I’ll have to admit one of the perks of being a serial killer is the groupies, those pretty young things that want to worship you. I know you’ve heard all the stories, of those women who write letters to convicted serial killers offering to provide conjugal visits or even to marry them. I’ve heard that Gary Ridgeway, who may have killed at least 90 women, receives at least half a dozen marriage proposals a month from his cute adoring fans. Still, it wasn’t until the internet that I realized that more than a few of my groupies actually wanted more, that they actually wanted to star in one of my torturously diabolical snuff films. It’s hard to imagine, especially knowing the brutal reality of what I do, that so many women are actually trying to find me just so they can spend their finally hours dying in agony for my amusement.

This sweet young thing is Sasha. Sasha is a grad student majoring in industrial architecture and design at Berkeley. Seems Sasha recognized the abandoned South Bronx meat packing plant where I’ve been producing my snuff films from a book on the city’s nineteenth century industrial history. Tonight I found Sasha waiting for me at the building's back entrance, dressed in nothing but lingerie and a long concealing black leather trench coat.

I could already see the look of eager anticipation in her eyes as I handcuffed Sasha’s wrists to the metal post and forced that oversized ball gag deep into her mouth. The delightful way Sasha held her breath as the cold steel of the knife slid upward between her full breasts, its razor sharp blade effortlessly parting the smooth black silkiness of her bra to reveal the firm fullness of her bosom for the cameras. That erotic whimper of submissive anticipation as my fingers slipped inside the front of Sasha’s panties to discover just how wet she already was as I roughly tore the panties from her hips. And while that look of anticipation remained, I could see that unmistakable look of fear in Sasha’s eyes as she watched me take one of the three inch long needles out of the jar and using the torch heated it until it glowed.

It’s always interesting to do a groupie, most have seen several of my films, they know my tastes and they know about the kind of mementos I’ve collected over the years. I’d seen it in Sasha eyes as I’d groped her breasts shortly after cutting off her bra, that despite the firm fullness of her breasts, no implants. Anyone who’s watched a few of my films knows that if Sasha had breast augmentation I’d have skipped the breasts and moved straight to genital mutilation, saving her breasts until the final moments of her life, that while she’s dying, I’d cut off her breasts to harvest her implants for my collection.

Still, unlike the unfortunate women who usually end up starring in my snuff films simply because I’ve chosen to abduct them, with groupies it’s hard to separate the true masochists from those clinging to the misguided belief that what I do isn’t real but merely exceptionally good blood and gore special effects. Staring into Sasha’s eyes I can sense the fear, and yet not the slightest hint of panic, even as she feels the heat radiating from the sharp, red hot tip of the needle poised a hair’s breath away from her delightfully erect nipple. Smiling behind my concealing mask I felt Sasha’s body suddenly stiffen and a faint cry escape her tightly gagged mouth as I slowly pushed the red hot tip of the needle though the center of her nipple and deep into her breast.

Turns out Sasha was quite the masochistic little pain slut, it didn’t seem to matter what new torments I inflicted upon her, I still couldn’t tell if Sasha was crying out in pain or in sexual bliss. It almost seemed as if Sasha was enjoying her slow methodical mutilation almost as much as I was. By the time I ran out of needles Sasha’s breasts looked like seared pin cushions and yet, even as I picked up the torch, I could sense the masochistic anticipation in her eyes. I think Sasha even managed to reach orgasm as the torch’s white hot flame slowly burned off her clitoris.

In the end, I finished Sasha with all the barbaric cruelty my sadistic fans have come to expect. Selecting the sharpest of my knives I grabbed Sasha tightly by her neck as I slowly pressed the knife’s sharp tip into the skin directly beneath Sasha’s sternum. Then, waiting until I saw the look of horror in Sasha’s eyes I pushed the blade deep into her abdomen until I felt it grate against her spine before pulling it brutally downward to open Sasha’s belly in an obscene explosion of blood and gore. Weaken by her sudden fatal blood lose Sasha sank to her knees in a pool of her own entrails as I watched the life going out of her eyes, her dying body slowly slumping forward to hang from the handcuffs locked around her wrists.

Two hours later I finished cleaning up the mess, Sasha’s corpse and several buckets of her entrails slowly dissolving in the acid tank. All that remained was the cleaning up of several incriminating lose ends. Before I gagged Sasha she’d told me where in her apartment I could find that book with its photos of the city’s nineteenth century industrial history, she understood that I couldn’t take the chance that some normally clueless police detective might thumb through the book and make the same connection that Sasha had. And besides, it turns out Sasha’s roommate Cindy is also a groupie and unfortunately for her, she knew about the book. Seriously, I’m already looking forward to the sound of Cindy’s screams...