*William Shakespeare
My First Time
From the Journal of the Serial Killer Thomas Riley
by
Millie Dynamite
Copyright © 2019, by Millie Dynamite
From the Journal of Thomas Riley — July 10, 20—
Doctor Peters suggested I write things down, my daily happenings, feelings, the events that run wild in my life, and depress me. I figured it couldn’t hurt. That’s the reason for this book, journal, dear diary, and all that bullshit. He doesn’t say it, not in so many words, but he’s worried I’ll act out some of the fantasies I have told him. He told me to write those dark thoughts and fantasies out as well, give them a form to get them out of mind.
As I sit here writing this, I watch the sun coming up through the open door. It’s peaking up over the flat horizon casting its yellow morning light over fields to the east. I light a joint, thinking about what I’ve done. Knowing, I must rush back into town and get myself to church. Nevertheless, I took in the splendor of nature. I’m rejuvenated and want to get this down while it’s all fresh in my mind.
The Doc thinks I hate women. Let me make this clear, for whoever reads this, which I hope is no one, I don’t hate women. I know what they are, though, liars, cheats, self-indulgent, manipulative, backstabbers, who would use any man and discard him like toilet paper. I could go on and on about women in general or my mother as a specific example of unfairer sex. After all, she put my father in an early grave.
I have this tension; it builds in me, eating away at my soul: deep, dark desires to do things, terrible evil deeds. The Doctor, in his infinite wisdom, wants me to write all this down as a record. So, what we have here … is an effort to communicate with me, from me. It isn’t quite what the doctor ordered, he wanted my fantasies. I’ve decided to turn fantasy into reality.
It was Friday, and I had gotten off work at the usual time. I left my cubical and headed to the time clock to the taunts of the new boss on my apparent inadequacies. I wanted to turn and slug her in the jaw.
I have this vision of hitting that bitch right in her kisser. In it, I see her knees buckle at the second my hand hits those well-formed, full lips. Her eyes roll back in her head as her upper body starts a slow, deliberate backward motion. The toes of her spiked high heels come off the ground, as her big teats heave upward. She lands on her lovely round ass and then her back.
The problem was that it was only in my head. What, in fact, happened, I told her, in as polite a tone as possible, “I’ll try to do better next week,” and left the bullpen headed to the time clock and then to Mike’s Place. I drowned my sorrows at the local watering hole, giving Sam, the bartender, an earful of work woes.
Leaving the joint and feeling somewhat better, at 10:30. Too fucking early, to call it quits, on a Friday night. Getting in my car, I started the engine, slipped it into gear, and wondered what I could do for fun. Driving around for some time, I saw the Park, damn that’s an idea. Lincoln Park, two square miles with playgrounds, benches, fountains, and wooded areas with a meandering jogging path running through it.
That’s when one of those fantasies exploded in my mind. I thought, ‘why the fuck not?’
Finding me a secluded spot, on the far east end of the park, I hid the pickup in a grove of trees not far from where the jogging tack passed through the thicket.
‘I don’t have to do anything,’ I told myself. ‘I can just watch the bitches pass by and dream of what I’d do to them.’ I don’t think it was a lie, but I also knew I could do what I wanted if I’m willing to bear the consequences.
Everyone always went the same direction on the track, I think it’s because of the sign near the entrance that says jogging track, start here. I concealed myself near the end of a long straightaway. Beyond that, were some twisting turns through the woods. If I wanted to take one of them, that first hairpin turn was a good spot. It was near the truck, where the brush is thick. After you get them off into that part, man alive, do you have privacy.
I’d needed the privacy that those thick woods would give me! The first bitch came bounding down the trail, huffing, and puffing, dense disgusting layers of fat jiggling, like some alien gelatinous life form. Sweat rolled off her face, her spandex was soaked through with her copious body secretions. I could just about smell the stench of the porker’s burning fat. The next one, a bodybuilding superwoman, a big muscle-bound physique, bounded toward me. That stupid manhater would be a battle, wasn’t ready for that, not yet, but I marked her in mind for future reference. The next one was scrawny. In fact, for two hours, I wasn’t happy with any of them, or I couldn’t work up the nerve.
It was after midnight, I hadn’t seen any cunt pass by for over 30 minutes. I had just decided to go home and whack off, or maybe hire a guttersnipe. I decided that I’d have me one more smoke and then head out of here. I pulled the pack, packed it down, again, and took a smoke out and lit it. Dragging the noxious fumes deep into my lungs, I held there a second, letting the nicotine do its thing. As I began to exhale, looking down the track, a woman came around the bend 200 yards away from me. She had big tits, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing as she jogged. The bitches, big double C’s, swayed side to side, and they bobbled. Up and down, but in a way that said they were firm.
The closer she got, the more you could see her tight, fit body, a dancer’s physique. This Trixie had pride, I hate proud, haughty cunts. Her pink running outfit showed as plain as if spotlighted in the scattered, overhead illumination of the jogging path. Her hair was pulled tight on her head; doubtless, she had it in a ponytail. I could see she had a full figure but not fat. A thin waist, I could imagine a round ass, but not fat, damn she was hot as hell. And of course, the slut knew she was hot and used it to full advantage. I imagined dozens of men like me in her wake, the confidence shattered the pocketbooks drained, their balls hanging as trophies over her mantel.
I pulled in a last lungful of smoke, holding it inside a second before exhaling the fumes. I moved closer to the track, crouching only a few feet away, behind a bush, and waited for her to pass me. Every nerve in my body came alive, my hearing focused on her footfalls on the path. My mind raced with a plan. I pulled my buck knife from its sheath, flipped it open as the sound of her stride became louder. She passed me, the race was on, I leaped to my feet and ran after her.
She heard me. My hard shoes slapping the paved running lane a dead giveaway someone was behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw me, knife in hand chasing her. Not panicking, not yet at least, she changed from a jog to run. But I’m a good runner, I bounded to within inches of her. We were on the curves, her head swiveled around, looking over one shoulder and then twisting her head, gazing over the other, checking on me.
Ah, there is it is, panic, that wild-eyed desperate gaze over her shoulder, as she tried to shake me. I imagined I could smell her fear, maybe I did, or perhaps I sensed it. Could be, she was one of the sick-o’s that loved the thought of being molested, and I smelled her thick lube building between her legs, getting her cunt ready for a hard-slamming. Oh, god, I hoped that was not the odor, I don’t want the trollop to enjoy one moment of what happened.
No, it was fear, it hung thick inside her brain. Terror drove her to run harder and faster. I just dogged her, running right behind the bitch. I brandishing my knife. The whore can see, I closed the distance, inching closer. I’m like a madman in a movie, I use less effort and still close the gap. She stays just out of reach but knows, I’ll get her. The dread overwhelms her. The sweaty fear radiates from her, like a nasty invitation to destroy the whore.
I waited for the hard turn at the end of the twisting part. Letting the snobby rich bitch think there was a hope, however small, that she’d get away from me. I even fell back just a tad, for a moment or two, then rushed closer to her. We neared that hard turn, she’d have to have to slow down there. I put my hand out to her, snatched a handful of her ponytail. At that moment, the split-tail started her turn. I dug my feet into the track, sliding to stop, and yanked back hard.
You know those cartoons, the ones where the guy’s feet run ahead of him? That’s what happened to her. The vixen’s feet kept going forward while her upward body jerked backward. She hung in the air for a second, well, it seemed that way, then crashed to the ground. You could hear the impact, even hear the rush of air out of her lungs. She rolled over on her belly. Sucking wind, that awful wheezing, when one’s lugs can’t quite get a breath. It thrilled me when that sound came from the stuck-up beaver.
The look on her face, a pleasant mixture of fear, pain, and panic, caused my cock to leap in my jeans. She rolled onto her belly. Put her hands to the ground. I tit kicked her hard then, and she again collapsed in a heap. Getting on top of her. I rolled her over and gave her kisser a blow that KO’d the bitch, her eyelids fluttered, her pupils went up, showing only the whites. The bitch was in La La Land.
God, I had a hardon now. My cock ached for a tight fit in a sweet unwilling hole. Closing the knife, I put it back on my belt. I looked around, took a good firm hold of that ponytail, and drug her behind me. I was the caveman. She was the fuck for the night. But not here, not in the park … as hyped up as I was, and I was so incredibly high just from her capture. That notwithstanding, I knew that I needed more privacy than this place allowed. If I just fucked her once, these trees would do, but abuse her right, I needed time and to be away from any possible prying eyes.
At the pickup, I pulled out a roll of duct tape, covered her mouth, bound her hands together behind her back, and her legs above the knees, and at her dainty ankles. Picking her up, I realized she was light, 100 to 110 pounds of pure, USDA grade-A … fuck meat. Putting the bitch on the floorboard of the backseat of my truck, I covered the slut with a blanket.
Treating myself to another smoke. I sat on the back seat. My conquest lay on the floor below me, my feet resting on the whore’s shapely, small ass. Mumbling, fearful pleas filled the air. She wiggled and contorted her body, with a pleasing vain attempt to free herself. An old collapsible shovel sat on the seat. I grabbed it and opened it up, it was a short one, I took hold of it just above the top of the blade, bent down, raised it over her head and neck and smashed the handle down, just hard enough to get her attention.
“Be still, bitch, shut the fuck up, or I’ll hurt you bad.”
The cunt shut her flapping pie hole. I don’t know if I had put the bitch under again or not. Maybe I put the fear of God in her, perhaps she went lights-out nighty-night. I didn’t care which, as longs as the nag wasn’t flapping her flytrap. I’d have plenty of time to reveal in her fear, later, once we reached our destination. I covered her up once more. Tossed my smoke away and got in the front seat. I started the engine and headed away from the park. Turning east on Country Club Lane and drove out into the country. I had a special place to take my prize, a big sandpit, a barn, even a pond on the little patch of land. It’s all surround by a big fence, a locked gate, and room to do what you want to a tramp. I have the key, it’s my uncle’s place, he wouldn’t mind me using it. Well, at least if he didn’t know about it, he would not frit over its use. After all, his house is a mile from the sandpit and barn.
I needed some jack-me-up to keep going. I had a stash of pot to smoke at the barn, but beer would be a good as well. Turning off the road, I pulled into an all-night convenience store and parking at the pump, I fed it my card and started the tank filling. I walked into the joint, caught sight of a lovely little Latina bitch working the cash register. She smiled and nodded at me. I smiled back, thinking, ‘I’d sure like to hurt that little ho.’
I wanted to fuck something it prayed on my mind, wanted it bad. Looking at my watch, 1:30 in the morning, I dug a case of beer out of the cooler. I looked at the bitch at the counter again, and again she flashed me a friendly smile. She worked me, a whore for sure. Get off with a quicky now, last longer the first time with Miss Cunt later.
Putting the beer on the counter, “How much,” I asked.
The cashier told me and indicated I would pay with the card. I shoved it into the slot and entered my code. All the time, the whore just smiled at me, moving her head to some music only she heard. Licking her lips, flashing me knowing looks and nods.
I returned the card to my wallet and fished out a 20-dollar bill. I smiled at her. She smiled back, running her tongue over teeth and ruby red lips.
“Anything else I can get you?” she said. Her voice had a seductive tone, enhanced by her thick Spanish accent. She dripped the fuck me attitude so prevalent in the women of the mongrel races.
“I want to poke your throat.”
“Double that, and you got a deal,” she said.
“No,” I told her. “You do it for this, or I’ll load up and go.”
“I usually get at least 30 for a blow job,” she said, turning away from me she walked to the back of the little booth. Acting disinterested, trying to drive the price up, she started putting cigarette packs into the display.
I walked around to the gap opening, moved into the booth, and in two seconds flat, I was behind her. I spun her, yanked her blouse open, and shoved the money into her bra. Grabbing her by the hair, I guided downward toward her knees.
“Hey,” she said, “I told you it’s 40 bucks.”
I smacked her face with my free hand and continued to force her to the floor. Once I had her on her knees, I released my grip on her curly hair. I slapped her face with my open palm and then backhanded her.
“Shut the fuck up, open your damn pie hole, and take this like the whore you are,” I said. All the while, I undid my fly and fished out my semi-erect throat-gouger. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth opened. Sticking a thumb in on one side of her yapper, I forced her mouth further open, used my free hand to get a new hold on her hair, and lurched forward. The head of my cock went past her lips, paused for a moment at her tongue.
“You fucking nick my cock with them teeth, I’ll fucking knock them out your head.”
Her eyes rolled up at me. She wanted to say something, but I just forced it to the back of her mouth and kept going. I humped her face hard, gagging her, the saliva sprayed out her mouth onto my jeans, it trickled down my balls. Yeah, I love that feeling, what’s a whore going say? After all, you’re paying the bitch. Tears welled up, big ones, overflowing, running down her face, they liquefied the eyeshadow, her thick makeup, the trails of it marred her face as thick rivulets flowed across her skin.
I pounded that face, my balls slapping against her chin. Yeah, I fucking needed this throat gouge. In a flash, I dumped seed down her throat. Yanking my cock back, I continued to spray, filled her mouth. I pulled out and jacked more cum over her greaser’s face.
“You didn’t need to be so rough,” she said.
I smacked her face with a clenched fist. I hit her so fucking hard, I knocked the wetback to the floor. The Mexican bitch kneaded the bruise on her face while I glowered down at her. I let her know the nothingness.
“I fucking paid for it, cunt. I treat you how I want when I pay you.”
“Only, fucking, 20 bucks,” she said. A thick glob of cum fell from her nose to the floor as she spoke. I wanted to laugh at the cheap spick. I felt such pride in how I’d treated the whore. I had never been so aggressive, I wouldn’t ever go back to passivity. I’d never be taken for a ride by a bitch again, I’d give them rides, the rides of their lives.
“Lazy ass spic. I did the work, you weren’t worth half as much as paid,” I told her. Then I kicked down on her left tit with my right foot. She curled up on the floor a blubbered. What a lovely sound, a fuck hole crying her eyes out, I kicked her again, and one more time for luck. The dull thuds of my boot bashing her flesh had pleasing bass quality, like hitting a kettledrum. I didn’t have time, or I’d played a drum solo on her brown meat.
I walked from the small cashier area, pulled a soda from a cooler, and slapped a five on the counter. I leered at the whore. The cunt still lay on the floor, rattled from my treatment. Served the bitch right. I fucked that fucking slime whore with no regard for who she thought she was. I bet no one treated her like that in her life, until me. I showed her her value. A big zero, nothing but an open mouth with a cock crammed in it, that’s the sum of her worth, 20 fucking bucks. Next time I might abuse her cunt or ass!
“Keep the change,” I said. I drank down the soda and tossed the empty can at her.
Getting to her feet, the girl stumbled out onto the sales floor. She grabbed some napkins at the coffee counter and headed for the bathroom, wiping the cum from her face as she moved away from me as fast as she could. I walked to the door, the case of beer in one hand. I swung the door open, the little bell jingled, she disappeared into the women’s shit-room.
I went to the pickup, pulled away from the station, and resumed my journey. I flipped on my mp3 player and listened to Nazi Punk rock. The encouraging words of the superiority of the white race, and angry, just comments about the mud people, the niggers, spics, Asians, and mixed races uplifted me.
The bitch started mumbling again, fucking whore. I wondered if she was a Jew or maybe a dago, she had a long, hooked nose, didn’t take away from her being cute. It was the only flaw I had spotted about her. She kicked her feet against the floorboard and tried to scream through the duct tape. I hit the brakes and shoved the car into the park in a quick motion.
The truck skidded to halt, she bounded around, bouncing up on the backseat and back to floorboard. I turned and moved over the seat, balled up my fist and smacked the bloody spot on the blanket. I figure my signet ring hit that crack in her scalp because she whelped in pain.
“Shut the fuck up, you scraggly, assed whore,” I said.
She kept mumbling I could make one of the words. She said, “Please,” followed by something else, unintelligible, repeatedly. I hit the back of her head again and told her, “Shut up,” the fuck meat fell silent.
I drove out to my uncle’s place and parked in the barn. After closing the barn doors, I opened the old workshop. Walking in the smell of oil and must hit me. The scent wasn’t a harsh stink, more an unpleasant muskiness. That notwithstanding, pleasant, it was not. I dug out some scented candles and lit them. There was a small bed back on one corner, various tables, and tools in the shop.
My uncle had some leg shackles, a collector item, but functional. The old-fashioned ones from the 19th century with a key that inserted into a slot and you turned a square nut thing that locked them, found the matching cuffs as well. These would work.
There was my big bowie knife, in its presentation case, hanging on the wall. That’d put the fear of Riley in my toy. I went to the truck, opened the back passenger side door, threw the blanket off her, cut the tape from her legs, and grabbed the ponytail. I yanked that hair hard and started walking. The heifer crawled from the truck fast when the pain of hair being torn out hit her. I walked back toward the barn while she stepped backward, falling, and I just kept going, and the cunt struggled to get up as I dragged her into the room.
She screamed, right through the duct tape, I could hear that awful, pitiful screeching of pain. Damn, if that didn’t make the ole pecker come to attention! I tossed the waif of a cunt against the wall, and she crumpled to the cold concert floor. I removed the big Bowie from the case and squatted in front of her.
Waving the knife in her face, I chuckled as I thought of all the nasty things we would do. She squirmed, her ass moved this way and that, her eyes widened, a tear leaked out and ran down her cheek. I put the life out, with the dull curved side at the point I caught her tear. Then licked it from the blade. I cut her shoestrings with the knife, from the bottom to the knot.
Jabbing the knife into the wall just to the left of her face, I laughed at her flinching. I grabbed the shoes and jerked them from her feet, tossed them behind me. Now the cow wore no shoes or stockings. I took her feet in my hand and massaged them in my strong hands. An appearance of confusion covered her face. I continued to knead her feet, soft and tender. I took one of her big toes in hand, pushing it back hard until I heard the satisfying snap as it broke. She screamed in pain, the sound muffled by the tape, yet incredibly gratifying to hear.
“You aren’t going to run away from me, bitch,” I said, repeating the object lesion on her other foot. Her head hung as she again wailed. I can’t tell you how lovely her pain was. Taking the knife in hand, I dragged over each of the balls of her feet several times, slashing them. This would make walking or running painful. Her voice took on a harsh, raspy sound making her screams more plaintive, pleasing me in ways so dark and deep I don’t even understand it.
Cutting her clothing off of her and restraints from her. Ogling her naked body, my prick appreciated the view and struggled against its confines, her vision locked onto my crotch. I held the cuffs and leg restraints in one hand as I massaged my dick through my pants with the other. All the while, giving her smirk, confidant in my mastery of her.
Dropping my hand from cock, I started to bend to her. The bitch jerked both feet to chest, kicked out, hitting my cock and balls with a massive wallop. I plummeted to the floor, clutching my privates. She jumped to her feet, striking my temple with another kick. I sucked air, clutching my head and groin.
Even with broken toes, and cuts on the souls of her feet, she ran outside the barn. I heard the door on my truck slam shut, but no keys there. The door opened and slammed again, I knew she’d run away from me. Fucking bitch!
I got to my feet, my throbbing balls wouldn’t stop me from getting my prize back. No bitch gets away from me. She’s just a cunt, I’m a man. I’m more than a man to that bitch, I am God that fuck-slut. I grabbed a switchblade, a length of rope, a flashlight, and took off after the cock tease.
Her feet left bloody marks to follow. The cunt ran down a draw into a washout area that led to a stinky abandoned family dump. A small box arroyo, with steep walls on all the sides other than gully leading into it. As soon as I ran into the filthy, small hole, I saw her, trying to climb the vertical wall. Her feet were about four feet from the base, she clutched the raw dirt and rock with her fingers, and tried to use her feet to push up the cliff. I watched a minute, this would be fun. I could hear her grunting, sobbing, and praying for help.
Her God hears her, but I wouldn’t give her aid. I’m an avenging God.
I knew her feet hurt like a son-of-bitch. She clutched into the dirt, pushed up with her right foot, screaming in agony. I have to admit, my cock loved her pain. The woman snatched with her left hand, just broke free when she pulled herself upward. Her body fell backward, and she crashed into old tin cans, some wooden crates, and rusted pots and pans.
I chuckled hard as I closed the ground to her. Balling my fist, I gave her a love tap on her ample left bosom. Getting on her chest, I freed my dragon and shoved it down her throat. I pumped into her with hot lusty passion for five minutes. Flipping her over, I ass raped the bitch until I neared completion.
At last, I turned her face up again and made the cunt lick the shit and blood of my cock. Then, putting just the head of my cock in her mouth, I jacked off, spilling my seed in her mouth, it flooded out and ran down her chest, some spilling on the ground.
I forced her to clean the cum from her body and eat it. To top it off, I made her eat the semen-soaked dirt. As the whore crawled back to the barn, she kept begging me, pleading, and haggling for her freedom. I told her I would free her, once I’d enjoyed her flesh enough.
Hope is the motherfucker, give it to them, they just let you do what you want. So long as there is hope, you can fuck them up, and they offer no resistance. I asked if she was jew. She froze, hanging her head, muttered something.
“What?”
“No.”
“You’re a lying cunt,” I snapped.
“Please, I can’t help what I am.”
We were just outside of the barn. I smiled, the kind of devious grin that a person has when they think evil thoughts. Kicked her between her legs, up hard into her pussy.
The JewBitch collapsed into the dirt. Whaling like some cow balling as it’s led to slaughter. She rolled about, her anguish exquisite in its expression.
I kicked her again, this time busting a tit hard. I watched her, excited by her pain. My cock throbbing to destroy cunt. Her pain intoxicated me, like fine wine, and strong bourbon combined, a giddy high filling my essence.
“Get your ass in there, crawl up on the bed, face down ass up, Hymie-whore.”
This time I stripped down and ass fucked her, all nine buried balls deep. She screamed like a banshee, and fucked it, her ass, face, cunt, fucked them all balls deep for hours. Giving her little loving cut here, a hard punch there, smacking her worthless Sheeny butt with hand or belt.
I fucked until two Saturday afternoon. Shackled the Heeb, slept, and went at her for more fucking. At four Sunday morning, this morning, I cuffed her to a post, feet, hands behind her back around the beam, trusted up like punching bag.
I put on my work gloves, good leather gloves, and used her for my work out. From shaved cunt to tits, from boobs to face, I beat her, breaking bones, her nose, busted one eye socket, till the eyeball hung below for the bashing. I thumped on her until I thrashed the life from her.
She’s still standing there, a thing of beauty. I’d take her down, put her in her new home, but I need to get to church. I’ll have to come back and finish, she’ll be ripe when I get back, but I have to go worship my God first.
****
The doctor looked up from the notebook, smiled at me, “This is good. Better to write than to act.”
The damn fool thought it was a fantasy. I smiled at the clown.
“Will your right more, Thomas?”
“Yes, Doctor, I will write more. I’ll write more when that mood comes over me.”
“Good, you’re at peace now, getting all those hateful things out in the story, yes?”
“Nearly,” but in truth, just between you and me, why would I want my darkness gone. We made such a perfect person, my darkness, and me. The doctor is a dumb fuck, he thinks it’s just a story. I’m already planning my next round of therapy.