Thank you for reading! Me and my coauthor Darinost are gradually combining forces and blogs, so the joint comment section for our stories is currently located on discord! Come on in and let us know what you thought, we don’t bite.
Commission with Sinful Gold
This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing.
“It was, without a doubt, some of the most fun I’ve had in my entire life,” the well dressed man in his suit said as he stood casually on the stairs. He had loosened his tie and untucked his shirt, and his jacket hung open as he seemed to lounge, but he looked as if he had been the picture of a perfect image just seconds before. Now he looked like a student ten seconds after graduating, without a care in the world. “And I like to think I’ve had a pretty exciting life!”
The reporter blinked, her lipsticked mouth hanging open in a slight gape. Her grip tightened around the long handle of her microphone, shaking slightly, but she didn’t pull it back. “The… court case?” she probed, voice unsure.
Grant’s grin only grew wider. “Oh, that was fun too. The look of people’s faces… but no, I meant the events of that night. She begged me to let her live,” he continued. He spoke casually but with energy, like a father recounting an old story. The reporter looked a little pale, but she didn’t think to interrupt so he didn’t stop. “She told me she’d do anything, you know. Offered to suck me off every morning, clean my ass with her tongue, even cook breakfast and dinner! Be my loving girlfriend for the rest of her life. I thought it was just absolutely adorable, so I told her I’d let her go if she could get me off three times in one hour. And you know what? She did! When motivated, that girl’s body could squeeze, let me tell you!”
The reporter licked her lips. She glanced towards the camera nervously. “And then…? What did you do?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Well, they found her in my garbage can with a slit throat. What do you think I did?”
They stood on the wide marble steps of an old courthouse, the engraved pillars and a chattering crowd behind them. Several other reporters clamored for answers, jabbing their mics out towards Grant like spears in a medieval army line, but he kept his piercing green eyes focused on just the one he had singled out. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long. She kept looking away, only facing him for brief moments. “S-so what you’re saying is—”
“Yes. I confess. I killed them. All eleven they accused me of. I stole them from their comfortable homes, tied them up in my attic, and fucked them raw every single day.” He grinned and winked, half towards her, half towards the camera. In another context, it might have been charming.
The reporter gulped. She fussed with the hem of her pencil skirt. “Do you have any comment on the witnesses that went missing before their trial appearances, or the evidence presented in court that was later found to be contaminated?”
Grant shrugged. “It’s not my fault if the police can’t manage a simple investigation. You’d think with three dead women found in my garbage bin pumped full of my cum they’d be able to stick a charge to me, but I guess not. Sometimes The Man really just fucks up, huh?” There was that grin again. He waggled his eyebrows. “Or they wanted to let me off because they agreed that it was all those rag-munchers were good for. Take your pick.”
“You see,” he continued, “there is a lot of incentive for guys who know what’s good for them to rape. You see, we have the instinct to use and each every one of them as a sperm receptacle. Natural selection has made us larger and stronger than the bitches, so, broadly speaking, anyone who has the balls for it is well equipped to screw who the fuck we want.”
He smiled at the reporter. “However, in a sure sign of how far backward society has moved, not all people see it that way anymore. They think we should just ignore our base instincts. Back in the good old days, we could just bang the bitch over the head with a club and drag her by the hair back to our cave. Now we have to respect them.” Grant’s grin widened. “Well, I do respect them… for how good they can make my cock feel.” His hand reached up to lean against the courthouse pillar behind the reporter, pinning her in place. “So, would you like to hear how they died?”
A new voice interjected — a protester jumped into the frame, pumping her fist furiously. “You belong in prison, you monster!” she screeched, practically frothing at the mouth as he met her anger with the same relaxed smile. “We demand a retrial! A retrial! We have all your sick confessions on video now!”
“Awww. Uh oh, someone never watched Schoolhouse Rock,” Grant said with a bemused shake of his head. “I’m already acquitted! Haven’t you ever heard of double jeopardy? I can say whatever I want now and it doesn’t matter. But don’t worry love, you’re adorable.” He grabbed the microphone from the stunned reporter, ignoring her startled yelp, and held it up to his face. His voice crackled and popped over the tinny TV set’s speakers. “Shout outs to the LAPD! I had a question for you. Did you ever clean my cum off the blonde’s severed head, or would that count as tampering with evidence? Not that you could ever get proper evidence delivered to a courtroom, apparently… is that how you did it? I admit I slept through most of the boring parts of the trial…”
On the other end of the TV watching this interview, Detective Isabella Santiago gripped her coffee mug so hard that she heard it crack. Every other detail of the break room at the precinct was forgotten as she sat staring up at the tiny little TV hanging from the corner of the wall near the ceiling as it played the live interview. Words scrolled across the banner at the bottom in a bold, punchy font: SAPPHIC KILLER ACQUITTED, CONFESSES TO CRIMES.
Where had it all gone wrong? Isabella’s jaw worked side to side as the cocky sociopath on the television continued to brag and taunt the media, the police, the public, the overall justice system, and her personally. The police officer had thought it was done by now, that she could put this nightmare behind her. It had been months since she and her partner had broken into his home and brought him to justice at gunpoint. So what if they had roughed him up a bit in the process? He had literally been on top of a woman when they found him! And now, now he was going free anyway because of, of all things… bad paperwork?
It was infuriating. They’d caught him literally red-handed — red-dicked, even — in a house full of evidence, full of photos of past and planned victims. He’d had a woman’s body buried in his garden, and a shitty home movie of someone — him — torturing a naked college girl with a cattle prod while she begged for mercy. What did it matter that they didn’t have a warrant at the time? If she and her partner hadn’t struck when they did, he may have realized he’d been compromised and bugged out! He might have — would have! — killed the girl he was with! For months they had been hunting the Sapphic Killer… a serial rapist and killer preying on the city’s lesbian women. The news had been positively glowing when they had gotten him off the street. That should have been the end of this nightmare.
Then the witnesses had started drying up. They’d had a dozen witnesses who had caught glimpses of suspicious behavior ready to testify, but they’d all suspiciously backed out of testifying right before the trial. Many of them had left town. Those few who hadn’t actually backed out right before the trial had changed their statements to be less incriminating… far less certain. He had won his motions for civil rights violations in the police violence against him, getting some other pieces of evidence thrown out… and some of what was left was flimsy. He wasn’t on any of the tapes, and none of them showed recognizable victims they knew about. DNA evidence from previously recovered victims had turned out to be too contaminated to be matched to him. The bones in his yard hadn’t been able to be identified. Soon it had become obvious that their last shot at a conviction had been Samantha… the poor woman that Isabella herself had saved from Grant when she’d caught him in the midst of raping her. She, at least, had been determined to testify… or so Isabella had thought. She had been worried that some… thug friend… of Grant, or some assassin, would find her, so she had taken her into protective custody, put her up in a hotel.
She had thought she would be safe… but she hadn’t thought about how isolated Samantha would feel, alone with her thoughts in a cheap hotel. The woman had bought a gun to protect herself with. The day after the trial had begun, while the news was slut shaming her, the abused young woman had eaten her own gun.
With Samantha out of the picture, it all fell apart. The defense had never been able to cross examine her, so none of her testimony was admissible in court… that rapist bastard’s right to confront his accusers was apparently more important than obvious justice. It was a nightmare scenario from the ground up, and it made her sick just thinking about it. Witnesses had been sworn in, a jury empaneled… the District Attorney had been furious, but they’d had no choice. A few days later, Grant’s motion to dismiss was granted.
She was pulled from her thoughts by a door slamming open. “Detective Santiago!” an angry voice called. “Get the hell in here!” Sighing, Isabella forced herself up from her desk and walked into Captain Mendoza’s office as he sat down in his desk. “Close the door,” he said, glaring at the TV in his office that was, of course, playing the same press conference as Grant confessed, in detail, to the brutal rape and murder of eleven young, attractive lesbian women, live on national television. Isabella wanted to throw up as he bragged about how it felt to shove his 8 inch dick down an unwilling lesbian’s throat, how sexy the look in her eyes were while he fucked her face and she choked on his cock. The soft, heavy feel as he fondled her jiggling tits, and the way she shuddered in disgust at a man’s touch. He admitted to loving the mixed smell of her fear and disgust as he pried their legs apart and entered them for the first time. Smiling at the pretty reporter he seemed to focus on, he did his best to explain the sensation of hearing a woman beg, plead, promise him anything and everything for mercy, and how vast the satisfaction was when she finally realized that there was nothing she could do, nothing in the world that was sweeter to you than ripping into her tender lesbian ass… nothing that could keep her alive.
In a just world, Grant would go to prison for confessing to such terrible crimes. In an even more just world, he would already be in hell. Unfortunately, they were stuck with this one.
“He’s making a goddamn fool of us,” he grumbled, glaring up at the screen. “We’re the laughingstock of the whole country!”
“That’s what you care about?” Isabella shot him a sideways look. “Not the fact that the devil himself is going free?”
“You should talk,” the Captain said darkly. “Your name is on the top of my shit-list right now. You just had to give him those black eyes, didn’t you? Had to threaten to kill him?” He sighed. “Do you know what I’ve been doing since the dismissal? My phone won’t. Stop. Ringing!” Mendoza glared at the phone, and Isabella saw that he had ripped the cord out of the thing. “In the past hour and a half, I’ve gotten calls from… the Commissioner, the DA, The Mayor, The Governor, the Secretary of the Interior, the ADL and the the ACLU, and 2 different Gay/Lesbian activist groups, and every single one of them used different words to say the same damn thing… I, I, had better catch this fucker, and it had better be air-fucking-tight this time, or it’s my ass…”
He groaned. “The only good news is… this is only temporary. We both know that this asshole won’t be able to stop himself, doubly so now he feels he’s gotten away with it. We are going to watch him, and the moment he slips, we’ll be on him like stink on shit and nail his balls to my office door!”
Isabella nodded. “Good idea, sir. Zahira and I were actually—”
“Zahira and you were sitting your asses down and behaving yourselves,” he said sharply. “It was your poor police work that got this guy off the hook in the first place.”
“Sir, we’re the ones who—”
“Broke into his house without a warrant?” he snapped. “Lost track of half the evidence, and managed to contaminate the rest?”
“What wasn’t…” she started to protest, but he cut her off without a pause.
“Beat him senseless? You should be glad I ain’t firing the both of you!” Mendoza slammed his fist on his desk. “You and your partner are going to keep your heads down and not make a further mess. Go do some paperwork instead… if you can manage not to fuck that up.”
Isabella grimaced but didn’t protest further. Ultimately he was right, as infuriating as it was. Even if she was the one who stopped Grant’s raping streak, she still blamed herself for his eventual freedom. “Yes sir,” she said. “I’ll get back to work, sir.” She kept her voice carefully neutral even as she stood and made for the door. He didn’t make any move to stop her.
There were several other televisions in the station, and every single one was tuned to one perspective or another of the same interview. She clenched her jaw as she passed by one that had the volume turned up and several beat cops clustered around with drinks in hand. “You should’ve heard how she screamed when I hung her by her tits,” Grant was saying. He still wore that same stupid grin, though he was now leaned casually back against one of the courthouse pillars. “She had udders like a cow, you know? She was practically asking for it, looking like that!”
Some of the officers glanced towards her as she passed, whispering among themselves. She heard the word “bait” uttered, and her skin crawled. Ever since it had gotten out that she was a lesbian, there had been more than one “joke” about how she could contribute best to catching him by dangling herself in front of him. They had stopped after she caught him… but it appeared they were back with a vengeance. It was infuriating, but Isabella was tired, and just wasn’t interested in starting a fight right now.
Finally she arrived at the situation room they had set up for chasing this prick, where she and her partner, Detective Zahira Nader, had worked tirelessly to bring Grant in. Two desks were pushed together against a wall, and a pretty olive-skinned police officer was tapping a pen against the wood of her desk and biting her lip in thought. She had the TV on as well, of course. Isabella could only see her head from the back, her dark hair cascading all the way down her back. She didn’t notice as Isabella walked in until the hispanic detective turned off the interview in disgust, prompting her partner to look at her. “Hey,” Isabella muttered.
“Hey,” Zahira echoed. She swallowed. “We have to catch him, Izzy. Again. We can’t let this go.”
“The Captain said we have to let it go.” Isabella plopped down at her desk and hung her head in her hands with a low groan. “That we’ve fucked up enough already.”
“Bullshit,” Zahira hissed. “Are you hearing yourself?” She leaned in, her voice low but urgent. “There’s no way we contaminated that evidence, Izzy. All those witnesses… all those coincidences… Someone is putting their finger on the scale.” She punched the desk. “We have to find out what happened. We have to stop him. You saw what he did to those women! What if it was me he had chained up in that attic? Would you just let that go cause Mendoza told you to?”
“That’s dirty.” Isabella shot Zahira a frustrated look.
“Well?” Zahira leaned in further, eyes wide.
Isabella met the other woman’s gaze for several seconds, pursing and biting her lips. “Look, even if I agreed to this, it’s not like I could find him anyways. He might be bragging now, but we know he’s got other victims out there and other crimes he hasn’t been put on trial for yet. It’s not like he’s gonna just waltz in—”
Just as she finished saying that, her desk phone rang. She shook her head at Zahira as she picked it up and brought the receiver lazily to her ear. “Yeah?”
“Someone at the front for you,” the old male voice on the other side said… but she noticed tension in his voice “Bring your partner.”
Isabella frowned. “Be right there.” She put the phone down and stood with a sigh, stretching her arms out above her. “Come on, Zahira. We’ve got a visitor, apparently.”
Isabella didn’t wait for any response before she started off, but she heard Zahira stand and follow her. What was she thinking? Isabella was just as upset as anyone else in the department, but surely the lesson to be learned from this whole fiasco was to not go around bending the rules, and now Zahira wanted to try again? Did she want to embarrass the department for a second time? No, as much as it sickened her, the only safe way to play it was to sit it out and let the Captain call the shots. She was probably too personally invested in the case to properly handle it anyways. Her mind wandered back to the image of a bruised and sobbing woman handcuffed to a pipe, her breasts and thighs stained with dried semen. She shivered, bringing one hand up to rub at her elbow as she opened the door to the lobby. She just wanted to put the whole thing behind her.
“Ah, Detective Santiago!”
The voice stopped her in her tracks and sent a chill down her spine. Isabella momentarily froze, eyes wide. Then she whirled to see him standing there, leaning back against the wall with a magazine draped lazily over his lap. Grant grinned as he stood and held a hand out to shake. “I just wanted to show up and tell you that there were no hard feelings, Detective Santiago… Or should I call you Isabella? That’s your name, right?”
Isabella bristled. Her hands balled up into fists by her sides.
“So who’s the—” Zahira said as she walked up further before she drew up short next to her partner as she caught sight of that bastard, blinking in surprise. “…Huh?”
“What the fuck are you doing here, scumbag?” Isabella spat. Some civilians sitting around the room glanced warily in their direction, but she didn’t care who saw. She wasn’t going to be polite with this rapist. “Didn’t you have enough fun with the reporters already or are you here to brag some more?”
Grant held his palms up, stepping back with a small bow. “Oh don’t be like that. My apologies, Detective, I was only trying to be polite. I thought you would find it vindicating to know that you had been right about those eleven women. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“If you didn’t want to upset me, then you’d go straight home and put a bullet in your skull,” she hissed. Times like this she regretted being a cop. If she was a civilian she would’ve beat the shit out of him right then and there. Truthfully, she was tempted to do it anyways, repercussions be damned.
“Don’t be so rude,” he snorted, a wry twist of a smile on his face. “That wouldn’t be much fun because then we wouldn’t get to talk.”
Isabella glared at him. “We’re not talking.”
Something twinkled in his eyes. “So you aren’t going to listen to what I have to say? I did come all this way…”
“Not a chance.” Isabella turned sharply on her heel, glancing towards the officer working the desk. “I don’t want to talk to this fucker.” She reached out and grabbed the doorknob that would take her back to the bullpen and her desk.
“You don’t really believe there were only eleven, do you?”
Isabella paused. She didn’t look back as she answered. “Is that a confession?”
“What? No… I haven’t confessed to anything.” He hummed playfully and the sound made her jaw clench. “Not yet.”
That piqued her interest. She glanced back, exchanging a look with Zahira, but didn’t turn to face him fully.
“Officers, I’d like to confess to a crime. I’m afraid I’ve killed a woman, and I just… have to clear my conscience. I’ll tell you everything… who she was, where it happened, what I did to her… and where she ended up afterward. Every incriminating bit in complete detail, signed, sealed, and delivered.”
Isabella spoke carefully, measuring her words. “Wait here, then. I’ll get an officer to take your statement.”
Grant clicked his tongue. “No, Detective,” he said. “I’m afraid I have to insist. I was only here to make you feel better, after all… I insist on being given an opportunity to make it up to you… by giving you my confession directly.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you don’t want it… well, I’ve always wanted to travel abroad. I hear there are several lovely islands in the Caribbean that are very friendly to ExPats, with exquisite weather… and no extradition.”
An involuntary shiver raced down Isabella’s spine. He’d be gone, and never coming back… he’d get away with it. Still… something about the way he was manipulating her so clearly put her on edge. Finally, she whirled to look him in the eye, brow furrowed with suspicion. “What are you up to?”
He shrugged, still wearing that lazy smile. “Do you want me behind bars or not? Or are you afraid to listen to one handcuffed man in the middle of a fully staffed police station?”
Isabella’s lip curled back into an ugly snarl. The idea of being alone in a room with this monster, cuffed or not, made her skin crawl, but she also had to admit that this could be a potentially huge opportunity. Even if he wasn’t being completely honest she doubted he could resist taunting her with information that could be useful… and having him recorded in an interrogation room could go a long way towards justice. She looked towards Zahira, who answered with a firm nod.
“Okay,” Isabella said, pulling out her handcuffs. “But I won’t be alone. Zahira will sit in as well.”
Grant’s smile widened, and he looked at Zahira with a wry smirk that seemed almost like a leer. “That’s fine with me,” he said as he looked her partner up and down with a lecherous grin. “That’s totally fine with me, detectives…”
The door clicked shut and locked behind them, instantly making Isabella feel a little better. He was under their control now. The walk to the interrogation room hadn’t been fun… winding their way between other glaring cops, more than one of which would like to take this case from her. She even might want to let them if their reasons were better than “the bitch already screwed it up once.” Instead, she was put in the uncomfortable position of needing to protect this rapist… keep herself between him and others until she got him behind closed doors, knowing all the while that half of them would be watching through the glass.
Isabella shoved Grant into the hard metal chair with his hands cuffed behind him, then Zahira and her sat down opposite him. It was difficult not to throw him down harder when all she really wanted to do was drive him into the concrete floor like a nail, but that approach had already cost them something. She couldn’t lay hands on him like that again… no matter how bad he deserved it.
A creaking fan whirred slowly above them, and a plain black camera stared at him from a corner, the little red light in its frame flashing on and off. Neither woman said anything. They stared at one another in silence save for the rhythmic squeaking of the spinning blades above, giving him ample opportunity to drink them in. The Hispanic detective leaned forward and steepled her fingers in front of her hard face, her brow furrowed in a challenging glare as she pressed record on the box in the middle.
She could sense his eyes on her without even needing to look. It made her feel… uncomfortable. Unclean. The bronze-skinned woman had an athletic body, one that she should have been proud of. Her black hair shimmered as it hung down her back in a smooth ponytail, and though her uniform covered most of her body Grant could certainly tell that there was lean muscle all throughout her body. She was a model officer of the law, fit and sharp — or as fit and sharp as any person, man or woman, could be. Her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, but his gaze quickly started making her uncomfortable… after a few seconds she started rolling them down. She was… unfortunately… aware that she was just his type.
Zahira sat beside her, at least. Her partner leaned back in her chair with casualness that Isabella couldn’t match, her arms crossed under her breasts. She was sweating maybe just a bit more than normal here, and her full lips were pressed together in uncertainty. She had her head cocked at a slight angle as she regarded Grant. Grant, for his part, looked like he was imagining what she would look like with his dick draped across her face.
The silence stretched another few moments. “I suppose I’ll start, then,” Grant said. Neither woman’s expression changed. His smile widened as he went into his story. “Hmm… where to begin…”
As pretentious as it sounds, I suppose they say that every story is best told from the beginning. Not with my youth, of course. I won’t bother you with the details of my upbringing or my struggles, because that’s not what I brought you here for, and not what you’re interested in either way. Who cares about that. More importantly, did you ever wonder who the first girl was? The first victim I ever had? Which of the eleven it was? I’ll tell you a secret… it was none of them.
My senior year in college, the Gay-Straight Alliance held a parade for Pride Month. They held one every year, actually, but I’d never attended. It never interested me when I could spend that time getting drunk with my friends and fucking spaced out college sluts too stupid to turn down drinks from strangers. But my friends were busy with exams or final projects at the time, and I was left alone with nothing to entertain myself. So I thought, fuck it, why not?
I still clearly recall the energy in the air as I stood on a downtown street corner and watched the queers march and dance and sing. They dressed in aggressive colors and sang at the top of their lungs, pounding drums and blowing brass with enough volume to make your ears ring.
I can’t say exactly why I chose her, exactly… why my eyes settled on her. Maybe it was truly random. She was young, probably a freshman. You can always recognize them by their attitude… that optimism they carry when they’re experiencing life away from their parents for the first time in their lives. The innocence of a whole life ahead of them. She had dyed her hair bright pink and cut it a bit short… cheap piercings in her ears and lip. She was dancing with the rest of them. She thought herself a lesbian — I could tell from the plastic wristband she wore that announced as much, as if that was the only important thing she had to say about herself — but sometimes I wonder if she might’ve turned straight before she died. Maybe she’d just never had a real dick before…
“That’s not how that works, asshole.”
Grant blinked. He looked up to Isabella, who was glowering at him with open contempt. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lesbians aren’t just straight women who’ve never had dick before,” she growled. “Though I guess it tracks that you’d be a bigot, too.”
He cocked his head in interest, smirking as he looked between the two detectives. “Really? Honestly, I’m really glad to hear you say so. I’d always hoped that wasn’t the case… it would have made the whole thing much less fun. Are you certain about that? How would you know, though? You ever let a man fuck you to find out, detective?”
She just glared at him. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Keep going.”
Right. Now where was I?
Ah, yes. Dyed pink hair, lesbian wristband, piercings. She was wearing a pair of capris and a baggy tie dye tank top with a sports bra underneath, but I think what really caught my attention was her tits. She was a skinny girl, all bones and sharp-nosed, but even under the sports bra I could tell she had an impressive rack. Those things were two sizes too big for her, bouncing and swaying around every time she jumped and cheered or struck some silly dance move.
I hadn’t intended to do anything with her, not really. She was just a fun piece of eye candy, you know? Look but don’t touch. I’d wormed my way into bed with all kinds of women but, well, this one wasn’t going to be interested in me at all. My plans changed, however, when she and her girlfriend started arguing, and one of them pulled the other into an alley. Not sure why I did it but on impulse I stopped at the mouth of that alley and listened to them fight with each other, their accusing words as the girlfriend yelled at her for her shamelessness. The pretty one, the one who had caught my eyes, started crying, and her girlfriend flipped her hair and stormed off. She never even noticed me. I’m not sure she would have noticed a train wreck.
I’m not sure what exactly came over me then. It’s not like I went to the parade specifically to rape some random lesbian, but in that moment as I watched her cry in a dirty alley my cock was hard as steel and I knew I just had to have her… and I certainly knew she wouldn’t be interested in me. But it wasn’t like I had ever let a little something like a woman’s consent get in the way of my satisfaction before.
Oh, don’t look so shocked, detective. We all do it. Every single man would take a woman he could get away with. No mean yes, yes means anal… you know, all of that. Of course this wasn’t the first… questionable… notch on my belt. Lock me up, I guess. Oh wait… statute of limitations is up on that, isn’t it? Shame.
Anyway, pink haired girl. Right. She made it so easy. I didn’t go to college here in this city, as you know… this place wasn’t a big city, exactly, but the alley was plenty dark, perfect for making a naive young girl disappear for a little while. I hesitated for a minute, too long really – expecting someone to come for her, expecting her to leave. She didn’t. She seemed crushed that she had gotten dumped today of all days. The poor thing had lost her partner to enjoy the celebrations with. Luckily I was there to provide.
I made my decision, stepped into the alley, grabbed her, and pulled her deeper in. It wasn’t until her back was pressed against the wall behind the dumpster, out of sight of the street, that she managed to get her wits together enough to start asking questions. “Who are you?” she asked. She had a breathy, high-pitched voice. Very cute.
“Don’t worry about that,” I told her. She tried to pull back, but she was far too weak to break my grip, and for some strange reason didn’t call for help. God, I was so stupid back then. Just imagine, if she had shouted all those girls would still be alive. But she didn’t, and it cost lives. Life is strange.
She whimpered as I pinned her between my arms, her cute little lips quivering with fear. I was head and shoulders taller than her. She was almost so short she could jerk me off with those cushy tits without even having to bend her knees. I grabbed her jaw in one hand and turned her head to the side, leaning in to smell her soft skin. She didn’t wear any perfume, but the smell of her sweat was more than sufficient to turn me on. As I brought my other hand up to squeeze at her breasts through her tank top, she found her voice. “I d-don’t want this.”
It was a shaky whisper, barely audible through the sound of the crowd in the street. I could’ve ignored it, but I chose not to. “I don’t care,” I told her, sliding my hand up to wrap firmly around her throat. “Take your pants off.”
She began to cry, her pretty blue eyes turned up to the sky as if in prayer. I tightened my grip on her skinny neck and she rushed to comply, her strengthening sobs causing her heavy tits to bounce against my chest. Ah, I was already rock hard by then. I wonder if she could feel my cock pulsing against my trousers, rubbing up against her as her fingers twitched down and hooked into the hem of her capris. Of course she didn’t want it, but she was smart enough to obey me. If she hadn’t… then I’m not sure what I would have done. Maybe I’d have bolted. Or maybe I’d have snapped her neck like a twig right then and had my way with her corpse. No idea, really. All I know is that I lost my patience as her pants fell against her ankles. I pulled her panties down myself, practically ripping them from her thighs, and shoved a finger up into her cunt.
She cried out, and I snarled as I grabbed her shoulder and flipped her around, pressing her face into the hard brick wall. “Shut up,” I hissed, looking around… but the music of the parade was too loud. No one had heard. The slut sobbed out some response about having money to offer, but I didn’t care to listen. I kept one hand on the back of her head, holding it tight against the wall, while I grabbed her hips and pulled her ass into my groin with the other.
So I’d ignored a few women telling me no before, but nothing like this. And detective, let me tell you there’s something magical about the feeling of a truly unwilling woman’s ass cheeks wrapped around my cock. I slid my trousers down to my ankles and pulled my meat out, already painfully hard. I placed it between her soft cheeks and began to grind against her and she was so soft, Detective. Soft and warm, with an ass perfectly sized for my shaft. Her cheeks were tensing and rippling around me with every sob. I slid a hand up the front of her shirt, under her sports bra, and groaned into her ear as I felt the bare skin of her tit. I squeezed until she cried for me to stop, and—
“Do you have to be so damn explicit?”
Grant’s grin widened. “It’s only the truth, Detective.” He tilted his head. “Didn’t you just finish failing to prosecute for not having enough… specificity? Needed a little thing called… evidence?”
Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. Her dark fingers tapped irritably against the table. “I don’t need to hear about what gets you hard whenever you rape an innocent woman.”
“No?” Grant leaned back and nodded towards the camera blinking silently in the corner. “You’re sure you aren’t going to take this recording home and touch yourself to it? Imagine what it’d be like to have a man take charge?”
Her lips pressed together and her hands balled up into tight fists, but she didn’t say anything. He spent a few seconds watching her in silence, clearly undressing her with his eyes. imagining how she’d look naked. How she’d look sobbing around his cock. She shuddered.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back to it,” he said after a few seconds. “Unless you’d like me to stop my confession…”
So anyway, there’s something so invigorating about taking a woman against her will. I’d had plenty of sex before then, of course, and so I knew what it was to be a man… to take a woman who is normally tame and modest and reduce her to a shivering mess in the bedroom. Women are weak that way, see. They’re helpless with a cock inside them, enslaved to bodies designed to take seed and give birth. That’s just their nature, to submit and be bred, just as it’s in a man’s nature, in my nature, to dominate and own sexy little playthings like you.
But this was the first time I had ever felt the power of truly taking a woman, embracing my natural place in the world. And making her embrace hers. You can’t imagine the feeling unless you’ve been there yourself. Maybe a woman can’t feel it at all. This wretched girl wanted nothing in the world more than to be away from me, to be safe and happy, but she would never get that again, purely because I’d willed it. She could only tremble and beg as I held her head against that wall and groped at her tits and lined my cock up with her slit. It was the hardest I had ever been in my life. The most alive I had ever felt. She squealed as I forced my way inside her. She was so tight, no doubt clenching in some misguided hope that she could keep me out, but she was just a woman, and the added pressure only made me groan in pleasure.
To be honest, I don’t remember many of the details at that point. I have no recollection of how much time I spent in that alley, reaffirming my life as a man. I can only remember the sensations, the smells, the sounds. I remember the sound of her voice as she begged me to stop between gasps and sobs, the way it began shrill and frantic and then faded to a quiet, breathless drone as she decided to pray to God instead. But of course God wasn’t there to save her. She should’ve prayed to me.
I remember the sharp slaps of my thighs against her ass, the way that she would tense and clench whenever I tightened my grip around her fat tits or thought to pinch her puffy nipples and rub them between my fingers. I remember the velvety wet embrace of her pussy, the way I had to grunt and struggle to get into her at first, but it became easier as time passed, as her body surrendered and grew wet for me. The feel of her wetness splattering and dripping down my balls, hot and thick. The way her back glistened as sweat dripped down her body.
I remember when her aimless muttering stopped completely. She was so still for a moment I wondered if she had passed out, but luckily not. She instead suddenly burst into motion, her arms flailing awkwardly back, her hands slapping against my shoulders and her trim nails trying to dig into my flesh. When that didn’t work she braced her hands on the wall and lifted her legs, trying to kick at me, but all she did was cause me to fuck her harder when her heels came up and slapped against my ass. And then she drew in a breath and I realized she was finally going to scream, to really scream.
My hand flew up and I wrapped my fingers tight around her throat. I squeezed, and her scream died before it could escape, and her cunt clenched around me in turn. She squeezed so tight I could barely manage another thrust, but I gnashed my teeth and forced myself balls deep into her unwilling pussy, glaring down into her eyes and reveling in the terror and dismay I saw reflected back at me. There was a moment of clarity as I found myself hilted inside her, my balls twitching, and I held her tight as I pumped my cum deep into her body and claimed her as my own. It was the best moment of my life right then…
Grant stopped talking, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling wistfully. He’d worked himself up, and he wondered if the detectives could see his dick pressing against the seam of his pants. He had closed his eyes as he took himself back to the happy moment, and couldn’t help but let out a quiet groan right there in the interrogation room.
Grant opened his eyes, returning his gaze to Isabella’s. She looked uncomfortable, the hardness in her expression fading as her piercing stare flicked away from him. He saw the other detective, Zahira, leaning against a corner with one hand held over her mouth and her cheeks flushed red. She too looked away from him, running a hand through her hair and biting her lip.
“Imagining yourselves in her situation?” he asked with a wry smirk. “If not for the grace of God go you two? We could do that, you know. I can indulge your curiosity if you take the cuffs off.”
“And I can rearrange your face with my fists,” Isabella shot back.
“Yes, you can… just like you could last time. Because you had the guns. Because I’m cuffed.” Grant hummed and twisted his wrists, causing the cuffs to rattle behind him. “Could you do that if my hands were free, though? If you were unarmed? You’re a strong woman, detective… You look like you hit the gym every day. I maybe go for a jog every other day, but I bet I could still knock you on your ass with one punch.” He leaned forward, openly leering at her tits concealed within her tight-fitting police blouse. “Why don’t you give me your best shot? See if all your hard work is enough to beat out simple testosterone.”
“I’m not letting you get under my skin that easily,” she said, with a bit too much conviction. “Just get on with your story. You’re obviously enjoying it.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I am.”
I needed a moment to catch my breath after I emptied my balls into the slut. I let her fall to the dirty alley floor and watched as she curled up and began to sob into her hands. It was a hypnotizing sight, the way my cum dripped down the curve of her thigh, mixed in with a trickle of blood. I had half a mind to take her for another round.
But it was then, with my load spent and my dick softening, that it finally occurred to me what I’d done and just how reckless I was being. I’d done this on a whim, you see… and when I’d done as I pleased with women before it was easy to gaslight them, to convince them they had wanted it or to drug them or get them so drunk they would let me do whatever I wanted. There was no way this was going to work with this girl. I wish I could say it was a hard decision… but in the end it really wasn’t. I had to avoid any loose ends. I wasn’t going to let a few minutes of action with some bitch end the rest of my life. Thankfully, in the Boy Scouts they taught me to never leave home without my knife. “Be Prepared,” the motto says… and a knife is a versatile tool like no other. So I pulled out my switchblade, grabbed her shoulder, and rolled her over onto her back.
She didn’t even fight me… she seemed completely stunned. I owned her, and she knew it. She just stared up at me through the tears, still leaking cum from her pussy as I pushed the blade into her throat slowly. She was just so… meek. So pathetic, detective. She let me do it. I watched her eyes flutter and listened to her gurgles as blood began to well up and bubble out from her lips. Her tits bounced as she began to spasm, and I couldn’t resist the urge to rip her tank top open, roll her sports bra up, and watch them ripple as sprayed flecks of blood landed on her pale, soft skin. I began to get hard again as I straddled her hips and kneaded at her breasts, and I was so distracted that I didn’t think for several minutes as she bled on my knife.
It was a passing car horn from the parade that brought me back to my earlier concerns. I pulled the knife out and stepped back to let her legs kick and her hands twitch as blood sprayed from the suddenly open wound until, finally, she went still. I recall I was somewhat surprised and amused when she pissed herself in her final moments, but then, the alley already reeked of urine so I suppose it was only fitting.
I cleaned myself on her thigh, pulled my pants back up, and tossed her limp carcass into the dumpster with the rest of the trash. My heart was pounding as I stepped out of that alley and rushed home, unable to believe what I’d just done. I barely left my dorm for weeks. Every time I heard footsteps walking past my door I was certain it was the police coming for me. Then I turned on the television one day and saw the news reporting her body being found, just then, over two weeks after I’d killed her.
“Can you believe it?” Grant shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Did they not empty that dumpster for two weeks? Or were they just so careless that they didn’t even notice a dead girl in the bin until they finally got around to processing it? Do you think she spent a week lying untouched in some landfill, baking under the sun? Maybe a pack of dogs nibbled at her, or a crow pecked at those blue eyes?” He sighed and leaned back. “I bet the company that handles waste collection for the city barely pays its employees… one of them might have even seen her earlier and decided it wasn’t his problem.”
Isabella felt sick. How could this monster say such terrible things without even blinking an eye, then go off on some tangent about municipal budget without blinking an eye? She exchanged a glance with Zahira, and was concerned to see her partner’s face red, like she had been crying. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Grant, or meet Isabella’s eyes. “Alright, you had your game,” Isabella said. “Rot in hell, bastard.”
“Yup,” Grant said, leaning back. “You’ve got me now. Redemption for you, detective. I’m a rapist, and a murderer, and now you know all about all thirteen of my victims.”
She froze. “…what?”
Grant frowned. “Ah, no. You’re right. Twelve. Twelve, sorry. Twelve… that you know about.” Then he smiled at her. “Don’t you think the parents of lucky number 13 might want to know what happened to their baby girl?”
“You bastard…” Isabella growled.
Zahira, apparently, had had enough. Her partner abruptly stood. “Do you want some water?”
“Hmm?” Grant blinked, then smiled. “Well, it would be nice. I do have quite a bit more confessing to do, after all.” He paused, then added, “It’s sweet of you to be so concerned for me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you!” she snapped, then she stormed to the door, knocking for the police officers on the other side to unlock it. Rising, Isabella followed her partner, and they both stepped out the door.