been the last thing on my mind just then.  But the lucid, the cunning part
of me was telling me that leaving the car out there any longer would be a
mistake.
   Nor can I explain the need to now increase and prolong my victims'
torture before going off.
   All I know is that when I am compelled I act on it.
   It is impossible to negate the dictates of my nature.
   I switch on the hot plate, drop some metal hooks on it and put on my
work gloves.
   The little bitches are begging and mewling and whining and carrying on
as they watch me come for them, red-hot metal hooks in my gloved hand.
   Their shrieks as I pierce them almost make me cum.
   I put hooks through their little nipples and labia slowly, pushing hot
metal through pink girlskin, through beaten cuntlips, small hurtful fishing
hooks which smoulder and hiss as they poke through girl-flesh and draw
raucous frenzy.  One hook through each nipple, one through the middle of
each pussy-lip and then with snap hooks I attach small metal chains, four
little silver chains on each girl, hooked to one central chain that dangles
down below their bruised, beaten, knucklepierced cunt-mounds.  On that
single strand of metal, on each victim, I clip a twenty pound cylinder
which pulls down on the hooks stabbed through nipple and cuntmeat.  Their
little titties sag and their pussylips are stretched down as the metal
cylinder drops almost touching the floor.
   Leaving the girls crying and screaming in this intolerable suffering I
turn and exit the killing chamber, shutting the lights off on them and
closing the door behind me.
   I go downstairs and dress quickly, a t-shirt and jeans, moccasins.
   Outside the rain is cold and sharp and the wind buffets against me as I
walk out the front gate and up the road.
   The green BMW is easy to spot.  Its the only car parked on the sandy
shoulder of Oceanside Road, about a half mile from the house.
   I try the driver side door and find it open.
   Just as I thought, the keys are in the visor above the steering wheel.
   Exactly where Jane Carmichael stupidly left them.
   The car smells of the girls.  Their fragrance, also on me, under my
clothes, is sweetly overpowering.Their clothes and sneakers, fast food
wrappers and other junk is scattered all over the back seat.  As I start it
up and activate the wipers I think of them hanging up in the killing room
in my beach-house suffering for me, the hot, weighed-down metal hooks
pulling on their little titties and pussies, the storm blasting against the
windows.  I know the terror and fear that must be posessing them, specially
little Tessie.  I know they are praying someone will come while I'm gone
and rescue them.  I am still hard and big and the fabric of the jeans is
pulled in a taut mound under the steering wheel.  My own manstink wafts
into the humid stuffiness in the car as I pull out on the road and drive
back toward the house.
   I drive through the gate, pulling up behind my black Lexus, the
automatic gate and garage doors sliding shut behind me, the garage lights
coming on automatically.
   After I shut the engine off I put the remote gate-switch back in my
pocket and sit in the car for a few minutes planning what I am about to do
with the two females, mulling it over.
   Impulsively I open the glove compartment, pull out the registration and
insurance papers and read:
Owner: Ronald Carmichael
Address: 325 Cherrywood Lane
   Farnwell, SC
   I smile.  This is a deeper unspeakable and demonic pleasure, physical as
well as psychological.
   Cherrywood.  How fucking appropriate.
   I wonder if there are any pictures of Ronald and the lovely wife and
their two little bimbettes and I rummage quickly through the stack of
papers.
   I am rewarded by the discovery of a couple of pics tucked into a road
map, showing a balding, conservatively dressed man in a blue polo shirt, a
thin blonde woman and the two children now hanging upstairs in my killing
chamber, much younger in this shot, all looking happy, shit-eating grins on
their faces in front of what seems to be some kind of amusement park.  Mr.
and Mrs.  Carmichael flank the giant waving figure of Mickey Mouse, whose
black and white ball-eared head is tilted in a friendly salute, his four
fingered hand raised high above the group.
   This is deepest most primitive pleasure.
   I feel it in my balls.
   I am taking your children Ronald, I silently tell the photograph. 
Taking them away from you forever.
   And you Mrs.  Carmichael, will you cry each night wondering what has
happened to your lovely sweet girlbabies?  Will your imagination even be
close to what I have in mind?
   You won't have to wonder for too long.
   A year from now I will send a letter.  I will sign it Blade' as I always
do.  One to the police and a copy to the parents.  It will be printed out
by an old Epson dot-matrix printer stolen from the office of a bankrupt
loan business ten years earlier.  Some nasty black and white photos will
accompany both letters, graphic proof that what is written is exactly what
is depicted, and there will be information as to where the remains of the
victims can be located.
   Blade's grisly treasure map.
   The FBI will scour the letter for clues.  They will find the bodies
where I will leave them.  But they won't find anything to incriminate me.
Not the smallest most microscopic clue that will do them any good.
   Eventually the remains of the victims will be returned to the parents
and there will be a funeral and a burial.  Sometimes I have been cheated by
a cremation or two but in most cases I am rewarded with a beautiful
ceremony at a cemetery, black limousines and weeping friends and relatives
which I watch from a distance, waiting.
   Depending on the privacy of the area I have sometimes had to wait until
night fall but sometimes I've been able to carry out the last indignity on
my victims in the glaring light of day.
   When the mourners have left and the cemetery workers have finished their
work and the coffin or coffins have been covered over, Blade, as he has
before, will again make his way to the soft fresh grave.  Weeks later, when
the headstones are in place, he will come back for more.  Then he will turn
and walk away, as elusive as a the shadow of a cloud moving across the
grass.
   I put the pics of the Carmichael family back into the glove compartment
and step out of the car.  The girls' BMW would present some interesting
problems but none I hadn't dealt with before.
   Quickly I walk into the killing house through the kitchen entrance,
stopping to slug down a beer and pop a couple of uppers.  In the living
room I do two lines of coke while I watch the palm trees outside swaying in
the violent wind.
   Then I strip naked, dropping my clothes on the floor and climbing the
stairs two by two.
   I'm eager to continue what I've started.
   There is no need to keep Tessie and Jane waiting any longer.
   5.
   When I take the weights off the chains and remove the hooks the girls
bleed on my hands and cry and beg but Blade has moved beyond the human
sphere now.  Their verbal pleas for pity might as well be silence.
   I am the destroyer of worlds.
   I need to fuck them both again, especially Tessie.  I need to be in that
tight little pussy again, especially now that the blood from the hook wound
will drip from it and down my balls and thighs.
   Its nice to fuck the little bitch again and I do it hard and slow giving
her all ten inches of me up her little twat, in and out, mmm, in and out,
real slow and then up her little a-hole.
   "You're gonna kill her!" Jane screams at me.
   "I'm gonna kill both of you," I remind her.
   I put both my big hands around Tessie's little neck and press my thumbs
into her warm throat, into the pulsing arteries, watching her gasp for air
as I throttle her punished puss and then her tight rectum filling her with
manmeat.
   I have not bothered to turn the lights on again and I fuck the child in
the darkened room, the tempestuous rain storm crashing outside behind me.
   I lean forward to lick her lips and her cheeks and her eyes, to kiss her
hard, while she tries to breathe and stares up at me wide eyed wondering
what the slitted-eyed monster wants from her, my little babyfuck stuffed so
full of me she bleeds and hurts and whines for me so pretty.
   Then I pull out and move to Jane.
   Its nice to have the girls hanging there like that, wide open, hung by
their wrists and ankles, so convenient, so open and ready to receive all I
have to offer.
   My cock is achingly full and throbbing.  I attach a rubber collar around
its base to keep my erection at its maximum potential.  There are tiny
metal spikes on the collar pointed outward.
   Jane is a precious teenage slut, long wavy brown hair cascading down
past her shoulders in gossamer strands, her body already grown up, filling
out, curvaceous, wide-hipped almost voluptuous but still child-like.  She
looks up at me with such fear and such openness, her beaten hook-pierced
cunt framed by her whip-striped thighs waiting for me as I put my shaft
right up to it.
   "I want you to ask for it," I tell her softly.
   "ngg -?"
   "Yes, cunt.  Ask for my cock.  Say: Fuck me, sir.  Please."
   "I - I - oh God - uhm - I - c-can't -"
   "You can and you will.  Do what I say.  Just fucking do what I say."
   " - please don't kill us - please sir - please -"
   "Did you hear what I told you to do?  Or are you deaf?"
   She sobs brokenly and I wait, poised, my prick pulsing, the tip resting
on her bruised and bloody slit.
   " -won't tell anybody - won't - please -"
   "Do it, bitch.  You have no choice.  Tell me what I need to hear."
   "P-pleease," she tells me finally, weakly.  "Please, s-sir - fuck me."
   "That's better, you stinking little whore," I growl and push my meat
deep into the sixteen year old going up on my toes.
   Her cunt is warm wet and bloody around my dick.  It is a cute little
cunt which deserves the most cruel pounding.  Imagining her life I think
about how she prepares herself each day and each night, with creams and
perfumes and oils and scented bath gels from Bed Bath And Beyond, with
expensive shampoos and conditioners, with slutty little teenage clothes
from the upscale mall outside Farnwell, spending her daddy Carmichael's
money on her VISA, showing her pretty legs off to the boys in school,
wanting to show them even more, pink-pantied little fuck flirting with the
male teachers, smoking pot in the bathroom, trying to get the attention of
the football team quarterback during study hall, being snobby to the other
girls in the cafeteria, the ones that are not as rich or as pretty. 
Shaving her legs in the tub before trying on the green bikini, the one she
will go out on the beach with.  Painting her toenails bright red while loud
hip-hop blasts from the stereo in her room making her shimmy her shoulders
and waggle her hips.  Then painting Tessie's toes, teaching her little
sister to be just like her, little cockteaser, little rich bimbo slut. 
This cunt needs punishment.  It is the meat that I want, meat for Blade,
girlmeat, tailor-made for violation.
   I grab her legs hard and slam in and out of her cunt and the chains she
hangs on rattle as I pound her.
   I hilt my cock in her and my hands move up to her neck to strangle her
like I did Tessie.
   "Tell me again, cunt," I snarl at her.  "Tell me again!"
   "Ughh - ggg - pleeeze - sir - fuhck meee -"
   I pump her violently and choke her until she's flushed red and gasping
then I slide out of her.
   "You're gonna fuck my fist, you piece of trash pig."
   I push three fingers up her twat then four, in and out to loosen her up,
then my whole hand balled up as I sneer and stare into her face.
   "Fuck it, bitch.  Fuck it."
   I have to really push to get my fist inside her and when it goes all the
way in she throws her head back, way back, to let out a piercing wailing
shriek.
   I look over and see Tessie watching us, crying and sobbing softly.
   Jane's pink-swollen, beaten, bloody cuntmound accomodates the full
intrusion, accepts the unacceptable, the big fist of a thirty five year old
male, sliding all the way to the wrist inside her.  Inside she is juicy and
tender, lubricating involuntarily as I pump my strong limb back and forth
inside her screaming body.  Little scumbag bitch at my mercy now, hanging
and taking it.
   I yank my fist out of her, put my cock to her anal pucker and gripping
her by her plump whip-scarred buttocks I send all ten inches up her
shit-hole.  She bounces and shakes her head from side to side and rattles
her chains some more, her redpainted toes wriggling, her feet kicking
pointlessly above her head.  She begs me to stop.  Her warm blood floods my
shaft.  I feel it moving down my taut thighs.
   Stop?  Not a chance in hell, cunt.
   My hands go back to her throat.
   When her mouth is gasping wide, brows arched, eyes wide, cheeks flushed,
I spit down her throat, bite her tongue to blood, bite her cheeks.
   "Cunt!" I shout at her.  "Filthy stinking slutty cunt!"
   My anger is at fever pitch.
   I pull out of her and return to Tessie.
   The child cringes away from me, turns her face against her upstretched
shoulder.
   Fist-fucking her is a lot harder.  A lot fucking harder.  It takes me a
good ten minutes to open her up.  Just putting four fingers in her already
rips her gouged and hook-pierced vagina, draws blood, makes me want to just
fucking kill her right then, screaming bawling little fuckmeat, jerking on
the chains helplessly as I put my fist to er, baby Tessie, baby of the
Carmichael clan, still playing with dolls, wearing pink socks like in the
polaroids I saw in the car, pink socks...  hugging teddy bears and falling
asleep on daddy's shoulder, now with red-painted toes like her sister,
little girl now mine as I push my whole goddamned hand into her baby
snatch. I hear it coming apart, splitting open, I smell it as she breaks,
pisses on me and screams and shits herself, messy little waif.  YEahhhh!' I
shout when I'm all the way in her softness, in her wetness, inside Tessie's
virgin womb.  Ohhh yeahhh!' This is heaven, this is the core of who I am,
Blade, girlkiller, fist-fucker, snuffer and breaker of children, tormentor
of female.  Not the other, unemotional, smug businessman.  That one is the
enabler, the one that allows me to live in the perfect seclusion needed for
the carrying out of these atrocities.  Is anything more beautiful than
this? Tessie, torn apart years before she is even ready to be penetrated
and used, abused beyond all sane humanity, busted up like a broken toy.  I
hate - yes HATE - the little bitch, though I have no idea why, since I
barely even know her.  I hate her like I hate all females and I want her
dead and I show her my complete annihilating hatred by ramming my fist even
deeper while her sister Jane screams and pleads for the little one's life,
the little one now howling frenziedly.
   "That's right!" I shout at her.  "Scream for me, baby!  Scream your head
off for me!"
   I have to hold her by her blonde head to move my fist in and out of her,
gripping her soft mane in a tangled clump on top of her head while I fist
fuck the sweet little angel bitch - in and out - slow - in and out - slower
- her legs stiffly stretching, red toes pointed at the ceiling, her body
arched, her hook wounded nipples bleeding down her chest and belly. 
Pulling my fist almost completely out of her I leave it at the point of
maximum tension where it hurts Tessie the most, her little puss dilated to
its limit to accept the full circumference of my fist.  Then as the screams
of both sisters fill my ears I slam back into her and pump the whining
bitch ferociously, making her dance on the chains and almost pass out.
   As slowly and hurtfully as I can I draw my fist out of Tessie's little
cunt.
   As I withdraw she makes strange dog-like guttural noises.  White streams
of mucous trickle from her nostrils.
   I rub my cock on her bleeding slit, push just the swollen corona into
her as she whimpers, move my hands up her legs to her feet to feel her
slickly painted toes between my fingers.  Then I push slowly all the way
into her until the spikes in the band at the base of my cock pierce her
swollen labia.  She whines and the sound she makes rises in pitch until it
is a squeal.  I have to hold back to keep from shooting off inside her. 
Very slowly I pull out of her.  I wipe the blood from her hairless pussy
off my cock and rub it all over her pretty face.  She looks up at me - her
innocent mind blown to hell.
   As beautiful as the torture of this twelve year old piglet is I have to
move on to something else.  I need to hurt both girls now.  Hurt them bad.
   The Carmichael sisters have been in suspension for about two hours and
their wrists and ankles are chafed and bleeding.
   I turn on the overhead lights to see them better, to study them,
circling them as they hang there, slowly, gloatingly masturbating.
   Below the glass cabinet on the wall, in a wooden drawer chest are the
more interesting torture devices.
   From the top drawer I choose the two metal dildos.
   Yes.  These will do.
   I push the snub-nosed shafts into my victims, one deep up into Jane's
cunt, the other into Tessie's.  There are terminals on the bottoms of each
shaft and I connect these to the wires that lead back to the voltage
regulator I've plugged into the wall outlet.  A button switch on a long
wire leads away from the regulator.  I place the switch in Jane's trapped
wrist-manacled hand.
   Staring into her tortured face until I'm sure she is listening I explain
to her that when I turn on the device electricity will flow into her body
through her cunt.  The only thing she can do to stop that from happening is
to press the button on the switch I've given her.  By doing that she will
re-direct the juice meant for her to her darling little baby sister.  I ask
her to nod if she understands.  She does so and barely manages to begin
pleading with me again before I click the regulator power button to the on'
position.
   Instantly Jane is dancing in mid air and screaming.
   It isn't long before she presses the button and Tessie comes to life
writhing and squealing.
   Realizing fully the results of her action Jane releases the button and
takes the punishment back from Tessie but I know she will not be able to
take it for long and to make sure of that I turn the dial that increases
the amount of juice.
   I stroke myself enjoying the moral and physical destruction of my
teenage slut.
   She knows that pushing that button will divert the pain away from her to
Tessie.  The heart-breaking way she looks at her sister when she does so
says it all.
   And can there be anything more beautiful than the resignation in Jane's
sepiatoned eyes as she looks up at me after a few moments of this to
release the switch?  Or anything more lovely than the tense contractions of
her trapped limbs as I turn up the intensity and wait for her to send the
punishment to Tessie?
   Blue sparks crackle all over Tessie's penetrated girl-slit.  The child's
shrill cries are deafening and she's covered with sweat as her body
contracts, twists, her head snapping back and forth, bubbly froth spilling
from her lips.
   There's a lot of life in the child and I'm going to enjoy taking every
last fucking bit of it.
   "Better let go of that button," I tell Jane.  "Or your sister's gonna be
toast."
   "God - please - please -" she groans.
   Tessie's chains rattle as she swings from side to side.
   "Please what, bitch?  What are you looking at me for?  Its up to you
now."
   She has no other choice and she knows it.  I watch as she releases the
button and I watch the invasive attack of the voltage rock and roll through
her.
   I step in closer to watch her and talk to her as she suffers.
   "Are you trying to prove to me you're a good sister?  Huh?  Is that what
you're trying to show me, you little lying tramp?  You brought her to the
beach so you could flaunt yourself around and not get picked up.  I know
your little game.  I know all your little games.  Little sleaze pup.  Well,
your little game backfired this time, Jane.  Now its your fucking fault
little Tessie's even here.  Its your fault.  Yeah.  Your fault.  Your
fault. And on top of that you're so weak you can't take the pain and you
rather she took it for you, don't you?  Come on.  Push that button.  You
know you're a useless slut.  I know you're a useless slut.  You don't have
to prove anything to me.  Come on, Jane.  Hurt her.  Give her some of that
shit.  There's no reason you have to take all of it."
   My words tear at her.  The pain and confusion in her eyes is beautiful
for me.
   When finally she presses the button I move toward Tessie to watch what
the electricity does to her.
   "Gghherrrrrrghggghh!" the child screams inhumanly.  Her little feet
twist and kick against the metal cuffs, her blue eyes roll back in her head
and she trembles and drools and her teeth chatter.  Smoke wafts up from her
bleeding dildo-filled vagina.  Spurts of bloody piss are expelled from her
beaten slit.
   This time when Jane releases the button the switch slips out of her hand
and falls to the floor.  Now she has no control over the explosive pain
racking through her muscles.
   I bend down to pick up the switch watching Jane grunt and kick in the
spasmic dance provoked by the dildo in her snatch.
   "Just say the word, pig," I tell her.  "Give it to Tessie.  That's all
you have to say to me.  Give it to Tessie."
   "Nooooo -" Tessie pleads.  "Let us go, mister.  Pleeease!  Don't hurt me
and my sister any m-more."
   My eyes never leave Jane's anguished face.
   "G-ggghh -" she grunts.
   "I didn't get that, Jane," I tell her.
   "G-ggivvve - guh -guh -givh -"
   "Give - Is that what you're saying?  Give?  Give what?  Give what,
bitch?"
   "No!  No!  No!" Tessie pleads already steeling herself for what is
inevitable.
   "G-Give it t-to T-TESSIEEEEE!" Jane screams with all the breath in her
lungs.
   "If that's what you want," I sneer and push the button.
   Tessie almost rips herself off the chains, choking and gagging on her
own spit, her tonge rolling back in her mouth, her face darkly red.
   I let her bounce on for almost three minutes and then I shut the
regulator off.
   Both victims hang inertly, panting breathlessly, moaning softly.  I
circle them, study them, enjoy them.
   I disconnect the switch from the terminal box wait a few seconds and
power up again.
   Now both girls are assaulted by the buzzing sparking heat.  Both girls
twitch and dance for me at the same time as I stand watching, smiling.
   When smoke is rising up from both of them and the smell of burnt meat
fills the room I lean down to shut off the power.
   After a few moments I give them another burst.
   My babies dance wildly.  Screams, smoke, pain.
   Watching intently I keep them on the killing edge.
   Is there anything more beautiful?
   Then I shut the box down.
   Its time to get serious.
   Its Blade time.
   6.
   I put on the surgical gloves.
   Outside, the rain has calmed down to a drizzle and the thunder has moved
away into the distance.
   It is late afternoon, sunset still almost two hours away.
   On the table I open two packets of disposable Guillete stainless steel
shaving blades.  I spread the bundle out and the overhead lights glint on
them as I remove the cardboard packing on each tiny rectangular,
donut-holed wafer.
   My father long ago used these, when electric razors were far less
popular, popping them into the metal razor-holder, turning the dial on the
shaft to close the tiny metal wings that held the cutting instrument in
place before raising the tool to his stubbly chin.
   I used to watch him and to look at him in the mirror as he smiled.
   "One day you'll do this too," he would say.
   I was fascinated by the paper thin squares of metal resting on the edge
of the washbasin but he wouldn't let me touch them.
   "You'll hurt yourself, boy.  Wait till you grow up."
   My father would not know, because he died before I even got to high
school, that I would never use the blades for what they had been intended.
I much preferred and electric razor for that purpose.  But I did start
using the disposable Guilletes early, in high school, a year before the
prom to be exact.
   I used them, actually, on Sara Goldberg, a Jewish girl who was a
freshman at Lake Hills High that year.  She was my first meat, the first to
taste my murderous sociopathic sexual wrath.
   I'd been watching her for a few weeks and then I'd overheard her talking
by the lockers with her friends saying how her parents got home at six in
the afternoon everyday and how she had all this time alone at home to goof
off.  She didn't know that at that moment she'd been chosen.  She had just
innocently sealed her own fate.
   She was a runner in the track team and I'd seen her sprinting across the
field in her white shorts and blue top with the number twelve on the back
and the Lake Hills High logo on the front.  She wore short skirts and I
would watch her flirt with the boys in the hallways, her long sexy legs
bared almost to her panties as she climbed up and down the stairwells
between periods.  I dreamed of what my little blades would do to those
legs. She had long black kinky hair to her shoulders and rosy cheeks and I
would jerk off in the shower everyday at home thinking about her, thinking
about what I wanted to do to her slender young body, thinking about the
packet of steel sharpness in the medicine cabinet.
   Since I'd had no personal contact with her other than my surreptitious
stalking I knew it would be unlikely that anyone would connect her with me.
   And I'd been right.
   I made sure no one was around that day I called on Sara Goldberg after
school.  I knocked and when she opened the door I pushed her inside and
punched her in her pretty face to stop her from screaming.  I had
everything I needed in a backpack strapped to my shoulders.  She had no
chance against me.  I was already spending a lot of time on the bench press
in those days and pinning her down to gag her and tie her up, as I'd
suspected, presented no problem.  There was nothing fancy in my backpack
then, just rope, duct tape, and the packet of Guillete blades.
   She was my first and as such was far from perfect but still, by far, one
of the most enjoyable.
   I dragged her upstairs to the bathroom put on my plastic gloves and beat
the living shit out of her first with my fists and then with a small wooden
club I'd found in the trash on the way to her house that afternoon.  The
tiles in the old-style bathroom were white and the floor was checkered,
black and white, all tiled.  The tub and sink had chrome faucets.  Her
gagged screaming really got me going and it didn't take very long for her
blood to get all over everything.  I had stripped naked and when I fucked
her, kicking her legs open and slamming her against the cold floor, I wore
a condom.  I loved the way her fear-wide eyes stared up at me, one of them
already bruised and swelling.  She knew who I was, recognized me from
school, but had no clue as to how or why I was attacking her.  Then I
draped her over the edge of the tub, fucked her up the ass and broke her
legs and cracked her hips with the club.  I bashed her heels and ankles and
her feet kept slipping around my legs on the bloody floor.  She wouldn't be
running the mile any more.  I called her a stinking Jew and pushed her
gagged face into the toilet, squishing her head down into the water under
my foot while I smacked her back and broke her spine.  After that she was
paralyzed so the rest was easy.  I pressed thirty five blades into her, all
over her body, mostly into her pretty thighs and calves, into her warm pale
skin as she whined and sobbed into the duct-tape I'd wrapped around her
head.  Then I looped a strand of rope tight around her neck and hung her
from the showerhead watching her choke and sputter to death bleeding into
the tub, her broken body twitching as I hoisted and secured her up on the
shower pipe, pretty black kinky hair all tangled on the cord, wet, her
bloody feet scrabbling against the bloody tiles, hands tied behind her, her
eyes looking pleadingly into mine right to the moment she died her face
violet-hued, her pupils rolling upward.  Stepping out of the tub and
pulling the shower curtain away I stared at her dead broken bleeding body
peeling off the condom and jerking myself off until I came with a wild
shout shooting my cum into the toilet.  As the kill-lust died away I
reached down and flushed.  It was nice.  Like I was flushing Sara's life
down the toilet too along with the used rubber and the phlegm-like gobs of
fresh sperm.
   Then I showered her blood off me tilting my head back, opening my mouth
under the warm spray to spit water all over her dead face while she hung
there in front of me watching me through rolled-up dead eyes.
   I wiped my footprints from the bloody floor with one towel and took
another towel with me to dry myself off in the hallway outside, packed both
towels and the club back into my knapsack and got dressed.  The kill had
taken less than an hour.  It would be nearly two more hours before her
parents got home.  Calmly, with no need to rush, I went out the back door
and sneaked through two adjacent yards before exiting to the street to
saunter back home.
   The murder was in all the papers but there were no clues and no
suspects, no traces or prints.
   It would be years before the murder of Sara Goldberg was connected to
fourteen other murders with the same telltale signature.
   ______________________
   Now, I pick up a packet of brand new blades and move toward fresh child
meat:
   Tessie and Jane.
   I start with Jane first because I'm beginning to have special feelings
for the brown-haired teen.  She will be the first of the sisters to die for
me and I want it to be unique and memorable.
   Lovingly, I run my free hand up her stretched leg, from her ass to her
ankles tracing the welts I've put on her with my fingers, gripping both her
tits to squeeze blood from the hook wounds in the nipples, moving to the
other leg and caressing her down from the cuffed ankle to her ass.  She's
warm, sweaty, moaning.  Young bitch ready for my extreme cruelty, spread
open vulnerably, her eyes bloodshot and teary, her lips swollen, snot and
spit trickling off her cheeks.
   I place the packet on the table next to her and take the first blade.
   Gently, I run the sharp edge against her soft smooth skin, just below
the cuffed ankle, tracing a shallow cut down to her kneehollow.  She
watches me sniffling softly.  I smile down on her and make another cut
across the wide part of her calve from left to right.  She whines softly.
Grimaces.  I lean forward to lick up the bloody drops that begin to ooze
from the cuts.  Every victim has a specific taste and Jane's blood is fresh
honeysuckle mixed with rust.  I nick her kneehollow, one of my favorite
spots, several times.  Later I will strike deeper there, to the tendon and
muscle, but for now its just her lovely skin that I need to slice up, her
lovely young tanned girlmeat.  I bend down to cup my lips on the bleeding
nicks.  Working patiently I place another seven cuts on her leg from the
ankle to the knee, horizontally and vertically, making no special pattern,
just cutting her.  Then I shift my attention to the other leg softly moving
my fingers over the welted surface before applying the sharp edge of thin
steel.  I stripe her lovely bare leg with cuts, fifteen of them, right to
left, left to right, between her cuffed heel and the knee, some going
almost all the way around, over her shin, back around into the bulging
calve flesh, making her twitch nervously.
   "Don't move," I tell her.  "Keep very still."
   She nods, bites her lip, trembles.
   Forcefully I push the blade into her right calve, slide it into her skin
and push it deep making her toss her head back and cry out sharply. 
Leaving that blade in her I pick up a fresh one.
   I start to work on her pretty thighs now drawing sharp X's, intersecting
lines, quick slashes.
   I lean in to suck blood from her pierced nipples, to bite her soft
tit-orbs.
   I look over at Tessie to find her staring, mouth gaping.
   "What are you looking at?" I snarl.  "You want some of this?  Huh?  You
want some?"
   She shakes her little blonde head telling me no no no but I'm already
moving toward her.
   My cock is in dire need of attention so I slide it eagerly into the
blonde child's punished baby-pussy which the electrical steel dildo has
burned and widened for me.  She moans as I shove into her and begins to
squeal as I slash her thin coltish legs with the blade edge.  I'm not as
careful as I was with Jane.  With Tessie I want quick blood, quick cuts,
twenty of them, X's and lines that are soon dripping down her kicking
limbs. Pulling out of her I rub my cockhead on the tiny bloodstreams, my
heart racing with excitement as I shove my prick back up into her and draw
deep cut-lines down both her thighs.  Tessie's blood tastes tangy but also
slightly sweet, like duck sauce, and it is hotter than her sister's.  She
babbles and pleads with me and I cut the heels of her little feet and her
foot soles licking up the red bloodlines that pulse down her upstretched
legs.  Then I push five blades into her thighflesh hard burying them in
her. After a few more thrusts into her I withdraw and return to Jane.
   I put my shaft tip up against the brown-haired teen's burn-fucked
asshole.
   "Miss me, pig?" I growl, grinding into her, picking up another blade. 
"Don't want you to get jealous over me and little sis..."
   I work on her plump thighs while I assrape her, cutting slice after
bleeding slice across the back of my wailing kill-slave's legs.  Lodging
two blades in each thigh I start working on her asscheeks.  She bleeds all
over me, I rub her blood on my chest and on my nipples and on my belly.  It
trickles down my legs.  It drips on the floor.  My breath is fast and
clipped as I push ten more blades into her legs and buttocks and she's
nearly fainting, hanging unresponsively as I plunge in and out of her
butthole.
   Her time is at hand.
   I reach up to release her chafed bloody wrists from the manacles.  Her
arms slide down on to my shoulders and I release her ankles to carry her
tortured body, cradled against me, her blade-studded legs cocked around my
hips, through the door on the far side of the room, into the smaller
chamber with the plastic-tarped, four poster, king-size bed.  In this room
I consummate my relationship with my most special victims, a small group
Jane has now become part of.  She will be the tenth girl to die here for my
pleasure.  Leather cuffs on rope strands dangle from each of the corner
posts of the bed and I lay Jane out on her back to tie her by her wrists
and ankles, spreadeagled.
   The teenage victim moans, trembles as she watches me take the serrated
hunting knife from the table by the bed.  Her cut up legs bleed on the
rustling plastic cover.
   Outside in the larger chamber Tessie whines pitifully for her sister.
   "Lick my knife," I whisper, bringing it to Jane's swollen lips.
   She does as I say, her rapid nervous breath fogging up my weapon, her
tongue moving tremulously over its shiny twelve-inch length.
   "I'm gonna cut you open with it," I whisper as she licks.
   "Aghhmm -" she groans, eyes full of horror and surprise as she stares up
at me.
   "But first I'm going to beat you.  Hold it in your mouth."
   "Ghaggmm?"
   I release the blade to her as her teeth grip it tightly.
   From the corner of the room I take the spike-studded wooden bat.
   "Hold my knife tight, bitch.  As long as you can hold it I won't use it
on you, understand?  As long as its in your mouth it won't be cutting you."
   She nods, her eyes full of dread and anticipation as I take one step
back away from the bed.
   She sees me raise the bat.
   "Hold on as long as you can," I tell her.  "...as long as you can."
   I begin with her cut-up legs, slamming the spiked bat down on her shins
and knees with brutal force.  It takes me three or four blows to break her
right tibia.  Only two to bust up the left one.  Jane makes frenzied animal
noises in her throat.  Tessie screams out in the big room.  I pulverize
Jane's left kneecap and move up her thighs with violent thumping smacks
that rip her flesh and crack the femur bones underneath.  But she doesn't
let go of my knife and I grit my teeth and smash into her pelvis and belly
pounding into her guts mercilessly, moving up her ribcage.  The club
whumps, thumps, gashes out the bound teenage slut.  She pisses and shits
blood on the plastic tarp but manages to hold on to the knife until I'm
slamming her tits and her arms with such crushing ferocity that the
mattress bounces and the bed creaks.  In Jane's right arm humerus, ulna and
radius snap like dry twigs.  I smash her left hand against the wall above
the bed breaking all her fingers and then I deliver one final crushing blow
across her collar bone breaking the clavicle and fracturing the sternum and
making her drop the knife, her mouth wide in a shrill throaty endless
scream.
   Tossing the bloody club aside I mount the bed between her smashed up
legs and pick up the hunting knife.
   "Little whore," I growl as I lift my cock up into her bloody twat-slit,
move up on my knees, hilting my meat inside the dying teenager.
   Can there be anything - anything - as beautiful as this final connection
with my victim?
   Fucking her with slow thrusts of my strong hips I slice off her tits
first, cut the beaten bleeding flesh off her as she whines and chokes on
her own blood, pukes, her broken arms tugging on the ropes.
   Then raising the knife high I stab it down just below her sternum, stab
it deep, stab her breathless, wide-mouthed, wide-eyed, to drag the blade
slowly down into her guts, cutting my little whore open all the way down to
her pussy mound.  The sour stench of her makes me dizzy with pleasure and I
stop pumping her to keep from cumming.  I still have Tessie to do.  Even if
Jane is special I can't waste myself on her.  Drawing the knife out of her
I make a vertical cut across the horizontal one completing a cross right
through the little bitch's belly button, slicing through gall-bladder,
liver and stomach, bits of her guts pouring out of her with the dark blood
that now pulses in hot belching glops from the flapping wound.
   Now slicing through the ropes I cut her broken cuffed-limbs free, pull
my dick out of her cunt and swing her over on her belly.  There's no need
to keep her bound anymore.  She flops over weakly, lifelessly, viscera
squeezing out of the T' cut in her front which is now under her.  As I look
down on my kill, I'm rewarded by the lovely sight of her blade-studded
thighs and asscheeks, bloody and bruised, striped and swollen, by the
sharply etched welts on her back.
   I put the knife down and reach for the spiked bat.
   With sneering viciousness I club her shoulderblades until they snap.
   I pound her kidneys.
   "Ughhh - oowhggg - ug - yyghh!" she grunts.
   Tessie screams and wails outside in the large room.  She knows that
whatever is happening to Jane now is final, decisive, and that she will
inevitably be next.
   Huffing and panting with the effort I push the spiked bat, fat end
first, slowly up Jane's snatch, jam it deep into her as she whinnies and
twitches, flails her legs weakly.  The impalement reaches a limit inside
her and I push with all my strength until the bat rips into her broken
uterus and into the muck of her intestines.  Then I crouch, up on my cocked
legs, on my arched feet which sink into the crumpling, bloody plastic tarp,
to shove my cock up her asshole and pick up the knife.
   I pierce deep through both her kneehollows first, slicing her right to
the bone, drawing fierce screams as her nerves and tendons are shredded,
and then I yank the head of my teenage kill up by her hair, back, off the
bed, and put the edge of my blade to her stretched throat.
   Leaning over her, balancing myself by holding on to her head, fucking
her slowly, feeling the hard wood of the bat handle through the membrane of
her shitchute against the underside of my prick, I begin to cut the last
pulse of life from her, slicing across her carotid artery, my prickhead
pistoning in and out of her anal orifice.
   "Die for me, Jane" I tell her softly, my hips rocking, thrusting.  "Die
- die die -die..."
   "N-nagggh," She gasps, her pretty eyes rolling from side to side.  "-
naghhh nnnwwnnnwwnnnwwnnn -"
   I cut deep into her gurgling gasping throat, through her larynx changing
the sounds she makes into sputtering fizzling hisses, her blood jetting out
against the wall and tarp and on the floor as I cut all the way around,
almost cutting her pretty little brown-haired head off.
   "Tuhhhh -" she gasps.  "Tuhh - tuhsss - tessiieeeeeee -"
   Outside Tessie hears her sister's dying call and begins to screech
pitifully for her momma as I thrust my cock deep into my dying slut's
asshole which now delightfully tightens around my prick as she spasms in
slow grinding grisly undeserved death.
   "Shittt!" I grunt, trying not to cum in Jane, trying to hold back until
finally she gives out, goes slack.  I let her hair go and her head folds
forward with a wet smushy sound into the bloody tarp.  A last sighing
breath makes bubbles in the red fluid that pools near her lips.
   I slide out of her and roll her over again on her shattered back so that
she lies broken, dead, on my slaughter bed before me, her fractured arm
twisted and mangled up against the wall, pretty hand curled back toward the
top of her head, the other arm languidly stretched out toward the side of
the mattress, smashed hand swollen and dark.  One of her sliced-off tits
rests, nipple-up, on the bed by Jane's hip.  The other is strewn and
scattered in torn bits across the floor by the bed.  Her lovely dead eyes
stare at the ceiling, glazed.  Her mouth gapes and drools blood.  Her
gashed throat spills life into a dark scarlet puddle that haloes her head
and titless chest.  A long withered tendril of intestine hangs from the T'
cut in her abdomen from which torn bits of other organs and flecks of
faeces mix with the outpour of blood and piss.
   You wouldn't think someone as fastidiously neat as I am would make such
a mess and enjoy it but I must shamelessly admit that I do at that moment
truly and deeply relish what I've done.  Jane Carmichael is one of my most
beautiful and messiest kills and I have to run my hands over her mutilated
cadaver to impress the deep reality of her young death upon myself, to take
nourishment from it, to store it forever in my mind.  I place my hands over
the round gashes on her chest where her pretty tits were severed.
   "Bad day for the beach," I tell her dead eyes softly.
   Then I hock and spit on her face.
   7.
   I stand before Tessie, gripping her bound arms, leaning forward.
   "Kiss me," I tell her.
   I'm covered with blood and gore and the twelve year old is whining
helplessly but she does as I say puckering her pouting lips to push them
into mine.
   What a lovely obedient blonde child she is.  How terribly I need to kill
her.
   "J-Jane?" she mutters as my lips pull away.  "Wh-where's Jane? 
Wh-where's Jane?"
   "Do you want to see your sister, baby?"
   She nods, still pouting so pretty.
   "Mm-hmm."
   "Are you sure?"
   "Yes - Jane - Jane -"
   She turns her head in the direction of the room I've just come from then
back to me.
   I lick her cheek and smile.
   Outside the storm has passed and the sun is setting in the horizon,
disappearing in a red-orange haze.
   "Ok.  We'll go see your sister."
   I uncuff Tessie's cut-up legs first and then her arms and she slides
down to the floor, crumples into a sitting position weakly, my blades, five
of them, three buried in her lanky legs, three in her right limb, two in
the left.
   "Get up," I tell her.
   She looks up at me.
   "H-hu-hurt -" she sobs.  "Hurt!"
   "I know you hurt and I don't fucking give a shit.  Now get up."
   I take her by her wrist and yank her up on her feet.  She staggers
against me but manages to regain her balance.
   Leading her by her arm I walk her to the doorway into the slaughter
room. She hobbles trying not to bend her knees.
   As she sees what I've done to her sister she gives out a shrill little
cry bringing her free hand to her mouth.
   "Naaaaaaa!" she wails.
   "Shut up," I tell her as the wailing gets louder.
   "Shut up!"
   But she doesn't stop so I smash my hand across her face knocking her to
the floor.
   "You wanted to see her," I snarl leaning over my anguished captive. 
"Well now you've seen her."
   She looks up at me shivering visibly, her eyes like clear blue marbles.
   "Now its your turn to please Blade."
   I cuff her small wrists behind her and put a collar around her neck.
   Clipping a leash to her I pull her along making her crawl behind me.
   From the weapons cabinet I take the .45 calibre pistol.
   It has a mother-of-pearl handle that feels nice in my hand.
   It is fully loaded and the safety switch is off.
   Pushing the sliding door of the chamber open I pull the stumbling child
down the stairs into the house, through the door and down the last row of
steps and out, past the lattice-work enclosure.  Her cut-up feet leave tiny
blood trails I will clean up later.
   One of the nice features of this place, as I mentioned, is the privacy.
   At this time of day the beach will be completely deserted.
   Tessie leaves red footprints as she moves through the wet sand and she
staggers, falls and I have to yank her back up on her feet.
   When I get her out on the edge of the water I force her down on her
knees.
   I look out on the ocean to make sure there are no boats.  The sea is
clear all the way to the horizon.
   What a lovely picture we make if anyone were to see: the tall muscular
man, bald, spattered with blood, gun in hand, tugging at the kneeling
blonde child on his leash - little bitch collared, handcuffed, her arms
pulled back, her legs, her feet, sinking into the wet sand, the surf
lapping at her sliced-up, blade-festooned, blood dripping legs.  Both of us
framed in the dying sunset as I raise the gun and aim it at her thigh.
   There is no one to see.
   Tessie is mine.
   I pull the trigger.
   The blast knocks her sideways and she ends up on her belly squealing and
sobbing as the surf rolls up around her leaving red streaks as it receeds
from her.
   Its real fucking nice what a powerful handgun can do to a little kid.
   Still holding her by the leash I crouch down next to her and put the gun
right up against the calve of the other leg, slightly below one of the
blades I've buried in her, and I pull the trigger again.
   The bullet rips an ugly gash-burn in the luckless child and pounds
through her bone and into the ground.
   Seagulls cry overhead and glide past us mixing with her own pitiful
inconsolable sounds, drowned in the constant muttering of the waves.
   I roll her over on her back and kick her wounded bleeding legs open.
   She lies there silent now, her eyes in mine.
   The sun is almost gone from the sky behind me as I slide down to my
knees in the warm wet ground.
   Tessie is still alive and the surf surges around us as I push my cock
deep into her punished pussy, push into her hard, angrily, growling to
pound her small dying body into the warm ocean-soaked sand.
   The storm has subsided and the sea is a whisper of gentle waves as I
pump my prick into the twelve-year old, the salty spray cool on my back.
   I fuck her brutally until the light in the sky above us is almost gone
then I slide out of her and flip her over.
   The sea is rolling in around us now, and she has to lift her head out of
the bubbly surf to breathe.
   I grab her by her messy blonde hair and push her face down into the
swirling sand as the waves roll back and she chokes in the muddy flow. 
Holding her there I put the barrel of the gun to her ravaged asshole.
   Pushing the weapon as deep as it will go I continue to hold her face in
the sand.  She struggles weakly against me, making urgent desperate
whimpering sounds, her feet splashing in the water, her hands gripping the
slick shoreline, blood fanning out from her crippled legs.
   I keep her there for a moment enjoying the sensation of complete mastery
over my prey, letting two waves come in and roll out.
   As the third wave approaches I release her head and pull the trigger.
   Her body spasms to the violent flashing jolt.  Her belly explodes guts
all over the wet sand around us and the bullet tears out through her spine
just below her skull to whang into the sand.
   I crouch over her, lift her by her hips and thrust my prick deep into
her shotout asshole.
   I sigh deeply, toss my head back, my hands on my thighs, the handle of
the gun pushing against the bulging muscle above by knee, and close my eyes
to the night-welcoming sky.
   This is a sweet sweet fuck.
   Blood surging out of her slicks my shaft.
   She pants and gasps for air, vomits seawater and blood, whines, gurgles,
writhes as my now fully erect manspear glides in and out of her, faster,
more urgently, my feet planted on either side of her in the erosive motion
of the waves, the sand already ebbing around my ankles.
   I fuck the broken wounded child mercilessly.
   "Can you hear me?" I ask her leaning over her, my free hand flat against
her spine, right over the warmly leaking exit wound the bullet has left
there.  Luckily the projectile has missed her lungs and heart, just as I'd
hoped it would, and, although the sea is carrying away most of her
intestines, and pieces of torn viscera, the little bitch has some life left
in her yet.  Also the bullet has only slightly nicked her spinal cord, so
most of her is still mobile.
   "Yehzz," she groans feebly.
   "You're gonna be dead soon," I tell her slowly rocking in and out of her
while the sea wraps itself around us and the sky is a fading ember glow.
   She shakes her head, whines fearfully.
   "Yes - uhhh - ohh yes, angelass - dead as a fuckin' doornail - mmmm You
won't be playing with dolls any more, or watching television, or going to
parties - ahhh - no more school, no more games, no more anything - and no
more momma or daddy or sissy-poo - uhhnnh!"
   "N-nhaa - m-mhummaa - mumm -"
   "Yessss - Mommy and daddy will be wondering where you and your sister
went.  They'll be worried.  Real worried.  They'll be crying.  They'll be
sad.  They'll be fuckin' devastated - ahhhh."
   Painting the picture clearly for her is an atrociously divine pleasure.
I want the child to die in hopeless desolation, violated.  I want her soul
to hurt as much as her body so that her suffering will be complete,
all-encompassing and overwhelming.
   "They'll know you and Jane will be dead - unhhh - and they won't ever
ever - ever -ever - fucking find you -"
   In the fading light I can see the expression of forlorn abandonment and
hopelessness in her little face and I thrust my cock to the hilt in her
butt adding vicious bloody sodomy to her list of woes.  And as if that is
not enough I lean back slightly from the waist to relax, looking up at the
first glimmer of stars above as I let my bladder go, pissing in the dying
child's innards, my urine pouring out of the rupture-cut in the side of her
belly as she chokes on the frothy surf that sweeps incessantly around her
blonde head.
   I yank her head up out of the water by the leash to keep her from
drowning while I thrust in and out of her fiercely now, giving vent to my
most demanding sexual need, using my little fuckmeat degenerately and
unforgivingly, transported to the mind-numbing heights of depravity. 
Slamming down with each in-thrust I see only the little gleaming knobs of
her foot-heels break the water's surface under me as the tide bubbles in. I
ease up on the leash and her face again sinks into the surf.  Letting her
drown for a few moments I slam-fuck her, my belly slapping against her
little ass, my massive cock reaming her.  I tug on the leash and she comes
up sputtering and wheezing and calling for her momma ceaselessly.
   My hatred for the girl-child is volcanic.
   I need her to die for me and to die horribly.
   If possible worse than her sister.
   I raise the gun off my thigh and aim the black barrel at the white flesh
of her footsole through the opaque tint of seawater.
   When I pull the trigger the kickback jolts my arm and the blast tears
her limb apart in the surf cutting her foot in half, her blood spattering
the side of my thigh.  Her little asshole tightens reflexively on my
pistoning cock and I groan in mindless pleasure as she squeals, her head
splashing into the water to bubble and splurge and choke.
   I consider for a moment putting the gun to her head and finishing her
right then but I need way more from her and I'm determined to get it.
   Sliding out of her I reach down and lift the sacrificial child in my
arms.
   I carry her back into the killing house where the lights have
automatically switched on as sundown progresses into night, carry her
effortlessly back upstairs to the killing room and lay her out on the
autopsy table.
   Wiping the .45 dry with a towel I place it back in the glass cabinet and
turn to my task.
   ________________________
   I've laid her out on the steel table.
   I want small pieces of her and she no longer fights me or struggles.
   She moves hardly at all but her lovely blue eyes see everything I do.
   One by one I pull out all her pretty little fingernails with pliars and
drop them into a jar.  Each tugging rending hurt makes her cringe and
grimace and squeal but there's hardly any energy left, even in these
pitiful manifestations of suffering.  I pull out the cute red-painted
toenails on her one foot.  The other limb is torn to pieces and I'm
inclined to think those candy-toes will soon be fishfood.
   One by one I break each fragile finger, pulling it back toward the wrist
until it snaps, audibly, making my cock surge each time then with a scalpel
I cut the tips of each digit off at the first joint, joyfully watching the
flow of blood into the drain-hole in the autopsy tray.
   Its quite warm in the killing room now and the seawater drying on my
skin heightens the sensual pleasure for me.
   Tessie cries weakly
   We both smell of brine.  Her hair is in wet snarls that smear her
forehead and cheeks.
   My Tessie is a lovely dying angel.
   With profound and meticulous care I slice her toes off her good foot and
drop them into another jar.
   Later I will do this with her dead sister as well.
   These small mementos will float in a jug of formaldehyde which I keep in
a hidden storage shelf in the far wall of the killing chamber.
   I usually mutilate after killing but Tessie demands that I modify my MO,
that I become more creative, or destructive, depending on your point of
view.  And I do because her innocence and beauty demands it.  Perfect
beauty demands perfect destruction.
   I slice each nipple in half then cutting a circle around each bisected
morsel I remove them and toss them in the waste can.
   Now I'm ready.
   "I'm going to cut your heart out," I tell her.
   She's fading out but her lips move silently.
   I'm tempted to disfigure her face but decide against it.
   I think she's calling to her momma or Tessie or just mindlessly
pleading. I pay no attention.
   Thrusting the scalpel into her throat just below her chin I slice
downward.
   Her voice stops and small ripples of movement spend themselves in her
arms and legs.
   She barely even kicks her legs.
   I cut all the way down over her chest, down around her belly button and
into the rip the bullet-blast made in her which is just above her pudendum.
Blood simmers, bubbles up beautifully from the deep slit, spills down into
the steel tray.
   Tessie has now been converted into a bleeding vagina-child, the front of
her body one great open slit.
   Cutting away her skin and muscle from her chest cavity I gently pull
open the flaps of flesh to expose the rib-cage, diaphragm and lungs.  I
read from the book of life, hot red pulsing female child life, a gift to me
now as I grip each side of the rib armature to break her completely apart.
Incredibly she stares upward her eyes sad, her lips quivering as her bones
snap loudly and she gags, arches her back, blood bubbling up from her
silent pouting lips.  I lean over her, my cock almost bursting as I cup her
face in my hands and smear my lips on hers to drink her sweet blood.
   One by one I cut her abdominal organs from her, spleen, stomach, liver,
bladder, working quickly and efficiently as my victim wheezes and gasps,
her arms and legs spastically shivering.  As I yank on her large intestines
tugging them free of her spooling them out on the floor beside me in a
gelatinous mass her legs kick feebly and she starts to turn to one side.  I
hold her down easily and continue to gut the living child.
   I slice into her groin to remove the beaten pock-marked pinkish maw that
was once a pretty hairless little girl pussy, slice deep as her voice comes
back, wails a plaintive sing-song of dying pain, a tremulous breathy
kittenish moan which accompanies the deliberate mutilation as I remove a
triangle of meat from her jerking the immature ovary and uterus from its
nest in her pelvic area, tearing out her sex organs and spilling them on
the steel table between her open legs.
   Then I climb on to the autopsy table straddling her between my thighs,
my knees cushioned in her hot pink, red, brown viscera.
   I reach into the broken chest cavity and take her beating heart in my
hand.
   It flutters like a warm wet bird.
   With the tip of the scalpel I pierce each lung.
   She jerks around under me, sputter-choking, air hissing from the
bubbling wounds in her small lung-sacs, her heart fluttering as I tug on it
raising the scalpel to the arteries that anchor it.  With several deft
slicing motions I cut her heart free and pull it from her.  Putting the
scalpel down I raise the still beating organ to my erect cock and push my
prick all the way into the warm beating meat.  Like the inside of her pussy
the chambers of her heart receive me squeeze against me, drool blood on me
as I jerk myself off with it, the edge of the arterial opening hilted,
impaled on the spikes of my cock ring.
   In a final gesture of giving, of surrendering, her arms extend out on
either side as if she wants to be hugged, or picked up, bleeding broken
hands limp, broken fingers curved.  It is the universal pose of the victim,
crucified, yielding, released, and her mouth yawns wide in a last
shuddering gasp for life.
   Pulling my spike-ringed cock from her now stilled fibrillating heart,
dropping the life-muscle like so much meat beside her on the table, I crawl
on my knees to straddle her bisected chest, rising up, arching my back as
the power wave of orgasm-thrill begins.  I reach down to cup and squeeze my
balls as the thick sap rockets up my urethra.
   My voice explodes from me, slurred, nasty, vindictive.
   "You fucking little whore -"
   I aim my spurting prick at her pretty face, she naive and unemotional in
death, blank, staring, child of Jesus, haloed in the reflection of the
overhead lights in the sterile aluminum autopsy tray.  Thick hot wads of my
jism spiral out on her brows, into her open eyes, on her lips and cheeks,
in her hair.  A gob of it drools from my pulsing cockhead.
   " - ahhnnhhh!  Goddd- damn!"
   I imagine little Tessie playing Mary in a Christmas pageant at school -
or perhaps an angel with a loop of tin foil clasped in her freshly
shampooed hair.
   A second deeper orgasmic wave rips through me, fulfilling the day's
labor of destruction and I tighten my grip on my balls to hold it back just
slightly for ultimate pleasure.
   "U-UhhNHHH!"
   The shout from me is loud and hateful and fierce and the flood of cum
erupts from my piss slit to smother Tessie's mouth and neck, to ooze into
her wide lips thick as mayonaisse just as the early stage of death
overtakes her and glazes her beautiful eyes.
   Surprisingly a third burst overtakes me with dizzying power and I slide
forward to rest on one hand on the table, arched over the child's face to
push my wicked rod deep into her scum-covered lips, deep into her dead
throat to find relief in the pumping downthrusts of my hips, banging her
little head against the aluminum surface, banging it hard, bearing down on
her, my belly right up against her face as I slide all the way into her
disclocating her jaw which gives with a loud snapping crack as I unload a
final fourth load of sweet hot cum-juice in my victim.
   Gradually, over the next few minutes, my body winds down.  Cool sweat
breaks out all over me and drips down my arms and legs and back mixing with
the dried out seawater as I crouch over the dead child eventually pulling
my cock from her forced-wide mouth, eventually sliding down off the table,
my breathing slowing and returning to normal.
   But I know I'm not finished.
   Over the next three hours handling the dead children and preparing them
for their final destination will provoke three more startlingly sharp
orgasms.
   I like the final step the best, both broken mutilated bodies hanging
upside down by their cuffed ankles from the ceiling, dripping blood and
flesh, back to back.
   Carefully I cut the eyes out of both them.
   Slowly, lovingly, I skull fuck each victim, gripping their dangling
heads, pushing deep to empty my balls inside them one last time, one hard
grunting orgasm for each, until both of my gutted girls cry spent sperm for
me.
   Finally, when lust and hatred is completely spent I return to the
logistical problems.
   It is possible that the girls have already been reported missing so I
will exchange the license plate on their car for one I use on just such
occasions before I drive it out on the road.
   Their gutted bodies will have been dismembered and stuffed into four
large plastic bags to be placed in the BMW's trunk.
   I will drive them a hundred and fifty miles north to a wooded area off a
winding country road.  This is a tract of land owned by a corporation which
long ago filed for banruptcy and about which I hold priviliged information.
No one will be looking here unless they are tipped off to do so.
   The topsoil in the field by the trees is soft and it takes me about two
hours to dig the grave.  I welcome the exercise.  It gives me time to
think. As I dig I go over the details of the killing slowly, quietly
reliving the violent pleasures of the preceding hours.
   When I'm finished and the girls, their clothing and the papers in the
car's glove compartment are in the ground I will drive the car, careful to
remain within the legal speed limit, to Richmond.  My faithful contact
there, a gentleman whose last name I don't know or want to know, will
dispose of it.  Utterly.  He has done so faithfully for me several times
without asking questions.  The vehicle and fake plates will net me ten K in
cash, chump change for me, but, hey, money is money.
   I will buy a plane ticket back home and over the next few days I will
see the reports of the missing girls in the news, getting hard everytime
their cute faces grace the TV screen.
   There will be search parties, pictures posted in the supermarkets and
shopping malls, weepy interviews on CNN and network talk shows.  The police
will even come by the house to talk to me.  I will smile and chat with them
have a cup of coffee out on the terrace.  They will not see the killing
room.  The door to it will be hidden again behind shelves full of innocuous
hard-cover books.
   I will tell them that I was hard at work in my office the day of the
presumed disappearance.  I will feign great dismay and worry over the fate
of the Carmichael girls and how ugly the world has become and how things
are nothing like what they were years ago.  The conversation will move to
sports or perhaps to the rumors of the new mall being built on Oceanside
Road three miles south.  The two officers will leave having added nothing
new to their investigation.
   By then, of course, I will have replaced the video that shows me
savagely defiling Tessie, silouhetted starkly against the orange sunset on
the deserted beach.  I will of course keep it for a while, occasionally
putting it on to watch the part where I shoot my leashed cherub up the ass
and blow her guts out on the sand to crouch down and fuck her, drowning her
in the incoming surf.  Sometimes after watching the film I'll go into the
back room and take the jar with the little pieces of the girls in it down
from the shelf.  The jar has a label on it: Carmichael 6/00'.  The little
red-painted toes have settled to the bottom and torn tendrils of skin taper
from them where they were severed from the girls' feet but for me they are
like jewels, hoarded treasure that brings back the powerful jolting memory
of the savagely delicious killing and takes me to the careening edge of
orgasm.
   In place of Tessie's beach snuff I will have substituted a video
playback of an empty beach and a rolling ocean edited from a previous day,
time and weather matching perfectly, just in case it should even occur to
the brilliant Farnwell police investigators to check my security camera
tapes.  I will also have replaced the tape that shows me driving the green
BMW into the garage and I will have swept the sand for bullet fragments and
for all remaining traces of poor Tessie's final moments.
   In the end, however, predictably, my painstaking precautions will have
been unnecessary.  No one will come around for any tapes or to dig around
in my private piece of beach.  The police will not even talk to me again.
More of my on-going streak of good luck.  The cops will assume that Tessie
and Jane were kidnapped in their own vehicle and driven away from the area.
   The authorities will, however, despite their extremely shoddy
investigative work, ultimately learn what happened to the luckless girls a
year later, no thanks to their skill or intelligence.
   The letter sent to the Farnwell police department and to Mr.  and Mrs.
Carmichael will tell in absolute anatomical detail what Blade did with
their two darling daughters including digital photographs of the bodies in
the autopsy tray, sperm spilling from their eyesockets.  There will be a
total of nine pictures.  Four of Jane, four of Tessie, one of both girls.
Each picture will portray the victims in different obscene poses, including
my absolute favorite, both mangled gutted girls in a sixty-nine, crouched
in fetal death against each other.
   That picture will somehow end up on snuff sites on the Internet.
   To authenticate his letter Blade will send the red and green bathing
suits carefully washed and handled with gloved hands, dropped into plastic
bags providing no hair and no fingerprints.
   He will also send the map of the grave where the children are buried.
   By now decomposition will have taken care of whatever the acid I washed
the dismembered carcasses with didn't.
   Later, there will be a funeral in Farnwell Memorial.
   It will be my first funeral in town, and perhaps my last.
   I don't like to work an area twice.
   When the mourners are gone to complete my ritual I will visit Tessie and
Jane and I will unzip my pants in the cool evening breeze and piss all over
their names on the shared headstone.
   My urine will trickle down on the inscription:
   "Our loving daughters tragically cut down in the flower of their youth."
   Then I'll go home to the killing house and watch the video and look at
the pictures.
   By then two new victims will have joined the Blade roster.
   But that's another story.
   WOODBURN