I shiver at his words. They leave me wanting to turn away from him and run right back out that door. I don’t, though. I stay right where I am. On his lap while he fucks me with hisfingers. I brace my hands on the back of the chair and lift my hips to fuck his hand harder.
His mouth finds my bare breast and sucks the tip into it. I smile and let a gasp escape my lips as I let Pheobe control the narrative. I let her loose.
My persona is perfectly in control and I slide one hand down to grip my purse in hand as I reach inside and grip the handle of the silver knife. I toss my purse to the bed and fuck his hand with faster bucks as I reach for my clit with my free hand.
The knife held behind his head as I push against the back of the chair for leverage. I circle my clit as his fingers slide in and out of me. His other hand grips my breast as he squeezes it and tweaks my nipple. His mouth teases the other one and my legs shake as the orgasm reaches for me and slams its grip around my cunt.
Just as my pussy clamps down around his fingers, I release my clit and grip the hair at the back of his head and yank him backwards from my breast, covering his mouth with mine to swallow any screams he may release. Sliding the knife against his throat quickly, I slice into his skin before he knows what is coming for him.
I release his mouth as he fights beneath me. The gasps and struggles make my pussy clench harder around his fingers. His fingers slip from me as he reaches for his throat and I watch as he tries to cover the slit I’ve left behind. His eyes are wide and he struggles to get me off of him.
Too late.
Fuck me. The blood pours down his front and soaks his shirt in such a pretty color. He fights it and each second I can see his body drain of the energy to keep moving. My front is coated in the crimson liquid and it falls down over my chest with a pattern of splatters and drips that are so pretty to look at. I grip the knife in one hand still and the other I cover my clit and fuck myself to the sight in front of me.
My body responds easily. The barely gone orgasm builds me back up as I watch the man’s blood drain from him as I straddle his lap. Coating his body and mine in the most gorgeous color I’ve ever seen.
It isn’t the same as the bath at the photoshoot. That was just colored water. This is so much more. It’s thick and the copper stench of the air makes me shiver because I know it’s real. I killed the man and here I am, straddling his lap and fucking myself toward another orgasm while his very life drags away from him.
I circle my clit with more pressure as I drop the knife to the floor and then grip my breasts in the other. I coat the tips in the blood and twist and pull the tip as the sticky liquid rubs between my fingers. I can feel the building desire of my release deep in my core, and I smile down at the dying man beneath me.
I buck my hips against my fingers and fuck myself to the sounds of gurgling breathing as he struggles and drowns in his own blood. I didn’t know what to expect when I made up my mind tonight. I didn’t know what it would be like to watch someone die in front of me. To be the one to take their life.
What I didn’t expect was the sudden need to fuck while coated in their blood. So I slip my fingers through the red liquid and fuck myself with them as I watch as the last breath leaves his body, and he grows still beneath me.
I shudder, and my release crashes over me, and I cry out with a long moan. That was the best orgasm of my life. I’ve never felt such satisfaction and I know it’s because of this man’s blood that now coats both his body and mine in the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like a painting in some freak show I would stop and admire. Except it’s real. I can feel the sticky residue of his blood as it dries. His life was in my hands and I took it. I coated my body with his very source of living and I controlled what happened.
I stand up slowly. My legs were shaking slightly after that orgasm. It was so fucking perfect. Not what I expected at all for my first time. I understand why people murder now. Why they become serial killers and their body count grows rapidly. I want that feeling again. The feeling of pure control over a life. The blood. The smell. The very definition of murder and the high it gives me.
I leave the man sitting there and head for the shower. I turn on the knobs and wash the blood from my hands before pulling my hair up into a ponytail so that it doesn’t get wet. I stop tostare into the mirror over the sink and what stares back at me causes me to freeze instantly.
There are splatters on my chin and down my chest. The trails of blood have fingerprints from where I rubbed along my body and spread the blood around. It runs down to my pussy and then over my thighs. The trails all over my skin is stunning evidence of what just happened. It’s a beautiful sight. Something I want to see again.
I turn away from the mirror once I’ve committed the image to my memory and climb into the fancy shower. I watch the blood fall into the drain below me as the water washes away the evidence of what I’d just done. The crimson liquid fell away from my body with ease. It disappears and I scrub the areas near my chest well with my hands.
I replay the scene over and over in my head as I wash every trace of the man away from my body. Cleaning every single inch of myself before shutting the water off and stepping from the shower. I don’t bother with a towel as I stand and stare at the image in the mirror. Checking my blonde wig for any traces of blood.
Once satisfied, I leave the bathroom and head for the knife. I pick it up with barely a glance at the frozen body. He isn’t worth my time now that he is cold and no longer dripping the glorious blood from his body.
I wash off the knife in the sink and then slide it into my purse. Not a single thing can be left behind. Shit. My fingerprints. I grab a rag from the bathroom and wet it with some soap before heading for the back of the chair where I’d gripped it in my fingers. I wipe the back of the chair carefully before flipping the rag over and wiping the soap away. The blood all over him will make fingerprints on his body nearly impossible, so I don’t bother with him.
I back away and make sure that I’m still clean. I pick up my dress from the bed before slipping into the material and zipping it back up. I slip the heels onto my feet and then grab my purse. I glance back at the man and then around the area to see if I’m missing anything.
I head to the bathroom to wipe down the faucets and anything else I touched. I drop the wet rag into a bag meant for the ice bucket and slip it into my purse to take with me. I slip the key card out of the purse and then wipe it with another rag before using the rag to slip it onto the dresser and then slip that one into my purse.
I will get rid of those later. For now, I need to get out of here before someone comes knocking. I check my appearance in the mirror once more and straighten my hair back out before I leave the room.
I glance back at the body and then shake my head as I grab the dry rag from my purse and use it to wipe the handle to the door down and slip the do not disturb sign from the back of the door onto the handle. I slip the rag into my bag before letting the door shut behind me.
Heading for the elevator, I use my knuckle to press the button to call it, then wait for the doors to reach me and open before entering the small box. My nerves are frayed and I’m trying to go over mental checklists of what I should be doing as I ride the elevator down into the lobby.
I’m not worried about the footage. I’m wearing a wig, heavy makeup, and a dress you would never find me in normally. I parked my car blocks away, and I made sure it was in a place where cameras wouldn’t be easy to come by. Sure, everywhere has cameras now, but I had a plan.
I exit the hotel and head for the parking lot a few blocks away. No one pays me any mind in this area. A beautiful blonde in a green party dress fits right in on the high end side of town.That doesn’t stop my nervous energy as I walk at an easy pace toward my escape.
They shouldn’t find him till at least the morning, most likely. Hopefully longer if I’m lucky. The longer he is there, the less I have to worry about evidence I probably left behind.
Either I will get away with it or I won’t. Kind of too late to think much about that right now. The entire night, hell maybe the week, I will probably spiral as I wait to see what happens. Will they catch me because I left some stupid tiny piece of evidence behind? Did I leave something, anything, in that room or bar that will get me caught?
