John
Glen Pearson

 

It was always strangely surreal watching a razor cut. Take just now for instance. John had slashed the blade across the doctor’s right cheek and waited for the effect. Because of those few seconds it took for the blood to flow, you always thought that you’d missed. John absently wondered what it felt like for his learned victim. The doctor had murmured in pain from beneath the gaffer tape stretched over his lips as soon as John had slashed with the razor. But had he actually felt the pain at that moment? John could only surmise from the instances where he’d cut himself before. Accidental, unknown cuts were sometimes only known when he had happened to notice the blood flowing from a thumb or finger. Other times the pain was instantaneous, sometimes the shock of accident, other moments had the added thrill from the anticipation of his own blood-letting.
The doctor was bound at hands and feet with the same tape that sealed his lips. As was his wife who shivered ceaselessly next to him in her own bonds, despite dripping with sweat. Both were in their pyjamas. It was some time past midnight.
The doctor had woken earlier from a deep sleep. He had arisen from the mind-fog of strange dreams to a crushing sensation on his upper body. There had been someone on his back. That someone had already taped his feet together and the doctor realised that he was too late to avoid his hands getting the same treatment. Judging by the shaking from next to him his wife was in similar restraints. The doctor had gasped for breath and received a punch on the nose just as he had been about to cry out. A strip of tape was hastily torn from the roll and pressed down onto his mouth.
And now here they were. John’s prizes. For him to do whatever he wished to. Apart from that single slit in the doctor’s right cheek both were unmarked. For now. John turned the doctors face with his hand to see the glint of artificial light from the bedroom window reflect in the blood. John smiled to himself and set to creating an atmosphere.
He had opened the curtains over the bedroom window upon entering the room. This had given him some light without waking his victims. A sports bag lay on the floor by the door. John opened it and rummaged around for the bulb. Luckily there was a bedside lamp on the chest of drawers, otherwise John would have risked attack from the couple because the only way to get to the main light was by standing on the bed.
With the new bulb in place, John switched on the lamp. The bedroom cloaked itself in a dull red light. After drawing the curtains the ‘atmosphere’ was complete.
“So,” said John, “what happens now?”
The doctor murmured something. Black blood dripped down his cheek in the ethereal light.
“Don’t bother speaking Doc,” stated John, “I couldn’t give two shits about anything you’ve got to say. I mean, it’s not as if we know each other or anything. Pure random, that was your selection, Doc. Threw down the phonebook and threw a dart at the pages. That was how I got your name. Doctor Packersby. Never mind. You really should have gone ex-directory, especially being a doctor and all that.”
Packersby stared at his wife with wide eyes. Whether the expression on his face was terror or confusion was of no odds to John. John was the innovator, the carver. He didn’t overly care about his victim’s reactions while they lived, only the situation he could create in their deaths. Although sometimes a bit of outright terror could be nicely stimulating.
“So Packersby,” John spat the name with contempt, “what shall be done with you and your lovely wife, hmm? She looks pretty fit for her age, I think a bit of rape might be in order. It’s a pity your daughter’s left home, I’d have fun with her, I can tell you.”
Throughout, John’s voice remained conversational. He sat on a chair facing the bed, his sight never leaving the doctor’s petrified eyes. At the mention of his younger kin Packersby tried to cry out, prevented by the gag. John laughed to himself. His intelligent, undisguised face resembled that of an individual politely laughing at some non sequitur at a distinguished party.
“Oh yeah,” he continued, “I may have chosen you at random but I’m not stupid. I did take the liberty of checking you out before my arrival. But still, enough of this banter. The only question that should be on anyone’s lips (sorry about yours, a necessity I’m afraid) is this : Should I fuck your wife before or after killing you?”
John stood up, brandishing the razor. Packersby and his wife commenced thrashing around on the bed futilely as Johns razor whizzed left and right in the air. The blade whipped down the doctor’s leg, splitting cloth and skin simultaneously. A pause for Packersby to whimper under his gag. Then blood began to soak the bed beneath him.
John whipped round to the side of the bed and grabbed the doctor with a powerful right hand around the throat. With a heave he dragged him from the bed by the neck. There was a thud as the man’s head struck the floor. Packersby ceased struggling.
“Well,” John said to Beth, Packersby’s wife, “looks like hubby just couldn’t face ritual humiliation of his nearest and dearest. Still, with any luck he’ll wake up before I’ve finished. Sometimes I can take a very long time.”
After clambering over the still body of the doctor, John made his way back to his bag. He pulled out a length of rope and made a lasso out of one end.
Despite Beth’s constant shaking it was no hassle for John to slide the lasso over her head, tighten it and tie the other end around her knees. Her legs were now almost attached to her chin. Any effort to straighten them would only result in choking or strangulation.
  “So Beth, looks like its time for us to get intimate.”
John stripped completely. He folded his clothes neatly and placed them all in his sport-bag, which he zipped shut and placed by the door. His well-muscled body gave off an odour of excitement. Razor scars marked different areas of his body haphazardly. The tattoo of an incredibly detailed giant eye glared at Beth from John’s stomach. With razor back in hand John climbed on to the bed beside Beth, who now lay on her side shaking uncontrollably. John held the implement in front of her eyes.
“You don’t want to be sliced apart, do you Beth?”
She shook her head furiously.
“Well, just stay nice and still and it won’t happen. Of course, any rocking motions from the pelvic area would be much appreciated.”
John had manoeuvred himself behind Beth so that she wouldn’t see him transfer the razor to the bedside chest of drawers. He did so now and then seized the top of her pyjama bottoms. With both hands he pulled them round her arse and as far up her legs as the rope would allow.
“Hmm, bit flabby,” appraised John, “but not too bad for your age.”
He gave her arse a friendly slap.
“Pop down the gym occasionally do you? Or does old Packersby get treated to a bit more of the old horizontal action than most of his age? Or maybe someone else does, hmm? Tighten yourself up with a bit of non-marital intercourse, do you? Still, don’t worry about your performance tonight Beth, I’ll work hard enough for the both of us, you can just relax. Oh, and try not to choke yourself, well, unless you come of course, I hear that turns you on twice as much, never tried it though.”
He rummaged around her vagina, surprised when a couple of his fingers slipped straight inside. Beth made a noise, whether it was of pain or pleasure John couldn’t tell.
“My, we are wet aren’t we Beth,” he announced casually, “what, is this a bit of a rape fantasy for you or something? Looks like you’re going to have some fun after all! And won’t it be nice for Packersby to wake up to the sound of you in orgasm, eh? Make his nightmare complete, that will, how nice.”
After his taunting John twisted into position and slipped his large cock home. He started thrusting and managed to prop himself up on one elbow. From this position he could look down onto Beth’s face. She stared ahead in pain, eyes irisless in the dull, red light. Her hands began to scrabble at John’s belly below. He snarled in pain as she grabbed a handful of his pubic hair.
“Fucking bitch!” he roared. It was the first time he had raised his voice above conversational level since entering the house. He reached over to the chest of drawers and picked up his razor.
Before cutting however, John twisted his body round, one of his knees up against the inside of Beth’s, the other slid down her back, shielding himself from her hands. He then rammed his penis up into her, obtaining maximum penetration and a muffled shriek for his efforts. For the coup de grace he carved DIE between her shoulders with the razor, enjoying her flinches as the blade sliced through skin, fat, muscle and skidded across bone.
“Now,” he panted, glaring down at her face which was now drenched with sweat, eyes shut in terror, “its time you got fucked.”
John reached over and replaced the razor to the chest of drawers. Blood dripped down Beth’s back as he slowly rode her. The tip of his penis mashed against the slippery inner wall of her cunt as he pushed himself in as far as he could go with each thrust.
This continued for half an hour until finally Beth couldn’t conceal the terrible pleasure of the movement from inside herself anymore. John smiled to himself as she began to whimper. Her arousal excited him in turn and he began to move more rapidly. He squeezed his hand under her pyjama top and began crushing her slightly sagging tits. An unmistakable moan was murmured under Beth’s gag.
John accelerated his motion even more as the inevitable first orgasm coursed through Beth’s body, her lower muscles held in rigid spasm as the tattooed eye pulsed with every pelvic movement.
Suddenly John heard something beneath the sounds of wet bodies colliding. A slight thud from the floor below the bed. Packersby must have woken. John continued pumping away but with his attention focused upon sound from below. There it was again. A slight knocking noise, probably Packersby’s feet or hands banging against the bed while trying to undo his bonds. John knew that that was very unlikely. The good thing about tying someone up with tape was that there was no knot to undo and with the hands stuck together there was no way to get the leverage required to pull off the tape. But, just in case the doctor could reach down to his feet, John kept his eye on the razor anyway.
John was still banging away and could feel that his own orgasm would be soon. Time to decide whether a change of position was in order or to just get it over and done with. He looked down at Beth. Her eyes were clenched shut and her face was still screwed up in the obscene mixture of shame, pain and self-hating ecstasy. Suddenly her eyes popped open as she too heard her husband scrabbling around at the foot of the bed. Did those eyes hold a glimmer of hope, fresh fear for her spouse, or simply dread at what more could befall them? John didn’t know, or care. Abruptly, he had an idea.
Beth howled as the tape was ripped from her lips.
“Now, now,” admonished John, “there’s no need for that.” He dug his fingers into the cuts on her back, splitting the slits that had begun to coagulate. In the crimson light the thick clots resembled oil dripping down her back. The doctor’s wife moaned afresh.
“That’s better,” congratulated John and resumed his pelvic thrusting. “Now lets show the Doc what a great time you’ve been having, hmm?”
Beth’s panting was now quite distinct. Her stimulation was audibly obvious but so was the fact that this was not lovemaking in progress. Her aroused breaths were punctuated with cries of ‘stop’, murmurs of ‘no’ and desperate appeals for John to ‘please end it … please’.
A distraught “mmmmmmm!!!!!” was heard from the foot of the bed. John turned round smiling but Packersby was still not in view. It was time for John’s moment. Beth was trembling from the start of another orgasm. John withdrew his well-slicked penis. With the aid of his fingers it managed to fill a new, tighter cavity. Beth screamed and began to shake wildly.
“You hear that Doc?” panted John, “you hearing how your wife loves it up the arse?”
John began pounding himself into Beth as hard and far as he could, feeling his imminent climax. She cried out with each thrust, the pain new to her, as was the perverse gratification of John’s smooth cock sliding in her anus.
At last John came, pushing himself into her so far that Beth felt that her stomach was being ripped apart. He quickly withdrew, his dick still spurting. On wobbly legs he positioned himself above Beth’s face and let the last drops of semen anoint her forehead. Her arse had bled during his administrations and John filled his palm with a handful of the sticky fluid from around his cock. With his other hand he steadied himself as he clumsily made his way off of the bed.
The doctor had somehow managed to get onto his knees. His eyes spoke volumes of outrage and intended revenge. John approached him and wiped his slickened hand across the man’s face.
“See that?” he asked. “That’s a lovely mixture of your wife’s blood, her shit and my spunk. And all because the good doctor cannot be arsed to take care of himself and his loved ones properly. I mean, Doc, fancy leaving that patio door unlocked. Don’t you have burglars around this area or something? And not even waking up when your own wife is thrashing around being tied up right next to you! You should be ashamed of yourself, Doc. You didn’t even get the opportunity to be a hero, never mind fail in doing so.”
John gestured with his hand towards Beth on the bed. She was still shaking uncontrollably and a low incessant moan had begun to keen from between her lips.
“Look at her,” added John conversationally. The doctor couldn’t seem to be able to move at all. His eyes glared at John steadily, unable to look at his own wife. John grabbed his head and made him face his partner.
“Fucking look at her!” John roared. “Look at what you’ve done to that lovely woman you old cunt! Just because you couldn’t be bothered to fucking wake up! And guess what, Doc, its not over yet!”
John bounced round to chest of drawers, flaccid dick slapping against his wet thighs. He seized the razor with one hand and with the other pulled Beth upright by her hair. She squealed and further tears dripped down her contorted face as the weight of her legs tightened the noose round her throat. John looked at the doctor. Packersby was still kneeling, his head bowed towards the floor. Beth resumed moaning, a quiet but nonetheless hysterical tone issuing constantly from her mouth. Still the doctor looked down, maybe realising that he could do nothing or maybe too emotionally distraught to even try.
In frustration John threw Beth’s head back down onto the bed. Without thinking he ran round the bed and kicked the doctor in the face.
“Agh, fuck!” cried John as his bare toes crunched into the doctor’s skull. The wall thumped as Packersby’s head slammed against it.
John had had enough of this old cunt who was worn down so easily. The bastard hadn’t even watched his wife die yet. He grabbed the man’s head by his thinning hair and began to slice the razor into his neck. It was tough going, even for a man of John’s formidable strength. By the time he had forced the throat all the way open his bare chest and arms were coated in sticky black blood.
The doctor’s body collapsed to the floor when John finally released his grip on Packersby’s hair. In the surreal redness it was easy to dismiss the death as nothing, a stage prop, an acid-head’s fucked-up dream. Dead eye’s glared in pain and hate at John eternally, although they no longer looked at him.
“Oh well, Beth,” John spoke naturally once more, the doctor’s killing a mere annoyance that was best left undiscussed, “just you and me now.”
As John clambered onto the bed Beth tried in vain to move away from him, or turn herself over, he wasn’t sure which. The haunting moan continued to issue from her lips.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said John pleasantly, “I don’t want to fuck you again. That stage has already passed its usefulness, what with your hubby down there. And look at the state of me!” John pretended to be aghast at the blood covering him. “I’d need a shower before any respectable woman went anywhere near me. Mind you, lying there with your legs propped up displaying your cunt and arse like that, you don’t look too respectable. Oh, and look at that,” John rubbed his steadily re-hardening dick against her lubricated arsehole, “I’m getting turned on again already!”
With that he slammed in the raping organ. Beth screamed and once more began to tremble wildly. John saw the fear vivid on her face and felt his penis harden to full girth immediately. Caring not for the previous sexual torture of earlier he whacked himself into Beth as fast and hard as he could. The pain was too much for her to scream, the only noise she could utter was the heavy breathing of constant discomfort. This was enough to set John off. Just as he was about to come he hacked at Beth’s throat with the razor.
Unfortunately, with the rope in the way, all he could manage were a few shallow cuts as he came dismally inside her, the alteration of concentration reducing the effect of his orgasm. He pulled himself out of her and annoyingly finished the job on her throat with the blade.
Finally finished, John made his way through to the bathroom with his sports-bag. After several seconds he got a nice jet of hot water from the shower. The Packersby’s shower gel had a nice scent to it and with it John cleansed all traces of blood and semen from his body. He left the shower and rinsed off his bag before cutting off the flow of soothing water.
Packersby towels were lovely and warm due to a convenient heating rail by the bathroom sink. John dried himself off and got dressed. He went back to the black-stained red bedroom and removed a final item from his bag.


Downstairs, John retrieved his jacket from the assortment of coats on the hallway pegs. The sound of flames was starting to become audible from upstairs. John quickly nipped into the kitchen and was happy to see that the oven was a gas operated model. He turned it on without igniting the pilot light and hastily left the kitchen. His bag was in the hallway. After setting the shoulder strap at a comfortable level John left the house.
Fuck knew what time it was. John began to make his way through the comfortably lit streets towards the train station, and home. The semi-detached houses all held their own blackness, dark windows reflecting the bright streetlights and a silvery sliver of moon on a sky with grey-tinged black clouds. Who knew what dreams and nightmares transpired within each one?
John smiled to himself. Everywhere was peaceful. He was the only person about on each street he walked down. A cosy area such as this did not have people awake at this time of night. And those that were had no idea of how easy that tranquillity might be destroyed. The only moving shadow was his own, lengthening and shortening with each overhead streetlight. The only sound was his whispering footsteps as his trainers slapped concrete pavement.
And then a far away noise disturbed the calm. Lights would be turned on to investigate, phone-calls would be made from tired, disturbed individuals. The peacefulness of mundane existence had been shattered. Was that the echo of an explosion reverberating down the street?
John smiled and knew that it was.

 

 

Copyright © 2001 Glen Pearson
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"