Conversely, if this is your cup of tea, so much so that you think you should try hurting someone in real life, please reconsider, as you are too stupid to get away with it and too soft for prison, where you will be raped more savagely than even my twisted mind could imagine.
If, however, you are somewhere in the middle, then please enjoy…
A Night With Kari (an Homage to Jeff)
I sat nervously looking out the window of the bus and clutching my backpack to my chest. The plan was sound, but I knew it wasn’t foolproof. There were still a thousand unforeseen hiccups that could upset it. Still, if all went well the night would end with me satisfied and the girl dead. A ripple of pleasure ran through me in anticipation. I still didn’t know her name, nor did I care to. She was young and pretty and she lived alone. That was all I needed to know.
I first saw her at a Dairy Queen in Portland. It had been June, the beginning of one of the hottest summers Oregon had ever seen, and people were dressing for it. She had been sitting at the counter with a friend eating a Blizzard, wearing a tee-shirt and short-shorts. She was about 20, by the looks of her, maybe 5’4”, 110lbs, with long, slender legs and a rounded ass. I wanted her immediately. I watched her discreetly from the back of the restaurant, enjoying the way she licked the ice-cream off her spoon and let her flip-flops dangle from the souls of her feet as she chatted with her friend. She had a habit, I soon realized, of biting her lower lip, which she probably knew made her look cute. I wanted to bite her lip too… and her tongue. I wanted to do other things to her as well.
Although she certainly fit the profile for the type of girl I like to prey upon, I wasn’t yet thinking of her as a potential victim. The key to having fun but staying out of jail is to remember that just because you see a pretty girl surrounded by friends in a mall doesn’t mean you can get her alone in the woods with no one to connect you to her. If I can’t find a plausible way to get a girl in a favorable situation, I walk away.
Besides, I live about a hundred miles to the south of that Dairy Queen and I had only stopped to get a burger on the way home. I was just about to pick up my tray and leave when I heard something interesting in the girls’ conversation. Up to that point it had been all about the latest bands and the hippest fashions. But then the subject turned to the weather.
“God, it’s hot,” her friend said, pressing her milkshake against her forehead.
“Believe me, I know,” the girl replied. “My house doesn’t have air-conditioning. I have to leave a window open all day just so I can sleep at night.”
I don’t think I heard a word they said after that. It had been a year since I last snuffed a girl, and up until that point I hadn’t seriously contemplated doing it again. But the hunger always returns, just when I least expect it, and it had returned. Although I wasn’t yet sure if I would go through with it, a plan was forming in my head. I went out to my car and turned on the A/C. The girls followed five minutes later, hugging each other and getting into their separate cars. My girl got into an Accord and pulled out of the parking lot. I followed her cautiously for about ten miles until she pulled into the driveway of a small rundown duplex just on the edge of town. I noted with optimism that the other half of the duplex had a “For Rent” sign in the lawn, so she didn’t have anyone living adjacent to her. The garage door opened, she drove in, and then a few seconds later the garage door closed again. I waited a few minutes, then slowly drove past the house. I didn’t see any open windows, but I came back a week later and found that the window in question was in the back of the house where she no doubt thought it would attract less attention from thieves. Fortunately (for me -unfortunately for her), having the open window at the back of the house also meant that any intruder would get less attention from nosy neighbors. At this point I knew that I had a real opportunity before of me, and despite the distance I drove every day after work to Portland to spy on the girl. I learned who she was renting the house from, and that she lived alone. Although she occasionally brought men home, she didn’t have a steady boyfriend and most nights she was the only occupant. I learned where she worked and when she got home. I still didn’t know her name. The days continued to get hotter and she continued to leave her window open. A month later I was confident enough in my plan to put it into action.
I stepped off the bus about three blocks from her house. I had left my car at home. It was the only way. Knowing she would still be at work, I walked the short distance to her house and then made my way to the back alley. Sure enough, the window was open. I pushed my backpack in and then climbed through myself, into the kitchen.
The house smelled like candles; definitely a woman’s home. I opened up my pack and slipped on the rubber dishwashing gloves. I wasn’t overly worried about fingerprints because I was going to make sure the house didn’t look like a crime scene, but I was going to be touching a lot of her stuff and I didn’t want to leave prints over everything. The walk had made me thirsty, so I opened the refrigerator and helped myself to a coke. Then I found a large black garbage bag and dropped the can into it. It was 3:30, which meant the girl would be home in an hour and a half. I had work to do.
I turned the refrigerator to defrost, emptied all the food into the garbage bag, and then cleaned the freezer and refrigerator. Next I cleaned the bathroom, a half-hearted job but enough to make it look like it had been cleaned. Then I went to the bedroom. The girl had a waterbed, which made things a little easier for me. Using a hose, I got the draining process started while I worked on taking apart the bed, which was an Ikea manufactured job. Once the mattress was drained I took it along with the disassembled bed out to the kitchen. I would move them into the girl’s car when she got home.
I wanted to make sure not to leave any items behind that someone moving would be sure to take with them, so I brought her computer, her jewelry, a photo of her parents, some stuffed animals, and other items of financial or emotional value into the kitchen as well. By the time I was done it was about time for her to get home, so I got my .9mm out of my backpack and waited.
Fifteen minutes later I heard her car pulling into the garage so I hid behind the door, taking deep breaths to calm myself. I heard footsteps and then the door opened. In order to gain the girl’s submission, I knew that I had to show her I was capable of violence. So as soon as she walked through the door I hit her hard on the back of the head with the butt of my gun, and she fell to the floor with a cry of pain and surprise. I was immediately on top of her, the barrel of the gun pressed against her temple and my left hand covering her mouth.
“Don’t make a sound,” I hissed into her ear. “I’ll kill you if I have to.”
But of course she was confused and scared, and her first reaction was to scream, so I hit her in the back of the head again.
“Get to your feet,” I said. She was breathing really hard, and I was afraid she might hyperventilate, but she managed to stand. I took my hand away from her mouth. Although she was on the verge of sobbing, her breath coming in jagged spurts, she didn’t scream and she was obviously trying to be quiet.
“That’s a good girl,” I said. “Just relax and do what I say and everything will be fine. Understand?”
She nodded timidly. Looking around, she saw all of her belongings and no doubt thought she was being robbed.
“Good.”
I took a moment to look her over. She was wearing a light, short sleeve blouse, a skirt that highlighted her beautiful thighs, and sneakers with ankle socks. I wanted to throw her to the ground and fuck her right there, but I resisted the temptation. I was going to do this right.
“The first thing we’re going to have you do,” I told her gently, “is write a couple of letters.”
I had her sit down at the coffee table in the other room and I placed a notepad, two envelopes, and a pen in front of her. “You’re going to write exactly what I say. You’re not going to try to work in any codes or secret messages. I will hurt you very badly if you try to deceive me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“The first is to your landlord. All I want you to write is, ‘Because of some personal issues, I have to move in a hurry. I’ll be out by the time you get this,’ and then sign your name.”
She looked skeptical. “But what is it you’re trying to do?” she asked.
I pointed the gun at her.
“Alright,” she said, and began to write. When she was done I looked it over and approved it.
“Now I want you to write another note, this one to your work. You’re going to write the exact same thing.”
Her look was that of despair, but she wrote the note. I then had her write the addresses on the envelopes, stamp them, and lick them. Finally I had her put them in my backpack.
“Okay, now we’re going to go into your bedroom and pack. You’re going to pack as many clothes as you can into your suitcase.”
“Are you going to kidnap me?” she asked.
“No,” I said, which was the truth. “Just do it.”
When she finished packing I had her put the suitcase in her car. She started to put it in the trunk, but I stopped her. I wanted to leave enough room in the trunk for her corpse, so I had her put it in the backseat. I then had her move all of her stuff, the bed, the computer, etc., into the car as well. The only thing I left was the comforter from the bed. I didn’t want to take the chance of getting cum on her sofa, so I had her lay the comforter over it.
“Now,” I said, “take your clothes off.”
A look of terror flashed across her face. She didn’t move and for a moment she didn’t say anything. Finally, she managed to stutter, her voice breaking, “Why?”
“Nevermind,” I said. “I’ll take it from here.” I pushed her onto the sofa, on her back, and sat on her. She started struggling wildly, her hands flailing at my face, her legs kicking. I slapped her across the cheek. She continued to fight, so I slapped her again, harder this time, and she stopped. She was sobbing deeply, so I clamped a hand over her mouth. It wouldn’t pay to let her get too loud. With the other hand I reached between her tightly clenched legs and started rubbing her pussy. I was hard as a rock and itching to fuck her.
“Listen, Sweetie,” I said, “the more you scream the more I’m going to hurt you. If you just shut the fuck up I’ll be out of here before you know it, okay?” I cautiously removed my hand from her mouth. She turned her head to the side, looking away from me, but she didn’t scream. Her young face was more beautiful than ever, streaked with tears and contorted in fear. I pushed my face against hers and licked her cheek. She didn’t like that and tried to push her head farther away, but I wanted a taste of those full, juicy lips. Putting my hand on her chin, I turned her head so she was facing me, then I gently bit her lower lip. I wanted to kiss her, but of course she resisted. My tongue pried between her soft lips, explored her teeth and gums, and eventually worked its way into her mouth. Her tongue tried to avoid mine but couldn’t. I kissed her hard like that for probably half a minute. She started to get restless again and I decided it was time to get some pussy. I had decided against wearing a condom because I don’t like them and because my plan hinged on disposing of the body so that no one ever discovering it anyway. If they ever did discover it I was fucked, because I was planning to leave copious amounts of DNA evidence on and in the poor girl.
Just as I was fumbling with my zipper, trying to control her with one hand, her phone beeped. I ignored it. It was hard enough trying to fight the girl and fuck her at the same time without a third distraction. Finally I managed to get my fully erect cock free and started to push her legs apart. She started fighting and yelling again so I hit her on the head with the gun. This seemed to stun her, and I took advantage by pushing her skirt up over her hips and pulling her panties down. She had a nice, moderately sized pubic mound, shaved of course. I probed it greedily with my fingers, enjoying the feel and the smell of her.
I was just about to penetrate her when her phone beeped again. It sounded like a text-message. Reluctantly, I decided that I should check it out, and it was good that I did. It was from some guy listed as “Dan.” Dan wanted to know when he should come pick her up tonight. I texted Dan back, “can’t make it tonight, will call later.” Of course, she wouldn’t call later, but Dan would get over it.
I went back to my prize. She wasn’t exactly wet, but I had expected that and came prepared. I rubbed some lube from my backpack onto my dick and then into her cunt. I enjoyed the wet, squicky sounds the folds of her flesh made as I messaged the gel into them. I could have just fingered the bitch for the next ten minutes and been happy, but she was regaining her senses and starting to struggle. Clearly she was going to fight me the whole time. I decided that now would be a good time to penetrate her, while she was still dazed. Grabbing her by the ankles, I pulled her to the edge of the couch so that her hips were on the armrest and her legs hung off the end. Although I had removed her panties, she was still wearing her skirt, which had ridden up to her stomach and somehow made her look more vulnerable. I pushed her legs as far apart as I could, moved my pelvis up to hers, and thrust my cock into her young cunt.
Oh, Heaven! In that moment I knew that my murder-lust wasn’t a curse, as I had often thought, but rather a gift from God. Her pussy was so tight, the sensation of her flesh against mine so perfect, that I often wish I could just live my entire life in that moment. I fucked her like that for probably five minutes, thoroughly enrapt. She wasn’t enjoying it nearly as much as I was, though, because she started squirming and twisting her hips, trying to slip me out. Eventually, she succeeded. I tried to push my way back in right away, but she was fighting so hard it took me half a minute to get my cock back into her pussy. After another minute or so of fucking, I slipped out again and she wouldn’t let me back in. I decided that enough was enough.
I had originally planned to strangle the bitch with my bare hands, but I had thought of something better while I was fucking her. I got off of her and let her calm down a little bit. After a minute I told her that I was almost ready to go, and that I only needed her to do one more thing for me.
“Take off your shoe,” I said. “Don’t ask why, just do it.”
She hesitated, but after all the horrible things I had done to her, taking off her shoe didn’t seem that bad. She untied it and slipped it off her foot.
“Now take the laces out,” I said.
She did so and handed them to me. I now had my murder weapon. Without another word I jumped on her and wrapped the shoelace around her throat. That really got her attention.
“No!” she cried. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll do whatever you want! Don’t kill me!”
I tightened my makeshift garrote slowly, enjoying her rising panic with each increasing level of pressure on her throat. At first she couldn’t speak, but could still breath. Then I pulled tighter until her air supply was cut off. I would loosen the lace every thirty seconds or so to give her a few quick breaths, so that she wouldn’t die too quickly. My erection was still strong and I was ready to fuck her again, for the final time. She was losing strength and could no longer fight me, so I guided my cock up to her cunt and thrust myself violently into her. My cock sank in to the hilt, my balls slapping against her pussy. I fucked her furiously, ramming in and out of her cunt like a piston in a high performance engine. By this time I was pulling the shoelace as hard as I could and it was really digging into her neck. Her cheeks were bright red, and after a few minutes her entire face turned that color. Her tongue started to protrude unnaturally and I kissed her once again, fully enjoying her dying mouth. After another minute or so I realized that I couldn’t hold off any longer, so I pumped my hips as fast as I could, squeezing the shoelace with all my strength, and finally came, an eruption that coated the now dead girl’s womb with my semen.
I continued pumping for another half a minute after the primary ejaculation just to make sure that I completely emptied my balls into the girl. Finally I let myself slide out and I exhaled a deep breath of satisfaction.
“That was good,” I said simply, and slapped the corpse playfully on the ass. She looked awkward spread out like that, with one shoe on and one shoe off, her face purple. I unwrapped the shoelace from around her throat, taking some of her skin with it. It had dug in far enough to draw blood. I gathered her up and carried her limp body out to the garage, where I dumped her in the trunk of her car along with her panties and her other shoe. As I was making sure I had all of her stuff together, I came across her purse and rummaged through it. There was money, which I pocketed, some credit cards, which I would throw away, and of course a driver’s license. Her name had been Kari and she had been nineteen.
I drove back to my house where I parked Kari’s car in my garage, out of sight. When I took her out of the trunk there was a voicemail on her cell phone. It was from Dan. He was tired of getting blown off and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. He didn’t ever want to see her again. I could guarantee that he wouldn’t.
I took Kari out to the woods in implements. One day I would go for a hike with her arm stuffed in my backpack, another day I’d bring her head. Within a week I had her scattered about the forest and well hidden. Over the next year I spent my free time disassembling her car and taking the parts to junkyards. I never heard anything about a missing girl from Portland, and I assume the letters she wrote served their purpose. At any rate, she was a good kill.