Ten Minutes

The first 12 victims were too embarrassed or two ashamed to file a police report. He wasn't as lucky with number 13. She was a little older than the others, although she looked 25. She was a waitress by choice and had made herself a vow on her 18 birthday - as her Dad was packing the car and getting ready to get rid of her - to never take crap from anyone again.

So when the pervert with the twisted, painted face was done with her and had dropped her in an alley near Tremont Street, she ripped the cloth bag off her head, picked up her crying three year old, and began walking, unsteadily, toward the 7th precinct. She was taken downstairs to the assault center. A robotic woman about her age asked a battery of questions while the night janitor made a little bed in the corner and coaxed her daughter to sleep.

After it was determined that no rape had occurred, the woman led her into a large bathroom and told her strip. She calmly made notes and drew sketches on the Victim Template Sheet detailing the condition of the victim's body and noted the small bruises on her shoulders and back.

She showered alone and the anger grew. After she had cleaned up (on the outside) she spent most of the rest of the evening at the station, answering questions and sipping steaming coffee from sturdy paper cups with angel wing tabs.

Detective Rizzo, the night manager in the assault center, got the case. He was the last one she talked to that evening. He sent a squad car to the alley on Tremont to pick up the child's car seat and put a bulletin out on her car. Some cops quickly found it - keys in the ignition - on Luray Street.

At 5 a.m. she was released to the grey stillness that hangs like a cloud in the air before dawn. Detective Rizzo helped anchor the car seat in her car.

"How could I have not seen that creep when I put her in the car seat? He was lying right on the floor."

"Don't beat yourself up. You're both okay, and that's a good thing," Rizzo said.

"Am I the first or is this some kind of serial thing?"

"This is the first time we've heard this kind of story," Rizzo said. "But I'll check around town and see if anyone else has anything. Are you all right?"

"Fine," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Go home and take it easy," he advised. "Maybe take a couple days off. And don't worry Miss, we're gonna nail this bastard."

She climbed in the front seat and cranked up the car. He watched her pull into the traffic lane and disappear down the street, knowing there was little chance they were ever going to nail the bastard.

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The deed had become a ritual. He would spend three or four days cruising a random neighborhood in Boston, looking for a pretty young thing with a child in tow. When a suitable candidate was found, he would follow her home and check for evidence of a husband or strong man in the picture. If none was found, he would take a picture of her with his cell phone. In his studio in the basement, behind the false book case, he would print the picture and hang it on the velvet wall, dead center, in the position of honor.

Then he would sit in a cheap aluminum lawn chair and stare at the picture until he knew he had to have her. Then he would begin to follow her and wait for a safe opportunity. And then he would take her.

All of the women were the same -- 20 to 30 years old, single, with young children under the age of three or four. He preferred the children to be boys, but he was flexible on that point. The woman were all blond, with straight stringy hair that hung to the shoulders or just beyond. All thin, with long faces and pretty eyes. He felt the sparkle in the eyes was what really made a woman beautiful.

He varied his method of abduction as much as possible. He preferred an open car door and lying on the floor of the back seat, but not many cars were unlocked these days, what with the crime and all.

It was 7 p.m. on a warm May night in Chelsea when he went for victim number 19. She seemed a little younger than the others, around 20, but was dragging a three or four year old boy around by the arm so she must have started early in life. He disapproved of her sexual mores.

He watched her buckle the kid into a large car seat in the back of her white Ford Focus, then brush a wandering strand of hair behind her ear.

"Slut," he whispered as he approached the car.

He knocked on her window as she started the car.

She looked up inquisitively and rolled down the window.

"What is it, officer," she asked as she stared at his blue jacket and gold badge.

"You've got a problem with your rear tire, M'am. Step out of the car please so I can show you."

She unbuckled her seat belt and hopped out of the car. He stuck his gun into her ribs.

"Into the passenger seat," he ordered and swung her around the car.

"Oh God," she said and took a deep breath.

He paused with her outside the passenger door.

"I'm not going to rape you and I'm not going to kill you or the kid. Just play it smart and you'll be all right. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," she whispered.

He buckled her into the passenger seat and fled around the car. He popped into the driver's seat, still pointing the gun at her slender waist. He pulled a blindfold from his pocket.

"Put this on," he instructed and she complied.

He started the car and turned back to smile at the boy in the back seat. "Hi," he said with a big smile. "Just gonna take care of some business son, then home you go."

He put the car in gear and started rolling out of the parking lot. He heard the woman's breathing growing rapid, deep and shallow. She was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Relax, honey" he said reassuringly. "I wasn't lying to you, you're going to be all right."

He drove to the loft in Southie that he rented as "an artistic studio." He led them inside. In the corner was a table and chair. He guided the boy over to the table. On top was a collection of crayons and coloring books.

"Why don't you color a picture while I talk to you Mom in the next room."

The woman started to protest but he grabbed her arm sharply and she went silent.

The boy dove into the books and selected a picture. He began to color.

The man led her into the adjoining room and closed the door. The room was bare, just a series of rough hewn beams and wide naked floor boards. A single end table was in the middle of the room with a white digital timer on it.

"Get out your wallet," he said sternly. "Show me your driver's license."

She fished her driver's license from the handbag on her shoulder and handed it to him. He examined it carefully.

"All right Karen Thompson of 1841 Summerville Road in Natick, I know where you live. Do you understand that? I know how to get to you."

She nodded in terror.

He took the gun out his pocket.

"Here's the deal," he said. "I gonna start that timer over there and then you've got ten minutes to make me cum. If I haven't shot my load when that timer goes off then I'm gonna shoot you in the head. Do you understand?"

She nodded and tears began to stream from her eyes.

"Crying will probably distract you," he said coldly. "I recommend you focus."

He led her to a spot next to the table and motioned for her to kneel. She knelt on the floor, hands on her thighs, tears blurring her sight. He stepped back, kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants and boxers. She looked at his cock and it sprung to life. He admired his smooth round erection. A drop of precum glistened in tip. As always, this wouldn't take long. No woman had ever failed to make him cum in less than ten minutes -- most had brought him to a shattering orgasm within a couple minutes. It's amazing how much incentive a loaded gun brings to a blowjob. There was even one, number 7, who had teased him. Getting him to the edge many times, checking the timer, and then backing off. She had been fantastic and he had felt a seizure in his balls when he exploded into her mouth. What was her name? 'Carol.' Yes, he was pretty sure he name was Carol.

He took his dick and slapped it a couple times on Karen's forehead. "You can get topless or naked it you think it will get more off faster," he said. "I'm sure it will."

She didn't respond.

"Okay," he said, "I'll give you an extra 30 seconds because I like you."

He set the timer for 10 minutes and thirty seconds. "Ready?"

There was no response.

He started the timer and she watched the large black seconds on the gray background begin to disappear. He cocked the gun and pushed it against her temple.

She took a deep breath and wrapped a tiny hand around his monster cock. She began to stroke it, awkwardly, next to her nose. The seconds disappeared like rain down a storm drain. This continued for a couple minutes. He was getting nothing out of this, getting nowhere. He looked at the clock. Only seven minutes left.

"What the hell," he said angrily. "Get to work."

The tears had stopped. She looked up at him with big blue eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to do this. I've never done this. I'm a good girl."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm a virgin."

He stopped the timer.

"How the hell are you a virgin when your kid is in the next room?"

"That's not my kid," she shouted. "I'm his babysitter."

He uncocked the gun and pointed it to the floor. "Then I sincerely apologize," he said weakly. "You don't fit the profile."

She knelt, hand still unconsciously wrapped around his dick, waiting.

"On the other hand," he said, "I've gone to a lot of trouble here these past two weeks. And you gotta learn sooner or later." He pushed the barrel of the gun back into her temple.

"So let's get back to work."

He pushed the red button on the timer and the seconds began to silently tick away.

"Tell me what to do," she said quietly.

"All right. Put my dick in your mouth and lick it and suck it."

She closed her eyes and complied. It took a minute to figure it out but soon she was sliding up and down a few inches on his rod and roughly pulling his cock. He put his large free hand on the back of her head and began guiding her at the right pace. She began to relax and slide and twist her hand over his bulging cock. He tried to push her head further down his cock but she gagged and pulled away.

"Sorry," he said.

She went back to work on his thick hard cock. She was still very awkward and he could see saliva dripping out of the bottom of her mouth and splashing to the floor. He finally had her on a rhythm that was working and he felt his cock tightening. He looked at the clock. Only one minute left.

"You gotta hurry, honey, you're running out of time," he said urgently.

She opened her eyes, looked at the timer, and let out a yelp. She closed her eyes and began to work on his cock frantically. She yanked on his cock with abandon and slid it in and out of her mouth, sucking on it with each stroke.

He felt it building and begin to encourage her. "Good girl, keep sucking. You're almost there. Suck it. Suck it. Suck it."

He felt himself about to explode and jammed his cock down her throat. She gagged but did not pull away.

The stillness was broken by the loud buzzing of the timer. He looked over and saw all zeros.

He stepped back and pulled his still swollen cock from her mouth.

"Dammit," he said.

He pulled the trigger.

She fell to the floor and began to scream and cry.

He picked her up by the shoulder. "It's okay, honey," he said. "No bullets. I'm not a violent man. We should finish now."

"You bastard," she cried and sprung to her feet.

She knocked him over and began to pound his face and head with her fists. He did his best to shield himself from the blows but she poured them on. Eventually she opened her hands and began to slap him. He didn't try to deflect those shots. She straddled him on the floor. His dick was erect and at attention, wedged up against her ass. She slapped him with her left hand, then her right, without speaking. She kept this up, silently, until she was worn out. She leveled his face with one last slap, then her forehead fell against his forehead. He caught her as she fell and he embraced her. He felt her breath against his neck and he exploded, shooting his cum onto her black pants against her curved ass.

She pushed herself up and climbed off him.

"You bastard," she said venomously.

"That was out of the ordinary," he said as he arose. "But very enjoyable. Come on, let's get you and the boy out of here".

He put his pants and shoes on. She tried to straighten herself out and get her act together. He laughed as she walked to the door. His cum was bold and stark against her black pants, clinging to her ass and slipping down the back of her pant legs.

She went through the door to the other room first and gasped. A woman with a gun stood in her path. The woman motioned her to the side silently.

He came through the door and found himself face to face with the barrel of a Baretta nine millimeter gun, held by victim number 13.

"Give me her car keys and put your gun on the floor, slowly."

He reached into his pocket and gingerly removed the gun and placed it on the floor. He fished out Karen's car keys and tossed them to her.

"You and the boy get lost," 13 said coldly, handing Karen the keys.

Karen walked up to him and spit in his face.

She walked over to the table, grabbed the boy's hand, and hurriedly left the building. 13 held the gun on the man as he raised his hands halfway into the air. She listened for the sound of the car leaving.

"Back for more," he said with a smile.

She took him into other room and set the timer for ten minutes. "Kneel," she commanded.

She put the gun to his temple. "You've got ten minutes to make your peace with God," she said.

He made no effort to take the gun from here. He spent the ten minutes in a fantasy. For ten minutes his mother hovered over him, a rolling pin in hand, ready to beat him senseless. Mother always said: "You've got ten minutes to get ______ done, or you get the rolling pin. The trouble was, he never got the chore done within ten minutes. Not once. So he was so proud of these women, because they had accomplished their tasks within the allotted time. Ten minutes.

The buzzer went off. His ten minutes were up. 13 pulled the trigger. There were bullets in her gun.