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From: "violent urges" <violenturges@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Psycho pedophile rapist killer
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Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2006 15:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Story title; Psycho pedophile rapist killer
Author; Violent urges
A sequel to "Rage"
Story codes; M/f M/F rape, violent, snuff
Warning; this story contains graphic violence and sex

If you saw me, you'd never suspect me.
I'm small and harmless looking; Innocent. I look like a school girl.
I'm not; not innocent, and not a school girl.
I'm 25, perverted, and perhaps psychotic. I think I should start therapy 
again sometimes; but the fact is, I feel alive now for the first time in 
years.
I was fine until I was 16. I used to date, I had a boyfriend, he was nice.
Then I was abducted and raped very brutally; I no longer dated. I only went 
to psychotherapy and martial arts classes.
Then a couple of years ago, something incredible happened. I encountered my 
rapist.
I could have called the police; he might have been convicted. But I didn't, 
I went with him to his home, and killed him.

I felt no guilt, none at all. If I'd killed a dog, I might feel bad. He was 
not a dog, he was garbage.
Before I killed him, he had thought we were going to have sex; I'd taken my 
clothes off, to put him off guard and to keep them free of blood. When I 
killed him, we were both naked.
When I replayed the events in my mind, I found myself feeling something 
totally unfamiliar; arousal.
I wasn't about to tell anyone what I'd done, not even my therapist. But I 
dwelled on it, and felt an urge to touch myself when I thought of him; the 
man I'd hated to distraction. I imagined him raping me, or just fucking me. 
But it was different from when it had really happened those years ago; 
because in my fantasy, I knew I was going to kill him, I knew I was no 
longer the helpless sixteen year old. In these fantasies, I was no longer 
the victim. I thought of him, the inhuman monster in the guise of a man; I 
thought of him, masturbated, and had an orgasm.
The first orgasm I'd ever had.

I ran an internet support group for girls who were abused.
There were several girls who were still being regularly abused, and who 
hadn't found the courage to go to the authorities. It wrenched my heart to 
read their letters, and I did what I could to help them.
The thought of a more hands on intervention became more and more of an 
exciting idea.
I traced one of my correspondents; it wasn't so hard. I knew when she logged 
on to my website, and captured her dns address. I narrowed her down to a 
certain town on the east coast.
Through details she had told me, I narrowed the field to one of two schools; 
I had a description of the school, and of her.  I flew in and found her in 
only 4 days. I didn't tell her who I was; I dressed as a teenager and 
followed her home.
Of course I couldn't be sure I was at the right place, or of anything else, 
but it would be easy to check.
The man didn't work, so he was home during the day. I staked out the house 
from a rental car. When he went for a walk, I followed on foot.
He was in his late 40's, balding, and wore glasses. At five foot eight, he 
was six inches taller than me. He went into a park.
I was wearing tight little shorts that left the bottoms of my ass cheeks in 
the open air, and a tube top that left my flat belly bare and displayed my 
lack of tits. I sat on a bench and waited for him to come around.
I could feel his stare before I saw him. I could feel his malevolence and 
desire.
"Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked me as he got to my position. I had no 
idea it would be so easy.
"What's it to you?" I asked defensively.
He sat down on the other end of the bench.
"You could get in trouble." He suggested.
"I'm used to trouble." I answered.
I could tell he was excited; so was I.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Twelve." I answered.
He paused to find his breath.
"Twelve." He repeated, "You really shouldn't be hanging out alone in the 
park."
"I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Where do you live?"
"Park street."
"That's on the other side of town."
"Well I can't hang out near home, can I?"
We talked some more; I told him how I hated school and didn't communicate 
with my parents. There was a definite flirtation that I pretended to be too 
naive to notice.
I left the park and returned to my hotel. I met him there again the next 
day, and the next. Then he invited me to his home.

We were barely in the door when his arms went around me; he pulled my little 
body tight against himself.
I felt nauseated, disgusted, distressed, on the edge of panic; yet thrilled.
"What are you doing?" I stammered.
"Come on, Jodie! You know you want it." He said, and he clamped my head 
between his big hands, and he kissed me on the mouth.
I had been masturbating in the evenings, fantasizing of this moment; but I 
hadn't thought of kissing. Kissing was something nice, for nice people, 
nothing to do with this man or myself. We were both malicious, bent on 
personal gratification.
He let go of me and pushed me towards a door. He reached past me and opened 
it, then propelled me through into a bedroom.
Oh God, I did want it; that truth was the worst part of it all. I wanted it, 
I wanted this disgusting child abuser to use me.
"No, Steve; Please don't." I said, the fear in my voice very real.
His glasses seemed to steam up, he was so hot. He grabbed me and tore my tee 
shirt over my head.
He was only the second man ever to see my breasts; not that there was much 
to see. He held me tight against himself, he stank of male sweat and sordid 
desires. His hands were warm and strong on my naked back, he grabbed my hair 
and pulled it down, forcing my face up. He breathed into my mouth.
"There's nothing to worry about, Jodie, everyone's afraid the first time."
"No, Steve, I don't want it!" I struggled feebly.
His hands slipped down my back and pulled down my shorts, taking my panties 
with them. He lifted me bodily up and threw my small body onto his bed.
"You want it, sweetheart." He insisted, dropping his trousers. "Stop 
pretending you don't."
I lay naked sprawled across his bed; he kicked away his trousers and shoes 
and stared at my bald cunt, drooling slightly.
His dick was bigger than the first man who'd raped me those years before; it 
was standing hard and proud, waiting anxiously to despoil me, apparently 
innocent and so very young.
I jumped out the far side of the bed and tried to make it to the door, but 
he grabbed my wrist and spun me around, throwing me back towards the bed. He 
jumped after me and pinned me down, he put his fingers around my throat.
"You be quiet now, Jodie. You just be quiet and no one will get hurt, 
right?"
I nodded, knowing that someone would be hurt later, but that it probably 
wouldn't be me.
"Spread your legs." He said, pushing a hand between my thighs.
"But I'm too young, Steve, I can't!" I insisted.
"Bullshit, girls can do it at any age." He said.
"How do you know?"
"I know, honey, just take my word for it."
He wedged his big hairy body between my thighs, his big stiff cock poked 
around my groin eagerly.
I writhed around below him, trying to escape his clutches, but he was at 
least twice my weight.
"But how do you know?" I insisted
"I've been with girls younger than you, sweetheart." He said, finding my 
hole with his rod. "Don't be afraid now, it's all right."
With one hand still squeezing my throat, he jammed his cock against me.
I'd never felt so thrilled in my life; I was being taken against my will by 
an ugly horrible man, like I'd been fantasizing of. I had done it; I'd set 
out to make it happen, and I had succeeded.
The feeling of his cock pushing into me, stretching me open, filled me with 
conflicting emotions.
I was nearly fainting with terror as I relived my childhood trauma. Yet the 
sexual excitement that I felt was nearly as strong.
It hurt as he jammed himself into me, one of his hands on my throat and the 
other on my thigh.  But after a few seconds, one or both of us excreted some 
lubricant, and things were going easier.
I struggled against him feebly, but he pinned me to the bed with his hands 
and cock. I cried as he did it, really cried; I wasn't faking. Images 
assaulted me with an intensity equal to the man raping me; the first man who 
had done this to me, his beautiful death in my hands, his cock in my cunt, 
this new man's cock burning inside me, his stink, the scratching of his body 
hair on me, his soft strong hands, his cock inside me as he fucked me.
And then, as I was being helplessly pummeled by this larger older horrible 
man, I came.
I hated him then; I hated everything about him.  The way he smelled, the way 
he looked, the way he fucked me, and especially that I came with his 
repulsive bulk on top of me.
He began to grunt and wheeze; I began to panic for real as I realized what 
was about to happen.
He put his arms around my tiny body, clamping with all its strength as he 
began to ejaculate inside me.  It was the most horrible and degrading moment 
I'd experienced since I was 16.  And it made me come again.
For a few moments, there was stillness; the cock was shrinking inside me, 
and the man was still sweating on top of me.  Then he pulled his slimy dick 
from my body and released me.
"That was damn good. You'd better go home." he said, reaching for his 
underwear.  I couldn't believe he was simply going to dress himself without 
even washing.
I climbed out of the bed and walked up to him.  He looked down at me 
curiously, he had no idea.
My foot went into his crotch, crushing his testicles.  A gurgling noise 
emerged from his throat, curiously similar to the noise he'd made as he 
ejaculated into me.  He began to fall, and I punched him hard in the nose 
five times.  It was pulverized before his body hit the floor.
I wasn't sure if he was unconscious when I crushed his larynx.
I washed myself and dressed. I checked the body for a pulse before I left; 
there wasn't one. I felt exhilarated, free, wonderful. Except for the semen 
he'd left inside me of course, but even that was part of it.

I was worried about getting caught.  But not worried enough to regret what 
I'd done.
That lowlife piece of shit would not be raping any more little girls.

I went back to my own town, and lived like I had before.  But I kept 
thinking of the man I'd killed; I only regretted killing him before enjoying 
him once or twice more.
And of course I worried that despite my care I might have left some clue 
behind, but I was willing to live with the risk.  My life was pretty much 
shit anyway; and if I went to jail for 20 years, I would know that it was in 
a good cause.

I had recently inherited a fair sum of money and a house; I decided to rent 
the house out, and go on the road.  I bought a van.
It was quite an excellent situation; in the privacy of my van, I could 
carefully do my makeup, and put on my little girl's clothes.  I had a small 
haven.
I hung out in a park in a strange town, smoking cigarettes with real 
12-year-olds.  Men would lurk around, lusting after us, and it freaked me 
out that the children didn't seem to notice.
I always hung around after dark, after the others have left.  Finally, I was 
rewarded.
I heard him walking up behind me, but pretended not to notice.  Suddenly, a 
hand was clamped over my mouth from behind and I was hauled into the bushes.
My heart was pounding with excitement as the man tore at my inadequate 
clothes.  He put his hands around my throat, as the last one had.  It's 
genuinely frightening to have large hands clamped around your throat, even 
though it isn't really very hard to remove them if you know how. I know six 
different ways.
"Quiet!" he hissed, although I wasn't making a sound.  He stuffed his finger 
into my crotch, brutally penetrating me.  I felt his cock against me, 
replacing his finger, pushing, penetrating, entering my body.
It was dark, and the large man loomed above me.  I couldn't see his face, 
but I could smell him; he smelled expensive, of some kind of classy 
aftershave.  I felt his zipper crush against my groin; his cock wasn't very 
big, and was all the way in.
He fucked me frantically, as I struggled helplessly.
"No, please, don't!" I whimpered.
My distress seemed to please him; he let go of my throat and wrapped his 
arms around me, squeezing me tight against his overcoat.  The bushes 
underneath me were digging into my behind, and nearly spoiled it for me; but 
as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see the man's face.  He was pale 
and old, perhaps 50.  His face didn't look evil, he could pass for a 
friendly grandfather.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I whimpered.
"Quiet!" was all he replied.
His old dick pounded me incessantly, he started to stiffen; I began to come, 
and I felt him ejaculating inside m at the same time.
It felt good, so good; the glorious rush of orgasm, the horrible pollution 
being injected into my vagina by the pedophile rapist, the sheer brutality 
of him and my confidence that this would be his last time.
He pulled out, and scrambled to his feet.  He wanted to run away as quickly 
as possible, but he had to tuck his cock back into his trousers first; that 
gave me the seconds I needed.
I slid towards him, still on my back and naked from the waist down.  I 
hooked a foot in front of his ankle and then kicked behind the knee of the 
same leg with my other foot, hard.
It wasn't enough to break his knee, but sent him sprawling onto his back.  I 
jackknifed forward so I was on top of him, I sat on his chest and began to 
punch his face.  After a short time, I shoved the bridge of his nose up into 
his head.
He didn't suffer much; circumstances were difficult, so I had to accept 
that.
I had debris and mud all over my back, but I slipped out of the park unseen. 
  I went to my van and cleaned myself up, then drove to the motel where I 
was staying and checked out.
I rolled onto the highway with a song on my lips, joy in my heart, and a bit 
of semen from the dead man leaking into my underwear.

You'd be amazed how many pedophiles there are lurking around; not all of 
them are rapists in the physical sense.  Many think that fucking little 
girls and boys is just a fine thing to do, and work on talking children into 
it first.
I don't think fucking little boys and girls is a fine thing for adults to 
do.
These guys [all the ones I met were guys] think the law is stupid, and they 
know better.
They're just like me in that way; I also defy the law to fulfill my needs.  
I'm just doing what they're doing, ruining a life to get my kicks, doing 
what I think is right regardless of what anyone else thinks. I don't think 
of myself as a nice person; I kill people as I see fit. Nice people don't do 
that.

I allowed pedophiles to seduce me; I let each fuck me a few times until I 
tired of him, and then I'd kill him. I moved around the country, leaving a 
string of corpses in my wake.  It was a very fulfilling time for me.


But then Martin caught me.
He didn't seem different to any of the others.  He groomed me for sex, first 
just talking, then buying me food and small gifts.  I spent more than a week 
waiting for him to make his move, but when it came I was unprepared.
He seemed like one of the "nice" ones, the type that would become more and 
more insistent over time before luring me into their home. Eventually no 
longer willing to take "No" for an answer, and finally breaking down and 
just raping me.
He invited me to his home all right, but once I was in there, he forced me 
into his cellar.
Locking a heavy door behind us, he pulled on a rack of shelves, which opened 
on hinges revealing another space. He shoved me through the opening; there 
was yet another locked door, which he opened with a key attached to his 
belt.
I made pitiful whimpering noises the whole time, to keep him off guard; a 
small person like me, even if highly trained, needs every advantage when 
fighting a heavy opponent with no weapons.
He threw me into the room; "Get acquainted, I'll be back in an hour or two." 
He said, and slammed the door closed as he left.
There was a girl in there; tall and thin, about 14 years old. She looked at 
me silently through large vacant eyes.
Her hair was brown and unkempt, and she was dressed in shorts and a tube 
top. She was barefoot; her long thin legs unhealthily pale.
The space was a small windowless apartment. There was a refrigerator and a 
kitchen sink, but no stove or oven. There was a shower and a double bed that 
was unmade, and a television, which was on.
The girl was staring at me, and now she began to cry.
"What's your name?" I asked her.
"Oh God I'm sorry I'm so sorry!" she blubbered, "It's my fault, all my 
fault!"
Eventually I got some sense from her. She'd been in there for 2 years. Men 
came and raped her every night, sometimes twice a night or very early in the 
morning.
There was a woman as well, apparently Martin's girlfriend.  She came in with 
him sometimes and watched; she also brought clean sheets and towels, and 
food sometimes; but she never came alone, he was always there as well.
Somehow, I found the thought of a woman participating in this even more 
evil.  Men's brains might be corrupted by some strange perverse twist in 
their reproductive instinct that destroys their humanity; but a woman?  What 
kind of a woman would take part in a crime like this? I swore silently to 
myself that the bitch would die at my hand.
There had been another girl when my new friend first came, but Martin took 
her away a couple of weeks before my arrival.  Sandra had told him she 
couldn't live alone, and now he'd taken me to fill the other girl's place.
"Martin said she went home; do you think it's true?"
"I doubt it Sandra." I told her gently. "How old was she?"
"16."
"Were her breasts becoming large?"
"Yes.  Why?"
Pedophiles aren't interested in women, they want children.  Children don't 
have breasts.
The men were all older, in their 50's Sandra told me later.  They tended to 
be well-dressed and wear gold watches.
"Some of them are nice." she told me, "But others are really mean."
I was about to tell her that nice people didn't have sex with abducted 
children, when we heard a key in the door.  It was Martin and his girlfriend 
Heather.
Martin was a hulking man in his late 30s or early 40s, with thinning hair 
and a face that would not be unattractive if you didn't know him.  Heather 
was younger, in her late 20s.  She was short and heavy, with dark thick 
curly hair to her shoulders and large breasts.  Her face was puffy and 
unhealthy, there was a distinct odor of alcohol on her breath.
"Take your clothes off." the man told me firmly. "Sandra, you sit over 
there.  You can watch if you want."
Martin turned and punched me in the stomach; I avoided my instinct to block 
his blow, but did manage to tense my stomach and exhale as it landed.  The 
force of the blow threw me against the wall.  Heather cackled and Sandra 
began to cry.
"Lesson 1;" Martin said, "Do as you're told when you're told."
He stepped forward and slapped me across the face quite hard.  I couldn't 
see straight, the room seemed to tilt, and I fell to my knees helplessly.
I struggled to focus again as he tore off my shirt.  He lifted me to my feet 
and spun me around so my back was to him; his hands held my naked belly, and 
moved up to my tiny breasts.  He stroked them tenderly.
"I don't want to hurt you." he lied smoothly, "So why don't you just stop 
struggling.  You know what's going to happen here; you know you can't stop 
me, so why not relax?  You might even enjoy it."
His fingers fumbled at the buttons of my shorts, and then he hauled them 
down to my ankles.  I looked at Heather, and saw that she was grinning while 
she watched.  I thought about killing her; the thought made me happy.
Martin lifted me up, and threw me down on the bed.  His trousers came down, 
and his hard cock bounced upwards.  My eyes locked on the organ that was 
about to defile me, and I was filled with that mad familiar rush of 
adrenaline, that fantastic feeling of terror mixed with sexual excitement.  
I was quivering with it, I was as perverted as he was, my sexual needs 
overcoming all logic.
I struggled against him with my far inferior strength, which excited him 
further.  He laughed and pulled my legs apart, his cock quivering with 
desire at the sight of my hairless pussy.
I could have easily taken hold of one of his fingers and twisted it as I'd 
been trained to.  I could have rendered him helpless, but I didn't; I needed 
him as he was, brutal as he took me by force.
"You're wet." he said accusingly as he stuck his finger into me.  He didn't 
waste much time, and jammed his dick in.
I struggled, jerking around.  I'd found that I could disguise my orgasm that 
way.
As Heather watched gleefully and Sandra watched in tears, my abductor 
thrusted and withdrew, thrusted and withdrew, holding my small body tightly 
so that I couldn't escape him.  His evil penis poked and prodded inside my 
body, filling me with loathing and disgust for both him and myself; and as I 
came, I wondered if I could ever be normal.
He fired his load into me, his seed flooding into my bruised body.
"There." he said smugly as he pulled out of me, "That wasn't so bad was it?  
You little slut, you probably even liked it.  This one wasn't a virgin, 
Heather; imagine that, only 12 years old and she's already been at it.  
She's a little slut, she'll fit right in here."

The door slammed behind them as they left.
Sandra and I cried together for a while; it was strangely soothing to share 
my agony with someone.
I showered and cleaned myself up as best I could; my new friend gave me some 
clothes.
We heard the doors opening and closing, the sound of the locks clanking as 
our captors returned a few hours later. Martin came in with an older man; 
sixtyish, tall and heavy. He smiled at me kindly as Martin dragged Sandra 
away into the outer room.
"You can call me Freddie." He said, taking off his heavy overcoat. "I hope 
we can be friends." He said.
"Are you joking? What kind of a man are you?" I demanded.
"I'm not a bad man, Jodie. But I do have certain needs."
He spoke apologetically, as if he imagined he might be forgiven for what he 
was participating in.
"Take your clothes off now dear. Don't be shy now, you know you will do what 
I want in the end, don't you? So just relax and be a good girl, and we can 
be friends."
"You must be nuts!" I told him, "You get me out of here, and then maybe we 
can be friends."
He moved with surprising speed for an old guy, grabbing my upper arm in an 
iron grip.
"Hey! You're hurting me!" I whined.
"This is just the start." He hissed at me, his face tensing in anger. "Get 
your clothes off right now, or I'll show you what `Hurt' means."
I really was afraid; I wasn't sure I could take him. There was something 
about him, a power in him that I needed to quantify before I could attack in 
confidence. He was evil, pure evil though. That was clear.
I undressed myself, removing the skimpy borrowed slip that I'd been wearing. 
I was truly terrified this time; this was quite different to anything I'd 
been through before.
There were witnesses, one of whom was innocent. These people were organized, 
with their locks and buried rooms. Even if I were to somehow succeed in 
killing Martin, his girlfriend, and Freddie, I would have to face the music. 
I might be connected to my other killings. The fat old man was going to fuck 
me, and this time I really couldn't do anything to stop him.
Freddie grinned, and put his "kind" face back on.
"Come sit on my lap." He ordered.
I was reassured by the softness of his huge hands as they caressed my small 
body; they were not the hands of a fighter; he was vicious, but probably 
untrained.
"Now this isn't so bad, is it?" he asked kindly. I could feel his hard on in 
his trousers under my naked ass.
He began to kiss me; I resisted at first, he was too disgusting for words. 
But as I got used to it, it became strangely tolerable. I guess we can get 
used to anything. He was closely shaved, his big strong pudgy hands gripped 
my head as his old tongue pushed into my mouth.
I had never done that before; it was weird and horrible to feel it probing 
around my teeth and gums. The feeling made me squirm around on his hard on. 
As usual, the sordid brutality was turning me on.
"I want you now." He announced, and stood up with me in his arms.
He put me on the bed and undressed; he was fat and grey. His cock was small 
compared to the rest of him, sticking out under his substantial gut.
He crawled over me, crushing me under his weight. He pulled my ankles open, 
holding them in the air as he struggled to find my cunt with his eager cock.
I struggled, feeling true panic. He laughed as it finally went in.
He let go of my ankles and fucked me, gripping my wrists now, crushing me 
into the mattress. As his cock jammed into my body I worked to calm myself 
by imagining all the things I might do to him when the opportunity arose.
And under his horrible fat sweaty old bulk, barely able to breath, I came.
I was crushed into the darkness by him, my young body was penetrated by his 
old dick, his ugly face was panting above me with his feeble efforts, and in 
the midst of this horror, my orgasm rolled across me.
I took pleasure in that; I was getting one over on him. I would get my rocks 
off, and I'd get him in the end, I was sure of it.
He pulled out of me and rolled over onto his back.
"Suck me off." He instructed.
I stared at him in shock; I'd only had cock in my mouth once before, the 
first time I was raped. The man had put a kind of bit in my mouth to prevent 
me from biting him, but Freddie didn't seem to think this necessary.
"Suck me off!" he insisted in a tone that chilled me to the bone.
He grabbed me by the hair and hauled my head to his groin. Holding his 
sticky cock in his other hand, he thrust it at my lips.
In a state of terror, I opened my mouth to him. His penis slid deep into my 
mouth, filling my head in an odd way. I sucked, bobbing my head up and down 
in response to his grip on my hair.
"Look at me." He demanded. "Look at me!"
I looked up at him, tears flooding my eyes; he grinned and fucked my mouth, 
thoroughly enjoying my tearful terror. The bastard had me now; I was truly 
horrified and afraid. I was gagging on his cock, I would have bit it off if 
I wasn't truly afraid of him. I could do nothing against the savage hold he 
had on my thin blond hair.
At last, he came in my mouth, great hot steams of disgusting pedophile 
juice. This is hell, I thought to myself; I've finally made it to my final 
home.
"Swallow." He said, tightening his grip and raising his other hand in 
menace. In utter defeat, I did.
Later, when Sandra had been thrown back into our cell, she told me that the 
man who had just brutalized me was the mayor of the town.

There was a different man every day.
Usually both Sandra and I were raped, sometimes while the other was present, 
sometimes we'd be separated.
Sometimes I was tied up first, spread naked on the bed. A couple of them 
played the "friend" game, talking to me and stroking my body before mounting 
me and doing it.
Being tied up was wonderfully terrifying; I was truly helpless, a complete 
victim. I always came as they fucked me, but never let them know. They all 
did it without condoms, too.
Martin raped my ass though, which was only horrible without the erotic 
satisfaction I got normally. He tied me to the bed face down, with a pillow 
under my hips; then he pulled my ass cheeks open with his thumbs, while his 
girlfriend and Sandra watched.
It hurt; it was a terrifying pain, it felt as if I was being torn open as 
his greased dick forced its way into me.
I cried then; I cried in fear and humiliation, thinking to myself that this 
was what I must deserve.
It was karma, for killing those men; taking the law into my own hands. I 
prayed for forgiveness and strength, which is a weird thing for an atheist 
to do.
Martin laughed in exhilaration at my pain, fucking my ass hard. I could feel 
his cock in there, in my gut. He grunted and came.
"That was great. A whole new hole for my friends to use." He said.
He and his evil girlfriend left, clanking the heavy doors behind them, 
leaving Sandra to untie me and share my tears.

After two weeks in there, I had a clear idea of the setup.
The town had a pedophile mayor, chief of police, and various other 
functionaries. They kept each other in power, and kept Martin and his 
girlfriend. They were paid to provide the wealthy men with their needs.
It was my hell and my heaven; raped and abused by the most disgusting men I 
could imagine, night after night, often twice. They fucked me in the cunt, 
the ass, and in my mouth.
Although I only came when they fucked me in the cunt, I still enjoyed the 
pure pain of getting it in the ass, the humiliation of sucking them. The 
wretched stink of their come and sweat.
I would have stayed longer, I might have let them use me for months if not 
for Sandra. I couldn't stand by as they also did this to an innocent girl. 
She was enduring deep trauma, and I had to stop that if I could.
So I took my chance as the police chief had his cock up my ass. I suppose I 
could have chosen a better moment from a combat point of view, but there was 
something about killing him during the act that appealed to me.
He liked me to be on top, facing him. He was a white ugly fat fucker, with a 
big cock that hurt when he fucked my small ass with it. He was probably in 
his early fifties, but I never asked. I was wallowing in the pain, enjoying 
the helpless feeling of it as I sat on top of him, facing him.
He was holding my ankles, using them as handles to push my small body 
around, moving me back and forth, forcing it deeper into my big intestine.
I was wearing nothing but a dog collar that was connected to a ring in the 
wall by a chain. I think it was just for effect.
I reached behind me, stretching my arm down until I had him by the balls. 
With my other hand, I fingered my own clit; the thought of killing him was 
glorious, I was getting very horny.
He grunted in pleasure, surprised at what I was doing. I looked at his face 
and smiled, for the first time since my incarceration.
"Oh yeah, baby... fuck me sweet cheeks, shit..." he grunted.
I had often practiced a technique for freeing my wrists from a man's grip, 
but I wasn't sure whether it would work for my ankle. I could feel his balls 
contracting in my hand as I rotated my foot so that the edge was against his 
wrist. Twisting suddenly further put massive tension against the weak point 
of his grip, between the tips of his thumb and fingers. Even as he began to 
come, and gripped my ankle with all his strength, he couldn't hold me. My 
foot came free of his grip, and I immediately lifted it high in the air 
above him. Keeping my knee locked straight, I brought my small heel down 
hard on his throat.
.
I fingered myself and rotated my asshole against his still stiff dick as he 
gagged and struggled to breath, slowly turning blue. I grunted and moaned in 
overt orgasm; it was fantastic, more powerful and satisfying than any I'd 
known before. I leaned forward and held his face between my palms and smiled 
again.
"Goodbye." I told him, and as an afterthought, I kissed his ugly mouth, 
holding myself against him as he lost consciousness. Only after that did his 
cock finally shrink inside me.

I removed the collar and chain before getting up, forcing the dead man's 
flaccid penis to pull out of my ass. The sight of his cadaver created a 
sense of achievement in me. I felt good all over; in my ass, my vagina, and 
my head. I was tingling from both the orgasm and the murder; there's just no 
high like it.
All I had to do was figure out how to kill the rest of them now.
In the policeman's clothing, I found two thousand dollars, a bunch of keys, 
handcuffs, and a gun.
I didn't know much about guns, but I had gone with my dad to the shooting 
range a few times; I could shoot well enough. It was an automatic though, 
and I had only handled a revolver.   Luckily the safety catch was clearly 
marked.

I checked on Sandra, Martin had locked her into the small holding cell next 
to the main one where we were usually kept. The cop liked us one on one.
Through the peephole, I could see she was lying on the cot in there, face 
down. Sleeping or crying I figured.
I wanted to free her, or at least tell her it was going to be over soon, 
that I wasn't going to let any of those bastards live. But I had my own 
needs, which included leaving the least evidence behind me.
So with guilt in my heart, I left her there for the time being. I unlocked 
her cell door, then relocked the outer door behind me and crept silently 
upstairs.
Martin and his bitch were watching a sitcom on TV, laughing as though they 
were humans. I would soon put an end to that.
I explored the small house first, checking to be sure there was no one else 
there and that the doors were locked and the windows all closed. My dad had 
once told me, don't point a gun at anyone unless you're ready to pull the 
trigger. That meant closed windows or someone might hear the shot and call 
the police.
Now I had put considerable thought into this, and had figured out a safety 
net for Sandra. She was the victim, and she had to be protected in case 
something went wrong for me and my grisly plan.
I knew a victim's helpline that was only manned during office hours [how 
fucking useless is that?]. I phoned it and quietly left a message; the 
address, abducted girls in the hidden cellar, full description of how to 
find the door. I knew they wouldn't get it until Monday morning, and it was 
only Friday night. Cool.
I found some twine in a drawer and a good sharp knife. There was a safe in 
the bedroom, poorly hidden behind a painting. It wasn't fully closed. Inside 
was a lot of cash; I left it there.
They didn't hear me enter the living room from their kitchen. It would have 
been so simple to shoot Martin in the back of the head, then the bitch; but 
that would be just too easy.
I wanted a practice shot anyway, just to be sure the gun would work as I 
thought. So I shot the TV.
It made a lovely booming sound as it imploded, while Heather screamed and 
Martin jumped to his feet.
I stood there facing them, the heavy gun trembling in my small hands. I was 
naked and barefoot.
Martin tried to rush me, not a great idea really. I sidestepped as I shot 
him in the shoulder, then the leg for good measure. I didn't want to kill 
him; yet.
"Shut up bitch." I said to Heather, turning the gun on her. "Or I'll kill 
you."
Such an overused expression, but this time it was meant quite literally. She 
looked at my eyes and stopped screaming.
"Do exactly as I say, or I'll shoot you. Do you understand?"
"Yes." She whined.
"Sit down."
She did, and I tied up her groaning boyfriend, lacing his fingers together 
behind his back with tight windings of the twine I'd found in the kitchen. 
Heather whimpered as I picked up the sharp kitchen knife, but all I did was 
cut open his trousers.
He stared up at me goggle eyed as I grabbed his limp dick in my hand.
"Not so tough now, are you?" I laughed, waving the knife near it.
He struggled and screamed in pain and terror, almost getting himself cut. 
Heather stood up so I dropped the knife and grabbed the gun again.

A half an hour later, someone was at the back door. It was one of the men, 
come to have his turn in the cellar with Sandra or me. I opened the door and 
let him in. I was now wearing a large tee shirt belted at my waist.
"Come on in, it's all right. Martin and Heather are in the living room." I 
told him.
He looked into the living room and went all stiff, then turned to look at 
me. He found himself looking into the barrel of the automatic.
"Go ahead, motherfucker." I told him, "Try it."
He threw up instead.
"Nice." I said. Kiss heather."
"What?"
"Kiss her or I'll shoot you somewhere it will hurt."
Heather was now naked and tied to the dining table, her hands and feet tied 
to the legs.
"Go on, get down there and kiss her, and I want to see tongue." I said.
He did it, he got down and kissed the ugly bitch with his puke stink mouth.
"Now get your pants down so she can suck your dick." I told him. "I want you 
to fuck her mouth like you fucked mine last week."
"Look, I'll give you anything you want, I..." he protested.
"Check out Martin there on the floor. He has two bullets in him and a 
flashlight sticking out of his ass. Does that look nice?"
He stared at his pimp's rear end, the flashlight stuck three quarters deep 
in it.
Soon he was fucking her face, but it wasn't very good since he had no hard 
on.
"Get over there and make Martin suck it." I told him. "You'll have to pull 
the sock out of his mouth first of course."
The bastard held Martin's head and stuck his dick in the man's face, but 
there wasn't much life left in the creep.
"Damn. Put on these cuffs." I told him, tossing over the police handcuffs.
Soon I had him naked on the coffee table, face up. His hands were cuffed 
together underneath.
"I'll do it myself." I said, and began to suck his dick, while holding the 
gun on his belly pointing at his chin.
The fucker got hard; some like it kinky, and I should know. His dick was big 
and stiff in my mouth, it was excellent. I got up and mounted him, sliding 
it into my pussy.
He wasn't a bad looking man, fairly handsome in his way. He had a good body 
and a face that didn't look evil at all. I bounced up and down on his dick, 
thinking about his imminent violent death, until I started to come.
I laughed in sheer exhilaration; I wanted more, so I kept going and came a 
second time with the bastard's cock deep inside my hot wet cunt.
"Aren't you going to come, baby?" I asked him; "It's all just a game, just 
for fun." I teased him. "You sure came in me last week, didn't you? Only 
then I was tied up instead of you. Come on baby, let it out."
I stroked his balls with my free hand, and soon the man began to ejaculate 
into me.
Oh it felt good! So good to feel a man come in me just before I kill him!
I smiled brightly at him, and he smiled back, looking at my cute young 
innocent face. Then I laughed and pointed the gun at his face; I shot him 
dead as I laughed in pure delight.


"That was nice." I said as I got up went over to Martin. I rolled him onto 
his back, pulled the sock back out, and sat on his face.
"Suck it out." I told him, "Or I'll blow your brains out. Gives another 
meaning to `blow job' doesn't it?"
I held his head by the hair as I spread my skinny thighs over his face. He 
did it, too. He sucked and licked it all back out. It was quite 
exhilarating. I didn't kill him yet though. I wanted him to feel the terror 
for a while first, with the taste of come in his mouth.

I made Heather phone my next victim.
"Martin needs to talk to you right away." She told him. "I don't know, but 
he said it's important."

I hauled the dead man to the cellar stairs and kicked him down. He was a 
thin guy, but I'd barely been able to do it. There was a trail of blood left 
on the floor, but I wasn't bothered.

I made the next guy fuck Heather in the ass. He wouldn't come though. After 
a while I got bored and told him to fuck her mouth. That was hilarious, the 
way she gagged at the shit on his dick. He came in her mouth, then I told 
him to go open the cellar door. I shot him in the back of the head and he 
fell down onto his buddy at the bottom.
"How does your mouth taste?" I asked her. "Sandra has been doing that for 
months, I bet you like it as much as she does."
"You little bitch." She hissed.
I laughed at her and kicked her hard in the side of the head. I wanted her 
to feel terror before she died; but I guess I kicked her too hard, because 
afterwards her head was hanging at an odd angle and she didn't seem to be 
breathing. Oh well.
Martin seemed to be unconscious, which was a shame, really. I kicked him a 
few times, but there was no response.
Then I turned around and saw the mayor standing behind me, swinging a heavy 
object towards the side of my head.

I came back to consciousness to find my hands tied above my head. I could 
hear men talking; the mayor and his two remaining conspirators.
"I can't do that." One was saying.
"You pussy." The mayor growled, "What about you Edwards? Or do I have to 
kill her myself?"
"You do it." The one called Edwards said.
"We need to burn this place down." The mayor said. "Do either of you little 
girls have any gas in your car?"
"I could go get some down the road." The first guy said.
"You fucking idiot!" the mayor hissed, "You don't buy fuel from a gas 
station just before an arson! Damn, how do you live?"
"I got some in my garage." Edwards said. "For my rider mower."
"We need a lot." The mayor said, "We need to burn out the rooms downstairs 
as well, and it'd better burn hot enough to get rid of dna or we'll all be 
in the shit."
"I could get some heating oil from the tank in my cellar." Edwards said.
"Well go get it and then come straight back here." The mayor said, "What a 
fucking mess, I wish I knew who did it. How long will it take you?"
"A half hour at least." Edwards said.
"All right. You two go get the gas. I'll stay here and finish a couple of 
things."

I was on the coffee table on my back, my feet were free but my arms were 
stretched over my head, which hurt pretty bad.
The mayor, Freddy, came into view and looked down at me suspiciously. He 
wasn't as thick as the others.
"Why are you up here?" he asked, "Who did all this?".
"Listen mister, you'll have to ask Martin. He's in charge." I said 
disarmingly.
"Martin is dead." He said, "Now tell me who was here."
"I don't know." I said, stalling for time. I wasn't sure what to say that 
would keep him from killing me straight away. I was glad Martin was dead 
though.
"Don't know." He mimicked back, then bent forward and slapped me hard across 
the face.
"What happened here?" he asked again.
"There was some guy, Martin brought me upstairs and there was some guy and 
heather was tied up naked, and Martin asked this guy if he wanted to fuck me 
but the guy didn't want to and he freaked out and then you came." I said.
"Fuck." The mayor said, dropping his trousers. "Do you know what I'm going 
to do now?" he asked.
"Fuck?" I suggested.
"That's right." He said.
He took his teeth out, which I hadn't seen him do before. He had upper and 
lower dentures, so now he didn't have a tooth in his mouth; it changed the 
whole shape of his face, making him look even worse than he had before. His 
cheeks were now sunken and his jaws were too close together, he looked like 
a deaths head.
"Spread them, honey." He said.
I opened my legs and he lowered his horrible face to my cunt and smelled it 
like a dog.
"You smell like come." He said, "I thought you said he didn't fuck you."
"I was with that cop earlier." I said.
"I think I'll pee first." He said.
And the bastard started to pee on me. He peed in my face and across my nude 
body, he grabbed one ankle and lifted my bottom right off the table as he 
sprayed down my groin.
"And after I fuck you I'm going to kill you." He added. "You probably 
figured that, but I want you know for sure."
He was hugely strong, he was still holding me up by my ankle. I thought 
about trying to get a kick in with my other leg, but it wasn't going to 
work. His dick was hard.
He bent his knees and lifted my lower end higher, so his dick hit my pussy. 
He wrapped his other hand under my hipbone to lift a little more and steady 
me as he shoved it in.
It felt good in me, filling me. He held me in the weird uncomfortable 
position as he began to fuck, pushing and pulling the big rod in and out of 
me as my lower end hung in his grip.
I was terrified; terrified yet turned on. Yes, I had a death wish; the 
thought of a violent end made it good for me. I didn't feel I deserved to 
live, I was too fucked up to live, life wasn't so great anyway, except when 
I was getting fucked by or killing some bastard.
And the big rod jammed into me, my head was getting knocked against the 
table and my thin arms were painfully stretched. I was helpless, hopeless. 
It could really be the end this time I was thinking, one last fuck, then 
oblivion, the end of all pain. I couldn't fight him from this position, 
there was no opening, no weak point to exploit.
He stopped as I was coming, and dropped me back onto the table. Shifting his 
grip, he lifted my bottom up again, this time holding my ass open with his 
thumbs.
I relaxed as well as I could, since I knew by experience it hurt less that 
way. The big hard dick squeezed into my poor little ass as he straddled the 
table, standing and holding my stinking body up by both ankles now.
"How would you like to die?" he asked as he began to fuck my ass savagely. 
"I could break your neck, or strangle you, or cut your throat."
He fucked harder as he said this, obviously even more turned on than I was.
He was a fat hairy ugly man, and I'd fucked him before, and enjoyed it too. 
But this was very raw.
"That's your thing isn't it?" I grunted as the waves of sweet pain pounded 
through me. "You're not just a pedophile, you're a psycho pedophile. You get 
sexual gratification when you kill."
"You're pretty smart kid." He said, pulling it out of my ass and putting it 
back in my cunt.
"And you'll risk everything, your position, even your life for it." I added 
as he dropped me and threw his massive weight against me. He wrapped his 
hands under my tiny ass and fucked like the madman he was, his horrible 
toothless face an inch from mine as he wallowed in the stink of his own 
piss.
He slapped my face with his tongue, then stuck it right into my mouth for a 
second, pulling it back before I thought of biting it off. Then he came.
He came hard, harder than I'd ever had a man come. He was grunting and 
spewing gunk into me, convulsing and shuddering. It was the most disgusting 
experience I had ever known, and that's saying something.
As it passed, but before he was quite through, he put his hands around my 
neck, and began to squeeze.
With my arms tied and my small body pinned under him, I didn't have a lot of 
hope. But I had to try, one last time.
I wriggled with all my remaining strength, the desperate strength of the 
terrified, the strength of the cornered animal. I got one knee between his 
thighs, and got my hips half out from under his obese gut. My right leg, now 
free, I swiveled around at the limit of my stretch. I hit his wrists with my 
heel, sweeping his hands from my throat. I even managed to slap his face 
with the top of my foot as I brought it back.
I got my left foot down onto the table top and pushed my hips upward, I 
wrapped my right leg around his neck, hauling my abdomen upward. His arms 
were scrambling at my back, but he wasn't taking me seriously yet, or he 
would have been working harder.
My left leg went around his neck now, my left foot locking under my right 
ankle and my right foot under my left ankle while I stood on my shoulders 
with him above me.
His mouth was jammed in my cunt now, his nose blocked off by my clit. He 
clawed at my thighs frantically, he bucked and pulled so that we flipped 
over completely, table and all.
And then I was on top, his toothless jaws working my cunt powerlessly, my 
arms still tied to the small table which was upside down on my back.
The mayor's eyes were bugging out and his hands were wrapped around my upper 
thighs pulling with all his considerable strength to free himself; but he 
was old and didn't have much spare lung capacity. I could feel that he was 
already starting to weaken, and I knew then that his life was mine to take, 
to take with my filthy cunt.
"Suck it, motherfucker!" I laughed, "Taste it, Choke on the come of three 
guys and your own piss!"
His toothless gums worked frantically, trying to get purchase on my 
sensitive parts; but all he did was cause the most fantastic feelings in my 
lower bits, while filling his own throat with the vile fluids he'd left in 
me moments earlier.
"You're a psycho pedophile, but I'm a psycho too!" I gloated, "I'm the 
psycho pedophile killer! I'm as fucked as you are, I'm going to come as you 
choke to death in my cunt. Can you hear me? I know about you because I'm the 
same, I'm just like you."
He just stared up at me as his body slowly went limp, dying as a deep 
feeling of satisfaction spread out from my vagina through my body, more than 
an orgasm; it was euphoria, relief, sexual satisfaction all in one. Waves of 
pure pleasure as his body stopped jerking, his face turning slowly blue as 
he suffocated between my legs. The thrill of the kill, the pleasure of a 
massive orgasm, the release of my very real fear that it was going to be me 
dying for his gratification instead of the other way around.
I ground my clit against his slimy dead face, prolonging my ecstasy, 
squeezing the last moment of delicious orgasm from the most macabre 
experience of my young life.
I stayed there for a few minutes, just to be really sure he was very very 
dead, and also to enjoy the sublime feeling of it. Then I released him and 
got to work on freeing my hands from the table legs.
It wasn't so hard. I flipped it over so it was in front of me, then threaded 
the rope over the ends.

I waited for the last two to come back with the fuel, and simply shot them 
each in the gut a few times. That makes it pretty painful. Then I went down 
to check on Sandra.
Looking through the peephole, I could see she was unharmed, and I didn't 
want to leave her there for a minute longer than I had to; but now I had to 
look after my own safety for a little while.
I took the cash from the safe, as well as everything the dead men had on 
them. I showered and dressed, and took one of their cars.
After phoning the feds from a pay phone at a safe distance, I headed to 
where I'd left my van two weeks earlier.
It had been towed; no parking Monday morning there.
That meant I was fucked. This would be a major case, eventually someone 
would check on me because of the timing of the towed vehicle. My dna would 
be everywhere, on most of the bodies as well as in the cellar. Sandra would 
describe me, id my license photo when they showed it to her.
They would find the assault against me ten years earlier, they would find 
out I'd been regional under 18 female freestyle martial arts champion six 
years earlier. Someone might even find the trail of bodies I'd left as I 
traveled through the states.
I would have burned the place down but for Sandra; she was my Achilles heel. 
I could not cause the death of an innocent.
There was nothing to do but run.


Epilogue;
A year later and an ocean away.
Barely dressed, I stumbled out of the dancing crowd of young people. I 
walked away from the bright lights and deafening music, into the bushes on 
the other side of the road, looking for a place to pee.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man slip out of the shadows and head 
in my direction. The predator, waiting for the vulnerable and weak, a small 
stoned girl in the dark.
I slipped behind a tree into a deep shadow to wait for him, my heart 
pounding with excitement. I hadn't had a kill in weeks.
I pulled off my panties and hiked up my short skirt, then squatted in 
apparent defenselessness.
The stranger came at me from behind, pulling me backwards onto the ground. 
Pinning my wrists, he was on top of me in a flash; I could tell he'd done 
this many times before. He put a knife to my throat and hissed at me "Open 
your legs."
But before his cock could get in me, he was lifted from my body by a massive 
force. A huge shadow stood over us, a knife flashed in the moonlight, the 
rapist's throat was cut as the man was spun away from me; so that I wouldn't 
get splashed by the blood.
The vigilante dropped the body and turned away, walking silently away into 
the dark.
I scrambled to my feet and went after him, my eyes accustomed enough to the 
dark now.
"Wait!" I cried, "Wait for me!
"I... think I could love you."
Violent urges 2006
Comments please; violenturges@hotmail.com

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