The following are purely fictional accounts. Any relationship to any real person
living or dead is absolutely coincidental. The narratives deal 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. 



                                       Meat



	What follows is a series of dark disconnected visions.
	Think of them as images seen through a frosted glass - opaque images.
	They are explorations of extreme moments, final and irreversible.
	Think of them as connections with the most primal carnal depth of
masculinity.
	The males (human or otherwise) in these stories are not interested in
government, medicine, law, science, philosophy, business or any of the other
sanctioned vocations most of us pursue.
	They are shameless violent sex predators.
	Their world is a void, a vacuum where most of us cannot breathe.
	There is no love here, no tenderness, no compassion or mercy.
	Inexplicably I am attracted and mesmerized by these visions. I know there are
many of you who share this bizarre curiosity.
	These visions are monstrous, unspeakable, obscene and downright vicious.
	But there is something in us that needs this.
	A hunger.
	Is it a hunger for dreams?
	Is it a hunger for pleasure?
	Maybe its something much more elemental.
	More carnivorous.
	Maybe, deep in our subconscious, where the Beast still dwells, these visions
are simply the expression of a hunger no longer acceptable in civilized company:
the male hunger for female meat.
	Such sweet punished meat can only be swigged down with a copious flow of
fresh human female blood.
	And only after the frail quivering flame of her soul has been savagely and
utterly destroyed.
	For all Woodburn readers out there:
	Enjoy.



******************************************************************



	Whatever Master tells me to do I do. His Word is Sacred.
	I am now nineteen years old. I have been His for seven years and He has not
yet tired of me. 
	I live each day wondering if He will, knowing that when he does it will all
end.
	I have seen people on the internet say they are slaves, 24/7. It almost makes
me laugh. They have no clue about slavery. I cannot even measure 24/7. There are
no days and nights any more for me. Only stretches of time between punishments.
Only the anticipation, the terror of not knowing what will happen next.
	Master is a surgeon so He knows exactly how far to go physically with His
victims. He has broken my arms and legs and ribs during punishment then placed
me in the infirmary  He's built in the basement dungeon until I recovered.  The
infirmary is as well equipped and maybe even better than most hospital emergency
rooms.
	He has done hideous things to me, taken me to limits of agony that are
beyond description.
	And I have watched Him slaughter at least a hundred girls since I have been
His.
	In fact I have even helped Him do it. In the beginning I helped him hoping
that as long as his attention was focused on another it would not turn on me. Now I
help him destroy other young females because it fulfills my nature. This ultimately is
who I am.
	It did not take long for Him to break me completely and show me what a
pitiful little slut I was.  Under His severe punishments I also learned to accept what
deep inside I somehow already knew...that a woman is just a worthless receptacle
for a man's violence and pleasure. In time I began to enjoy the pain as it was
viciously inflicted on me and to think only of His pleasure, only of serving Him well
by enduring as much as possible without passing out. And I also began in time to
enjoy tremendously watching Him torture and slaughter innocent victims. 
Sometimes, even though I am terrified by the possibility of death, I envy my
Master's victims - I watch the final tremors of life and the fading spark in their eyes
and wish it was me instead of them.  Besides I see the pleasure my Master takes in
the destruction of a female and I would like to grant him that pleasure. I would like
to know I have pleased Him and given all that I could right to the end.
	Once when I lay on the bed in the infirmary after He'd broken my leg with a
heavy wooden club I asked Him how and why He'd chosen me.
	He told me He'd watched me fingering myself by the pool in the backyard of
the house as He'd passed by one day and that He'd watched my face as I lay in the
grass, eyes closed by the glare of the sun.
	I remembered that I had often done that because it felt so good, especially
after being all wet from swimming.
	He said that my face had betrayed all He needed to know about me.  He
knew the moment he saw me that I would be the perfect vessel for His needs. 
	After the day He'd first seen me He began to learn all He could about me
and my family and to plan our disappearance'.  He knew then, as He'd watched
me, that He could not only use me to appease His lust with my body but also as bait
to get more victims because my face would inspire trust.
	And after He'd killed Momma, Daddy and Ronnie in the woods and broken
me to His will that's exactly what He'd done.
	Master is very good about following through on His plans.
	We would cruise the parking lot in a mall, airport or bus terminal looking for
potential victims. Mother-daughter targets were always the best.  When we saw
them split up I would go either to the daughter and tell her her mom was sick and
needed help or to the mom and say her daughter was in trouble and was looking for
her.  
	They never questioned me because my face inspired trust, just like Master
thought.
	I would lead the unsuspecting victims to the parking lot where Master had the
van waiting.
	He would drag the young woman or girl into the cargo hold of the van and
chloroform them before they could make a sound then we'd drive away. Because of
the danger of being spotted we always worked at night.  If ever there was even the
remotest possibility of being seen Master would give me a signal and I would turn
and run.  We never worked the same place twice especially if we'd had to abort.  
	So by age thirteen I was Master's little helper as well as His little fuck-toy and
pain-slut.
	I can't say exactly when it was I was totally broken for Him.  It might have
been when he killed Momma and Daddy and Ronnie while I watched, or when He
raped me on their shallow grave in the clearing at dawn. It might have happened
sometime afterwards when He drove me to the seaside mansion with the
underground rooms.
	I have a dim memory of walking through the forest naked after my family
was butchered, being pulled along, hands tied behind me, a rope around my waist
and down between my asscheeks, up into my pussy-slit and into Master's strong
grip as He walked ahead of me, His boots crunching the pine-needles which stabbed
into my shins and soles and calves.  I was being pulled along like an animal in
captivity, pulled along by my pussy which still ached from His raping. Then I was
lifted on to the back of the van and bound with leather straps to the metal floor, a
black ball gag stuffed in my mouth, a piece of cloth wrapped over my eyes to
blindfold me.
	Hours later, when He hauled me up out of the van and took the blindfold
away I could see we were in an enclosed courtyard on a black asphalt driveway.  I
could hear the distant crash of the waves and knew the ocean was nearby.
	He made me kneel right there at His feet on the warm hard blacktop, my
hands cuffed behind me.
	"You're mine now, you little cunt," He said looking down on me.  Above
Him there was clear blue early morning sky.  His words entered me, entered my
soul just as His cock had entered my pussy, with terrible destructive force.
	He reached down and ungagged me.
	"Say it," he instructed.
	"...y-yours...I-I'm yours..."
	"I am your only God.  You are meat for my pleasure."
	His cold eyes just stared down into mine and I was held immobile by them.
	"Say it."
	"...y-you are m-my - my only God...I'm m-meat...for y-your ple-pleasure..."
	"You're a nice little piggie, Suzie. A nice little piece of cunt-meat. It was real
nice to kill your folks, especially your momma...and what you need to know is that I
will kill you too, anytime I wish, is that clear?"
	I nodded.
	He slapped me hard across the face startling me and almost making me lose
my balance.
	"You will refer to me as Master from now until the day you die, cunt! Don't
you ever fucking nod your head at me. Its Yes, Master,' or No, Master,'- got it?!"
	"Y-yes, M-Master..." the words made me quiver as I said them.  It was the
first time I said them and I could see it pleased Master to hear them.
	He smiled.
	"You learn quick, Suzie. I like that. Now get up. You're gonna give your
Master a whole day of pleasure."
	I obeyed Him. There was no choice but to obey Him. And I followed Him
meekly to the side of the house and the stairs that led down to the metal door.



	The stone floor of the underground hallway was cold under my bare
scratched feet.
	Master's house was a huge mansion and the underground area had originally
been designed as a fallout shelter back in the mid 50's. When Master's father had
bought the house he'd transformed it according to his specifications.  Master's
father, Herr Wilhelm Kessler had been a powerful industrialist in Hitler's Germany
during World War Two, a cruel man with very cruel tastes.  He'd passed those
down on to his son as well as the wealth he'd stolen from the fallen Third Reich and
the mansion with its underground torture chambers. I would learn in time that there
were fifteen separate rooms as well as the large central area for group events'.
Each door was made of solid oak mounted on heavy iron hinges with refrigerator-
type locks that opened with a handle. Each door had a large number printed on it in
red and the hallway was lit by fluorescent overhead lamps. The ceilings in the
underground area were low, like a cellar's, and lined with metal pipes. There were
no windows, no sunlight ever entered here.  It was a prison. A prison for the soul
and for the body, designed by  Herr Kessler to destroy the will of its captives.  Now
it would be my prison.
	"Right here little girl," Master said as He turned to open the door labeled
number 6.
	The large handle made a metallic sound as he pulled it and when He pushed
the door open I heard a soft moaning which had been inaudible just a moment
before.  I came to know that each room was completely soundproof and that the
outside areas too were soundproof.
	I followed Master into the room and He closed the large door behind me.
	My eyes were immediately drawn to one end of the chamber. There, inside a
frame of wooden beams a young woman hung by her distended tits from two
dangling strands of barbed wire bolted to a metal bar. The bar itself was suspended
by a chain hooked to an eyebolt at its center and leading back up to the overhead
beam. The woman's ankles were bound with barbed wire as well and as she swung
slowly around pirouetting slowly, her bare feet some ten inches off the ground I
could see her wrists behind her also wire-tied. She was gagged with three strands of
barbed wire wrapped around her face.  Streams of dry blood led down from her
gouged face and tits, from her wrists and ankles. Her eyes were glazed and it didn't
seem as she'd even heard us enter the room. Her slender body was covered with
bruises, cuts and abrasions.  She'd been beaten and beaten severely... beaten
inhumanly.
	Master pointed to the ground where I stood.
	"Kneel, child," he ordered curtly.  "I want you to watch carefully."
	I did as He asked unquestioningly even though I was shaking with terror, an
empty feeling in my belly.  After all, I was just a little girl then. A helpless innocent
little girl.
	Master stripped naked and tossed His clothes and boots against the wall of the
chamber. Then He went across the room to a large mahogany cabinet that stood in
the corner. He opened the creaky doors of the cabinet and I could see into it. There
were leather straps, cuffs, whips, all kinds of restraining devices and torture
implements. Things I was not familiar with. Things that did not have a place in the
world I'd been taken from, things I'd only sometimes caught a brief glimpse of in
horror movies before mom or dad made me stop watching.
	From the cabinet Master took a long thin white rod that seemed to be made
of plastic. It was about four feet long and very flexible. He swished it through the air
and it made a sibilant whistling sound.
	The hanging woman reacted to the noise with a grunt, jerking around to try
to swing herself back around to face us.
	"Yeah...you remember that don't you?" Master told the hanging girl as he
approached her.
	"This is Tanya," Master told me without looking at me.  He stood between
me and the hanging woman who was now within striking range of the long rod.
	"Tanya was a dancer..." Master said as his feet spread apart on the floor and
his shoulders relaxed. His powerful body was coiled for action, supple and panther-
like.
	"She's been here for almost three months now. But I've grown really tired
of her...I think its time to make room for new meat."
	Then Master turned and glanced at me over His shoulder.
	"I want you to watch, Suzie....watch while I tear this worthless bitch to
shreds."
	His eyes burned into me and I felt that same warmth invade me as when
He'd tied me to the tree while He'd butchered my family.
	"Y-yes, master," I moaned feebly.
	Master turned to his slut-target.
	"Ready to please me, cunt?" he growled.
	"...ghhaghh...nn-mmnnggaahhgg!" the suspended victim replied.
	"I take that for a yes', what do you think Suzie?"
	" - I -"
	"Say: Yes, Master. Kill the worthless bitch."
	 I hesitated for a moment until His glaring eyes turned to me.
	"...y-yes...yes, Master...k-kill th-the...the..."
	"Worthless - the worthless bitch - Say it for me, Suzie."
	The words were foreign to me but yet exciting, 
	"...kill the worthless bitch..." I said, surprised at the conviction with which the
words suddenly erupted.
	"Yeahh!" Master shouted smiling as He turned back to face his victim.
	"You heard our new guest's wish, Tanya darling.  I guess you won't be
dancing again....unless its in hell!"
	Master's arm swung down hard and the long white rod screamed through
the air.
	It landed with a loud swat across Tanya's delicious thighs and cut right
through the smooth girlflesh embedding itself in thigh-muscle.
	Tanya arched beautifully in response to the pain, her head craning back, eyes
wide.
	"Ggggrrragghhh!" she keened.
	Master had to yank the rod out of her and as He did blood spurted from the
lesion.
	He swung again landing another cut just below the first.
	Again He yanked the thin rod out of the girlflesh it had embedded itself in
and swung back to strike again.
	As Tanya screeched and gasped I watched Master tear into her deliciously
plump thighs and down her legs, tearing and gashing, making the young bitch swing
around as she hung by her stretched boobs, the chain clanking and creaking as the
metal bar spun around and around.
	The strange flushed sensation I'd felt earlier, when I'd watched Him kill my
family, came back.  I felt dizzy and my little pussy felt hot and wet. I felt the urgent
need to touch myself, like I did when I lay on the grass in my yard after swimming
in the pool, and I began to do so as I watched the methodical destruction of the girl
Master said had once been a dancer. My fingers were soon wet and slimy and I was
breathing fast.
	I could not see Master's face since I knelt behind Him, between Him and
Tanya, but I was pretty sure it reflected the same diabolically concentrated
expression I'd seen on it in the woods. I knew He was considering each stroke of
the killing rod before He swung, measuring its effect and watching His victim,
deeply enjoying her horrible agony. As she swung around, facing away from Him
He began to attack not just the back of her  luscious thighs and calves but also her
asscheeks and shoulderblades.  When He struck her back she screamed shrilly,
wildly. The rod slished into her meaty ass and caused a gasping grunting sound
from her.  He played her like a musical instrument going each time for another
reaction sometimes harder, sometimes less, always devastatingly unexpected.
Tanya's blood rolled down her sides and legs and spattered the stone floor and she
began to sob uncontrollably.
	"Take it, you fucking bitch..."Master growled softly as He swung and swung.
	I remembered how He'd told me that He'd watched me lying in the grass
and playing with myself and tiny shivers ran all through me thinking about His
hungry green eyes roaming over my small naked body as I lay wet in the
sun...thinking about how He  planned my abduction and the destruction of my
family as He watched me...
	And then His eyes were on me as He turned from Tanya leaving her spinning
slowly, bleeding from the multiple gash wounds He'd inflicted on her.
	I felt suddenly very self-conscious and stopped playing with myself.
	"You - little - pig -" Master said slowly as He reached down to stroke His
erect cock.
	"I just knew it. You're a natural....a fucking natural...Don't stop.  Do it for
your Master. Do it."
	His voice was impossible to disobey and I did as He ordered and He watched
me play with myself, my eyes lost in His as He stroked His big hard shaft, the soft
groans of pain coming from Tanya urging us both on.
	"C'mere, girl," He said after a few moments.
	I rose and crossed the room toward Him.  He pointed to the ground in front
of Him. I knelt again my face now level with his erect cock.
	"I'm gonna piss on you," He said softly. "Don't turn from me or avoid it in
any way... and keep your hands at your sides."
	Then a hot stream of pungent urine hissed from his penis and struck my
chest. Hot piss rolled down my body and I struggled hard to obey Him fighting my
instinct to move away or cover myself with my hands.
	"Play with yourself," he ordered.
	I obeyed as He aimed the jet of urine all over the front of my body and on
my hand as I frigged myself. 
	Then He stepped closer.
	"Open your mouth," he ordered.
	I did it knowing what was coming, feeling the piss jet move up between my
little titties, up my neck, past my chin and into my open mouth to gurgle and splash
all over my face, blinding me. I choked on the salty bitterness and fought back the
urge to gag.
	He stood right over me and pissed in my mouth, in my face and finally in my
hair.
	He covered me with his piss and I just knelt there and took it quivering
obediently.
	"Beautiful..." he muttered, his eyes glazed with pleasure. "...so beautiful..."
	It felt good to please Him and I frigged myself faster.
	When the stream of piss died out He stepped right up to me and rubbed His
cock on my lips which remained open wide.
	"Lick me clean, child," He commanded.
	I could not understand then why it was such pleasure to do as He asked and
to please Him.
	I had not yet learned that I was nothing but slavemeat, that I had always been
slavemeat and would always be slavemeat....nourishment for the sadistic wolf-demon
that owned me.
	I was a natural, He'd said.  And He was right. Master was always right.  It felt
so right to bend to His wicked will, to be owned. I should have felt disgust at the
smell of His piss-dripping prick, horror at the sight of blood dripping from the rod
He'd used on Tanya...instead I felt only pulsing waves of pleasure that made me
gasp for air and made my heartbeat faster as I looked up at Him taking Him in my
mouth for the first time, licking the piss from his stone-hard organ.
	"That's right, piggie," he growled taking a fistful of my long silky hair to
push himself into my small mouth. "Make me hard for the
kill...mmm...yeahh...that's it...nice and hard for the kill..."
	After he thrust into me a few times, glaring down at me, his breath quicker,
his lips twisted into a snarl  he pushed away from me and walked to the wooden
mahogany cabinet leaving me there wildly rubbing both hands against my throbbing
slit, piss dripping off me and puddling around my knees.
	I saw him put the white rod back in its felt sheath and then I saw the silvery
blade of the machete as he moved toward Tanya and I almost stopped breathing.
My heart thrummed in my ears. 
	I was going to watch Him kill again.
	He stepped up to the suspended girl and swung her around a couple of times
studying her badly mutilated body. Then he took half a step back and with a fierce
grunt he swung the machete up across Tanya's hooked tit-bags.
	The stroke sliced half her tits off and released her from the painful suspension. 
Her body fell heavily, her bare bloody feet thudding against the floor, her legs
giving away as she shrieked all the way down, gagged face smashing down into the
concrete floor, arms wire-bound behind her,  rib-cage cracking under her, blood and
puke exploding from her lips.
	He kicked her over on her back, on top of her captive arms, kicked her legs
apart.
	The woman lay groaning weakly, looking up at Him.
	She had lovely brown eyes and I knew she was seeing the same thing
mommy and daddy had seen...it was the God of Death coming for her...and there
was horror there and maybe acceptance too...maybe relief that the pain would soon
end.
	"C'mere, bitch," Master snarled at me.  
	I crawled quickly across the cold floor toward him.
	"Suck me while I kill her...get me off in your mouth...understand?"
	I crawled around Tanya's bleeding legs and knelt before Him.
	"Y-yes...yes, Master," I blurted.
	Instantly He grabbed my head and pushed His big cock into my face.
	Obediently I opened my mouth for Him.
	He was my God too, my Killer God...I didn't know what it meant to get Him
off exactly but I didn't dare tell Him I didn't know or that I'd never done it before.
I had seen the women in the videos do it.  I had felt Him orgasm between my legs
as He'd raped me on my family's grave...but now I would feel it happen in my
throat.  He was so big.  My lips stretched to the limit and my jaw began to ache but
I began to bob back and forth on Him like I'd seen the women on the screen do.  I
could feel Him get harder in my mouth, His bitter taste choking me, His heavy balls
slapping against my chin.
	Then His knees bent slightly as he leaned over Tanya's body, the machete
raised high and He arched over me keeping a firm grip on my head.
	I heard the swish of the killing blade as He swung and heard the dull wet
impact it made as it struck across Tanya's heaving belly.
	Tanya shrieked.
	Her hot blood spattered my asscheeks and my thighs.
	Master raised the machete and brought it down again, slamming His prick
down my throat, gripping the back of my head through my hair.
	Again Tanya screamed and again I felt the spattering of hot blood on me.
	Master swung repeatedly, His face a sneering mask.
	I felt blood droplets roll down the soles of my feet.
	I began to rub myself desperately as the sword clanged into woman-meat and
bone but I could not see what damage it was doing.  I could only look up into
Master's savage face as He slaughtered, as He took His pleasure. I could sense the
accelerating degrees of destruction by watching His greedy, half-slitted eyes.
	I knew then that one day He would tear into me just as He was tearing into
Tanya, with that same wild look in His dark vicious eyes
	Maybe that was when He finally broke me, the moment when I began to feel
for the first time the hot spasmic waves of orgasm rushing up from deep inside me,
groaning as His cock filled my mouth and throat, the screams of the dying woman
behind me as the machete sliced into her chest and belly and legs.
	Then I saw Him raise the weapon, gripping the handle in both hands, bloody
blade-tip aimed downward.
	"DIE!" He roared and plunged downward.
	Hot gushes of jism spurted against the back of my throat and I choked,
unable to breathe, my hands reaching out to hold on to His strong thighs as He held
me steady, sperm spilling from my lips and down my chin.
	"YEaahhh-AHH!" He shouted, throwing his head back and bellowing at the
ceiling of the torture chamber.
	My small pitiful cries joined His as I tried to swallow reaching up to hold His
big cock in my little hands, feeling the big strong hardness of Him, wanting never to
breathe again, wanting to be drowned in Him until I slid down dizzy and crumpled
to the floor beside the woman He'd just brutally murdered.
	I half-rolled over, fearful but curious, to look at her.
	He had buried the machete blade in her forehead and both her eyes stared
glassily upward divided by a blood-streaked strip of steel, a smear of brain-tissue
oozing up from the gash-wound and trickling down into one ear.
	I realized I lay in a warm puddle of her blood.  Bits of her skin and guts and
bone had exploded from her in all directions.
	"..she's so...beautiful..." I muttered.
	"There's nothing more beautiful than a murdered whore..." Master replied.
	His voice was calm now that the kill-rage had spent itself in Him.
	He wiped the machete blade in my hair as I looked down at Tanya.
	Later I watched Him drag the dead bitch by one leg out of the torture room
and down the hall to the incinerator chamber. She left a blood-trail on the floor and
my own blood-soaked feet left small perfect foot-prints in the stone beside it as I
followed.  I saw Master lift the bloody carcass into the metal compartment and close
the trap-door.  There was a wheel on the vault-like door which He turned sealing
the incinerator shut. When He touched a switch on the wall there was a roar from
the large metal cylinder and a small rectangle of viewing glass glowed fiercely.  I
saw Him look in as the flames devoured what was left of Tanya the dancer.
	After a while He came for me closing the incinerator chamber door behind
Him, both of us enveloped in sudden silence. I wondered if there were other women
right at that moment behind all those doors in the hallway, waiting to die, suffering
in the dark silence, waiting for Master's return.
	Wordlessly, He took me by my arm, His hard fingers digging into my skin,
and led me up the stairs, out of the dungeon and into the house. He led me up a
swirling carpeted staircase into a large luxurious bedroom with picture windows that
faced the sea.  His bed had manacles on the headboard and footboard.  He ordered
me up on the big bed, bound me spreadeagled and climbed up on me to give me
His full weight as He sank into me again, cruelly, wordlessly, His hands gripping my
shoulders as he slammed me into the hard mattress.
	I lost track of how many times He raped me that night while I drowned in the
smell of piss, sperm and blood and sweat on the satin sheets. He choked me and
slapped me and beat me and fucked me and I lost all sense of myself.
	I could hear the waves crashing against the reef outside.
	It seemed they were crashing over me and drowning me as if Master was just
an extension of that dark pounding mass of water beyond the windows.
	I have no memory of morning ever coming.

******************************************************************

	Meat.
	That's all the little gook whore is to me.
	Juicy, succulent, whore-meat.
	She just fucking stands there, her wrists roped behind her, little slope-eyed
bitch, just stands there while I tie her tits in rope nooses, tight, as tight as I can, until
her jugs just pop up out of her so nice and pretty, plump and swollen.  Just stands
there while I knot the leather cords to the pulley line from the ceiling.
	Waiting.
	Submissive.
	Obedient.
	Brown-eyed gook slave-pig.
	Her eyes match the color of the leather cords now tautly pulling.
	Slowly I haul her up, up by her noosed tits and she doesn't even make a
sound, going up on her little painted toes, her feet coming finally up off the ground,
hanging there for me like a side of beef, her nipples fully erect on the ends of her
gorged titglobes.
	I know it hurts her cause she bites her lip and I see a single teardrop making
its way down one cheek.
	But she takes it and endures.
	This is her fate and she accepts it.
	Finally, after a few minutes, I hear a muffled grunt from her and I smile.
	Her pretty feet dangle and she quivers as I tie off the end of the pulley line.
	She watches me as I pick up the ice-pick.
	She shakes her head and begins to sob softly.
	I lick my lips and feel my cock stiffen and rise.
	I stand before her, naked warrior ready for battle.
	"Whore," I snarl meanly and holding her by one hip I thrust the ice-pick
deep into her luscious thigh. She screams as the metal pierces her to the bone. I
yank the pick out of her and a hot stream of blood runs down her trembling leg,
snaking around her knee and ankle, dripping off her heel as she kicks.
	She babbles something unitelligible to me in her oriental language.
	I've pierced through the artery and if I just wait and watch she'll bleed to
death for me.
	But there is no sport in waiting.
	Instead I spin her around and thrust the bloody icepick right into her chubby
little asscheek, deep into the hard muscle.
	She rears her pretty Asian head back and yowls.
	Stinking jap cunt.
	She spouts some more gook drivel. I can tell she's pleading for her life from
the way her eyes search for mine. Maybe acceptance is not so easy after all.
	She's obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit.
	I slam the pick into her lower back, gouging into her kidney, making her kick
her legs, her blood spurting from her wounds as she choke gasps, her
tits purple like eggplants in the tight suspension cords.
	Spinning her around again and holding her by one shoulder I study her
suffering face for a few moments then I lift the pick above my head and
stab it down into the top of her bound breast.  As she screams, wild-eyed,
her pain twisting her, I gouge out the nipple of that tit, stab right into it and her
blood squirts on my hand, on my arm, on my chest.  
	I gouge out the other nipple.
	Blood spurts my face, fresh and warm.
	I smile more broadly now, lick her tepid life-fluid off my lips, stab her purple
tits repeatedly.
	She's still rattling on but her voice is weak and breathless and her eyes no
longer search for pity from me.  By this time she's figured out there won't be any.
	Lifting her bleeding legs on to my shoulders I penetrate her, my bare feet in
her blood on the floor as I push my long hard phallus deep into the young
porcelain-fleshed Asian female while she bleeds all over me.
	With one sharp up-thrust I put the icepick in her throat, all the way through
the back of her head and leave it in her. Wide-eyed, gasping, gurgling, life spilling
from her trembling lips, wide-mouthed she bounces on my cock, dying for me as I
grip her hips to hilt myself in her, her tight little pussy squeezing my rod.
	I go on fucking her as she dies wheezing and slumping, going snow-pale, her
head hanging to one side, blood still pumping from her parted lips and into the
flowing cadence of her long silky-stranded jet-black hair.
	Hot cum shoots up from my balls and into her vagina.
	I step back to watch it ooze out of her.
	With a sigh of relief I piss on her slender bloodied legs.

	******************************************************************				


	Cathy is eleven. She won't make it to twelve.
	In the barn the noonday heat is stifling. The four masked men are naked and
sweaty.  Dust bits, stirred up by the sudden swirl of activity, float in the sunlight
beams streaking in through the broken wooden slats.  
	The hooded men have been beating Cathy with their bullwhips.
	Stalks of dry hay stick to their feet and legs.  The old wooden floor-boards
creak.
	The barn, abandoned nearly fifteen years ago, is covered with vines and
surrounded with trees and shrubs.  A dirt road is the only way into the property
acquired by these men for just this purpose.  Less than a hundred yards away
the farmhouse lies in shambles, part of its roof caved in, all the windows shattered,
birds nesting in rooms where once a family sang Protestant hymns.
	Cathy is one of those girls from this part of the country.  A healthy blonde
farm girl from a town two hundred miles north of here. You can hear those same
Protestant hymns in her clear innocent sky-blue eyes. Especially when they are
brim-filled with tears of pain.
	She had a clump of bright yellow daisies in one hand when the men seized
her. She had picked them for her momma. She was holding a red lollipop to her
mouth with the other.
	The flowers fell on the side of the two-lane flat-top and scattered in the hot
wind left by the window-less cargo van as it sped away.
	The lollipop melted on the asphalt as the sun climbed the sky.
	The four men who took her, plucked her from her simple life
and brought her here to suffer and die for them, chose her carefully, stalked her,
abducted her when she least expected it, when there was no one around to see.
	As the cargo van took the highway three of the kidnappers beat and rape
Cathy, sank their teeth into her warm young skin which tasted of sweet simple
soap.  They raped her cruelly, unjustly and without mercy, in every way imaginable
stuffing themselves in her virgin body, erupting inside her and on her until the cargo
van stank of mansperm.  They took turns driving the van so that they could all get a
shot at her, hard, cruel, drunk men, leaving their teeth marks all over sweet innocent
Cathy Walden, on her arms, on her shoulders, on her little budding tits, on her
hairless little pussy mound. They smeared their lips on hers and tasted the cloying
sweetness of candy through the cheap rotgut gin.
	These were vicious heartless men who raped and killed for pleasure, bringing
the helpless girls here, to the ramshackle barn with the huge Coca-Cola sign painted
on its side years ago, red and white lettering fading under the snarling growth of
vines.
	The men were cunt-hunters.
	Poor Cathy was one of the youngest they'd ever taken.
	Like their other child-victims she brought out the worst in them.
	Cathy watched them strip naked and don their face masks while she
knelt against the tottering barn door, her wrists cuffed behind her, her legs
rope bound at the ankles, her pink K-mart t-shirt hanging off her shoulders in
tatters, her jeans and white panties left behind in the van with her blue tennis shoes. 
One pink sock still clung to her foot. The other foot was bare, scratched and bitten.
	She sobbed, sniffled, called out to her captors, begged them to let her go.
	They laughed, jeered at her.
	The bruised, weeping child was handed up to one of the killers who climbed
up into the hayloft hauling her up by her arms.  The others then followed.
	There was blood on the floorboards.
	The child pleaded with the masked men.
	It was stifling hot up there under the tin roof.
	Cathy could not understand why they needed to wear masks, why they
wanted to hurt her.
	Torture implements hung from the walls.
	The men enjoyed the cries and pleas of the child, her horror and confusion.
They handled her eagerly, stripped what was left of her clothes off her.
	She struggled briefly and in vain.
	They hung her by her wrists from a chain that dangled from a rusty hook
in a roof beam, left her ankles tied together, just the tips of her toes touching 
the blood-stained wood.
	Many other young girls had stood here, right where Cathy now stood. Many
more would stand in this place, naked, arms hung overhead, shaking with terror. 	
	None had ever or would ever leave the barn alive.
	The men stepped back.
	They were smiling.
	Behind the masks the eyes studied the victim carefully, greedily.
	Less than three hours earlier Cathy had been licking a lollipop at the side of
the road, wild daisies in her right hand.  Her lips and fingertips were still sticky from
the candy.  Although the men had shot their loads on her cute little face and mouth
in the van they could still see the sticky strawberry redness they had all tasted
staining her pouting lips.
	And then the four black leather bullwhips swooshed and sliced cruelly across
Cathy's twisting screaming body tearing hot bruise-welts into her, striping the
eleven year old unmercifully, literally beating the piss out of her. 
	Laughing and sneering the men whipped her even harder as the bright yellow
urine spilled down the inside of her thighs and dripped off her toes.
	Her hands, clasped together way up above her head, spread open then, like
butterfly wings, fingers wide apart, trapped wrists chafed by the thick harsh rope as
the bullwhips took turns from four compass points of pain: north, south, east, and
west - milking the agony from the little bitch.
	Her screams rose, shrill ear-piercing child-hurt reverberant against the
inside of the barn's tin roof.
	A pair of nesting swallows took wing, fluttering away from the harsh sounds
which no neighbor or passerby would hear as the sun rose to its highest point
making the men in the barn grunt and sweat with the effort.
	When they stopped whipping Cathy there was only her soft whimpering,
her fast uncontrolled breath, then her wailing sobs as the hot pain enveloped her
completely and blood streamed down her pretty little legs mixing with her 
urine.
	The smell of girlblood and girlpiss made the men smile even more and stroke
themselves and move in.
	Each one had his own knife.
	They sat on the ground after they lowered Cathy to the creaky boards, sat
around her, the first one, Jake, their leader, taking her first, dragging her over to
make her straddle him between her whip-seared thighs and sit in his lap, on his
muscular hairy thighs, on his upstanding cock, pushing her down on to it, ("Uhnhh
- damn - this uns tight, boys - tightern' a rabbitt's butt - uhh yeahh - real real
nice.") impaling her, holding her upright with one hand around her delicate neck,
sinking his knife into her sides and legs as he thrust slowly into her,("mmm - like
warm sweet butter inside - goddamn little tramp -") her small hands now rope-
bound behind her, his hard fingers choking the breath from her as the others
watched stroking themselves, preparing for their turn.
	They passed her around, each masked man taking his time, fucking and
stabbing the wailing, pleading child, choking her, spitting on her, biting her, cursing
her, using her.
	"Bleed - little trash whore -"
	"Jailbait slut."
	"Cry. That's right. Cry. Cry."
	She bled on their legs and knees, on their eager hands.
	"Goddamn little fuck!"
	She went around the circle almost three times before life began to wane from
her, bits of blood and sliced up flesh dripping off her, her gut-stabbed belly
spilling darker blood and shit and pieces of intestine and liver, her little neck
bruised and discolored, her pupils dilated.
	Once the knives pierced her lungs, her breath began to wheeze and her head
to topple and the men were silent, only grunting and panting with the
delicious pleasure of the kill.
	The smell of the stabbed child filled the barn.
	Sometime in the fourth cycle she gave up her anguished soul with a lovely
shiver. It fluttered away like the swallows that had fled from the sound of the whips.
	The killers moaned with pleasure.
	Still they continued to fuck her and stab her, to cut her open, until they were
covered with her blood and viscera, until one by one they ejaculated inside the child,
deep inside her where it counted the best and gave them the most pleasure, looking
into her dead blue eyes that no longer sang Protestant hymns as they did so.


	******************************************************************				


	Laura was breathing extremely fast, almost hyperventilating as she slid her
mouth back and forth desperately on Leon's long black cockshaft.  
	She knelt at his feet on a piece of plastic tarp laid out atop the purple shag
carpet in his apartment, a second floor walk-up in an abandoned building by the
railroad tracks.
	She stared up at him slavishly.
	Hardcore rap music pumped from the stereo speakers bolted to the wall.
	"You filthy white bitch," he grunted, his thick lips parted. "Suck that cock
nice. Itz gonna be yer last one."
	The music thundered on.
	Ka-chaka-boom - ka-chaka - chaka - chaka -
	The half-lit room smelled of weed and cum.
	Laura was nude, her hands tied behind her, her black leather high heel
sandals tucked under her legs, her feet tickled by the strands of carpet as she knelt
before him on the scrunched plastic, the dog-collar around her neck, a chain
dangling from a d-ring in the collar and looping down off her thigh.
	His words made her almost cum and she squeezed her thighs together
around her hot swollen cuntmeat as she continued to bob on him in time to the
heavy beat of the music.
	"Ghmmm!" she moaned enthusiastically. "Gh-gmmm!"
	Ka-chaka -chaka - chaka - chaka -
	He told her he was going to kill her and she believed him.
	She needed him to do it.
	Wanted it.
	Had come to him willingly, in fact.
	This stupid blonde bimbo had reached the end of her road.
	The music thumped behind her eyes and drool ran down her chin.
	In the hallway outside she could hear Leon's rutweillers sniffing at the crack
under the door and occasionally scratching.
	Once she had been a pretty girl from the midwest, out in LA to pursue some
empty-headed dream she'd never really had a grip on.
	She ran wild and liked it.
	She liked rough men and what they did to her.
	She had learned to give of herself until there was nothing left.
	Now she was a worthless, stud-tongued, heroin-addicted whore with a rose
tatoo on her ankle, who'd cheated on her pimp one too many times and both eyes
bruised shut, her lips bleeding, her tits and asscheeks bearing multiple burns, cuts
and welts, she was about to  be sent on, dispatched, eradicated, and she couldn't
fucking wait. It couldn't happen soon enough for her.
	Outside a train rattled by louder than the music from the stereo.
	Laura drove herself into Leon's long meaty shaft, stuffing it down her throat
hole, stroking the metal stud in her tongue against its hard underside, and gagging
on it as if this finally was where she belonged, as if this was where her fucked up
dream had been leading all along. She sucked her pimp as if the obscene and violent
act were the consummation of all she had ever yearned for. She needed desperately
to please him.  It was the only thing that kept her mind from desintegrating.
	"YEahh, slutt -" the tall black man urged. "Go for it. Gimme a good cum
fore I cap ya."
	His voice seemed to ride on the waves of grinding rhythmic pulse coming
from the speakers.
	He sat back in the leather armchair, the nine millimeter in his right hand.
	Laura looked up at him through beaten, half-shut green eyes.
	He filled her mouth and gripped her head by her fake blonde hair.
	The terminal danger of the gun made her cunt pulse and throb wetly.
	Pictures of Laura being fucked by Leon's rutweillers would flood the internet
after she was gone.  Those pictures had been taken by Leon a couple of hours
earlier, before he'd beaten her up and pushed her down on to kneel on the plastic
tarp.  He knew he could use the bestiality shots as teasers for his sex site. The dogs
would eat what was left of the dead blonde afterwards but there would be no
pictures of that.
	Leon felt the cum build in his big balls.
	Punching the stupid junkie cunt with his big hard fists after his dogs had cum
on her had energized him, pumped him up nice. 
	There was nothing like beating the shit out of a white-trash slut. Especially
when she just took it and then asked for more.
	"Ahhh shittt," he growled. He was getting to the finish line.
	Slowly he got to his feet, gripping Laura by a clump of hair at the top of her
head as she slammed herself breathlessly against his cock, choking on him.
	She heard the click of the weapon as he cocked it.
	Then his hot sperm flooded her mouth and her throat.
	"Goddammm slutttt!" he growled.
	He pulled her all the way forward until her nose pushed into his crotch to
empty his prick in her, suffocating her, then he yanked her back and pushed her
head down to put the barrel of the gun up against the white nape of her neck in a V
formed by her spilling hair.
	The CD on the stereo played out and the room was suddenly silent.
	Gobs of sperm spilled from her mouth as she coughed and gasped, spit and
cum dripped off her long studded tongue which  lolled between her swollen red lips. 
Her puffy eyes gleamed tearfully in expectation of the end.
	"Here ya go, pig," Leon growled.
	The gun flashed brightly and its loud explosive bang filled the small room.
	Laura's brains exploded from her yawning lips as she gave out a shrill howl,
eyeballs bulging, her cuffed hands splayed as her body rocked, spasming to the
death-jolt,  the bullet whanging through her and into the floor.
	Outside, the dogs barked a couple of times then went still.
	Laura arched spastically and tumbled backward eyes rolling back as Leon
stood over her and took aim on her neatly shaved puss.
	"Fuckin' whore," he spat and fired three times blowing her cunt and uterus
to pieces as her legs kicked out flailed, the heels of her shoes thumping
against the hardwood floor outside the perimeter of the plastic tarp he'd laid out on
the carpet for her to die on, one shoe knocked off her foot.
	She gasped, her arms trapped under her, her rib-cage filling with air then
collapsing, twice, three times before a rattling gurgling sound came from her making
Leon laugh as he looked down into her dying face.
	Gray brains poured from her open lips joining the trailing streams of jism
Leon had left on her and he watched her form the last words she would ever speak.
	They came silently, without breath as her heart gradually stopped beating.
	"Thank you," she pronounced clearly but silently.
	And again.
	Leon watched her mouth move and felt his cock getting hard once more. He
knew he would have to fuck the bitch after she died and fuck her hard.
	He was gonna use this piece of white pussy right to her fucking grave.
	"Thank - you -"
	The last thing she felt as her eyes rolled back was her handsome pimp's long
hard ebony dick sliding deep into her blown-out cunt as he slammed her down
against the bloody plastic tarp.
 
	******************************************************************				

	The killer choked the boy, choked him hard with the thick oily rope.
	The boat rocked pleasantly in the dark water of the bay and the lights of the
city were just small pinpoints in the horizon.
	He had tied the boy up on the bed in the small cabin and fucked him brutally,
raped him, made him scream.
	The boy had to be maybe ten years old, maybe eleven.
	Beautiful little fuck, short black hair, maybe four-foot-two.
	He'd beaten him hard with a thick wooden dowel before fucking him and the
boy was covered with dark purple bruises. 
	Out here on the bay no one could hear the sounds of the beating or the boy's
sharp-edged screams.
	His smooth tanned skin had split open in some places, particularly by his soft
round asscheeks where the killer had hit him as hard as he could.
	The boy had screamed his fucking guts out.
	As he choked him with the rope now, the boy tied on his back on the bed,
the killer straddling him between his strong thighs, it was nice to remember the
beatings.
	He'd really given the boy no quarter at all.
	He'd tied his lanky legs by the ankles far apart from hooks in the ceiling of
the yacht's cabin and whaled into him with the whip.
	He'd punched the child's balls until they were purple and he'd stabbed
them with sewing pins until blood ran down the little fuck's asscheeks.
	Then he'd stuck pins into the boy's soft butt and even into the rim of his
tight little asshole.
	He'd been torturing the child all day, reviving him when he went
unconscious, fucking him up the bleeding ass after gouging his little anus out with
his knife but now the choking was the main thing.
	Tight hard rope around the little boy's neck, his pretty mouth gasping for air,
the killer's cock hard, the killer's balls resting on the victim's warm
whip-welted abdomen.
	The bed-sheets were sour with the boys blood and not even the fresh salty
scent of the sea could compete with it. Blood and terror-sweat.
	The killer loved the smell.
	He loosened the rope a bit allowed the boy to breathe.
	In the shadows of the yacht's cabin he could see the boy's pretty brown eyes
looking up at him pleadingly, sorrowful.
	For the last couple of hours the boy had not said much of anything. Just
suffered and cried out with pain.
	"I'm gonna fuck you, pig," the killer stated flatly staring into the boy's sad
eyes.
	He let go of the choking rope, backed up and knelt between the boy's
whipped legs which were ankle-bound to the bed-posts.  
	Reaching back, the killer untied the boy's ankles and lifted them up into cuffs
that hung from the ceiling of the cabin above the bed. There were chain lines with
cuffs attached to them hanging in several locations throughout the cabin and they
swung like pendulums with the motion of the boat. He'd had the boy on almost all
the chains, hung by his wrists, hung by his ankles. Now he needed to fuck the boy
and choke him at the same time and he pushed his erect nine-inch prick hard against
the resistant pin-pierced, knife-cut anal muscle of his victim.
	The boy whimpered as the killer jammed his hard shaft up him; casually the
killer took up the choke rope to pull it tight again, oily thick hemp cord sinking into
the child's slender neck.
	The chains rattled against the hooks in the ceiling as the boy jerked his legs
helplessly and gasped for air, his swollen pin-pierced balls bleeding on the killer's
massive penetrating meat-stick.
	Cruelly and knowingly the killer tugged on the choke rope.
	He fucked the boy hard, until the child passed out then he slapped him awake
and choked and fucked him some more.
	Passionately aroused the killer rose from the bed and untied the boy.
	He carried his young small victim up the stairs and out on deck into the cool
night air.
	The boy lay cradled in his killer's arms like a limp lifeless doll, the choke rope
still dangling from his neck, his asshole and balls bleeding.
	On the slick deck of the yacht under hazy moonlight and the soft yellow glow
of the boat's cabin lights, as the yacht bobbed on the lapping waves, the killer nailed
the screaming boy's hands to a two by four, arms stretched wide, crucified. He
hooked a pulley line to an eyelet ring in the two by four and raised the boy up by
his nailed wrists.  The boy's blood spurted out on the polished vynl surface of the
yacht, on the killer's chest, the child hanging five feet off the deck, swinging with
the rocking movement of the yacht.
	 The killer grabbed his victim's legs one at a time and with a sharp-edged
scaling knife sliced the hanging child's ankles and feet placing three deep gashes in
the soft flesh of each limb. Then he picked up a control box that worked the winch
motor on the pulley and swung the screaming bleeding victim out over the dark
ocean.
	The boy kicked his bleeding legs and scream-babbled in terror silouhetted
against the night sky.
	The killer stroked himself leaning on the yacht's pipe railing and waiting.
	The water beneath the boy began to churn after a while and dorsal fins sliced
the water gleaming like gunmetal silver in the moonlight.
	Expertly the killer worked the winch controls to lower the boy closer to the
lapping waves until the water licked at the child's small bloody feet.
	With a sudden upthrust the shark's head leaped from the water beneath the
boy, sharp-toothed jaws yawning and the boy's small foot disappeared into its
mouth.  The winch arm which projected from the mast groaned as the boy's body
was yanked fiercely downward and the yacht tilted slightly in the direction of the
tugging shark.  There was a cracking churning rending sound as the animal
bit through the young victim's ankle and slid back into the black water.  
	The killer smiled broadly as the footless boy shrieked at the moonlit sky.
	Again the water churned.
	Three sharks fought for the priviliged tender meat of the luckless youth and
tore his other leg off him almost at the knee.
	Quickly the killer swung the mutilated child back on to the yacht. He lowered
the boy on to his throbbing cock steadying himself and his bleeding victim by
clinging to the rail bar, his feet gripping the blood-slimied deck.
	With the sharp knife he cut the boy's nipples open now gripping him by his
hip as the dark-haired victim dangled suspended, bitten off legs kicking against the
killer's thighs.
	Near the boat the sharks continued to circle excitedly and splash the waves
with their fins and tails.
	Viciously the killer stabbed the boy's flanks and belly and thighs as he fucked
him thrusting upward going up on his toes to sink his cock to the hilt in his whining,
squealing prey.  He seized the child's small penis and sliced it off him to toss it into
the water.  The boy screamed beautifully and his bloody rectal muscle tightened
deliciously around the killer's hard shaft.  The little cut-off prick floated on the
waves only for a moment before one of the sharks gobbled it up disappearing in a
graceful swirl beneath the yacht.
	With a spastic grunt the killer emptied his cock inside the mutilated child then
slid out of him slowly, almost reluctant to finally let him go.
	The child's head now hung weakly and his breath was ragged and shallow.
	His blood pumped from his leg-stumps and from the severed penis.
	Gently the killer swung him around to take his pretty face in one hand and
kiss him.  As he licked the boy's warm lips the killer reached up for the choke-rope
which still dangled around the child's neck and began to pull on it hard until the soft
whining noise in the boy's throat was stilled.  Then, as his cock rose again into full
erection, the killer stepped back and slammed the knife in the boy's guts to slice him
open.
	Working the winch again he swung the child out over the waves once more.
	Now the sharks leaped out of the water recklessly, reached up for the fresh
human meat being lowered toward them.
	The winch arm groaned as two of the animals sank their teeth into the boy's
thighs simultaneously and yanked him down toward the water.
	The killer continued to lower the now unconscious victim into the waves, the
sharks hanging off him and shaking their heads fiercely to rip him apart.
	Several sharks now surged and thrust into the child tearing him to pieces as
the killer jerked off.
	"Yeahhh -Take him," he shouted as he came. "Take the little pig."
	For a moment he remembered how the boy had looked sitting on the edge of
the pier in his cut-off jeans, kicking his barefoot legs smiling as he talked
to him.
	"Wanna come for a ride in my boat?" he'd asked after gaining the child's
confidence.
	The parents were nowhere to be seen. In fact, it had been midmorning and
there was no one around except for a couple of tourists way off on the other end of
the pier near the marina.
	The boy had been drinking a coke.
	The killer had watched him take a last swig his pretty head cocked back.
	"Sure," the boy had replied after he'd put the bottle down.
	Now all that was left of him was the torso and the arms stretched out,
crucified on the two by four.
	The killer felt the sperm rise up in his balls as the sharks tore at the child until
they reached the face and shoulders and arms, until all that was left was
the small hands nailed on the board.
	The killer shot off a thick wad of jism off the side of the boat as the sharks
tore the wood apart, tore the board off the winch hook and continued to thrash
and swirl in the water in the area where the boy had gone down.
	Eventually the water was quiet.
	The killer reeled the winch back in and began to hose the blood off the deck.
	It would take him a couple of hours to clean up the mess in the cabin, to put
away the chains and wash and put away the leather cuffs, to wash and put away the
scaling knife.
	He would shower the blood off himself and jerk off under the warm spray
remembering the savage murder of the child, the sharing of the kill with the
sharp-toothed beasts.
	Then he would turn the boat back toward the city lights and return to the
marina.


******************************************************************				

	These victims were just babies, lovely, adorable, helpless.
	Just what Stryker needed.
	The killer worked up a sweat moving from one to the other of the red-welted
and screaming innocents, punishing them one at a time, giving them his whip
remorselessly.
	He loved the way little girls moved to a beating. Loved the way they
squealed and shrieked in pain. It was his favorite sound. In fact, when he drove by a
playground in the city or a school yard, the cries of the children at play often gave
him a painful hard-on.
	Hurting and killing little girls was one of Stryker's preferred activities.
	Now, the two eight year old blondes, Tammy and Megan, hung from roped
wrists, their little legs bent back, chubby little heel pressed against their butts, three
tight rope loops around their upper thighs. They were screaming and crying, just the
way Stryker liked.
	Wendy, the ten year old redhead, swung from her feet, her arms stretched
wide, wrists bound to a wooden rod that pressed against her scrawny shoulders. 
	Tammy had long angelic hair that swept back and forth as she responded
to the punishing strokes of the green-eyed killer's lash in contrast to Megan's
bobbing page-cut, strands of which fell over her teary eyes.  Wendy's shoulder
length red-hair was bound up in a pony tail which swept  the concrete floor as
Stryker tore the whip across her nubile nipples leaving dark crimson streaks across
the child's chest.
	The three child victims Stryker had kidnapped from the community center
playground that afternoon now raised a discordant cacophony of screeches, howls
and endless sobbing pleas in Stryker's basement vault.  They were among the
youngest victims the sadistic killer had ever captured and they were for him a rich
source of dark intense pleasure, the cartoon dagger-pierced heart tattoo on his prick
full and bright red like feather markings on an aroused bird of prey.
	As he whipped each victim he stroked his huge prick slowly, squeezed the
bulbed crown, pumped the long veined tatooed shaft eagerly and swung his
lash gracefully and energetically.
	The slender braided leather snarled through the air and bit the small
cherubic bodies of the children with savage injustice, with implacable and
unstoppable viciousness.
	They looked up with terror at the slitted eyed tormentor who had taken them
from their safe suburban lives as he delivered slashing agony across their helpless
flesh.
	Wendy, swinging by her ankles begged for her momma as Stryker
aimed his slicing whip across her small thighs. 
	"Your momma can't help you," he snarled as he flogged her pretty legs
angrily, concentrating his scathing misogyinistic fury on her for a few minutes,
shouting venomous hateful insults at her, words the child had never heard before. 
He paced around her as he flogged her giving her fresh pain from every vantage
point tearing cuts across the back of her legs and across her shoulderblades, her little
hands balled up into fists on the ends of the wooden rod her arms were tied to. 
Then he stepped up to her and pushed the whip-handle into the weeping victim's
tight little cunthole burying it halfway in and leaving it there as he moved to attend
his other two bunnies.
	He licked, kissed and bit the two blonde youths, tasted the stinging weals
he'd left on them, pushed his tongue into their little mouths as they sobbed,
sank his teeth into their cute little feet and their legs.
	He spat on them and punched them and called them names too, horrible
names. It was so cathartic to release all his venom on these angels.
	He squeezed and choked them, stared into Megan's lovely green eyes and
into Tammy's blue ones and told them he was going to kill all of them and smiled.
	He ran his hard hands over their tiny hairless muffs and poked his hard
fingers into their virgin holes.
	Working the suspension lines which were attached to pulley chains on
crank levers he stood directly behind his victims, instructed them to spread their
little thighs apart and lowered each of them on to his prick to impale them
impossibly on his monstrous flesh-spear.
	Of the two victims, Megan shrieked the loudest and shrillest as he
stuffed the head of his cock into her tiny little vulva.  Her bound feet wriggled
against his belly ticklishly as he slammed up her with his tatooed organ. Tammy was
a bit quieter but sobbed and cried fetchingly as he pushed into her and gripped her
long flowing hair in his fist to pull and rub her head back against his
hard pectorals.
	He then used both blonde children as punching bags taking a position in front
of them, slamming his fists into their lower bellies, winding them, punching their
thighs and their bellies until he ruptured both of their bladders and made them piss
blood and scream in agony.
	Moving to Wendy he cranked the inverted redhead up until her head hung
level with his cock.  Then he put his hands around her throat, began choking her,
and when her mouth gaped open, the strangled child gasping for air, he pushed
his shaft into the small wet oval of her lips.  His whip still dangled from her
little cunt.  He yanked it out and wrapped the long leather tongue around her
throat to continue strangling her, pushing his cock well into the back of her
throat.
	As she dangled there with her tiny mouth barely able to take his
mansized shaft he unsheathed his knife from the leather sleeve buckled around his
waist.
	He grazed her whip-welted thighs with the edge of the weapon and licked the
blood off the blade.  She moaned, quivered as he cut her and the vibrations of the
sound against his penis quickened his breath.
	After he'd scrawled five thin cutlines on each leg he reached up to grab her
foot and cut the tops of her toes rubbing his balls against her face as the two other
children watched horrified sobbing and pleading with him.
	Wendy flinched and whined and jerked stifled on his meat, gagging on him,
strangled by the whipcord tight around her small neck and he pushed the tip of the
knife into her at her ankle and dragged the blade slowly down her leg to the knee
and down her lightly freckled thigh to the hip and down into her belly.  Streamers
of blood spurted from the skin-deep cut and blossomed outward on the
child's flesh.  
	Stryker lifted his cock out of her mouth to stroke it as he pushed his balls
against her pouting lips. She gasped for air and again called to her momma and
bawled endearingly as the killer's genitals muffled her raspy high-pitched voice.
	He leaned down to push the blade into the outstretched palms of her
outstretched hands cutting bleeding X's into the skin.
	He swung her around and stabbed her little buttcheeks with the tip of the
knife ten times getting a sharp piercing squeal each time which was accompanied by
the wailing sobs of the other two children.
	Then, standing behind her, placing the knife-tip to her tiny pussy he pushed
the blade into her slowly, holding her as she jerked and kicked and howled, fucked
her virgin cunt with his serrated hunting knife, hilted in her then drew it out to
watch blood bubble up out of her cherry-red cunt-slit.
	He then turned to Megan and Tammy.  After lowering them to their knees
and untying them he stood over them and made them lick his cock between them,
their tear-shiny faces looking up at him, his shaft between the two girl's mouths.
	He cut their shoulders with his bloody blade.
	He cut their cheeks and foreheads.
	Told them to hold up their hands and scrawled X's on their palms too.
	He made both little girls kneel on a low wooden platform and he sodomized
both of them, first Megan then Tammy, cramming his big meat into their
tight little anal holes cutting their butts and backs as he did so, neither girl
tied down but too afraid of the bald tattooed monster to even attempt moving away.
	Leaving the two blonde raped angels on their knees he went to Wendy and
lowered her to the ground.  Taking her by her pony tail he dragged her across the
floor to a tiled area in the floor in one corner of the torture chamber.
	In the center of this area a small black box was bolted to the floor.
	From the top of the box a thin steel cable protruded.
	Taking an open O ring that looked like a hoop ear-ring Stryker pierced
it through Wendy's pussy lips and clipped it shut. The redhead yelped with pain.
	Stryker went to the other two children and pierced similar O rings through
their little cunts then forced the two whimpering blonde waifs to crawl to where
Wendy lay on the tiled area.  
	After untying Wendy's arms from the wooden bar that had kept her in a
crucified position Stryker ran the cable that sprouted from the black box in the tiled
floor through the O rings that were embedded in the cuntlips of his three infant
victims. He then handcuffed all three children trapping their wrists behind them.
	He made all three of them kneel before him and lick his now fully erect
manmeat, his hands on his hips, his arms akimbo.
	Impatient to proceed with his plan, however, he stepped away moments later
and went to a video-switch panel which was mounted on  a pillar to press a couple
of switches.
	There was a muffled mechanical sound and  four glass panels rose up around
the tiled area, enclosing the three surprised girl-children, forming a large, seven foot
deep tank.  The tank which was ten square feet wide rose up on a pedestal and
began to fill with water.
	Stryker approached the pedestal looking in through the glass at his terrified
victims.
	Megan and Tammy were kicking and splashing, pushing their shoulders
against the unyielding glass walls.  Wendy stood up in the center of the tank
babbling senselessly, her knife-fucked pussy oozing blood down the inside of her
thighs. All three youngsters bled from the knife wounds Stryker had inflicted on
them and as the water rose higher and higher their blood blossomed in the churning
water.
	Soon the three tortured girls floated in the swirling red-tinted fluid as the level
continued to rise toward the top of the tank.
	 The cable that was attached to the O rings in their hairless muffs rolled
slackly from its mooring in the tiled floor of the tank as the children floated
upward, treading with their feet to stay afloat, screaming hysterically as their heads
bobbed up on the surface. Wendy's sliced up soles and toes left trails of red as her
feet scissored in the water.
	When the water stopped filling the tank the three little girls floated three
feet above the tank's tiled floor, their legs kicking desperately as they tried to
stay afloat, arms tightly bound against their sides, their wounded, whip-striped
bodies oozing blood clouds, the steel cable linking all three of them to the bottom of
the tank.
	Stryker reached down and opened a small port on the side of the pedestal.
	He took a hold of a black plastic handle and pulled on it.
	As he did the cable inside the tank was drawn down into the black box on the
tiled floor and the three children were pulled under water by their ring-pierced
pussies.
	Slowly stroking himself Stryker studied the little girls as they panicked and
began to drown.
	He held them underwater for a few moments then gave the line some slack
and watched them kick their way back to the surface, their bound hands fluttering,
arms twisting as they tried to free themselves.
	He watched them gasp for air and then he yanked on the handle again.
	The cable tugged on the O rings in the pussy lips of the three girls, stretching
the virgin skin to its limit and pulling them down into the water and to the bottom
of the tank. 
	The girls kicked desperately, surged against the cable's pull. One of Megan's
pussy lips tore but the ring was still deeply embedded in her other labia.  Blood
bloomed from her and from the pussies of her two companions.
	Stryker reveled in the sounds the little girls made in the tank, bubbling
gurgling screams and squealing shrieks,  as they looked at him through the glass,
their eyes  almost popping out of their heads, their hair like colorful seaweed tangled
and floating about their faces.  
	Wendy banged her head and fists against the unbreakable panels.
	Tammy grimaced and began to turn purple.
	Megan blew thick bubbles and began to sink to the bottom of still
occasionally, mindlessly kicking her legs out for propulsion.
	The killer was on the edge of an explosive orgasm.
	He had to keep a tight grip on the handle to keep his three little fishies from
making their way back up to the surface.
	He watched, enthralled, stroking himself hard and fast now, as the children
made vain attempts to rise to the surface of the water, weaker each time, their
pretty, whip-seared legs kicking, flailing, Wendy's knife-sliced leg leaving bursts
of red-tinted bubbles, Megan now on her knees at the bottom of the tank, looking
upward, eyes glassy.
	It was easy for the strong killer to keep his victims from surfacing, easier as
their struggles waned. He watched their surrender greedily.
	The other two children eventually joined Megan sinking downward as their
bodies rippled and contorted involuntarily, their limbs intertwined, legs, feet twisting
together, a horrible balletic display of death, Tammy and Wendy, blonde
and redhair flowing, willowing, Megan's short bobbing mane like a halo, sweet
angels dying for breath, swallowing water and blood, looking pleadingly at their
heartless killer through the distorting glass walls.
	With a savage grunt Stryker shot his load on the cold panel of the tank where
the girls now twitched in the final stages of their drowning death.
	Hot gobs of sperm spattered the glass surface and oozed down to the pedestal
and the floor below.
	The killer released the handle.
	There was no need to hold the girls down any longer.
	Later he would drain the tank and fuck their small dead bodies.
	Then he would cut them to pieces and bury them in the woods.

******************************************************************				

	Estela is Mexican meat. Exquisite brown-sugar flavored Aztec bitch, big
assed, big titted blubbering and sobbing as the men drag her into the concrete
building six miles from the small border town.
	Wilson, Ferris, Luther, Johnston,  - white males, wetback cunt killers, out for
another weekend of fun.
	It is Saturday night in mid July and the men have caught themselves another
greaser migrant bitch. They've  killed the two men and four children she was
running with, slaughtered them with quick bursts of automatic fire in the cooling
stretch of desert scrub.  Then they'd forced their luscious female captive in the SUV
and drove her to the abandoned patrol outpost.
	The old bunker is where they take their prey.
	And this sow is perfect for them. Strong. Healthy. Not like some of the others
they've done here, skinny, undernourished and sick.
	This one's built to take it.
	At twenty-five Estela is a real prize, a lovely dark-haired hispanic female
ready to hurt and bleed for her white masters.
	They suspend her from the roof beams on the chain by manacled wrists and
tear her clothes off her leaving only the tattered waistband of her white panties still
clinging around her wide hips. They whistle, jeer, laugh at her and while she hangs
there sobbing, nude, humiliated they strip naked.
	She can smell them.  All four men are endowed with long hard meat shafts
which are already erect and ready.
	Wilson and Ferris begin beating her with their fists. Luther and Johnston wait
their turns.
	The sounds of pounding and smacking punches and crying whining spicslut
fill the small hot room.
	In the bare light of the buzzing fluorescent lamps in the ceiling the four men
take turns punching, slapping, squeezing, pinching and even kicking
the Mexican woman.  The men have left their shoes on and Wilson's cowboy boots
cause the suspended bitch the most pain.  She's kicked in the shins and her
bare unpainted toes are stomped on. Several times she's side-kicked in the belly
and thighs. She's cunt-punched and made to spread her legs wide apart so that the
men can take turns cunt-fisting her.
	Ferris lowers the bitch to her knees by turning a crank wheel which works
the suspension chain and the men close in around Estela in a tight circle to make
her suck and lick their cocks and balls, to slap her face, yank on her long silky black
hair and thrust themselves in her mouth and down her gullet.
	"Por favor - aghh - no - no m-me maten!"  the pretty Indian faced captive
pleads.  Her big brown eyes look up to the mean faces of her four captors.
	"No me maten!"
	"What the fuck's the bitch sayin', Luther?" Wilson snarls. 
	Luther speaks a bit of Spanish.
	"She's begging us not to kill her."
	Wilson watches Estela's lips widen to take his prick.
	Her mouth is warm and moist, her tongue fleshy.
	Strands of her jet black mane twitch over her arched eyebrows.
	"You know what to tell her."
	"Te vamos a joder, chingada puta. Te vamos a hacer mierda."
	The men watch the impact of Luther's rough Spanish words.
	We're gonna fuck you up you fucking whore. We're gonna turn you into
shit.
	"No! No!  P-Por Dios les ruego! A-g-ghhh!"   the sweating bitch pleads
invoking her God for a moment as Wilson passes her to Ferris who stills her pleas
with his cock and turns them into gagging gurgles.
	When the men are well worked up they drag the dark wooden crate out into
the middle of the room.  It is where they keep their toys.
	With strands of wire they tie Estela's ankles to her thighs so that her
legs are bent back, her heels against her butt, the only point of contact with the
floor, her punished knees.   They loop her big paps with tight strands of wire.
They push a twin-hooked piece of metal into her nostrils and rope it to the
suspension chain above forcing her head upward, distorting her face, her eyes
tearing up as her nose is yanked upward.  They stuff an inflatable rubber gag
into her wide sensual mouth and pump it up until she's choking, red-faced,
tears running down her cheeks, drool spilling from her parted lips.  Wilson
wraps a thin strand of wire tight around the bitch's neck to choke her and
add to her discomfort.  Ferris takes a set of eight torture balls linked together on a
piece of black leather cord. The balls are made of steel with tiny spikes all over
them. He goes down on one knee beside Estela to push them up her dry asshole
one at a time making her grunt and whinny, making the others laugh, until all eight
spheres of pain are in her anal passage.  Sharp-toothed alligator clips connected to
terminal wires are attached to the Mexican slut's robust brown nipples, pussy lips
and clit.
	Ferris takes a hold of the cord dangling from her asshole.
	Wilson picks up the voltage regulator box after plugging it in.
	Luther and Johnston watch stroking themselves slowly.
	Its time to make the cunt pay.
	As Wilson rolls the dial on the box electrical jolts spark into Estela's
anguished body.  She jumps and jerks within the confines of her bondage.
Her upstretched arms twitch and her hands open and close reflexively. Her cries and
moans are stifled by the inflatable rubber gag which obstructs her throat.
	Simultaneously, Ferris begins pulling the torture balls out of the
suffering Mexican woman. One by one the spiked spheres pop through her
tight rectal muscle ripping it bloody.
	The men watch her suffering appreciatively.  This bitch will be one of the
high points of their savage weekend.
	When all eight balls are out of her and as she kneels there twitching,
electricity flowing into her tits and cuntlips, blood spilling from her asshole, the four
men take up wooden dowels with small frame-nails on the tips, three nails on each
dowel, and they begin to whip their dark-skinned captive.  They smack her thighs
and legs hard, tear her footsoles open, leave purple welts and rip wounds across her
belly, on her bound boobs, on her back and shoulders, on her bound arms. They
beat the helpless slut to blood, wooden dowels whistling meanly down on her,
whapping harshly, making her shriek and jerk against the suspension chain and
against the wires that keep her legs painfully bound. They beat her passionately, so
hard that the nails sink into her flesh and the dowels have to be yanked loose.
	Now violently aroused the wetback-cunt-killers release Estela from the nose-
hooks, from the alligator clips and the wire bondage.  They release her wrists from
the manacles and take her down on the creaking boards to rape her savagely,
double fucking her, punching her face to ram their cocks in her drooling, bleeding,
begging mouth, in her spike-torn asshole and her spark-burned cooze. They fuck the
young Mexican woman for all she's worth ramming their swollen red meat spears
into her, pumping her, slamming her against the floor, getting her up on her toes
and bent over leaning on the wall to pound into her asshole and whip her back,
getting her up on a rickety table to cunt-fuck her and whip her tits, strangling her
with a rope while they fuck her, two of them inside her at the same time, three - the
fourth man prodding her with a spear tipped shaft.
	"Let's put her on the bars," Ferris suggests when the men pause to take a
breather, their bitch sitting on the floor beaten, whipped, bloody.
	Wide-eyed, twitching involuntarily, Estela watches as Luther and Johnston
bring the oddly configured metal apparatus in from an adjacent room and position it
in front of her.
	They lift her up and position her on it so that she sits inside a frame of metal,
her legs dangling over the bar in front of her, her arms pulled back
and propped up over the bar behind her, her wrists and arms bound with wire, her
ankles bound to her thighs with leather cords. Loops of wire are wound 
around her chest, framing her big punished jugs, and securing her to the metal
frame.
	Then the nose hooks are re-inserted in the protesting female's nostrils and a
similar set of hooks is pushed into her mouth and tugged downward, secured by a
leather strap to a bar below her and pulling her lips wide.
	Open-mouthed, eyes bruised half-shut, bleeding cunt offered between her
spread thighs she waits for the whim of her tormentors.
	A metal cauldron on a tripod is brought out and a fire lit in it.
	Four spear-tipped shaft are heated up.
	The woman sobs unintellibly as the killers pace around her.
	"Stinking spic cunt," Wilson mutters angrily. He looks at the woman's
tongue, shiny wet, lolling in her stretched open mouth.
	Ferris takes a strand of barbed wire from the crate and wraps it slowly
around her head, tightly, so that the barbs pierce her forehead and the skin of her
scalp making her bleed and sob.
	Blood-drops slither down her cheeks.
	Tears.
	"Filthy piece of shit."
	"Goddamn greaser parasite."
	"Worthless fucking scumbag tramp."
	The spears are hot and smouldering.
	Estela's feet dangle in mid air, her toes wriggle.
	The men pick up the spears.
	A long oozing line of spit spills from the woman's lips.
	Wilson lifts his spear to her mouth slowly.
	She can't move away, her head held in place by the hooks in her nostrils and
on her mouth.
	"Agh! Agh! Agh! Agggh!" she cries out as the spear comes closer.
	"Aghh! Aggghhh!"
	Gently Wilson pushes the spear into Estela's mouth.  The metal hisses against
her tongue and the inside of her cheeks as she shrieks with mindless agony.  
	The sadist rolls the spear tip inside the suffering bitch's mouth, pushes the
killing point into the soft tissue of her uvula burning and piercing.  Blood and spit
spill off her chin. She gags, chokes, pukes more blood, her body spasming
inside the metal frame. Blood bubbles from her hook-stretched nostrils.
	Ferris moves in.  He pushes his spear into her titbags, gouges out her
nipples smiling into her shrieking face.
	Johnston moves around behind her to prod her asscheeks hard with the hot
metal.
	Luther pokes into her chunky thighs, hard, deep into the muscle, almost to
the bone severing her arteries.
	"This pig won't be crossing the border no more," he grunts.
	The others chuckle continuing to push their hot spears into Estela's writhing
body.
	They spear her hands and arms and feet. Her sides. The spears thunk
and whang into her harder, deeper.  Her head swivels from side to side tearing the
hooks in her nose finally free and most of her nose with them.
	Then the killers take up machetes.
	Ferris and Luther turn the metal-bar frame which swivels on an axle beam so
that Estela is now facing the floor, blood, and spit spilling from her wide wailing
mouth, from her slashed nose, her ass up in the air.
	Savagely the men begin to whip her ass and foot-soles with the machetes.
	Blood spatters the floor and walls, the naked men.
	They snarl and shout at the screaming spic pig.
	They lop off her toes, slice her plump asscheeks, cut into her spine, pierce her
flanks.
	Estela pisses herself, shits and vomits blood.
	Steel blades slide deep and hard into her guts, slice her open like an over-ripe
watermelon.
	"Tilt her back up for me," Luther grunts putting down the blood-smeared
machete and picking up his spear.
	The long metal killing tool has been warming up in the cauldron fire.
	"Luther's gonna do the bitch," Ferris grunts.
	"Yeahhh."
	"Kill the fuckin' scumbag."
	The men drop their machetes. Johnston and Ferris swivel Estela back up
vertically so that she faces her attacker.
	The woman is half-dead, whimpering in Spanish, her breath quick, her blood-
soaked rib-cage rising and falling.
	"Take her eyes out," Wilson croaks.
	All of them are jerking off now. Watching.
	Luther bites his lower lip with concentration moves toward the woman on
the bars, his feet in her blood, floorboards creaking as he closes in.  Intestines drip
from the machete cuts in her abdomen.
	"M-mgg - Por Dios todopoderoso -"  she moans looking up at him, her
voice slurred and breathy, her mouth bloody, tongue swollen. " - ghh - le ruego -
no - no - por f-favor - no quiero m-morir!"
	Your beautiful brown eyes, he thinks. So beautiful. So fucking goddamned
beautiful. Your voice like music.
	He raises the spear tip.
	With two quick thrusts, before Estela even has time to realize it, Luther
pops out both her eyeballs with the spear tip.
	Then with a victorious shout he slams the hot metal into the wailing Mexican
whore's cunt hard, deep, resolutely and with all his strength.
	Pumping the cum up out of their balls the killers move in and spray the
dying woman's face with spurting gobs of phlegm-thick jism.
	Sperm and blood roll off her eyeless face.
	Luther leaves the spear in her and joins them jerking himself off on the
murdered bitch, aiming his hot manmilk on to her wide bloody gasping mouth.
	Unbelievably she still survives.
	They haul her off the metal bars, drag her outside and empty their
automatic pistols into her wasted body their erratic blasting fire lighting up the
darkness outside the old concrete bunker, the hacked apart bitch thrashing to the
impact of bullets in the desert sand, naked killers grimacing as they fire their
weapons down on her.
	Later, after a round of beers, they will bury her with her family in a mass
grave near the river.
	
******************************************************************				

	She is a beautiful little girl of ten with shoulder-length blonde hair - a
clean, sweet-faced doll - a smiling, blue-eyed cherub.
	Full of life.
	She sits on the bed, in the center of the king-sized mattress which is
stripped of sheets and pillows, wearing only a one-piece white dress, bare
feet arched, toes wriggling.
	Shamelessly she wears no panties.
	As she smiles up at the creatures who own her she lifts one leg back
playfully, folded at the knee, hiking the dress up to reveal her nude
thighs and her hairless little pussy-slit.
	It is an obvious sexual come-on, one she has learned well, and the creatures
respond closing in, circling around the bed in the well-lit chamber.
	The little slut is inviting them, drawing them closer, smiling up at their
fierce, sharp-toothed faces.
	They are no longer men. Their transformation is gradual but terrifying.
Long fangs erupt from their gums. Hands and feet become clawed appendages.
Their cocks grow and stretch until they are slick snakes of flesh nearly
four feet long dangling between their legs, twitching like demon-tails.
	The little girl is not frightened. Her face is a guiltless display of
sexual lust. She licks her lips and her eyes stare at the on-coming beasts
as she pulls her dress up over her head tossing it off the bed.
	Now, the creatures climb on to the mattress which squeaks as the heavy
weight of their bodies bears down on the springs.
	The little girl gives out a soft moan as two of the beasts seize her arms
pulling them over her head, laying her down and stretching her out on the
bed as the third monster lifts and spreads her small legs apart and kneels
between them.
	She looks up at the animals on either side of her. They drool on her. She
feels their hot, putrid, suffocating breath on her cheeks. 
	She likes their stench. It makes her pleasantly dizzy.
	One of them rakes his sharp claw across her dark-red nipple-nubs.
	She arches her back responsively.
	The claw leaves thin bleeding cuts on her smooth pink skin.
	She feels the third beast's tentacle-head press against her moist red
cuntlet.
	"Ahhh -" she moans, wanting it.
	"Yeahhhh..." the beast between her legs snarls.
	Then:
	the tentacle pushes into the tiny aperture of the little slut's vagina.
	It opens her, divides her and she cries and squeals, her angelic face
distorted by the painful thrusting penetration.
	The hurt makes her need more urgent.
	The beasts that hold her sneer, their small hungry eyes feasting on the
suffering of their little slave.
	They watch tears overflow her picture-book blue eyes as the tentacle
slides deeper, past her already broken and bleeding hymen and up against
the little bitch's cervix.
	The one on her right brings his head down, his mouth up to her small
pulsing neck, his jaws stretching wide to encompass the warm flesh. She
gives out a sharp little cry as his long fangs pierce her white skin and
sink into the heat of her jugular.
	The one on the right waits until her pretty little mouth gasps then drools
blood then his lips close over hers sucking her sweet breath up into his
huge lungs, drinking the spilling life.
	The third beast fucks her as his two allies kiss the little whore and
drink her blood. With a grunt he pushes his tentacle deeper now, breaking
through her cervix with some effort, his hard penile shaft splintering
through the tight coils of her intestines and up against the hard
muscle-wall of her stomach. He places his claws on the inside of her
thighs, just above her knees and bearing down on her with all his weight
he snaps her leg-bones at the hips. The dull crack is followed by a
muffled grunt from the young victim whose eyes now stare glassily at the
ceiling of the chamber. A dark gush of blood spurts from her penetrated
pussy-hole. She farts blood and shit on to the mattress and gasps and
gurgles as the two beasts on either side of her bite her face and arms and
shoulders sinking their fangs in deep.  Jets of blood from her pierced
aorta strike the kneeling fucking animal's hairy chest and face and he
guffaws savagely, tips his head back, roars and rips his tentacle into the
little-girl's stomach-cavity and upward, upward into her esophagus. He
reaches down and stabs his clawed fingers into her flinching belly ripping
the young flesh open and tearing out intestinal streamers, ripping out her
still undeveloped ovaries and fallopian tubes and lifting them to his
mouth to devour the pieces.
	The beast lying on her left slides up against her and pushes his tentacle
up her bleeding anus.
	Doubly penetrated and doubly fucked and now spasmically vomiting blood
the little girl screams fitfully. 
	The third beast now sits on her chest and takes her little face in his
claws.
	She looks up at him as his tentacle wraps around her slender, bitten,
blood-spurting neck.
	Now that death is imminent the terror overwhelms her. 
	Hot piss pulses out of her penetrated little cooze.
	She gasps as his hard flesh-snake tightens unmercifully.
	The other beasts rip her legs off, devour her small feet.  Blood flies up
against the white walls and ceiling, all across the heaving mattress.  Her
sweet little toes, heels and ankle bones are crushed in the powerful jaws
of the animals who now destroy their prey.  Their fangs slice into her
tender calve muscles and inner thighs.
	With an angry growl the one sitting on her chest now begins to rip her
little head off her neck.
	"...uuhhwwhhWHHUU-u-UHHWHHHH!" she cries as the neck bone snaps
as the flesh rips as her shoulders contract as her heart beats like a broken
wind-up toy.
	"AAHHHRGGHHH!" shouts the beast finally tearing her beautiful little
blonde head from her body.
	Lifting it high like a trophy.
	All three animals cum almost simultaneously.
	Hot scum-jets pulse from the blood smeared tentacles into the headless
carcass of the little bitch and out on the blood-covered mattress.
	The face held high above them is unspeakably lovely, briefly crying, finally
motionless, eyes rolling back, lips sagging.
	Savagely it is tossed against the wall on the far side of the room where
it splatters then bounces and rolls across the stone floor in a flurry of
pretty blonde hair, spilling blood, teeth and bits of skin.
	Then there is only the frantic clawing, guzzling, ripping, rending,
slashing, crunching sounds of the animals as they devour the still warm
body of their slaughtered child-prey on the blood-soaked mattress.


******************************************************************				

	I am a cunt butcher and am not ashamed to say so.
	Of course I have to be careful who I share this with.
	You want to know how many, of course. And what my favorite ways of
killing are.  And if any of them were special.
	The truth is that they are all special in some way. Their lives are special and
their deaths must be more so for me to achieve a first rate orgasm.
	I like them young and pretty. The younger and the prettier the more
dangerously I am aroused. The more I like them the more they are doomed to
suffer at my hands. To bleed and die for me. To feed me with their flesh.
	Sometimes I am like the fisherman, pining for the one that got away: the cute
eight year old in the airport with her sweet white-bread mom; the 
slut in the strip club by the beach; those three crazy teen bitches I almost
got my hands on during spring break; the dark haired woman in the bar who left
before I could get my bearings.
	I like white girls. I like nigger-girls. I like spic-girls, hindu-girls, gook-girls -
arab cunts - Scandinavian twats - preteens and middle aged housewives -bondage
pain pigs - delicate school teachers - raving feminists - even olympic athletes	.
	I like to hurt them all, to see them all in pain. And I like most of all to finish
them. To kill them. To destroy them. To butcher them.
	Even pregnant bitches. Hell. Especially pregnant bitches.
	A woman is most beautiful when she's swollen up and ready to give birth.
	That is when, in my book, she most deserves death.
	Painful, bloody and unforgiving death.
	Have I killed a pregnant bitch?
	The unequivocal answer, my friend, is yes. And enjoyed it thoroughly.
	Most people think me a sick fuck, trading human life for orgasms.
	The way I look at it - if there were no male orgasm there would be no human
race.  So if I am the giver of life then I should also be the taker. Not
to cut in on God's territory (forgive the pun) but after all its the old man himself
who gave us these terminal instincts.
	For me there's nothing more beautiful than looking into the face of a woman
I've been brutally torturing. Right into her dazed fucked up eyes. I especially like to
have them on their knees in front of me, or in some way humbled. The feeling of
power is just awesome when I can see the pleading in those eyes, the pain, the
recognition of power.
	Women instinctually need to be conquered and brought down.
	Even the most feminist lesbians will break under my treatment and pay
hommage to one they must ultimately acknowledge as Ruler of their bodies, hearts
and minds.
	And to fuck their throats and silence their speech and their will to
communicate - that is most attractive to me.  Nothing hurts a woman more than
when you shut her up and take away her right to an opinion, her right to 
express her feelings.
	I like to turn women into nothing, empty space, servile junkies, hungry-to-
please whores - things I can wipe my shoes on - objects I can use to clean 
my asshole after shitting - cum buckets - piss receptacles - trash cans.
	The prettier the woman, the more voluptous she is, the more fertile, the more
she needs to be broken and savaged.
	I spare no effort to see that my pleasure is well looked out for.
	My pleasure, my orgasm, my climax is ultimately all I care about.
	The lives I take are meaningless female lives.
	Females when left to their devices will try foolishly to run the world. Of
course, they'll get nowhere. They're not smart enough or strong enough.  They
can't run anything.  Their cunts bleed monthly and their brains are useless when
their hormones rage.
	Proof positive of my argument lies in the results, my friend.
	You won't believe how easy it is to turn a woman into a complete willing
slave.
	It is no myth. I have done it repeatedly.
	I have beaten whores to a pulp, left them for dead and they've come back to
me to finish the job.
	I have made bitches plead for my cock in the last anxious moments of life
while my hands choked the breath from them.
	Those women that tell you they are respectable and would never sink to such
limits are liars. I have brought them all down and made them pay and they've loved
me and worshipped me because of it.
	I am a cunt killer. It is my true calling. It is divinely inspired and biologically
motivated.
	Bitches need to die and I need to kill them.
	It is a simple arithmetic and one that will never fail.
	I will go on with it until I am old and feeble - or until I am caught.

******************************************************************				

	The naked pregnant mulatto bitch hangs by chafed wrists to metal shackles
hooked to a heavy chain that dangles from the ceiling of the abandoned church.
	She has been suspended for nearly an hour and is shiny with sweat, her
breathing forced and shallow.
	She straddles two wooden planks that have been nailed together to form
an upside down V'.  Rope strands secured to hooks in the planks hold her
by the ankles, legs wide apart, her cunt bearing down on the sharp-edge of
pinewood.
	Beyond her, on the distant wall, a crucified Jesus looks down from
his cross on a deserted altar, two broken benches and several burn spots on the
dirty floor of the dilapitated building.
	Three naked hooded white men surround the suspended female. They stand
jerking off slowly watching her closely, intently, long black leather whips dangling
from their free hands to the floor.
	They have raped the bitch violently and beaten her with their bare hands
before hanging her on the chain. They have left blue-black bruises on her arms and
thighs.
	One of them nods.
	Suddenly, the black whips fly up off the ground and crash across the young
slut's torso and abdomen drawing wailing shrieks from her as she twists around
helplessly, trapped up there on the wooden horse, chained hands opening, fingers
reaching.
	The chain rattles against the hook in the roof-beam.  From that hook
sometimes ropes have hung - black men and women have dangled and kicked on
the end of a tight noose, naked and whipped raw.
	The hooded men rape the mulatto bitch with their whips.
	It is not the first time they have beaten her not will it be the last time they
group-flog a helpless nigger female slave.  For this particular mulatto bitch,
however, this day with her white masters will be the last.  This day will mark the
end of ten long months of unjust, undeserved and inhuman punishment.
	She is well into the final month of pregnancy and her belly juts out obscenely,
prime meat-target for the slashing leather tongues.
	As the lashes tear into her she lifts herself up off the wedged planks,
her head thrown back in wild shrill screams of pain, her pussy coming up off the
wood.  But soon she has to give in and fall back down on to sharp-edged
punishment, bound legs flexing, feet thumping against the sides of her torture horse.
	Repeatedly the whips fly and whistle and tear across the pleading, sobbing
mulatto bitch.  Her pretty fat-lipped mouth yawns wide with screaming pain, drool
spills from it down her chin. Her brown eyes gleaming with tears roll upward to the
broken ceiling and the blue sky beyond as her flesh is beaten.  She appears to beg
for heavenly redemption - and surely does, her trapped soul chanting some half
remembered gospel memory.
	The men jerk off while they send their whistling whips against her and as a
consequence their rising sexual tension provokes them to slash at her harder and
harder.
	After twenty minutes of unrelenting harsh punishment labor pains explode
through the pregnant woman's body.
	The beating initiates the birthing process, a burst of fluid streaming from
her cunt as her placenta breaks.
	"Nigger cow's busted," one of the men shouts.
	The whips fall harder, sharper, faster, hard black leather, braided fire
tearing bleeding welts from the shrieking half-breed female.
	The men punish her for being beautiful, for being black, for being 
pregnant but most of all for being a woman - nigger-woman ripe for their
cruelty.
	Her big tits wobble as she shakes and twists under the flailing whips.
	Milk spurts from the nipples as they are slashed.
	Milky blood.
	She pleads with them to let her down, pleads hopelessly for her and her
baby's life and screams and bleeds and finally begins to stiffen as her womb dilates
and her whipped body begins to propel the fetus outward.
	The wooden wedge pressed up into the nigger's cunt stops the baby's head
from  exiting completely but the men can see it, shiny and greasy with blood
between her fat brown thighs.
	The bitch shrieks frenziedly.
	For a moment the men stop whipping her and just watch her atrocious pain.
	Her legs kick against the wooden horse which rattles and rocks under her,
her heels thumping against it as if it were a steed urged to run, to carry her away.
Every muscle in her works to expel the child now trapped in her birthing canal,
she is taut and stretched, arched like a bow, and the baby's head has begun to
split open on the sharp edge of the torture horse as it is pushed down and out.
	Slowly the mass of the exiting fetus and placenta push the suffering woman
up off the horse, raising her on a cushion of bloody meat, her ankles tugged down
by the ropes which stretch only slightly and allow her barely to rise, as the freshly
born infant draws breath and wails horribly, receiving life and almost simultaneously
losing it, a tiny black male baby now pumped out, dangling by its legs from its
mama's cunt on the side of the wedge then sliding down out of her to fall on its
head on the concrete five feet below, slitted skull cracking open like an egg, its
crying instantly stopped, its tiny hands quivering for a moment.
	"One nigger less in this world," one of the hooded killers states flatly.
	The others laugh.
	Months before they'd watched five naked black studs brutally fuck the
mulatto slave in this same chamber after all three white masters had beaten her
bloody and half unconscious with billy clubs.  Each black male had been brought in,
told he would be granted freedom if he performed the assigned task, and then
as he ejaculated each man was shot in the back of the head with a hunting rifle.
	The dead men had fallen, sprawled over the half conscious mulatto bitch,
bleeding all over her.  Then the body of each man was dragged outside, tossed on
the grass, and the next victim brought in.
	All five bucks had performed extremely well given the circumstances and
their final copulation maneuvers were quite memorable for the cruel killers. 
	Each victim was told that the man preceeding him had not been able to
fulfill the requirements, that their manhood had failed them at the critical moment
and that the result was death. 
	Smiling and hooded the killers had watched the desperate act of life, each
black stud jerking himself off to get hard, standing over the beaten woman, aroused
despite his fear by the cruelly tortured female body, sinking to his knees to slide his
long hard black meat deep into the young slut, his strong hips - all of them strong-
hipped, muscular, athletic, young slaves - pumping and thrusting in an obscene
display of unfettered lust mixed with the unbridled hope for freedom.
	The five energetic fucks confirmed for the white masters that these creatures
were only animals after all, just as everyone had claimed and that the stinking
niggers deserved nothing but exactly what they got: Boom! The sharp hot flash of
the gun-barrel, a look of horror in the end, blood and brains splattering the young
bitch and the wall and the floor and then collapse - victory for their owners.
	The last one had been the best, a tall powerful bald creature with dark
simmering eyes that slammed into the beaten girl furiously, perhaps only
slightly puzzled by the already thick ooze of cum spilling from her pussy and
lubricating his impressive fuckspear.  No doubt his suspicions were confirmed
when he groaned in final ecstasy then felt the hot steel muzzle press into the 
back of his bare skull.  The men saw the knowledge in his eyes.  He knew he had
been lied to, that indeed the four studs preceeding him had not failed to
perform, and that their death was only an aphrodisiac, an enhancement for
his cruel white masters.
	The killers had looked right into his eyes as the bullet tore through his
neck and finished him then they'd cum all over his wide splendid back as he
lay on the beaten nigger-girl, white gobs of sperm speckling the dark brown
flesh - then hot drizzling urine as the masters had pissed on their nigger servants,
the dead and the still living, now impregnated female that would grant them
unlimited pleasure for the next few months.
	Now it was coming to an end, the sobbing woman hanging from the
chain, the dead baby in a bloody puddle on the floor.


	Fired up by the gruesome event they've just witnessed the hooded killers
move in.
	They take up the short wooden clubs and attack the hanging mulatto bitch
breaking her legs and her ribs, literally pounding the shit out of her, busting
up her guts and cracking her spine.
	Moving the wooden horse and kicking the dead infant out of the way they
lower her to her knees and take turns fucking her pretty nigger mouth one last time. 
They free her from the chains, let her topple to the floor, and fuck her up the ass.
They fuck her bloody gaping vagina and piss in it. 
	Then they drag her outside by hair kinky hair, out by the bubbling creek in
the woods behind the concrete building.  Her legs trail along the ground leaving
bloody tracks.
	They each have their rifles, loaded and cocked.
	She's ordered up on her feet.
	Slowly, her heart beating fast, she leans against the trunk of an oak, her
broken hands gripping the rough bark, her broken legs sliding painfully under her to
take her weight, her brown skin broken and bleeding in a hundred places from the
savage whipping.
	"C'mon," one of the men growls impatiently. "Get up nigger. We haven't
got all day."
	Pitilessly the men watch her sob in agony as she struggles to rise on broken
legs and ankles, hugging the tree, the pink soles of her feet shuffling in the dust
as one leg and then the other scrunch up under her, she crouching, blood
and manpiss trickling from her pussy, sperm drooling from her asshole, her
cheek against the oak, trembling as she rises slowly, the wood scraping her
pretty beaten face, her arm muscles working.
	Young nigger bitchslave - her life spent serving the cruelty of white masters -
finding no love - knowing no freedom - draws breath in pain, coughs up blood -
strives to rise as the naked killers raise their rifles - turns to face them, her back
against the tree, the old ancient oak that has stood here since long before this
injustice, long before this ritualistic slaughter, hard and strong, withstanding all
seasons.  Fast streaking pains run through her body from her fractured spine, her
left side numb and unresponsive, her toes gripping the dirt as she turns fully around,
resting back against the rough oak bark, her legs apart, her arms wide behind her
gripping the thick trunk, her mouth yawning and gasping, her eyes sad and lost.  At
nineteen she knows nothing of the world except the harsh viciousness it has showed
her and the distantly remembered love of her mother singing, washing clothes in
this same bubbling creek long ago before these men came.
	The killers are still wearing their hoods, anonymous in their
shared passion, their rifles now raised and aimed at her body like steel cocks.
	The woman thinks of her dead baby back inside the building, stilled in the
moment of birth and tears brim in her eyes.
	The sun sparkles on the running water behind her and birds twitter in the
trees.  Softly the wind moves the leaves and light shimmers.
	The dust the woman has kicked up as she struggled to her feet has settled.
	At twenty feet the nigger bitch makes a perfect target but for the
executioners there is no rush to squeeze the trigger.  They know she won't be able
to move now. She is pinned to that tree just as if she'd been nailed there.
She is pinned there by their merciless cruelty and they stand in a half circle,
three feet apart, firing squad style, weapons raised, their faces impassive.
	She looks from one face and one gaping muzzle to the other, eyes moving
from left to right then right to left.  Each man has over the past months beaten her,
tortured her, used her in his own way for his own pleasure and all three have shared
her many times.  Her body has pleased and appeased their savagery and now there
is nothing else for her. Her time is finished.
	She presses the back of her head against the bark of the oak.
	In the shade of this tree she long ago played with the other slave children.
	A small white cloud moves across the clear blue sky over head.
	She is nothing now but meat.
	Kill meat.
	One of the men shouts.
	"FIRE!"
	She does not hear the gunblasts.
	The bullets thud into her chest and belly.  Her meaty asscheeks are squeezed
back against the tree as her head snaps back, eyes to the sky, memory
of the gun-muzzles flashing brightly like sunlight, a flare of bursting fire in her neck
as her aorta is sliced open.
	The men fire again and again, each one putting four rounds into
the nigger bitch before she finally topples sideways and into the brush her
body riddled by the explosive blasts, one bullet blasting out her eye, another
exploding her heart and lung, her guts shattered by lead, urine and faeces
jetting from her as she shudders, rolls over on her belly, her feet kicking up
fresh dust, a long death groan vibrating to a climax in her throat.
	She's still groaning when one of the killers stands over her, places 
the rifle muzzle against her bloody head and fires.
	A thick jet of brain matter explodes from the mulatto bitch's yawning fat-
lipped mouth.
	Above, the birds have scattered in a flurry of feathers, taking wing into
the warm afternoon sky.
	There is blood on the oak tree and bullet holes.
	The men will not bury the nigger whore.
	She has died with her eyes and mouth open.
	Gnats and flies buzz around her face and alight on her eyes.
	Later that night other plantation slaves will come for her, dress her broken
body in a white sheet and lower her into muddy darkness.
	Maggots will hatch on the flesh of her dark brown cheeks.
	
******************************************************************				

       It is a little scary, Josie thinks, but the man has paid them and paid them well.
She and Carmen are nude on the dirty mattress in the cellar of the old building.   
	There is a camera.  A red light blinking confirms that it is recording.
	The man has paid them to do each other.
	He sits beside the camera watching.
	He is handsome but cold, his eyes dark blue, almost gray, his hands strong
and lean.
	Carmen moans softly as Josie dips her face down into Carmen's shaved pussy
slit tracing the pink labia with her tongue.  Josie smiles.  She likes
to eat her friend out and has done so many times and not even for a camera or a
stranger's money.
	The man watches impassively as Josie's tongue laps against Carmen's
tiny clit in the bright glare of the two video lights, wet flesh glossy, like
pink meat on the shelf in the butcher's.
	Both girls are sixteen, Carmen two months older. Both are members of the
South Bronx High football cheerleader squad.  Both are New Yorican, hispanic girls,
Carmen dark-skinned and negro-lipped, Josie whiter but with similar
Afro-Indian features and long platinum blonde hair.  Carmen's hair is short and
dyed red with dark streaks like many of the Dominican women in Washington
Heights.


       The man picked them up in the club after watching them dance under 
the spinning strobing lights.  In their short dresses and clunky sandals they looked
exactly like what they were, a couple of spic kiddy sluts, the kind of girls the man
hated.  For him they were no different than the roaches or rats that infested all
the buildings in the ghetto.  They were voluptuous little sleaze pups in dire
need of extermination. 
	He'd watched them dance noting their ample tits and fat juicy asscheeks
bouncing and swaying to the loud salsa and hip hop beats, their fake hair 
weaving and shining in the lights, their long nails glittery with silly designs,
both of them with small tattoos on their ankles, both with ankle chains
and bare-legged.  When he bought them drinks and invited them to his table
they didn't take him seriously at first but after they saw the roll of hundred dollar
bills emerge from his trench coat pocket they changed their tune and chattered
away like two silly monkeys.  They told him they were both cheerleaders, Josie
taking a picture from her small purse to show him.  There was the whole South
Bronx Tigers squad with Josie and Carmen right up front each of them down on
one knee.
	The fact that they were cheerleaders was an added perk.
	

	At first they were shy in the cellar of the abandoned building.
	It was a place he'd rented a few months before.
	He'd already done three cunts here and knew after these two he'd have to
find another place.  
	After he set up the camera he gave them a joint to pass back and forth. That
relaxed them. That and the fact he'd promised them five hundred each loosened
them up in no time.  They were natural whores anyway.  The way he looked at it he
was doing the taxpayers a favor.  Two less scumbags on the welfare payroll.
	Later he would sell the video for a nice profit.
	No one could say he did not enjoy his line of work.
	He watched Josie push her young slutty face into Carmen's pink pussy and
felt himself getting hard.
	"Do a sixty nine for me, girls," he told them.
	He played the part of porno-video director well.
	They complied, Josie now getting on the bed and straddling Carmen's face,
dipping her face down into Carmen's already spit-shiny cunt.
	They were good.  Not shy in the least. Just as he'd figured when he'd seen
them dancing in the club, they'd done this before and loved it.
	Carmen raised her head up off the mattress to pry Josie's plump buttcheeks
open and push her tongue against soft throbbing pussy.  Josie groaned and bore
down on Carmen, her long fake blonde hair spilling out on the other girl's wide
open thighs.
	The man rose from the old wooden chair and moved toward them, knelt at
the edge of the mattress and unzipped his fly.
	The girls started to move.
	"Stay like that," he told them. "You keep eating her," he told Josie.
	He placed his cock on Carmen's silky cunt slit and moved it gently up and
down while Josie licked it and looked up at him smiling, looked down again to lick
his cockhead and Carmen's cunt.  He lifted Carmen's soft thighs in his hands and
pushed just the tip of his cock into the hispanic youth.  She smelled humid and
earthy, pungent.  The flaps of his trench coat rubbed against the back of her thighs
as he pushed into her.  Josie continued to lick his shaft as it went in and out.


	
	Josie is excited by the man's cock.  It is a long beautiful white shaft, fat and
hard. At first she worries about him not wearing a rubber but the worry fades in her
mind as her deep sexual instincts overpowers her.
	"Stay like that. You keep eating her."
	His voice is dominant, melting her inside.
	Carmen's sweet mouth on her clit is driving her crazy.
	The man smells of expensive cologne.
	She licks him, tastes him as he enters Carmen, feels Carmen wriggle under
her as the man raises Carmen's thighs and pushes in, licks him some more, licks
the in and out moving cock. She looks up at him. His eyes are scary.  But he is
handsome. A streak of jet black hair spills over his eye.  She want to please him.
	The camera makes a soft mechanical sound, its red eye blinking.



	Carmen gasps for air, almost smothered under Josie's fragrant cunt, Josie's
thighs gripping her face.  She feels the man's weight on the mattress.
	"Stay like that. You keep eating her."
	The dark tone in his voice almost makes her cum - his voice and Josie's
licking tongue and soft lips down there.
	And then his cock, hard and fat entering her, his hands lifting her thighs.
	Then he's fucking her hard and fast.
		
	

	"Suck me," he tells the blonde taking his cock from Carmen's cunt.
	Josie's lips surround him immediately, her green eyes looking up into his.



	"Both of you suck me now," he orders and they obey moaning, melting,
sighing, gasping - so beautifully eager to please him.
	They are already his.
	He has fucked both of them slowly. Fucked one girl while the other watched.
	He likes to be watched.
	Wearing his black jeans and boots, his black t-shirt and trench coat, the silver
chain around his neck, his hair spilling over his eyes, sweat running down his face,
he is in control, complete control now over the two naked spic girls.
	Both of them lick and suck his cock. Josie goes underneath to lick his balls
while Carmen works his shaft, back and forth, up and down, moaning, her eyes
staring up at him, pupils dilated from the pot and from the sexual pleasure, both
girls rubbing their cunts eagerly, pushing their hands into their slits, kneeling on the
mattress before him.
	"Slut," he tells Carmen.
	Carmen smiles.
	When Josie takes his cock she looks up at him as Carmen descends to lick the
underside of his shaft and his swollen balls.
	"Whore," he tells her.
	"Mmm," Josie replies deep-throating him religiously.
	"Ahhhh-mmm," Carmen moans licking Josie's lips and his shaft and kissing
Josie.
	He could probably piss on them and they would love it.
	Stinking pig-bitches.
	

	
	Josie is just a little scared when he ties her up but it also excites her.
	His hands move over her bound body and she vibrates like an instrument.
	The ropes are tight and inescapable.
	"One more thing," he says.
	He's got a rubber ball with a strap on it.
	"Open wide," he tells her.
	Carmen watches from across the room.
	She hangs by the wrists from a hook in the ceiling. He's bound her ankles
together and pushed a ball into her mouth.
	It wasn't hard at all.
	"Come on, girls," he told them after taking his time to fuck each one, on the
mattress, on the floor, up against the wall.
	Carmen had already cum twice.
	Josie was breathing in quick and short bursts.
	"Lets do a little bondage."
	Then he'd given them another joint.
	Fucked Josie while Carmen kissed him. Fucked her until his cock provoked a
shivering orgasm from her pussy then he fucked her up the ass until she came again
while Carmen frigged herself and licked his shaft as it slid in and out of Josie's tight
little rectum.
	Not hard at all.
	"You're not gonna hurt us, right?" Josie asked.
	He smiled and pushed the ball into her mouth and buckled the strap tight.


	He knew the gags wouldn't really shut them up too well but he'd taken care
to check the propagation of sound from the cellar.  Earlier that day he'd played
a boom box full blast in the cellar and gone first to the hallway upstairs then to the
street outside and heard nothing.  The old brick building was perfect for his work.
	Now he drew the long steel kitchen knife out from his trench coat.
	Josie and Carmen went wide-eyed and began making muffled protests.
	Josie rolled off the mattress and squirmed against her ropes on the floor.
	He put the knife down on the chair and stripped naked slowly enjoying the
rising alarm in his victims.
	Carmen yanked on the ropes that held her wrists above her head and almost
lost her balance.
	"Shut the fuck up a minute and listen," he said, standing naked, picking up
the knife.
	They did. Shivering.
	He had their attention now.
	"I'm going to kill both of you and cut your pussies out."
	Both of them began to squeal.
	The sounds of terror always excited him.


	Josie would be first.  It seemed to him she deserved that honor.
	He made sure the camera and the video lights were aimed properly and then
he dragged her by her fake blonde hair out to the middle of the room in front of
Carmen whose wrists were already chafed from pulling against the ropes.
	He'd bound Josie's arms behind her, wrists and elbows together, and her legs
by the ankles, knees and thighs.
	The little blonde bitch squirmed helplessly on the linoleum floor as he sat on
her, his balls on her shaved mons.
	With no prelude or warning he simply began to stab her big juicy tits jabbing
the blade in lightly first then deeper and deeper while the little spic angel
shrieked and sobbed, her teeth clamped on the big ball in her mouth, her words
unintelligible.  She bucked wildly under him as he sliced into her nipples,
raised her heavy boobs to push the knife all the way through them and slowly
cut around the aurolae to rip the pert little nubs completely off her.
	She was babbling in Spanish by the time he started slicing both tits off her
and he punched her twice to shut her up.
	Carmen stared down and shouted at him, cried for help through the muffling
gag and yanked on the ropes.
	He put the knife to Josie's slender neck and pushed the edge of the blade
against the jugular until blood began to jet from the terrorized, tit-less teen in quick
short jets that spattered his thigh. He smiled and now took the ball gag from her
mouth.  Leaning over her he spit in the O formed by her groaning lips and then
rose to move into a new position, swinging around to sit right on her face and rub
his asshole against her nose, down hard, her long blonde hair under his feet.  She
gasped and gurgled under him and cried out as she bled to death, the sounds
vibrating deliciously against his balls, growing weaker as her blood puddled out on
the floor.  As he rocked back and forth on her he stabbed down into her smooth
belly, stabbed deep, stabbed hard.  He stabbed her thighs.  Blood streaks exploded
across the floor, spattered Carmen's wriggling toes.
	Carmen sobbed hysterically, tried to turn away but couldn't.
	He looked up at her.
	"Don't worry, sweetie. I haven't forgotten you. You're next."
	Finally Josie lay still under him.
	Just to make sure he sliced her belly open, reached in and yanked out a
handful of guts.
	There was no response.
	He rose dripping blood and gore and moved across the room to the
suspended dark-skinned youth.




	Carmen stops crying as she sees him rise.
	Her breath just stops.
	She is quivering.
	He moves slowly toward her, bloody knife in his hand.
	Josie lies in a puddle of blood on the floor, eyes open, blonde hair fanning out
from her head trailing into the blood puddle, her severed tits on the floor, one on
each side of her.
	Carmen is terror-silent. Beyond prayer. Beyond speech.
	A stream of piss runs down her thighs.
	"Your turn, scumbag," he says, standing in front of her.
	She is shivering.
	She looks down at Josie who lies staring glassy eyed at the ceiling, Josie
whom she has known since the third grade, Josie who has been her lover for two
years and maybe even before when they didn't even know what to call it, when
they played naked in Carmen's aunt's apartment on the West Side.  Josie who
talked them into becoming part of the cheerleader squad and who taught her the
moves and who chased her laughing in the rain.
	He takes Carmen's ballgag away.
	Josie's blood drips down his thighs.
	He's standing barefoot in it and in Carmen's hot piss.
	"Kiss me," he tells her, moving his face in, leaning down.
	She does, trembling.
	His kiss is slow and hot, his tongue exploring her lips and her mouth.
	She hangs there weakly, accepting it.
	When he finishes she looks into his eyes and there is fierce burning hatred
there.
	"Pig," he says softly then moves around her.
	He looks down at his victim's body.
	Carmen is wide-hipped, slightly shorter than Josie, and with a beautiful firm
ass, big and round, which just begs for his blade.
	She hears him breathing heavily behind her as he studies her then feels the
cold blade against her back.
	He cuts a thin line from her shoulder to her waist. Licks his lips. Watches
a drop of blood spill down the swooping curve of her buttock.
	He cuts another line from the other shoulder, half way down.
	She begins to whimper.
	He makes several surface incisions on his little spic slut's back until she's
whining and blubbering weakly.
	Then gripping her by her shoulder he begins to stab her fat asscheeks,
stabbing hard and deep as he did with Josie's tits, taking his time between each
stab, leaving the knife in her to walk around and take her face in his hands
and kiss her sobbing screaming face, then going back to yank the knife out and stab
again and again.
	He rubs his cock on her gouged bleeding asscheeks, pushes it into the 
crack of her ass, stabs the sides of her thighs, her flanks.
	He goes down on one knee to stab the backs of her meaty thighs.
	Now Carmen is screaming, wailing, shaking her head, her dyed red hair
flailing.
	He stabs her calves right to the bone.  Blood spurts out on him. Blood runs
down her legs to the ropes around her ankles.
	He stabs her heels, her feet. No more salsa dancing for this little whore.
	She totters, hangs by her wrists, swings from side to side wildly, circles and
offers him the fronts of her legs which he attacks with newfound vehemence.
	He growls, stabs her knees, cuts her shins, stabs her toes.
	"No! No! N-aawwhhhhhh!" she howls.
	He smiles, stabs her, strokes himself with the other hand.
	He rises, stands over her, plunges the knife hard into her cunt, leaves it in her.
Steps back to watch her dying, stroking himself.
	"Pleeeease! Pleeeeeease!" she whinnies.
	He bites his lip, looking right into her eyes, yanks the knife out of her cunt
and cuts her throat open.
	Her eyes go even wider, pretty brown spic eyes, doe eyes, stupid eyes.
	He hates the mascara on them and the dark blue lipstick on her and the
stupid little chain on her bloody ankle and the tattoo on her leg.
	He gut-stabs her hatefully now, deep now, harshly, violently. He cuts one tit-
bag in half, stabs the other one several times, watches her eyes roll back in her head,
her head crane back as she goes stiffly up on her sliced-up toes and he
plunges the knife into her cheek, leaving it in her face, watching blood and spit
gurgle and splash and sputter from her lips as she goes weak, her hands reaching for
air, ringed-fingers wide apart above her head.
	Before the spasm spends itself in her body he rips the knife out of her face
and plunges into her chest right between her massacred tits dragging it down to her
gouged-out belly, opening her up, cutting her open like a fish, watching her
guts spill out of her in dark bloody glops to the floor as she sags on the suspension
rope and dies.
	

	One quick slash to the suspension rope and Carmen topples lifelessly to the
floor.
	Now the fun part.
	He will cut their cunts out of them and fuck the cut-out flesh slit, ram his big
hard cock through each meaty, pulpy severed vagina.
	Then he will ejaculate in each dead girl's mouth and on their ashen frozen
faces.
	With an axe he will cut both carcasses to pieces, stuff them in plastic bags and
take them to the incinerator at his uncle's plant when no ones' around.
	He will keep their pretty heads and their cunts though, in formaldehyde and
for a long time. Until the storage unit he's rented just outside the city is full of
bottles, the shelves lined with videotapes.
	Then he will consider moving to the West Coast to continue his work there.
	

******************************************************************				


	In the other room Sally can hear the two men.
	They are hurting momma. 
	Today was the day the men came to the house and took them.
	They shot Sally's father and her two brothers in the head and made her and
momma watch. Then they took mother and daughter, tied them up, gagged them
and threw them in the truck.
	Now the men are hurting  momma. Hurting her bad.
	Sally can hear them in the other room. Sally is crying though she can't see
what they are doing.
	Sally is only five, a charming and affectionate little girl, healthy and vibrant.
	Today the men will use her for all she's worth.
	They will use the little bitch up.
	Earlier, the men hung Sally on the ropes by her wrists and ankles, curly
blonde headed baby crying while momma watched begging and pleading with them.
	She watched them rip momma's clothes off and make her kneel. She
watched them slap momma's face and punch her and push their big ugly peepees in
her mouth and shout and curse at her.  Then they ripped Sally's little pink flower
dress off and her little Winnie the Pooh panties while Momma watched and one of
them smiled and put his big hands around Sally's throat and squeezed the breath
out of her until Sally almost fainted.
	In the other room now they are really hurting momma but she can't see.
	Sally's crying, bawling.
	"Shut up, you little slut!" the men shout. "Your turn's coming."
	The men have laid out the beautiful blonde woman Jane, on a grill.
	They've secured her to it with steel-bolt manacles at her wrists and ankles
and she cooks, bastes over the lively glowing coals.
	She's screaming her pretty off and shaking her head as her skin slowly roasts.
	Poor momma.
	Her hair is bound back in a tight ponytail and her cheeks are flushed red.
	The men have separated the  two females so they can listen to each other's
screams: momma dying on the grill, baby hung on ropes soon to be beaten and
raped. The men like it this way. Its different than making the females see each other
suffer although they like that too. They just feel like trying something different
today. A little variation.	
	This way is so much more - twisted.
	Jane hears her daughter call out to her.
	"Ohh Godd baby!" she calls back. "Ohh dear God!"
	The men enjoy this.  They enjoy the mother's suffering and agony on the grill
and the fact that she knows she will die unable to save her daughter from their
hands.  They enjoy the suffering of the child separated traumatically from
her mother, unable to know what is happening to her, hanging on the ropes
and waiting.
	Smoke wafts up from the female on the grill.
	Jane burns. Cooks. Sobs. Begs.
	The men watch and drink mineral water.
	Jane's lips are parched. Sweat beads up all over her.
	It is hot in the room from the charcoal fire. The men are nude and sweaty
and they stroke themselves.
	Jane screams, spreadeagled on the sizzling metal grill.
	The burning heat fucks her. It fucks her pretty flesh.
	She's a strong healthy twenty nine year old female and her body will be able
to withstand the punishing ordeal beautifully.
	Her back and her ass are deep red, the backs of her thighs and calves and
heels are now turning a deep tan shade.
	One of the men, lean and bald, with bushy hair on his chest and pubis looks
down at Jane and smiles.  He dips a metal shaft with a sharp bladed tip into the hot
coals.
	He likes to watch women burn.
	The other man, a muscular blonde takes a long wooden rod from a cabinet
on the wall.
	"I want the little bitch," he tells his companion and he goes to the room
where Sally hangs on the ropes.  
	Smiling the man reaches out to peel off Sally's little pink socks which are still
on her feet.  He does it slowly and lovingly, leaning down to lick the child's delicate
foot soles from her toes to her heels. She smells of sweet child soap, maybe
Johson's - smells good enough to eat. Sally squirms ticklishly and howls. The man
lets the tiny socks which have small flowers knitted on them fall to the floor to join
Sally's other clothes.
	Then he steps back.
	His smile vanishes.
	A drop of his spit gathers at Sally's heel and rolls off.
	Wordlessly and viciously the man begins to whip Sally's footsoles with the
wooden rod.
	Whpp! Whpp! Whpp!
	His eyes are slitted and angry as the child shrieks and jerks and bounces on
the suspension ropes trying to escape the unprovoked attack.
	He aims the rod expertly, hatefully, slashing at Sally's tiny feet, leaving welts
right from the first blows, making the five year old squeal like a little piglet.
	In the other room Jane squirms on the grill.
	"What are you doing to my baby?!" she wails. "Ohh Godd, Sallieeeee!"
	"OOwww!" Sally shrieks. "Owwwhh! N-nawwwwwhh!"
	And Jane can hear the swish-whp, swish-whp of the rod before each cry.
	"Ohh Godd baby!" she screams burning on the grill.
	The man who stares down at Jane now lifts the spear tipped rod from the
coals.
	"How about this, cunt?" he says matter-of-factly and shoves the tip of the
spear into Jane's left breast right through the nipple.
	Jane's scream is wild and breathless.
	The man torturing Sally hears it and it excites him.  He gives Sally a few
more sharp cane cuts across her little feet and moves in to put his huge cock
up to the child's tiny pussy-slit.  He takes the child's whipped feet by the ankles and
sucks and nibbles the small toes.
	What a sweet little baby cunt Sally has, pink and hairless, small and delicate.
What cute little toes. How deserving of death this child is.
	The man spreads the tiny cuntlips open and puts his huge prick right to the
small slit-hole.
	Jane's urine sizzles and hisses as it trickles on to the hot coals and a sharp
pissy smell fills the room.
	"Goddamn," Jane's torturer comments moving down to now plunge the
hot spear into his victim's young cunt, right into her urethra to stop the flow.  The
helpless roasting blonde mother arches against bound limbs coming up off the grill
keening unrestrainedly then slumping back down.
	Jane's wild shriek seems to power her daughter's tormentor in the other
room to thrust his huge manmeat hard into Sally's little lovehole.
	"Ahhh yeahhh -" he grunts, closing his eyes, going up on his toes, rocking
his head back, gripping the suspended child by her hips. "Yeah! YEahh! YEssss!"
	Sally squeals wildly. Her little feet are on fire and now it feels like her peepee
is going to be cut in half. Like she's going to be split open.  The man is sooo big.
Sooo BIG!
	This man loves to rape very small girls and boys.  The smaller and younger
the better.  He has been in jail most of his life because of this need in him. Over
forty five years he has raped nearly three hundred children and killed twenty of
them.  He's never been brought up on murder charges because he's been very
careful.  But he has been caught molesting little girls in the city park.
No therapy or counselling will ever do him any good.  Now with Sally he knows
this. It is deeply confirmed in him. He enjoys the knowledge.  He is a child killer. A
sex predator.  Nothing makes him feel better than the slow torture and destruction
of a helpless young victim - and Sally's just the ticket.  Sweet little blonde Sally
hung for him up on the cruel ropes, tight on her wrists and ankles.  Little prisioner
Sally, her little feet whipped raw.
	Breathing fast and excited he slides out of the child and steps back to
continue the savage foot caning.
	Sally screams her lungs out.
	"Please," Jane pleads with her tormentor, looking up at him.
	He smiles at her, spear in hand.
	"Dear God in heaven - p-please - let - let us go - don't kill us -"
	"Bitch," he whispers softly. "I'm gonna cook you alive."
	And then he slams the hot spear again into her urethra, deeper this time,
hilting it in her, her head slamming back against the metal grill, her blonde hair
singed in the coals, as her shriek rises deafeningly.
	Sally's screams and sobs join her momma's as her footsoles are flayed
viciously. The furrowed soles, scarlet-streaked, ooze blood and still her tormentor is
not fully satisfied.  He targets the pink knobs of her heels and the pudgy tips of her
toes.  One cruel blow breaks the small toe of her left foot making the screaming
child twist and jerk around on the ropes. Another cut fractures both big toes in one
swoop.
	Still hungry for more the sadistic predator strikes viciously at Sally's little
calves and knees before stepping in to rub his now engorged prick on her
welt-torn feet, lubricating it with the child's blood before moving in to push
himself up her super-tight cooze.
	Crying, Sally looks up into the sickly smiling features of her rapist.
	He looks right into her pretty blue eyes drinking from her pain.
	He drops the cane and again his hands close around the child's throat tightly.
	Soon Sally's struggling for breath, choking and coughing, snot running from
her nose.
	In the other room the bald man yanks the spear out of Jane's cunt.
	He releases her wrists one at a time from the steel cuffs that hold her to the
grill and grabbing her by her blonde pony-tail her lifts her into a sitting position.
	He looks down into her agony-twisted face.
	"You're gonna lie on your belly now for me. On the grill."
	Jane shakes her head sobbing.
	"Oh yes - on your belly - or I'll shove this -" and he raises the hot metal
spear for visual impact - " - into little Sally's guts. You got it?"
	She bites her lip and her shoulders shake as she sobs but after a moment she
nods.
	There is no other choice for her.
	Reaching down for the manacle bolts, the bald tormentor frees her ankles and
watches Jane turn over and slowly lower herself on to the hot metal.  The grill
sizzles as her unburnt and sweaty skin touches the singing surface.
	She is groaning and gasping as he now pulls her arms up and apart and
pushes her  wrists into the manacles again to re-tighten the bolts, trapping her, her
big juicy paps pushing into the grill grating through the square openings, her nipples
almost in the glowing coals, her eyes wild with suffering as he pulls her legs out and
secures the ankles.
	Amusedly he watches her try to arch off the metal, her hips recoiling, thighs
prying upward, already marked by the square grill burn pattern.
	The sadist goes around the platform and seizes Jane's burnt ponytail. 
	Reaching up he pulls down a rope that dangles from the ceiling beam. He
knots the woman's singed blonde mane to the rope and yanks her head upright
leaning in to feed her his cock while she grunts and struggles, the front of her body,
and especially her big juicy udders now cooking in the heat.
	"That's right. Suck that cock, bitch. Suck it and we might let your baby
live."
	He enjoys lying to the tortured bitch. His lie will keep her going all the way to
the end.
	He looks down on her cooked backside.  
	The square pattern created by the thatched metal bars of the grill is imprinted
there distinctly, darkly.  He specially likes the way it looks on her plump asscheeks.
	Again he picks up the spear and dips it into the hot coals.
	"Mm - keep sucking, cunt," he tells her and after a few moments he raises
the hot spear to plunge it repeatedly into his blonde captive's roasted buttocks.
	As she draws his massive organ down into her throat hole, her eyes shut
tightly, her throat reverberating with the pain of the hot spear piercing into her
already burning and swollen flesh Jane hears her daughter Sally's screams again
from the other room and the sharp, hard, steady whp whp whp of the wooden rod.
	Sally fairly dances on the suspension ropes as her cruel attacker swings the
wooden rod down across her back and shoulders, across her little asscheeks.  He
stands behind her now punishing his little piglet, rapidly stroking himself and
alternately cupping his throbbing balls to keep from cumming prematurely.
	Jane gapes wide-mouthed, drool and pre-cum from the cock in her mouth
dripping off her lower lip as her attacker backs away from her and goes around the
platform out of her line of sight.  Her mouth is still open when he thrusts
his spear into the upturned sole of her left foot and her cry of pain is an animalistic
squawk of horror. He plunges the spear through her other foot, twisting the blade
on the way out to maximize the destruction of her frail limb. Unable to turn her
head which is hair bound the young bitch-mother can only repeat the ugly
squawking sound, eyes narrowed and bloodshot.  Blood bubbles up from the
multiple spear wounds in her asscheeks and on her tits and feet and
cunt and hisses as it drips on the coals.  She swoons dizzily, almost passing out,
sensing the awful heat which now cooks her guts and is brought suddenly back
by the sharp spear piercing her kneehollows, sharp thrusting, deep thrusting
stabs that sever her tendons and wedge deep in the muscles of her legs.
	A long quivering scream comes from Sally as her tormentor slides his
cock up her ass, pushing up into her relentlessly, blood dripping down her 
back from the wounds inflicted by his whipping rod.
	"YEahhh - ohh yeahh!" he grunts savagely fucking the five year old, holding
her small body between his strong hands at her flanks, his fingers 
digging into her soft skin.  He hears Jane's squawking croaks and knows that
his partner is destroying the child's mom.  Sally's tiny rectal muscle tightens
against his invading meat. He hilts himself in the child, gouging into her intestines,
blood and shit drooling down his shaft and he reaches up to strangle the luckless
infant once more.
	Eager to see what his partner is up to with the blonde mother-whore Sally's
tormentor now reaches up and loosens the ropes that suspend the child. Then with
his little captive impaled on his cock-spear, an arm around her waist to keep her
from falling, he turns and walks into the adjacent chamber.
	He enters just in time to watch his companion spear stab Jane's luscious
thighs.  It doesn't seem the blonde has far to go.  Dark smoke rises from her
roasting body and even from her gaping mouth.
	Sally screams for her momma, her little arms reaching out to her, anal muscle
tightening against her tormentor's cock as she squirms, her little legs 
kicking back against his strong thighs.
	Jane is unable to turn her head to see Sally and has to wait until the child is
brought around right in front of her still impaled on the powerful killer's
massive cockshaft.
	"Kiss your mother," he tells the child leaning forward.
	Sally's little hands reach out for her momma's suspended head to take her
anguished sobbing face.
	Behind her, the bald killer raises the spear and thrusts it down into the base of
the blonde woman's spinal column, hilting it deep, leaving it in her.
	"A-Auu-UURRGGHHHH!!" Jane keens, arching, eyes wide and wild with
the hurt, looking right into Sally's suffering face.
	"Mommiee! Mommiee! Noooo!"
	Sally kisses her momma's sweating cheeks.  Momma is hot, so hot, and
a burning smell comes from her gaping mouth.  Momma's eyes are rolling back.
The big man holding Sally on his peepee holds the child over the hot grill, her little
whipped feet almost touching the burning metal Momma is lying on, holds the child
to the mother.
	"Uhh," Jane groans. "Uhh - b-baby - my - baby -"
	The man that has speared Momma walks slowly around the side of the
platform.
	"Lets fuck the little pig in front of her," he says. "Both of us at the same
time."
	"Ye-ahh," his burly companion agrees smiling.
	The bald man pulls a low wooden bench out in front of Jane.
	The other sadist with Sandy still impaled on his stiff rod slowly slides down to
straddle the bench, leaning back to lie on it so that Sally now sits on his cock atop
him. Then the bald man moves in, stroking his cock, placing it against Sally's little
twat and pushing the girl back so that she lies on the prone man behind her. As the
bald man pushes into Sally the five year old screams and wails and sobs.  Her
mother watches crying softly, still hung by her hair, dark blood pouring from her
lips now as she witnesses the terrible double rape of her five year old child.
	Both killers now savagely fuck-rape the little girl, the wooden bench creaking
as their hips thrust and their cocks gouge into the immature womb of 
their victim.  The man under Sally again strangles her and holds her head up
as he does it so that his companion can viciously slap the little girl's face.
	"Awhh - G-godd -" Jane gasps. "Aw Jesus - pleease - my - baby -"
	Slap after vicious slap stun and silence the bawling child as she rides
cockmeat, face going blue, her eyes fading as the killer underneath her tightens
his stranglehold.
	Jane feels her bowels release and hears the coals hissing as fluid pours from
her.  She twitches and spasms as the heat begins to swallow her up and the sharp
dull agony of the spear which has broken her spine throbs through her.  She pisses
blood, shits it, gasps for air, watches Sally's face turning purple, the child's tongue
lolling.
	Slap. Slap. Slap.
	Sally bleeds from her mouth.
	"Yeahh! YEahhh!" the bald man shouts.
	Sally is squeezing both men so good.
	The man underneath her wrings her neck savagely.
	The child pisses herself. Her urine feels nice on the men's cocks and balls as
they thrust relentlessly into her
	Jane trembles. A thick spume of blood rolls up into her throat.
	The last thing she sees is the two men fucking her choked-dead child.
	Unresposive and limp Sally is sandwiched between the killers.
	When the bald man pulls out of her, his cock is covered with her blood.
	The child slumps down rolls off the bench and topples to the floor in a lifeless
heap.
	The killers flank the dead mother, one on each side.
	Jane's eyes are open but glassy and grayish.
	Hot squirts of sperm spatter her cheeks, her gaping mouth, her tongue, her
eyes and forehead.
	The dead mother whore fellates both killers who take turns to empty what is
left of their cum in her throat.
	Jism drips down off her chin and sizzles on the grill and in the coals below.
	One orgasm is not enough for the killers.
	They hang the dead child up by one foot, cut holes in her belly and fuck
her drooling gut sack.
	By then the cooked mother is crackling on the grill, her skin deep brown,
here and there singed black, head hanging off the grill by her pony tail, smoke
pouring from her mouth and nostrils.


******************************************************************
	

I move silently through the city, mostly in the night and in those areas of loneliness,
in those uncertain and tenebrous hours when day is not yet - when the quiet rustle
of newspapers and empty paper cups rolling in an 
alley 
may startle.
My prey awaits me the same way parched earth awaits the rain.
Young fucked up girls whose lives have been emptied of dreams and plans.
Whores who live from one fix to the next.
Teenage girls stumbling through the foreign landscape of city night, runaways,
who will not be missed because they have never been loved.
Orphans. Waifs. Or some luckless stranger who just happens to stray across my
path.
All will suffer and all will bleed.
All must pay the price of being female and of being alive.
I take from them and make no excuses.
I am a cleansing force.
I am the Killer.
I bring them much needed death and they provide me with much needed pleasure.
It is a fair exchange.
I am specially fond of girls who have been abused, lied to, corrupted, prostituted.
I am most fond of stupid girls and addicted girls.
They deeply fascinate and attract me.
They are perfect victims who yearn for the final death blow.
They make me feel superior, even godlike.
And little ones, when one can be snatched, are delectable, delicious morsels
of human suffering that must not be neglected.
The slaughter of a child is an act of wonderful catharsis for me.
So unjust, such an outrage against civilization.
I am a predator.
I don't do it for money, although sometimes I wonder if I do it for fame.
My escapades have been in all the newspapers and magazines.
They've talked about me on talk shows.
But I don't think fame is truly the motive.
I love my victims. Love them so much that I want everything they have to give,
mostly their young lives.  I want to own the fucking cunts.  Own their breath,
their blood and ultimately their souls.	
I want to Master them, to Possess them, to Own and Destroy them.
To piss on them.
I need to me cruel, relentless, merciless.
They need that too from me.
Need it desperately.
There must be no hesitation, no second thinking, no doubt.
Many of them in the end yield, open themselves to me, receive me and accept me
as I have never and will never be accepted in any other relationship.
An open-mouthed bleeding victim who waits for my cum trembling is always
impressive. Females are so beautiful in suffering. They are made for it.
There is something undeniably primitive about it.  They respond to it like
fish to water.
And when I choke and cut the life from them some of them even orgasm, weak
and helpless, knowing it is the end, they actually fucking cum on the end of 
my cock before I blow their brains out or cut their heads off or slice them
open.
All this will no doubt horrify the uninitiated, the unsuspecting, the innocent, the ones
who believe humankind is basically good, the ones who bow to a God
that seems pointless and inobtrusive as long as you agree with Him.
I once cut a little girl's cunt out of her and shipped it to a Catholic bishop.
I can only guess the horror with which he must have reacted to my gift.
Of course by the time he got it the victim, or what was left of her, was under fifty
feet of muddy water, so it didn't make too much of a fucking difference
either way.
But I can only conjecture about his point of view, his horror, his disdain, his lack of
empathy.
Doesn't he know? Doesn't he see that underneath he and I are made of the
same DNA, that we walk the same evolutionary path to arrive here?
A priest and a girl-killer. A president and a child molester.  A lawyer or doctor or
CPA and a raging terrorist.
We are made of the same stuff and all moral ground is slippery when you  come
right down to it.
Just think of all those lovely screaming wenches that died atrociously at the hands of
the Inquisition.  Is it any more or less comforting to know they died for the grace of
the Good Lord?
The thought is enough to get my juices flowing - literally.
The street is calling to me and the night and I must move on.
I must continue my work.
I hope I have enlightened you or at least horrified you.
But if you are female and young and you find yourself in my hunting ground
remember that I will come for you. I will be merciless.
I am the night and the darkness.
And above all else females are one thing for me and one thing only:
Meat.
Yes.
Warm, living 
Meat.
I never stop being hungry for it.
Never stop needing it.
Never stop feeding.

******************************************************************

	I watched the leather-collared, tongue-pierced slut licking the instep of my
bare foot as she knelt nude on the carpet before me.
	"That's right," I told her. "Slobber on it. Make it shine with your spit."
	She looked up at me with her big pretty green eyes while she licked.
	She had an oval shaped face, pale skin, lots of mascara, plump lips painted
strawberry red and short-cropped blonde hair.
	K. looked human but I knew she wasn't.
	She was worthless meat.
	No fucking question about it.
	Fucking slaughtermeat.
	I'd seen her on a live bondage site on the internet and knew I had to have
her.  Especially after having watched her take a single-strand whipping from some
guy in jeans and a black t-shirt that proclaimed: Got rope?'. 
	The website usually packaged the shows into downloadable streaming video. I
got hers and watched it several times. 	
	I studied her and lusted for her destruction.
	I was hungry and needed to feed.
	That snow-pale flesh welted wonderfully and I enjoyed the way she expressed
pain.  Some sluts made ugly, nasal, wheezing sounds that irritated me but the
vocalizations from this bitch were exquisitely feminine and cock-raising.
	Still, she was a fucking whore with no class. The swirling tattoo on her
shoulder, multiple rings on her fingers, black finger- and toe-nail gloss, and several
studs pierced through her ear-lobe expressed this.  
	She was perfect fucking slaughtermeat.
	Every time I'd watched the video of her whipping and listened to her
desperate pain cries I'd felt my need for her grow stronger.  The image of her
bound, twisting form responding to the expert whipmaster echoed in my mind.
	So I'd tracked her and her Internet pimp down and it had taken me a couple
of weeks to make arrangements for a meeting.
	It was during the first session with her that I knew I would need all she could
give.
	The bitch would have to be mine. That was unquestionable.
	Now her studded tongue long and warm swirled around my toes.  Her sticky
saliva ran down the sole of my foot to the heel. The black leather collar with the
large o-ring hugged her long slender neck.
	I stroked my cock as I sat back, naked on the plush chair.  The silvery metal
ball on her tongue caught wet glimmers of light and the sensation of her pierced
tongue licking my feet submissively, especially of the cool stainless steel stud against
my skin, was a great prelude for my ultimately savage intentions. I concentrated on
the feel of her soft hair on my toes and ankles, her breath, warm and moist against
my skin.  I never let her touch me with her hands, of course.  I had cuffed her wrists
behind her so that she was ultimately helpless and unable to defend herself from me
in any way. Plus I didn't want her to initiate anything.  Like all my other kills she
would have no options and no choices.  She was here merely to obey and to suffer.
And of course, to die.  That, most clearly, was her lot in life as a useless bondage
whore.  She was nothing to me. Less than nothing.  A zero. A negative integer. A
cadential point of closure with no inherent value. 
	This particular female had already been reduced to slavery by a past history
of whoring and drug abuse which had long ago burned out any worthwhile qualities
she may have posessed.
	While I did not know the particulars I learned from her pimp and later from
K. herself that she had been raped since the age of five by her father and brothers.
Later they had sold her to a low level crime boss and whore dealer in Miami.
	As a twelve year old prostitute she had been sold to several wealthy
business men with a penchant for child-meat, a not unusual preference of my own
now and then.  It hadn't taken long for her to be found by sadistic
whoremasters looking for fresh cunt.  While most children her age were going to
school and learning to read and write, this little bitch was learning to fuck, to serve
men and obey without question, and to take pain.  She knew nothing of art, science,
history, language or geography and she would soon leave the world without having
made any lasting connection or contribution, except for the pleasurable orgasms
cruel men achieved from using and debasing her. Truth be told, as far as using her
mouth and her cunt and her asshole to please a man, as fas as complete submission
and obedience, she was one of the best I'd ever had.
	This was my third session with her.  The first two times I'd paid the guy who
ran the Internet site for her services and had gone no further than some harsh
whippings and intense humiliation which usually ended with her drinking my piss
after I'd cum on her.  But this time it would be different. 
	Intensely different.
	"Suck my toes," I told her.
	She complied her face moving down my foot, her sensual mouth wrapping
around me.  Her long, dark purple, manicured nails weaved patterns in the air
behind her as her fingers rippled.
	"Suck them good, bitch. Lick between them."
	I deeply enjoyed watching a beautiful whore grovel at my feet and take my
toes in her mouth and rarely indulged this idiosincrasy.  But now I wanted to take
more time to study my victim.
	At this point the little bitch obediently serving me had no idea that this time
she would never leave my basement room alive.  She trusted me and I reveled in
that fact. Nothing pleased me more than to totally violate the trust of an
unsuspecting victim.
	She believed she was here for the usual sequence of events I'd subjected her
to on the two previous occasions, events which I knew made her wet and as eager
to perform as a trained circus seal.  And though she may have been an indoctrinated
masochist, one who enjoyed being viciously and violently used, I knew she certainly
was not ready to die. The thought that  her pimp would have sold her to me lock,
stock and barrel didn't even enter her stupid little head.
	"The other foot now," I ordered.
	She smiled slyly, like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
	Little fuck.
	She had no clue about what was coming.
	She sucked with servile docility.  She had nothing in her wasted little head
but pleasing me.  There was no understanding of the world there. No intelligence,
no spark.  She was an animal, pure and simple.  A fuck animal who had been
trained to cater to every aggresive appetite a man could have. She was useless for
anything other than sex. She knew nothing about anything important and could
hold no intelligent conversation.  When she was not fucking she would rather stay
high and not think at all.
	And certainly the world had never called upon her or those like her for
anything else.  She was more a perfect slut than a human being, had in fact very
few appealing qualities that would make her human in the eyes of society.
	Certainly to her pimp she would not be even vaguely human.
	For him she was a source of cash from internet voyeurs and an ultimately
heavy payoff from an untraceable source: me.
	For me, of course she was not human at all. She was torture meat, slaughter
flesh, a way to relieve some very nasty impulses and needs that somehow or other I
had acquired and which I greatly reveled in unleashing. I felt no need to rationalize,
validate or excuse my actions When it came to the destruction of a masochistic toy-
whore like K. I felt completely and sociopathically free of any guilt whatsoever
	Now I rose to my feet and stood over her.
	I watched her fingers continue to weave slow, silent patterns of submission
behind her back.
	She looked up at me with a neutral subservient expresion as she stopped
slobbering over my feet.
	I took the butcher knife from the table.
	A flicker of fear passed through her features then.
	"Hey..." she said, starting to get up.
	I slammed her head against the ground under my foot.
	"Shut up you worthless slime," I snarled. "And lie still."
	"Please, Sir," she whined. "Master Sloane doesn't like to see me all cut up."
	"Sloane sold your ass to me, bitch," I told her keeping her face pressed to
the floor.
	"I'm afraid my tastes are a little more violent than his."
	"You're lying!" she protested.  Her voice was throaty and raspy. I was going
to enjoy hearing her girlish screams. "Master Sloane would never sell me away.  He
loves me. He told me so."
	I bent down to look at her face under my foot as she struggled against the
ropes that bound her wrists and ankles.
	"Love!? What the fuck does a little slimy piece of shit like you know about
love?" I asked rhetorically. "Sloane got five grand for you and he walked away,
bitch...You hear me? Walked away.  You're bitch ass is mine now."
	"Here's your fuckin' love -"
	I drew a sharp cut across the smooth pale skin of her plum butt-cheek.
	She squealed and tried to move away.
	I plunged the knife into her assglobe then yanked it out.
	She screamed then sobbed in response to the sharp pain.
	"Don't try to get away from me, pig!" I snarled. "You're not going
anywhere. Now, get up!"
	I grabbed her by one pinched ear and pulled her up.
	"Oww! Ow! Ow!" she cried out, her brow furrowed, eyes shut tightly.
	When I had her up on her feet I slapped her hard across the face shutting her
up.
	A scarlet trickle of blood from the wound and cut across her asscheek ran
down the back of her leg, snaking around her kneehollow and spilling down her
luscious calve.
	She stood snivelling as I clipped the leash to the metal o-ring of her neck
collar and turned, tugging on it, making her follow me stumbling through the long
hallway to the pantry behind the kitchen and down into the sound-proof basement.
	"  - please - sir - " she whimpered, her bare feet making a slithering sound
behind me on the steep concrete steps as she struggled for balance, her hands still
cuffed behind her.
	I paid no attention, not even turning to face her as I pulled her after me
across the dark cellar and through the heavy wooden door of the killing room.
	I'd never brought her here before and I reveled in the horror which
flooded her big green eyes as she stepped into the brightly lit chamber and watched
me shut the door behind her.  The steel freezer-type lock closed with a sharp
metallic click. The room was comfortably air-conditioned but there were no
windows.  It was a solid bunker from which none of my victims had ever escaped.
	Dripping-bloody butcher knife in one hand, leash in the other, I walked her
across the twenty by twenty room, past the dangling chains and ropes, past the
whipping post and the glass cabinet of knives and swords, past the blood-stained
wooden rack and the small black cauldron that sat on the burning coals on a metal
pedestal in which three steel pokers of different sizes rested, already glowing red and
smouldering, filling the room with the harsh unforgiving smell of hot metal, and I
brought her to the wooden chair with the steel dildo attached to the seat.
	Ten other females had taken that chair. Most of them had died there.
	"Sit on it," I ordered.
	"P-pleease..." she whined.
	"Sit on it or die now," I told her unemotionally looking right into her
desperate eyes.
	I knew she was thinking about the tiny holes on the dildo.  What were they
for? The shaft was perforated by rows of them and there was one at its very tip,
small, needle sized openings.  She was thinking about the dark leather manacles on
the arm-rests of the old wooden chair, and the belt-thick straps on the legs.  She was
looking at the bolts that held the chair to the concrete floor and wondering how it
would be to sit there before me, penetrated, vulnerable, helpless. Then her eyes
trailed to the butcher knife I still held, it's shining blade raised like a killing erection,
matching my now fully aroused, nine inch cock-shaft, both of which were aimed at
her vulnerable abdomen.
	I saw then how her feminine submissive insticts slowly took hold and  after a
few moments a resigned look came over her face. She was breathing slowly and
deeply. I knew that in her heart of hearts she had known this moment would one
day come. There was no way she could not have known it. Her whole life she'd
been moving inexorably toward it. Deep inside she knew her life could have no
other purpose, no other ending.  She was ignorant, artless, cheap, but not stupid.  I
had known this knowledge was part of her from the moment I'd watched her take
the whip on the internet video.  I had assured myself of it when she'd taken the
whip for me and when she'd knelt obediently before me to drink my urine. Now, I
watched her accept the dark self-destructive knowledge inside her and in that
perfect moment my balls swelled with pleasure as I watched her hang her head, take
two steps toward the chair and turn her back to it.
	She spread her legs slightly and braced her hands on the edge of the arm-
rests then she looked up at me.
	"You're going to kill me no matter what, aren't you?" she asked weakly.
	"That's right," I replied staring impassively back.
	She nodded once, her eyes filling up with tears and slowly she slid down on
to the steel dildo.
	"Uhmm -" she began, speaking while her eyes looked at the wall behind me.
"Do you want me to take it up my ass or up my cunt?"
	"In your cunt," I replied. "I want your asshole for something else....if you
make it past this..."
	"Y-yes, Sir..." she responded again hanging her head.
	I saw a drop of blood from her knifed assglobe drip on the chair seat.
	Then she took a deep breath and adjusted her position situating her warm
swollen slit right over the cold steel shaft.
	Her head then craned back, eyes closed as she began to push herself down
impaling herself on the dildo.
	The metal cock began at a one inch circumference near its tip but broadened
almost to three inches at its base, ten inches lower, where it was screwed to the
chair seat.
	She moaned softly and gritted her teeth as she pushed down, her long-nailed
fingers white from gripping the arm-rests, her arm-muscles tense, her feet arched,
black-painted toes pressed against the floor. Another drop of blood from the knife
cut dripped on the chair seat under her. When she got half-way down on the shaft,
her eyes, half-slitted rolled back, then focused on mine as she turned her head to me.
	"I can't go any further..." she moaned.
	I could see her legs quivering tensely.
	"Yes you can," I told her. "Do it for me. Take all of it for me."
	She whined, closed her eyes, took another breath and began to grind herself
down into the big steel dildo.
	I stroked myself slowly watching her.  My bare feet were still moist from her
saliva where her tongue and mouth had grazed my insteps and toes. I wanted to
stick the butcher knife I still gripped right into her heaving chest or draw it across
her sweaty tits and slice them off her.  Instead I plunged the knife into the wooden
post beside me and approached her, finally dropping the leash and putting both of
my hands on her slender round shoulders.
	She looked up at me, lips parted, eyes half closed and she half-smiled.
	The leash hung from her neck collar and down between her spread legs
almost to the floor.
	Now a trickle of blood was making its way down the surface of the
perforated dildo shaft.
	"Help me," she moaned softly. "Help me finish it..."
	Dizzy with sadistic lust I gripped her shoulders hard and bore down on her.
	The smile left her face instantly and her eyes went wide as I pushed her all the
way down hard, until her ass pressed into the wooden chair seat.
	She made an odd strangled sound as something ripped inside her.
	Her body spasmed rigidly and I bent down quickly to bind her ankles to the
chair legs, buckling the leather straps as tightly as possible until the old leather dug
deep into her white skin.
	Then, instead of securing her wrists to the leather manacles on the arm rests
of the old wooden chair I grabbed her forearms and raised them high over her head,
her breath catching with surprise, pain-filled eyes following the rising movement of
her limbs as I trapped them together at the wrists in cuff-straps buckled to a chain
which hung from a pulley line in the ceiling.
	"Aww G-goddd..." she groaned.
	I knew the dildo had ruptured her cervix and pierced through her uterus.
	Even if I did nothing but stand and watch and jerk off she would be dead
within a couple of hours.
	Her life was already over, blood was pooling around her plump thighs on the
torture chair.
	My pleasure was just beginning.
	I stood over her jerking off, looking down into her suffering face.
	"There were tiny holes on the dildo - " I told her, licking my lips, watching
her reaction to my words, weighing their terrible impact on her as I reached up for
the switch on the wooden post next to me, the one I'd stabbed my butcher knife
into.
	"Remember?"
	She nodded, her eyes on the wall behind me again.  A trickle of spit drooled
from her lips down her chin. Her hips were grinding in slow tight circles on the
chair, calve muscles flexing as she rose slightly and dipped down into the painful
impalement. She was fucking herself on the killing steel.
	"When I throw this switch little barbs of steel will spring from each hole on
the shaft inside you."
	She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes and gave out a whimpering sob.
	"Each little barb on the sides extends about an inch from the surface of the
dildo...But the one on that shoots out from the top? Well... You're gonna feel that
one real nice.  It's about four inches long."
	"Ooohhhh..." she sobbed.
	The way she said it sent a delicious power-thrill through my cock and balls.
	It was as if the idea of the sharp steel fucking her was already fucking her in
her head.
	"I won't lie to you, cunt. Six women have died on that chair and I enjoyed
watching every last one of them. I really fucking dug it.  But I've enjoyed the four
that survived it even more.  Those bitches took me to another level...Know what I
mean? And I think you're definitely in that category.  What do you think?"
	"I - I want to - to - please you -"
	"That's a good answer, pig. And you're already pleasing me.  But I would
really like it if you go for broke here.  Make me remember you.  Know what I
mean? Make it special for me.  You know your fucking life means nothing to me or
to anyone else anyway, except this, right? Am I right?"
	"Nnhh - yeah - I'm nothing, Master...nothing...I'm just an empty hole...that's
all I've ever fucking been...nothing but a useless fuckhole...ugghh..."
	I could see that the torture dildo had made her do more thinking in an instant
then she'd probably done in her whole fucked up life.  And her thoughts had led
her to the only possible conclusion.
	I had her now. I owned her completely.
	Her hips swiveled harder and she closed her eyes and put her head down,
groaning as she slumped into the steel dildo, rose and slumped, rose and slumped,
her white skin glossy with fresh sweat, her short blonde hair sticking to her wet
cheeks.
	"Uhh! Nothing...just a hole for you...uh! ... a useless fucking hole...nhh!"
	I cupped her chin in my hand and lifted her face staring down into her
glassy eyes.
	"Yeah. That's right. That's all you are. That's all you'v ever been. A useless
fucking hole."
	"Now open your mouth wide for me," I growled.
	She obeyed and waited, her lips wide forming a lovely puckered o' as I
raised my cock and let go of the pressure in my bladder.
	"Drink it..." I told her as I pissed right into her mouth.
	"Swallow..." I urged watching the hot bitter fluid overspill her red lips as she
gulped trying to comply.
	I placed my hand on top of her head and gripped the short blonde mane as I
continued to urinate in her mouth stepping closer, the tip of my cock right in the
center of her circling lips. Still pissing I pushed my cock into her mouth as I gripped
the switch on the post between thumb and forefinger.
	"That's a good girl - mmm - such a good girl..."
	I pushed my cock down her throat and she gasped, choked, gulped, grimaced
as twin streams of piss and snot dribbled from her nostrils.  A gush of hot piss was
spilling from her lips around my shaft and dripping off my balls on to the chair seat
between her legs, mixing with her blood.  After a few moments the gush died down
to a trickle as the pressure in my bladder eased.  
	The acrid smell of urine filled the room.
	"Ahhh..." I moaned, closing my eyes, feeling my erect prick throb in K's
throat hole as she gagged then bobbed her head back and forth weakly.
	"You're such a fucking great toilet," I said pulling my cock from her lips.
	Her mouth remained opened and dripping, a soft o' of dumb acceptance as I
looked into her stupid worthless whore eyes.
	"Here's your reward..."
	...and I threw the switch.
	She arched upright in the chair suddenly following a meaty crunch inside her
body, an odd strangled sound in her throat.
	"Gghwggaarrrffghh!" she grunted, eyes wide, one eyelid fluttering, one brow
twitching.
	I knew the metal spears had sprung from the dildo inside her and gouged into
her guts.  The four inch spike at the top of the dildo had ripped right through her
stomach cavity and I knew the pain had to be unacceptable.  Her hands flew open
above her head and her arms stretched tautly, her feet thumping against the chair
legs.
	She was lovely. Undeniably this atrocious suffering is what she'd been made
for just as I'd suspected all along. Now all that remained was to see just
how long she would be able to endure.
	I didn't have much time to waste.
	I needed to put her through hell and do it while she still lived.
	I needed to give the wasted whore exactly what she most hungered for and
deserved.
	From the cauldron which rested on the glowing charcoals I took the first red-
tipped poker.
	With it I gouged out both her nipples first one and then the other making K.
scream wildly, stroking myself while I did it and studying her fathomless agony.
	"Who do you belong to, pig?" I shouted as I withdrew the burning steel.
	"Agghh - y-you - master - you - I'm your pig - yours - yours!"
	Blood and piss were pouring out of her and puddling on the chair and
dripping off the edges of the seat.
	Gently I pressed the still sizzling tip of the poker into her belly button.
	"Aayhhhhiii!" she shrieked tossing her lovely head back between her
upstretched arms.
	"I could kill you now if I wanted," I whispered hoarsely.
	"Yess - yess - kill me - pleeease - kill me -"
	She was eager for it now. This is what she was made for and she fucking
knew it. 	
	But I needed more.  Much more.
	I smiled and withdrew the burning steel then moved it down to push the
glowing tip into her knees.
	"Uwwhhhh! Goddd! Pleease, master pleeeeease!"
	"Hurt for me, pig. Just hurt and suffer."
	After I'd poked several smouldering wounds in her knees I traced the outside
of her right leg, down the calf, burning the white skin all the way to the
bound ankle.  I stabbed the poker into both her big toes crushing the black painted
nails and grinding through the skin right to her bones as she wailed
and shook. Tracing the poker back up her left leg and burning that calf I then
lifted it from her and swung it hard down across both knees.
	"Oouwwghhh!" she croaked.
	I swung it again harder cracking one knee cap and watching my slut
scream.
	Swung it again across her shins breaking her left leg then tossed the weapon
aside.
	Working quickly I released her ankles from the chair and lifted her
busted up legs on to suspension chains. 
	She was starting to weaken, her head tumbling forward then side to side,
mouth drooling.
	The three suspension chains, two for her legs and one for her arms were all
connected to the same main line which I now operated by turning a crank lever 
bolted to the wall lifting the dying whore slowly up out of the torture chair.
	Her wide-stretched busted-up leg bones cracked and she sobbed pitifully as
her feet rose toward the ceiling.  The broken knee swelled horribly.
	As the chains lifted her the spear-dildo on the chair tore her womb apart and
she trembled and made weird gagging sounds in her throat.  The spears inside her
caught and held her innards, keeping her down, before ripping loose and releasing
her.
	When she finally bobbed up off the chair blood and entrails dripped from her
gashed out pussy. Below her the sharp metal spikes dripped blood, gleaming wetly.
Grayish pieces of intestines dangled from them and slid grossly down the main shaft
to the chair seat. Gut streamers dangled from her crotch.
	I took the second hot poker from the cauldron and moved in.
	"I told you I wanted your asshole for something else," I told her bluntly.
	She raised her pretty head weakly and saw the poker coming.
	"Y-yesss - ohgghh - do it -"
	"No bitch. Ask me nice. Say: Fuck my asshole with your hot poker, sir."
	I waited, watched her eyes fill with tears. This was perfect mastery and she
was giving in to it, surrendering herself to me completely, knowingly.  All the years
of submission had finally taken their toll.  Just as I had suspected, this cunt was the
perfect victim - more than perfect - she was - heavenly.
	"F-fuck - fuh- fuck m-my asshole - with - ughhmm - with y-your hot
poker -" Her voice sank to a husky whisper. " - with your hot - h-hot - poker -
Sir - with your hot poker - with your hot poker -"
	She was still repeating the deadly words whispering intensely when I pushed
the blistering iron into the tiny crinkled aperture and shoved it up into her.
	She threw her head back and stiffened and her cry crescendoed to a mind-
twisting raw shriek.
	"This is what you need, you stinking pig," I snarled still pushing the hot
metal up into the suspended blonde whore. "Fuck it, you whore. Fuck it nice."
	I kept the steel up in the wailing slut for a few tense moments, twisted it
around in her then whipped it out of her and tossed it aside placing the head of my
cock at the hole I'd just barbarously plundered, going up on my toes to push into
the hanging bitch, up her burn-reamed asshole, her pussy drooling blood and gut
bits on my shaft and on my belly.  Her blood dripped off my balls as I fucked her.
	"Take it scumbag," I snarled thrusting into her with all the strength I could
muster, the suspension chains creaking. "Take it. Take it. Take it."
	When I slid out of her burned flesh, shit and blood spurted from her asshole.
My cock was covered with dark bits of gore. She was crying, her shoulders racked
with sobs, her upstretched arms taut and her hands closed into fists.
	It was time for the third poker.
	For her entire life this piece of female trash had nothing of value to say to
anyone.  There was no poetry, no vision, no idea, no sharing.  Communication was
strictly utilitarian and unsophisticated.  Because of the way she'd grown up she was
ignorant, lazy, stupid, fearful, self-deprecating, completely devoid of 
subtlety or humor.  There was no need for her ever to speak again now that
her life was at an end.  So I lifted the hot metal up to her throat and drove it
sharply into her voice box watching her gurgle and stare at me helplessly
wild eyed, steamy smoke pouring from her mouth. Her hands opening expressively,
fingers splayed.
	"Give me your tongue," I ordered.
	She obeyed, blood drooling from her lips as she rolled her pretty pink
studded tongue out. I lifted the hot poker and drove it sharply into her tongue-meat,
above the steel stud. The trapped muscle sizzled like fresh steak on a grill. Incredibly
she did not turn away and instead kept herself still for the torture, eyes shut tightly,
mewling in her burned-out throat.
	"Take it in your mouth," I growled and watched her comply taking the
hissing metal into herself, cupping her lips around it as if it were a cock.  I worked it
slowly back and forth burning her lips and pushing the tip into the soft membranes
at the back of her mouth, gouging the pink uvula and her palate, scraping the poker
all around in her oral cavity. I pulled it out and caressed both her cheeks with it, the
sides of her long neck, leaving hot burn-smears on her as she moaned and drooled
blood and bits of burned flesh then I made her take it again jerking myself off while
I fed her the killing metal.  I remembered how nice her mouth had felt on my bare
feet and took special pleasure in destroying it utterly. 	
	Blood hissed and bubbled from the hole in her throat.
	She gritted her blood-covered teeth in anguish.
	It was time to finish her.
	I tossed the third poker aside, went to the glass cabinet and chose my final
weapon, a long sharp sword which I'd used only twice before.
	I made her kiss it first, of course, with her burned bloody lips. 
	The sword had been used by an infantry captain, Marcel Breton, in the
French army under Napoleon. Its handle was made of gold. It was a heavy weapon
and tailor-made for my needs.
	The blonde slut's eyes were already weak as I began to push its killing tip up
into her gouged-out cunt.
	I wondered if she had even heard of Napoleon and doubted that she would
appreciate the value of the weapon I was using to end her petty little existence.
	It was easy going at first since the chair-dildo had pretty much paved the way
but finally Marcel Breton's trusty blade encountered resistance, probably the inner
wall of the stomach and after that her diaphragm.
	She began to scream then and her screams excited me as slut-screams always
do and I pushed harder and harder.
	I buried the sword high up in her hilting it right to the gleaming handle.
	She coughed up bile and blood.
	Her screaming stopped suddenly and her breath became ragged and spastic.
	Bubbles of blood continued to form at the hole in her larynx, less as time
passed.
	I just stood there slowly jerking off and watching her die.
	Death in a young woman is so exquisitely obscene to witness.
	"Who do you belong to, pig?" I asked her again, softly.
	Her eyes were now barely able to track me.
	I was reaching back for the knife I'd stabbed into the post behind me.
	" - y-you -" her whisper was barely audible.
	Air hissing through the throat hole.
	" - ggh - y-you -"
	"That's right," I told her feeling the cum about to jet from my aching balls.
	I sliced her footsoles with the knife-blade, her heels, making her squirm
in mid-air, the chains swinging.
	I paced around her slowly a couple of times plunging the knife into her in
different places, wounding her, slicing at her, cutting her back and stabbing her
flanks then I sank the knife into the side of her plump thigh, right to the bone, and
left it there.
	Blood flowed from her wounds and dripped on the floor.
	Timing was crucial now and I stroked myself slower waiting for her breath to
stop.
	She lasted nearly ten more minutes.
	Near the end a gulp of blood spewed from her burned lips.
	The hole in her larynx stopped bubbling.
	And then amazingly, she smiled sweetly as her eyes rose to mine and went
blank. Her arms and legs went tense for a moment then slumped.
	I shot off, my cum spurting up on her thighs and on the gold sword handle
sheathed in her cunt.
	I would use her body for hours after that, fucking it, cutting it up, eating parts
of her and I would wonder if she'd had a soul. Would a worthless slut like her have
had a soul and if so by eating her would her soul pass into me and become part of
me? 
	I always had those thoughts or similar ones at the end of a kill.  The thoughts
were sometimes unsettling but I never felt guilty. Not a bit.  In fact, if there was any
real value to my ideas at all then I could only consider myself a fortunate creature.  	
	Counting K. there were now twenty two souls fused to mine, a virtual
constellation of slut-souls, subservient and submissive to the dominant superior male
spirit that held them all within itself.
	Or maybe there was nothing to it at all.
	Maybe all of them were just cunt animals - female slaughtermeat - with no
eternal spirit who served me and died for my pleasure - meaningless victims,
multiple mind-blowing orgasms followed by the consumption of deliciously roasted
limbs and body parts.
	One thing was certain:
	K. and all the others shared the same delicious fate at my hands.
	And each and every last one had deserved what I'd given them.
	Or worse.
	No fucking question about it.
	No fucking question in my mind at all.

	
	
	
WOODBURN



	


	
	
	
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