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. 

                                  Karen's Last Date


1.

	He was in the corner booth and the music was playing softly, indistinctly,
some kind of fifties jazz quartet thing.  On the table there was a flickering candle.
	She slid into the seat opposite him.
	"I'm here," she said, almost afraid to look at him.
	He was exactly as she knew he would be.  His eyes aloof. His expression
neutral.  He was a big man, broad shouldered and he was dressed in a black
silk shirt that clung to his chiseled chest and hefty arms.  One hand was on the table
around a wine glass that looked almost ridiculously dainty in his grip the other hand
was out of sight under the table.  The most salient feature about him perhaps was
his bald head and the silver ring in one ear. It gave him an offbeat look, as if he
were some story-book pirate that had taken to living in the urban
California landscape. His name too fit his offbeat appearance - Stryker. No first
name. Only that single word, resonant for her and her self-destructive needs - she
needed to be struck. Struck hard and struck down.
	She knew it was crazy, to meet this man, to have anything at all to do with
him but she'd made up her mind now.  
	"Not that if fuckin' matters but when's hubby coming back?" he asked.
	His voice, cold and almost inexpressive, sent a chill through her. His eyes
seemed to dissect her every feeling.
	Instantly she knew that he had been telling her the truth, that he was indeed
capable of all he'd said he'd do and had done.
	Involuntarily she pressed her thighs together.
	"Uhm - he - he'll be gone all week."
	"Nervous?"
	"Mm-hmm."
	"I've taken the liberty of ordering some wine for you."
	"Thanks."
	"You're sure you want to go through with this? Once we leave here you will
not be able to change your mind."
	"I'm sure. I'm here aren't I?" 
	"You're a nice looking woman, Karen," he said. His hand now seized one of
her bare knees under the table as he leaned toward her. He gripped her firmly, hard
enough to make it uncomfortable. He'd made the word nice' sound obscene and
the intimate contact with her under the table made her feel suddenly hot
and giddy.
	" - very nice.  Maybe not my type exactly although I like all kinds of women.
What I do like about you is you are a very black and white kind of
girl - absolute.  That's refreshing."
	He stared her down and sipped from his wine glass.
	His hand released her leg and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably.  She
missed his gripping fingers - wanted them back.
	"Not many women know what they want and need so clearly. I spend a lot
of time showing them - explaining - I don't need to do that with you."
	The waiter brought her wine and she glanced down at it unable to move.
	"You may drink with me," he said.
	She smiled uncertainly still unable to meet the ice-fire of his wicked eyes.
	Obediently she took her glass and brought it to her lips.
	"That's a pretty dress," he said. "Hubby buy it for you?"
	Warm sweetness flowed down her throat as she tipped the glass back and
returned it to the table.  She felt the wine's warmth move all through her, down her
body to meet the other heat now simmering in her womb.
	His eyes were devouring her and she felt herself blush.
	The dress was a short one-piece party dress, white, with a scooping neck and
back that revealed most of her shoulders and enhanced the full heavy swell
of her large breasts.  She wore only a lace brassiere under it.  No panties, as he'd
ordered, white high-heel sandals and a small gold chain around her slender neck on
which a tiny blue pendant of an angel hung.
	"No," she replied to his question. "I picked it out myself - yesterday. The
shoes too."
	She moved her leg out into the aisle coquettishly and he looked down with
interest - the way a mountain cat might consider a stranded lamb.
	"Hmm. Nice feet, Karen. Went shopping for something to impress me? I'm
flattered." His eyes trailed up her leg and she let him look before tucking it back
under the table.
	She felt extremely self conscious and her pulse was racing.
	The waiter came around and Stryker ordered some hors-d'ouvres.  He knew
she wouldn't be hungry.  After all, this meeting was not really a date - just a
convenient rendezvous.  Before this they'd only known each other on the internet,
she sending him furtive but passionate messages from work on an account her
husband did not know about.  They'd spoken to each other through IM's and then
on the phone in rare moments when she'd been able to  be alone.  But even
through those brief communications he'd been able to fan the surging flames of her
masochistic need. He'd been able to get to the core of her sexual nature and take
her over, even steal her away from a husband that loved her and had given her a
life of leisure full of future promise.
	He had convinced her finally to meet him and they had picked this place
weeks earlier because of its location and accesibility.
	Karen knew that meeting him completely insane.  Stryker was a murderer, a
woman killer. He'd told her he'd even slaughtered little girls for pleasure - all he
would offer her was an early grave.  And yet - no one had ever made her feel the
way she'd needed to feel in a long long time.  Stryker could see right through her
to the slut underneath, the piece of whore-meat that needed to be used savagely and
discarded, like the pictures of slaughtered bitches he'd sent her via email.  She'd
wondered if any were his kills. If this is what you're looking for then meet me
Tuesday night. Otherwise - no more contact."
	No more contact. The idea almost paralyzed her.  She realized that she
could not live without the presence of Stryker in her life.  She'd come to need him
like a junkie needs the needle. And she had no one to blame but herself.
She was indeed a stupid cunt to be sitting here with this animal in this cozy
little place surrounded by pleasant strangers who had no clue about what was going
on. But she needed to be here. Needed it desperately. 
	How could she sit there, she thought to herself. Why didn't she get up and
leave, run from him, denounce him to the police? Certainly he had given her
enough stuff about himself that they would at least investigate him.  And yet she
knew he was smart. There probably would be no clues of his crimes.  Nothing
would be found.
	He reminded her of the first man who'd raped and tortured her when she'd
been just twelve.  He too was physically powerful and frightening - able to inspire
the fear of death in her, able to use her at will and convince her never to tell
anyone about the things he did to her.  And she'd given in so easily.  Maybe
what Stryker had told her in his devastatingly seductive emails was right. Maybe
this was her nature - to surrender - to accept - to be nothing but a source of
pleasure for violent men.  
	Her old boyfriend Tony, too, had known how to use her, how to treat her,
how to put her in the place she needed to be - broken, on her knees.
	After Tony had died she'd needed serious therapy and she'd thought she'd
dealt with the darkness inside her then.  Her husband had come along like a breath
of fresh air and she'd told him nothing about her dark past.  Their relationship was
strictly conventional and predictable and she'd been almost
happy for the first year. 
	By the second year of marriage her dark needy urges had come back.
Regular sex had become a tiresome and pointless routine and though she'd loved
her husband his lackluster and unimaginative love-making made her turn
to the internet for fantasy.
	Instead, she'd found Stryker.
	Or maybe he'd found her.
	And now here they were, at the Townsend Bistro near the Interstate ramp.
	The music had intensified. On the tape a sax and a trumpet fought for
attention against a rhythm section gone ballistic.
	She watched Stryker eat the hors-d-ouvres, popping each tiny bit of food into
his mouth, caught a flash of his teeth, remembered how he'd told her that he
like to bite his victims - to bite them hard until they bled - even to kill them that
way.
	"Tell me what you are," he said after he'd finished with the food.
	"Here?" she asked nervously.
	"Yes. Here. Now."
	She trembled.
	"What if someone hears me?"
	"No one will hear you besides me. Do as you're told."
	" - uhm - I'm -" her eyes slid down to the table, her hands demurely folded
in her lap.
	"Look at me and say it."
	She raised up her face and his eyes seized her.
	"I'm a piece of shit whore -"
	"Good - Go on. Talk to me like a lover," he slid his big hand across the table
toward her. "Just like the movies - come on - take my hand and tell me."
	Gently she took her hand in hers. It was cold and hard like a gravestone,
greasy from the food.
	"I - I'm trash - meat - for you to use."
	"That's right. And what else?"
	She now repeated the mantra he'd taught her which she'd so often
whispered to herself as she'd masturbated at home in the bathroom, the door
locked, the tub full of warm soapy water.
	It was weird to say it here in this public place.
	"My body - my body is yours - my blood is yours - my heart is yours -"
	"Go on. Finish it."
	She bit her lip and squeezed the moist heat between her thighs.
	"My soul - is - yours - You are my God."
	"Would you like to know what is in store for you?"
	She looked down again.
	"Look at me, Karen."
	She obeyed.
	"I don't need to know," she said quickly.
	"That's a good answer but I'm gonna tell you anyway. In case you still want
to skip this."
	She shook her head.
	"I don't want to skip it."
	 His hand slid away from hers.
	"Give me your foot under the table," he told her picking up a toothpick from
the empty plate where the hors-d-ouvres had been.
	"What?" she muttered.
	"Your right foot. Take your shoe off and give it to me."
	The waiter came by and took the plate away.  He never even looked at them. 
	Karen reached down and slipped the sandal strap off her heel slipped her foot
out of the shoe and raised it gingerly on to his knee.  
	She glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
	The other people in the restaurant were oblivious of what was happening.
	She realized the dark tablecloth hid both her legs from view. Besides the
moody lighting only encouraged disconnection and privacy between patrons. The
waiters moving by were in their own busy world as well, unattentive now that the
table had been serviced.
	She watched Stryker hold the tip of the toothpick over the candle flame.
	"Tonight, we're meeting some friends," he began, talking to her as if nothing
else was going on. "Couple of black friends of mine who like white girls."
	A tiny bit of smoke rose up off the burning toothpick tip and Stryker now
gripped her foot with his other hand under the table. She welcomed his brutal
touch.
	"I know you'll enjoy their attentions, won't you?"
	"If that is what you want from me," she said softly.
	He peeled the table cloth back slightly with the hand gripping the upraised
toothpick to reveal her toes.  They were neatly trimmed and painted only with gloss. 
The nails gleamed in the faint light of the candle and dim overhead cans. The strap
of her sandal had left a faint red line across the middle of her foot.
	Stryker's thumb dug into the tender flesh of her sole and his fingers tightened
like a vise around the top of the limb. She bit her lip and watched him bring the
smouldering tooth-pick to her big toe and push the wooden tip under the nail.
	She dug her fingers into the seat as the sharp pain travelled up her leg but she
made no sound and her eyes never left his.
	"My friends are gonna fuck you, cum on you and piss on you," he said
pushing the tip of the toothpick deeper under her toe nail. "They're gonna use you
just like a piece of trash whore like you needs to be used."
	Suddenly the waiter was standing over them.
	"Anything else, sir?" he asked Stryker.
	Stryker leaned forward so that the man could not see what was going on.
Karen wondered if the waiter had heard something.  If he had, the pasty serious
face, the hard black eyes, betrayed nothing.
	"That will be all, thanks," Stryker told him.
	"Was everything satisfactory?"
	"Absolutely."
	The waiter slid away after leaving the bill in a leather folder.
	"As I was saying -" Stryker continued now pushing the toothpick deeper.
	Lines of pain formed on Karen's face and she had begun to sweat.  Her leg
was trembling and she didn't know how long she could take this without screaming.
	"Are you listening to me?" Stryker said leaning forward.
	A tiny drop of blood rolled down her toe.
	She nodded slowly.
	"My niggers are gonna fuck you up while I watch. That's whats coming up
right after we leave here. Then I'm gonna take you to a little place I rented up
in the hills, about an hour from here.  You and I will get much better acquainted up
there, far from civilized company...Still wanna go on with this party, bitch?"
	His eyes now were fierce and unyielding. Inhuman.
	"Y-yess - sir -" she blurted. "I do."
	He pulled the toothpick out of her and let it drop to the floor then he wiped
the drop of blood from her toe with his finger which he raised to his lips to lick
smiling.
	"That's my girl. Put your shoe back on. We're leaving."
	On the way out she had to lean against him to walk.
	"Lady's had a bit too much to drink, I'm afraid," Stryker told the cashier. 
	Outside he led her to the black Mercedes in the parking lot. He opened the
passenger side door for her and as she slid in he reached down and took her
small purse.
	"You won't be needing this," he said curtly and tossed the elegant accesory
into a nearby dumpster.
	Then he slammed the door shut and walked around the front of the car
toward the driver's side.
	He was a big man, almost six foot five and as he turned to face her she
caught a glimpse of the sizable bulge in his expensive dark slacks.
	He got in and started up the Mercedes.
	The stereo speakers came on. It was an angry string quartet. Angry and
dissonant.
	As they pulled into traffic Karen began to cry softly while Stryker reached
down and raised the volume of the music.





2.
	It was an abandoned shack two miles off the road on a dirt path near the side
of a small hill.
	The Mercedes headlights danced on the trees as the car rocked on the
unkempt road and pulled up beside the shack.
	There was a bonfire in the roofless building.
	There were three burly black men standing around the fire, naked.
	Their faces were hostile. Two of them were bearded.  They were endowed
with cocks that gleamed like polished ebony billy clubs in the flickering light of the
flames.
	They were passing around a bottle of Thunderbird vodka. 
	It shone like a sliver of metal underwater.
	Stryker pulled Karen out of the car and led her, his hand around her wrist, to
the cabin. She let herself be led, limping slightly, her toe swollen and aching.
	The men jeered and high-fived each other, high-fived Stryker, though no
smile ever crossed their jaded faces.
	"My man Stryker's got the goods," one of the bearded black men said.
	"Take her," Stryker said pushing Karen toward them. "Show the cunt 
a good time - she's ready for it."
	The men circled her slowly, looking at her as Stryker melted back into the
shadows of the roofless building.
	"Shee-it, Nate, look at the titties on this mama," the other bearded man
commented.
	Nate stared with big hungry eyes stroking himself.
	"Stryker got himself a nice un here."
	"I think Nate like er," the bearded man said.
	When they laughed it was humorless and short lived as they moved closer to
Karen, their eyes opaque.
	She looked lost and out of place in her sexy white party dress and sandals
standing in the dirt, the fire casting long shadows that led away from her and to the
edge of the woods beyond.
	Her heart was racing as she looked from one black face to the other reading
the lust in their mean expressions. The men were in their early twenties. They
looked like street thugs.
	"We're gonna fuck you, bitch," Nate said roughly. She could smell the cheap
vodka on his breath.
	"Fuck you every which way but loose," snickered one of the bearded men.
	She tottered on the high heels as she turned in a circle, the men coming
closer.  
	She could smell their manstink now. It made her dizzy.
	Their billy club cocks were swollen and erect.
	"Do what you gotta do," she said softly.
	The circle closed and their hands tore at her dress.
	One of them ripped the gold chain and the little blue angel pendant from her
throat and tossed it away.
	She was nude and barefoot in no time on hands and knees in the dirt.
	Above the sky was clear and full of stars...
						
...to be at the center of it, the receiver of their violence, abandoned. No one cares
for you here. Not for your well-being or your soul. You are here for their pleasure.
To serve. To please. You are essentially nothing. Empty space. A fuck-puppet...at
the center focus of their vicious need... hard hot cocks slammed into you,  speared
like a squirming fish.  Stryker in the shadows looking on. Smiling, pleased that
you are in the dirt, your mouth stuffed full of black cock, your cunt and asshole
double jammed...sweet mama...suck this you little whore...man, this bitch's gotta
sweet little asshole..tight little pussy...the bonfire close by, the heat...the sweaty
bodies, black and powerful, their big hands gripping your hips, your tits,  your
hair...your face pushed into the dirt as they buttfuck you... 	You're not even 
human anymore, Karen. Not even worth the air you breathe. You mindless cunt,
coming on your own, coming willingly to this - ready to face this final music - like
hard fast bebop - rocking fluttering riffs - picked up off the ground, held in the air
between the men while they  fuck you and make you scream in pleasure as they
slide in and out of you - yeahh bitch, this - this - THIS is what you need and want
- fuckin' tramp - fuck er throat, man, quiet the bitch down, stuff her mouth full -
yeahh - tight bitch cunt -  fuck er Kyle- give it toer, Nate! You're the man,
Hassad - yeahh lookit er suck, dawgg - swallow me you punk white whore -
SWALLOW ME! They slap your face and fuck it...the center of their anger and
loathing - here is where you wanted to be...
			
 
	Hassad stood over her. In the sky beyond his black head she could see the big
dipper.
	"Here you go, whore," he snarled and his hot cum sprayed her tear soaked,
dirt-streaked cheeks. Two hot gobs, more on the way.
	"Open your fuckin' mouth and drink it."
	A long thick spurt that hit the back of her throat.
	"Agghh-ghhaaa -" she grunted choking, held up by her hair on her knees,
Nate beside her.
	  "Nice white pig you got us here, Mr. Stryker," Nate said rubbing his 
huge black prick against her cheek.
	"Suck my balls you white pig girl."
	He had her by the hair and was pushing her down to do his bidding.
	...Hassad still stroking himself. One more spurt shot out on her dangling tits.
	Kyle stood next to Hassad jerking off, his head angled backward looking up
into the starlit sky he knew nothing about.
	Stryker leaned against the broken wall of the roof-less cabin, his arms
crossed.
	Nate thought the dude looked like Mr. Clean but he would never tell him that
to his face. He'd heard shit about Stryker. Stryker was not someone to fuck with.
	Karen's eyes were glassy, her forehead pressing against Nate's thigh......

	...He puts the plastic bag over your face. You're just a little girl. The memory
	dances in your head to the music of the three men by the fire, hot salty cum
	spilling from your lips...just a little girl, not even twelve...your pink dress He made
	you take it off is on the floor...it will get dirty...He's tied you on the chair naked
	except for your little white socks still on your feet..tied you with hard thick
	scratchy ropes...your white socks are dirty from the soot on the basement
	floor...and He's smoking...a big smouldering cigar...big red-tipped which He now
	puts on the ashtray. He leans over you, lifts the plastic bag slightly to blow
	hot white smoke under it and tie it around your neck with a rubber band.  White -
	the world goes white - fades - but for the red heat in your throat and nostrils -
	your squealing little voice pleading - His eyes shiny hard as he looks down at you
	- little worm - breathe it in, you little worm...He is so powerful - so cruel - and you
	know he will kill you - he has put the gun up inside you and told you he would -
	decorate his wall with your worthless little brains...Through the fogged plastic
	you see Him pick up the cigar and bring it toward you - lit-end first - smiling.


	Nate's balls tasted of salty sweat and Thunderbird vodka.
	"Lick my asshole...yeah...get down there and lick my asshole...goddamn
white trash cunt..."
	"Stick your face up in his ass," Stryker ordered.
	Kyle took a step toward her.
	"Gettin' ready to shoot," he growled.
	"See if you can both cum on er at the same time," Hassad said dreamily.
	"Yeahh," Stryker concurred.
	"YEaahh!" Kyle growled, pumping himself fiercely as Nate yanked her head
up lifting her up from under his ass.
	Both Kyle and Nate jerk themselves off with fast hard strokes, Nate still
holding Karen by her hair.
	"Mmmm -" she moans looking up at them.
	"Let er have it," Stryker grunts taking a step toward them, silouhetted in
the flickering light of the bonfire.
	Kyle's cock spits a long thick gush of milky cum on Karen's forehead and
the bridge of her nose. It oozes into her eyes stinging.
	"Ahhhh! God-DAMN!" he shouts.
	Nate turns her slightly toward him.
	"Open your mouth, bitch!" he shouts and then grunts as a big spurting wad
erupts from his big black prick and into Karen's yawning lips right into her throat
making her gag and her eyes tear up.
	Both black men aim their hot spewing shafts into Karen's face and her open
mouth.
	She kneels there in the dirt, mouth gaping, to receive, eyes watching
the men around her, their mean pleasure. She tries to see Stryker's face but it is in
darkness, his back to the fire. Moaning with the pleasure of release Kyle and Nate
empty their balls on the white woman, spurt after spurt, in her cheeks and eyes,
blinding her, in her hair.  They stuff their cocks in her mouth to be sucked clean.
They rub their shafts all over her face.
	They step back.
	"Piss on her," Stryker tells them.
	They snicker cruelly.
	There is a hissing sound.
	Hassad begins first, then Kyle, then Nate - Stryker unzips his fly and joins
them.
	She kneels there by the bonfire, below the flickering limits of the galaxies
above, a breeze riffling through the trees nearby and lets the four men piss all over
her, holding her arms out, hands palm up, in a position of complete surrender, she
herself pissing as well until she is a big puddle of it and the men
are walking away, getting dressed, not even looking at her anymore, as she begins
to cry, her arms falling inertly to her sides, her head drooping.  
	Nate hands Stryker a wad of money.
	"That should take care of it," he says then hi-fives Stryker. "You're the
man."
	She's still kneeling there when the three black men start up their car and
drive away.
	Stryker stands over her, leash in hand.
	"Ready?" he asks.
	"Yes, sir," she replies. Her tears are gone. A hot trickle of sperm mixed with
urine drools from her lips.
	He slips the leash around her neck and leads her crawling to the Mercedes.
	He opens the trunk.
	"Get in," he tells her.
	There is a plastic tarp inside.
	She climbs wordlessly into the trunk.
	In the darkness one thought comes to her before she begins to sob again and
roll up into a fetal positon on the crinkly plastic.
	She's no longer even a passenger. Now she's just baggage.
	The car's engine rumbles and she's rocked about as Stryker heads back
to the Interstate.
	She feels like a small child again. Small and lost.
	In the car the string quartet music is playing again. Slow tempo now.
	The wailing of lost souls in the clear night.
	Back by the deserted cabin the bonfire peters out and Karen's discarded blue
angel pendant catches one last glimmer before the darkness reclaims it.




3.

	After the string quartet music stopped Karen heard nothing but the silent
rush of the road under the tires. In the utter darkness of the trunk she shivered and
clutched her knees to her chest. She stank of piss and cum.  Her mind
circled back over the scene of her cruel rape over and over and she succumbed
to the inner darkness inside her as complete as that which surrounded her.  She
realized there was no other place for her to be, nowhere she could feel more
like she belonged than this.  All human company and society had excluded her in
some vital way.  The things most people pursued, money, family, respect - all eluded
her.  If there was a God he was a cold-hearted sadist many times worse
than the one now taking her to her ultimate rendezvous, the finality which so
attracted her. If there was a God then Stryker must surely be one of his front line
soldiers, an angel of death sent down to gather female souls like strawberries
fresh and ripe from the patch.  For Karen now, for all intents and purposes, Stryker
was God - the ultimate messenger, sower and reaper of life, grantor
of breath and deliverer of pain. In the rocking dark silence she was a babe in the
womb about to rediscover the metamorphosing fire once again.  She'd been
propelled unwillingly into this life, this chaotic and often senseless series of
events now she would be propelled elsewhere - willingly, however, this time
investing herself, of her own hand, to grant her killer as much pleasure as
she could before the crucial final moments.
	When the car stopped and she heard the door slam and heard his steps
coming her heart raced and she whimpered.
	Then the trunk door swung upwards and the dark sky glittered like a dark
velvet jewel box of starlight beyond his wide shoulders and bald head.
	"Get out," he said simply.
	She responded somewhat sluggishly to his command.  After all, she'd been in
the trunk for nearly two hours.
	As she got on hands and knees he yanked on the leash around her neck
and she stumbled out of the car on to an asphalt driveway.  The dark shape of a
large house loomed behind a dense growth of small trees and shrubs.
	Stryker placed his hand on her bare shoulder and pushed her gently but
firmly down to the ground.
	She knelt at his feet.
	As he had told her the house was in the mountains, she had no idea exactly
where, but she'd felt the car's engine working harder in the last half hour before
their arrival and she'd sensed the steep angle of ascent. A couple of times her ears
had popped.  Now, all around them silent monuments of dark stillness rose toward
the starlit sky.  She could hear the rustle of wind through the trees and she smelled
the perfume of pine wood, moist and earthy.  The only other sound was the
monotonous chirping of crickets.
	He let the leash drop and turned toward the house, took a few steps into the
lawn and bent down to pick something up.  When he turned she could see it was a
garden hose. He turned the faucet valve on the wall behind him open and aimed the
nozzle at her spraying icy cold water right into her face.  She staggered backward
with a sharp cry but he told her to keep still and he hosed her down. The jetting
water stung as it moved all over her. He went around and sprayed her back and her
legs and her head, told her to open her legs and he shot cold spurts at her shaved
mons and at her slit.  He made her lie on the asphalt and spread her legs open so
that he could ream out her pussy and her asshole with the hose nozzle.  He was
spraying her clean of the three-way rape back in the abandoned shack - preparing
her for the new and final ordeal ahead. When he finished he tossed the hose back
shut off the water and yanked her up on her knees again by the leash.
	"Alright, cunt," his voice was a low mean growl that sent thrills through her
as she knelt there dripping, trembling, hair draped wetly over her eyes.
	Against the quiet backdrop Stryker's voice stood out, prominent, dark and
deep and mysterious, elegant and demonic in its cadence.
	"This is what's going to happen.  There is a young girl waiting for us inside.
Her name is Becky.  She's just fourteen but she's got the mind of a
fifty year old gutter whore."
	Karen could see an evil grin stretch his lips.
	"My kind of girl - not that she has anything over you in that department. But
the little bitch is precious - a filthy little crackwhore I picked up in L.A..
She's been under my care for a couple of weeks now and is most eager to please
me in a terminal way.  So I thought - well why not get two for the price of one and
make this an unforgettable evening.  She is waiting now for our arrival.
For your information - she and you will make love while I watch. I may perhaps
participate in some limited but appealing fashion as well.  Then I will string her up
and kill her while you watch."
	Karen's breath caught audibly and she moaned softly.
	"That's right. You will see a human being  die. Or perhaps I should say you'll
watch an extermination."
	"Does she know what will happen?" Karen asked uncertainly, looking up
at her captor's eyes which were almost invisible in the dark.
	Stryker's grin broadened significantly.
	"Are you kidding? She's been practically fuckin' begging for it all week."
	Then he was tugging on the leash, forcing her to crawl after him on the
asphalt toward the gate which creaked loudly as he opened it and walked past it.
	He unlocked the double doors and led her past the threshold and into the
house.
	They were in a huge room completely devoid of furniture and decoration.
	On the opposite wall, french glass doors led into a terrace and a large
ceiling to floor glass window looked out upon a breathtaking view of the mountains. 
A fire crackled in a fireplace between the french doors and the
picture window and the light of the flames gleamed and danced on the finished
wooden floor.  
	Near the center of the large, high-ceilinged room, but more toward
the right was a large king-size brass bed and the girl Becky sat on the floor chained
to the bedpost by her ankle.  On that side of the room a door opened into a small
bathroom. A glow of electric light washed from the open bathroom door.  It was
evident that the chain which kept Becky secured to the heavy brass bedpost was
long enough to allow her access to the toilet.  Karen wondered how long
the young victim had been alone in the house, chained to the heavy bed.
	Becky raised her eyes to them as they approached and a feeble smile
played on her lips.  She was naked and shiny with sweat and Karen could see
that her body was striped and bruised from several beatings.  
	As she followed Stryker toward the bed Karen saw chains dangling
from the ceiling in front of the picture window. She noticed also a small wooden
table near the window covered with what seemed to be torture implements, whips,
canes, and other items.
	"M-master -" Becky said weakly. "I - I thought you'd ne-never come back."
	Still pulling Karen along by the leash, her wet legs slithering on the smoothly
polished wood, Stryker approached the young skinny blonde who sat on the floor
against the bars of the brass bedpost.  As he neared she got immediately to her
knees.
	"Did you miss me?" he asked coldly.
	"Yes, sir."
	He stood over her and as she looked up at him submissively he raised his
arm unexpectedly and slapped the child crack-whore across the face hard knocking
her off her knees to the floor.
	Becky whimpered, her disheveled hair hiding her face. Then she struggled
back up on her knees.
	"Thank you, Master," she said softly, her eyes now looking straight ahead,
into Karen's.
	"You're welcome, pig. I've brought you a playmate. I expect you both will
get along famously."
	He pulled Karen to the bed and yanked on the leash until she stood beside it
then he pointed down indicating that she should lie there.
	There were no sheets, pillows or quilts on the bed, just one dirty mattress
with no boxspring underneath.  Dark bloodstains made imperfect circles of varying
sizes on the surface of the mattress.
	Karen pushed her wet hair away from her eyes and obediently climbed up on
the bed and lay on her back as Stryker dropped the leash. The mattress under her
gave slightly and began to absorb the cold water from her backside.
	She heard the rattle of the chain as Becky now got up on her feet and came
around the bedpost to climb on to the bed with her.
	Gently, lightly, the child crack-whore's hands touched the young woman's
cold moist thighs as she leaned over her.  Warmth spread from Becky's hands into
Karen's cool white skin and travelled up into her belly.
	The two blonde females looked at each other.
	Karen could see the dancing fire in Becky's eyes.
	"He's going to kill us," Becky said softly.
	Karen nodded.
	"I know," she answered. 
	"...and I can't fuckin' wait..." Becky groaned.
	Stryker stepped back and began to strip off his clothes as he watched the two
females on the bed.
	Slowly, Becky dipped forward.  Karen could feel the child's breath on her
face.
	"I want to make you cum," Becky whispered. "Its what he wants."
	Almost instinctively Karen spread her legs wide.
	Becky's hands moved to the mattress on either side of Karen's head.
	"Yesss -" Karen hissed and Becky slid down on top of her sealing her
lips against Karen's in a passionate kiss of desire.
	Karen kissed back her arms going around to hug the lanky teenager against
her.
	Naked, Stryker moved to the table and picked up a long thin wooden rod.
	The firelight gleamed on his powerful shoulders.  As he moved back to the
bed, the bright tattoo on his stiff arched cock shone iridescently.  He stood over his
two captives watching them tongue-kiss and rub against each other, Becky's chain
rattling across the brass bedpost. He tapped the cane softly against the palm of his
free hand as Becky now slid down Karen's wet body licking all the way as she
moved past the woman's big heaving tits and smooth belly to her shaved mons. He
watched with interest as Becky closed her eyes and thrust her face against Karen's
mound.  Karen raised her legs back and spread herself for the child's tongue and
fingers.  
	Becky worked Karen expertly.  She'd learned to service the rich ladies from
Rodeo Drive in their limousines and she now used every trick she knew on Karen's
cunt. The child knelt on the mattress, her ass up in the air, her face between Karen's
upraised thighs.The first stroke of Stryker's cane slashed down across both her
already welted buttocks and the second - and the third.  Then as both females hissed
and groaned passionately Stryker slashed his cane hard across
Karen's hard nippled tit-globes. Karen cried out and looked up at the woman killer. 
Even though he was not touching them he was as much a part of their
lovemaking as if he'd been fucking both of them against the mattress under his
heavy powerful body.  The cane was an extension of his huge, tattooed, upwardly
arched cock and he used it sparingly but with accuracy and maximum effect.
He slashed at both females with hard stinging conviction leaving hot red
weals on Karen's white tits and belly and on Becky's darker sloping back and
slender haunches and thighs. 
	Gradually he raised the stakes of their lovemaking, fired them up, drove them
harder and faster.  He ordered them to get into a sixty nine, Becky on top, her head
in Karen's crotch as he delivered cut after cut across the teenager's shoulders, waist
and ass.  He ordered them to roll over, Becky's chained ankle rattling, Karen
moaning as the woman lay on top of the  child sucking and licking her slimy slit,
Becky's face trapped between her thighs, Stryker's sharp angry cane beating down
on her white back, harder than before, always harder, swishing through the air,
slicing painfully into her asscheeks as Becky's tongue pushed into Karen's asshole
and reamed out her cunthole.
	Stryker worked the two bitches like a true whoremaster dealing out pain with
quick downstrokes that followed no predictable rhythm. The smell of cunt filled the
room and their cries incited him to beat upon them harder and faster stirring them
to a mindless lesbian frenzy.
	Under Stryker's merciless beating Karen finally reared up her head and
gasping for air, her body shaking, she squeezed her legs together trapping
Becky against her cunt, the child's tongue flicking madly against the woman's hard
clit, Karen screaming as the climax exploded in her with a searing pressure that
made her piss orgasmic fluid into Becky's mouth as Stryker continued to beat her
and beat her, painting stripes, bruises and welts from her shoulders to her hips, the
bed squeaking loudly, Becky's chain rattling.
	"OhhnnNNHH! YEahhhh! YEahhhh!" she screamed, Becky moaning
underneath her, the teenage whore's fingers digging into Karen's hips gripping for
dear life, Becky never quitting the tongue lashing of the woman's cunt, Stryker
never quitting the downward swatting of the wooden cane until finally Karen
couldn't take any more and after three explosive burst-waves of mind numbing
pleasure which seemed to go on for long unendurable minutes she rolled quickly
away, off the bed and to the floor in a quivering heap.
	When she was able to regain some sense of herself she reached up to grab the
edge of the mattress to lift herself and lean against the bed. The weals the rod had
burned across her back smarted deeply, throbbed.
	By then, Stryker had released Becky from the ankle cuff and dragged her up
on her feet. Pulling her along by her hair he was leading her across the room to the
dangling chains by the picture window.
	"Now, Master?" Becky asked anxiously, her voice curiously high-pitched.
	Stryker ignored her as he lifted her arms up to cuffs in the chains. She went
on trying to get his attention.
	"Are you gonna do me now? Huh? Now, master? Can I get high first? Is it
gonna be the knife? How are you - will you choke me? Will you beat me, master?
Please, master - let me get high - let me -gggg"
	He silenced her with a big red ball gag which he pushed into her open mouth
and buckled around her head.
	"This'll shut your fuckin' yap, punkass bitch."
	He then raised the child whore up off her feet by tugging on the chains which
were on pulley lines way up above on an exposed beam in the ceiling and he cuffed
her ankles to the chains as well so that Becky hung there, legs spread wide, trying to
talk, her words muffled and unitelligible through the ball gag.
	Stryker came back for Karen grabbing the leash and pulling her out to the
center of the room, her cane-striped back to the fireplace where now the flames had
died down to glowing ambers.  Moonlight was flooding in through the french doors
and the picture window.
	The way Stryker had hung Becky the child could look out throught the glass
into the pine-tree covered mountain sides beyond.
	It would be a beautiful death, Karen thought, and yet her heart went out to
the child whose young life had been so briefly tragic.  She wondered where the
girl's parents were and if they would even care about what was happening to their
daughter. 
	Stryker went to the table and Karen saw him choose a long butcher knife.
	The blade which slivered bits of moonlight back into Karen's eyes must have
been at least a foot long.
	Was it right for Becky to die like this? Karen thought helplessly, her eyes
tearing up, her lip quaking. Was it right for either of them?  
	Stryker stood silouhetted in the pale light coming through the french doors.
	His long arched cock and the blade of the knife were parallel shadows.
	Karen's cunt, still trembling with the aftershocks of the monumental orgasms
Becky and Stryker had brought about in her drooled, her lips parted as 
the powerful woman killer moved slowly, cat-like, almost silently, across the
polished wooden floor toward his victim.
	On the chains, Becky writhed, kicked her young legs.
	She was a foot off the ground and still Stryker towered over her.
	"Are you watching, Karen?" the killer asked gruffly.
	Karen couldn't find her voice.  It was like being in a dream where speech was
for some inexplicable reason impossible.
	"Are you with us, bitch?" Stryker boomed staring in her direction.
	His glowering visage, barely visible in the shadows, was frightening.
	"Y-yess," she finally gasped. "Yes - m-master -"
	"Good," he snarled, his free hand now reaching up to grab Becky by her
pussy, his long middle finger pushing up into her to the hilt, the child squirming
responsively, tilting her head back. "Because I wouldn't want you to miss this."
	Without hesitation he began to plunge the butcher knife into Becky's
scrawny belly and small tits.
	Karen felt her clitoris twitch as the thudding meaty sounds of the knife
punching into the luckless teenager echoed in the large empty room.
	With each stab, Becky leaped wildly on the chains and screeched into the ball
gag, her head swinging back and forth, long blonde hair whipping about.
	Stryker held the teenager stiffly as she bucked her blood spattering his chest
and arms and face. She was actually fucking herself on his finger.
	"Yeahh!" he snarled angrily, sneering. "Yeahh! Die you little pig!"
	He felt her vaginal muscles contract and her pussy juice flow down his hand
as she orgasmed to the savage killing pain.
	He stabbed and slashed, stabbed and slashed, tearing the young crack-whore
apart, spearing through veins, arteries, muscles and organs, through the middle of
her, into her womb, into her chest, making her scream and sob and kick. 
	Releasing her he moved around her, never letting up on the heartless
destructive rhythm of his thrusts, jerking himself off with hard slow strokes.
	In counterpoint to Stryker's savagery, Karen knelt up straight and began to
frig herself rapidly.  She was delirious with pleasure.  With her other hand she
wrapped the dangling leash twice around her neck and tugged on it strangling
herself as the slaughter of the teenage girl went on.
	Stryker now slammed the dripping butcher knife deep into Becky's back as
the child's cries and her jerky puppetlike movements weakened.  In unexpected
silouhette against the incoming moonlight Becky turned her head against her
shoulder.
	The killer stopped for a moment fascinated by the beauty of the dying girl.
	Blood dripped from her to the floor.  Karen could hear each drop smack
against the polished wooden boards.
	Stryker reached up and pulled the ball gag from Becky's quivering lips letting
it dangle around her neck.
	"Who do you belong to, whore?" he asked softly, now jerking himself off
with slower, less urgent movements.
	Becky opened her eyes, coughed up blood, and looked down at Stryker,
smiling, scarlet spittle dripping from her lips. 
	"Y-you, master," she gasped. "I love you and - and belong to you - f-forever
-"
	Then she looked back at Karen for a moment before turning her head to
stare out on the moonlit landscape beyond the window.
	Karen was on the edge of passing out, tugging hard on the leash, choking
herself, another orgasmic wave building in her womb as she pressed her fingers
hard against her clit, grazed the sensitive skin with her sharp nails.
	"Fi-finish itt -" Becky moaned, her eyes lost in the beauty of the mountain
slopes.
	"You got it, cunt," Stryker sneered and the relentless thudding of the big
knife began again.
	Now the killer stabbed the suspended teen's legs and calves and feet, gashing
out tendon, muscle, chipping bone and cartilage. He sliced the soles of her feet. He
stabbed her cunt and sliced off her nipples and drove the knife all the way through
her neck watching her suddenly spasm and shiver, eyes wide, glassy, staring, rolling
back - pulled the knife out and drove it through her belly, the knife ripping through
one kidney and out the back. He sliced from one hip to the other and a gob of
intestines spilled down, rolled down her left thigh and
plopped to the floor.
	The child died with a rattling gasp but Stryker kept stabbing the dead carcass,
hilting his knife several times while Karen came, grunting, face flushed,
bending forward, drooling.
	Then the bitchkiller was standing over Karen. She saw his strong bare feet in
front of her spattered with Becky's blood.
	He reached down and pulled the blonde woman upright by her tangled hair,
unwrapping the leash from her neck as she gasped for air.
	He held the bloody butcher knife in front of her face.
	"Lick it clean for me," he growled.
	There was no hesitation or resistance. She leaned forward and as he held the
knife for her she ran her tongue over the sharp blade whining softly as it cut her,
her blood mixing with Becky's, a sour blend of rust and copper in her mouth as she
drank and licked again, Stryker watching her intently.
	"Hold your hands up for me, palm up - that's right - keep them there -"
	Slowly he brought the saliva-smeared knife tip to each hand and he cut
a shallow line across each palm. Then he stood there.
	"Take my cock - put it in your mouth - yes - that's right with both hands -
mmmm - yes - wet me with your blood - ahhh - that's nice - lick the tip of it -
slowly - mmmm - all around - yeah - underneath too - cup my balls - mmm -
shit that feels real nice, Karen - real nice - deep throat me - ahhhh - yeahh - swallow
me, pig -"
	She could barely get her mouth around him and his bitter salty taste made
her dizzy as his huge arched staff slid past the roof of her mouth and against
the aperture of her throat, making her gag and choke.  But somehow she managed
to control the gagging reflex and he slid into her throat and pushed forward into her
grabbing her by her hair to hold her as she gently squeezed his balls in her cut
hands.
	"Put your hands behind you," he snarled suddenly. "I'm gonna cum in your
throat."
	She obeyed instantly clasping her hands at the small of her back, a hot drop
of blood oozing from her sliced palms and down into the crack of her ass, rolling
down into her throbbing dripping pussy.
	"Mmmgg!" she grunted, looking up at the hulking giant who stood over her,
knife in hand, thrusting his hips into her, fucking her face, his tattooed cock
hilting in her mouth, the red cartoon heart with the little dagger through it sliding in
and out, her nose tickled by his wiry pubic hair.
	Would he use the knife on her like he'd just done on Becky?
	Karen felt herself lubricate. Hot fluid ran down the insides of her thighs.
	She slammed herself forward into his cock.
	His thrusts were quicker now and his head was tilting back.
	"Yeahhh, bitchh - that's right - mmmm - uhhh - c'mon, get me off - uhhh -
yeahh! yeahh! Unnnhhh! UHHH!"
	He waited until she hilted his whole cock in her mouth and then he held her
right there, gripped her head tightly so she couldn't back away, where she couldn't
draw breath, her eyes looking up at him, her cheeks flushed scarlet as he took his
time and shot three, four, five hot spurts of cum right into her throat, she sputtering,
eyes tearing up. He looked right down into her face as he did so,
eyes glimmering gloating slits, evil-pleasured goat eyes that took in her humiliating
surrender.  Then he took a step back slid out of her and shot three more thick
spurts on her face, one rolling up the side of her face into her hair to drip on her
earlobe as she whimpered, sperm spilling from her lips, until he finally released her
and she slid down to lie on the ground reaching out to touch his feet with her
bloody hands.
	He kicked her hands away.
	"Don't fuckin' touch me," he growled.
	"You're lucky you're still alive."
	"Th-thank you, m-master," she muttered, her face pressed against the floor,
sperm oozing from her lips. "Thank you."
	"For what, pig?"
	"For letting - uhm - for letting me w-watch -"
	He crouched down and looked down at her smiling wickedly.
	She avoided his eyes.
	"Oh you liked that, did you?" he asked.
	"Ye-yes - yes, sir."
	She could smell the powerful masculine smell of him.  His tattooed cock was
still dripping cum. His balls were coated with the blood from her cut hands. Becky's
blood was drying all over his chest hair and slick belly.
	"What the fuck did you like about it?"
	Her eyes clouded with tears and she couldn't believe the words that came
from her lips.
	"It was beautiful."
	"Really?"
	He crept toward her and crouched over her face, easing down to press his
asshole right against her nostrils.
	She felt his anus quiver and then a rasping fart erupted from him.
	The fetid stench almost made her vomit.
	He laughed and rose up to stand, her head between his feet.
	"Stupid cunt...why the fuck do you think I do it? Of course its beautiful.
There's nothing more beautiful than killing a bitch. Nothing in this fucking world. It
makes me feel like God."
	She sobbed softly, covering her face in her bloody hands.
	"You are God," she whined.
	Her words made him smile.
	"Maybe I am," he chuckled.
	"Yeah, bitch. Maybe I am."



4.

	He fucked her over and over, brutally, vengefully, hatefully.
	She lost all track of time, opened herself to him and let go.
	With the slaughter knife he sliced cut lines on her footsoles as she lay on her
belly on the mattress and he stood at the side of the brass bed rubbing his cock
between her bleeding feet until he came, his cum mixing with her blood and
dripping down her calves.
	He made her lie on her back and prop her feet up against the head of the bed,
under the top bar, legs wide open, and told her to piss on herself sliding his cock in
and out of her pissing cunt, laughing with the sick pleasure of it, lubricated with her
urine which ran down her sides and spine into the blood-soaked mattress.
	Beyond the french doors and the big window sunlight lit up the sky.
	Becky's knife-ripped carcass hung on the chains above a large puddle of
blood, still dripping.
	The fire had died to ashes.
	Sometime during the night while he'd fucked Karen up the ass Stryker told
her about a little girl he'd killed in an abandoned school and how he'd made her call
him God. That's why he'd found Karen's words funny, he told her.  He sat on her
face and jerked himself off and told her about three little girls he'd drowned in his
mansion on the East coast. Karen's cut feet trailed small lines of fresh blood on the
mattress. He told her about many of his kills and he pushed himself into her in every
possible way, slamming her into the stinking bed, fucking her on the floor, getting
her to stand up, making her lick the gashes on Becky's butchered body and then
forcing Karen down on her knees again to strangle her with the leash and ram his
cock down her miserable throat.
	He used her for all she was worth.
	"I am your God," he told her over and over. "Say it. Say it for me, loud and
clear."
	And she did over and over and over.
	He used her abusively, the way a slaughter-slut should be used.
	When morning edged toward afternoon he released Becky's body from the
chains, let it fall heavily to the wooden floor and he fucked the dead teen's carcass
on the bloody boards while Karen watched frigging herself with her cut hands. 
	Seeing Stryker lift the young dead girl's stiffening legs on to his shoulders
and push his huge prick up Becky's gashed out cunt made Karen cum and then
vomit bile on the floor between her own outstretched legs.
	Then Stryker and Karen bathed in the small bathroom and fucked in the tub,
he slamming her head against the tiles as he pumped her from behind.
	He slapped her face and pissed on it while the shower ran down cold on her
face.
	Karen watched him drag Becky's body out to the yard- she watched him
stand over the butchered girl with a chain-saw which he got from the garage and
watched him jerk the pull cord on the saw's motor and felt herself almost cum
when the engine buzz-roared to life.  Blood and bits of flesh flew out on the lawn
and on the surrounding trees. Some of it spattered Karen's naked flesh. Birds
fluttered away from the loud roar. Stryker used the heavy tool expertly, his face
goggled, his eyes fixed with stern concentration as he quartered his young victim. 
He stuffed the mutilated pieces in three big black trash bags then fucked Karen right
there, on the blood spattered concrete tiles in the rear patio. 
	Then he fucked her on a stone balustrade while she straddled him, riding his
unstoppable erection.
	Karen came again and again.  Each time, after the raging pleasure waned she
was overcome with shame and sadness - it was difficult for her to face that this was
her true nature, that this was the role she'd been intended for - She wept for herself,
for her stupidity, for her acceptance and submission but mostly for the senseless life
she would soon leave behind.  She wondered if Stryker had decided upon the
means of her slaughter but knew it was not her place to even bring the subject up.
She was sure he would tell her when the time came. And if not - well, if not, then he
would just do it and that too she would have to accept. The thought of her husband
coming home from his business trip and wondering where she was, worrying about
her and finally calling the police, filled her with sorrow but each time Stryker's
strong virile hands seized her and his stone-hard prick sank deep into her he erased
all sense of regret from her mind.  Her fate was no longer a matter for her to
concern herself with. She had given herself to the killer - belonged to him
completely now and there was no going back.
	His limitless cruelty and inhumanity excited her, aroused her like nothing
had ever done. His power over her was absolute and she found herself swept away
by it.  He was her drug, her poison - She understood how Becky had
writhed orgasmically under his plunging knife.  She only hoped she too,
like Becky, would find ultimate pleasure in the ultimate moment and not fear
and doubt.
	It was well past noon and the sun beat down on her back hotly as she
slid up and down on his sleek shaft. They were on the far side of the house now
where he'd led her after fucking her in the patio.  He lay back on a deck chair by
the empty kidney-shaped marble-tiled pool which was full of dead leaves and pine
needles and he had told her to keep her hands behind her. The tall trees rustled
around them. The mountains circled them serenely. She straddled him, riding him
again, bouncing up and down and every once in a while he would reach up and slap
her jiggling tits hard while his eyes just studied her, calm, serene, lizard-like.  She
impaled herself on him and he grinned sadistically. The bitch was crazy for him.
He'd fucked the shit out of her and she kept coming back for more.  She was going
to be a delicious kill.
	"Turn around," he told her. "Stick my cock up your ass."
	She obeyed instantly swivelling quickly, sliding up off his hot meat, gripping it
in her cut hand to push it up against her tight asshole and push herself down on to
it. He seized her hips and thrust upward into her.  She leaned forward from the
waist and moved up and down on him eagerly, eyes shut, lips pressed together.
	He watched the muscles move on her back as she strained against him. The
stripes he'd put on her with the cane the night before were now just faint red lines.
	"Fuckin' bitch," he growled. "I wanna get started with you."
	She moaned feverishly as his prick filled her rectal passage and scraped
deeper.
	"I want to hurt you, Karen. I want to hurt you bad."
	"Y-yes, master."
	"I want to make you bleed, cunt. I want to break you."
	"I'm ready for it master - uhh - ready for it -"
	"Are you sure, cunt? Are you sure you're ready for me?"
	"Yes - yes, master - I want it - w-want to hurt - hurt for you -"
	"Is that all?"
	"I - uhh - I wa-want to - to die for you."
	"Good. That's what I want to hear... let's go in the house."
	He pushed her off him, rose up off the deck chair, took her by her leashed
neck and led her through the patio and back inside. She let him lead her following
meekly, her arms still clasped behind her.
	After the brightness outside the large empty central room in the house
seemed dark.
	This was it, she thought. The moment was near.
	He hoisted her arms up one at a time to the suspension chains.
	She let herself be handled.
	"Have you ever been whipped or tortured before?" he asked as he secured
her wrists to the leather cuffs.  She was now on the same cuffs that had held Becky
for Stryker's murderous knifing the night before. Under Karen's feet the floor was
sticky, smeared and slippery with the young butchered girl's blood.
	"Yes - when I was a girl - a neighbor... he - raped me and tortured me and
threatened to kill me if I told."
	"What did he do to you?"
	"He hurt me inside. Cut me. Whipped me with a rubber hose where it
wouldn't show...he messed me up in-inside - I - I can't have children -"
	"Hmm - what else?"
	"He would blow cigar smoke in my face - once he put a plastic bag over my
face and made me breathe cigar smoke while he burned my pussy and my nipples
and then - he raped me."
	"How old were you?"
	"Twelve - he did it until I was fifteen and we moved away."
	"Man after my own heart," Stryker commented. She watched him go across
the room to a closet next to the bathroom.
	The confession of her memories had made her feel empty, weak.
	"Guess your neighbor got you started real nice, cunt," he said looking for
something inside on the closet shelves. She couldn't see what he was doing because
the closet door was in the way.  "I think a slut like you is beyond regular every day
punishment and torture...yeah...You're way beyond that. I think we need something
special for you - hmmm - yeah, something real special - ahh, yeah, this'll do nicely -
and these - mmm don't remember using these yet.  This'll be something new for
me as well."
	As he came back towards her she saw the flogger. Sharp steel blades hung on
the tip of each of its fifteen tongues.  In his other hand he carried a tall belljar full of
glass balls, twenty of them in all, they were odd looking and as he walked by her to
put the bell jar down on the table with the other torture instruments she could see
why.  Each ball was spiked with tiny glass quills.
	He strode back out into the center of the room and faced her, the bladed lash
dangling from his hand.
	"Time to bleed for your Lord and Master, pig," he snarled and raised the
flogger high.
	He swung it down across both her thighs and the unexpected sharpness of
the pain took her breath away.  She cried out and tried to back away from him but
the chains held her upraised arms in place, giving only a little and the lash swished
through the air again and tore into her plump thighs just above her knees.  She
looked down and saw the streak cuts the lash was leaving as it cut her skin. She
screamed with pain and looked up at him. His eyes were burning with lust and he
was stroking himself as he raised the whip again.
	"I'm gonna rip you to shreds," he told her. She had no reason to doubt his
words.  Her feet slipped on Becky's blood as she tried to cringe away from the
oncoming lash strokes but there was no escape.  Soon he'd gotten into a deadly
rhythm swiping the deadly flogger across her legs and shins.  She danced for him, a
dance of blistering agony as he flayed the skin from her lovely legs and soon her
blood was dripping down and mixing with the dead teen whore's on the shiny
wood.  Up on one foot she danced and he found the more sensitive target of her
inner thigh, first one leg than the other, the slashing thwack of the whip followed by
her shrill cries.
	She realized then that he wasn't going to kill her quickly, like he had
Becky. He was going to give her the long slow road.
	The pain overwhelmed her and she began to plead with him, to beg him to
stop, to let her go, to tell him she'd been wrong that she wasn't ready.
	"Too late, bitch," he spat. "Too fuckin' late."
	He moved around her sending the slicing bladed tongues against the back of
her thighs and her kneehollows and the swell of her calves.  He whipped hard and
aimed his strokes well nipping at her methodically, driving her crazy with pain, until
she howled and sobbed and jerked around on the dangling chains.  As her feet
kicked up off the floor he would tear the lash across her knifed foot soles and across
her ankles, slashing deep cuts into the pretty limbs.  Karen shrieked wildly and
shrilly for mercy and he told her to scream louder - that no one could hear her and
that he enjoyed it.  And the truth was that he did enjoy a victim's screams.  The
sounds of this pretty bitch in pain drove him to the absolute edge of ecstasy.
	He gave her fifteen more strokes and then he moved in on her to rub his
cock on her sliced-up legs.  He rubbed it up and down, all the way down to her
heels and back up to her ass.
	"Spread your fuckin' legs," he snarled.
	As she did he pushed his cock up into her cunt from behind and after a few
deep fuck-jabs he withdrew, stepped back and resumed the violent slashing.
	Now behind her he began to flog-cut her asscheeks slashing brutally from
left to right and right to left, leaving long slice cuts on her tender skin, making her
scream her guts out. He ordered her to keep her legs wide open and every now and
then he would swat the flogger up from the ground into her snatch.  The bladed
tongues tore into her cuntmeat savagely and the pain was excruciating - she rose up
on her toes and almost leaped into the air to escape it.
	Again he moved in on her, this time to rub his cockhead all over her bleeding
ass and to push it up her asshole as she blubbered and pleaded for mercy.
	He laughed as he jammed himself up her anal passage pushing past her
sphincter and burying his hard arched manspear in her asshole.  As he fucked her
he flogged the sides of her legs and her feet gripping her by the scruff of the neck to
hold her steady.
	"Pleeease - oghh goddd - pleease master - I can't take any moohhrrre!"
	"You told me you were ready."
	"Pleeease! I can't - owwwhh! - I CAN'T!"
	"Fuck you, cunt. I gave you a chance to back out in the restaurant. You
decided not to.  Now its too fuckin' late. Now you're gonna take what's comin' to
you."
	Then he was sliding out of her again and stepping back.
	"You're gonna take it all..."
	He resumed his attack of her chunky asscheeks delivering stroke after stroke
of slashing skin-dicing pain. She jerked around and swung by her wrists and kicked
her legs to no avail. There was no escaping the flogger's blades. He beat her until
she almost passed out and then she heard him moving about. She was in a daze, her
breath wheezing between sobs.
	"You're a bit too comfortable for my taste," he told her dragging a step
ladder that he got from the closet up behind her, climbing up to drop a stretch of
thick rope from a hook in the ceiling beam.
	Before she knew what was going on he'd released her arms from the chains
and tied her wrists behind her neck, the dangling rope around her throat, tight, her
elbows framing her face, arms pressed against her head.  He pulled on the rope until
she stood on the tips of her toes choking and then he climbed down
and picked up the flogger once more.
	"Stinking sluttt!" he snarled and began to flog Karen's big juicy tits
vehemently.  The bladed lash tore across her nipples and cut her aurolae,
turned the meaty upstanding jugs to hamburger in twenty strokes.
	"You're here for the duration now, pigmeat!"
	Stryker leaned in to suck her bloody nipples and force his fist up her
twat while she hung choking on the rope, her feet slipping on the bloody floor.
	Then he stepped away and flogged her back bloody.
	"Take it you stupid fucking bitch! Just fucking TAKE IT!"
	It was no longer possible for her to cry out.
	She made small whiny noises in her throat, shrieky squeals.
	The bladed flogger tore deep grooves across her spine and her meaty hips
and blood flowed down her back.
	Just as she started to pass out he cut the rope and she crumpled to the
ground.
	He stood over her and pushed his hand with which he still gripped the
bloodied flogger into her face.
	"Kiss the hand that slaughters you, pig," he told her.
	She puckered her lips and pressed them into his knuckles and he smiled.
	The bitch was his.
	All the way his.


6.

	Wrists bound together above her head Karen hung from the ceiling, hoisted
up on her toes once more, weak from blood loss, bathed in pain, covered with
tiny bleeding cuts all over.
	Stryker brought the belljar with the glass spike-quilled balls in it.
	He took one and raised it to her mouth. Each quill was slightly blue tinted.
	"Swallow it," he told her.
	She opened her lips obediently and he thrust the spiked ball in.
	The ball was the size of a large marble and as soon as she swallowed it it tore
its way down her esophagus to her stomach.
	She looked up at him in shock, blood dripping from her mouth.
	"Yeah. That's right. I want you all cut up on the inside, pig - just like on the
outside."
	He took another ball and pushed it into her.
	"Swallow," he ordered.
	She moaned and lifted her head and swallowed with a choked off cry as the
second ball tore her apart inside.
	After the tenth ball she tottered and her head sagged.
	He held the ammonia strip under her nose reviving her and lifted the
eleventh ball to her mouth.
	For him it was incredibly pleasurable to watch the stupid bitch take
the torture spheres and swallow them.  He knew that she had finally overcome
her fear of death and that now she would satisfy any wish he had.  She had
surrendered body and soul to him and she was nothing more now than a toy for
him to play with.
	This had not happened often for him. Few willing victims ever truly
surrendered in the end but Karen was special - she was determined to suffer
to the limit for his pleasure.
	After she swallowed the last sphere he went to the table and strapped on the
spiked knuckle bands.
	He came back to her and lifted her face up to his by her chin.
	"Love me, pig?"
	"Yes, master."
	"That's the way things should be. You should love me. What am I to you?"
	" - g - g -God -" she whispered.
	He smiled, let her head sag and stepped away.
	He reared back and began a savage gut punching of the blood-whipped
hanging woman.
	The first few spike-knuckled blows winded her. The next few blows ruptured
her spleen and shattered her bladder.  She gasped and spewed up blood but he went
on.  He punched her sliced up tits and broke four ribs, punched
her chest and cracked her collar bone.  He cunt punched her until her mons
was gashed apart. Then he swung her around facing away from him and
pounded into her kidneys until she howled like an animal then he moved down her
body pounding her sliced up asscheeks and thighs, breaking one leg and swinging
her around to snap one knee-cap like a twig.
	He stopped and watched her writhing in horrible agony.
	"I guess I just don't love you back," he told her.
	She looked up at him, her face grimacing with pain, tears pouring down her
cheeks.
	"You're just a thing to me. A disposable object."
	For a while she lost track of time but when she came back from her floating
daze the fire was crackling in the fireplace and Stryker was standing in front of her.
Her stomach inside was churning painfully and she thought it might have been
because of the beating - then she realized that the glass balls were moving through
her intestines and she began to cry.
	"Tummy hurt?" Stryker asked with exaggerated concern.
	"Oh godd -" she groaned. "Kill me - pleease - kill me!"
	"No way, cunt. I need to get every one of those glass balls back. They cost
me a fuckin' fortune."
	He watched as the pain in her guts intensified. His gluttonous sadism was
being fed as never before. Outside it was dark and the glass panels of the french
doors reflected the grisly scene from across the room.  So that while the bitch hung
before him and he was looking into her face he could also look in the 
glass across the way and see the reflection of her from behind.
	She began to twist and grind in desperate suffering and Stryker jerked
off watching her.  He moved around her, caressed her slashed body with his hands,
pushed his cock into her gashed cunt, licked at her wounds.
	After nearly an hour of that he lowered her into a painful position
over the bell jar on the bloody floor, her arms tightly bound behind her with tight
leather cords, her blonde hair twisted in a tight braid and pulled up by a knotted
rope holding her head upright, her legs up off the floor folded over a metal cross
bar, like a trapeze swing, which he'd hooked between both chain strands.  He'd tied
thin leather cords tightly around her big toes and these cords led back to small
fishing hooks speared through her slashed pussy lips.  This forced her to keep her
legs from kicking out - if she did kick out, either because she was losing her balance,
or because she was responding to pain, the hooks would tear her coral pink cuntlips
right off her. 
	"Don't you break any of those balls, bitch. You hear me? Let them tear your
asshole to pieces but dont force them out."
	One by one Karen began to shit out each of the blood-soaked spiked glass
spheres screaming as she hung there. They tore her all apart inside as they moved
through her bowels and it took her nearly  two hours to evacuate them.  By then
she was shitting blood in spurts and pieces of intestine and she was barely able to
keep her strained position, her feet kicking out and tugging on the hooks in her
labia.  Her scalp, tugged by the knotted rope as she moved her head from side to
side, was stretched to its limit and it seemed her hair was being torn out strand by
strand.  When the twentieth ball slid out of her she gave out a long husky groan and
shivered, her wrists numb and chafed, her feet arched and cramped, muscle pain
moving up her legs, unbearable possesive pain that she didn't think she would be
able to handle.
	As if that was not enough Stryker now stood over her. He had a long steel
rod in his hand that he'd been heating over the fire.
	"You really do have pretty feet, pig," he told her raising the burning metal to
her foot sole. "Too bad they won't be pretty any more."
	She remembered the predatorial way he'd looked at her leg in the restaurant
the night before when she'd shown him the shoes she'd bought, or the way his
hand had gripped her knee under the table - then the burning toothpick, child's play
compared to what she was undergoing now - and she wondered if he'd been
thinking of just this all along.
	The burning pain seared through her and she screeched and pleaded for him
to stop unable to kick her leg out of the way, her toe strangled by the leather cord
and tugging on her hooked cuntlip.
	He held the hot steel gently against the wrinkled knife-cut sole studying her 
pain, moving the rod from the heel up to the toes, charring the flesh black.
	"All you have to do is get it out of the way," he told her. "Just kick your
cute leg up, bitch - that's all - and the pain will stop. C'mon. Let me see you kick
that pretty leg up in the air - c'mon little dancer - do a little high kick for me."	
	"Nuhhhhggg! Pleeeazze! aahhwhhh - ooowhhhh!"
	"I'm just gonna hold the rod there cunt. I'll burn right down to the bone
if that's what you want. I don't mind that at all."
	It felt like her foot was on fire, like flames were leaping and dancing all over
her leg.  She couldn't hang on much longer. She was going to have to trade
one kind of pain for another.  With a quick spastic jerk she kicked her leg up away
from Stryker's blazing rod.  The hook snagged her pussy lip and tore the
skin from the mons all the way down to her ass.  She screamed with all the air in
her lungs as her cunt cried thick syrupy blood tears, the torn labia hanging from the
hook still attached to the cord around her toe.
	Then, with indifferent patience, Stryker re-heated the steel rod and put it to
her other limb.
	He smiled watching her horrible suffering.
	"Now you know what it feels like, don't you, pig?"
	"Agghhh - d-dear Gg-Goddd - no more - no more - no more -"
	"Sorry, cunt. God wants LOTS more."
	Dark smoke wafted up from her burning foot.
	Sometimes God wants so much, she thought, her mind trying to hold on to
something - anything - There were earthquakes, plane crashes, infant deaths,
AIDS, wars, famine - and there was this single solitary burning pain like a
quasar, filling her senses to the limit - as though God had decided to vent all his
monstrous sadistic appetite for destruction on Karen's tiny limb - all of the rage in
the universe on the tender sole of her right foot - so gently applied from
the toes to the talus - sliding up and down like a malevolent metronome keeping
time, counting off the seconds as they stretched wider and wider into infinity.
	She knew Stryker would hold the rod to her all night if necessary.
	There was nothing else she could do.
	She kicked her leg up and tore out the other pussy lip with a keening
reverberant shriek that made Stryker's cock surge exquisitely.
	He stood looking down on her smiling as the horrible pain subsided slightly,
abating in waves and then casually the sadistic killer raised the tip of the rod to
Karen's lip-less cunt and pushed the burning steel into her gaping bloody slit.
	The pain was white. A mantle of raw-edged whiteness blasting out all
knowledge, all sanity, all humanity - cleaning out her head like a silent jet
engine suddenly aimed at the pulpy center of her femininity.
	"GghhhrrgagaA-AHH-AHHRRRRGGHH!
	She screamed like a wild beast caught in a trap, a female animal brought
down - struck down, cast from grace like a falling angel -  Stryker slowly sliding the
hot steel in - and - out - in - and - out - slowly - patiently fucking her cunt with it -
burning her vaginal passage black.
	Here finally was the fuck she'd so deeply longed for her whole empty life.
	She was being filled to the brim.
	Then suddenly, before she could black out, he stopped.
	 He freed her head from the rope knotted in her scalp,  slipped the leather
strands off her arms and toes, seized her, lifted her off the crossbar on to his
shoulders and hung her up off the ground on the chains once more, now by cuffed
wrists and ankles, just like he'd hung Becky the night before.
	Weakly and helplessly she watched him re-heat the steel rod in the crackling
fire.
	When he came for her now there was no expression on his face.
	His eyes were glowing and hollow like the stars she'd seen above while the
men had raped her - it seemed like centuries ago - 
	This was it, she thought.
	Its going to end.
	He began with her upraised arms pressing the hot steel right to the bone,
leaving deep cauterized black wounds in her moving down to her shoulders, armpits
and her back.  He had fucked her cunt with the fire-rod - now he would fuck her
whole body with it. He speared each tit through the middle of each orb pushing the
scalding metal through her while she screamed raucously and then he stabbed into
her through the nipples.  Then he stabbed her asscheeks and her legs
driving the terrible weapon deep, re-heating it to continue, until he'd placed more
than forty deep wounds in his pathetically defeated victim.  Brutally he began to
whip her hips with the hot metal rod until both bones cracked, the left hip
dislocating as she vomited blood.  He pressed the burning steel into her thighs
several times and almost as an afterthought he bashed her knees and shins and
broke both her legs with one mighty stroke. 
	Then he reached up and released her from the chains, one limb at a time.
	She fell in a heap unconscious.
	He revived her with the ammonia strip, dragged her out of the house through
the french doors to the patio, dragged her by her tangled mane of
blonde hair and dumped her on the concrete tiles, face up.
	He sat on her chest and she saw he had the killing knife.
	He reached down and cut her ear-lobes from her head.
	He cut her nipples off and sliced one breast off her.
	The crickets were chirping softly all around and above the moon shone down
through the clouds. Occasionally a misty drizzle rained down from the sky, bathing
killer and victim in tiny jewelled beads of moisture.
	Now, Karen thought. This is it. Not much longer.
	"F-fuck me," she whispered hoarsely.
	He smiled, picked up her hand and began slicing the finger tips from it.
	Waves of new hot pain tore through her and she writhed weakly under him,
kicking her broken legs out on the cold wet stones.
	In the forest some small creature skittered away noisily through the
shrubbery.
	He took the other hand, stabbed through it, then cut her index finger clean
off.
	"You want me to fuck you?" he asked sofly, tracing her broken gouged arm
with the knife blade, cutting into her skin.
	" - yesss - muh-muh-master - ppleease -"
	He cut all the way down one broken leg to her foot.
	Sliced two toes off her as she jerked around erratically.
	Stabbed the other leg, deep into her whipped thigh before slicing off her big
toe.
	The moon seemed like a spotlight hung in the ceiling of some cheap
little theater and the landscape around them just a painted backdrop and the
chirping of the crickets was God's sick laughter in her ears.
	"You stinking wasted slut," God was saying to her.
	" - stinking filthy animal cunt - fuck this -"
	- and Stryker had kicked her busted-up mutilated legs apart and crouched
between them to thrust the long stainless steel kitchen knife right up into her
wounded, burned out, lip-less cunthole.
	Ecstasy exploded in her head like spiraling comets falling to earth. She
quivered and fucked Stryker's knife, squeezing the cold blade with her singed cuntal
muscles as the tip of the weapon pierced deep into her uterus and popped her like a
balloon and she shook and wheezed and banged the back of her head
on the stones and he laughed working the blade in and out as she looked up
at the distant moon now slipping behind the clouds.
	Tiny raindrops cooled her burning cheeks.
	He tore the knife out of her, lifted her broken legs, pushed them back, spread
her open like ripe fruit and nailed his aching cock deep in her bleeding twat to fuck
her bluntly and while she quivered and drew her last breaths under him he pierced
her pretty eyeballs with his knife, slicing into the green pupils,
taking all images from her, robbing her of all vision as she moaned his name, bits of
white eyball and ruined bloody irises running down the sides of her face.
He thrust violently into her then, pummeled her broken bleeding body against the
concrete stones until she died under him mouth wide still trying to breathe as 
he plunged the knife into her diaphragm and then her heart and finally through her
lungs -

		- its His hard cock inside her the last thing and His hot breath on her
		cheek. His knife aches inside her and tears the life from her and His meat
		pushes deep into the slash in her charred uterus.  She realizes the long trip
		is coming to an end - all her days spent in suspense and this the
		arrival - and up there she knows the moon is coming out from behind the
		clouds to look at her as she dies, hoping He will cum in her one last time
		- this is finally what she has yearned for, dreamed about, and it is all, it is
		everything it could be and more - an end to the questions - an end to the
		need for faith - darkness rushing up to catch her - and now His hard
		pounding - so hungry and brutal and perfect - she is His meat after all -
		has always been and always will be - cruel abuser, cruel lover, cruel
		male killer - His and no one else's - she melting and blending with her
		butcher in this final sweetly  perfect act of total sadism - this is the closest
		she will come to any man and to any love. Karen will know nothing but
		this deep bursting, breaking - she wants above all to please Him sliding
		into darkness and hearing Him  shout - yes He calls her terrible names -
		hurtful cruel and ugly and He hates her and He spits on her face instead of
		kissing her and that makes her shiver as faintly the pleasure in her cunt
		glows like hard glass melting in a blaze and she feels His hips buck and
		pound and slam her down and defeat her and she cums for Him, cums and
		dies almost at the same moment her soul fleeing  but her body
		still jerking senselessly -


	Stryker marvelled that the bitch was still alive, it was fucking amazing. He
rammed deep into her and put his hands around her throat.
	"Stinking whore - die - scumbag bitch - pig - dirt - filth -"
	He shouted and looked down into her eyeless face.
	This was one of the best kills ever, her cunt was actually twitching against
him, even after he'd knife fucked it.
	He spat on her face and felt the sweet buildup of pleasure in his balls.
	Her mouth was wide open now and he spread it even wider with his big
fingers and spat in it as she quivered and gasped dying under him.
	He squeezed his thumbs into her throat and felt his cock shoot off inside her.
	"Ahhhhh goddamnnn!" he shouted, swallowed hard and smiled as a second
burst of pleasure blew him away. "Uhhhhh! SHitttttt!"  His hips slammed his
ejaculating penis deeper, lodging it in the wound in her uterus. "Jeeesus fuckking
CHRISSTTT!" He banged her head against the stone, up and down until her
skull shattered.
	After a few minutes the blinding intensity subsided but Stryker wasn't
finished.
	He dragged Karen's body back into the house and began to dismember it
piece by piece with his knife, entranced with her destruction - wanting it to be
absolute.  After a couple of hours he had completely disassembled her body
in front of the fireplace.  She lay in pieces, nearly twenty of them, limbs, torso,
head, guts, heart - each piece a toy for him to push against his cock and rub
all over his chest and belly and thighs.  When he was covered with her blood
and the detritus of her destruction he jerked himself off and came in her gutted
eyesockets pushing his prick deep into her broken skull, into her brain matter.
	Then in a final act of mutilation he reached into her mouth, cut out her
tongue and tossed it into the flames.
	The flesh sputtered, sparked into flames and burst into glimmering ashes.
	Above the house a dove called out twice then took wing over the
rustling pines.

WOODBURN