The following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person
living or dead is absolutely coincidental. The narrative deals with torture and
slaughter of innocent human beings. The author in no way condones or promotes
such acts. This is the world of fantasy and fiction where the hidden corners of the
psyche may be explored. The author believes that exploring such subject matter in
this realm keeps it from ever needing to be explored, and much less fulfilled, in real
life. There is violence in all of us. Otherwise there would be no crime, no war, no
destruction. We must acknowledge the beast inside of us if we are to tame it. To
ignore it and repress it is to invoke its appearance in our midst. 


			     Rain and Woman-Blood


1.
	Slowly, deliberately, Stryker buried his teeth deep in the nude teenage girl's
bare upstretched arm. She squealed and jerked around like a trapped rabbit. He
pushed his tongue against her warm flesh feeling the taut sinewy muscle under
the skin and he bit harder, standing in front of her, holding her by her hips, his
powerful hands keeping her steady.
	He had hung her by her roped wrists from the dangling chain and her weight
had been so slight that the old ceiling beam did not even creak.  Her ankles too
were roped together, tight enough to gouge her tender skin, and her toes, small,
delicate and unpainted barely touched the dirty plank-board floor of the old cabin.
	She was naked and bruised from his blows. He'd strapped a black ball-gag
tightly around her head to force her mouth wide and she drooled and looked at him
frantically, her pretty, though unremarkable, face cut and bruised from his assault,
her straight blonde mane spilling in tangles down between her upper arms and her
cheeks. 
	He bit harder still, his teeth breaking her taut skin, the rusty taste of fresh
blood on his tongue as she screamed her terror into the gag, her fingers groping at
the air above her bound hands, her toes pushing against the floor.
	Raping her had been delicious. 
	She was such a perfect victim, an all-American, apple-pie, girl next door type, 
the one that doesn't quite make the cheerleader squad, the one that is always polite
and has a sweet smile for anyone in authority; the one that hangs out with her
friends in the mall hoping the boy she likes will ask her to the prom. She was that
kind of girl which always seemed to end up in the newspaper and in the sleazier
television tabloids after her body was found face-down in some muddy ditch.  She
was the kind of small town victim the media would go crazy for exactly because she
was so inconsequential. She was just like the millions of readers and viewers who
hung on every word the media would say about her. She was run-of-the-mill,
ordinary, average, colorless and people would feel sorry for her because she
reminded them of their daughters and sisters and girlfriends.  They would feel sorry
for her because she was one of them.  Unimportant.  Unassuming. Innocent.  There
was a lot less sympathy in the world for some bar-room slut or some wasted whore
found ravaged and discarded like garbage.  But the rape-kill of an ordinary child
instantly elicited outrage and shock.  It made people face the fact that, despite all
their trust in  civilized society, a monstrous beast still lurked in their midst.  
	And for those who chose to believe that the beast did not live within
themselves it was more expedient to believe that it lived in others who must be
sought out and destroyed. So when the image of a murdered girl-child sparked
serious curiosity, it was dismissed as just curiosity and not the morbid instinct for
savagery that lurked just beneath the surface, not the predatorial thirst for 
unrepressed savagery which haunts the human heart.
	For Stryker who lived in full acceptance of his own mercilessly blood-thirsty
nature this young girl, so innocent and full of life, was just fuel for the fire.
	Stryker had gauged her to be maybe thirteen or fourteen, a sweet young
blonde bunny with small budding tits and long coltish legs.  
	He'd stalked her for a couple of weeks after spotting her drinking from a
water fountain at the park wearing white shorts, a red t-shirt and sneakers. The t-
shirt had a fading logo of the Disney Lion King and as she drank and pursed her
pretty lips, a breeze blowing her silky blonde hair, the sun on her sweet lightyly
freckled face instantly made Stryker hard. He decided not to use his men for this kill
but to go on his own, tracking the little bitch down to her house in the affluent
Rosewood suburbs, watching a few days later from his cargo van as she got off the
school bus and walked five short blocks to her house in the upscale neighborhood. 
	He'd watched from a patch of woods near the house as she swam in the pool
behind the expensive house with her friends, two other cuties, all of them in colorful
skimpy bikinis, girl-flesh shiny wet in the August sun, girlish voices talking, giggling,
young bodies splashing in and out of the water, making his cock rock hard under
his camouflage-green combat fatigues.  He watched them through the high-powered
field binoculars focusing in tight on them, drops of sweat trickling down his
forehead as he studied their graceful movements, their flowing shapes, delicate limbs
glistening wet, gleeful, innocent eyes, as he carefully assessed the logistics. 
	And, to his delight, as if the youths were not tempting enough, they were
eventually joined by a woman in her early thirties who emerged from the house and
walked across the neatly mowed grass toward the pool .  The contrast of her full
adult figure, plump tits and curvaceous ass, also bikini clad, as well as her deeper
sexy, low-pitched voice when she spoke to the girls, made Stryker dizzy with lust.
	He would later verify that the woman was his target's mom.  The physical
similarities were obvious, the same sensual shape to the lips, the cute small nose, the
long shapely legs.  She represented the full potential her daughter would reach as an
adult and Stryker deeply lusted for the destruction of such 
beauty. Such beauty needed to be broken and crushed, utterly destroyed.  		
	The woman had set a blue towel she was carrying down on a lawn chair
stepped into bright sunlight at the edge of the pool and dove into the water as the
three young girls cheered. The cry had reminded Stryker of the way exotic jungle
birds sometimes sounded as they sprang skyward.  He'd watched the woman swim
toward the girls, her head bobbing in and out of the water, her mouth wide as she
drew breath between strokes, her strong calves scissoring through the surface, and
felt himself grow harder.
	It had taken a great effort of will for Stryker to hold his ground.  What he'd
really wanted to do then, in the middle of the hot August day, was step into the
clear and mount an attack on all four females.  He probably could have gotten away
with it too, coming up on them with the sawed-off, pump-action shotgun, getting
them out of the pool and into the house (they'd stop their stupid giggling then),
tying their wet bodies up tight, gagging them, then doing one at a time, slowly, in
the bathroom or the kitchen, while the others all helplessly watched, saving the
woman for last, murdering them all brutally and bathing in their warm blood...But
then he thought of how wonderful it might be perhaps to save mother and daughter
for last...to kill the young teen and to see momma's pleading eyes as he slowly
butchered the daughter's strong young body on the kitchen counter, dismembering
her like a chicken...But there were far too many variables and the move didn't feel
right.  Besides, he wanted to take his time with the little blonde angel.  He wanted
this kill to be private, intimate, close-up.  He wanted to take the child apart piece by
piece, a small bit at a time. So he would have to kidnap her and take her to one of
his special' places. 
	 And it would certainly be an intriguing challenge to come back for momma
afterwards, once the daughter was done, to take momma in her moment of grief, to
tell her how he'd slowly tortured and slaughtered her baby while forcing his hard
man-meat deep into juicy warm blonde cunt. Maybe he would rape momma right
on baby's grave...or maybe he would save baby all beaten and bloody and kill her in
front of momma.  That was always the best.  To make momma watch. He'd done it
before. It was always so deliciously dramatic.
	As he'd carefully considered every possibility Stryker had continued to
observe the three girls and the woman in the pool from the woods, pulling his
tattooed cock out as he knelt in the brush to jerk off, his fatigues dark-stained with
sweat, going to the edge of orgasm but stopping short, saving his pleasure for the
kill.  
	Then, three days later, he'd come up behind Jennifer Hadley, his little target
slut, as she walked home from the school bus-stop, her short school-uniform skirt
fluttering around her thighs, and he'd put the gun to her little baby-harlot face, the
Remington .45 automatic, as she turned around.
	He'd motioned toward the open rear door of the white Dodge van which
he'd parked near the woods and far enough away from the surrounding houses that
any noise or movement would go un-noticed.
	"Get in there, slut..."
	Her eyes were like the eyes of a deer caught in the high beams of an eighteen
wheeler.
	"NOW you little fuck!" he hissed and she obeyed immediately.
	A few minutes later he had her cuffed to the steel floor of the van, spread-
eagled on her back and gagged tightly with her own white cotton panties.
	He'd ripped her Catholic school uniform off her, the white blouse with the St.
Andrew's school insignia on the pocket and the short green skirt, then the knee-
high socks and the penny loafers.  Then he'd beaten her naked body with his fists
for a few minutes just to get warmed up, smashing his fists into her thighs and belly
and arms, slapping her face.  And when she lay whimpering weakly he pulled his
jeans down taking his jockey briefs with them, and knelt between her long slender
legs. He put his erect prick to her chubby little fuzz-mound, right up to her pink slit. 
She shook her head and looked up at him.
	"M-mmgghff! Ghff! Ghff!" his little trapped angel protested.
	He slapped her as hard as he could across the face turning her face back and
forth a couple of times with vicious open-handed smacks.
	Then, taking in and feeding on the vibrant youthful energy of her terror, he
smiled cruelly and pushed his cock into her virgin pussy.
	Oh yeahh...raping her had been quite delicious.
	Her tight baby-soft cooze was a real slice of heaven as he'd slid in slowly,
opening her up, gripping her by her shoulders to drive himself all the way in.
	When the pain of the invasive penetration had made her close her beautiful
blue eyes tightly he'd backhanded her face hard again until a trickle of blood spilled
from her lips.
	"Look at me, pig!" he'd snarled. "You just keep your cute little eyes on me
while I fuck you...or I'll cut them right out of your goddamn head."
	Sniffling, her brows arched, she'd looked up at him, her cheeks bright red
from his blows.
	Stryker enjoyed a victim's eyes.  Unlike many rapists and killers who are
unable to face their victims he welcomed the opportunity to look right into their
souls as he pitilessly violated them.  Girl-children especially excited him.  Their
anguish and fear were pure, unequivocal.  It was evident that they did not grasp his
limitless sadism nor the physicality of his barbaric act and their confusion and
helplessness fueled his volcanic lust.
	He'd slam-fucked the little blonde slut into the floor of the truck accenting
each powerful thrust of his strong hips with punches and slaps to her chest, belly
and face that left dark blue-black bruises on her tender skin.  He fucked feverishly,
furiously, angrily, pounding himself into his victim.
	Stryker was a true misogyinist.  He hated women, especially young pretty
girls and drew deep pleasure from physically and mentally destroying them.
	He relished the thought of the coroners who studied the battered, beaten,
mangled female corpses he left behind.
	"What kind of animal would do this to a child?" he could hear the
investigators say. The thought made him smile wickedly.
	The details of his butchery would never make the news... only the pretty faces
of the murdered girls...innocent faces...newspapers and magazines flying off the
shelves...lovely angel faces smiling...cash registers whirring and ticking...
the glow of television screens lighting up the night as the girl-blood he spilled would
seep into the earth and feed the wild flowers near the woods.


2.
	...And now his cock surged as he tasted the child's warm blood.  It trickled
down his chin as he bit into her arm making her squeal even shriller and
more desperately as he drank from her.
	After the violent rape-beating in his van he'd driven her out to his deserted
cabin, dragged her inside and strung her up by her wrists.  By then she hardly
struggled.  
	Inevitably females gave up, surrendered completely when under
attack.  It was in their nature.  It seemed remarkable that a single man could, under
the right conditions, as one serial killer in Chicago did in the sixties,
slaughter eight women after tying them up one by one, with no one standing
guard.  In fact, the one woman who escaped the slaughter by hiding under a bed
reported that the killer had even put down his weapons to tie the young victims up.
	In another case a woman who was abducted by a man who broke into her
house and killed her husband allowed herself to be dragged away in his vehicle to
his home, unseen by any neighbors. During her captivity she even called her
abductor Sir, and allowed herself to be bathed by him.  Later she claimed that she
was trying to make him less aggressive and perhaps careless so that she might
escape.  In fact, the man, who in Stryker's estimation made far too many mistakes,
had the bitch exactly where he wanted her but was not knowledgeable enough,
about sadistic control nor about restraints.  When he left his captive alone she was
able to get loose and call the police.  Stryker watched with some fascination as the
report unfolded, specially the pictures of the woman, beaten, savagely marked by
the man's unchecked aggression, one arm broken.  In his estimation the man had
stopped short of what he could have achieved.  Maybe he lost the edge or maybe he
wanted to get more out of her before finishing her.  Either way, such decisions had
to be thought through.  If the woman had been Stryker's victim she never would
have lived to tell the story.  He would have enjoyed himself well with the bitch who
appeared strong, fit and attractive for a middle-aged woman. He would have taken
her somewhere where he could have made her scream and then he would have
finished her and left no trace.
	Stryker knew from experience that after the first moments of unleashed
agression, and especially once he'd rammed his cock into them, the females
were like putty for him to mold in any way he saw fit.  Even the strong ones, the
ones that had foolishly spent their money in self-defense classes, melted for him like
butter and became meek kittens once he'd verbally assaulted and humiliated them
as he stuffed their tight little snatches full of man-meat.
	Jennifer had cried softly as he'd untied her from the floor of the van and
even ungagged her.  He'd then stepped back out of the van and ordered her
to get to her feet and step out into the dirt road.  She had done so without hesitation
never even trying to run from him or scream for help.  She just stood
there, naked, barefoot and whimpering, eyes downcast, waiting for him to take
action.
	So he'd pulled her by her arm and forced her to follow him into the
ramshackle wooden structure, up the creaking steps and rotting porch and into
the dank, shadowy cabin.  There was only one large room inside. A dark cargo
crate stood against the wall near a broken window through which vines grew. 
Jennifer let herself be led to the center of the room and just stood there while he got
the ropes and looped them around her thin wrists tightly.  Then she gasped as he
raised her arms and knotted the rope to the chain that dangled from the roof-beam.
	Once he'd bound her ankles and knotted the rope fiercely she was his.
	The thought of escape would not even cross her broken mind.
	The black ball-gag which he strapped tightly around her neck and the back of
her head was the final, though completely unnecessary, touch.
	Stryker had tortured and killed girls here before. He owned several acres of
woods around the site and his property was circled with razor-wire (a few coils of
which lay behind the cabin for occasional use as a tool of punishment) so the
possibility of an intruder who might overhear the cries of pain from the cabin was
quite remote. The gag served only two purposes, to enhance the helplessness of his
victim and to loosen up the jaw muscles for mouth-fucking afterwards.    
	After biting Jennifer's arm and drinking her blood Stryker stripped naked
and for a few moments circled around her, enjoying the sight of her bound up-
stretched body.  He'd jerked off slowly going over each step of the slaughter in his
mind.  
	She never raised her terror-filled eyes to his face.  She was mesmerized by
the rhythmic stroking motion of her killer's strong hairy hand on
his massive tattooed cock.  Sweat glistened on his strong thighs as he
moved around her and he breathed heavily, like a bear she'd seen once
in a cage at the zoo.  His eyes were horrible and she could not bear to
raise her head and see them.  They were fierce and deeply green and cold.
She watched his large bare feet move as he walked on the creaky wooden floor,
watched his other hand cup his balls, heard him moan softly and knew
she was the focus of his depraved lust.  And clearly she knew she would die.
She knew she would die when she heard his breath and his growling moans,
when she watched the slow even stroking movements of his hand on his cock.
She knew and the knowledge made her tremble and sob brokenly and open
and close her pretty hands trapped by roped wrists above her blonde head.
	Jenny was a smart girl who'd always worked hard to get A's in every subject
and who was clean, neat and helpful to those who needed her.  She said her prayers
every night and had almost never had an unkind thought.  When she was younger
she had even been a girl scout and sold cookies door to door.  No one had ever had
to lay a punishing hand on her. She'd always known what to do and always obeyed
her parents and teachers.  In short, little Jenny was a good girl. She was the kind of
good girl that makes the other kids envious and even hateful. When you came right
down to it she was a little miss-goody-two-shoes and what was happening to her
now in this abandoned cabin was way beyond her ability to understand and to cope.  
	The powerful demon who had abducted her unexpectedly in plain daylight,
had taken her from her predictable world of home, school and church had carried
her into darkness and confusion.  No one had ever even seen her naked...and now
here she was, hanging like a piece of meat, helpless as the demon's eyes roved over
every part of her, slowly, analytically. What was he thinking? What tortures was he
planning for her?  Her arm hurt where his teeth had ripped into her and she could
see a tiny drop of blood making its way down the smooth curves of her arm-pit.  If
she looked down at herself she could see the dark ugly bruises his fists had left on
her thighs and belly and chest and she could see her bright red nipples, hard and
upright, crowning her small round titties as a cold breeze blew through the broken
window.
	His voice, a deep dark snarl floated to her on that cold breeze:
	"I'm gonna kill you, sweetie..." he told her, completely affirming her worst
fears.
	A dizzy, sinking feeling in her stomach made her cry out and she looked up
into the predator's face to find his heartless lustful eyes staring at her.
	"Ngg! N-ahgg! NN-gghff!" she whinnied shaking her head.
	"Oh yeah. Mm-hmm...you're gonna die...but first we're gonna have some
fun," he said heedless of her anguish, reaching into the cargo crate on the floor near
the wall.
	Stryker showed his victim a long wooden rod with small metal spikes, silvery
sharp rivets , all along its four-foot length.
	"Yeah, sweetie..." he said softly, again pacing around her as her wide blue
eyes fearfully followed him, focused on the weapon in his hand.  She'd never seen
anything like it but knew instinctively what it was for...
	"...we're gonna have ourselves a real whoppin' good time..."
	Gently, slowly, Stryker ran his hand over Jennifer's flank down over her
prominent hip bone and down her thigh to her kneehollow...He always enjoyed
touching the female flesh he was about to punish, to sense its smoothness, its
warmth,  savoring its perfection before destroying it. He cupped and squeezed the
young girl-child's ass-cheek. It filled his hand, pliant yet firm. Her flesh there had the
consistency of egg-custard, still baby-fat, unblemished pink, just the way he liked it,
just the way he'd imagined it would feel when he'd first seen her drinking from the
water fountain in the park in her cute white gym shorts. 
	The little bitch moaned softly to his touch and trembled.
	He stepped back, watched her for a few moments as she hung there
waiting, her body tense.
	He brought the barbed rod up to the buttcheek he'd just squeezed and
pressed the spikes into the skin, not hard enough to pierce but just enough
to scratch the white flesh as he rubbed the spikes into the smooth roundness.
	Jennifer made a choked sobbing sound.
	Stryker raised his arm high.
	"...little bitch!" he snarled.
	He swung the barbed rod hard across her rump.
	Jennifer screamed into the gag which stretched her mouth and her head
swung back.  She stared in wide-eyed pain at the rotting ceiling above her
as Stryker swung again across her luscious little ass.  Tiny spurts of blood
trickled from the pinpoint wounds the spikes left in the girl's skin and Stryker
licked his lips, drawing back to hit even harder and hilt the barbs in his
victim's buttocks.  As the rod struck with meaty thuds Jennifer kicked up her
bound legs and spun half-way around. The ropes looped around her ankles and just
above her knees held tightly and now as she arched and twisted to the beating
swipes of Stryker's rod the overhead beam did creak, as did the planks when her
feet again touched ground.
	The way his young victim moved to the pain made Stryker's cock
throb in his hand as he masturbated. He calculated each blow, moving with Jennifer
as she spun to stay behind her, sometimes swinging the rod across Jennifer's ass
viciously three or four times, one after the other...then waiting to strike just once but
with all his strength. Then again but not quite as hard.  Then again but harshly,
across the vulnerable flesh of her upper thighs.
	"You little scumbag..." he growled slashing away at his victim, giving
his hatred of female full vent, letting his deepest masculine sadistic nature take
control.
	He whipped the barbed rod across her lower back and across her sides from
her hips to her armpits. Her little hands reached, clenched into fists, reached again,
in silent counterpoint to her gagged screams.
	The roofbeam and floor-planks creaked and groaned as victim and
agressor moved in a sensual ballet of primeval violence.
	Jennifer had never in her young life experienced such limits of pain and terror
and her mind barely clung to sanity.  Drool poured from the edges
of the black ball gag around her lips and tears trickled from her pretty eyes.
There were certain areas where the rod drew almost unbearable pain, the
tender sensitive skin of her lower back and upper thighs, the soft sloping
fullness of her buttocks.  No one had ever raised a hand to her.  Much less
spanked her or whipped her.  She hurt inside too, a deep ugly pain Stryker had
left in her womb after the violent rape-beating in the van.  She felt broken inside.
She cried for her mother, unintelligibly, the gag deforming her words.  She had read
about rape and torture, in books in the library, curious but terrified,
wondering how it would feel to be a victim.  She had watched some movies her
parents had not known about, movies she'd sneaked into with her friends at the
mall, movies about psychotic killers who pursued sexy half-naked females and
stabbed or slashed or axed them to pieces.  In those movies she'd always hidden her
eyes at the scary parts, at the horrible parts, but now she was not allowed to close
her eyes or turn away. Now she was the victim. Now she was the sacrificial lamb
who would be slaughtered.  The monster had told her he was going to kill her. It
was inescapable.  Each terrible stroke of his barbed rod re-inforced his intention.  He
wanted her to hurt and bleed. He spun her around now to face him and she could
look up into his evil smiling face as he jerked off.  
	"I'm gonna tear you to shreds, baby..." he said softly and began swinging
away again.
	Stryker concentrated now on the front of Jennifer's strong slender thighs,
from the hip to the knee.  The legs of a young girl were a favorite target and this
little cunt had nice, long, well-shaped legs.  He enjoyed the way the muscles
flexed in response to the piercing smacks of the studded wooden rod and he looked
into the child's eyes to see the psychological devastation he was wreaking.  He was
breathing faster now, almost hyperventilating, and thick veins pumped blood into his
huge cock which now filled his hand, erect and rigid, his balls tingling.  Each hurtful
smack of the barbed rod raised the stakes for him.  He knew he would soon have to
fuck the little bitch again and he wanted her bloody for it.
	"Stinking little tramp!" he shouted and spun her around, held her by her
upraised arm to beat her calves, sinking the barbs in deep into the screaming child's
flesh, right into the muscle, so viciously that it took all his strength to rip them out
again.
	He turned her again and whipped her shins and the sides of her legs and
thighs, going down into a crouch to aim the devastating blows accurately across
Jenny's bleeding legmeat.
	Then he stood and without warning began to smack the barbed rod into
the vulnerable young breasts of his victim.
	Jennifer screamed shrilly into the gag, her body arching as her arms pulled
downward, wrists snagged in the rope which drew even tighter. Blood spurted from
her wounded nipples and Stryker smiled as his prick swelled.
	He swung her around again and laid into her upper back and shoulder-blades
mercilessly, the thuds and whapps of the torture rod echoing in the
ruined cabin.  
	When Stryker stopped, Jennifer was bleeding from hundreds of wounds and
striped with countless dark-blue bruises.  Sunlight had begun to fade as night
approached and the evening breeze chilled the burning beaten flesh of the
tortured girl.
	Stryker licked her blood off the steel barb-spikes as he circled around her
before tossing the terrible weapon back into the crate.
	Her head hung down weakly, eyes on the floor as she struggled to breathe.
	There was not a single inch of her flesh left untouched by Stryker's rod and
the pain came in deep burning waves.  She felt an odd pressure in her
bladder moaned and began to piss herself.  Blood mixed with urine ran down her
legs and puddled around her arched feet seeping into the cracked floor.
	"Pig..." Stryker growled licking his lips.
	She looked up at him and her tear-filled eyes caught the fading reflections
of the sunlight coming through the broken roof-slats.
	She mumbled something and hung her head again.  He moved closer and
loosened the strap that held the ball-gag against her lips.  He pulled the ball from her
mouth and let it hang around her neck.
	"Something you wanna say to me?" he snarled reaching down to cup her
chin and tilt her face up towards his.
	"...p-pl-please..." she gasped. "...p-please n-no more...p-please..."
	"Open your mouth wide," he ordered.
	She looked up at him, her brows arched in confusion.
	"Do it now you little piece of shit....now...that's right...wide...WIDER!"
	As the young girl did her best to obey her attacker he hawked and spit
into the o' made by her little lips.  Then, as she choked and gagged, he 
released her, drew back and punched her hard right below her little belly button,
winding her, enjoying her wide-eyed shock as she tried impossibly to draw breath,
his yellowish spittle oozing from her mouth.
	"There WILL be more, you little cunt..." he growled hoarsely. "Lots
more...Sweet little bitches like you deserve a lot of fuckin' punishment..."
	Jennifer began to cry softly.
	Stryker bent down to untie her ankles.
	He smelled her piss and her blood, her terror, and it fired every predatorial
instinct in him.
	Then he was lifting her legs, one at a time, to ropes that dangled from the
overhead beam, lifting them high, binding each limb by the ankle, opening the
little girl up so that she hung, legs obscenely spread apart, feet pointing at the fading
sky. He hoisted the pulley that drew on the chain that held her roped wrists, then
adjusted each leg-rope, knotting tightly, hanging her exactly where he needed her to
be, his little fuck-marionette, ready to take him.
	She hung there for him, lost, her mind drifting back to something a long time
before, her momma telling her about the love between a man and a woman, the
love where babies came from and how it happened and how the animals
had mommies and daddies too...and Stryker moved in toward her and she could see
his big tattooed thing, hooking upward as he stood between her bleeding legs and
he took her by the hips...Love makes a man and a woman come together, Momma
had told her.  And it was true that boys, the good looking ones, like the ones on
television, made her feel a little weak although she thought it was gross
that mommy and daddy had done it like that, pee-pee to pee-pee... And now
the Killer's big pee-pee was touching her there where he'd slammed into her
hard, before, in the van, and she could not breathe and her ankles hurt from the
ropes and her wrists hurt so bad, her hands were numb and she just kept saying
please please please please and she could taste his nasty phlegm in her mouth still
and now his thing was about to push into hers and his hands closed around her hips,
his fingers gouging the wounds his rod had inflicted, and he was saying
terrible things to her, mean things, devastating things, calling her terrible names as
he began to slide deep into her open pee-pee, and she could do nothing, nothing,
nothing to stop it but only try to welcome him so he could slide in, to let it happen
as momma had said, her little titties bleeding, that's right, sweetie, that's right, don't
fight it, don't fight it, you little sleazy whore, you little pig, open wide for poppa, his
hard strong hands moving up to her back, squeezing her wounds and bruises,
gripping her as he began to thrust in and out in and out in and out and she was
praying in her mind, praying that it would end, praying that it would stop, praying
that Jesus would grant her mercy as she looked up and watched the sky fading from
a rosy pink to deep scarlet to dark purple and the Killer thrust hungrily into her.
	For Stryker this delicious little slut was absolutely, hands down, one of the
best rapes he'd ever had.  Her vaginal muscles were still tight, even after the
plundering in the van and hanging her this way to fuck her had been a brilliant 
improvisation.  Her little cooze, which had only the faintest blonde fuzz of hair, was
a pink moist slit that could in no way accomodate his now rampant manflesh.
Completely vulnerable in her cruel bondage, Jennifer had absolutely no choice, no
control.  She could do nothing but accept the massive man-flesh that battered and
penetrated her.
	"Yeahh!" Stryker roared. "Shitt...yeahhh!"
	He grabbed his victim by her beaten thighs and slammed in and out of her,
stabbing deeper with each thrust, deeper, until her cute little cunt flowed warm
with blood and lubricating fluid, her body responding in the only way it could.
His hands went up to seize her stretched calves and feel the impact wounds his rod
had left on her as his hips thrust his prick into one of the tightest crevice of girl-flesh
he would ever penetrate.  He grabbed her little titties and squeezed them until the
barbed-rod wounds bled, until her nipples squirted blood down her chest and as he
held the little moaning bitch he pushed in to the hilt, pushed his cock into her,ripped
into her, until his balls bumped up against her bleeding buttcheeks.
	Jennifer's mind slipped, faded, wandered.  Above her the sky was going
black. She was smaller, smaller...She was a doll from the toy box... Mike Riley,
Sally's brother, who was older and liked to bully her...  He had the doll naked.  He
was doing dirty things to it. Dirty things, he said. Real dirty.  Things she did not
understand.  She prayed but the prayers would lose themselves in confusion,
wordless confusion as she bled. Our father who art in heaven...our father... She
could not stand the pain, she was being split open, ripped in half. Please, God! She
was a good girl, a GOOD girl! Why was this happening to her? Wasn't anyone
going to come and stop this? Now the man bit her as he drove his thing to the hilt
in her. His teeth were like sharp spears. The doll's eyes closed and opened, closed
and opened. The killer bit her arms and her titties and her cheeks.  Please! Please!
Oh God! No! No! Her cries were weak.  She was out of breath. Her legs and arms
were numb.  The world reeled around her.  Mike was driving a nail into the doll's
pee-pee, a long, red-hot nail. No! No, Mike! God will punish you! God will send you
to hell!  The killer bit and kissed her mouth as she muttered inchoately, he drooled
on her, his hands squeezing her and hurting her, almost ripping her titties from her
chest.  Mike took the dollie's legs and split them apart breaking them off as she
wailed. They made a funny rubbery noise as they came off and fell to the dirt in the
back yard.
	Jennifer screamed.
	"YEAHHH!" Stryker roared triumphantly. He was completely in his
element, focused and single-minded.  There was nothing but the bleeding child
mind-blown and suffering for him on the ropes now.
	He reached up and began to strangle the child as he fucked her.
	Jennifer gagged, gasped for air, her tongue lolling.
	Stryker's eyes glowed like red coals in the semi-darkness.
	As he jammed himself into his victim the cabin floor creaked.
	He squeezed her warm throat, felt the voice-box vibrate as she cried out
again.  Her little pussy tightened around his shaft as he strangled her.  When she
passed out he slapped her awake and began choking her again until after a few
moments she'd lose consciousness once more.  Each time he brought her around
her little cunt would grip him desperately then relax as he bore down on her little
neck depriving her of oxygen. Stryker had done this before with other females.
He could keep a victim on the edge of death for hours and enjoyed doing so in the
same way a cat enjoyed playing with a half-dead mouse. It was brutal and 
inhuman and for him incredibly pleasurable.  
	When it finally was too dark to see Stryker ceased the choke-raping of his
helpless victim long enough to light three kerosene lanterns which he placed
in a circle around Jennifer on the floor.
	He stood in front of the tortured teenager.  Even in the glow
of the kerosene lamps he could see the ugly bruises around her neck and
the hideous marks his barbed rod had left all over her.  Her anguished, disheveled
condition excited him.  Beaten bleeding females always got to him. It was all he
could do to keep himself from reaching into the crate, taking the butcher knife and
finishing her right then.  Instead, he let the thought of killing  with the knife come
and go from his mind, savoring the sense of his life-and-death power over the
helpless child. The time for killing would come later. Now he breathed deeply,
jerked himself off slowly for a few moments watching her as she hung on the ropes
almost motionless.  Then he saw her eyes, brimming with tears, catch the kerosene
lamp-light as she looked up at him.
	"P-please..." she said softly, tenuously. "Don't you - can't you see? God - w-
will - punish - y-you - for - this..." 
	"Maybe," he said, reaching into the crate for the long steel needles.
	"But in the meantime..." He grinned malovently and held up the needles so
she could see them. They gleamed in the pale glow of the kerosene lanterns. They
made a clicking metallic noise as they rubbed together in his hand.
	"...It's me, not God, who will be doing the punishing."
	He slid down on one knee before her as she began to shake her head and cry.  
	Her screams would be sharp and shrill but as the night wore on they would
be weaker until there would be only the sighing of the wind in the trees outside and
Stryker's cold heartless voice coldly and methodically destroying her.

3.

	Carol Hadley had very little time to think.
	The man had come out of nowhere in the parking lot outside Graytree Mall
and held her against the side of the van, a strong steely hand gripping her shoulder
and a black gun pressed to the side of her left breast
	"If you scream or try to run I'll blow your fucking tits off right here," he
said quietly. "But if you want to see your daughter alive, you'll come with me."
	The way the man had made his move it was impossible for any passersby
to be aware that anything was going on. Besides the afternoon light had faded into
evening and visibility was already difficult. It was exactly what he'd planned.
	Dear God, Carol thought.  He's the one who's got my baby.
	Stryker watched the woman carefully.  He remembered the way she'd
looked in the green bikini before she'd dived into the pool, her smooth face raised,
eyes closed, to the sun. Now, up close, even in the reddish light of the parking lot
sodium lamps, she was stunning.
	She wore a summery ligh-blue dress with a v' neck and white, high-heel
sandals and, though she had not been able to mask the dark circles of sleeplessness
under her eyes, her make-up and hair were perfect, as though she'd stepped right
out of an ad in a woman's fashion magazine.  He was ready to kill her if he had to
knowing that the blast of the gun at that close range would rip a hole in her chest
the size of a softball and pulverize her heart.  If it went that way he would enjoy it
too, though it would be short-lived.  He sometimes enjoyed a violent kill and had
indulged such tastes now and then.  He liked what a gun did to a woman's body
and had used quite a few bitches for target practice.  There was nothing like fucking
a young female who was dying from multiple bullet wounds... But in this case he
would have no time to enjoy himself after the kill.  In fact, he rarely risked
abductions or murder in public places. But now he had no choice.  Jennifer Hadley
didn't have long to live and if he wanted momma to watch her baby die he would
have to act quickly.
	"Alright," Carol Hadley replied.  She had come to the mall to ask security to
post the missing child notices with Jenny's picture on it. The last thing she had
expected was to be accosted by her little girl's kidnapper.
	Now she had chosen to go with him.  She had chosen to obey. It would not
be the last choice she would have to make but it would determine the end of her
freedom forever. 
	At gunpoint Stryker led her into the van and made her get on her knees and
strip naked.  He was amazed at how easily women could be forced into nudity and
submission and it pleased him to no end to push that envelope as far as possible.
	She kept her eyes lowered as she pulled her short dress up over her head.
	Stryker watched her, his cock already making a sizable bulge in his tight
jeans.  Just two hours earlier he'd emptied his balls for the third time in this cunt's
daughter and now, incredibly, he was already primed and ready for some action
with momma.
	Carol reached back to undo her black bra.
	She did not look up at her assailant but spoke softly to the closed doors of the
van behind him.
	"Is Jennifer ok?" she asked.
	"She's alive," he replied. OK was not the best way to describe Jennifer's
physical and psychological condition.
	Carol's eyes momentarily rose to his.  They were big and blue, slightly
swollen and bloodshot from the past couple of nights of sleepless anxiety he had
caused her.  He was going to enjoy seeing the will, the humanity, the dignity and
finally the life fade from them.
	The bra fell away to reveal a beautiful pair of plump pink, brown-nippled
orbs, which made Stryker glad he didn't have to use the gun earlier. These tits,
which he gauged to be at least 38D's, needed to be put to some serious torture.
	Her eyes fell from his fearfully, submissively.
	She continued to kneel there motionless and he put the barrel of the gun to
her forehead.
	"Now the panties, bitch...I want you butt-naked."
	She looked up at him again.
	"Are you going to kill me?" Her voice cracked slightly.
	"I will kill you right here and now if you don't get those goddamned panties
off."
	Slowly, unwillingly, a scarlet blush darkening her cheeks, Carol Hadley pulled
her panties down off her wide hips, sat briefly on the floor and pulled them down
and off her long slender legs then knelt naked again before her abductor. She still
had her white high-heel sandals on.
	He enjoyed her for a few moments.  The bitch had a flat smooth belly that
bore not even the smallest trace of a stretch mark.  Her abdomen was firm,  the rib-
cage well-delineated, and there was no hint of cellulite on her thighs or calves.  Not
bad for a goddamned house-wife.
	"Put your hands behind you," he ordered.
	Taking the leather manacles from the canvas bag on the floor he cuffed her
wrists behind her noting her well-manicured, long, red-painted finger nails; then with
a stretch of rope he tied her ankles together. She had nice feet, small and pretty and
her toe-nails were painted the same shade as her finger-nails. He gagged her with a
huge red ball-gag which he had to force into her
mouth as she grunted and then he blindfolded her with a strip of black cloth. Then
he forced her to lie down on the floor of the van where just three days before he'd
violated her hapless daughter.
	Before the vehicle left the parking lot Carol Hadley knew she had made an
irreversible mistake. As her abductor started the engine she began to cry, her sobs
muffled inside the soundproof van, her bound, high-heeled feet kicking against the
metal side panel.
	

4.

	In the three days Stryker had kept Jennifer at the cabin he had subjected her
to savage ritualistic torture and rape.  But the pleasure he'd derived from the
teenage girl's agony now paled before the sensations he felt as he watched the
reaction of the mother upon seeing her daughter when he removed the blindfold.
	 Jennifer hung from the roof-beam of the ramshackle structure naked upside
down by her ankles from a metal spreader bar, her beaten, bruised, bloody legs
apart in a wide v', arms rope-bound behind her,  big steel needles sticking out of
her pink labia and mons and sprouting from her little tits and nipples like porcupine
quills.  She hovered over a puddle of her own faeces, vomit and urine, the smell of
which was nearly overpowering and into which her long blonde hair dipped. The
welts and pierce-wounds the barbed rod had left on her first day of suffering were
only hideous groundwork for more serious darker bruises and stripes from several
beatings Stryker had consequently dealt the helpless child.  Repeatedly, he'd used
his fists on her but he'd also worked her with a wooden dowel slightly thicker than
a broomstick (which he'd rammed up her asshole when he finished), several thick
electrical cords and a bullwhip.  There were small burn marks all over Jennifer's
belly and tits, some on her bleeding asscheeks and legs, some even on her face from
a smouldering cigarette her assailant had lit, puffed on and then pushed into her skin
then eventually stubbed out on her pin-pierced pussy as she hung there.  Stryker
had raped her at least seven times in the last two days, three times up the ass,
always cumming in her mouth and face.  He had completely broken the child
physically and psychologically and now he was going to show the mother just how
far his cruelty would go.
	"Oh dear Jesus," Carol Hadley sobbed.  She started to move toward her
daughter but Stryker kept her back tugging on her manacled wrists.
	Earlier, he had ungagged her and untied her legs, but he'd left the manacles
and the blindfold on her, forcing her to step unsteadily from the van and walk
behind him, led by a stretch of rope around her slender neck on the dirt road up to
the cabin as he walked ahead of her, gun in hand.
	Now he pushed the barrel of the gun into her shoulderblades between her
bound arms.
	"Kneel, fuckface," he commanded.
	Carol Hadley was a beautiful woman, always had been, and most of her life
she'd been incredibly fortunate.  In fact, for most of her life, her beauty had put her
in a position of control. Ron Hadley, her former husband, had been a stock broker
she'd seduced while temping at his office downtown after dropping out of college.
Her marriage had lasted almost eight years. The divorce had left her with a hefty
settlement as  well as a sizable alimony that would ensure a life of leisure for her and
her daughter.  It had always been her private intention to divorce Ron once she'd
had a child.  She secretly despised her eager-to-please husband who'd done
everything in his power to make her happy.  She had accepted the jewelry, the cars,
the trips and had done little by way of physically satisfying her hard-working
spouse, driving him nearly insane with frustration until finally she sued him for
divorce on grounds of incompatibility. 
	Now her good fortune and her scheming ways had come to an end. Now she
was definitely NOT in control...This man had complete power over her and Jennifer. 
Their lives were in his hands and there was absolutely nothing she could do, nothing
at all but obey,  sliding down weakly to her knees on the hard creaking wood, tears
streaming from her eyes and down her cheeks as she looked up at her daughter.
	"What have you done to her? Oh dear God...my baby..."
	"Your baby and I have been getting to know each other," Stryker
told her coldly as he slid the rope off her neck, put the gun on the floor and began
to unbutton his shirt.
	"We've been getting to know each other real well."
	"Jenny?" Carol Hadley called out. "Jenny, it's momma.  It's your mom,
honey...Oh Jesus...Is she dead?"
	Stryker slid out of his shirt kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants down,
picked up the gun and stood naked his tattooed cock almost in Carol's face.
	"She's not dead...She's just not talking to you that's all."
	"...not - ? Why? Jenny - Jenny - why won't you talk to me...?"
	"Tell her, slut. Tell your mother why you won't talk to her."
	Jennifer's voice was eerie, calm, almost monotone and very weak.
	"...I - belong - to - M-Master...I - speak - only - to - Him."
	Stryker watched Carol's face, a gloating sneer on his lips.
	"Tell your mother what you are," Stryker prompted, the way a teacher
prompts a slow student in a classroom.
	Jennifer answered almost immediately in the same weak monotone voice.
	"I'm your worthless whore. I'm a hole for your cock and meat for your
whips, Master."
	The terrible words coming from the teenage child's lips as she hung upside
down,  eyes fixed and unmoving, overwhelmed Carol Hadley. She had never heard
Jenny utter anything like the obscene words that had just escaped her lips.  She
understood instantly that this monster had utterly broken Jennifer, turned her
daughter into a torture puppet, a mindless, hollow shell, a plaything.  The captured
woman looked up at her abductor with a mixture of awe and horror as he stood
naked, the gun aimed at her head, his free hand stroking his massive tattoed penis.
	"What do you want?" she asked.
	Stryker stepped up to his nude kneeling captive and without warning swung
a harsh open-handed slap across her face.  Carol gave out a choked off cry and
toppled sideways to the rotten cabin floor.
	"I want blood, fuckface..."
	He stood over the sprawled nude woman, aimed the gun at her
right ankle, about half and inch above the thin white strap that held her
white high-heel sandal to her leg, and fired.  The explosive report of the pistol was
deafening in the small cabin. Jennifer quivered responsively to the loud sound then
hung motionless.  Carol shrieked in agony as the bullet ripped through her leg and
smashed through the rotten boards shattering her tibia and spinning her violently
back against the wooden wall near the doorway.  Instantly, the very thing that
Stryker wanted began to spurt from the torn vessels in her leg and  to puddle on
the floor. 
	 Carol cowered away from the killer, dragged herself into the corner of the
room as he stepped closer walking barefoot through her warm life-fluid. He
continued to jerk himself off slowly as he raised the gun aiming it at her belly.
	He stood directly over her and she pressed her face into the rotten moldiness
of the cabin's wall and shut her eyes tightly waiting for the terrible impact of the
next bullet, whining, her bound arms wriggling helplessly.
	"Die now or die later," Stryker said softly leaning over her to press the
hot gun-barrel into her lower belly. "...Now...or later, pig.  Your choice." 
  	This new choice Stryker was giving her was not ultimately clear and the
devastating pain of the bullet wound in her pretty leg was not letting her think.
	"...don't kill me...please...don't kill me..." she pleaded. "I can give you
money...lots - l-lots of money - please -" 
	"I don't need your fucking money, whore...now, I gave you a choice. Make it
or it will be made for you."
	She whimpered and trembled as he pressed the gun into her abdomen.
	"Later! Pleease! Later!"
	Stryker smiled, placed the gun on the window-ledge and seized Carol by her
short-cropped blonde hair to pull her back up on her knees.  She groaned
in pain as her wounded leg twisted under her.
	"Open your mouth, dirtbag," he spat twisting her face up to look down at
her. "I'm gonna piss in it."
	She grimaced and made an odd sound of disgust but as he yanked on her
hair she did exactly as he ordered.
	"Wider!" he shouted.
	She obeyed unwillingly and closed her eyes as urine hissed from the slit on
the huge crown of Stryker's tattoed cock. It bubbled and gurgled in her mouth as
she gagged and when she tried to close her mouth he yanked on her hair harder.
	"Keep it wide open for me, pig, WIDE OPEN!"
	Hot man-piss splashed down her chin and neck, droplets speckled her
rouged cheeks and burned into her eyes.  Through half-open lids she could see
Jennifer hanging upside down just a few feet away.  The child was looking right at
her and as Stryker emptied his bladder in her mouth, she tried to read the zombie-
eyed,  enigmatic expression on Jennifer's face. She'd never seen such an expression
before. Jenny's eyes were dead, emotion-less. Carol sobbed with grief for her
daughter. She could barely imagine what the man had put her through and now he
was making her watch her mother being shot and horribly humiliated. This monster
was going to kill them both and take his pleasure from it. It was completely
unthinkable but she was sure now it would not end any other way.  And the worst
thing was that she was powerless to stop the horror. No one knew she had been
taken from the parking lot at the mall. No one knew where she and her daughter
were.  The world beyond the cabin and the woods was going on about its usual
daily business while she and Jennifer were being viciously and methodically tortured
and exterminated.
	As the flow of urine died down to a slow trickle Stryker pulled the kneeling
woman's face to his prick.
	"Take it in your mouth," he said flatly.
	Wordlessly she cupped her lips around the pissing penis, tasting
the acrid fluid as it slid down her throat, whining as he held her head, her eyebrows
furrowed, she choking, urine coming up and out her nostrils as she pressed her lips
against the cockshaft.  
	Stryker pulled his organ gently from her lips and rubbed it all over her face
as the final droplets of piss oozed from it then he yanked on her hair forcing her to
move across the room on her knees, crying in pain as she dragged her wounded
bleeding leg.
	From the crate he drew a dog-leash chain and wound it twice around her
neck then he pulled her up against the hanging child wrapping the other end of the
chain around Jenny's neck tightly so that mother and daughter were
pulled almost cheek to cheek, the child's face upside down, neutral, drooling, eyes
blank, the mother's anguished, piss-covered.
	"Show momma how you suck my cock, slut," Stryker said stepping up to
the females, pushing his long flesh-shaft against Jennifer's cheek.
	"Yes, Master," Jennifer responded instantly in her robotic voice opening her
mouth wide and turning her face to take him.  Slowly, her head began to bob back
and forth and her whole suspended body began to swing from the motion.  Her
cuffed ankles were trapped by the spreader bar and her legs, held wide apart,
covered with wounds and bruises, rippled slightly as she made herself swing against
him.
	"Nice..." Stryker said hoarsely. "Good girl..."
	He glanced sidelong into Jenny's mother's disbelieving face and sneered as
she watched her daughter perform.
	"Now, you," he said looking down at Carol. "Suck my balls."
	Hesitantly, Carol leaned forward and began to lick at the big soft flesh-sacs
under Stryker's long cock.
	"You're gonna have to do better than that, cunt," he growled pulling on the
chain, choking both of them, biting his lip, a fierce look on his face
making the woman begin to really work his genitals.  He watched mother and
daughter neck-chained to each other as they sucked and licked his pulsing organs,
their eyes closed.  Occasionally they came in contact,  the spit from Jennifer's
mouth rolling down into her mom's temple,  Carol's hair sticking to Jenny's cheek. 
The physical sensation of their pretty mouths on him as well as the psychological
high of his power over them made Stryker real hard very fast.
His prick felt like a hot steel poker, a true killing weapon. He grabbed them both by
their heads ramming himself as deep as he could go into the child's throat, pulling
the mother against his hot tingling balls.  He had them both exactly where he
wanted them and they were responding the way bitches always did.  They were
giving him pleasure, giving him the upper hand, obediently, submissively.
The roof-beam and floor-boards creaked as Stryker rocked on his feet and
leaned his head back, eyes closed, his lips apart in sexual rapture, his hands
firmly grasping the heads of the two females, Jennifer swinging by her legs,
Carol on her knees, gasping for air as she was slammed against the killer's hot sex-
meat and dizzy from the loss of blood.  Then, Stryker pulled his cock from
Jennifer's eager mouth and as she whined softly, like a child deprived of a toy, he
aimed his now pulsing red and fully erect manspear into Carol's mouth.
	"Take me," he said softly.
	Her big blue eyes, suffering eyes, eyes that pled with him as she moaned
looked up into his as he slid into her throat, filling his kneeling slut to capacity, both
his hands grabbing her head to fuck her face.  As his prick entered
and exited Jennifer licked at it, her tongue caressing the cartoon of the
dagger-pierced heart.  He yanked on the leash chain and the females gasped for air
as he choked them. Heedlessly he continued to thrust in and out of Carol Hadley's
lips his cock gleaming wetly with Jennifer's spit. He tugged on the leash until their
faces flushed dark red.  Both whores were broken now.  Jennifer, after his three day
onslaught, no longer had any sense of self, she had surrendered completely;  Carol,
subdued by the gunshot wound and on the edge of
traumatic shut-down was rapidly on the way to following her daughter's example. 
He knew both bitches would soon be dead and he had to struggle with himself to
stick to the plans he'd made... although what he really wanted to do was pull on the
chain-leash until they stopped breathing.  
	In the final phase of a slaughter it was important to remain in absolute
control.  It had taken many years for Stryker to attain this mastery. And now he
needed to reap the benefits of his experience.  The opportunity to take down a
mother and daughter as perfectly as this might never repeat itself and the event had
to be fully exploited.  Each kill was different. For Stryker each act had its own
specific significance and individuality, it's own special karma.  He had killed mother
and daughter pairs before.  In fact, such murders were a kind of fetish for him. He
had killed the mother of a pregnant slut once after making her watch while he and
his men beat the baby out of the daughter's womb only to smash it against a wall
(he'd let the woman live after killing her mom and her baby but read in the
newspaper that she'd committed suicide some weeks later); he had killed a mother
and daughter who made porno films together in order to make a snuff-video which
later sold thousands of copies (many believed it to be fake).  But the Hadley females
were very special to him.  He had gotten all he could from Jennifer.  The three days
had been an absolutely perfect fulfillment of every sadistic impulse in him. Now he
was about to consummate the event as he had conceived it and he held the
orgasmic waves back as they reared up inside him. He clenched his teeth together
and grunted and gripped the heads of his two kill-whores. Nothing would alter his
direction more completely than an unforeseen orgasm.  And he wasn't about to let
that happen.
	He pulled slowly out of Carol Hadley's mouth and stepped back unwinding
the leash-chain from around her neck and then from Jenny's neck letting it slide to
the floor.
	Carol slumped down on her haunches, her head falling forward, eyes
downcast.
	Stryker knew he had to stop the bleeding from her ankle or the bitch would
die prematurely on him.
	He took her by her shoulders and eased her down to the floor so that she lay
on her side. 
	"Don't want you bleeding to death, pig," he told her as he handled her. "I
got something a lot better in mind for you..."
	She was crying softly, desolately.
	He took a piece of rope and bent over her to bind her wounded ankle back
against her thigh. As he folded her bleeding leg she cried out, her hands balled into
fists, long nails pressed into her palms.  Smiling, he wound the rope around the
ankle, six times, making each coil of rope squeeze into her creamy flesh below the
ugly bleeding gash where the bullet had torn through.  As Carol screamed with pain
he wound the rope around both her thigh and the ankle, as tight as it would go. He
finished by looping the remaining rope around the connecting strands so that her leg
was pulled snugly against itself, the heel of her high-heel sandal pressing against her
asscheek.  By the time he finished with this crude tourniquet the blood flow from
the wound had slowed to a slight watery trickle. Then he rolled her on her back and
pulled her thighs apart.
	"...no..." she sobbed. "Oh God sweet God no!"
	Jennifer was looking down at her, that same lifeless expression on her face,
lovely blonde hair draped to the floor.
	Stryker knelt between Carol's legs and put his cock to her sweet pink pussy. 
He was gonna fuck momma in front of her broken baby, just as he had planned.
	"Please," she begged. "Let us go...please...why are you doing this?"
	Still smiling Stryker began to shove his big meat into Carol Hadley's cunt.
	"Agghhh!" she cried her head twisting from side to side as he penetrated her.
"nn-nnnhhh..."
	"Let you go...? ...you goddamn whore," he snarled as he bore down into her.
	"Fuck that...You wanna know why I'm doing this...huh? You really wanna
know..." His eyes stared her down savagely... "I'm doing it because I can..."
	Jennifer watched Stryker fuck her mother betraying no emotion but after a
few moments tears welled up in the child's eyes and trickled on to her forehead and
into her hair-line.  For her the world was upside down.  The floor was the ceiling
and the monster had pinned her mother to it and was filling her.
There was a part deep within her that was horrified by what Stryker was doing to
her and her momma but now there was something else, something he had shown
her, a dark yearning emptiness inside herself which longed to be filled.  She had
learned under Stryker's lash and his fists exactly what a woman was for.  He had
taught her that she was nothing but a little whore underneath all her
good-girl bullshit.  He had wiped away all the confusion, all the expectations.
Everything was very simple, really.  He owned both of them now.  They were
his to do with as he pleased and nothing else in the world was of any importance
any longer but his pleasure, his terrible unyielding unstoppable sadistic
pleasure.
	Carol Hadley was being taught a similar lesson as the powerful man
grabbed her luscious tits and put his whole weight into her to thrust himself into her. 
He fucked her savagely, pistoning his long fat prick in and out of her
slit.  He moved his big hands down her slender body to take her unbound leg by the
thigh and the tied-up wounded leg by the knee, occasionally leaning over to lick at
the bullet-wound in her ankle, to suck some blood out of her and to bite that
wounded leg again and again from the roped ankle to the knee.  He feasted on her,
as he had on Jennifer, banged her with unleashed violence,  made her bounce
against the rotten floor-boards of the cabin.  His body rose up off her, his cock
sliding almost all the way out and then he slammed back down into her...up and
down...in and out...over and over...faster and faster... jamming
her to the limit.  He leaned down and bit her tits and nipples drawing blood.
	"...filthy fucking goddamned whore..." he growled, going at her
with unstoppable fury.
	As he fucked Carol he looked over at Jennifer, saw the gleam of tears on the
teen's face and forehead and gave out a triumphant affirmative shout.
	He slid out of momma's cunt, the same cunt that had given birth to the
little whore that now hung there covered with bruises and blood, pins sticking out of
her, upside down, crying, broken and he lifted Carol slightly up off the floor-boards,
momma's crystalline-blue eyes opening and staring at the evening sky through the
cracks in the ceiling. Dark clouds were billowing up there as Stryker put his hot red
sex-stick to the small star-shaped anal aperture of his captive. 
	"Take it up the ass you piece of shit!"
	Momma's scream was shrill.  Stryker roared like an angry bull pounding into
Carol Hadley's flanks with his fists as he  drove deep and hard into tight rectal
woman-meat.
	Thunder cracked in the distance.
	It was darker in the cabin as the last bit of sunlight faded.
	Stryker's cock slid in and out of his victim's shit-hole.
	The more she screamed the harder he fucked her.
	She began to bleed.
	Piss dribbled from her pussy.
	He beat her angrily.
	One of her ribs snapped.
	Inside her belly something ruptured.
	Her cries were different now...howling yelps.
	"...Mommy...?" Jennifer groaned pitifully.
	Carol looked over at her hanging daughter.
	Stryker slammed his fist into momma's face.
	He grabbed her head and pounded it against the floor.
	When her eyes rolled back and she was almost unconscious he
stopped the head-bashing but kept fucking her.
	Outside there was a soft hissing spattering sound.
	It crept through the woods and rolled over the cabin.
	Thunder boomed closer.	
	Raindrops hammered into the walls and roof of the cabin.
	"Yeahhhh..." Stryker moaned as the cool drops came throught the holes
in the roof and pelted his chest.
	The slaughter was going to be beautiful...better than he could have imagined.


5.
	Rain is dripping down on them from the broken ceiling.
	He has left Jennifer hanging upside down but he has taken the line that the
spreader bar she hangs from is connected to.  He has drawn that line to a pulley
hooked to the ceiling beam.
	The opposite end of the line leads back down to an eyelet in a metal bar,
which he forces Carol to hold, she standing on one high-heeled foot, the other leg,
the wounded leg, still bound in a folded position against her thigh.  The metal bar is
almost beyond her reach so that she is forced to stretch upward to her limit looking
almost like a trapeze artist about to launch off a platform for her big
moment in the circus show. A trickle of blood moves down the back of her neck
from under her blonde hair from where a floor-nail gashed her skull.
	Thunder cracks outside.
	The killer has given Carol a real good reason to hold on to the metal bar.  A
large metal vat full of gasoline placed directly under Jennifer's head has provided all
the necessary motivation.
	If momma releases the bar her baby will slide down head first and 
drown in gasoline.
	Stryker now takes a hammer and a three inch wood spike as he kneels
in front of momma.
	He puts the metal tip of the spike to Carol Hadley's big toe.
	Her body is exquisitely stretched by the upward tension-weight of her
daughter's body drawing on the pulley line.
	Her foot still shod in the white high-heel sandal is arched and she
whimpers helplessly looking down on Stryker, knowing and understanding his
intention.
	"Don't let go of the bar, slut..." he tells her holding the spike steady, glancing
up at her, his evil green eyes slitted with sick pleasure.
	Jennifer hangs mute and almost unconscious.  Some blood vessels in her
head are already near bursting from hanging in her inverted position for such an
extended period of time.  The pungent dizzying smell of the gasoline fumes
coming up from the vat fills her nostrils and she drools, glassy eyed, her mind gone.
	Stryker raises the hammer.
	Carol Hadley trembles, shuts her eyes and looks away.
	It takes three blows to drive the spike through her toe and shoe and into the
floor.
	Her screams are piercingly shrill but she does not let go of the metal bar.
	Stryker caresses the standing leg, runs his fingers and palm upward against
the strong calve muscle, cupping the round knee going past it to grip the bruised
thigh., then back to the knee, so perfectly spherical
	"Hang on, bitch..." he tells her. "Hang on for me..."
	He puts the hammer on the floor by the woman's pierced foot and goes to
the wooden crate on the other side of the cabin.  As he walks back toward her she
sees the bullwhip.
	Its the same one he has used on Jennifer. The child's blood is still on it.
	"Oh God please no!" she pleads.
	But the lash is already whistling through the air.
	The thick braided tongue snarls around her belly and sweeps around her to
sting her flank.  Stryker draws it back to swing it again.  Sharply whistling and
snapping the bullwhip breaks against Carol like angry waves on a reef, ripping into
the front of her body from her knees to her tits, finding the middle of her belly
again and again, leaving hot burning welt-slashes behind.  The killer makes the
bullwhip wrap around his tormented bitch, snaking up off the floor to bite at her
and curl around her upstretched body, marking the broad sweep of her
back from her ass-cheeks to her waist.  For Stryker whipping a woman is like
fucking her...he fucks Carol Hadley with his whip, tears into her, stops now and then
only to begin again before she can recover.  He wants to hit her hard enough to
make her let go of the bar which holds Jennifer above the gasoline and he swings
with all his might but at the same time he hopes she will hold on, arms upstretched,
and prolong his gluttonous need for destruction. When she's covered with stripes
and blue and red streaks all over her belly, thighs and back he drops the lash and
moves toward her.
	He bends to pick up the hammer again.
	"..no no no no no no no..." she whinnies.
	She no longer looks like a picture in a woman's magazine. Her hair is a
twisted mess.  Sweat pours down her face.  Her mascara runs in streaks. She looks
like a freak in  Marilyn Manson concert.
	He goes down on one knee and takes a firm grasp of her thigh. Then,
still holding her thigh, his fingers digging into the warm whip-marked flesh,  he
brings the hammer down hard on the top of her spiked bleeding foot. The blow
cracks the bone and her leg twitches spastically. Her wailing cry makes him swoon
with lust.  His hand moves up her thigh to grab her bruised love-hole.  He thrusts
his thumb up her slimy pussy and digs his fingers into her cunt-mound as he raises
the hammer again.
	"...pleeeeease!" she begs. 
	"Goddamn pig..."
	This time he pounds the hammer into her small toes, smashing them against
the floor, breaking three of them.
	"Ghhhhaaaggghhhrrrr!" she keens head thrown back mouth gaping,
raindrops spattering her face.
	"That's right, cunt...scream your fuckin' guts out..."
	Another hammer blow destroys the rest of the small bones in Carol Hadley's
foot and the broken skin bleeds and begins to swell darkly.  She can barely hang on
now and the bar has begun to slip from her grip.  Jennifer's head descends into the
vat, most of her long hair immersed in the gasoline.
	Stryker gets slowly to his feet.
	He reaches out to hold Carol by upraised arm.
	Supported on one leg, stretched upward, quivering, she sobs and pleads with
him.
	He enjoys hearing her beg.
	Bending slightly he swings the heavy metal weapon smashing the hammer-
head into the unfortunate woman's prominent hip-bone.
	The blow makes her half-twist away almost gouging her spiked toe off the
floor. 
	Again, Stryker swings the hammer into her hip with a crunching thud
that cracks the bone and twists her in the opposite direction.
	Growling, teeth bared, the sadistic killer's head lunges toward the tortured
woman and he bites her welt-striped belly, sinking his teeth deep, stepping back to
raise the hammer and smash into the triangle of her crotch.  Pacing around her he
strikes at her other hip with the hammer.  He smashes the metal weapon into the
knee of the folded leg.
	Though Carol Hadley is enveloped in terrible agony she still manages
somehow to hold on to the metal bar above her head that keeps her daughter in
mid-air above the drowning vat.
	"Hang on, pig...hang on..." the killer snarls walking around her now to
strike at her back with the hammer.  He wants to make her let go but he wants her
not to...mostly he wants her to SUFFER...The weapon makes a hard fleshy echoing
thudd as he pounds into one shoulderblade, making the bitch twist and jerk in that
direction and then he slams the other shoulder making her swing the other way in a
chaotic, rhythm-less dance as her killer jerks off, enjoying her
horrific anguish.
	Now Stryker moves across the room, leaving Carol struggling to hold on to
the overhead bar, almost passing out with the overwhelming pain from her broken
bones, arms reaching up, head hanging down.
	He steps under a gap in the roof where rain is pouring in and stops
to lean his head back and drink the cool water.  He stands under the downpour and
the rain flows through his thick dark hair and down his shoulders and back as he
jerks off slowly.
	Then he moves toward the hanging teenage girl.
	He stands beside her, the hammer in his hand, turned now so that the
forked end is on the front.
	Jenny floats above the gasoline vat and there's distant echoes in her mind.
There are fading lights and sparklers, rockets that explode in the summer sky.
	The killer raises the weapon.
	"Nooo!" Carol shrieks as she looks up to see what Stryker is about to do.
	Spiked end first he slams the child with the hammer. The metal forks gouge
into her smooth exposed belly.  She makes a grunting breathless noise.
	He tears the killing tool out of her.
	Blood pours out of her belly. Bits of viscera.
	He licks his lips.
	...swings again, this time burying the spiked forks into the concave hollow
between her ribs.  When he tears it out, the child shivers and the chain jangles
against the wood and Carol is pulled almost off the floor, held there by her
spiked foot, howling in agony.
	He's about to swing again when the child shudders and pukes up blood
which spews down her face and into the gasoline.  He hesitates, hammer poised to
strike, reconsiders and reaches out to pull the steel pins from Jennifer's sex-mound
and legs. Long lines of trickling blood move down the teenager's body from the
pin-wounds and plop into the vat below.  The blood makes spiraling clouds that
dissipate in the orange fuel.
	Stryker goes back to the groaning mother, pins and hammer in hand.
	He raises the forked end of the hammer to her lips.
	It is covered in Jenny's blood.
	"Hold it and don't drop it, pig," he commands.
	Sobbing plaintively the tortured slut accepts the weapon that has just been
used on her daughter's body in her lips and her teeth clamp down on the metal.
	She can taste Jenny's blood on the killing tool.
	Stryker now carefully and methodically begins to pierce the twelve pins he
removed from Jennifer into her mom's delicious tits.
	The hammer's weight pulls down on Carol Hadley's jaw, digs into the flesh
under her tongue, slightly disfiguring her as she grips it in her mouth, her bloodshot
eyes following every move her torturer makes, her hands and arms numb from
holding Jenny's sagging weight.
	"Owwghh!" she howls as he drives the metal pins into firm tit-flesh.
	He smiles and looks at her after each pin is thrust to the hilt.
	"Y-yaaahhhgghh!"
	Each pin slowly, ever so slowly and terribly driven home.
	"Ayyyhhh!"
	He hawks and spits in her face, catching her by surprise and making her
swing her head away eyes tightly shut.  Her teeth slip on the metal of the hammer
and tighten again as she grunts: "gghhaarggg!"
	"Fucking pig....goddamn worthless piece of shit scumbag...THIS is what you
deserve! You and your filthy daughter."
	He stabs a pin hard into her bruised pussy mound and pushes it deep ripping
right into her bladder until blood spurts from the howling
slaughter-whore's cunt.
	Finally he puts one pin through each of her rosy nipples making the
bitch scream raucously and jerk and twist helplessly, her head rocking backward.
	Taking the hammer from her mouth he slides down into a crouch.
	He studies Carol Hadley's standing leg, the shattered pierced high-heeled foot,
the tense thigh muscles straining; he reaches out and feels the knee-cap,
hard and firm as she trembles and quivers, shifting constantly to keep her balance.
The knee-bone is beautiful. His hand keeps coming back to it. Circling it. Caressing
it. It is perfectly spherical, the skin flexing around it as the woman moves. He
touches it, squeezes it, the way a sculptor would if he were shaping clay. It is the
midpoint of her wounded leg, the point of maximum tension. Stryker knows it is
highly sensitive with nerve bundles.  He licks his lips and smiles thinking of what he
will do to it.  He leans forward to cup his lips around it, gently gripping it in his
teeth.  A trickle of spit runs down her shin to her broken foot.  She groans between
sobbing gasps looking down as his lips leave her leg.  
	Raindrops spatter hard against the walls and roof of the cabin.
	Taking careful aim, raising the spiked end of the hammer, Stryker looks up
into Carol's suffering face then down again at her leg...
	"...mmmmm..." he moans softly and with devastating precision he swings the
weapon with all his strength across the woman's lovely knee.
	With a loud snap the knee-cap shatters in a bloody burst of flesh and bone-
bits and Carol Hadley's hands finally release the bar. She  shrieks mindlessly and
topples backward against the cabin wall to slide and crumple to the floor in horrible
pain.
	Jennifer Hadley slides downward , her face into the gasoline, her head
bumping the bottom of the vat as the suspension pulley-chain catches in
the roof beam keeping the child's body from toppling downward completely,
keeping her suspended as she begins to drown, bubbling and sputtering, blinded and
suffocated in the volatile fluid.
	Carol tries to stand, reaching for the metal bar which is now near the broken
ceiling. She falls back and tries to crawl toward the vat but her spiked foot keeps
her nailed to the floor and she topples forward to scratch at the wooden planks
wailing watching her child's suspended body shuddering and spasming.  Raindrops
coming through the roof spatter her bruised, broken shoulders and back.
	Stryker watches the child drown in the gasoline.
	He can see the horror on her face through the rippling bubbling surface
as she tries to breathe, inhaling the fuel into her throat and lungs.  An ugly snarl
distorts his face as he masturbates frenziedly.  He watches the child die and
has to fight the orgasm that threatens to explode in him.  What a lovely
death...lovely, brutal and slow...Jenny burning up inside, poisoned and drowned
simultaneously her eyes blinded by the gasoline, her body jiggling.  It is a
masterpiece of slaughter...perhaps one of his most inspired kills...and momma,
clawing at the floor, unable to reach her baby, screaming and babbling.
	After almost ten minutes Jennifer is finally still, her eyes wide in death.
	He moves across the room, stepping over the sobbing broken woman on the
floor and pulls down on the metal bar hauling the dead child up out of the drowning
vat.  Dripping, her blonde hair hanging in thick knotted strands, mouth wide, her
face sunburn-red, neck slowly turning purple, Jennifer is a horrible sight, an image
which is light years from the first time the killer first spotted her in the park drinking
from the water fountain in her white gym shorts and red Disney t-shirt...she is now
an image from which most humane beings would turn away and gag, but to which
Stryker is drawn like a religious fanatic to a sacred object.
	He moves the vat of gasoline out of the way and releases the child from her
final bondage to lay her dead body on the floorboards.
	Taking the butcher knife now from the crate he kicks the child's legs open
and sinks down to his knees.
	"Watch me," he tells the mother.
	Carol Hadley, lying on her belly and lost in a haze of pain raises her head to
see the killer now lift Jennifer's ass off the floor and impale his cock deep in her little
dead cunt.  She watches the final desecration of her murdered child as the monster
begins to fuck Jenny.
	"Dear...sweet...Jesus..." she gasps.
	Stryker pulls his prick out of the girl's pussy and slides into her asshole.
	His cock is so hard now that he penetrates effortlessly into the unyielding
gasoline-soaked meat of the dead female.
	He pulls out of her asshole and back into her pussy, then switches again and
again, moaning, grunting, fucking the dead child violently, occasionally looking
sideways at the mother with a sneering grin of triumph.
	Then, crouching over Jenny, his cock lodged in her pussy he drives the 
butcher knife into her chest and begins to cut her open.  He cuts downward
past the second wound the hammer-spikes made in her between her ribs and
down to the first wound in her lower belly.  As he guts the child, gasoline and blood
pour out of the gash the knife leaves behind.
	Carol Hadley wails.
	Eventually her voice fades to a whimper.
	Stryker gets to his feet, stands over his kill, his knife dripping.
	"Your turn, pig," he tells the mother.
	He comes for her, takes her by her arms and yanks her away from the spike
in the floor, her toe ripped in half.
	He drags her out of the cabin by the hair.
	The rain is coming down hard now.
	Outside it is dark and there is only a dim glow coming from the kerosene
lamps in the cabin.
	Carol leaves small dark trails of blood in the pine-needle covered ground as
he drags her to the killing tree.
	He puts on thick leather gloves.
	She's babbling incomprehensibly as he pulls her up on her knees, her
wounded leg still tied in a folded position, the other shattered knee swollen and
almost black, as she squeals, blinding pain shooting up her legs, the killer tying her
to the oak's trunk with a long strand of fence razor-wire he has taken from behind
the cabin.
	The rain falls furiously, soaking Stryker and his victim as he stands over her.
	He has bound her tightly and the wire cuts into her broken body.
	"I want to cum in your mouth, Carol," he tells her.
	Then he puts the knife to her throat.
	There is no fight left in her...she opens her lips wide for him.
	He steps up to her and slides his cock in.
	He leans against the trunk as he fucks her face in the rain.
	"Come on, pig..." he snarls. "Get me off..."
	Hair sticks to the sides of her face and her eyes peer up into his.
	There is nothing left in them now.
	No humanity. No dignity.
	She's a piece of meat. Just like her dead daughter.
	Her head begins to bob back and forth, slowly, timidly, hesitantly at first then
with more energy. Her lips pleasure the sides of his stiff rod as she begins to suck
him. Her tonge works the sensitive crown-head and his piss-slit. She now fucks his
cock with her mouth with the passion of a high-priced whore.
	"Yeah," the killer grunts. "That's it...that's right, fuckface..."
	Now there is nothing for her but to pleasure the Killer. She is His. She is
completely broken.
	"...yeahh...you know it don't you...yes you do...This is all you're fuckin' good
for...it's all you've even been good for..."
	She moans and sucks his big long shaft down her gullet, squeezing it with her
lips, her broken shoulders pressed against the tree, her hands splayed wide, fingers
clawing air on either side.
	He bangs her head against the tree as he thrusts forward, snarling, grabbing
her hair with one hand now as he feels the orgasm building.
	"Whore! Shitbag! Yeahh - yeahhh - yea-a-AHHH! UUNNHH!"
	Gripping her head tightly he shoots off in her mouth.
	A thick spurt of cum drools from her lips and he plunges the knife
into her throat pulling back to shoot off on her face and eyes as she gives out a
choked cry, blood and cum spilling from her mouth. He pulls the knife out and stabs
again.  He slices her throat open and she looks up at him gurgling, choking
his jissom rolling off her cheeks and down on to her steel-pin pierced boobs.
	"Yeahhhh, baby...die...die..." he grunts hoarsely. "...die for me...that's so
nice...so fucking BEAUTIFUL...yes...yesss...die for me..."
	She shudders and slumps back against the tree mouth and eyes wide open.
	He steps up to her again and puts his cock into her yawning lips, rubbing the
hot swollen still spurting prick-head against the ridged roof of her mouth, letting the
orgasm finally subside as the rain washes the blood and cum off her face and body,
her slit throat still pumping  hot trickles down her chest...rain and woman blood...
mixing, puddling in the ground around her knees.
	He can see she is still breathing, though her eyes are glassy as he slides his
cock out of her mouth. He bends down to spit in her face and her lips continue to
gape as he walks back toward the cabin.
	Perhaps she does not really see him bring the dead, gutted girl-child out
carrying her limp bleeding body in his arms, and perhaps she does not feel anything
as he lays her daughter right in front of her.  Maybe by the time he brings out the
gasoline Carol Hadley is already dead.
	Stryker is not sure if any life is left even when he gets the vat from the cabin
to pour the rest of the gasoline over the grisly ravaged carcasses of the two females.
	The rain has slowed to a drizzle when he gets the cigarette lighter from the
cabin and has to flick it three times to start the flame.  He tosses it on the butchered
victims.
	... then he sees Carol Hadley twist furiously against the razor-wire that binds
her to the tree as the flames pop to life and begin to eat away at her and her child's
dead body and her long endless quavering scream is an energetic and thrilling
expression of woman pain.
	Before the victims are consumed by flames and dark smoke, their blonde
heads enveloped in orange light, the smell of burning flesh thick in the humid  night
air, the rain now just a misty spray, Stryker's cock is hard once again.
	Soon he will have to go back to the park and find himself some fresh young
meat.

WOODBURN
	
	

	
	
	


