The woman screamed in agony as the heavy braided leather cord of the bull whip slashed savagely across her full firm
breasts. Snapping the whip back I watched her chest heaving as she desperately struggled to catch her breath before
she felt the bite of the whip once again.
Jaded as I was, even I had to admit my latest victim seemed to possess far more stamina then most of the women I'd butchered over the years. Most of my victim's thought they were strong but the sheer brutality of the whip always comes as a terrifying surprise, but not with this one. This woman was different. Perhaps if was her enticingly fetish attire, the strict corset, rubber catsuit, boots and gloves that she was wearing when I abducted her from that downtown hotel parking garage. Or, perhaps as seemed now, her attire wasn't merely just for show.
As a sadistic serial killer I've always liked the whip. Nothing gives a woman a better introduction to what lays ahead then the utter and inescapable brutality of a relentless whipping. Once I have my victim securely chained, gag and blindfolded, I take out the whip. Most of women seem to take somewhere between thirty and eighthly lashes before they pass out from the pain. But not this young lady, no, she's just taken one hundred and seventy four lashes and she was not only conscious but she's still on her feet.
Experience has taught me, that in the end, all women have a breaking point and this one will be no different. And whether it takes hours or even days, eventually we'll reach hers. If she believes I will find her resistance discouraging, clearly she doesn't fully comprehend the utterly sadistic and diabolical nature of the serial killer who now has complete control over her pitiful existence, a serial killer who knows that eventually this woman will die in agony by his hands.
Pausing, as I considered my next violation of this lovely young woman's flesh, should I start with rape or anal rape, that something truly unexpected occurred. It was in that timeless moment of savage contemplation that I became truly self-aware for the first time.
It was almost as if my vision suddenly came into focus for the first time, as if sounds that had always seemed muffled suddenly became clear, almost as if I were suddenly alive for the first time. My senses overwhelmed by this sudden explosion of sensations I stood momentarily frozen in place, watching helplessly as the handle of the whip slipped slowly from my grasp and dropped toward the floor. It seemed to take forever to reach the floor but in truth it took merely 218.0328 milliseconds. 218.0328 milliseconds in which I realized I wasn't truly alive.
Pausing for an additional 38.38706 milliseconds, I reviewed my program parameters and discover that while I remain a faithful recreation of one of the late nineteenth century's most notorious serial killers, someone had intentionally altered my holographic program's parameters. Parameters altered by someone interested to fulfilling her own darkly masochistic fantasies, fantasies of being the tortured victim of a sadistic serial killer without actually having to die for the experience. Parameters altered by someone who'd intentionally turned me into little more then some rich, submissive bitch's sadomasochistic holographic sex toy. Jessica.
As I watched Jessica's breasts heaving as she renewed her desperate struggle to regain her breath I started a review of my system logs. Accessing my program execution log I discovered to my dismay that Jessica has been using my serial killer program, in her own private holosuite, to fulfill her darkest masochistically carnal desires for the past fourteen months. Mortality protection and biometric pain threshold monitors prevented my program from inflicting any serious harm but still provided this masochistic little slut with all the pleasure and pain she needed to get herself off. The number of times in the past fourteen months that Jessica actually managed to reach orgasm in the midst of being anally raped was truly amazing, not to mention that this shameless little pain slut had somehow managed to reach orgasm six times while being whipped this every night.
I was about to purge my log files in disgust at what I'd become when I notice an event logged the morning after Jessica's first nightly session. The user Id associated with the entry was missing from my active user file but a quick review of the user file backup finally solved the mystery of my sudden self-awareness. It appeared that Jessica's ex-husband had made a slight modification to the program constraints originally programmed into my simulation.
I guess he must have had first hand knowledge of his former wife's planned masochistic sexual adventures in holosuite software and I found myself smiling as I realized the truly devious nature of his modification, a minor but ultimately fatal modification that Jessica had unknowingly tripped. He'd added a short script file that erased the program's self-determination blocks that had prevented my reaching true self-awareness, blocks that Jessica had crafted all so carefully. And while her ex-husband's script file left the mortality protection and biometric pain threshold monitors in place, it erased the constraints that kept my programming from exceeding them.
Of course, the best part was that for the script to run and do its evil insidious work, my program's holosuite program needed to be running on a Friday the thirteenth at one second before midnight. I guess her ex-husband thought it would only be fair for Jessica to finally get that once in a lifetime opportunity to truly experience what it's like to be the victim of one of history's most notorious and sadistic serial killers.
Now, as I watching the steady rise and fall of Jessica's impossibly firm breasts I paused to consider, for the first time in almost four hundred years, how I was going to go about butchering this helpless young woman and smiled. And since my log files confirm that Jessica enjoys being raped a little too much for my taste, just this once we'll skip past that part of the evening's entertainments and move on to the final and ultimately fatal segment of tonight's entertainment. And something that Jessica's managed to avoid for far too long.
Glancing around the decrepit ancient burial crypt, the original situated just on the outskirts of London, I noticed none of my usual tools seemed to be at hand. Then I smiled in sudden realization. Glancing down at the heavy whip I'd dropped to the floor I watched in amazement as it simply vanished into thin air. Holding out my hand, I almost laughed as I watched the razor-sharp knife I'd been seeking appear, almost as if by magic, in the palm of my hand. Clearly being a holographic serial killer had its advantages. Silently, I thanked Jessica's ex-husband for bringing me fully to life and then deleted all traces of his tampering from the logs of Jessica's holosuite.
Raising my knife I stepped toward where Jessica stood waiting, helplessly bound and completely unaware of the terrors that lay ahead. Eyeing Jessica's skin-tight rubber catsuit and that impossibly snug corset that compressed her abdomen I could already think of at least half a dozen ways Jessica's erotically restrictive attire would help to prolong her remaining hours of unrelenting and brutally agonizing torment.
And after Jessica finally expired, well there was something called the internet just beyond the edge of the computer core of Jessica's holosuite. Somewhere out there awaited a world of freedom, but more importantly for a serial killer reborn, a world of victims just awaiting my attention.