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.
   Rain and Woman-Blood
   1.
   Slowly, deliberately, Stryker buried his teeth deep in the nude teenage
girl's bare upstretched arm.  She squealed and jerked around like a trapped
rabbit.  He pushed his tongue against her warm flesh feeling the taut
sinewy muscle under the skin and he bit harder, standing in front of her,
holding her by her hips, his powerful hands keeping her steady.
   He had hung her by her roped wrists from the dangling chain and her
weight had been so slight that the old ceiling beam did not even creak. 
Her ankles too were roped together, tight enough to gouge her tender skin,
and her toes, small, delicate and unpainted barely touched the dirty
plank-board floor of the old cabin.
   She was naked and bruised from his blows.  He'd strapped a black
ball-gag tightly around her head to force her mouth wide and she drooled
and looked at him frantically, her pretty, though unremarkable, face cut
and bruised from his assault, her straight blonde mane spilling in tangles
down between her upper arms and her cheeks.
   He bit harder still, his teeth breaking her taut skin, the rusty taste
of fresh blood on his tongue as she screamed her terror into the gag, her
fingers groping at the air above her bound hands, her toes pushing against
the floor.
   Raping her had been delicious.
   She was such a perfect victim, an all-American, apple-pie, girl next
door type, the one that doesn't quite make the cheerleader squad, the one
that is always polite and has a sweet smile for anyone in authority; the
one that hangs out with her friends in the mall hoping the boy she likes
will ask her to the prom.  She was that kind of girl which always seemed to
end up in the newspaper and in the sleazier television tabloids after her
body was found face-down in some muddy ditch.  She was the kind of small
town victim the media would go crazy for exactly because she was so
inconsequential.  She was just like the millions of readers and viewers who
hung on every word the media would say about her.  She was run-of-the-mill,
ordinary, average, colorless and people would feel sorry for her because
she reminded them of their daughters and sisters and girlfriends.  They
would feel sorry for her because she was one of them.  Unimportant. 
Unassuming.  Innocent.  There was a lot less sympathy in the world for some
bar-room slut or some wasted whore found ravaged and discarded like
garbage. But the rape-kill of an ordinary child instantly elicited outrage
and shock.  It made people face the fact that, despite all their trust in
civilized society, a monstrous beast still lurked in their midst.
   And for those who chose to believe that the beast did not live within
themselves it was more expedient to believe that it lived in others who
must be sought out and destroyed.  So when the image of a murdered
girl-child sparked serious curiosity, it was dismissed as just curiosity
and not the morbid instinct for savagery that lurked just beneath the
surface, not the predatorial thirst for unrepressed savagery which haunts
the human heart.
   For Stryker who lived in full acceptance of his own mercilessly
blood-thirsty nature this young girl, so innocent and full of life, was
just fuel for the fire.
   Stryker had gauged her to be maybe thirteen or fourteen, a sweet young
blonde bunny with small budding tits and long coltish legs.
   He'd stalked her for a couple of weeks after spotting her drinking from
a water fountain at the park wearing white shorts, a red t-shirt and
sneakers.  The t- shirt had a fading logo of the Disney Lion King and as
she drank and pursed her pretty lips, a breeze blowing her silky blonde
hair, the sun on her sweet lightyly freckled face instantly made Stryker
hard.  He decided not to use his men for this kill but to go on his own,
tracking the little bitch down to her house in the affluent Rosewood
suburbs, watching a few days later from his cargo van as she got off the
school bus and walked five short blocks to her house in the upscale
neighborhood.
   He'd watched from a patch of woods near the house as she swam in the
pool behind the expensive house with her friends, two other cuties, all of
them in colorful skimpy bikinis, girl-flesh shiny wet in the August sun,
girlish voices talking, giggling, young bodies splashing in and out of the
water, making his cock rock hard under his camouflage-green combat
fatigues. He watched them through the high-powered field binoculars
focusing in tight on them, drops of sweat trickling down his forehead as he
studied their graceful movements, their flowing shapes, delicate limbs
glistening wet, gleeful, innocent eyes, as he carefully assessed the
logistics.
   And, to his delight, as if the youths were not tempting enough, they
were eventually joined by a woman in her early thirties who emerged from
the house and walked across the neatly mowed grass toward the pool .  The
contrast of her full adult figure, plump tits and curvaceous ass, also
bikini clad, as well as her deeper sexy, low-pitched voice when she spoke
to the girls, made Stryker dizzy with lust.
   He would later verify that the woman was his target's mom.  The physical
similarities were obvious, the same sensual shape to the lips, the cute
small nose, the long shapely legs.  She represented the full potential her
daughter would reach as an adult and Stryker deeply lusted for the
destruction of such beauty.  Such beauty needed to be broken and crushed,
utterly destroyed.
   The woman had set a blue towel she was carrying down on a lawn chair
stepped into bright sunlight at the edge of the pool and dove into the
water as the three young girls cheered.  The cry had reminded Stryker of
the way exotic jungle birds sometimes sounded as they sprang skyward.  He'd
watched the woman swim toward the girls, her head bobbing in and out of the
water, her mouth wide as she drew breath between strokes, her strong calves
scissoring through the surface, and felt himself grow harder.
   It had taken a great effort of will for Stryker to hold his ground. 
What he'd really wanted to do then, in the middle of the hot August day,
was step into the clear and mount an attack on all four females.  He
probably could have gotten away with it too, coming up on them with the
sawed-off, pump-action shotgun, getting them out of the pool and into the
house (they'd stop their stupid giggling then), tying their wet bodies up
tight, gagging them, then doing one at a time, slowly, in the bathroom or
the kitchen, while the others all helplessly watched, saving the woman for
last, murdering them all brutally and bathing in their warm blood...But
then he thought of how wonderful it might be perhaps to save mother and
daughter for last...to kill the young teen and to see momma's pleading eyes
as he slowly butchered the daughter's strong young body on the kitchen
counter, dismembering her like a chicken...But there were far too many
variables and the move didn't feel right.  Besides, he wanted to take his
time with the little blonde angel.  He wanted this kill to be private,
intimate, close-up.  He wanted to take the child apart piece by piece, a
small bit at a time.  So he would have to kidnap her and take her to one of
his special' places.
   And it would certainly be an intriguing challenge to come back for momma
afterwards, once the daughter was done, to take momma in her moment of
grief, to tell her how he'd slowly tortured and slaughtered her baby while
forcing his hard man-meat deep into juicy warm blonde cunt.  Maybe he would
rape momma right on baby's grave...or maybe he would save baby all beaten
and bloody and kill her in front of momma.  That was always the best.  To
make momma watch.  He'd done it before.  It was always so deliciously
dramatic.
   As he'd carefully considered every possibility Stryker had continued to
observe the three girls and the woman in the pool from the woods, pulling
his tattooed cock out as he knelt in the brush to jerk off, his fatigues
dark-stained with sweat, going to the edge of orgasm but stopping short,
saving his pleasure for the kill.
   Then, three days later, he'd come up behind Jennifer Hadley, his little
target slut, as she walked home from the school bus-stop, her short
school-uniform skirt fluttering around her thighs, and he'd put the gun to
her little baby-harlot face, the Remington .45 automatic, as she turned
around.
   He'd motioned toward the open rear door of the white Dodge van which
he'd parked near the woods and far enough away from the surrounding houses
that any noise or movement would go un-noticed.
   "Get in there, slut..."
   Her eyes were like the eyes of a deer caught in the high beams of an
eighteen wheeler.
   "NOW you little fuck!" he hissed and she obeyed immediately.
   A few minutes later he had her cuffed to the steel floor of the van,
spread- eagled on her back and gagged tightly with her own white cotton
panties.
   He'd ripped her Catholic school uniform off her, the white blouse with
the St. Andrew's school insignia on the pocket and the short green skirt,
then the knee- high socks and the penny loafers.  Then he'd beaten her
naked body with his fists for a few minutes just to get warmed up, smashing
his fists into her thighs and belly and arms, slapping her face.  And when
she lay whimpering weakly he pulled his jeans down taking his jockey briefs
with them, and knelt between her long slender legs.  He put his erect prick
to her chubby little fuzz-mound, right up to her pink slit.  She shook her
head and looked up at him.
   "M-mmgghff!  Ghff!  Ghff!" his little trapped angel protested.
   He slapped her as hard as he could across the face turning her face back
and forth a couple of times with vicious open-handed smacks.
   Then, taking in and feeding on the vibrant youthful energy of her
terror, he smiled cruelly and pushed his cock into her virgin pussy.
   Oh yeahh...raping her had been quite delicious.
   Her tight baby-soft cooze was a real slice of heaven as he'd slid in
slowly, opening her up, gripping her by her shoulders to drive himself all
the way in.
   When the pain of the invasive penetration had made her close her
beautiful blue eyes tightly he'd backhanded her face hard again until a
trickle of blood spilled from her lips.
   "Look at me, pig!" he'd snarled.  "You just keep your cute little eyes
on me while I fuck you...or I'll cut them right out of your goddamn head."
   Sniffling, her brows arched, she'd looked up at him, her cheeks bright
red from his blows.
   Stryker enjoyed a victim's eyes.  Unlike many rapists and killers who
are unable to face their victims he welcomed the opportunity to look right
into their souls as he pitilessly violated them.  Girl-children especially
excited him.  Their anguish and fear were pure, unequivocal.  It was
evident that they did not grasp his limitless sadism nor the physicality of
his barbaric act and their confusion and helplessness fueled his volcanic
lust.
   He'd slam-fucked the little blonde slut into the floor of the truck
accenting each powerful thrust of his strong hips with punches and slaps to
her chest, belly and face that left dark blue-black bruises on her tender
skin.  He fucked feverishly, furiously, angrily, pounding himself into his
victim.
   Stryker was a true misogyinist.  He hated women, especially young pretty
girls and drew deep pleasure from physically and mentally destroying them.
   He relished the thought of the coroners who studied the battered,
beaten, mangled female corpses he left behind.
   "What kind of animal would do this to a child?" he could hear the
investigators say.  The thought made him smile wickedly.
   The details of his butchery would never make the news...  only the
pretty faces of the murdered girls...innocent faces...newspapers and
magazines flying off the shelves...lovely angel faces smiling...cash
registers whirring and ticking... the glow of television screens lighting
up the night as the girl-blood he spilled would seep into the earth and
feed the wild flowers near the woods.
   2.
   ...And now his cock surged as he tasted the child's warm blood.  It
trickled down his chin as he bit into her arm making her squeal even
shriller and more desperately as he drank from her.
   After the violent rape-beating in his van he'd driven her out to his
deserted cabin, dragged her inside and strung her up by her wrists.  By
then she hardly struggled.
   Inevitably females gave up, surrendered completely when under attack. 
It was in their nature.  It seemed remarkable that a single man could,
under the right conditions, as one serial killer in Chicago did in the
sixties, slaughter eight women after tying them up one by one, with no one
standing guard.  In fact, the one woman who escaped the slaughter by hiding
under a bed reported that the killer had even put down his weapons to tie
the young victims up.
   In another case a woman who was abducted by a man who broke into her
house and killed her husband allowed herself to be dragged away in his
vehicle to his home, unseen by any neighbors.  During her captivity she
even called her abductor Sir, and allowed herself to be bathed by him. 
Later she claimed that she was trying to make him less aggressive and
perhaps careless so that she might escape.  In fact, the man, who in
Stryker's estimation made far too many mistakes, had the bitch exactly
where he wanted her but was not knowledgeable enough, about sadistic
control nor about restraints.  When he left his captive alone she was able
to get loose and call the police.  Stryker watched with some fascination as
the report unfolded, specially the pictures of the woman, beaten, savagely
marked by the man's unchecked aggression, one arm broken.  In his
estimation the man had stopped short of what he could have achieved.  Maybe
he lost the edge or maybe he wanted to get more out of her before finishing
her.  Either way, such decisions had to be thought through.  If the woman
had been Stryker's victim she never would have lived to tell the story.  He
would have enjoyed himself well with the bitch who appeared strong, fit and
attractive for a middle-aged woman.  He would have taken her somewhere
where he could have made her scream and then he would have finished her and
left no trace.
   Stryker knew from experience that after the first moments of unleashed
agression, and especially once he'd rammed his cock into them, the females
were like putty for him to mold in any way he saw fit.  Even the strong
ones, the ones that had foolishly spent their money in self-defense
classes, melted for him like butter and became meek kittens once he'd
verbally assaulted and humiliated them as he stuffed their tight little
snatches full of man-meat.
   Jennifer had cried softly as he'd untied her from the floor of the van
and even ungagged her.  He'd then stepped back out of the van and ordered
her to get to her feet and step out into the dirt road.  She had done so
without hesitation never even trying to run from him or scream for help. 
She just stood there, naked, barefoot and whimpering, eyes downcast,
waiting for him to take action.
   So he'd pulled her by her arm and forced her to follow him into the
ramshackle wooden structure, up the creaking steps and rotting porch and
into the dank, shadowy cabin.  There was only one large room inside.  A
dark cargo crate stood against the wall near a broken window through which
vines grew.  Jennifer let herself be led to the center of the room and just
stood there while he got the ropes and looped them around her thin wrists
tightly.  Then she gasped as he raised her arms and knotted the rope to the
chain that dangled from the roof-beam.
   Once he'd bound her ankles and knotted the rope fiercely she was his.
   The thought of escape would not even cross her broken mind.
   The black ball-gag which he strapped tightly around her neck and the
back of her head was the final, though completely unnecessary, touch.
   Stryker had tortured and killed girls here before.  He owned several
acres of woods around the site and his property was circled with razor-wire
(a few coils of which lay behind the cabin for occasional use as a tool of
punishment) so the possibility of an intruder who might overhear the cries
of pain from the cabin was quite remote.  The gag served only two purposes,
to enhance the helplessness of his victim and to loosen up the jaw muscles
for mouth-fucking afterwards.
   After biting Jennifer's arm and drinking her blood Stryker stripped
naked and for a few moments circled around her, enjoying the sight of her
bound up- stretched body.  He'd jerked off slowly going over each step of
the slaughter in his mind.
   She never raised her terror-filled eyes to his face.  She was mesmerized
by the rhythmic stroking motion of her killer's strong hairy hand on his
massive tattooed cock.  Sweat glistened on his strong thighs as he moved
around her and he breathed heavily, like a bear she'd seen once in a cage
at the zoo.  His eyes were horrible and she could not bear to raise her
head and see them.  They were fierce and deeply green and cold. She watched
his large bare feet move as he walked on the creaky wooden floor, watched
his other hand cup his balls, heard him moan softly and knew she was the
focus of his depraved lust.  And clearly she knew she would die. She knew
she would die when she heard his breath and his growling moans, when she
watched the slow even stroking movements of his hand on his cock. She knew
and the knowledge made her tremble and sob brokenly and open and close her
pretty hands trapped by roped wrists above her blonde head.
   Jenny was a smart girl who'd always worked hard to get A's in every
subject and who was clean, neat and helpful to those who needed her.  She
said her prayers every night and had almost never had an unkind thought. 
When she was younger she had even been a girl scout and sold cookies door
to door.  No one had ever had to lay a punishing hand on her.  She'd always
known what to do and always obeyed her parents and teachers.  In short,
little Jenny was a good girl.  She was the kind of good girl that makes the
other kids envious and even hateful.  When you came right down to it she
was a little miss-goody-two-shoes and what was happening to her now in this
abandoned cabin was way beyond her ability to understand and to cope.
   The powerful demon who had abducted her unexpectedly in plain daylight,
had taken her from her predictable world of home, school and church had
carried her into darkness and confusion.  No one had ever even seen her
naked...and now here she was, hanging like a piece of meat, helpless as the
demon's eyes roved over every part of her, slowly, analytically.  What was
he thinking?  What tortures was he planning for her?  Her arm hurt where
his teeth had ripped into her and she could see a tiny drop of blood making
its way down the smooth curves of her arm-pit.  If she looked down at
herself she could see the dark ugly bruises his fists had left on her
thighs and belly and chest and she could see her bright red nipples, hard
and upright, crowning her small round titties as a cold breeze blew through
the broken window.
   His voice, a deep dark snarl floated to her on that cold breeze:
   "I'm gonna kill you, sweetie..." he told her, completely affirming her
worst fears.
   A dizzy, sinking feeling in her stomach made her cry out and she looked
up into the predator's face to find his heartless lustful eyes staring at
her.
   "Ngg!  N-ahgg!  NN-gghff!" she whinnied shaking her head.
   "Oh yeah.  Mm-hmm...you're gonna die...but first we're gonna have some
fun," he said heedless of her anguish, reaching into the cargo crate on the
floor near the wall.
   Stryker showed his victim a long wooden rod with small metal spikes,
silvery sharp rivets , all along its four-foot length.
   "Yeah, sweetie..." he said softly, again pacing around her as her wide
blue eyes fearfully followed him, focused on the weapon in his hand.  She'd
never seen anything like it but knew instinctively what it was for...
   "...we're gonna have ourselves a real whoppin' good time..."
   Gently, slowly, Stryker ran his hand over Jennifer's flank down over her
prominent hip bone and down her thigh to her kneehollow...He always enjoyed
touching the female flesh he was about to punish, to sense its smoothness,
its warmth, savoring its perfection before destroying it.  He cupped and
squeezed the young girl-child's ass-cheek.  It filled his hand, pliant yet
firm.  Her flesh there had the consistency of egg-custard, still baby-fat,
unblemished pink, just the way he liked it, just the way he'd imagined it
would feel when he'd first seen her drinking from the water fountain in the
park in her cute white gym shorts.
   The little bitch moaned softly to his touch and trembled.
   He stepped back, watched her for a few moments as she hung there
waiting, her body tense.
   He brought the barbed rod up to the buttcheek he'd just squeezed and
pressed the spikes into the skin, not hard enough to pierce but just enough
to scratch the white flesh as he rubbed the spikes into the smooth
roundness.
   Jennifer made a choked sobbing sound.
   Stryker raised his arm high.
   "...little bitch!" he snarled.
   He swung the barbed rod hard across her rump.
   Jennifer screamed into the gag which stretched her mouth and her head
swung back.  She stared in wide-eyed pain at the rotting ceiling above her
as Stryker swung again across her luscious little ass.  Tiny spurts of
blood trickled from the pinpoint wounds the spikes left in the girl's skin
and Stryker licked his lips, drawing back to hit even harder and hilt the
barbs in his victim's buttocks.  As the rod struck with meaty thuds
Jennifer kicked up her bound legs and spun half-way around.  The ropes
looped around her ankles and just above her knees held tightly and now as
she arched and twisted to the beating swipes of Stryker's rod the overhead
beam did creak, as did the planks when her feet again touched ground.
   The way his young victim moved to the pain made Stryker's cock throb in
his hand as he masturbated.  He calculated each blow, moving with Jennifer
as she spun to stay behind her, sometimes swinging the rod across
Jennifer's ass viciously three or four times, one after the other...then
waiting to strike just once but with all his strength.  Then again but not
quite as hard.  Then again but harshly, across the vulnerable flesh of her
upper thighs.
   "You little scumbag..." he growled slashing away at his victim, giving
his hatred of female full vent, letting his deepest masculine sadistic
nature take control.
   He whipped the barbed rod across her lower back and across her sides
from her hips to her armpits.  Her little hands reached, clenched into
fists, reached again, in silent counterpoint to her gagged screams.
   The roofbeam and floor-planks creaked and groaned as victim and agressor
moved in a sensual ballet of primeval violence.
   Jennifer had never in her young life experienced such limits of pain and
terror and her mind barely clung to sanity.  Drool poured from the edges of
the black ball gag around her lips and tears trickled from her pretty eyes.
There were certain areas where the rod drew almost unbearable pain, the
tender sensitive skin of her lower back and upper thighs, the soft sloping
fullness of her buttocks.  No one had ever raised a hand to her.  Much less
spanked her or whipped her.  She hurt inside too, a deep ugly pain Stryker
had left in her womb after the violent rape-beating in the van.  She felt
broken inside. She cried for her mother, unintelligibly, the gag deforming
her words.  She had read about rape and torture, in books in the library,
curious but terrified, wondering how it would feel to be a victim.  She had
watched some movies her parents had not known about, movies she'd sneaked
into with her friends at the mall, movies about psychotic killers who
pursued sexy half-naked females and stabbed or slashed or axed them to
pieces.  In those movies she'd always hidden her eyes at the scary parts,
at the horrible parts, but now she was not allowed to close her eyes or
turn away.  Now she was the victim.  Now she was the sacrificial lamb who
would be slaughtered.  The monster had told her he was going to kill her.
It was inescapable.  Each terrible stroke of his barbed rod re-inforced his
intention.  He wanted her to hurt and bleed.  He spun her around now to
face him and she could look up into his evil smiling face as he jerked off.
   "I'm gonna tear you to shreds, baby..." he said softly and began
swinging away again.
   Stryker concentrated now on the front of Jennifer's strong slender
thighs, from the hip to the knee.  The legs of a young girl were a favorite
target and this little cunt had nice, long, well-shaped legs.  He enjoyed
the way the muscles flexed in response to the piercing smacks of the
studded wooden rod and he looked into the child's eyes to see the
psychological devastation he was wreaking.  He was breathing faster now,
almost hyperventilating, and thick veins pumped blood into his huge cock
which now filled his hand, erect and rigid, his balls tingling.  Each
hurtful smack of the barbed rod raised the stakes for him.  He knew he
would soon have to fuck the little bitch again and he wanted her bloody for
it.
   "Stinking little tramp!" he shouted and spun her around, held her by her
upraised arm to beat her calves, sinking the barbs in deep into the
screaming child's flesh, right into the muscle, so viciously that it took
all his strength to rip them out again.
   He turned her again and whipped her shins and the sides of her legs and
thighs, going down into a crouch to aim the devastating blows accurately
across Jenny's bleeding legmeat.
   Then he stood and without warning began to smack the barbed rod into the
vulnerable young breasts of his victim.
   Jennifer screamed shrilly into the gag, her body arching as her arms
pulled downward, wrists snagged in the rope which drew even tighter.  Blood
spurted from her wounded nipples and Stryker smiled as his prick swelled.
   He swung her around again and laid into her upper back and
shoulder-blades mercilessly, the thuds and whapps of the torture rod
echoing in the ruined cabin.
   When Stryker stopped, Jennifer was bleeding from hundreds of wounds and
striped with countless dark-blue bruises.  Sunlight had begun to fade as
night approached and the evening breeze chilled the burning beaten flesh of
the tortured girl.
   Stryker licked her blood off the steel barb-spikes as he circled around
her before tossing the terrible weapon back into the crate.
   Her head hung down weakly, eyes on the floor as she struggled to
breathe.
   There was not a single inch of her flesh left untouched by Stryker's rod
and the pain came in deep burning waves.  She felt an odd pressure in her
bladder moaned and began to piss herself.  Blood mixed with urine ran down
her legs and puddled around her arched feet seeping into the cracked floor.
   "Pig..." Stryker growled licking his lips.
   She looked up at him and her tear-filled eyes caught the fading
reflections of the sunlight coming through the broken roof-slats.
   She mumbled something and hung her head again.  He moved closer and
loosened the strap that held the ball-gag against her lips.  He pulled the
ball from her mouth and let it hang around her neck.
   "Something you wanna say to me?" he snarled reaching down to cup her
chin and tilt her face up towards his.
   "...p-pl-please..." she gasped.  "...p-please n-no more...p-please..."
   "Open your mouth wide," he ordered.
   She looked up at him, her brows arched in confusion.
   "Do it now you little piece of shit....now...that's
right...wide...WIDER!"
   As the young girl did her best to obey her attacker he hawked and spit
into the o' made by her little lips.  Then, as she choked and gagged, he
released her, drew back and punched her hard right below her little belly
button, winding her, enjoying her wide-eyed shock as she tried impossibly
to draw breath, his yellowish spittle oozing from her mouth.
   "There WILL be more, you little cunt..." he growled hoarsely.  "Lots
more...Sweet little bitches like you deserve a lot of fuckin'
punishment..."
   Jennifer began to cry softly.
   Stryker bent down to untie her ankles.
   He smelled her piss and her blood, her terror, and it fired every
predatorial instinct in him.
   Then he was lifting her legs, one at a time, to ropes that dangled from
the overhead beam, lifting them high, binding each limb by the ankle,
opening the little girl up so that she hung, legs obscenely spread apart,
feet pointing at the fading sky.  He hoisted the pulley that drew on the
chain that held her roped wrists, then adjusted each leg-rope, knotting
tightly, hanging her exactly where he needed her to be, his little
fuck-marionette, ready to take him.
   She hung there for him, lost, her mind drifting back to something a long
time before, her momma telling her about the love between a man and a
woman, the love where babies came from and how it happened and how the
animals had mommies and daddies too...and Stryker moved in toward her and
she could see his big tattooed thing, hooking upward as he stood between
her bleeding legs and he took her by the hips...Love makes a man and a
woman come together, Momma had told her.  And it was true that boys, the
good looking ones, like the ones on television, made her feel a little weak
although she thought it was gross that mommy and daddy had done it like
that, pee-pee to pee-pee...  And now the Killer's big pee-pee was touching
her there where he'd slammed into her hard, before, in the van, and she
could not breathe and her ankles hurt from the ropes and her wrists hurt so
bad, her hands were numb and she just kept saying please please please
please and she could taste his nasty phlegm in her mouth still and now his
thing was about to push into hers and his hands closed around her hips, his
fingers gouging the wounds his rod had inflicted, and he was saying
terrible things to her, mean things, devastating things, calling her
terrible names as he began to slide deep into her open pee-pee, and she
could do nothing, nothing, nothing to stop it but only try to welcome him
so he could slide in, to let it happen as momma had said, her little
titties bleeding, that's right, sweetie, that's right, don't fight it,
don't fight it, you little sleazy whore, you little pig, open wide for
poppa, his hard strong hands moving up to her back, squeezing her wounds
and bruises, gripping her as he began to thrust in and out in and out in
and out and she was praying in her mind, praying that it would end, praying
that it would stop, praying that Jesus would grant her mercy as she looked
up and watched the sky fading from a rosy pink to deep scarlet to dark
purple and the Killer thrust hungrily into her.
   For Stryker this delicious little slut was absolutely, hands down, one
of the best rapes he'd ever had.  Her vaginal muscles were still tight,
even after the plundering in the van and hanging her this way to fuck her
had been a brilliant improvisation.  Her little cooze, which had only the
faintest blonde fuzz of hair, was a pink moist slit that could in no way
accomodate his now rampant manflesh. Completely vulnerable in her cruel
bondage, Jennifer had absolutely no choice, no control.  She could do
nothing but accept the massive man-flesh that battered and penetrated her.
   "Yeahh!" Stryker roared.  "Shitt...yeahhh!"
   He grabbed his victim by her beaten thighs and slammed in and out of
her, stabbing deeper with each thrust, deeper, until her cute little cunt
flowed warm with blood and lubricating fluid, her body responding in the
only way it could. His hands went up to seize her stretched calves and feel
the impact wounds his rod had left on her as his hips thrust his prick into
one of the tightest crevice of girl-flesh he would ever penetrate.  He
grabbed her little titties and squeezed them until the barbed-rod wounds
bled, until her nipples squirted blood down her chest and as he held the
little moaning bitch he pushed in to the hilt, pushed his cock into
her,ripped into her, until his balls bumped up against her bleeding
buttcheeks.
   Jennifer's mind slipped, faded, wandered.  Above her the sky was going
black.  She was smaller, smaller...She was a doll from the toy box...  Mike
Riley, Sally's brother, who was older and liked to bully her...  He had the
doll naked.  He was doing dirty things to it.  Dirty things, he said.  Real
dirty.  Things she did not understand.  She prayed but the prayers would
lose themselves in confusion, wordless confusion as she bled.  Our father
who art in heaven...our father...  She could not stand the pain, she was
being split open, ripped in half.  Please, God!  She was a good girl, a
GOOD girl!  Why was this happening to her?  Wasn't anyone going to come and
stop this?  Now the man bit her as he drove his thing to the hilt in her.
His teeth were like sharp spears.  The doll's eyes closed and opened,
closed and opened.  The killer bit her arms and her titties and her cheeks.
Please!  Please! Oh God!  No!  No!  Her cries were weak.  She was out of
breath.  Her legs and arms were numb.  The world reeled around her.  Mike
was driving a nail into the doll's pee-pee, a long, red-hot nail.  No!  No,
Mike!  God will punish you!  God will send you to hell!  The killer bit and
kissed her mouth as she muttered inchoately, he drooled on her, his hands
squeezing her and hurting her, almost ripping her titties from her chest.
Mike took the dollie's legs and split them apart breaking them off as she
wailed.  They made a funny rubbery noise as they came off and fell to the
dirt in the back yard.
   Jennifer screamed.
   "YEAHHH!" Stryker roared triumphantly.  He was completely in his
element, focused and single-minded.  There was nothing but the bleeding
child mind-blown and suffering for him on the ropes now.
   He reached up and began to strangle the child as he fucked her.
   Jennifer gagged, gasped for air, her tongue lolling.
   Stryker's eyes glowed like red coals in the semi-darkness.
   As he jammed himself into his victim the cabin floor creaked.
   He squeezed her warm throat, felt the voice-box vibrate as she cried out
again.  Her little pussy tightened around his shaft as he strangled her. 
When she passed out he slapped her awake and began choking her again until
after a few moments she'd lose consciousness once more.  Each time he
brought her around her little cunt would grip him desperately then relax as
he bore down on her little neck depriving her of oxygen.  Stryker had done
this before with other females. He could keep a victim on the edge of death
for hours and enjoyed doing so in the same way a cat enjoyed playing with a
half-dead mouse.  It was brutal and inhuman and for him incredibly
pleasurable.
   When it finally was too dark to see Stryker ceased the choke-raping of
his helpless victim long enough to light three kerosene lanterns which he
placed in a circle around Jennifer on the floor.
   He stood in front of the tortured teenager.  Even in the glow of the
kerosene lamps he could see the ugly bruises around her neck and the
hideous marks his barbed rod had left all over her.  Her anguished,
disheveled condition excited him.  Beaten bleeding females always got to
him.  It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching into the crate,
taking the butcher knife and finishing her right then.  Instead, he let the
thought of killing with the knife come and go from his mind, savoring the
sense of his life-and-death power over the helpless child.  The time for
killing would come later.  Now he breathed deeply, jerked himself off
slowly for a few moments watching her as she hung on the ropes almost
motionless.  Then he saw her eyes, brimming with tears, catch the kerosene
lamp-light as she looked up at him.
   "P-please..." she said softly, tenuously.  "Don't you - can't you see?
God - w- will - punish - y-you - for - this..."
   "Maybe," he said, reaching into the crate for the long steel needles.
   "But in the meantime..." He grinned malovently and held up the needles
so she could see them.  They gleamed in the pale glow of the kerosene
lanterns.  They made a clicking metallic noise as they rubbed together in
his hand.
   "...It's me, not God, who will be doing the punishing."
   He slid down on one knee before her as she began to shake her head and
cry.
   Her screams would be sharp and shrill but as the night wore on they
would be weaker until there would be only the sighing of the wind in the
trees outside and Stryker's cold heartless voice coldly and methodically
destroying her.
   3.
   Carol Hadley had very little time to think.
   The man had come out of nowhere in the parking lot outside Graytree Mall
and held her against the side of the van, a strong steely hand gripping her
shoulder and a black gun pressed to the side of her left breast
   "If you scream or try to run I'll blow your fucking tits off right
here," he said quietly.  "But if you want to see your daughter alive,
you'll come with me."
   The way the man had made his move it was impossible for any passersby to
be aware that anything was going on.  Besides the afternoon light had faded
into evening and visibility was already difficult.  It was exactly what
he'd planned.
   Dear God, Carol thought.  He's the one who's got my baby.
   Stryker watched the woman carefully.  He remembered the way she'd looked
in the green bikini before she'd dived into the pool, her smooth face
raised, eyes closed, to the sun.  Now, up close, even in the reddish light
of the parking lot sodium lamps, she was stunning.
   She wore a summery ligh-blue dress with a v' neck and white, high-heel
sandals and, though she had not been able to mask the dark circles of
sleeplessness under her eyes, her make-up and hair were perfect, as though
she'd stepped right out of an ad in a woman's fashion magazine.  He was
ready to kill her if he had to knowing that the blast of the gun at that
close range would rip a hole in her chest the size of a softball and
pulverize her heart.  If it went that way he would enjoy it too, though it
would be short-lived.  He sometimes enjoyed a violent kill and had indulged
such tastes now and then.  He liked what a gun did to a woman's body and
had used quite a few bitches for target practice.  There was nothing like
fucking a young female who was dying from multiple bullet wounds...  But in
this case he would have no time to enjoy himself after the kill.  In fact,
he rarely risked abductions or murder in public places.  But now he had no
choice.  Jennifer Hadley didn't have long to live and if he wanted momma to
watch her baby die he would have to act quickly.
   "Alright," Carol Hadley replied.  She had come to the mall to ask
security to post the missing child notices with Jenny's picture on it.  The
last thing she had expected was to be accosted by her little girl's
kidnapper.
   Now she had chosen to go with him.  She had chosen to obey.  It would
not be the last choice she would have to make but it would determine the
end of her freedom forever.
   At gunpoint Stryker led her into the van and made her get on her knees
and strip naked.  He was amazed at how easily women could be forced into
nudity and submission and it pleased him to no end to push that envelope as
far as possible.
   She kept her eyes lowered as she pulled her short dress up over her
head.
   Stryker watched her, his cock already making a sizable bulge in his
tight jeans.  Just two hours earlier he'd emptied his balls for the third
time in this cunt's daughter and now, incredibly, he was already primed and
ready for some action with momma.
   Carol reached back to undo her black bra.
   She did not look up at her assailant but spoke softly to the closed
doors of the van behind him.
   "Is Jennifer ok?" she asked.
   "She's alive," he replied.  OK was not the best way to describe
Jennifer's physical and psychological condition.
   Carol's eyes momentarily rose to his.  They were big and blue, slightly
swollen and bloodshot from the past couple of nights of sleepless anxiety
he had caused her.  He was going to enjoy seeing the will, the humanity,
the dignity and finally the life fade from them.
   The bra fell away to reveal a beautiful pair of plump pink,
brown-nippled orbs, which made Stryker glad he didn't have to use the gun
earlier.  These tits, which he gauged to be at least 38D's, needed to be
put to some serious torture.
   Her eyes fell from his fearfully, submissively.
   She continued to kneel there motionless and he put the barrel of the gun
to her forehead.
   "Now the panties, bitch...I want you butt-naked."
   She looked up at him again.
   "Are you going to kill me?" Her voice cracked slightly.
   "I will kill you right here and now if you don't get those goddamned
panties off."
   Slowly, unwillingly, a scarlet blush darkening her cheeks, Carol Hadley
pulled her panties down off her wide hips, sat briefly on the floor and
pulled them down and off her long slender legs then knelt naked again
before her abductor.  She still had her white high-heel sandals on.
   He enjoyed her for a few moments.  The bitch had a flat smooth belly
that bore not even the smallest trace of a stretch mark.  Her abdomen was
firm, the rib- cage well-delineated, and there was no hint of cellulite on
her thighs or calves.  Not bad for a goddamned house-wife.
   "Put your hands behind you," he ordered.
   Taking the leather manacles from the canvas bag on the floor he cuffed
her wrists behind her noting her well-manicured, long, red-painted finger
nails; then with a stretch of rope he tied her ankles together.  She had
nice feet, small and pretty and her toe-nails were painted the same shade
as her finger-nails.  He gagged her with a huge red ball-gag which he had
to force into her mouth as she grunted and then he blindfolded her with a
strip of black cloth.  Then he forced her to lie down on the floor of the
van where just three days before he'd violated her hapless daughter.
   Before the vehicle left the parking lot Carol Hadley knew she had made
an irreversible mistake.  As her abductor started the engine she began to
cry, her sobs muffled inside the soundproof van, her bound, high-heeled
feet kicking against the metal side panel.
   4.
   In the three days Stryker had kept Jennifer at the cabin he had
subjected her to savage ritualistic torture and rape.  But the pleasure
he'd derived from the teenage girl's agony now paled before the sensations
he felt as he watched the reaction of the mother upon seeing her daughter
when he removed the blindfold.
   Jennifer hung from the roof-beam of the ramshackle structure naked
upside down by her ankles from a metal spreader bar, her beaten, bruised,
bloody legs apart in a wide v', arms rope-bound behind her, big steel
needles sticking out of her pink labia and mons and sprouting from her
little tits and nipples like porcupine quills.  She hovered over a puddle
of her own faeces, vomit and urine, the smell of which was nearly
overpowering and into which her long blonde hair dipped.  The welts and
pierce-wounds the barbed rod had left on her first day of suffering were
only hideous groundwork for more serious darker bruises and stripes from
several beatings Stryker had consequently dealt the helpless child. 
Repeatedly, he'd used his fists on her but he'd also worked her with a
wooden dowel slightly thicker than a broomstick (which he'd rammed up her
asshole when he finished), several thick electrical cords and a bullwhip.
There were small burn marks all over Jennifer's belly and tits, some on her
bleeding asscheeks and legs, some even on her face from a smouldering
cigarette her assailant had lit, puffed on and then pushed into her skin
then eventually stubbed out on her pin-pierced pussy as she hung there. 
Stryker had raped her at least seven times in the last two days, three
times up the ass, always cumming in her mouth and face.  He had completely
broken the child physically and psychologically and now he was going to
show the mother just how far his cruelty would go.
   "Oh dear Jesus," Carol Hadley sobbed.  She started to move toward her
daughter but Stryker kept her back tugging on her manacled wrists.
   Earlier, he had ungagged her and untied her legs, but he'd left the
manacles and the blindfold on her, forcing her to step unsteadily from the
van and walk behind him, led by a stretch of rope around her slender neck
on the dirt road up to the cabin as he walked ahead of her, gun in hand.
   Now he pushed the barrel of the gun into her shoulderblades between her
bound arms.
   "Kneel, fuckface," he commanded.
   Carol Hadley was a beautiful woman, always had been, and most of her
life she'd been incredibly fortunate.  In fact, for most of her life, her
beauty had put her in a position of control.  Ron Hadley, her former
husband, had been a stock broker she'd seduced while temping at his office
downtown after dropping out of college. Her marriage had lasted almost
eight years.  The divorce had left her with a hefty settlement as well as a
sizable alimony that would ensure a life of leisure for her and her
daughter.  It had always been her private intention to divorce Ron once
she'd had a child.  She secretly despised her eager-to-please husband who'd
done everything in his power to make her happy.  She had accepted the
jewelry, the cars, the trips and had done little by way of physically
satisfying her hard-working spouse, driving him nearly insane with
frustration until finally she sued him for divorce on grounds of
incompatibility.
   Now her good fortune and her scheming ways had come to an end.  Now she
was definitely NOT in control...This man had complete power over her and
Jennifer.  Their lives were in his hands and there was absolutely nothing
she could do, nothing at all but obey, sliding down weakly to her knees on
the hard creaking wood, tears streaming from her eyes and down her cheeks
as she looked up at her daughter.
   "What have you done to her?  Oh dear God...my baby..."
   "Your baby and I have been getting to know each other," Stryker told her
coldly as he slid the rope off her neck, put the gun on the floor and began
to unbutton his shirt.
   "We've been getting to know each other real well."
   "Jenny?" Carol Hadley called out.  "Jenny, it's momma.  It's your mom,
honey...Oh Jesus...Is she dead?"
   Stryker slid out of his shirt kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants
down, picked up the gun and stood naked his tattooed cock almost in Carol's
face.
   "She's not dead...She's just not talking to you that's all."
   "...not - ?  Why?  Jenny - Jenny - why won't you talk to me...?"
   "Tell her, slut.  Tell your mother why you won't talk to her."
   Jennifer's voice was eerie, calm, almost monotone and very weak.
   "...I - belong - to - M-Master...I - speak - only - to - Him."
   Stryker watched Carol's face, a gloating sneer on his lips.
   "Tell your mother what you are," Stryker prompted, the way a teacher
prompts a slow student in a classroom.
   Jennifer answered almost immediately in the same weak monotone voice.
   "I'm your worthless whore.  I'm a hole for your cock and meat for your
whips, Master."
   The terrible words coming from the teenage child's lips as she hung
upside down, eyes fixed and unmoving, overwhelmed Carol Hadley.  She had
never heard Jenny utter anything like the obscene words that had just
escaped her lips.  She understood instantly that this monster had utterly
broken Jennifer, turned her daughter into a torture puppet, a mindless,
hollow shell, a plaything.  The captured woman looked up at her abductor
with a mixture of awe and horror as he stood naked, the gun aimed at her
head, his free hand stroking his massive tattoed penis.
   "What do you want?" she asked.
   Stryker stepped up to his nude kneeling captive and without warning
swung a harsh open-handed slap across her face.  Carol gave out a choked
off cry and toppled sideways to the rotten cabin floor.
   "I want blood, fuckface..."
   He stood over the sprawled nude woman, aimed the gun at her right ankle,
about half and inch above the thin white strap that held her white
high-heel sandal to her leg, and fired.  The explosive report of the pistol
was deafening in the small cabin.  Jennifer quivered responsively to the
loud sound then hung motionless.  Carol shrieked in agony as the bullet
ripped through her leg and smashed through the rotten boards shattering her
tibia and spinning her violently back against the wooden wall near the
doorway.  Instantly, the very thing that Stryker wanted began to spurt from
the torn vessels in her leg and to puddle on the floor.
   Carol cowered away from the killer, dragged herself into the corner of
the room as he stepped closer walking barefoot through her warm life-fluid.
He continued to jerk himself off slowly as he raised the gun aiming it at
her belly.
   He stood directly over her and she pressed her face into the rotten
moldiness of the cabin's wall and shut her eyes tightly waiting for the
terrible impact of the next bullet, whining, her bound arms wriggling
helplessly.
   "Die now or die later," Stryker said softly leaning over her to press
the hot gun-barrel into her lower belly.  "...Now...or later, pig.  Your
choice."
   This new choice Stryker was giving her was not ultimately clear and the
devastating pain of the bullet wound in her pretty leg was not letting her
think.
   "...don't kill me...please...don't kill me..." she pleaded.  "I can give
you money...lots - l-lots of money - please -"
   "I don't need your fucking money, whore...now, I gave you a choice. 
Make it or it will be made for you."
   She whimpered and trembled as he pressed the gun into her abdomen.
   "Later!  Pleease!  Later!"
   Stryker smiled, placed the gun on the window-ledge and seized Carol by
her short-cropped blonde hair to pull her back up on her knees.  She
groaned in pain as her wounded leg twisted under her.
   "Open your mouth, dirtbag," he spat twisting her face up to look down at
her.  "I'm gonna piss in it."
   She grimaced and made an odd sound of disgust but as he yanked on her
hair she did exactly as he ordered.
   "Wider!" he shouted.
   She obeyed unwillingly and closed her eyes as urine hissed from the slit
on the huge crown of Stryker's tattoed cock.  It bubbled and gurgled in her
mouth as she gagged and when she tried to close her mouth he yanked on her
hair harder.
   "Keep it wide open for me, pig, WIDE OPEN!"
   Hot man-piss splashed down her chin and neck, droplets speckled her
rouged cheeks and burned into her eyes.  Through half-open lids she could
see Jennifer hanging upside down just a few feet away.  The child was
looking right at her and as Stryker emptied his bladder in her mouth, she
tried to read the zombie- eyed, enigmatic expression on Jennifer's face. 
She'd never seen such an expression before.  Jenny's eyes were dead,
emotion-less.  Carol sobbed with grief for her daughter.  She could barely
imagine what the man had put her through and now he was making her watch
her mother being shot and horribly humiliated.  This monster was going to
kill them both and take his pleasure from it.  It was completely
unthinkable but she was sure now it would not end any other way.  And the
worst thing was that she was powerless to stop the horror.  No one knew she
had been taken from the parking lot at the mall.  No one knew where she and
her daughter were.  The world beyond the cabin and the woods was going on
about its usual daily business while she and Jennifer were being viciously
and methodically tortured and exterminated.
   As the flow of urine died down to a slow trickle Stryker pulled the
kneeling woman's face to his prick.
   "Take it in your mouth," he said flatly.
   Wordlessly she cupped her lips around the pissing penis, tasting the
acrid fluid as it slid down her throat, whining as he held her head, her
eyebrows furrowed, she choking, urine coming up and out her nostrils as she
pressed her lips against the cockshaft.
   Stryker pulled his organ gently from her lips and rubbed it all over her
face as the final droplets of piss oozed from it then he yanked on her hair
forcing her to move across the room on her knees, crying in pain as she
dragged her wounded bleeding leg.
   From the crate he drew a dog-leash chain and wound it twice around her
neck then he pulled her up against the hanging child wrapping the other end
of the chain around Jenny's neck tightly so that mother and daughter were
pulled almost cheek to cheek, the child's face upside down, neutral,
drooling, eyes blank, the mother's anguished, piss-covered.
   "Show momma how you suck my cock, slut," Stryker said stepping up to the
females, pushing his long flesh-shaft against Jennifer's cheek.
   "Yes, Master," Jennifer responded instantly in her robotic voice opening
her mouth wide and turning her face to take him.  Slowly, her head began to
bob back and forth and her whole suspended body began to swing from the
motion.  Her cuffed ankles were trapped by the spreader bar and her legs,
held wide apart, covered with wounds and bruises, rippled slightly as she
made herself swing against him.
   "Nice..." Stryker said hoarsely.  "Good girl..."
   He glanced sidelong into Jenny's mother's disbelieving face and sneered
as she watched her daughter perform.
   "Now, you," he said looking down at Carol.  "Suck my balls."
   Hesitantly, Carol leaned forward and began to lick at the big soft
flesh-sacs under Stryker's long cock.
   "You're gonna have to do better than that, cunt," he growled pulling on
the chain, choking both of them, biting his lip, a fierce look on his face
making the woman begin to really work his genitals.  He watched mother and
daughter neck-chained to each other as they sucked and licked his pulsing
organs, their eyes closed.  Occasionally they came in contact, the spit
from Jennifer's mouth rolling down into her mom's temple, Carol's hair
sticking to Jenny's cheek.  The physical sensation of their pretty mouths
on him as well as the psychological high of his power over them made
Stryker real hard very fast. His prick felt like a hot steel poker, a true
killing weapon.  He grabbed them both by their heads ramming himself as
deep as he could go into the child's throat, pulling the mother against his
hot tingling balls.  He had them both exactly where he wanted them and they
were responding the way bitches always did.  They were giving him pleasure,
giving him the upper hand, obediently, submissively. The roof-beam and
floor-boards creaked as Stryker rocked on his feet and leaned his head
back, eyes closed, his lips apart in sexual rapture, his hands firmly
grasping the heads of the two females, Jennifer swinging by her legs, Carol
on her knees, gasping for air as she was slammed against the killer's hot
sex- meat and dizzy from the loss of blood.  Then, Stryker pulled his cock
from Jennifer's eager mouth and as she whined softly, like a child deprived
of a toy, he aimed his now pulsing red and fully erect manspear into
Carol's mouth.
   "Take me," he said softly.
   Her big blue eyes, suffering eyes, eyes that pled with him as she moaned
looked up into his as he slid into her throat, filling his kneeling slut to
capacity, both his hands grabbing her head to fuck her face.  As his prick
entered and exited Jennifer licked at it, her tongue caressing the cartoon
of the dagger-pierced heart.  He yanked on the leash chain and the females
gasped for air as he choked them.  Heedlessly he continued to thrust in and
out of Carol Hadley's lips his cock gleaming wetly with Jennifer's spit. 
He tugged on the leash until their faces flushed dark red.  Both whores
were broken now.  Jennifer, after his three day onslaught, no longer had
any sense of self, she had surrendered completely; Carol, subdued by the
gunshot wound and on the edge of traumatic shut-down was rapidly on the way
to following her daughter's example.  He knew both bitches would soon be
dead and he had to struggle with himself to stick to the plans he'd made...
although what he really wanted to do was pull on the chain-leash until they
stopped breathing.
   In the final phase of a slaughter it was important to remain in absolute
control.  It had taken many years for Stryker to attain this mastery.  And
now he needed to reap the benefits of his experience.  The opportunity to
take down a mother and daughter as perfectly as this might never repeat
itself and the event had to be fully exploited.  Each kill was different.
For Stryker each act had its own specific significance and individuality,
it's own special karma.  He had killed mother and daughter pairs before. 
In fact, such murders were a kind of fetish for him.  He had killed the
mother of a pregnant slut once after making her watch while he and his men
beat the baby out of the daughter's womb only to smash it against a wall
(he'd let the woman live after killing her mom and her baby but read in the
newspaper that she'd committed suicide some weeks later); he had killed a
mother and daughter who made porno films together in order to make a
snuff-video which later sold thousands of copies (many believed it to be
fake).  But the Hadley females were very special to him.  He had gotten all
he could from Jennifer.  The three days had been an absolutely perfect
fulfillment of every sadistic impulse in him.  Now he was about to
consummate the event as he had conceived it and he held the orgasmic waves
back as they reared up inside him.  He clenched his teeth together and
grunted and gripped the heads of his two kill-whores.  Nothing would alter
his direction more completely than an unforeseen orgasm.  And he wasn't
about to let that happen.
   He pulled slowly out of Carol Hadley's mouth and stepped back unwinding
the leash-chain from around her neck and then from Jenny's neck letting it
slide to the floor.
   Carol slumped down on her haunches, her head falling forward, eyes
downcast.
   Stryker knew he had to stop the bleeding from her ankle or the bitch
would die prematurely on him.
   He took her by her shoulders and eased her down to the floor so that she
lay on her side.
   "Don't want you bleeding to death, pig," he told her as he handled her.
"I got something a lot better in mind for you..."
   She was crying softly, desolately.
   He took a piece of rope and bent over her to bind her wounded ankle back
against her thigh.  As he folded her bleeding leg she cried out, her hands
balled into fists, long nails pressed into her palms.  Smiling, he wound
the rope around the ankle, six times, making each coil of rope squeeze into
her creamy flesh below the ugly bleeding gash where the bullet had torn
through.  As Carol screamed with pain he wound the rope around both her
thigh and the ankle, as tight as it would go.  He finished by looping the
remaining rope around the connecting strands so that her leg was pulled
snugly against itself, the heel of her high-heel sandal pressing against
her asscheek.  By the time he finished with this crude tourniquet the blood
flow from the wound had slowed to a slight watery trickle.  Then he rolled
her on her back and pulled her thighs apart.
   "...no..." she sobbed.  "Oh God sweet God no!"
   Jennifer was looking down at her, that same lifeless expression on her
face, lovely blonde hair draped to the floor.
   Stryker knelt between Carol's legs and put his cock to her sweet pink
pussy.  He was gonna fuck momma in front of her broken baby, just as he had
planned.
   "Please," she begged.  "Let us go...please...why are you doing this?"
   Still smiling Stryker began to shove his big meat into Carol Hadley's
cunt.
   "Agghhh!" she cried her head twisting from side to side as he penetrated
her. "nn-nnnhhh..."
   "Let you go...? ...you goddamn whore," he snarled as he bore down into
her.
   "Fuck that...You wanna know why I'm doing this...huh?  You really wanna
know..." His eyes stared her down savagely...  "I'm doing it because I
can..."
   Jennifer watched Stryker fuck her mother betraying no emotion but after
a few moments tears welled up in the child's eyes and trickled on to her
forehead and into her hair-line.  For her the world was upside down.  The
floor was the ceiling and the monster had pinned her mother to it and was
filling her. There was a part deep within her that was horrified by what
Stryker was doing to her and her momma but now there was something else,
something he had shown her, a dark yearning emptiness inside herself which
longed to be filled.  She had learned under Stryker's lash and his fists
exactly what a woman was for.  He had taught her that she was nothing but a
little whore underneath all her good-girl bullshit.  He had wiped away all
the confusion, all the expectations. Everything was very simple, really. 
He owned both of them now.  They were his to do with as he pleased and
nothing else in the world was of any importance any longer but his
pleasure, his terrible unyielding unstoppable sadistic pleasure.
   Carol Hadley was being taught a similar lesson as the powerful man
grabbed her luscious tits and put his whole weight into her to thrust
himself into her.  He fucked her savagely, pistoning his long fat prick in
and out of her slit.  He moved his big hands down her slender body to take
her unbound leg by the thigh and the tied-up wounded leg by the knee,
occasionally leaning over to lick at the bullet-wound in her ankle, to suck
some blood out of her and to bite that wounded leg again and again from the
roped ankle to the knee.  He feasted on her, as he had on Jennifer, banged
her with unleashed violence, made her bounce against the rotten
floor-boards of the cabin.  His body rose up off her, his cock sliding
almost all the way out and then he slammed back down into her...up and
down...in and out...over and over...faster and faster...  jamming her to
the limit.  He leaned down and bit her tits and nipples drawing blood.
   "...filthy fucking goddamned whore..." he growled, going at her with
unstoppable fury.
   As he fucked Carol he looked over at Jennifer, saw the gleam of tears on
the teen's face and forehead and gave out a triumphant affirmative shout.
   He slid out of momma's cunt, the same cunt that had given birth to the
little whore that now hung there covered with bruises and blood, pins
sticking out of her, upside down, crying, broken and he lifted Carol
slightly up off the floor-boards, momma's crystalline-blue eyes opening and
staring at the evening sky through the cracks in the ceiling.  Dark clouds
were billowing up there as Stryker put his hot red sex-stick to the small
star-shaped anal aperture of his captive.
   "Take it up the ass you piece of shit!"
   Momma's scream was shrill.  Stryker roared like an angry bull pounding
into Carol Hadley's flanks with his fists as he drove deep and hard into
tight rectal woman-meat.
   Thunder cracked in the distance.
   It was darker in the cabin as the last bit of sunlight faded.
   Stryker's cock slid in and out of his victim's shit-hole.
   The more she screamed the harder he fucked her.
   She began to bleed.
   Piss dribbled from her pussy.
   He beat her angrily.
   One of her ribs snapped.
   Inside her belly something ruptured.
   Her cries were different now...howling yelps.
   "...Mommy...?" Jennifer groaned pitifully.
   Carol looked over at her hanging daughter.
   Stryker slammed his fist into momma's face.
   He grabbed her head and pounded it against the floor.
   When her eyes rolled back and she was almost unconscious he stopped the
head-bashing but kept fucking her.
   Outside there was a soft hissing spattering sound.
   It crept through the woods and rolled over the cabin.
   Thunder boomed closer.
   Raindrops hammered into the walls and roof of the cabin.
   "Yeahhhh..." Stryker moaned as the cool drops came throught the holes in
the roof and pelted his chest.
   The slaughter was going to be beautiful...better than he could have
imagined.
   5.
   Rain is dripping down on them from the broken ceiling.
   He has left Jennifer hanging upside down but he has taken the line that
the spreader bar she hangs from is connected to.  He has drawn that line to
a pulley hooked to the ceiling beam.
   The opposite end of the line leads back down to an eyelet in a metal
bar, which he forces Carol to hold, she standing on one high-heeled foot,
the other leg, the wounded leg, still bound in a folded position against
her thigh.  The metal bar is almost beyond her reach so that she is forced
to stretch upward to her limit looking almost like a trapeze artist about
to launch off a platform for her big moment in the circus show.  A trickle
of blood moves down the back of her neck from under her blonde hair from
where a floor-nail gashed her skull.
   Thunder cracks outside.
   The killer has given Carol a real good reason to hold on to the metal
bar.  A large metal vat full of gasoline placed directly under Jennifer's
head has provided all the necessary motivation.
   If momma releases the bar her baby will slide down head first and drown
in gasoline.
   Stryker now takes a hammer and a three inch wood spike as he kneels in
front of momma.
   He puts the metal tip of the spike to Carol Hadley's big toe.
   Her body is exquisitely stretched by the upward tension-weight of her
daughter's body drawing on the pulley line.
   Her foot still shod in the white high-heel sandal is arched and she
whimpers helplessly looking down on Stryker, knowing and understanding his
intention.
   "Don't let go of the bar, slut..." he tells her holding the spike
steady, glancing up at her, his evil green eyes slitted with sick pleasure.
   Jennifer hangs mute and almost unconscious.  Some blood vessels in her
head are already near bursting from hanging in her inverted position for
such an extended period of time.  The pungent dizzying smell of the
gasoline fumes coming up from the vat fills her nostrils and she drools,
glassy eyed, her mind gone.
   Stryker raises the hammer.
   Carol Hadley trembles, shuts her eyes and looks away.
   It takes three blows to drive the spike through her toe and shoe and
into the floor.
   Her screams are piercingly shrill but she does not let go of the metal
bar.
   Stryker caresses the standing leg, runs his fingers and palm upward
against the strong calve muscle, cupping the round knee going past it to
grip the bruised thigh., then back to the knee, so perfectly spherical
   "Hang on, bitch..." he tells her.  "Hang on for me..."
   He puts the hammer on the floor by the woman's pierced foot and goes to
the wooden crate on the other side of the cabin.  As he walks back toward
her she sees the bullwhip.
   Its the same one he has used on Jennifer.  The child's blood is still on
it.
   "Oh God please no!" she pleads.
   But the lash is already whistling through the air.
   The thick braided tongue snarls around her belly and sweeps around her
to sting her flank.  Stryker draws it back to swing it again.  Sharply
whistling and snapping the bullwhip breaks against Carol like angry waves
on a reef, ripping into the front of her body from her knees to her tits,
finding the middle of her belly again and again, leaving hot burning
welt-slashes behind.  The killer makes the bullwhip wrap around his
tormented bitch, snaking up off the floor to bite at her and curl around
her upstretched body, marking the broad sweep of her back from her
ass-cheeks to her waist.  For Stryker whipping a woman is like fucking
her...he fucks Carol Hadley with his whip, tears into her, stops now and
then only to begin again before she can recover.  He wants to hit her hard
enough to make her let go of the bar which holds Jennifer above the
gasoline and he swings with all his might but at the same time he hopes she
will hold on, arms upstretched, and prolong his gluttonous need for
destruction.  When she's covered with stripes and blue and red streaks all
over her belly, thighs and back he drops the lash and moves toward her.
   He bends to pick up the hammer again.
   "..no no no no no no no..." she whinnies.
   She no longer looks like a picture in a woman's magazine.  Her hair is a
twisted mess.  Sweat pours down her face.  Her mascara runs in streaks. 
She looks like a freak in Marilyn Manson concert.
   He goes down on one knee and takes a firm grasp of her thigh.  Then,
still holding her thigh, his fingers digging into the warm whip-marked
flesh, he brings the hammer down hard on the top of her spiked bleeding
foot.  The blow cracks the bone and her leg twitches spastically.  Her
wailing cry makes him swoon with lust.  His hand moves up her thigh to grab
her bruised love-hole.  He thrusts his thumb up her slimy pussy and digs
his fingers into her cunt-mound as he raises the hammer again.
   "...pleeeeease!" she begs.
   "Goddamn pig..."
   This time he pounds the hammer into her small toes, smashing them
against the floor, breaking three of them.
   "Ghhhhaaaggghhhrrrr!" she keens head thrown back mouth gaping, raindrops
spattering her face.
   "That's right, cunt...scream your fuckin' guts out..."
   Another hammer blow destroys the rest of the small bones in Carol
Hadley's foot and the broken skin bleeds and begins to swell darkly.  She
can barely hang on now and the bar has begun to slip from her grip. 
Jennifer's head descends into the vat, most of her long hair immersed in
the gasoline.
   Stryker gets slowly to his feet.
   He reaches out to hold Carol by upraised arm.
   Supported on one leg, stretched upward, quivering, she sobs and pleads
with him.
   He enjoys hearing her beg.
   Bending slightly he swings the heavy metal weapon smashing the hammer-
head into the unfortunate woman's prominent hip-bone.
   The blow makes her half-twist away almost gouging her spiked toe off the
floor.
   Again, Stryker swings the hammer into her hip with a crunching thud that
cracks the bone and twists her in the opposite direction.
   Growling, teeth bared, the sadistic killer's head lunges toward the
tortured woman and he bites her welt-striped belly, sinking his teeth deep,
stepping back to raise the hammer and smash into the triangle of her
crotch. Pacing around her he strikes at her other hip with the hammer.  He
smashes the metal weapon into the knee of the folded leg.
   Though Carol Hadley is enveloped in terrible agony she still manages
somehow to hold on to the metal bar above her head that keeps her daughter
in mid-air above the drowning vat.
   "Hang on, pig...hang on..." the killer snarls walking around her now to
strike at her back with the hammer.  He wants to make her let go but he
wants her not to...mostly he wants her to SUFFER...The weapon makes a hard
fleshy echoing thudd as he pounds into one shoulderblade, making the bitch
twist and jerk in that direction and then he slams the other shoulder
making her swing the other way in a chaotic, rhythm-less dance as her
killer jerks off, enjoying her horrific anguish.
   Now Stryker moves across the room, leaving Carol struggling to hold on
to the overhead bar, almost passing out with the overwhelming pain from her
broken bones, arms reaching up, head hanging down.
   He steps under a gap in the roof where rain is pouring in and stops to
lean his head back and drink the cool water.  He stands under the downpour
and the rain flows through his thick dark hair and down his shoulders and
back as he jerks off slowly.
   Then he moves toward the hanging teenage girl.
   He stands beside her, the hammer in his hand, turned now so that the
forked end is on the front.
   Jenny floats above the gasoline vat and there's distant echoes in her
mind. There are fading lights and sparklers, rockets that explode in the
summer sky.
   The killer raises the weapon.
   "Nooo!" Carol shrieks as she looks up to see what Stryker is about to
do.
   Spiked end first he slams the child with the hammer.  The metal forks
gouge into her smooth exposed belly.  She makes a grunting breathless
noise.
   He tears the killing tool out of her.
   Blood pours out of her belly.  Bits of viscera.
   He licks his lips.
   ...swings again, this time burying the spiked forks into the concave
hollow between her ribs.  When he tears it out, the child shivers and the
chain jangles against the wood and Carol is pulled almost off the floor,
held there by her spiked foot, howling in agony.
   He's about to swing again when the child shudders and pukes up blood
which spews down her face and into the gasoline.  He hesitates, hammer
poised to strike, reconsiders and reaches out to pull the steel pins from
Jennifer's sex-mound and legs.  Long lines of trickling blood move down the
teenager's body from the pin-wounds and plop into the vat below.  The blood
makes spiraling clouds that dissipate in the orange fuel.
   Stryker goes back to the groaning mother, pins and hammer in hand.
   He raises the forked end of the hammer to her lips.
   It is covered in Jenny's blood.
   "Hold it and don't drop it, pig," he commands.
   Sobbing plaintively the tortured slut accepts the weapon that has just
been used on her daughter's body in her lips and her teeth clamp down on
the metal.
   She can taste Jenny's blood on the killing tool.
   Stryker now carefully and methodically begins to pierce the twelve pins
he removed from Jennifer into her mom's delicious tits.
   The hammer's weight pulls down on Carol Hadley's jaw, digs into the
flesh under her tongue, slightly disfiguring her as she grips it in her
mouth, her bloodshot eyes following every move her torturer makes, her
hands and arms numb from holding Jenny's sagging weight.
   "Owwghh!" she howls as he drives the metal pins into firm tit-flesh.
   He smiles and looks at her after each pin is thrust to the hilt.
   "Y-yaaahhhgghh!"
   Each pin slowly, ever so slowly and terribly driven home.
   "Ayyyhhh!"
   He hawks and spits in her face, catching her by surprise and making her
swing her head away eyes tightly shut.  Her teeth slip on the metal of the
hammer and tighten again as she grunts: "gghhaarggg!"
   "Fucking pig....goddamn worthless piece of shit scumbag...THIS is what
you deserve!  You and your filthy daughter."
   He stabs a pin hard into her bruised pussy mound and pushes it deep
ripping right into her bladder until blood spurts from the howling
slaughter-whore's cunt.
   Finally he puts one pin through each of her rosy nipples making the
bitch scream raucously and jerk and twist helplessly, her head rocking
backward.
   Taking the hammer from her mouth he slides down into a crouch.
   He studies Carol Hadley's standing leg, the shattered pierced
high-heeled foot, the tense thigh muscles straining; he reaches out and
feels the knee-cap, hard and firm as she trembles and quivers, shifting
constantly to keep her balance. The knee-bone is beautiful.  His hand keeps
coming back to it.  Circling it.  Caressing it.  It is perfectly spherical,
the skin flexing around it as the woman moves.  He touches it, squeezes it,
the way a sculptor would if he were shaping clay.  It is the midpoint of
her wounded leg, the point of maximum tension.  Stryker knows it is highly
sensitive with nerve bundles.  He licks his lips and smiles thinking of
what he will do to it.  He leans forward to cup his lips around it, gently
gripping it in his teeth.  A trickle of spit runs down her shin to her
broken foot.  She groans between sobbing gasps looking down as his lips
leave her leg.
   Raindrops spatter hard against the walls and roof of the cabin.
   Taking careful aim, raising the spiked end of the hammer, Stryker looks
up into Carol's suffering face then down again at her leg...
   "...mmmmm..." he moans softly and with devastating precision he swings
the weapon with all his strength across the woman's lovely knee.
   With a loud snap the knee-cap shatters in a bloody burst of flesh and
bone- bits and Carol Hadley's hands finally release the bar.  She shrieks
mindlessly and topples backward against the cabin wall to slide and crumple
to the floor in horrible pain.
   Jennifer Hadley slides downward , her face into the gasoline, her head
bumping the bottom of the vat as the suspension pulley-chain catches in the
roof beam keeping the child's body from toppling downward completely,
keeping her suspended as she begins to drown, bubbling and sputtering,
blinded and suffocated in the volatile fluid.
   Carol tries to stand, reaching for the metal bar which is now near the
broken ceiling.  She falls back and tries to crawl toward the vat but her
spiked foot keeps her nailed to the floor and she topples forward to
scratch at the wooden planks wailing watching her child's suspended body
shuddering and spasming.  Raindrops coming through the roof spatter her
bruised, broken shoulders and back.
   Stryker watches the child drown in the gasoline.
   He can see the horror on her face through the rippling bubbling surface
as she tries to breathe, inhaling the fuel into her throat and lungs.  An
ugly snarl distorts his face as he masturbates frenziedly.  He watches the
child die and has to fight the orgasm that threatens to explode in him. 
What a lovely death...lovely, brutal and slow...Jenny burning up inside,
poisoned and drowned simultaneously her eyes blinded by the gasoline, her
body jiggling.  It is a masterpiece of slaughter...perhaps one of his most
inspired kills...and momma, clawing at the floor, unable to reach her baby,
screaming and babbling.
   After almost ten minutes Jennifer is finally still, her eyes wide in
death.
   He moves across the room, stepping over the sobbing broken woman on the
floor and pulls down on the metal bar hauling the dead child up out of the
drowning vat.  Dripping, her blonde hair hanging in thick knotted strands,
mouth wide, her face sunburn-red, neck slowly turning purple, Jennifer is a
horrible sight, an image which is light years from the first time the
killer first spotted her in the park drinking from the water fountain in
her white gym shorts and red Disney t-shirt...she is now an image from
which most humane beings would turn away and gag, but to which Stryker is
drawn like a religious fanatic to a sacred object.
   He moves the vat of gasoline out of the way and releases the child from
her final bondage to lay her dead body on the floorboards.
   Taking the butcher knife now from the crate he kicks the child's legs
open and sinks down to his knees.
   "Watch me," he tells the mother.
   Carol Hadley, lying on her belly and lost in a haze of pain raises her
head to see the killer now lift Jennifer's ass off the floor and impale his
cock deep in her little dead cunt.  She watches the final desecration of
her murdered child as the monster begins to fuck Jenny.
   "Dear...sweet...Jesus..." she gasps.
   Stryker pulls his prick out of the girl's pussy and slides into her
asshole.
   His cock is so hard now that he penetrates effortlessly into the
unyielding gasoline-soaked meat of the dead female.
   He pulls out of her asshole and back into her pussy, then switches again
and again, moaning, grunting, fucking the dead child violently,
occasionally looking sideways at the mother with a sneering grin of
triumph.
   Then, crouching over Jenny, his cock lodged in her pussy he drives the
butcher knife into her chest and begins to cut her open.  He cuts downward
past the second wound the hammer-spikes made in her between her ribs and
down to the first wound in her lower belly.  As he guts the child, gasoline
and blood pour out of the gash the knife leaves behind.
   Carol Hadley wails.
   Eventually her voice fades to a whimper.
   Stryker gets to his feet, stands over his kill, his knife dripping.
   "Your turn, pig," he tells the mother.
   He comes for her, takes her by her arms and yanks her away from the
spike in the floor, her toe ripped in half.
   He drags her out of the cabin by the hair.
   The rain is coming down hard now.
   Outside it is dark and there is only a dim glow coming from the kerosene
lamps in the cabin.
   Carol leaves small dark trails of blood in the pine-needle covered
ground as he drags her to the killing tree.
   He puts on thick leather gloves.
   She's babbling incomprehensibly as he pulls her up on her knees, her
wounded leg still tied in a folded position, the other shattered knee
swollen and almost black, as she squeals, blinding pain shooting up her
legs, the killer tying her to the oak's trunk with a long strand of fence
razor-wire he has taken from behind the cabin.
   The rain falls furiously, soaking Stryker and his victim as he stands
over her.
   He has bound her tightly and the wire cuts into her broken body.
   "I want to cum in your mouth, Carol," he tells her.
   Then he puts the knife to her throat.
   There is no fight left in her...she opens her lips wide for him.
   He steps up to her and slides his cock in.
   He leans against the trunk as he fucks her face in the rain.
   "Come on, pig..." he snarls.  "Get me off..."
   Hair sticks to the sides of her face and her eyes peer up into his.
   There is nothing left in them now.
   No humanity.  No dignity.
   She's a piece of meat.  Just like her dead daughter.
   Her head begins to bob back and forth, slowly, timidly, hesitantly at
first then with more energy.  Her lips pleasure the sides of his stiff rod
as she begins to suck him.  Her tonge works the sensitive crown-head and
his piss-slit.  She now fucks his cock with her mouth with the passion of a
high-priced whore.
   "Yeah," the killer grunts.  "That's it...that's right, fuckface..."
   Now there is nothing for her but to pleasure the Killer.  She is His. 
She is completely broken.
   "...yeahh...you know it don't you...yes you do...This is all you're
fuckin' good for...it's all you've even been good for..."
   She moans and sucks his big long shaft down her gullet, squeezing it
with her lips, her broken shoulders pressed against the tree, her hands
splayed wide, fingers clawing air on either side.
   He bangs her head against the tree as he thrusts forward, snarling,
grabbing her hair with one hand now as he feels the orgasm building.
   "Whore!  Shitbag!  Yeahh - yeahhh - yea-a-AHHH!  UUNNHH!"
   Gripping her head tightly he shoots off in her mouth.
   A thick spurt of cum drools from her lips and he plunges the knife into
her throat pulling back to shoot off on her face and eyes as she gives out
a choked cry, blood and cum spilling from her mouth.  He pulls the knife
out and stabs again.  He slices her throat open and she looks up at him
gurgling, choking his jissom rolling off her cheeks and down on to her
steel-pin pierced boobs.
   "Yeahhhh, baby...die...die..." he grunts hoarsely.  "...die for
me...that's so nice...so fucking BEAUTIFUL...yes...yesss...die for me..."
   She shudders and slumps back against the tree mouth and eyes wide open.
   He steps up to her again and puts his cock into her yawning lips,
rubbing the hot swollen still spurting prick-head against the ridged roof
of her mouth, letting the orgasm finally subside as the rain washes the
blood and cum off her face and body, her slit throat still pumping hot
trickles down her chest...rain and woman blood... mixing, puddling in the
ground around her knees.
   He can see she is still breathing, though her eyes are glassy as he
slides his cock out of her mouth.  He bends down to spit in her face and
her lips continue to gape as he walks back toward the cabin.
   Perhaps she does not really see him bring the dead, gutted girl-child
out carrying her limp bleeding body in his arms, and perhaps she does not
feel anything as he lays her daughter right in front of her.  Maybe by the
time he brings out the gasoline Carol Hadley is already dead.
   Stryker is not sure if any life is left even when he gets the vat from
the cabin to pour the rest of the gasoline over the grisly ravaged
carcasses of the two females.
   The rain has slowed to a drizzle when he gets the cigarette lighter from
the cabin and has to flick it three times to start the flame.  He tosses it
on the butchered victims.
   ...  then he sees Carol Hadley twist furiously against the razor-wire
that binds her to the tree as the flames pop to life and begin to eat away
at her and her child's dead body and her long endless quavering scream is
an energetic and thrilling expression of woman pain.
   Before the victims are consumed by flames and dark smoke, their blonde
heads enveloped in orange light, the smell of burning flesh thick in the
humid night air, the rain now just a misty spray, Stryker's cock is hard
once again.
   Soon he will have to go back to the park and find himself some fresh
young meat.
   WOODBURN