by Havok, Rayne
The moment comes, and I let go, coming hard just as I see his bloody dick pull out of her side. I clean myself up while I finish the rest, watching the final wound spurt and her body fall still. The man walks over to the tripod and switches off the camera. His face obscured by a bloody mask, leaving only his eyes visible. They are excited, wild, and are exactly what I assume the eyes of a killer would be.
Catching my breath, but leaving my pants around my ankles, I sign in and look for any new uploads. If I do this before I get off, I'm afraid I'll be too turned on to look for warning signs, or traps, from authorities looking to make a bust on the dark web.
I can't help that I love this stuff, it's the only thing I can get off to anymore.
The gorier, the better. The more I see a woman beg, the harder I get. The blood pouring out, drying on her skin. I imagine the smell of copper mingling with the scent of their pussies. The sticky sound it makes while fucking them covered in blood is better than any soundtrack imaginable.
After a cursory glance, nothing stands out as being new. This category isn't as popular as some of the others. I mean, if I wanted tiny-teens-being-fucked-by-big-black-cock, I’d have something new every day. But snuff can't be produced on a bus driving around college towns and spammed across the internet. It can be years before something fresh makes it into the scene. Which is why I know my collection like the top side of my cock.
I see that a few of the regulars are online and open a chat with BinKilinU.
'anything new?'
'you would be the first to know.'
'thanks anyway'
I close the window, change my VPN location, and look down at my flaccid dick. I was really hoping for something fresh, but it doesn’t look like it's going to happen.
I shut down the desktop and head upstairs.
"Wesley?"
"Yea, babe, it's me." Undressing, I climb in bed with her, tucking my arms under my head, keeping my eyes trained on the ceiling.
Stephanie snuggles in, even though she knows it just makes me too hot and unable to sleep.
Her hand takes hold of my dick and I practically roll my eyes. It hasn't gotten up from her efforts in a very long time. She mostly blames herself, and fuck, it might be something she’s doing. It’s not likely, but it only encourages her to work harder, which, in turn, makes her stress out more when she can’t get me up, or off. And then, she doesn't do anything well. It’s like watching her trying to jack-off a garden hose.
"I want you inside of me, I miss having this big dick fill me up."
"I know you do, Steph," I sound remorseful. And a small part of me wishes I could perform, but nothing is as exhilarating as snuff, even simply watching it, has a more gratifying finish than with her.
"I'm so horny, Wes, I just need this." Before she jumps into the conversation about seeing a doctor for erection pills one more time. I roll over and spread her legs, reaching into her nightstand for the big rubber dildo. Spitting on the tip, I jam it into her. She arches her back and I fuck her hard. Sucking her clit into my mouth, I get her off quickly as she comes all over, creaming down my arm. I give her a few more deep plunges of the thick, neon, dildo and then she's had her fill.
Not even a twitch from my dick. I used to get hard as a rock at the sight of a juicy pussy. Since setting my eyes on that short film—leaving a woman covered in death and a massive cream pie oozing from her lifeless pussy—I’ve been immune to the mundane and typical. That four minutes was all it took to create my affliction.
I let her clean herself up and I throw a towel on the wet spot, rolling over so she doesn't get too close.
"Thanks, babe," she says, finally able to rest.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Her heavy breathing keeps me alert. The annoying taste in my mouth I want to swish out, but don't want to disturb her, left lingering on my tongue until it sours and I can no longer stand it.
Creeping out of bed, I head down the stairs to get a drink, avoiding the steps that make creaking noises. I catch a glimpse of the monitor out of the corner of my eye, my dick twitches like a junky needing a fix.
Fucking thing.
It sure would be nice to get off inside a pussy again… maybe I could have her cos-play a computer monitor.
Just asking my wife to fuck me while I watch snuff is unimaginable, and not even in the realm of possibilities. If she were blind and deaf, I still couldn't risk my freedom for it. So, the screen, and my hand, are what I have.
Like a dutiful addict, I boot everything up and log on, fulfilling my cock’s need.
Typing in a password that no one could guess if given endless attempts. I've set it to three tries before it overwrites my hard drive. I've never needed that many, luckily. It mostly takes one, knowing what’s at stake.
Stephanie wouldn't know what to do with my setup if she were suddenly inclined to become a snoop. I was pretty paranoid when I set it that way, losing access would ruin what sex life I have. I take my time entering the letter and numerical code, getting it right on the first attempt, the screen comes to life.
My pulse quickens and my cock jumps when I see that I have a DM. It's from BinKilinU and I can't open it fast enough. I'm disappointed when I don’t see a file to download. There is just a single word on the page that says ‘application’. BinKilinU has never been one to disappoint, or give pause, so I click away.
The loaded page opens with a heading ‘Killstreme—a snuff production company’, followed by a series of questions about me and what I'm in to. As I read through a few inquiries, I realize that I am being asked to apply for an opportunity to star in a snuff film of my own. My cock is achingly hard and dribbling down my thigh as a response.
My heart is pounding out of my chest as I try to gather myself to answer the questions. They’re asking why I think I would be a good leading man.
If I could do this, be a real snuffer, my whole life would be perfect. I'd likely never have to risk signing on here again. I could have a copy of myself taking a life while fucking the last breath from her naked, mutilated body.
All the fantasies montage through my head, making it impossible to keep track of reality.
The anticipation has my hands shaking. This might be the most excited I have ever been. Scratch that, this is, bar none, the most exhilarated I have ever felt.
Trying to both type, and satiate my dick, is impossible. I put my efforts into getting off so I can return my focus to the application. The prospect of this has me feeling more teenager than I had when I was actually that age.
Gripping my balls hard and wrapping my hand around the base of my cock, I stroke myself to the image of a girl in my head. Her mangled body going limp beneath me just as the ribbons of hot come ooze over my clenched knuckles, sweat beading on my brow.
I return to the form without wasting even a second to clean up, just wiping the mess on my shorts.
The first question stumps me, I wonder if my real name is a good idea.
Fuck it.
Wesley—no need for a last name.
A bunch of other personal information, and then the fun part. It's asking what I'd like to do with the subject—their word, not mine. I'm thinking of all the things that I'd like to have in my personal video. Both from what I've seen, and what I've fantasized in my mind. And I list them all.
I want to fuck her raw.
I want to make her insides bleed.
I want to cut her and sever her limbs.
I want to come inside her wounds.
I would love to put on a show, porn level come and snuff level blood. I'm strong and big, and will definitely be able to make this film legendary. I'm not squeamish or inhibited in any way.
I reread my answers and make sure that they understand I'd really be a good fit for the role, and then I send it off, crossing my fingers that it's not a sting. I actually think it would be worth serving the time for the off chance that this might be real.
Oh, my fucking god, I hope it's real.
I lean back against the leather chair, thinking how cruel I could actually be to another human. I try to think it might be horrible, that it would do something to my soul. But I'm kidding myself. I am all fucking in.
A small chime from the speaker indicates I have a new message.
My heart jumps when I see the subject line—'application approved’. Upon clicking, my screen is filled with photos of women, below a heading that reads: ‘Make your selection’.
Excitement makes it hard to focus on any one of them in particular, each of their faces blur into the next as adrenaline courses through my body, dilating my pupils.
I have to try hard to calm myself so I can choose wisely, I need one I will not regret. This girl is going to be mine forever, I better not fuck this up.
The photos are close ups of their faces, and then a shot of their bodies, both clothed and naked. Lastly, pussies—shaved and not, some of the biggest bubble gum lips I've ever seen, and I can imagine taking a bite.
Oh, fuck.
I force my attention away from their naughty bits, and remind myself the importance of the whole package. There are all types—natural, enhanced, tall, short, thin, fat, black, white, (and everything in between) ranging in age from college freshman to mature cougar. I feel like a kid in a candy store with a stolen credit card. Unlimited choices, making it nearly impossible to select.
I wonder how they have access to all these women.
How are they kept?
No matter, there is one I keep coming back to. Her shoulder length copper hair and huge emerald eyes make her seem sweet and wholesome. The naked shots of her make me feel that long lost tingle.
I'd love to ruin that sweetness.
I check-mark the box beneath her portfolio.
Another screen pops up and lists a day and time on an appointment card. An address is shown only after I select the ‘ok’ button. It is across town, in the industrial district. I've never been there, but I recognize the zip code. It’s just about a two-hour drive to get there.
I'll have to make a cover story for Stephanie, let her know I'll be doing something for work. I don't usually have anything to do outside of business hours, which are spent at home in this office, but I can't have her asking to tag along.
It's tomorrow, 9pm. Less than 24 hours and I'm going to be the star of my very own snuff. I wonder for a moment if they will pay me, then quickly laugh off the thought—I would actually pay them, gladly.
It's 2am when I finally switch off the computer, knowing I won't be able to sleep, especially if Stephanie gets cuddly. The thought of her thick, hot body pressed against me instead of the girl in the photo repulses me.
Images of the small red head’s puffy nipples, set dead center on perky tits, resting high above her tiny waist, flared hips, round ass, all running free through my mind.
Her blush colored pussy stands out like a target, surrounded by her pale skin, lightly sprinkled with freckles. I can't help but think of all of the things I have wanted to do to a woman’s body if given free reign, unbridled by consequence.
She is a tight little package that practically screams ‘use me’ and it's making it impossible to go upstairs to my own wife, who will now seem like a troll.
I decide to schedule an appointment online to have my junk waxed. I don't do it on the regular, but it makes my big dick look even bigger, gives me a bit more sensation.
After 10am, I'll be clean as a whistle and ready for my show. I decide to abstain from jacking off until my snuff debut. I can come multiple times, but the loads are bigger, and far more impressive, if there is some wait-time before hand. I want as many epic come shots as possible.
I lay on the sofa, body tingling with excitement while my cock throbs with anticipation, making it a challenge to get some rest before the best day of my life happens.
two
Two hours and nineteen minutes of driving later, I pull into an empty lot that my phone promised is my destination. I park in darkness, with extra effort to be sure that it is done legally. I can't be tied to this place via a ticket because of a stupid mistake.
That's how they catch amateurs.
Before I get out, I take thorough look around for anything suspicious—a masked man, ready to rob me. Strangers of any sort, looking for trouble—anything amiss. The coast seems clear, so I gather myself and open the door. The area is quiet and still, the only sounds are crickets and my own shuffling feet.
Two large industrial buildings obscure the view of a smaller one sandwiched between. There is only one door visible from the lot, as I continue to the smaller brick building that bears the numbers indicated in the address.
I assumed that there was going to be a person to greet me, so I'm surprised when the door is not only unlocked, but right inside it is the girl—my girl.
The door closes heavily behind me as I stand for a second to take in my surroundings. The copper haired girl is laying, sprawled out, on an old mattress covered in a white sheet, at the end of the well-lit room.
She is wearing a mask, covering only the top of her face, her open eyes locking with mine, nervously watching me between her frantic blinking.
My eye catches a note stuck to the wall, addressed to me with a list of instructions. 'Wesley, please enjoy. If you'd like to keep your anonymity, there is a mask on the table, the choice is yours.'
I slip on the face covering, very much like hers, just enough fabric to disguise features, but not so much that it feels claustrophobic.
The instructions tell me to undress, which I do, and to be mindful of camera angles. Of which, there are two on tripods for the back view, one mounted on the wall, just above her head, and several along the ceiling on either side. Too many to count, let alone mind. But I will do my best, and hopefully they will have enough to edit a good film for me—and I suppose, anyone who is lucky enough to receive a copy of my work. I smile at the thought of being the envy of so many men.
Jealous, and dreaming, of being the lucky guy in the lenses’ view. Luck has never really been on my side, and I'm beyond grateful for the turn of the tide.
There is a rolling table in the corner adjacent to the mattress that I'm drawn to. As I walk toward it, the girl starts kicking against her ankle restraints.
"Hey," her soft voice stops me. I hadn't expected conversation. I didn't know what to expect.
Ignoring her whining, I notice the table is topped with all the things I said I would like to use for her execution. The machete, and a few other sharp objects. A metal pipe that makes my dick twitch, chains, ball-gag, dildos—huge dildos, butt plugs, scissors, each item looking shiny and new.
My mouth salivates, and my cock quickly hardens to be ready for its role as my co-star.
I feel compelled to use every single thing on the table, and can only hope there isn't a time limit that will prevent me from doing so. I just have to keep her alive until I've had enough. Theoretically, I could make this last a long fucking time—if I'm careful.
I move the table closer to the mattress, her little piggy squeals become more frantic. I see the reason for the ball gag, but I like it more when I can hear that agony and fear in the cries for mercy. It feels secluded enough that I can afford that luxury.
Running my hand up her leg, her body freezes, panic alters the shape of her eyes. I give her one warning, not to move or she will be sorry, that she chooses not to heed.
The vise grip pliers from the table are calling out to me, I’ve got to show her who’s in charge here, and that I don’t care how much she begs.
Gripping her foot in my hand. The teeth of the pliers squeeze down on the nail of her big toe as the vice grip locks. I watch her face lose all color, draining the last bit of hope from her heart.
An ear-piercing scream tears loose of her throat as I slowly twist and pull on her hot pink nail, ripping it away from the skin underneath.
Her body begins to tremble, terror is winning. Her shaky breath is loud, beautiful tears stream down her face.
M
y hand instinctively reaches for my cock, trying to quell the ache. Her eyes drop to my sudden movement, her lips snarl before she calls me a sick fuck.
She has no fucking idea.
Taking her foot to examine it, watching the blood drip freely, I lick and then suck it into my mouth painfully hard, she gags as though she might vomit.
When she realizes it’s too difficult to watch, she closes her eyes and sobs. Tears roll down her face. Her chest trembles with her cries. She is fucking beautiful like this—I have absolutely made the right choice.
Her, sad, emerald eyes, filled with terror, pleading with mine to be her savior. My own, hooded with the burning desire to watch her bleed, creasing at the corners with my slowly growing smirk, are not giving her what she needs. I’m not her salvation—I’m her demise.
I massage my cock until it's full, and then climb on top of her and in between her legs. She's so small, I must feel massive to her.
I push my throbbing cock inside of her, the pressure of her tight pussy eases some of the ache, bringing a focus I hadn’t been able to gain since walking in here. Wrapping my hand around her throat, leaning into her face, I lick the tears from her cheeks and then taste her lips, her fruity chap-stick mingles with the salt in a delectable way.
I can feel the fear in her rapid pulse as my cock pounds into her deeply, hard enough to shove her head against the wall repeatedly with each thrust.
I keep her air restricted at her throat. Reaching with my fingers, I force them into her mouth and pull it open with her bottom jaw. A few more hard thrusts into her exquisite hole and my cock is begging for release.
Moving upward to my target, I unload into her mouth, milking every drop of my load, and watching it pool in the back of her throat.
My dick is still achingly hard, but becomes insufferable when she has no choice but to swallow my come in order to breathe. The overflow dribbling down her cheeks and chin.
Returning to my position between her legs, my attention switches to her nipples, ever hard, and kind of big for her small tits. I suck each one deep enough to redden. I can feel her heart thudding in her chest as I bite her tummy, not enough to draw blood, but definitely leaving a dental impression.