A lot of nights I find myself in a world not unlike my own, where all awareness of who and where I am ceases to be. I become overwhelmed by the unshakeable notion that I am no longer tethered to this plane of existence.
I shudder each and every time, because I can see myself, but I don't recognize myself. Somehow though, I still know it's me and am aware that I am running. Yes, I'm running… running through hills and valleys, through mud that thickens with every step, snow that rises the more I push forward as well as wild grass which eventually becomes a jungle rife with lush vegetation. No animals or insects, just a jungle, which frightens me more due to it being void of life.
I don't know why I'm running, but I know that something is after me. In hot pursuit. This thing persistently calls out, but it doesn't say my name. It only wails in anguish.
The wailing drives me mad, especially since I can never seem to find a way out of that hellish landscape on my own. I can only escape once The Voices invade my head and guide my way.
Once I'm anchored in reality again, they commence with their usual demands and I eventually rediscover my sense of purpose, becoming Anselm Perine, like I am meant to be.
***
I have tried repeatedly to rid myself of these auditory nuisances, with my most recent attempt an act of suicide. I held the gun firmly under my chin and squeezed, only for the otherworldly beings to force the bullet back in and turn the firearm into a cloud of black dust using their omnipotent powers, which stainef my palms. I refused to stop there, but despite painstaking consistence on my part, there was no cessation.
They continue to chatter various behests in a union of discord, which has made my ears ache and bleed.
For a quinquenniad— that's a period of five years— I've heard and heeded to their every request, no matter how trivial or unforgiving. Most times, in a twisted gesture of good faith, they send people that I know and trust to forewarn me of any dangers that may occur as I carry out these infernal orders. Thankfully, those precious loved ones of mine never remember the wicked knowledge bestowed upon them. If they had any inkling of the horrendous acts I've committed, they'd certainly shun me.
And to be even more candid than I already am, I'd shun myself if I could. I'd do it in a heartbeat, launching this demonic being I've become right into exile. But, as things are currently beyond my control, I have to stay put. The Voices have much more work lined up. Since I know better than to oppose them, I do as they wish.
***
The Voices can be a strain, but I press on and commit every deed they conjure to the very letter. Among the heinous crimes I'm forced to commit, the most requested is murder. But these murders are never simple and clean, only messy and brutal. The carnage I carry out though would cherry-up the cheeks on Ed Gein.
This has left me wondering if I am evil incarnate. Unquestionably unhinged, but I also feel the most blissful when I'm slaughtering these unsuspecting people. Like, the other night, I was directed to murder a young lady in my apartment building. She lives next door to me and comes home around three in the morning, Tuesday through Friday.
Well, she used to come home around that time.
I don't know where she worked, but I assumed it was a really grueling job, because as far back as I remember she would come home and hop straight in the shower after taking her shoes off. The walls in this apartment building are very thin, so I still remember hearing the sound of them landing after being thrown across the room. After such though, she'd scurry on into the bathroom and start up the steaming water.
So, it was on this past Wednesday at precisely 3:25 a.m. that I made my way into her apartment unheard. I don't know if it was the forces of The Voices at work, or she just became absent-minded all of a sudden, but the door was left ajar. I closed and latched it up accordingly as quietly as I could, then softly but hurriedly, headed for her bedroom to wait in the closet.
On the day prior, I was instructed by The Voices to acquire a cordless buzz saw. I needn't question the reason why, as it was apparent they meant for me to make a mess. One so huge that the entire bedroom would need to be remodeled after being draped around with blood.
As I bided my time in her closet, which was a walk-in with louvered doors, I used the slim rays of light that came through to rummage through her apparel. I happened upon a pocketed plastic bag where she kept some of her footwear hanging between a sequined two-piece and a silk blouse. Mainly flats and flip-flops, but a few low-heeled pumps were in there as well. A ruby-colored patent leather pair caught my eye, so I sat down the buzz saw and carefully unzipped the pocket where they resided.
I took the left one out and gave it a big whiff, taking in the scent of the well-worn pump like I was snorting cocaine. I could tell that her feet sweat a lot and that she obviously wears stockings every time with these shoes, as the stench was one that could only be created by a foot trapped in nylons for hours on end.
Perhaps she wore these pumps to church, or she was a partier, spending massive amounts of time dancing in them only to go home and chuck them somewhere as the heavy sweat settled in, taking residence forever. Whatever the case may be, I have to admit that I'd love to be gagged with such a pungent item of footwear.
In addition to the smell of pedes perspiration, there was a curious stench of cinnamon and lavender. Quite an odd combination, but I assumed she was putting on two different lotions if one wasn't some type of oil. Still, the combined odors gave me an erection so hard that I could have shattered a cinder-block in one thrust. As I leaned against the wall, wrapped up in the worship of her odorous shoe, I had forgotten why I was originally there. However, I immediately became reminded as "The Voices That Be" set upon me with a pulsating migraine, which caused me to drop the shoe I was falling in love with. It hit the floor with a clattering sound and I knew then that my cover had been blown.
Through the slants in the door, I spied her open a drawer on the nightstand next to the bed and take out a gun. She racked the slide and carefully made her way over to the closet, ready to shoot once she opened it. I picked up the buzz saw and revved it, which caused her to start firing wildly into it. By blessed intervention of The Voices, each shot sent my way missed, with the last one ricocheting off the metal pole inside. It ended up barreling back to her, striking her right shoulder and spritzing crimson in the air. As she lay wounded, I burst out of the closet to do what had been dictated and assailed her with the saw. If Leatherface was real, he would be proud.
I sawed her limb from limb, becoming showered with her blood during the process. As this cardinal liquid rained upon my flesh, I felt like I was being baptized. And it was there in that baptism that I had been born again on yet another night of directed manslaughter. Although I took great joy in massacring this pretty girl, I was soon overcome with distress, sickened by my perverse enjoyment in the terror which had befallen her. Still, even with the thoughts racing around my brain of how horrible and depraved I am, I felt this desperate desire to rape her.
Or what would have been rape had I not been towering over a lifeless body.
Ultimately, I followed my heart of lunacy and did it, enjoying every minute since she couldn't fight back. As I assaulted her annihilated torso, I grabbed one of her severed legs and began licking the sole of her blood-soaked foot. I sucked on each of those little fat toes as I thrusted and thrusted with overwhelming force, no urgency available in me to stop. Eventually, I dropped the leg and started squeezing one of her partially sawed breasts, forcing out blood as I continued to fuck this bitch like an animal. In the midst of it all though, I began to cry. I don't know why I did, but I couldn't fight the tears. I felt the climax coming along and roared, but also wailed and wept, bursting into a saline torrent at the very moment I ejaculated. I exploded inside that vaginal cavern of mortality, then collapsed on the floor from exhaustion. After wiping the tears and snot from my face, I laid there for an hour in complete silence and pondered my existence in a pool of her coagulating blood.
Why do I enjoy doing exactly what The Voices tell me to? I don't know, but it's the best feeling in the world. I don't ever want to stop, no matter how many times thoughts of disgust and regret swell up in my head.
This is my affliction, and I'm proud to have it.
***
By now, I'm sure you're wondering why I haven't been caught.
Well, despite the paper-thin walls of this building and the ruckus I caused as I assaulted that young lady, none of it was heard. The Voices use their mysterious powers to place me and my victims inside of a place called "The Void Which Is" that keeps all those incriminating noises contained. Additionally, time doesn't pass the same as it would on the outside, so I can take my sweet time if I want and revel in the misery created. Of course, I still have no explanation for why I have to kill these selected people. Whatever the justifications may be, I don't really care to be truthful with you.
On the other hand, I am always going to be sick of The Voices and their incessant yip-yap. They force me to commit these atrocities and don't even thank me after the fact. I mean, shit, they could at least show a smidgen of gratitude for it all. But, lack of gratitude aside, I learned throughout my years of dealing with them that they can be reasoned with, though it is not always a sure thing. Like, about two years ago, I was instructed to murder two boys— toddlers to be exact— but I refused. Killing children just isn't how I operate. And I know, I am quite the sick fuck, but I still have my limits.
Kids are a no-go… or at least… that's what I intended for them to be. I begged and pleaded— with much urgency— for The Voices to give me anybody else to kill. Hell, I was so desperate to avoid murdering those children that I offered to slaughter a few nuns. They weren't amused by that suggestion at all. Actually, it appears my shot at bargaining was along the lines of blasphemy. Because of that, they thoroughly discussed the idea of turning me into a glob of jelly and summoning cockroaches to devour it all. However, after sensing how much it pained me to even think about snuffing those toddlers, they relented and went about choosing a new target.
After many deliberations— which I could hear in almost full detail— they eventually settled on this blonde-haired Caucasian woman. I was instructed to find her at the mall. She was a pretty chubby chick who stood about 155 centimeters in height. She had the prettiest eyes, hazel-colored from what I remember, and her lips were full and naturally rosy. She wasn't a woman of high fashion, not in the least, but gave the impression of someone "comfortably chic". Actually, she had all the style of a middle-aged housewife trying to keep up with the latest trends but looking embarrassingly out of place.
When I found her, she was wearing a long burgundy sweater coat with a hood and a tan blouse underneath with some navy blue culottes and a pair of gray flats. Those caught my eye the most because she dipped her feet in and out of them while standing in line at the food court. Strangely enough, she struck me as someone who's glory days were over with, but she didn't look a day over twenty-five. Her face was one that should be eternally youthful, and I was here to make sure that was how she'd be remembered.
***
It's rare when I learn any of my victims' names, but I'd become aware of this lady's by way of her friends. Her name was Lisbeth though, and I heard it when one of the women— a very gorgeous, voluptuous African-American woman named Janelle— called out, alerting her to the area they were sitting at in in the food court. During this time (a little after six-thirty in the evening) the food court gets pretty hectic to say the least, so it's not hard to lose sight of one's friends. Especially if you all pick different restaurants to get food from. In this case, however, Lisbeth was the only one who went to a different restaurant.
It didn't come as a surprise to me that she chose a pizza place— Bubba Jim's Pizza & Ribs to be exact— where she ordered two slices of supreme pizza along with a tomato and cucumber salad (like that was really going to make a difference), while her friends— there were four of them— had all hit up the Subway a couple of spaces down. None of these women were tiny or thin, but Lisbeth was indeed the chubbiest. I found that very attractive though. She was knock-kneed, but wobbled when she walked and ran. Sometimes, it looked like she had only recently learned how to ambulate. I imagined it would be quite entertaining (and humorous) to chase her through a wooded area with a chainsaw in hand. Anyway, once she spotted her friends, she rushed over and took a seat, immediately digging into her food.
I sat across from the quintet, but in a darkened area to make sure I wasn't noticed as I indulged in spying. To my surprise and joy, I managed to get a good vantage point of Lisbeth so that I could watch her eat, masticating her food slowly while I feasted my eyes on how deftly she played with those gray flats of hers. It aroused me greatly to see her dangle them and slowly lift that meaty heel of hers in and out. The slow dipping of her heel soon turned into a rapid, almost rhythmic, action. From there, she eventually slid both feet out, ever so slowly, finally resting her chubby, lime green-painted toes on the backs of them where she mashed and made the flats bounce up.
EUREKA!
Ah, if I wasn't in the mall, I would've flogged the dolphin right then and there, but that wasn't optimal. So, I had to stifle my sexual urges and just watch, helplessly trapped in an elated state of voyeurism. Still, what I saw there would be carried with me forever. It's a pity that I had to kill her, as she'd never do such wondrous shoeplay again, but The Voices demanded it, so I heeded and prepared myself to slaughter yet another innocent beauty.
***
As I had previously admitted, The Voices tell me what weapons to use for these murders. Sometimes they are things I can go buy at any old hardware store, but other times they are "mystical" items. I never understood the reasoning behind needing a magically-imbued weapon to kill seemingly regular humans, but I dared not ask too many questions. The Voices have their reasons and I kind of care, kind of don't. In order to kill Lisbeth though, I was told to go purchase an axe from a merchant who specializes in such tools. And this wasn't just any old axe either, but the kind they call a double bit. However, this double bit axe wasn't the usual, but a tactical variant made out of forged titanium with a edge so sharp you would cut yourself just lightly rubbing it.
The Voices often have everything worked out ahead of time, so when I arrived at the merchant's store, it was ready and waiting for me. All I needed to do was pay the man, receive additional instructions and just wait for my moment. This leads me right back to my point at the mall. See, I left the food court prematurely and was pissed at myself for doing so as I missed seeing the rest of Lisbeth's shoeplay show. Just thinking about those meaty soles in action again has my head spinning. Good god…
Anyway, before I ever arrived at the mall, I had hotwired and stolen a 2008 Dodge Ram pickup, which I intended to use to take Lisbeth to the killing spot: a graveyard on the outskirts of town called Saint's Rest Cemetery. I laid in wait inside the truck anticipating her exit. As fate would have it, I ended up parked right next to her. Also, it's humorous to me and worth noting that I had scraped her little hybrid smart car by accident, but that incident was a blessing in disguise as it gave me more incentive to attack her.
She approached the truck and started yelling obscenities at me while beating on the window as her "Karen" hairstyle fluttered in the nighttime breeze. I'm quite certain she could sense the apathy in my voice as I attempted to assuage her rage once I rolled the window down, as it was to no avail, so I finally got out and proceeded to take care of business. With the axe in hand and no witnesses around (we were inside The Void Which Is), I turned it upside-down and gave her one good strike with the handle.
THWACK!
Lisbeth hit the ground with a jiggly plop, her chubby body settling on the pavement like a dollop of Daisy on a Triscuit.
It took everything in me to hoist this heavy broad into the cab of the truck, but I did it, aching lumbar region and all. Really wish The Voices had used their powers to just magically teleport her, but it is what it is. As long as she is inside, I don't have a thing to worry about. She'll be benumbed until we reach our destination.
***
I had been driving for a little over two hours, nearing my destination, when the front tire on the passenger side suddenly blew out, invoking the raucous sound of rubber beating against the asphalt. I swerved like a panicked serpent until ultimately, as my strange luck would have it, I veered into the grass of a cemetery, which also happened to be the location I was headed for. I missed a large and looming oak tree amongst the graves by a hairsbreadth, so I guess The Voices were looking out for me. Still, I was remiss since I destroyed a few headstones in the midst of my emergency stop. Thankfully, Lisbeth was still unconscious. I had her bound up however, so even if she were to awaken, it wouldn't matter. She could never escape, making her expiration inevitable.
I hopped out of the truck, debating with myself about exchanging this dry-rotted mess of rubber with the spare. I honestly wouldn't need to use the truck again, but I'm also very particular about details such as this. It would bother me for days and nights on end if I didn't change it. Due to that, I searched the bed of the truck for all that I would need, but came up short. There was an electric scissor-jack and a X-shaped lug wrench, but no full-size or compact spare. This stressed me to be honest, and I became agitated to the point the back of my neck heated up. It was sweltering actually, even in this cool night breeze. Every single, curly, black hair on my arms stood on end, not from fear or shock, but from frustration.
My face was flush, like I had taken too much niacin, and I was itching like a madman eager to break free of the straitjacket binding him. That infliction which beset me was unrelenting, and I felt as if I had contracted a mutant strain of chickenpox, or like I had clashed with poison sumac. And yet, amidst all of the itching, I was beleaguered still by that incessant burning. It was as if I had been placed within inches of a giant clothing iron that had been on for hours, exhaling heavy steam as I stood with my back to it. I became drenched in sweat, which meant my anxiety was at an all-time high. This also meant that I had to get a grip on myself, as I wasn't there to gripe over a fucking spare tire, I was supposed to be obeying The Voices and doing away with Lisbeth.
(Yes… Lisbeth…)
Oh, how I don't want to kill her, but I have to. I have to do it. The Voices demand it. However, this doesn't mean I can't pleasure myself before doing so. After all, we are alone, residing in The Void Which Is. I can take my time like I do with all of the murders. Sure, The Voices will chastise me, but I don't care.
There are some things I just have to do.
***
I climbed into the cab of the truck, admiring Lisbeth as she lay unconscious still. I guess I whacked her pretty good with that handle, but she was still breathing, so that was a relief. At that very moment, the only things on my mind were her meaty, wrinkly feet and her flats, which I'm sure reeked but still held a heavenly stench. Slipping the left one off, I placed it upon my face and buried my nose deep into the worn and sweaty insole. I began to masturbate, stroking myself slowly at first, then increasing the beating to the pace of my racing heart. I was growing more excited, so I maneuvered her uncovered foot close to my dick, touching the sole with my knob. Her foot was so soft and drenched in sweat, every wrinkle felt like soaked mulberry silk. I wanted to cum all over it so badly, but I held off. I really needed to take this moment in.
I mean, nothing could stop us, or stop me rather. I had her here, bound and motionless, where I could just revel in her beauty and the warmth of her body. Especially her feet. The whole moment was ecstasy for me, and I was determined to savor it. This meant that I had to feverishly fight an almost overwhelming sensation to bust all over the place. The more I sniffed then inhaled her shoe and caressed her foot with my penis, the tougher it became to withhold my semen. Then, right at the moment where I wanted to let go and cum all over her piggies, she regained consciousness.
"What the— what the fuck are you doing!?" she screamed. "Let go of my foot!"
She tried in vain to fight me, but there wasn't much room in the backseat. Plus, being bound tightly with only her legs free, resistance was rather… futile.
"Shhhh, shhhh, don't fight me, Lisbeth. Just enjoy it," I whispered, rubbing her jaw in an attempt to assuage her.
She raised her eyebrows high as those chubby cheeks of hers turned rose red. "H- h- how do you know my name?"
"I mean, that should be obvious, but don't worry about it. Just indulge me right now."
"Indulge you how?"
"Well, now that you're awake, you can help me out," I started. "See, I was pleasuring myself to your feet and the scintillating odor of your footwear, and I was close to cumming. Like, it was brimming at the tip. Anyway, you can now use your foot to help finish the job."
She sat there in silence, just staring at me like I had spoken a foreign language. She no doubt found this weird and unnerving, but I couldn't care less. She'd be dead soon anyway.
"Okay, let me get this straight– you knocked me out and kidnapped me just to play with my feet? It didn't dawn on you to actually talk to me?"
I dropped my head and snickered. Her yapping was killing my erection, but I was amused that she thought I only kidnapped her to do this. I was also surprised she was so calm about it. Must be used to guys with a foot fetish.
"No, Lisbeth, you have it all wrong. I didn't kidnap you to 'play with your feet', I kidnapped you to kill you."
Her mouth dropped, wide open from my revelation. She wanted to say something, but she was speechless. Her mouth was moving, but her lips just trembled, forming nothing but a soundless stammer.
"Yeah, that's right, Lis. I have to kill you," I sighed, moving her chubby foot towards my crotch again and taking another whiff of her shoe. "I don't want to, but I have to. You're such a beautiful woman to me and I've enjoyed getting off to your feet so far, but a job is a job. However, I have never had one of my victims pleasure me themselves, so I hoped you could do so before I snuff out your light."
She was still quiet, but seemed to be intrigued by what I was saying, which made having to kill her more difficult. Most women have often run away from me after learning about my attraction to feet. It is another one of my "afflictions", but I'm not ashamed. I love the female foot and always will. If no woman can respect or accept that, then she's better off dead. But see with Lisbeth? This woman could be the lady of my dreams. Possibly somebody who would deeply understand my desires, getting involved and fixing the fracture that is my worthless existence. Then again, she could be pulling some reverse psychology bullshit, pretending to be into my fetish so that I let my guard down and free her. Assuming the worst, I can't fall for it.
"So… are you in or out? I mean, you really don't have a choice."
Lisbeth grunted loudly, expelling sour breath my way and singeing my nose hairs in the process. I could smell the combination of pizza and salad joined by another participant that I deduced could only be halitosis. I almost upchucked, but kept my composure. Visibly disgruntled, she stared me down like a wolf face-to-face with its prey and replied, "Then why even fucking ask me?"
"Well, although I'm not above doing things without consent, I'd love for you to willingly participate. Who knows, you might actually like it."
I gave a wry smile and patiently awaited her answer, while still holding her meaty and soft foot on my crotch. It was the only thing that kept me from losing my erection after getting blasted with her shitty breath.
***
"Okay, I'll do it."
It took painstaking deliberation, but she had finally given me what I assumed was an honest answer. Her agreement came with a forced grin much to my dismay though, as I knew she didn't really want to do this and was understandably creeped out, but she probably figured what was the trouble in humoring her captor. Besides, things couldn't possibly get any worse for her.
That was the same thought I had in my mind, because despite it all, I would have to keep my wits about me. I could not get lost in the pleasure even though I felt I deserved it. I was on the job after all, and The Voices were never kind when I would stray too far. They allow a modicum of wiggle room at times, but such is never enough for me to be content. Satisfaction never factors into whatever their plans may be anyway, I just so happen to be a perverse fuck and get off on my duties. So as things currently stand, disobedience and disregard are frowned upon.
I wanted to make things interesting, so as Lisbeth mashed on and rubbed her foot up and down my cock, I used the handle of the tactical axe to fuck her in her pussy. She winced and squealed, and I didn't fault her for that at all, as I'm sure the sensation of me thrusting that handle in and out wasn't very enjoyable. Still, she played it up like it was a beautiful pain, biting her lip and sucking in air, making a pleasurable hissing noise. I was laying back when I did this by the way— while we were in the backseat of the truck— but my arm and the axe handle were long enough to reach her. I mean, she was only five-foot-one, so her little legs didn't require me to stretch much.
To my surprise she started to really get off on what we were engaged in, and before I knew it, she was climaxing. I, however, wasn't ready. I forcefully stifled myself from erupting, because I wanted this to last a while before I bashed her pretty fucking face in, snuffing out her light for eternity. So, I ordered her to mash on me harder, which she was reluctant to do.
"Ugh! Haven't you had enough? My leg and foot is tired!"
"I don't give a fuck, Lisbeth! I want this to be special, and I refuse to let you ruin it! If you don't do as I command, your death will be slow and very agonizing!" I roared, pausing to take in the terrified look on the gorgeous canvas that is her doll-like face. Her eyes had lost all hope of survival, turning into a cold and barren wasteland. In dead eyes I find the most beauty, for those are the eyes that have beheld the truth of inescapable mortality. Mental snapshots like such keep my arousal at the nth degree.
I lean closer to her ear, my warm breath running all over her lobe and into her ear canal as I continue, whispering in a gruff voice.
"See… I'll start by slicing open that blubbery chest of yours, cutting right between those fleshy sandbags you call mammaries, breaking a rib every two minutes and fucking you simultaneously. And believe me, I know how to do it without you dying. As a matter of fact, you'll do everything EXCEPT die. You won't know whether to moan in ecstasy or scream that bloodcurdling scream for help. But sadly for you, there will be no help. Only an elongated finale to this wasted and overweight existence you call a life."
That pulchritudinous organic saline secretion begins to stream, rinsing over the mezzanine barrier that is her bottom eyelid. The theatre of her mind was experiencing widespread panic since the stage had gone ablaze, roasting the performers. They tried in vain to save face, showcasing bravery to the very end. Their courage, as admirable as it may be, was all for naught and the audience, who had been oblivious to the gravitas of the situation, went out like denizens of Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted.
Erm… I must apologize for waxing poetic. This just so happens to be one of those rare times where I've gone off on a tangent. Anyway, in Layman's terms: Lisbeth is finally breaking down and understanding that there is no escape. So now, I watch in delight as the tears race down her cheeks and jowls, one after the other like heavy rain on a windshield.
"So, will you accede to my demands again?"
Without so much as a word, Lisbeth forcefully shoves her left foot into my crotch, grinding my dick as hard as she can. This pressure feels so good, but I'm no fool. I know that she's aiming to hurt me by crushing my penis. Yet, even with a thick and meaty— big also— foot such as hers, she has no chance. Her size nine-and-a-half can only increase the hardness of my phallus to diamond-like proportions! I joyously take it all in, egging her on as she grinds away.
"Yes… YES! Do your WORST, Lisbeth! DESTROY my penis like your life depends on it!"
She pushes and pushes, thrusting and twisting her foot into my crotch more and more. I cackle maniacally, feeling elevated in my state of Xanadu.
"Crush it! CRUUUUUSSSSH IT! Treat it like a cockroach and pulverize that fucking dick!"
At this point, I don't think she's listening to me. It's possible that she never has been. She instinctively chose to grind me this hard. Her "Fight or Flight" was activated, and mashing the fuck out of my cock was the recourse it settled on. Silly on her part, but I can't blame her as she's totally unaware. 'Tis only instinct.
Dreading this activity becoming mundane, I eventually push back against her grinding. My dick is probably as hard as the rocky flesh on Ben Grimm, if not as hard as the diamond I previously mentioned (I forget which would be tougher.) She doesn't relent however, and I honestly don't want her to. I just want to cum, my dick exploding like that Ryder truck McVeigh parked at the Murrah Fed building.
"Are you enjoying this, Lisbeth? I know I am," I giggle, teasing her. She doesn't respond. Her eyes had moved into a catatonic state. Actually, they were more like Goku using Ultra Instinct. She wasn't doing a damn thing of her own accord, which made my next move even better.
"Time for your swan song."
She must've heard me somehow, as she was mashing harder than before. Loving every bit of the action, I thrusted with great force directly into the middle of her wrinkly and sweaty sole, intent on delivering the ultimate "semen coda." Her relentless grinding against the impulsion of my cock causes her ankle to pop, but the damage doesn't stop there. A fissure is sent through straight to her knee and it shatters completely along with everything in between, imploding inside of her leg. The sound of annihilated bone rings in my ears and I finally ejaculate, bursting all over her foot and shin like I intended.
The riving of her leg was enough to snap Lisbeth back to reality. With her instincts no longer in control, she laments, screaming from the excruciating pain of having the bones running from her ankle to her knee pulverized. Her leg had become a swollen sack full of ivory smatter. Some of the bones, despite being small, found their way to the surface of her flesh, jutting out like a reverse iron maiden.
"Well… Lisbeth, my dear… you've served me well. It's a shame things have to end this way, but a job is a job. I'm surprised The Voices let me go on this long. Anyway, farewell, my sweet."
I kiss her forehead then raise the axe, ready to strike like Thor with Mjolnir, but the end result would instead be me cleaving through her skull and sending bits of brain everywhere. She immediately begins to plead, begging for any semblance of mercy while shaking about frantically and kicking the only useful leg she has left.
"Shhhh, shhhh," I tried to assuage her again, stroking her sweat-soaked blonde hair. Her Karen hairstyle was now more like that of Ellen DeGeneres, but after being dropped in a dunk tank full of vegetable oil. It was very icky to my fingertips. "like I told you before: don't fight me. Just relax and take it easy, this will all be settled promptly. The Reaper is on his way down the pike and a great light follows behind. It is crimson and divine."
Finally, I bring the axe down but Lisbeth quickly screams out, "I'M PREGNANT!" a split-second before it hits. As a result, I drop the weapon and it smacks the floor of the truck with a heavy clang.
"W- w- what? You're pregnant!?"
***
As I said, that was about two years ago. The Voices knew that I was not keen on killing a child, but they intended for me to do so regardless by serving up a pregnant woman. I flatly refused, however, and they dealt with me in their usual manner. I was accosted that day by the worse migraine ever. A pain that was practically unbearable, but I withstood, even with my eyes and nose bleeding profusely. The pain was so excruciating that it caused irreparable damage, leaving me blinded in one eye as well as deaf in my left ear. It also rotted off. I guess that's fitting though since Lisbeth lost her left leg.
Hold on, what's that you ask? You want to know what happened to her? Well, she's still around. Wheelchair-bound, but still alive. She gave birth to some very adorable twin boys though and never breathed a word of what I did to the authorities or her friends. As far as they're concerned, I'm the one who saved her from being kidnapped and possibly killed. Actually, she's here right now.
Want to see her and the kids? You do? Good! Hold on.
Lisbeth! Come here right quick, our guest wants to see you! And bring the boys! Ah! Here she comes, those two adorable angels in tow. Now, I know that I failed to explain from the beginning that I have a companion here with me, but the focus was primarily on my dealings with The Voices. I conveniently left that parcel of information about her out. It wasn't as important at the time.
What's that? No… that's not right at all. No… of course I love her. She's very important to me. I just didn't see the need to tell you about her. After all, it would have ruined the story I had to tell.
Hold on… what? I'm crazy? A lunatic? And Lisbeth is the same? Stockholm syndrome? Nah, it's not that at all. It was actually just as I suspected: Lisbeth would be understanding of my affliction. Whatever fears her and I had before became nothing. The apprehension was eliminated the minute she… well, you know what she did. But um… don't you see? It was obvious her and I were the missing pieces to each other's lives. Since that incident all those years ago, we've bonded. Our minds melded into one. That's the meaning of being in love. True love…
Huh? Say what now? Why's she holding a knife? Well… I mean… that should be obvious. Ah! C'mon! Don't tell me you thought I brought you in from the cold just to talk and nurse you back to health? Heaven's no! You're a victim, silly goose. You weren't randomly found either. Say what? You recognize Lisbeth? Haha… I'm sure you do. She works at the coffee shop you visited. You remember, right? You came in to use the Wi-Fi and asked for some tea instead of java. Lisbeth, obeying the orders of The Voices, spiked it. The sedatives kicked in a few minutes after you left. Lucky for me, you were just around the corner from my apartment. Excuse me… OUR apartment.
So… here we are. You, Lisbeth and I plus the boys at the side of their mother's wheelchair. Actually, let me get them out of the way. Okay boys, things are about to get a bit messy, so I'm taking you back to your bedroom. Now, now, no crying, you two have to be good little children and do as you're told. It's time for the adults to play. Is that understood? Alright, good.
Okay, since that's finally taken care of and the kids are tucked away, it's time for you to say goodnight. Or rather… goodbye. I hope my story was a good one. Weird? Well, of course it was that. My life isn't exactly sunshine and roses. Still, it is an INTERESTING life I live.
Aww, not you too now. Don't cry. Don't whine. Just relax. This will all be settled promptly. I see the Reaper, coming down the pike, and behind him is a divine, crimson light. Shhhh… don't struggle. You're going to make this more messy than it has to be. See, this is Lisbeth's first kill, and I want her to do it right. With your help, the spill can be minimized. Blood is hard to get out of a tan sofa.
What's that? Plastic? Yeah, I could've put that down. But, as I stated, The Voices hate when I waste time or disobey. I have the blind eye and deaf ear to prove it. They love a bit of a mess anyway. It's like a ritual sacrifice. So yeah, fuck the plastic and honestly, fuck this couch. We'll just throw it out afterwards along with your body. Burn it to ash.
Okay, Lisbeth, are you ready? Alright. Put the knife right there… directly on the throat and just slide it across. Imagine you're cutting a birthday cake. Yes… just like that. Ah! Isn't that beautiful? All of that blood.
You did good, my love. Real good.
👣👣👣
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