Birth of a Killer

"What's wrong?" she gasped. "You can't get it up?" I shook my head, forgetting that she couldn't really see me.

"Let me do it, then." She sighed, obviously fed up with the attention that she was not accustomed to. She stood up and began turning around when quick as a snake, my hand which a moment ago was touching her private parts wrapped around her neck, pulling her entire body towards me, pressing it against mine.

She squeaked in surprise, her hands desperately trying to pull my arm off her throat.

"I told you to be still, didn't I?" I asked, still wanking off, careful not to touch her body or dress with my prick. She shook her head as if to tell me that I never bothered to express my preferences, but it was too late. The desire to kill had overcome my rational mind, I had had her in my arms; one tug and all would be over.

"Alright, I'm telling you now!" I whispered forcefully, pressing her even closer to my person. She choked and tried to cough, but the lack of air prevented her from it. It was obvious that she began panicking. Her feet stomped as if she was a hot-blooded mare, trying to kick me in the shin, never quite succeeding.

"Yes," I half whispered, half gasped. "You're in trouble now, Cordelia." I could feel my prick stiffening even more, my bullocks began tingling with an oncoming pleasure of the orgasm. The closer I got to it, the more blurred the world around me became. All I was aware of was a struggling woman and my throbbing prick.

Were she to become motionless, I do believe I would stop choking her. She was the first I had ever decided to take life from. If she submitted without a fight, I would have let her go. That is not to say I have ever let anybody else slip through my fingers that easily afterwards, but with Cordelia I knew that would have been the case.

I loosened my grip on her for a split second and she managed to inhale the breath, which her lungs must have been desperately gasping for. Before she was able to scream I squeezed her again and she managed only a half audible squeak. She struggled hard I have to give her that much. She kept kicking but I pushed my foot in between hers and in order to keep her balance, she couldn't put them together enough to manage a shove powerful or painful enough to make me stop. If she calmed herself down enough to think she would have grabbed my hair, scratched my face or reached between my legs and pulled onto my bullocks, which by now were ready to explode in the strongest of orgasms I have experienced up until that time. Instead, her fingers were clawing at my arm, which was holding her neck in an iron grip. She was stronger than I had anticipated a woman of her small stature would be, but she was desperate and could not think clearly, so she didn't know how to save herself.

Suddenly her body became limp against mine and she started slipping towards the ground although she still struggled to remain standing. There she was, on the edge of consciousness, the last moments in which I could have shown her my power and strength. My prick throbbed and then spasmed, shooting hot sperm into the darkness of the night as I had leaned slightly forward, making sure that I didn't stain my pants, completely forgetting that a careful observer could have noted dark patches on the black fabric, caused by the spurting blood of a dying woman named Harriet.

I groaned and let Cordelia go, finishing off with furious jerking motions. I swayed with the intensity of pleasure, which surged through my body and inevitably enveloped my brain as well. I staggered, almost falling over, reaching for the same railing which served my companion for support moments ago. I closed my eyes in attempt to savour enjoyment for as long as I could. The world swung from one side to the other and then back again, with my stomach trembling in joy and disgust. A slight nausea overwhelmed me and for a moment I was afraid I was going to vomit.

A loud gasp for air filled with terror jerked me back into reality. I turned my head and saw that Cordelia was kneeling on all fours, wheezing and panting, like me oblivious to anything around her. I shook my prick in an attempt to get rid of spunk that was now hanging off it in a long, thin thread, and buttoned up my pants in haste.

I was mesmerized to see that Cordelia had become aware of her surroundings as rapidly as I had. My movements and shuffling of the feet was what brought her back to life. She turned around just as I had launched towards her and I regretted that I was unable to somehow save that look of terror in her eyes, pulling it out of my pocket every time I wished to remind myself of the pleasure I had just encountered. She tried to get away from me, crawling on her hands and knees, slipping on the ground wetted by the rain that fell earlier in the evening.

"No, no..." she whined and turned her body around, now sitting on her arse, pushing herself away from me with her booted feet and pulling her body towards the opening with her hands, crawling from under the bridge. I would have given anything to be able to see the expression on my face at that particular moment. It was something that in a quick second of clarity I promised myself I would do the next time. I would make certain there was a darkened window or a mirror close by where I could have looked into, seeing my reflection just before I took a life. I couldn't have thought of anything more gratifying to follow the pleasure that I had just experienced.

I concentrated on Cordelia's eyes, bloodshot from the previous lack of air, full of fear and yet empty with the realization of what was to come. She knew there was no doubt about that. However, I noticed a tiny spark of hope. She desperately hoped I was just playing around and would let her go, now that my mind was not wrapped around the act of copulation itself. She also believed that despite the physical struggle which had obviously drained her body of energy, she might still be able to crawl away from me, literally pulling herself to freedom and safety, landing in the small circle of light thrown on the bank by the gas lamp, hoping against hope that her tiny voice would be heard and kind strangers would come to her rescue.

I landed on her, my tall and strong body almost completely covering her petite frame, knocking the wind out of her yet again. She yelped helplessly and I noticed that her skirts were still hiked way up to her waist, the pretty white arse scraping against the roughness of pebbled ground.

I pushed myself up on one hand, the other grabbing Cordelia's delicate neck, reaching further and enveloping just under her chin, thumb pushing against one cheek, fingers of the same hand against the other.

"Say a prayer, Cordelia!" I whispered and felt another stirring in my loins. I was ready to repeat the whole thing of masturbation again but there was no time. I have taken terrible chances already, considering that I was but an inexperienced lad who tried to play with someone else's life.

I pushed her head far back so that her Adam's apple which was not visible before popped out of her throat. With all my might I pushed her head to the left once, and again, and one more time. She was gasping and moaning with each violent jerk. Finally, I heard the unmistakable and sickening pop of the breaking bone; Cordelia's eyes opened wide and her tongue slipped out of her mouth just enough to be visible. I had broken her neck and the final shiver of her body was a sign that I had succeeded in achieving what I had been so desperate to try for a very long time.

"Oh, God!" I whispered and slumped onto a dead woman, my face touching hers as if we had just finished the act of lovemaking and were taking a minute to gather our senses. A sickening feeling of shame overwhelmed me and I laid there weak and disgraced over my passion and malice.

There were times when I had made love to a woman, or rather simply fucked her in an unconventional way, giving in to my perversions, hurting myself or my partner physically beyond the necessity, indulging in the darkness of my soul. As much as it felt good in the moments of actual copulation, I was always overcome by a feeling of dread once the deed was complete, unable to explain my actions or look the woman in the eye.

That is how I felt at that very moment, laying on top of the dead whore, who minutes ago was full of life in an anticipation of better days to come. There would be no more happiness for her. No more misery either. She won't have to lift her skirts for dirty and drunken men who didn't care about her person, only wanted the softness of her cunt to spend their frustrations into. There would be no marriage or children for her. She will not cry again, will not rejoice, and will never fuck another soul unless there is an afterlife, which I do not believe in.

I pushed myself off her and for a moment stared at her face, now so still and tranquil, her eyes not bulging out anymore but still wide open as if the terror of the last moments had not evaporated from them. Her head was at an odd angle, the broken spine poking out and creating a lump, but not actually breaking the skin.

I got up and brushed the dirt off my knees and elbows, quickly combing my hair with the fingers dirty from the wet soil upon which I had just killed a young girl.

"God have mercy on your soul." I whispered, not really knowing why I said that. Despite Winston's patient teachings and long lectures on God and all things divine, I never quite grasped the concept. I was not so much an atheist as an agnostic. However, I believed that if there were God above, my mother would not have died the way she had. Her death was hard and long, she suffered more than she deserved, no matter what she had become. She died much harder than Cordelia and I was sorry as well as glad about that. Plenty of time for improvement.

I kicked the dead woman's legs far apart, using the top of my shoe to hook it under the knees and pull them up so that she was positioned in a perverse way. Her exposed cunt would be the first thing a person who snooped under the bridge would have seen. I was glad. As much as I wanted to explore her body, open her belly and perform the deeds of burying my hands inside her still warm guts, copying the scenes from my dreams, I was aware of how tired I had become. Utterly exhausted really. If I didn't leave soon I was afraid I might lie next to her and fall asleep.

I stepped back, leaning against the supporting beam of the bridge, torn between leaving and staying with Cordelia. I yearned to feel her grow cold and rigid. For one crazy moment I thought of somehow carrying her to my home, a spacious apartment on the opposite bank of Thames, where I could easily have hidden her in the basement with nobody finding out. If my body didn't feel completely drained of energy, I probably would have done it, too. Now, some thirty years later I am aware that it would have been a futile attempt. London was full of suspicious and nosy characters. Somebody was bound to ask questions or point me out to the Bobby on the beat and my mind was too warped to be able to find its way out of the predicament.

With one last look at the dead whore I finally walked away, climbing the embankment and staggering home like a drunk, earning a few sniffs and giggles from prostitutes who were still patrolling the streets.

I plumped onto my bed and still wearing my bloodstained clothes fell into a dreamless sleep, for the first time in my life feeling I have accomplished something to completely satisfy my curiosity, desire and intellect. I have opened the door to a brand new world that night. A world from which I will never be able to escape, nor would I want to.