© Informed Consent
He wasn't even sure why he had said yes to this meet. Boredom mostly, nothing else to do tonight.
He knew at first glance, as she hopped off the bus that she was just not quite right for his purpose but he was committed to the evening now.
She lacked the air of confidence that their numerous online chats and two telephone calls had implied.
What was he doing on a vanilla dating site anyway? A drunken moment? Setting his profile up, reading what the other members said about themselves, trying to find their soulmate. It just wasn't him.
It was quite laughable but he felt he needed a change of direction. Lately things had seemed just not quite enough.
His last few relationships had been practically constant abusive ones – mostly consensual except those couple of official complaints that he'd pushed to the back of his mind.
He now had a few playmates from the scene he could indulge in some very intense and deviant behaviour with. He joked that it was sometimes scary to find a woman who was just as fucked up as he was. But it was also such a rush.
For every punch he made, they stood defiant and took it. For every kick he aimed, they stared at him through tear streaked eyes and silently begged for more For every cut of his knife, they craved deeper. For each orifice he defiled, they offered another.
Causing pain was his drug, his addiction. But now, inflicting it on willing, masochists was just not quite enough of a high.
His need was growing, his urges were out of control. But short of killing someone there was not much further to go.
The last woman he played with took 3 weeks before she could walk without wincing. He'd kept her for nearly 3 days – a bank holiday weekend. Naked the whole time, always restrained in some way:
He'd needed to use her. Tied to the bed, hooded and gagged – except when he wanted her mouth available to fuck harshly. He'd fucked her cunt with everything he could lay his hands on not just his cock and fist. Dildos, candles, a cucumber, a shampoo bottle. And not everything was phallic shaped - like her iPhone! It was humorous to hear it ringing inside her. She thought it was a vibe until the tone became familiar.
He'd needed to degrade her, to defile her. Strapped to the kitchen table while he ate dinner off her. Some of it went inside her too. She was mortified when he dragged her by a collar and leash to the shower later to “empty” herself. She'll never eat Chow Mein again without thinking of him.
He'd needed to hurt her and to frighten her. A noose around her neck, the rope thrown over a beam and tied off tight. She tottered on tip toes, her ankles held apart by a spreader bar. Her calves were cramping. Her shoulders ached from her arms being cuffed behind her back for so long. A polythene bag over her head, loosely, but the fear was there. He could twist the bottom closing off her air at any time. The bag fogged from her hot breath, clouded vision disorientating her. He'd slapped and pinched, cropped and caned her. He'd bitten till he drew blood. And he'd punched her, knocked her off balance, her feet falling flat to the floor. Then he watched as the realisation set in – how the noose had tightened, how she couldn't use her hands to pull it loose, how her eyes were glazing over. Now she was begging, gurgling really, for him to stop. His fists balled, he'd wanted to punch her in the jaw, the head, to knock her out, so her legs would go slack and the noose would take her weight. He'd wanted to fuck her as she slipped into unconsciousness, maybe as her last breath left her – well, not intentionally he'd tell the judge. But dead bodies are hard to explain and he did enjoy her, was not quite ready to pass on to the next willing victim.
He'd needed to damage her. Restrained with cling film, her legs splayed wide over the arms of a rocking chair. She became part of the furniture, no motion possible, even her head taped tight. A mouth hole quickly cut with his hunters' knife only after her silent screams died down as the air in her lungs emptied. A spider gag pushed in place, cutting deep into the corners of her mouth. Her breasts bleeding, cut (accidentally?) as he had fashioned the clingfilm, exposing her hard erect nipples. Her cunt and arse exposed as she slouched in the chair. He'd fisted her till she bled. The rocking motion of the chair aiding the momentum as he pounded into her. The blood on his hand enflamed him more. He'd punched her stomach, her thighs, her already swollen lips, leaving dark red fistprints.
He'd needed to see her shame and embarrassment. The polaroids- pinned around the house. The digital photos –emailed to his friends. The web cam set up in front of her- showing her live to anyone on his site wishing to pay for a subscription upgrade.
Three days of the most heinous acts. Some of them illegal, most of them immoral, all of them exciting.
And afterwards? He'd enjoyed every moment of it. Her humiliation. The blossoming bruises. The limping. The whimpers as she sat, stood, moved and breathed. And of course she had enjoyed it all too.
He'd got hard just replaying it in his mind. But now, only a month later, he felt it had not been quite enough. There was still something more to be had. Darker? More depraved? More dangerous? Yes, yes and yes.
He knew there was no more. He needed to re-set. Short of causing permanent damage, he needed to re-think.
And he had.
He couldn't go forward himself. So he'd go back. He would not lose his desires, he'd just redirect them. He needed someone less experienced, less confident, and yes, less willing.
So, he watched as she hopped off the bus and crossed the road to meet him at the pub entrance. Not quite matching her profile photo, one of those studio shots that shows you in the best light. Not quite as slim as he'd hoped. She'd dressed simply, hiding her ample curves under a belted black tunic dress. Not quite as tall as he'd wanted, the heels she wore to compensate made her totter unsteadily. Not quite as young looking as he'd fancy but with a fresh clean complexion.
He led her into the pub and she was content to be ushered to a seat of his choosing, a quiet corner seat, tucked away from prying eyes and ears. He briefly worried this would not quite work as he had fantasised. But then she let slip that she was due to go on a week-long 'Singles' holiday the next day, no family or friends to accompany her, no work interruptions, no one to miss her.
And suddenly the soft leather plaited belt that she was annoying playing with was not quite so innocent. The heels she unsteadily walked on were not quite so unsuitable. Her longer, now pull-able, pony tailed hair not quite so plain and useless. Her clean, unmarked skin not quite so boring. More of a blank canvas waiting his special brush strokes
At his insistence she drank one more beverage. She did not notice the powder he slipped into it while at the bar.
Not quite a new beginning but this could turn out to be quite a week !!
The Gene Pool could use a little Chlorine