Lustmord 1

by Kirk Alex

  “Hate the Sin, Not the Sinner.”

  Marvin shook his head. Said “Shit” to himself. “You the boss, Hoss.”

  “Say it.”

  “Hate the Sin, Not the Sinner.”

  “What’s being accomplished here?”

  “Filthy ho gettin’ they punishment.”

  “No, not ‘ho.’ Fornicator. Go on. Get her.”

  CHAPTER 122

  Marvin walked to the pit. Mumbled something about “filthy fornicatin’ ho bein’ punished by the Lord” while removing the lock. Thought to add: “Hate the Sin, Not the Sinner” line. Heard Betty Lou and her daughter Mildred Elizabeth echo same from within the Geek Cell.

  He lifted the door open. Helped Dixie Osgood climb up, out of the water. Held onto her handcuffed wrists in back while he closed the door over the pit and made sure it was locked.

  Dixie Osgood was shivering, cold. Bitch be scared, too. Marvin thought he had something he could warm her up wiff. Sho nuff. Truck load of hot fuckin’ chowder. Only there don’t be no time to mess wiff her now. Cecil be waitin’.

  He brought her to the Fun Room. A ball-gag was shoved in her mouth by the bishop, who saw to it that the leather strap in the back was good and tight. He un-cuffed one of her wrists and secured the free handcuff to a chain in the wall to the right of the door as you entered. He tossed Marvin a couple of keys.

  “Now, go to the Mattress Room and bring Dione ‘Divine’ in here.”

  “I could tap some of this here PAWG, me. Put some hard meat in her ass.”

  “Get Dione.”

  Marvin Muck left the room.

  CHAPTER 123

  Biggs had his groin out and was stroking himself. Ran his tongue over his upper and then lower lip, while focusing on Terri Denise Klopp’s grimy buttocks. He eyed Dixie Osgood briefly, took in the bloodshot eyes, the tears that cascaded down her face, accompanied by muffled sounds she made through the ball-gag.

  Ordinarily he would have done away with the gag. He preferred the noise, histrionics, screaming, violent shaking, and pleading. It was too early in the day for it, he’d supposed. Besides, Terri Denise Klopp was making plenty enough noise on her own. He hadn’t bothered to gag her.

  A struggling, defiant Dione Aragon was yanked inside the Workshop-cum-Fun Room.

  “Ho was standin’ on the coffee table. Bangin’ on the board on the window wiff her fist, carryin’ on an’ shit.”

  “That right?”

  “Broke the coffee table, too. Can’t trust no ho. Only ain’t no reason to smoke her ass. Ho got good tang left, even wiff that fucked up eye.”

  Seeing what was being done to the victim secured to the tub, Dione could not help the following: urine trickled down her leg, as it did down Dixie Osgood’s. Fear brought it on, perpetual fear.

  “Bring her over here.”

  Marvin dragged the victim to where the bishop stood. Turned over the two keys.

  “I foresee Pit Therapy in your future. Get me? You had your warning and were aware of the consequences. You can’t be trusted. Trust is everything. Trust.”

  “Heard that, ho? Trust be everything wiff Trusty Lusty.”

  Biggs unlocked the cuff on one of Dione’s wrists. Backhanded her, hard, so that she staggered back, reeling against Dixie Osgood.

  “Handcuff her to the other cunt.”

  While Marvin carried out the order, Biggs picked up a bucket. Slid the torture board away from the side of the tub that the spout was on. Filled the bucket with water. He walked back to the handcuffed duo. Swung the bucket so that about one third splashed Dixie Osgood, another third Dione Aragon.

  “We like our victims clean, don’t we, Free Ride?”

  “Clean tang, dirty tang—make’ no difference to me.”

  Biggs stood over Terri Denise Klopp, splashing what remained of the water on her backside, and was able to get more than enough of the grime and residue from the pit off. He reached for a jar of clear lube in the cabinet. Shoved a good dollop into her rectum. Tossed the jar to Marvin. Marvin stood there, looking at him.

  “Lube Dixie Osgood’s asshole.”

  Marvin remained standing. Unsure he heard right.

  “You want to bang that butt, don’t you?”

  Marvin nodded his head. “You the boss, Cecil.”

  “Get it. I want to see that black python fill her tight asshole, want to see the cunt scream out in pain while you pound that rectum.”

  The sidekick didn’t need to be told again. Went about the lubing business. Got plenty inside the woman. He had his fully erect groin out. Applied a degree of the lotion to the large head and about half of the shaft. He had the woman face the wall.

  “Spread your ass cheeks, Dixie,” Biggs said from where he stood. He had his own member out, and reminded Marvin to remove the ball-gag from her mouth. Marvin complied.

  Biggs said: “Spread your asshole for the man.”

  She did.

  “Yo. Brotha Muck doin’ the Black Attack thang here, the Funky Monkey.”

  “How about if you spare us the play-by-play commentary,” said Biggs, as they proceeded to sodomize the captives. Biggs unloaded inside his captive’s rectum, while instructing Marvin, once again, to dump in his bitch’s mouth. “Have her gag on your prick. Give her the mother of all lodes. Hose her face. Let her drown in ball juice.”

  Free Ride followed suit. No problem. This was cool by him. It was times like this bein’ ’round Bigg’ was the best. Rapin’ ho’, gettin’ trim. I don’t never be tired of trim.

  Even though Biggs was through with his piece, had shoved his groin back inside his fly and zipped up, he stood there squeezing himself while watching Marvin Muck fuck the shit out of the cunt’s shitter.

  Man knew how to fuck. Had to hand it to him. Loser was useless in every other way, but he sure knew how to bang his bitches. Too bad he didn’t have his length or circumference. Made him feel damned inadequate witnessing the action.

  “Cream in her mouth. You ready to pop?”

  “I could pop, me.”

  The victim was gasping, struggling against it. Marvin withdrew at that moment, spun her around and jammed his member in her gaping jaw. Shot a load. It was plentiful. Filling her mouth. Some of it overlapped and began to ooze out, and Marvin rubbed the head of his cock up against her face, shoving the cream back into her mouth, all of it. Man said let her drown in ball juice.

  “Sink or swim, ho. Be mo’ betta than a Happy Meal at Mickey D. Yeah; that be real good.”

  “Zip up. Come here. Turn this one over.”

  Marvin snapped out of his daze. Zipped his fly up and staggered over.

  “I want her on her back. I want her to see what’s coming up.”

  Marvin had had to bend over to reach the far edge of the torture board with his right hand, while gripping the edge against his waist with his left. He was about to flip the board this way, without a thought to releasing the victim first.

  “What are you doing?”

  The sidekick looked at him. “Said to turn the ho over.”

  “That must have been some piece of ass, because apparently it wiped out what few brain cells you had left. Don’t turn the board over with her cuffed to it. Let go of the board. Uncuff her.”

  “What wiff?”

  Biggs unlocked the handcuffs himself, the shackles. Stepped back.

  “Now turn her over. Not the board, her only.”

  Marvin did this. Handcuffed her back up: legs spread apart, ankles secured to separate corners. Same was accomplished at the other end with her wrists.

  “That’s fine. I’m damned proud of you.”

  “Yo. Ain’t got to be proud.”

  “What are you grousing about now? What is it?”

  “Coulda had these hoe’ makin’ us some jack. Had our own ho business—”

  “Yeah, like you had that time pimping out those two underage cunts on Hollywood Boulevard for crystal meth. Coupla bucks here, coupla bucks there. You’re small time. Always will be.”r />
  “Coulda had us somethin’ better. Call it Rent-A-Ho, or Rent-A-Bush. Outcall. Be listed in Beverly Hill’ Yellow Page’ as dinner date’. I knowed some brothas be makin’ nothin’ but bank doin’ it that way. Them rich Hollywood mofo be payin’ top dolla for tang.”

  “Rent-A-Bush, huh? Rent-A-Ho? Are you for real? Know how fast you’d get busted? This isn’t 50’s LA. Lookit how they nailed the Hollywood Madam.”

  “Don’t matter. I ain’t no Hollywood Madam. Got the touch, me.”

  “Sure you do. Everything you touch turns to excreta.”

  “Say what?”

  “Forget it.”

  CHAPTER 124

  Terri Denise Klopp was coming to. Her vision returned in time to see Cecil Omar Biggs don a stained apron and pick up a Black & Decker chainsaw with an eighteen-inch blade.

  Blood continued to flow from the gashes in her head, down the end of the torture board at her feet and into the tub or onto the floor. Cecil adjusted the door so that most of the blood would flow into the tub. The woman had regained her senses to the point that she was able to jerk about and implore to be spared.

  “PLEASE, DON’T! PLEASE! NNNOOOOOO! PLEASE, DON’T!” She was in and out of it, the head wounds causing her vision to blur even now as the buzz of the chainsaw in Biggs’s hands made it clearly obvious what was about to happen to her.

  Biggs was happy about that. Had Muck tear a strip of duct tape off a roll and stand by with it. Biggs brought the Black & Decker blade down against the side of the woman’s neck and allowed it to carve in above the collar bone, away from the carotid artery, and watched blood appear and flow. Some of it ending up on the floor of the Fun Room, leaving him in dismay. He wanted her blood inside the tub. He had plans for it.

  Dixie and Dione found it impossible to take. The shaking and screaming started. Retching followed. Dione dropped, passing out. Dixie was there soon enough herself.

  “Turn up the stereo. Do it.”

  The stereo was on the top shelf in the metal cabinet. Marvin popped a Run DMC cassette in and cranked the volume up. Full blast.

  “Turn that shit off. You know I hate rap. Put Little Richard on, or James Brown. I want to hear some James Brown. Rick James or Rammstein would do.”

  “Take it easy, home’. Got it under control. Yo.” Muck stuck a James Brown cassette into the cassette player. James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, was feeling good and said so.

  As far as Cecil was concerned, the next step would be much tougher to pull off, but he needed the spatter to be pronounced and was not willing to stop until he accomplished it. He moved the blade away from this area of the neck and raised it a bit higher, holding it inches away from the carotid artery. Reminded Marvin once again that he would have to slap the duct tape on her not long after the cut, or else they risked losing her altogether. That would be too soon and too easy for this particular ballbuster. He didn’t want her dead, only bleeding. Then he decided against it for the time being. Biggs positioned the chainsaw blade down there at her feet. Pressed the blade against the toes on the woman’s right foot. The blade cut through bone like a hot knife slicing through shortening. Toes dropped off. First the big, then the rest. He did the same with the other foot: one toe at a time. Watched as the woman jerked around, screaming with everything she had. The copper tub had quite a bit of her blood in it by now. It was great. Biggs’s cock was definitely in the process of reaching a state of arousal. Man, he might have to stop to go again. Meds weren’t getting in the way this time.

  Sometimes that shit made it impossible to reach erection mode. Well, not here, not now. No way. The blood excited him beyond his dreams. This cunt is fantastic.

  He was back at the end where her head was. Couldn’t help himself. If you wanted spatter, if you craved true and real and fabulous spatter, no place was better than the neck. Right up against her neck. Inched the spinning teeth ever closer. More wailing and twisting on her part, more blood flowed into the tub. It was fine, but hardly enough. The neck; you had to go for the neck. Not to kill, not to sever the head, but to see the red spray and the vic denote abject terror. Grim Reaper was knocking on her door. Fear of the Grim Reaper was second to none. Joy to witness. His erection was holding up nicely as a result.

  “You ready?”

  Muck shook his head. All he was good for. Being negative. Never mind the punk, thought Biggs. Can’t let anything spoil your fun. He lowered, then ever-so-cautiously pressed the saw blade against her neck. The metal teeth cut into the carotid. Spray was wondrous. Blood all over his hard hat, goggles and face, walls and floor of the Fun Room. He licked some of it off his lips. His taste buds didn’t care for it. Too bad. Blood was good for you.

  “Seal it. Stop it. Plug it up.”

  Marvin was clumsy, but managed. Stop-gap. It would do.

  Christ, why hadn’t he shown the brass to live out his fantasies years before? Go all out? Should have/could have. Repression was not healthy. Could have been the greatest, the best serial Slaughter King of them all. Yes, had killed now and then, here and there, but never gone all out like he was doing now.

  Fuck chubby Gacy and Mama’s Boy Eddie Gein; fuck that queer Corona, fuck that transvestite Norman Bates. Losers and retards. He could have been better. He was better. Straight, too. A man. That set him apart right there. Liked his pussy straight. No dressing up in funny women’s clothing like Ed Wood, no wearing of silk panties and high heels, no matter what J.J. tried to turn him into. No. None of that shit for Cecil O. Biggs. But that was all right. He would catch up. There was time. Brother Trusty would help him get there. Haunted house was taking in plenty until the lawsuits shut him down. For the time bing. No matter. He would be the biggest and baddest of them all. None of these cocksuckers had his brains, his IQ. Manson was a dumb-shit no-class hillbilly like Marty Roscoe. None of them could touch the Bishop. They didn’t have his guts or his smarts; his cunning and panache. That’s funny, though, he thought: Got plenty of guts around here, for sure. I’m worth half a million, at least, own my own two-story chamber of horrors, a Rolls and a Cad, money in the bank and cash stashed away that nobody knows about. Satan is a drag queen, and J.C. never existed. The pentagram is for queers and other degenerates.

  He stood back, wanting to take it all in, just wanting to watch. What would he do next? His groin grew inside his trousers, and this was something he could not continue to ignore. He lowered the chainsaw. Shut it off.

  “Get these two bitches out of here. I think they got the message. I want to be alone for a while. I want it quiet. A man can’t hear himself think anymore.”

  “Mattress Room?”

  “Huh?”

  “Take the hoe’ to the Mattress Room?”

  “No. Dione Divine earned herself time in the pit. The other one goes in the Abattoir.”

  “Southern Belle?”

  “Dixie Osgood, the Southern Belle. Yes.”

  “Ho could end up like ice in there.”

  “You said before.”

  “Could be a crowd in there. You know you got them two other hoe’ hangin’ on hook’: Connie Higgin’ and the fit ho. Sandra Hargrove, or somethin’ like that.”

  “Harcourt. Sandra Harcourt. Aerobics instructor.”

  “That be the one.”

  “Chain her to the wall in there, then. Put a metal collar on her, a chain leash.”

  Muck grabbed a metal collar from the cabinet, a leash. Attached them to the victim using the proper size lock.

  “Go in the clothes closet and pick up a blanket. Give it to her.”

  “Bangin’ pussy be cold as ice cube’ don’t be no fun.”

  “On second thought, it’s too early to have her succumb. She’s got mileage left. Forget the blanket. Find her something modest to wear, instead. Turn her over to Miss Betty. She’ll know how to deal with her—without taking her out.”

  “That be worst yet.”

  “Never happy, never satisfied. That’s you.”

  “That evil granny gonna do a nu
mber on her. Young ho don’t be good for nobody, then. You know Betty hate’ good-lookin’ young bitches like this.”

  “She earned Miss Betty’s wrath when she ran up those stairs. I have to have trust. I expect loyalty. These cunts can’t wait to turn on you the minute you let your guard down.”

  Muck saw that there was no point discussing anything anyway. The bishop detached the required keys from the carabiner and tossed them to the flunky, who in turn escorted the hysterical victims out of the Fun Room.

  CHAPTER 125

  Biggs got out of his gear and clothes. Shut the music off. Closed the door. Released the helpless Terri Denise Klopp from the torture board and lifted the board to one side so that she slid into her own blood in the tub.

  He was erect, self-loathing and all. He was too sharp to believe it was anything else, and yet there was no way around it. He craved it, needed to “bathe” in it. There was no going back once you crossed over—and he had crossed over a long, long time ago.

  Not entirely all of his doing, either. He’d been shoved into it. You take a man’s self-worth away, his self-esteem . . . and what do you have left? This is what’s left. . . . What I’m doing right now. Payback. Paying them back for what they put me through.

  “I want to wallow . . . in rivers of blood. Wade and wallow in it. . . . Drown in it. . . . Sink in it. . . . The only way the hollowness can be filled, the only way the void can be made whole again. . . .”

  He knew that last part was BS as he even said it. You can’t explain it away, quit trying to camouflage it. Stop lying to yourself. You want to get your rocks off. The best way to do it is the way you’re going about it. . . .

  He didn’t fuck her. Not this time. Jerked it instead. Masturbated. Using her blood. In the tub with her. Jerked it, and spurted all over her.

  There was no denying that same, not unfamiliar feeling of disgust, feeling of revulsion and self-loathing crept through him afterwards. . . . He didn’t like it. Didn’t care having to deal with it.