There are some things in this world that everyone should try at least once. Murder is one of them. People don't understand the thrill, the worry and the lust for death until they've tried it, until they have blood on their hands, in their mouth, soaking into their clothes staining them forever with the sin they have just committed. It's the ultimate power trip, the act of god. Bringing justice to those who've wronged you, or just helping the population explosion with a random cull of the masses. It's a turn on.
And it's not that I don't like people. I love people. I'm a very social person, just with some anti-social fetishes, and I am not alone in this world. There are many who exist solely for the joy of bringing death upon someone. For the pleasure in the foreplay and the act itself, it's enough of a heat to cause wet dreams for days beforehand. It's an addiction in ways. Blood lust, the chase, the capture, the torment, the kill and the secret knowledge that you alone did it; caused the pleasure, caused the pain and in the end, disposed of the used and abused corpse.
I entered into this dark, macabre underworld after my first boyfriend met his end. It wasn't a terrible end, quite compassionate if I say so myself. He hardly suffered and enjoyed the prelude to his demise immensely, almost as much as I enjoyed his passing over. I hadn't meant for it to happen, we'd been fighting and the blade slipped. Well, that's my story. It was a crime of passion. All my crimes are that of passion, but this was passion of a different kind. He brought anger out in me, he induced me to a state of rage that I'd never seen before, and I was a savage, unleashed on him, my un-willing victim.
I say un-willing, but that didn't last long. My rage turned to excitement and I treated him to a night like no other he'd ever had. He was taken to the furthest reaches of pleasure, teased, tormented and seduced; it was a night of near explosive lust given physical release. A night I am unable to forget, and a night he would never survive. All in all, a good first experience in murder.
The mess was the first thing that hit me, once my ears had stopped ringing and blood flow stemmed. The place looked like a war had taken place. Crimson was splashed everywhere, it looked like bad modern decorating, and he lay, slashed and bound at a torturous angle on top of a lake of slowly drying blood. It was a masterpiece. I wish I'd thought back then to take pictures, I don't think I've since came close to the beauty that pure passion encouraged to massacre can create.
I hungered after that first foray into the killing arts. I had a need to fulfill, and only the feeling I got after watching someone die sated me. It wasn't just the death that done it either, it was everything. The cold chamber in the back of my car where I led my eager prey, the entrapment, the granting of their last urges, my own orgasmic release then the feast of their flesh. It all came together in a crescendo of pleasure and pain, which merged into one electrifying experience, and what can I say? Everyone needs a hobby.
Truly, I only found solace in my car. It was a place that was mine alone, filled with lost souls and the smell of sex and death, it was the place I spent the majority of my time. Whether it be indulging in my secret desire or being alone with myself, away from the squalor of the flat I lived in, and the noise of the three women I was forced to live with.
My car was an old one, ex-military Landrover. I didn't look the type to drive a monster like that, but I did all the same. I'd always liked them for their room and the privacy the back area provided. With a grill to separate it from the cab it was my own personal torture chamber, complete with chains and other temptations, it was perfect. I'd owned the car for a number of years before I first fully appreciated how useful it would be to my new pastime, now it was the carrier of a dark mistress for a new age, a bringer of death in a camouflaged jeep.
