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“I want to hear you scream, Trish.” She whimpered as my knife traced down the center of her chest. Her tits were firm and remained perky while she was on her back. I twirled her nipples between my fingers, and they pebbled in response. My mouth watered. “That’s not screaming.” I dug my knife deep across her chest this time, and she finally released her scream of agony. My cock twitched to life fully, and I pressed it against her. I felt the heat coming off of her.
“You don’t have to do this. I can give you money.” She was crying now, her makeup running more and staining her cheeks. I ripped her cheerleader skirt off and not to my surprise, her pussy was exposed.
“You’re such a whore, Trisha.” I freed my erection as I stood over her. She jerked at her binding and with every scream, blood pumped harder into my cock. “Whores need to be punished.”
I grabbed her legs and threw them open, ramming into her as her voice strangled through cries.
“You don’t sound like her; you could never be her.” I took my belt and fastened it around her neck. “You’re going to beg for me, Trisha.” My cock slid roughly in and out of her as she fought against me still. My knife glistened in the moonlight, coming in through the basement window. With each thrust, I pierced her stomach.
She screamed harder now, and her pussy clenched around my throbbing cock. I needed more. Blood tinted my skin and squelched between us. “Please,” she gasped from behind the belt. I tightened it harder, and the discoloration in her face darkened. Her walls froze in a clench and her legs stopped thrashing.
Her eyes dulled and my release came hot. I freed the belt and ran my hands through her blood, playing with her breasts and relishing in the feeling of her hot walls. Bexley would look so beautiful covered in blood beneath me and begging for my cock. This pussy was satisfactory for now.
I looked down at her, blood and semen dripping from her tight and seductive hole, gaping for the world to see.
“Such a filthy cunt, Trisha.” I slid two fingers in. She was still warm and sopping, and I brought them to my tongue. “You even taste like a whore.” I bent toward her spent cunt and lapped at its remnants. Trish might have been a slut, but she was delicious all the same.
Chapter 4
October 11, 2020
Detective Bishop
Normal people typically brew their morning coffee so they can face their day-in-and-day-out jobs, coping with paperwork, meetings, and customer service.
It’s different for law enforcement, or first responders, and medical teams in general.
No, I was brewing coffee at dawn in order to face another body. The homicide unit wasn’t for the faint of heart. This job relied on hardening your emotions over time. At the risk of becoming broken, you became colder. You’d lose your mind at either extreme. I learned to cope with what I worked with.
My wife and children were the silver lining in the darkness that I waded through. I always knew what was waiting for me at home and what kept me working toward justice. I wouldn’t want anyone to stop caring or searching if my family were thrust into the gruesomeness people were often shielded from. That was why I bent over backward and committed everything to solve the cases that passed my desk.
This morning’s phone call was something I was used to, but it carried a tone that told me this was going to be different than every other one.
“Sir, there’s something about this one. I don’t know how to describe it; you’re just going to have to analyze this one yourself,” Officer Billingsley warned over the phone. He wasn’t easily shaken up, but his voice carried concern and something else I couldn’t quite place.
“Where am I going?”
“Just off-campus, the park on Third.” I could’ve sworn his voice was beginning to tremble.
“I’ll be there.”
Twenty minutes of driving couldn’t have prepared me for the horrific scene I walked into. There were no words. Tied to a tree was a young woman with dark hair. Her hands were in prayer, and her knees were spread apart, exposing her for public view. Blood ran down her lower body and it nearly made me sick. The medical examiner and forensic team were working quickly, as the sun would be rising soon, and the park would begin to fill with people.
I turned away from her and walked under the police tape toward the woman who discovered the body.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Noah Bishop. The officers tell me you’re the one who called 9-1-1?” Her eyes were wide, and her face was stained with tears. Her features were stuck in revulsion, and she only nodded.
“I’m sure they’ve already asked you questions, but would you mind speaking with me?” Another nod. I took her by the elbow and led her back to my car and away from that sight.
“Who would do something like that?” she let out in a whisper.
“The darkness conceals the world’s purest evil.” She settled into the backseat. “Could you start with your name, please?”
“Jessie, uh Jessie Baylor,” she stammered. I started writing in my notebook. “I’m sorry. I’m just really worked up,” she apologized.
“It’s not a problem, Jessie. Could you go over what happened and how you discovered the body?”
“Yeah,” she began. “I was out for my morning run. I usually run the length of the park twice. I start at 4:30 a.m. and typically end around 5:30 a.m. I started at the south entrance over there.” She pointed to the entrance that we had gone through.
