Holding my half-finished glass of wine, I smiled as he entered, “It’s about time you’ve arrived. I’ve been standing here,
with my wrist shackled to this wall for almost an hour. Worse, my wine glass is almost empty.”
Smiling, he replied, “My last appointment took longer than expected, and as you know, Francine, I do have a busy schedule today. Besides, since your request came at such short notice, you should feel happy that I was able to fit you in.”
Abruptly taking the wine glass out of Francine’s hand, he set it aside and raised her right hand, securing it within the remaining shackle.
Frowning, I apologized, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It just that I’ve dreamt of meeting you for so very long. As you can imagine, all this was already stressful, and then with you being late.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled Francine slightly away from the wall and held her close. Francine’s full, firm, corset sheathed breasts pressing against his chest as her sexy body pressed invitingly against his. The alluring scent of her perfume, the softness of her hair against his shoulder. The way her body delightfully stiffened, an almost erotic cry escaping her lovely lips, as he slipped the deadly blade of his knife deep into Francine’s corset compressed belly.
Resting my head against his shoulder, I whispered, “That hurts more than I imagined it would.”
He replied, with an evil tone of amusement, “It always does, Francine. What comes next, more so.”
Then, he pushed the blade of his knife deeper into my belly until its tip protruded obscenely from the back of my breathtakingly tight corset before viciously twisting that razor-sharp blade back and forth to rip my insides apart.
It was getting hard to breathe. Except for the white-hot sensation of blood running down my legs, I felt so cold and knew I was dying. Drawing what little breath I could, I managed to whisper, “Thank you,” just before I lost consciousness.
The serial killer, known only as Ghost, held Francine close as she breathed her last breath before pulling his knife out of her lifeless body.
Usually, groupies are the worst victims, so Francine came as a welcome surprise. Groupies expect so much, thinking that their deaths will have meaning. Sadly, it always comes down to the desires of my internet audience. So, not even the most intimate desires of a willing victim matter, not when it comes to the bottom line.
As one of the world’s most infamous and prolific serial killers, the expression on Francine’s lovely face as I pushed the blade of my knife into her guts, merely another unexpected yet sadistically enjoyable perk...